Sob Story

I want to lose you but I got far too high

To let go

Now the demon in me knows

What I knew so long ago

Coming back to what you know won't mean a thing

Everything that you've done keeps you from me

~

Draco sat motionless on the glacially white bedspread. It matched the walls and curtains, all crisp and clean and cold and characterless. It had been a long time since Draco had bothered to listen to anything, but as he sat, back poker straight, eyes fixed on an invisible point on the wall, he could not help but hear snatches of the conversation floating in from the corridor. The door was not closed all the way and a beam of sunlight broke through, illuminating the dust motes riding the air currents. Draco wished someone would close it; the brightness was hurting his eyes. He did not shut his eyes, though. He did not dare.

'Professor, I just don't think I'm capable of this.'

The intonation was familiar, and reluctance dripped from every word, like blood from a fresh cut. Draco studiously ignored that thought.

A quiet voice replied. Quiet, but resonant with power and strength. Not the sort of strength that broke bones and laughed, but the sort of strength that could smile in the face of hurricanes. Draco could not quite make up his mind as to which was more insane.

'My dear boy, you have defeated the greatest force for evil the world has ever seen. How can you imagine that this small task will be beyond you?'

An impatient huffing noise floated through, forceful enough to penetrate even to Draco's ear.

'You know well that most of it was pure dumb luck. Destroying someone is easy, once you know how. But to build them up again...'

'Certainly, that doesn't come with an instruction manual.' The tone was lighter, now, but lost nothing of its iron-hard conviction. 'Harry, no one will make you do this. At the same time, no one else is any more qualified for the job. I am asking you to try. Success, in this case, will be impossible to measure.'

There was a long silence. Draco thought the voices might have moved away. It did not matter. Listlessly, he unclasped his long, bony fingers and instead laid them flat on his knees.

'All right.'

The voice was somewhat forced, as if the words were difficult to say. Draco could have told him nothing was too difficult to say. Say the words people want to hear, say them the way people want to hear them - obedience made for a somewhat easier life.

He closed his eyes.

~

Harry took a deep breath and pushed open the door of St Mungo's private ward. The room had a single, sole occupant. Harry steeled himself and approached the bed where Draco sat.

He did not look much like the others Harry had seen. Nott had been dragged in kicking and screaming and biting all the way, and had to be held down by several burly Healers before anyone could cast a Tranquillising Charm on him. Pansy now sat gibbering to herself all day long, biting her fingernails down to the quick and chewing on the ragged ends of her greasy, unkempt hair. He had only seen the lacerations on Zabini's back for a few seconds before he had been unceremoniously turfed from the Healing Room. Harry was nothing but grateful for that; the little he had seen was enough to have him bringing up his lunch in the toilet down the hall.

Draco looked almost exactly as Harry remembered him from school, except for the sneer, which was missing. Draco's face was carefully blank, but he still held his head in that aristocratic tilt, and his posture yet spoke of poise and breeding and lessons in correct carriage. It was only as Harry made his way across the stark room that he noticed the strange thing about him. Draco didn't look around at Harry's advance, didn't even blink. Harry's feet slapped loudly against the squeaky floor, which Harry expected he could hear even if the loud beating of Harry's heart was only in his own ears.

Harry came to a halt by the bed. He reached out a hand to grasp the bedstead for a bit of support. With a shock, he realised Draco had flinched at the movement. Pretending not to notice, Harry cleared his throat.

'Well, Malfoy,' he said awkwardly.

No response.

Harry tried again. 'Dumbledore suggested that you come and stay with me for a while. What do you think about that?'

'If you command it, so it shall be,' Draco said without inflection. It sounded like a phrase he had learned by rote. And a well-used one, moreover. Harry wrinkled his nose.

'Don't say that,' Harry said. 'You're not a house-elf.'

'My abject apologies, master.' Again, the words rolled off his tongue. Draco's eyes had not moved once. He might as well have been sleep-talking.

'Not your master,' Harry managed. 'Come on, Malfoy. We were enemies once, don't you remember?'

'If you command it, so it shall be,' Draco repeated.

Harry swallowed. 'Fine, then. Act like a slave and I'll treat you like one.'

Draco's eyes shifted half a degree, and something faintly sparked in their deepest depths. 'I do not act like a slave,' he said, his voice a notch deeper than before. He blinked, and his splayed fingers twitched. 'Unless you wish me to,' he added.

'I don't wish you to do anything,' Harry snapped. 'I'm not in charge of you. You do not work for me, thank god. Have you got anything to take with you?'

He made a move for the bedside locker, but Draco's small headshake prevented him.

'What, nothing?'

'No, master.'

Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them again, to his disappointment, Draco was still there, looking up at him almost expectantly.

'You have no clothes? No wand?'

'No, master. Yes, master, I apologise, I have these.' He gestured at his hospital-standard pyjamas, which were a vile lime-green colour. With Draco's long hair straggling down his back, he resembled nothing so much as a kiwi that had sprouted mould.

Harry sighed and unfastened the clasp of his cloak. It was a particularly fine one, rich black wool with a red silk lining. The golden clasp formed the shape of a lion's head. It had been Hermione's twentieth-birthday present to him.

He leaned forward. Draco stiffened imperceptibly. Ignoring it, Harry swept the cloak around his shoulders, grabbing a fistful of his hair to lift it out of the way. Draco did not move his head and Harry ended up tugging his hair quite sharply by accident. Draco did not complain or even wince. He just blinked. It seemed to be a bog-standard response.

Compressing his lips, Harry quickly worked the clasp shut and motioned for Draco to stand up. He tugged the cloak tighter so that the pyjamas were not visible.

'There. That'll do until we get to the first floor Floo Network,' Harry said. Draco was obviously operating on a need-to-respond basis, because he said nothing, and his expression did not alter one whit. Rolling his eyes, and reflecting that that Draco's exasperating persona was alive and kicking despite everything, Harry led the way.

~

Harry emerged from his own empty fireplace and stumbled, treading old ashes onto his rug. A few seconds later a green flare brightened the room, and Draco stepped forward with as much ease as he used to alight from a broom. Once he was clear of the fireplace, he stood swamped in Harry's over-long cloak, blinking. He did not attempt to move or to inquire about his new home.

Harry decided the best - in fact, the only - route to take was to treat Draco as he expected to be treated, at least for the moment. With that in mind, he chivvied Draco towards the kitchen. He opened the door to the blaze of the setting sun and heard Draco make a small noise of pain behind him.

Harry whirled around. 'What's wrong?'

'My eyes,' Draco said faintly.

Harry shut the door again and held his wand up to Draco's face. The Lumos charm caused Draco to clench his eyes shut, an almost inaudible whimper of pain escaping his lips.

'Right,' Harry said. 'Clearly something wrong with your eyes. Bright light hurts them, yes?'

'Yes, master,' Draco agreed. Harry frowned; the old Draco would have made a cutting remark about Harry's stunning observational skills at this point.

Harry removed Draco's cloak and hung it on a nearby peg.

'Stay there,' he instructed. He made his way down to the spare room and wrenched the curtains shut. The room was plunged into a dusky atmosphere through which Harry could barely see.

He returned to Draco and led him down the hall and into the bedroom. Draco did not actually get in the bed until Harry wearily told him to. Feeling like a nurse, Harry plumped up Draco's pillows so that he was resting up against them and tucked the blankets in around his legs.

'Dumbledore is so not paying me enough,' he said under his breath. Draco blinked.

Harry left him alone for a bit as he went to the kitchen and conjured some eggs and toast. When he returned bearing a tray, Draco was still sitting in the exact same position. Harry was sure he hadn't moved a muscle in the time he'd been alone.

Harry set the tray down on an occasional table - a Mrs Weasley classic - and poured a cup. He held it out to Draco, who hesitated before taking it. He hesitated again. Harry refused to spell it out for him, and eventually Draco lifted the cup to his lips and took an almighty gulp. The tea was scalding but Draco knocked it back in three swallows. Harry filled it again before Draco could provoke another 'master-slave' wrangle and busied himself cutting the toast into soldiers, the way he liked it himself, and knocking the top off the egg.

When he was finished, he pushed the plate to Draco. 'Eat. Then try to get some sleep. In the morning I'll sort out clothes and things.'

'Thank you, master,' Draco said.

Harry bit his lip.

~

'Make sure he takes it once a day, before eating,' Hermione said. 'There should be enough there to see him through.'

'Hermione, you're brilliant,' Harry said in relief, hefting the box of flasks, each full to the brim with a murky yellow liquid. 'Thank heavens I have a Potions expert on hand for moments like these.'

'It's pretty nasty,' Hermione said, her voice turning serious. 'That Dark spell.' 'To be honest, locking someone in the dark for so long light hurts them is nasty enough,' Harry said, shuddering. 'That's what must have happened, right?'

'It sounds like it. Added to a Laser Charm, which inflicts a light to moderate burning on the cornea,' Hermione said, reverting to dictionary mode.

'Really, though -' Harry started, but Hermione held up a quelling hand. 'You don't even know what I was going to say!'

'Yes, I do,' Hermione said. 'And you can't chicken out after only one afternoon.'

'Pity,' Harry mumbled, and he was only half-joking.

Hermione's face bore a queer expression when he looked back at it. 'Harry, Dumbledore doesn't do anything without a reason. It's obvious he thinks this is something you need to do.'

'I don't see why,' Harry said mutinously.

'Fine, then. When you do figure out the reason, then you can chicken out.'

'This is Dumbledore we're talking about,' Harry pointed out. 'I'll be getting my telegram from the Queen at that rate.'

Hermione cuffed him over the head. 'It's getting late. You'll need your sleep now, too. No staying up until three am watching Sky.'

'I can't anyway. The telly's broke,' Harry said morosely. 'You're right, though, as ever. I'll come and see you soon.'

'Or when you next need a quick fix,' Hermione said, rolling her eyes. However, she was smiling as she shoved him towards the fireplace, so Harry did not take her too seriously.

~

Instead of going to bed that night, Harry went outside into the damp, clammily warm night air. He listened to the chirruping of the numerous insects that were tipped to take over the planet when humankind finally blew itself up and was rather surprised to realise he found them irritating in the extreme. Although the smell of the nearby ocean was salty and fishy - two combustibles he hated the most - he found it reassuring. The sea was vast and ageless. It had existed through the birth and death of hundreds of Malfoys and Potters, and would continue to do so when Harry's bones were dust and even when they were coal.

Harry could not see very well in the dark, despite being forced to eat all of Dudley's vegetables for him as a child. However, his mind's eye was as clear as day. He saw the small shingled cottage, with it's wild rose garden (not a garden of wild roses, but a riot of overgrown rose bushes), the windbreak grove of trees, the Woodies garden bench he was currently sitting on, and which was causing a build-up of collected sea-spray and damp to seep through his trousers. He could picture the sandy path that led to the cliff and recalled the sheer adrenalin and terror of launching himself off into nothing for the first time.

The Muggle he'd bought the house from had remarked that he often dived off the side of the cliff for a lark and Harry had followed his example as soon as he took possession. He still wasn't quite sure why he'd opted to buy a secluded house on the edge of a cliff instead of a hot wizarding property in London. Perhaps it had something to do with the blessed anonymity, the calm way of life in the area, the quiet joy Harry felt on waking up to the sound of the sea. No wizards lived nearby and for the moment, that was how Harry wanted it. He was isolated enough from Muggles to practise magic without fear of discovery and had all the amenities of Muggle life to boot. Now that there was no Dudley to hog the remote, Harry was becoming quite addicted to Sky TV.

Most of all, though, Harry liked the sea.

The following morning, when he awoke stiff and covered in dew, his passion for it had abated somewhat. He staggered into the house, making blindly for the bathroom. Belatedly - about when he had a palmful of shampoo - he remembered Draco was in the house, and needed checking in on. Forgoing Hermione's recommended conditioner, Harry towelled himself off and struggled into an old set of robes.

Draco was still fast asleep, curled into a foetal position that Harry knew he'd regret when he woke. Feeling no need to fix what wasn't broken, Harry left him there. He subsequently spent a fruitless hour fiddling with the back of his television in, as it turned out, a vain attempt to breathe life into it once more. In a fit of pique, he bounced the Sky box off the wall, chipping off several layers of paint but leaving the plastic dream-machine apparently unharmed.

Harry spent the next week on tenterhooks. Too wary to leave Draco alone in the house - his 'Master' business was sufficiently unnerving for Harry to be chary of his motives - and with no Cartoon Network to distract him, Harry found himself re-reading his old schoolbooks in desperation.

Draco slept for a very long time. When he awoke, generally sometime in the late afternoon, Harry would bring him a tray of food, which was devoured, and a glassful of the noxious potion Hermione had given Harry. A very short time in his presence was sufficient to make Harry's skin crawl. It was uncanny, to see the man who'd shown no qualm about vilifying Harry at any given opportunity kowtowing to him now with no visible sign of effort.

So it was that when Remus (after the war, the overly-formal Lupin had been abandoned) came for a visit the following Saturday, he found Harry curled up in an armchair with '1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi' and a cat-on-hot-tiles expression.

'I never had you down as a fan, Harry,' Remus said, bending his neck to smile at the title. Harry, who hadn't noticed his entrance, jumped.

'Of this? Hell no,' he said vehemently, casting the book aside with distaste. 'I'm down to brass chips, you see. The telly's broke, and I can't leave the house to shop or anything.'

'How on earth are you eating, then?' Remus said, sitting down and settling his robes about him.

'I have a standing order mail delivery from the local Tescos,' Harry explained. Remus nodded, politely, but apparently didn't find the topic sufficiently riveting to dwell upon it.

'So, how's your charge?' he inquired.

'To be honest,' Harry said with a sigh, raking back his crows-nest hair, 'I haven't the faintest clue. He eats, he sleeps, he says 'yes master', like a well-trained house-elf. If he's acting, well, he's got me fooled. And if he isn't - hell, Remus, I don't know what to do with him! I don't even know what happened to him.'

'Have you tried asking him?' Remus asked, with a penetrating glance.

'No,' Harry admitted, somewhat shamefaced. 'I don't think I want to know, really.'

'Are you unwilling to help him because of your past history?' Remus asked sternly.

Harry gaped. 'No, of course not! I wouldn't just leave someone to suffer in that way. Even Malfoy.'

'Just checking,' Remus said, looking satisfied. 'Would you mind if I saw him?'

'No, not at all,' Harry said, with a private exhalation of relief. Perhaps Remus, being a teacher and more experienced than Harry in just about everything, could shed some light on the case.

Draco was sitting up in bed, enthusiastically masticating beans on toast. As soon as Harry entered, however, he dropped what he was eating and adopted what Harry had come to call his 'slave pose' - back straight, head bowed, and hands clasped subserviently across his stomach.

'Hey, Malfoy,' Harry said, twisting his mouth. 'Did you - take your potion yet?'

'Yes, master,' Draco intoned.

Remus stepped further into the room, frowning. 'Potion, Harry?'

'Hermione and I think he may have had a Laser Charm applied to his eyes,' Harry muttered. 'Plus an extended period of time in some sort of dark place. She made me a healing potion.'

Remus' frown deepened and he sat on the end of the bed, leaning towards Draco. Draco didn't move, but Harry thought he saw the muscles in his arms tightening ever so slightly.

'Is this true, Draco?' Remus asked, his voice even.

'I -' Draco's face suddenly contorted and his body spasmed, as if wracked by great pain. Harry started forward, but after a moment it seemed to have passed, though Draco still shook violently.

'Draco - just nod - does it hurt when you attempt to answer me?'

Draco tensed and jerked his head quickly. He hissed this time, as if he had stubbed a toe.

'Right,' Remus said, grimly. 'Thank you, Draco. We'll leave you to your lunch.'

'Thank you, master,' Draco said automatically. Remus waved at Harry to indicate that he should follow him out. It was with some reluctance that Harry complied. What on earth had created that reaction in Draco? Why hadn't he discovered it sooner? He was being inexcusably negligent, for all that he hadn't wanted this responsibility.

Once they were in the living room once more, Remus turned to face Harry, his face as thunderous as Harry had ever seen it. Rather impressed, and realising how inappropriate an emotion it was in the circumstances, Harry cleared his throat.

'What was that, do you think?' he asked.

'I imagine a variation on the spell that binds house-elves to their masters,' Remus said. 'Including the punishment factor, should the recipient speak out against said master.'

Harry gulped, remembering the long-ago antics of Dobby. He resolved to keep irons away from Draco and Draco away from the oven. He was struck by the irony of the situation.

'That's pretty rank,' Harry observed, and Remus was moved to nod in agreement.

'We've come up against it once or twice before, when we found another cache of prisoners,' Remus said, his face sad now. 'I'll go straight back to headquarters and look it up for you. In the meantime...make him wash, would you, please?'

'Wash?' Harry repeated, astounded. 'What do you mean?'

'Haven't you noticed?' Remus said, wrinkling his nose. 'His aroma lacks a certain appeal. Have you told him to bathe lately?'

'I didn't realise I had to,' Harry said, faintly.

'Until I know more about the spell controlling him, I'd imagine you do,' Remus said. 'If you'll excuse me, I'll see myself out.' With a small pop he Disapparated, leaving a rather bemused Harry standing on his threadbare carpet.

With a sigh, he turned his steps back to the spare room. Draco's room, he supposed it should be called; Draco looked set to be its incumbent for some time to come. Once there, he picked up what Remus had been talking about. Draco looked up at him apprehensively.

'Right then,' Harry said. 'You need to wash. So go take a bath, would you?'

'Certainly, master,' Draco said, sounding relieved. Harry rolled his eyes and frowned simultaneously. He thought it would be a terrible punishment for a fastidious person, to have to ask permission to bathe.

With a cold flush of realisation, Harry wondered if it had been used precisely to that end.

In the meantime, Draco had swung gracefully from the bed and padded out of the room. In the last few days, he had been able to tolerate having the curtains open, so Harry was confident the brightly-lit hallway wouldn't cause undue suffering.

He was almost back in the living room before a tentative 'Master?' floated down after him. Turning on his heel, Harry hurried down to the bathroom.

Draco was standing on the bathmat holding the showerhead, wearing a plaintive expression and not much else. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. It wasn't just Draco's naked body that shocked him - he had one of his own, after all - but the unexpectedness of it, and also Draco's body art.

'I didn't know you went in for piercing,' Harry remarked, trying to keep his voice light. I didn't know you could pierce there. Oh god, yuck. I will not look at it again! Oh jeez. It's like a car-crash...why would anyone...okay, Harry, belt up!

'No, master?' Draco said, and hurried on with, 'Master, I cannot work the equipment.'

Harry choked on air. 'Oh, its simple really. It's an electric shower... It's a bit tricky at first, actually. Here, I'll show you.'

Harry rolled up his sleeves and pointed at the various buttons on the console, with Draco peering inquisitively over his shoulder. Harry would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation, if he had retained the capability of laughing.

'Do you think you can work it now?' Harry asked.

'I think so, master,' Draco said, frowning.

'Good, then, I'll just be going,' Harry said, fighting not to blush. He felt mortified, yet it was Draco who hadn't a stitch on.

'Yes, master,' Draco said, pressed the on button and drenched them both with a powerful jet of water from the showerhead still grasped in Draco's hand.

A few action-filled seconds later, Harry managed to turn off the water. Blinking water from his eyes, he lifted his saturated arms and shook them tentatively. A small localised tornado of water cascaded from the sleeves of his shirt.

He looked around, grinning. Draco was huddled on the floor, clutching his head to his knees. The smile dropped from Harry's face and he knelt down on the sodden mat beside Draco. Tentatively, he reached out a hand and touched Draco's shoulder.

Draco's head rose, and he looked at Harry with an expression full of woe.

'Hey, don't look so worried!' Harry said, laughing. 'It's only a bit of water. Look - Desertify!' The air steamed as the water evaporated. 'No worries.'

'I am sorry, Master,' Draco said, blinking rapidly. 'I deserve to be punished. I am so sorry.'

'Hey, hey!' Harry protested, waving his hands in front of Draco's face. 'It was an accident! Well...if it wasn't an accident, spraying water on me is hardly alien to you, now is it?'

'I am sorry,' Draco repeated. He got to his knees and bowed his head. 'How do you want me?'

'What do you mean?' Harry said frantically.

Draco raised his head, looking uncertain. 'For my punishment, master. How do you want me?'

'I'm not punishing you!' Harry shouted, exasperated. 'Will you get that idea out of your thick skull!' He pushed Draco on the chest, to move him away, but his hand tugged at one of Draco's nipple rings by mistake. Horrified, Harry snatched his hand back, noting in consternation the grimace of pain that contorted Draco's features.

Harry exhaled slowly, and got to his feet. Moving a distance away from Draco, so that his next question could be taken in the spirit of inquiry and not foreplay, he asked carefully, 'Draco, do you, um, do you - get off on pain?'

'No, master,' Draco said breathlessly.

'Right,' Harry said inanely. So that - er - reaction he's having...must be directly linked to those piercings. One, two, three. Dark magic with a fashionable twist. Shaking his head to clear it of increasingly incoherent thoughts, Harry fumbled for the door handle. 'Please, Draco, take a shower. And when you're done, come and see me. Please.'

'Yes, master.' It was little more than a whisper. Harry turned and fled.

~

Harry sat on his bed, frantically thumbing through one of the many Defence Against the Dark Arts books he'd received over the years. He had precious little on modern developments in the Dark Arts themselves, however. He was almost relieved when a knock at the door turned him from his needle-in-a-haystack search.

Draco entered, walking lightly as a cat. He was dressed in one of Harry's old school robes, which were faded almost to grey and too long for him.

'You requested my presence, Master?' he said quietly.

'Your piercings, Draco,' Harry said. 'Can you take out the - the um, the rings?'

'No, master,' Draco said, shaking his head for good measure and opening his eyes wide.

'Okay, then. C'mere,' Harry said, with great reluctance. Draco stood before him. 'Open your robes, please.'

Draco betrayed the merest hint of surprise before his hands flew to the fastenings. His wet hair flopped over his forehead as he bent his head to the task. When he was done, he let the robes fall off his shoulders without lifting his head.

Harry gulped. This was a little more than he'd requested. Standing up, he cautiously touched one of the nipple-rings. Draco gasped a little. Harry squinted his eyes and gently rotated the ring, searching for the catch. There was none that he could see, only a smooth band of silver.

Meanwhile, Draco's breath had become distinctly laboured. Harry winced and tried to ignore it as he tried out his full repotoire of unlocking spells on the ring, starting with Alohomora. None of them had the slightest effect, unless you counted the frequent hitches in Draco's breathing.

'Nothing!' Harry said in frustration, when his inventiveness petered out. He threw himself back onto his bed, and scrubbed at his head with both hands. 'I don't suppose you can tell me how to get them off?'

Draco shook his head mutely. He had lost the power of speech somewhere around the fourth spell Harry had attempted. He also looked distinctly flushed. Harry frowned and concentrated on his duvet.

'That's it. I'll just have to owl Remus and Hermione,' he said, sighing. 'Oh, you may go. And take your medicine.'

'Yes, master.'

Was Harry imagining it, or did Draco's lips frame the word 'mother' just before he left?

~

Before Harry had even written to Remus, he received a letter from him.

Dear Harry, Remus wrote,

I have gathered all available information on this particular spell, gleaned from the research of the Healers on the prisoners. From what I can make out, it is a version of the Imperius Spell, but refined to a single item. Using this item as a sort of keystone, the caster of the spell can maintain an amount of control over the victim long after the effects of Imperius would have faded. As long as the victim keeps this item in contact with their skin, they are bound to follow the basic commands imbued in it. My guess is that Draco has some such item, and that it makes him submissive and forces him to obey only what he is commanded to do, even in the face of his own wishes.

I will continue my research, and in the meantime I would suggest you search for this keystone. And tell Draco to wash!

Yours, Remus

It was with this information in mind that Harry wrote to Hermione. The next day her owl returned with a bulky envelope.

Harry, it read,

I have heard of this keystone business. As far as I know, it is a sort of resonating stone, which repeats the instructions in the wearer's head over and over, just like when someone casts the Imperius Curse. However, unlike that curse, it doesn't clear the mind of all thought, merely the ability to contravene the instructions. It is usually in the form of jewellery that would come into contact with the skin; a bracelet, necklace or ring, for example.

When you wrote I immediately visited a library to look it up. This is, in fact, quite an old spell, used primarily in romantic situations - someone wearing a keystone wedding-ring could be made to marry the spell-caster, whether they wanted to or not - you get the picture.

There is no way for the victim to override the orders not to remove the keystone and usually it is designed so they cannot say what it is or who created it. Only the caster of the spell can remove it, and we have no idea who might have done this to Draco. They are most likely dead in any case.

Harry, the only thing I can think of for you to do is to create your own keystone and make Draco wear it. The instructions would be to remove the original keystone and then you can remove yours. I'm not sure if this would work; if one keystone can override another, and if Draco is affected by only one at a time, and the most recent on at that, it will. I've enclosed the relevant material for making one; I'm sure you'll be able to manage it, and you can owl me anytime for help. Unfortunately (for you) the keystone must be tuned to the creator to work.

Hermione

'Oh bloody hell,' Harry muttered, lifting out pages of neatly transcribed notes in Hermione's handwriting. 'Draco!' he yelled.

In an instant, Draco appeared at the doorway. He looked like he'd been for another shower. He took at least three a day; what with sleeping twice as much as normal and eating for two, Harry had taken to wondering what exactly he was compensating for. He didn't think he'd much like the answer, however.

'Read this,' Harry said, handing out Hermione's note. Draco took it wordlessly. Harry had had a brainwave in commanding Draco not to call him master; Draco rarely spoke as a result.

When Draco's eyes had skimmed the page, Harry asked, 'Well? Are you up for it? Don't say anything, just - blink.'

Draco blinked.

'Excellent, you can help me,' Harry said, rubbing his hands together. 'You're the best at Potions, so you have the honour of making the potion part.' He transferred a good half of Hermione's notes into Draco's hands.

'I didn't think I'd ever have to face into her notes again,' Draco said, with a belated, 'Sir.'

'What do you mean, again?' Harry asked suspiciously.

'Uh...you did know about the pirated version of her class notes? Nearly everyone in school used them. Sir.'

'And me and Ron thought we were unique,' Harry murmured. 'Oh, and the sir?' Draco's face brightened hopefully. 'Uh-uh.'

'Damn,' Draco said, but quietly.

~

'Now - two measures of lionfish essence,' Harry said, reaching out and not removing his eyes from the ominously bubbling cauldron. 'Quick, Draco, I think it's going to overflow!'

'Here,' Draco said, reaching around him to slop a cupful of viscous orange liquid into the cauldron. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the mixture gave one last burp and settled, slowly changing colour from dark green to metallic silver.

'Now for the hard part,' Harry muttered. Using a spatula, he scooped out some of the mixture into a shallow bowl. Clearing his throat, he touched his wand to the surface and murmured, 'Changous illeus sublima pysche.'

As he and Draco watched, a faint glow suffused the bowl. The liquid inside began to writhe, almost as if it were alive. Abruptly, it resolved itself into a circular shape and with a faint tinkle fell to the bottom of the bowl. Harry peered inside. All traces of liquid were gone; instead, a bright silver bracelet lay innocuously within.

'It appears to have worked,' Harry said slowly. He didn't look at Draco. 'So...when do you want to try it out?'

He could hear Draco swallowing behind him. 'Morning. Tomorrow morning. Please.'

'Very well,' Harry said, pleased to be able to put off using an illegal slavery spell on someone else for a little while. 'I'll clean this place up tomorrow. But for now, I feel like popcorn. Do you want some?'

'Popcorn?' Draco ventured, the unsaid 'master' hanging in the air after his words.

'You elitists miss out on so much,' Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Harry's kitchen was an eclectic mixture of Muggle and magic. It boasted a fridge, oven and microwave, in addition to a row of magical cooking books, which had been Ginny's, Hermione's and Mrs Weasley's housewarming present. Tonks had given him an ice-cream maker. The books sat in pristine rows while the ice-cream maker had died from over-use.

Within minutes, the sound of popping filled the small room. Harry laughed to see Draco jump the first time, but hurried to explain the noise when he noticed Draco's terrified face. When the popcorn was ready, Harry quickly melted some butter in the microwave and drizzled it over the steaming kernels.

Draco took his first handful with a degree of scepticism on his face. Harry's enthusiastic munching convinced him that the popcorn wasn't dangerous, but until he tasted some it was clear he thought Harry's gusto was over-rated to say the least. His eyes widened slightly as he swallowed. Soon Harry was hard-pressed to keep up to Draco's speed.

'It's a pity the TV's broken,' Harry mused. 'There's nothing goes better with popcorn than a good football match.'

'Football, Potter?' Draco arched an eyebrow, and Harry almost thought he'd come back to his usual self before he realised 'Potter' was only another way of saying 'master'.

'It's the best Muggle equivalent of Quidditch,' Harry explained. 'Dean took me to a West Ham-Arsenal match once and I was hooked.'

'That is interesting,' Draco said blandly, reaching for more popcorn. Harry bit his lip and stared out of the window. The setting sun was colouring the horizon with dusky reds and butter-flavoured oranges.

'How are your eyes lately?'

'They seem perfectly well now, thank you.'

'That's good,' Harry said. 'Not that I would worry about one of Hermione's potions working, of course.'

'No, nor I,' Draco said contemplatively. Companionably, they both reached out a salty, buttery hand for the bowl at the same time and their fingers brushed together for the merest of seconds. Harry felt slightly agitated by the contact, but Draco looked the epitome of cool, even with butter running down his chin.

'I think I'll be off to bed,' Harry said, unthinkingly wiping his greasy hand on his jeans. Draco's eyebrows met his hairline, but he didn't venture any further comment than 'Goodnight.'

It was a long time, however, before Harry could get to sleep.

When he awoke, he felt groggy. The bright sunlight steaming through his open curtains indicated that the morning was well-advanced. He stumbled out of bed, yawning widely as he pulled on some jeans. He left on the large T-shirt he slept in; one of Dudley's antiques. He spared a thought for his cousin - now an Olympic-medallist boxer - and wondered if he was still as foul as Harry recalled. He hadn't seen the Dursleys in well over four years.

He made his way to the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, to find Draco sitting at the table, bolt upright, with the bracelet in its bowl between his hands. Harry startled for a moment; Draco's face looked more intent than Harry could remember seeing it in a long time. Draco glanced up when Harry knocked against the doorframe; his eyes were resolute and grim.

'Let me have something to eat first?' Harry pleaded.

'Of course,' Draco said, returning his gaze to the plain circle of silver.

Harry silently fixed himself tea and toast, for once heedless of sticky crumbs scattered on the table. Draco's gaze never wavered and Harry felt uncomfortably aware of his jaws clicking together as he chewed. He abandoned the teapot and half his toast, too nervous to eat more.

'We should get this over with,' Harry said, shuddering. Draco seemed only slightly less repulsed; in basic terms, he was merely exchanging one slavery for another. He doubted Draco's current period of incarceration had made him any more trusting than he was naturally, which wasn't very.

Harry closed his eyes, not liking what he was about to suggest any more than the rest of what was about to happen. 'I think, for ease of - uh, removal, you should - uh - take off your clothes?' He hadn't intended to phrase it as a question, but his voice betrayed him at the last, scaling up several octaves. He cracked open one eye; he could see Draco obediently undoing his robes. Harry quickly screwed it shut again.

'I'm ready,' Draco said, and Harry wondered briefly if he spoke to qualify that he had obeyed or to prod Harry to open his eyes again. A bit of both, Harry thought. It was a slight improvement. Of course, if this worked out the way that it was supposed to, Draco would be improved beyond all measure.

Imagine calling his old self an 'improvement'.

Harry circled the table and lifted the bracelet out of the bowl. At his touch, the invisible clasp fell open. Draco held out his wrist, and, not looking up, Harry fastened the cool silver around it. He could feel it pulse slightly, as if it had become one with the clearly-visible vein running beneath Draco's translucent skin.

Harry stepped back, holding his breath. He had no idea how long it would take for his keystone to kick in, or even if it would.

All at once, Draco started blinking rapidly, as if he had a speck in his eye. The air around him glowed slightly. His bracelet shone brighter, while the three rings piercing his body dulled considerably.

When the glow faded - and Harry found his nails had gouged marks in the chair-back he was clutching - Draco shook his head. His hands rose of their own accord, unfastening the rings. One, two, three, they slid out of his skin as he grimaced, his teeth kneading his lower lip. He dropped them onto the floor. On impulse, Harry picked them up and put them in his pocket.

It came to him, as he straightened, that Draco, standing naked and vulnerable before him, was now in his total power. Harry was his master in a way that not even the rings had made him. A touch to the keystone would change its instructions; he could make Draco throw himself off the cliff outside. He could make him grovel before those he had once taunted, whose lives he'd made miserable, before whom he had flaunted his wealth and bloodlines as if they were a personal achievement.

He could make Draco pay.

Shivering, Harry reached out and pulled the bracelet off, shoving it into his pocket on top of the other keystones. He waited.

Draco lifted his head, and Harry sucked in his breath. Animal anguish painted his features. With a roar, he swept the breakfast things from the table, in a huge clatter and tinkle of breaking crockery.

'Well,' Harry said stupidly, 'I never did like that jug.'

He and Draco stared at one another for a minute, Harry cautious to an extreme, Draco red-faced and panting. Draco's hands slowly balled themselves into fists and he suddenly punched the wall with great force. He repeated this over and over, until Harry saw that he was leaving blood on the wall with every thrust. At last, he sunk his head against his hand and slid down the wall to huddle up, much as he had done in the bathroom that time.

Harry knelt beside him, biting his lip. 'Draco?'

'Don't touch me!' The voice was hoarse, but the threat was not an empty one. Harry backtracked several inches.

'I won't,' Harry promised. 'Anything else you'd like to throw or maim? I've got a lovely set of books up there if you're interested.'

'I wouldn't maim books, Potter.' Draco still sounded as if he'd screamed for hours, but the old disdain was back, and then some. 'Go away.'

Making a face, Harry got to his feet and obeyed. He didn't like being told to leave in his own house, but neither did he want to spend any more time in an enclosed space with Draco. He seemed to be having some sort of delayed reaction to the first spell. Sympathetic and all as he was to Draco's plight, Harry wasn't suicidal.

Harry milled around aimlessly for a while, opening books but not seeing a word. Eventually he paid a visit to his broom shed, and absorbed himself in polishing his Firebolt.

After a few hours he ventured inside. Draco was curled up in his bed; the curtains were closed and Draco had attempted to make the room even darker by stringing a blanket from the curtain rail. He was swaddled in bedclothes, but hadn't made any effort to dress himself further.

'Well, Draco,' he said bracingly. 'How are you feeling?'

'Like shit,' Draco said, quite strongly, considering his mouth was muffled by blankets. His head reared from his nest like a blonde sea monster from the deeps. 'I never said you could call me Draco.'

'Oh,' Harry said, feeling wrong-footed. It had seemed the most natural thing to do at the time, especially to equalise their status.

'Now if you would most kindly sod off,' Draco added.

'No,' Harry said stoutly.

'So what, you're just going to sit on my feet until they go dead? That's kind of you.'

'Dra - Malfoy, did it work?' Harry said in desperation. 'My keystone -'

'Yes, your slave stone worked,' Draco spat, sitting up further as his cheeks flushed with anger. 'I bet you just loved that, having power over me -'

'It was the only thing we could think of!' Harry shouted. 'Considering you refused to tell us how else we could do it -'

'Ever had red-hot needles being shoved under your fingernails, Potter?' Draco said venomously. Harry blanched. 'Ever had someone repeatedly shove a broom-handle into your stomach? Ever had someone pull out your eyelashes as you screamed? Ever -'

'Shut up!' Harry yelled in horror.

'Thought not,' Draco said, sounding satisfied and looking deadly pale. They stared at each other, facing an impasse.

'I just want to sleep,' Draco said piteously, breaking the silence first. 'If you want to help, and I'll assume you do because I'm in your house and you're a Gryffindor, bring me some Dreamless Sleep potion.'

'Fine,' Harry grated out. He Summoned the flask from the kitchen. As soon as Draco had it in his hands, Harry turned on his heel and left.

~

The next few days fell into a pattern. Draco would wake, eat and take a sleeping and Dreamless Sleep potion, before falling into a stupor once again. Harry would mooch, and occasionally go and weed the garden by hand with ferocious concentration. He only visited Draco when he was asleep.

About a week after the keystone incident, the day dawned scorchingly hot. Harry, kneeling in the dirt, had a sneaking suspicion that the back of his neck was getting sunburnt. In spite of it, he went on, pulling up as many daffodil bulbs as he did nettles.

If he had envisioned it, sweaty, dirt-smeared and on the point of heatstroke was not how his next encounter with Draco was supposed to go. However, it was at this point that Draco decided to make his debut in the garden, dressed in two sets of robes, Harry's waterproof anorak and a blanket across his shoulders like a very ugly pashmina.

'God, Malfoy, feeling the chill there, are you?' Harry said, pivoting on one knee and using his trowel as leverage.

'Descending to the level of handyman, I see,' Draco sneered. 'Always knew you wanted to follow in that oaf Hagrid's over-sized footsteps.'

Harry subdued an urge to garrotte Draco with his trowel. Furiously, he tore at the earth with it, sending great sods of earth flying into the air.

'Taking your anger out on soil is a little unfair,' Draco said dryly, from behind him. 'It can't fight back.'

'It was it or you,' Harry snarled. 'Christ! I wish I'd left you in Mungo's to rot.'

As soon as he'd said it, he knew it wasn't true. He wouldn't have left his worst enemy in there, and Draco wasn't even that. Not quite.

He stood up, dropping the trowel. Draco looked at him with a faintly amused expression, due to the fact that Harry's hair was full of dirt.

'Look, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for,' he said tightly.

'If you're going to start apologising for your past actions, Potter, may I make you a list?' Harry ground his teeth. 'Better. You're far too easy to rile, you know.'

Tossing his wet blonde hair - it reached the middle of his back now - Draco wandered off to sit on the garden bench. Not knowing quite why, Harry followed him.

'Malfoy,' he said, at the same time as Draco said 'Potter.'

Harry rushed on. 'I'm here to help you, for better or for worse. So, can you just - work with that?'

'Help me, eh?' Draco said musingly.

'Yes,' Harry said.

'I don't think you can help, Potter,' Draco said, dismissing him.

'I can try!' Harry flared. 'God knows nobody else is going to.'

'How typically Gryffindor of you,' Draco sneered. 'What would you like me to do? Tell you everything that's happened to me?'

'If - if you want to,' Harry said.

'No, thank you,' Draco said, sniffing.

'Who gave you those slave stones?' Harry asked.

Draco glared at him. 'Rabastan Lestrange.'

'Holy shit.' Harry whispered.

'Three holes, to be precise,' Draco said, with grim amusement.

Harry winced. 'Why on earth?'

'Use your imagination, Potter.'

'Oh,' was all Harry could find to say for a moment, before he barrelled on with, 'You can't cure what's in the past. I can't make you better, Malfoy.'

'Better than a Malfoy? Does such a thing exist?'

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. 'But we could do something about your future. Ever heard of closure, Malfoy?'

'No.'

'Look.' Harry delved into his pocket and withdrew the three rings and the bracelet. 'You need to get rid of these so you can move on. What do you want to do with them?'

Draco's face had contorted on seeing what was in Harry's palm. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded strained. 'As far away as possible.'

'I have just the thing,' Harry said, grabbing Draco's hand with his free one and pulling him to his feet. 'Come on.'

'Where are we going?' Draco demanded, stumbling along behind Harry with his wrist in a vice-grip.

'You'll see.'

A few minutes' walk brought them to the edge of the cliff.

Draco glared at Harry, looking slightly green.

'Vertigo,' Harry said carelessly. 'Keep hold of my arm. You won't fall.'

'Falling...is the least of my worries,' Draco informed him, at the same time trying not to open his mouth.

'Here.' Harry reached for Draco's other hand and pushed the jewellery into them. 'Throw.'

Draco stared down at the objects in his hand before whirling his arm back and heaving them into the seething waters below.

The force of his throw sent him staggering off balance. Harry wrenched him backwards and they ended up face-down on the grass, feet from the edge of the cliff.

Draco retrieved his arm from where it had become trapped beneath Harry's stomach.

'When they say live dangerously, I don't think you're meant to take it as a life motto,' Draco said unsteadily.

'You're the one who fell over,' Harry pointed out. 'You could've broken your fall here or in the sea, and I didn't feel like fishing you out.'

To his surprise, Draco began to laugh. 'They're gone. They're really gone.'

'Yes, Malfoy, state the obvious.' Harry got to his feet and extended a hand to Draco, hauling him up unceremoniously. 'What do you feel like for lunch?'

~

When Harry woke, it took him a few moments to realise the fact. In his dream, Hermione had been crying because someone had stolen her copy of 'Hogwarts: A History'. He sat up in bed when he realised her tears had translated into a real-life expression of grief, a heartbreaking sound of huge, shuddering gasps.

Harry rolled out of bed, scrubbing his eyes. He pushed open Draco's door and padded across the room to the bed. Draco was stretched full length along it, with the sheets tossed back; his head was buried in the pillow, which his hands were clutching, and his bare shoulder blades shook with sobs.

Deciding not to say anything and give Draco the opportunity to rebuff him, Harry sat down on the floor next to the bed. He slid a hand under the pillow and twined his fingers around Draco's clenched fist.

Draco's entire body stiffened, but Harry hung on resolutely. After a moment, Draco relaxed slightly. His hand allowed Harry's to encircle it, but itself didn't loosen its death-grip on the pillow. His sobs continued, but the gaps between them gradually became longer. Harry drifted off to sleep before Draco had completely stopped, and woke next morning with a stinging crick in his neck and wrist.

The next night, Draco curled his thumb around Harry's, and when his breathing became particularly straitened Harry squeezed it reassuringly.

The third night, Draco was lying on his back, his face wet with tears. When Harry slipped into the room, he wordlessly held out his hand.

By the end of the week, the uncomfortable position kept Harry from sleep for a long time after Draco's weeping had quieted. It was then he was introduced to the nightmares.

Harry could remember his own nightmares and that they had involved a lot of thrashing around and yelling in his sleep. By contrast, Draco became as rigid as if someone had cast a Petrificus Totalus on him. His hand tightened almost painfully around Harry's. Little shudders ran down his body and his face became slick with sweat. His mouth worked frantically, but as Harry leant forward all he could catch was fragments of some internal dialogue.

'Please...please no... it hurts...please don't...it hurts...it hurts...'

Harry felt sick. Hating himself after what he had just heard, he brought his hand back and delivered a sharp slap to Draco's cheek. Draco's eyes sprang open.

'Sorry,' Harry whispered. 'You were having...'

'You apologise too much, Potter,' Draco said, his voice shaking.

'Didn't you take any Dreamless Sleep potion?' Harry asked.

'You've run out,' Draco said, shrugging.

As Draco fell asleep once more, Harry sat in the darkness, thinking hard. On the one hand, Draco's dream world wasn't a very nice place. On the other, it was clear that Draco was refusing to think about his past in his waking hours, and if the only way to rid him of it was in his sleep, then so be it.

The next night, Harry came into Draco's room when he went to bed. Instead of a glass of Dreamless Sleep potion, he brought a couple of pillows and a blanket, which he set on the floor near the head of Draco's bed.

'I thought you were ordering more potion for me,' Draco said. Feeling like a total bastard, Harry shook his head.

'I - I can't let you put it off any longer,' he managed. 'Dealing with this, I mean.'

Draco stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Then he turned his face to the wall.

With a sigh, Harry sat on the floor and leaned his head back against the bedpost.

He was awakened by throat-tearing screams. As he jerked himself out of sleep, he reflected grimly that this was more like it. Draco was thrashing around on the bed, bawling his head off. In between yells, Harry could make out the words 'cold', 'hurts' and 'help'.

Harry flung himself over Draco's heaving chest, restraining his flailing arms. Roaring over him, he called his name.

'Draco! Malfoy! Wake up! It's only a dream!'

Draco shuddered awake. He looked up at Harry's face, hanging above his own, concern written across his features.

'Dreamless?' he managed. 'Please?'

Sorrowfully, Harry shook his head.

With surprising strength, Draco thrust Harry away from him and curled his body up tightly. Harry crawled back onto the floor, massaging his nose where Draco's elbow had slammed into it.

Draco held out for five more nights. On the sixth, his hand hit Harry in the side of the head when he reached out for him.

Harry took it anyway.

~

Harry rotated his neck, trying to soothe away the kinks. He knuckled his back and glanced down at Draco, who was still fast asleep. His face in slumber was peaceful, belying the emotional storm of the earlier part of the night.

Trotting down the hall in his nightwear of boxers and XXXXXL shirt to brew some coffee, Harry passed the living room, with its mutinously blank television, and frowned. TV programmes were an excellent distraction, and heaven knew but Malfoy could do with some of that. He had resolved that it needed to be taken to the electrical shop in the nearest town for repairs, but in the month since Draco's arrival he hadn't left the borders of his own land. Perhaps it was time for Draco to mix with his fellow humans again.

By the time Draco had joined him in the kitchen, Harry had made up his mind. Shoving a mug of coffee toward his companion, he announced, 'Malfoy, we're going into town today to get the TV fixed.'

Draco opened his eyes wide and took a large sip of coffee instead of answering. He almost immediately coughed it back up, eyes watering. Harry noted that the lavender rings under his eyes were slightly smaller than usual.

'Potter, you nitwit, there's not even one spoon of sugar in this!'

Harry shook his head, not interested in Draco's sweetener-related complaints. 'Did you hear me?'

'I heard you,' Draco said sourly, reaching for the sugar basin and tipping it into his mug wholesale.

'I could get you some robes too. Some that fit.'

'These are fine,' Draco said defensively.

'That's a turn-about for the books,' Harry remarked. 'Yesterday you said if I tossed them out in a skip even beggars wouldn't wear them.'

'Fine!' Draco snapped, slamming his mug down on the table so that coffee slopped all over his fingers. 'Bugger, that was hot.'

'I thought we could go about ten,' Harry said, ignoring Draco's martyred expression.

Draco wrinkled his nose exaggeratedly, licking coffee off his fingers. 'Watch me not caring about your stupid plans.'

'For Merlin's sake, Malfoy,' Harry remonstrated. 'Did your emotional development stop at age sixteen?'

Draco snarled, and stalked out of the room.

Heaving a sigh - Draco chucked these wobblies at least twice a day - Harry calmly made himself a bowl of cereal and toast, which he consumed at his ease. Banishing the empty plates to the sink, he arose and stretched, before rubbing his stomach and making for his bedroom.

Thinking that he should make some attempt to conciliate Draco before taking him out in public, as otherwise the results could be on the atomic side of explosive, he knocked gently at his firmly shut door and let himself in.

Draco was sitting on the bed, his hands clasped around his knees, staring at nothing. Harry was struck by how his face resembled the expression Harry had first seen on it, that day at St Mungo's.

'Malfoy,' he said gently, sitting beside him and patting his hand.

Draco looked very much as if he'd like to flinch away, or hit Harry, but he did neither of those things. His fingers moved slightly beneath Harry's, weaving themselves around Harry's finger-joints.

'I always found that when there's something you don't want to do, imagining how you'll feel when its all over helps,' Harry said, with forced jollity.

'But will it ever be over?' Draco asked, his voice small.

'Of course,' Harry said, fighting to keep his voice light. 'In two hours, max, we'll be back here, with some nice robes you've picked out on your own and maybe a working television.'

Draco smiled without humour. 'Potter. Always floating along on the surface of life. You love to pretend there's no sharks in the water, don't you?'

'I don't have a clue what you're talking about half the time, Malfoy,' Harry announced. 'But if you could let yourself be happy with the small things, like new clothes, I don't see how that could make things any worse for you.'

Draco's fingers tightened around Harry's hand, but his gaze didn't waver. 'This is silly. You may call me Draco.'

The sure voice slipped at the end, and Harry wondered at his own haste to reassure the man who once he would have cheerfully fed to the Giant Squid.

'It would be a little -' Harry fumbled for a word. Friendlier? They weren't friends. Nicer? Nothing in this surreal situation came near niceness. Comfortable? In a house of nightmares and endless mysteries, that was unlikely. '- Thank you, Draco.'

'And maybe you should think about moving your bed in here or something,' Draco said, and his lips curled. 'Otherwise you'll end up with a spine like a banana.'

'I'll take it under due consideration,' Harry informed him, leaping from the bed with Draco's hand still attached to his own like a limpet's security blanket. Draco stumbled into his back, with a faint exclamation. Harry tipped his head back and laughed at Draco's prissed mouth, suddenly feeling extremely giddy.

'Market Fenworth, here we come!' he whooped, and charged out the door, dragging Draco behind him.

~

Harry watched complacently as Draco sat on the couch and rifled through his carrier bags with a rapt expression. Harry pretended to fiddle with the remote every time Draco glanced across at him.

The day had gone off quite well, all things considered. Harry had got a replacement television while his inoperative one underwent screwdriver surgery. They had visited the one, small wizard's outfitters in the town, and Draco had cleared out Harry's stock of Galleons in purchasing the most expensive robes there.

Harry had felt light-headed all day, but the twisting feeling in his stomach whenever he saw Draco's hard grey eyes lighting up as he spotted another outrageously-priced item convinced him it wasn't an illness curable by any of Hermione's potions. He found himself missing the shape of Draco's sharp knuckles in his palm. Although Draco's collected calm was a shaky façade at best, his occasional comments were to Harry what a perfectly declaimed soliloquy is to a Shakespeare buff.

He had a sinking suspicion that he was starting to feel something more than dispassionate concern over Draco's plight. He was walking on thin ice, but the sight of Draco's hair falling in his face set off too many pleasurable sensations for him to take heed of the warning signs.

'Potter, you've been staring at me for five minutes,' Draco said, sounding impatient but not angry. 'What? Is there spinach in my teeth or something?'

'Nun - No,' Harry said, clearing his throat. 'I was just wondering...do you want to cut your hair?'

Draco's hand went to his locks, which fell over his shoulder now. 'Oh, no, of course I don't.'

'Oh. Fair enough,' Harry shrugged. He wasn't blind to the fact that Draco's hair made him look like a Sixties throwback, but if Draco liked it...

'I love that you are so completely impervious to sarcasm,' Draco said. Harry started and blushed at the word 'love'. Draco shot him a sharp look, and Harry frantically tried to get a hold on himself. 'Of course I want to cut it, but I don't have my wand and you don't seem to have one sharp knife or pair of scissors in this entire house.'

'Right,' Harry said, tactfully omitting the fact that he himself had orchestrated their removal from Draco's vicinity. 'I'll go get my wand, then.'

Hurrying from the room, Harry banged his knee off a table on the way out - Draco's fixed, appraising look discomfited him greatly.

When he returned with his wand and a battery-powered razor, Draco was standing in the middle of the floor half-naked. Stifling a gasp, Harry purposefully hit off the doorframe, hoping to alert Draco to his presence.

Instead, Draco leaned down to pick up a dark-blue robe from the couch and began to put it on, smoothing it down over the boxers he was wearing underneath. His long, narrow feet were bare amongst piles of discarded clothing.

'You could try hanging things up,' Harry said, rather glad his faint exasperation balanced his raging hormones somewhat.

'Oh, you're back,' Draco said, turning to face him with his robes still undone to the waist. Harry grimaced; his few unaffected brain cells were under deep threat from the majority of his brain, which was suffocating with lust.

'This doesn't work?' Draco said, lifting his hands to undo the few tied buttons. 'I could try the green -'

'No, no, that one's perfect. Leave it on!' Harry barked. Draco lifted his eyebrows, but complied.

'That vehement, it must be good,' he muttered, and Harry busied himself with his wand to hide a rising blush. He gestured for Draco to sit on a low stool, and he complied.

Bringing a comb out of nowhere, Draco started tugging it through his long hair. Taking the comb from Draco's fingers, Harry slowly dragged it down through his hair till it reached the nape of his neck. Biting his lip in concentration, he lifted the trapped strands and dragged his wand across them. The feathery off-cuts floated away, light as a dandelion clock. Some fell down the collar of Draco's shirt, and he shivered. Harry swallowed.

Almost hypnotically, he continued to comb and cut, lifting the pale tresses and running his fingers through the cut strands to loosen any stray hairs. When he had got them all to a uniform length around Draco's ears, he turned on the razor and carefully shaved around the nape of his neck. Draco wiggled.

'That tickles,' he complained loudly.

'It'll do more than tickle if you don't stop moving,' Harry threatened. 'It'll cut your bloody ear off.'

Draco subsided with a 'humph' and held his neck taut for Harry. The urge to stroke the stretched muscles made Harry finish up quickly, nearly bounding back from Draco with the razor still whirring. Shutting it off, he gestured for Draco to stand up.

'Well, I think it's an improvement,' Harry said, after a quick glance.

'Now its your turn,' Draco said, smiling evilly.

'I don't need a haircut!' Harry bleated.

'Don't you own a mirror, Potter?' Draco shook his head. 'You always need a haircut.'

Protesting all the way, Harry was shoved onto Draco's seat. Wielding Harry's wand with a manic glint in his eye, Draco attacked his head with the comb, making Harry cry 'Ouch!' repeatedly.

'You have more tangles than...Granger on a bad day,' Draco told him, yanking his head back as the comb caught on a particularly stubborn knot. Harry swallowed another exclamation of pain, wondering if this was some obscure way of punishing him for his guilty pleasure in cutting Draco's hair.

This was put to the lie when Draco finished combing and efficiently began trimming his hair. His long fingers moved with skill through Harry's hair, dividing and lifting the hair and occasionally massaging his scalp. Harry swallowed repeatedly, hoping Draco wouldn't notice.

'There!' Draco said, tugging hard on a single strand and making Harry gasp. 'I knew it couldn't be hard if you could do it.'

'Thanks,' Harry managed, scooping up the razor and glancing frantically around for his wand. His circumnavigation of the room ended up back with Draco, who was balancing his wand on the tips of his fingers, looking faintly amused.

'Thanks,' Harry muttered again, and directed a Vanishing charm towards the clumps of hair littering the carpet. He could feel air on his ears, no longer hidden by tufts of hair, and the sensation made him feel cold and strangely naked. He left with the excuse of putting away the razor. Behind him, Draco turned his attention back to the wickedly expensive items now strewn across the floor.

Harry lingered in his bedroom, lying on his unused bed for a time and staring unseeing up at the ceiling. His mind was in turmoil and his insides twisted whenever his thought-path hove near Draco. The exquisite pain the memory of him produced was at once exciting and alarming. Even if he disregarded the long and painful history between them, a history littered with insults, cruelty and bad blood, it would not be wise, not wise at all, to fall for someone under his care, someone who had, moreover, been brutally abused in the recent past. What with all this angst clogging up his neurons, Harry barely had a worry to spare for the fact that Draco was male.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when said recipient of all his recent hormone-damage plopped down beside him, very nearly giving him a dead arm in the process.

'Nice place you've got here,' Draco said, resting his head on his palms and using his hip to nudge Harry over. 'I think the Cannons poster must be a real lady-killer, huh?'

'Ron gave it to me,' Harry said, turning bright pink for no particular reason. He had a sudden urge to tear up the poster and offer its tattered remains to Draco on a silver platter.

Draco rolled over onto his stomach. Harry's entire left side was now pressed up against him, and Harry thought he might pass out from respiratory failure. Either Draco was utterly oblivious of the effect he was having on Harry, or he was aware of the situation and working it to his own malicious ends. Harry couldn't decide which was the more unbearable prospect.

'So, are you going to tell me how to turn on this famous tee-vee anytime soon?' Draco asked, propping his chin in his hand.

'Oh, sure, shall we go now?' Harry said in relief. Draco frowned at him.

'Hold your horses, Potter, we need to put away my clothes first.'

'We?' Harry asked incredulously, not sure if the sudden deepening in his voice was due to amusement or the way Draco's freshly-cut hair fell across his cheek as he gazed winningly up at Harry.

'Oh, Harry, you will help me, won't you?' he drawled sarcastically. 'Please, please, say you will! Oh, do!' He clutched frantically at Harry's shirt. Harry almost passed out, and strong-armed him away with indelicate haste.

'Fine!' he growled, rolling away from Draco and ending up with most of his body on the floor. Draco promptly sat on his legs, leering down at him.

'I knew you'd see sense, in the end,' Draco said smugly, drumming his bare heels against Harry's hip as Harry snarled impotently. 'But before we leave, we need to talk about the bed situation.'

'What bed situation?' Harry asked, letting his head flop back onto the shag-pile in despair.

'Look at your door,' Draco instructed. 'We'll never get this bed through it. So, how did you get it in?'

'I don't know,' Harry said, rather impatiently, 'I bought the house fully-furnished.'

'Where will you sleep, then?'

'What do you mean, where will I sleep? Until you go, on the floor beside you, I imagine.'

Draco leaned forward to study Harry's face quizzically. Harry felt a blush rising for about the hundredth time that evening. 'Until I go?' Draco repeated.

'When you feel well enough,' Harry amended, wondering why he felt so cold inside at the prospect. 'You'll go back and find your friends and a home of your own. However long it takes,' he added.

'Yes,' Draco nodded. 'It could be months.'

'It could,' Harry said, and thinking hopefully, years while a part of him quivered in fear for his state of mind. 'But until you are, you'll be here. Which brings us back to your sleeping query, I think.'

'I don't think you should have to sleep on the floor in your own house,' Draco said.

'So kind of you,' Harry muttered. Draco ignored him, but his heels became that much more pointed.

'We need to put another bed in my room.'

'Easy - I'll conjure one,' Harry said, and discovering that shrugging while practically horizontal was a rather friction-filled process.

'I don't think one would fit,' Draco said, wrinkling his nose.

'Then why did you start this pointless conversation in the first place?' Harry said in exasperation.

'Because,' Draco said, suddenly sliding down Harry's legs to sit down hard on his lap, 'I reckon you should just make mine bigger, and sleep in it with me.'

While Harry was still reeling from the double sensation caused by Draco's words and his presence in Harry's lap, Draco had hopped to his feet and headed for the door. He turned back, frowning, to glare at Harry, who was gaping like a beached whale.

'Come on, get up,' he said, snapping his fingers. 'You have a hell of a lot of folding to get through.'

~

After only one night, Harry learned better than to try and encroach upon Draco's bed space. When conscious, he had a kick like an enraged donkey and while sleeping had a tendency to thrash out at anything that seemed to be constricting or binding him. After being woken with a belt to the stomach in the wee hours of the morning, Harry made sure to keep near the wall.

As the days passed, Harry became more and more lost. Every day he woke up with Draco's face pressed into his back and Draco's hand clenched around his own. Every night, Draco would insist that Harry tell him a fairy-tale, or regale him with Slytherin ghost stories, which were the most horrifyingly gory accounts that Harry had ever heard. Harry knew Draco was afraid to sleep, afraid of the place where he couldn't ignore what he wanted so badly to ignore, and what hurt most of all was that there was no way for Harry to fix it.

During the day, they watched television, while Draco made scathing statements about the actors and presenters, or went into the garden, where Harry gardened and Draco made scathing statements about Harry's technique, or messed about in the kitchen, as Draco made scathing statements about Harry's skill with an eggbeater.

And in spite of it all, Harry thought he might just be falling in love with Draco Malfoy, flawed and broken as he was.

They were engrossed in a game of wizard's chess, with MTV buzzing softly in the background, when the doorbell rang. Harry looked up, startled, and in his distraction allowed his knight to move into the path of Draco's king. With a faint yell, the king pounced, dragging the knight from the chessboard. Draco cackled evilly.

'I'd better get that,' Harry said, getting to his feet and hearing his knees crack. He left Draco fingering Harry's prone knight, staring contemplatively at the chessboard. All magical chessboards were charmed against cheating, but in Draco's own words, that was 'only for now'.

Harry opened his door to find Hermione, Ron and Remus standing on his step, wearing identical expressions of grim determination.

'Well, hello,' Harry said in bemusement. 'What are you all doing here?'

'To check up on you!' Hermione said, sounding exasperated. 'You do realise, don't you, that it's been nearly two months since we've seen you? Weeks since you've owled? You didn't, did you?'

'Sorry,' Harry said, shrugging. 'I suppose you'd better come in.'

Ron gave him an odd look at his apparent reluctance. For his part, Harry was pale with fear at the thought of what effect their intrusion - he hardly started when he realised what he'd called their visit - would have on Draco.

He led them into the living room. Draco was still seated cross-legged on the floor, holding the chessboard upside down over his head. The pieces remained magically stuck to the top.

'Draco,' Harry said, clearing his throat. He knew he was starting to blush. The varying degrees of startlement he read on his friends' faces at the familiar way he said the name wasn't helping. Draco looked up and seemed to freeze. Harry desperately tried to project thoughts of calm and safety in his direction.

It seemed to work, for Draco relaxed again and lolled backwards bonelessly, discarding the chessboard. Helpless as a deer caught in headlights, Harry could only stare at him.

'Hello,' Draco said. 'Do sit down. The floor is utmostly comfortable, I assure you. Harry seems to be struck dumb, but I'm sure you know that this is a regular occurrence.'

'Malfoy,' Hermione said, sitting on a sofa and patting the space beside her, while glancing quickly at Ron. Remus had taken a seat in his usual wingback chair and only Harry was left unseated, feeling awkward and unbalanced.

'You seem well,' Hermione added, after a minute pause, during which Ron dropped down beside her.

'Thank you,' Draco said. Harry was sure no one else could have spotted the edge of hysteria hiding in the corners of his mouth. 'Healthy country living would turn even Salazar himself, I imagine.'

The colour in Draco's cheeks was deepening and he looked about ready to babble himself into a fistfight. Usually when he got like this, Harry would order him to take a cold bath, or coerce Draco to run laps around the house with him. It was hardly a feasible solution in the circumstances, however, and he blinked furiously at Draco, trying to telepathically tell him to take a few deep breaths.

'Harry, mate, do you have something in your eye?' Ron asked in concern. 'You're blinking like mad.'

'No, no, nothing,' Harry said hastily.

Hermione cleared her throat, and for some reason started to blush. 'To be honest, Harry, we came here because we have something to tell you.'

Harry narrowed his eyes. Hermione was extremely pink, and Ron's ears were heating up. They were holding hands. Suspicion began to dawn on Harry.

'Ron and I, we're getting married,' she said in a rush, smiling.

Harry stared at them, dumbstruck. Hermione's smile faltered a little and Ron began to look thunderous.

All of a sudden, Harry burst out laughing. He laughed so much he sat straight down on the floor. Through his crinkled eyes, he saw Ron and Hermione begin to laugh too, probably out of relief.

Ron came over to give him a hand up, and in a moment the three of them were squished together in a tear-smeared, giggling group-hug. After a second, though, Harry started and raised his head. Draco was at the door. He caught Harry's eye, smiled briefly and slipped away. Feeling now was not the time to go running after him, Harry stayed where he was, but his heart was no longer in it.

After what seemed like an eternity, he offered in a jovial voice to go dig out the champagne left over from one of his parties. With much back-slapping and sporadic cheering, Ron and Remus agreed, and Harry gratefully exited.

He retrieved a dusty bottle from the cupboard under the sink and while doing so reflected that it seemed a very long time since he'd held a party - a long time, in fact, since there had been anyone other than Harry and Draco in the entire world.

He didn't realise that Hermione had followed him until he turned around and nearly died of fright to see her leaning casually against the countertop. She eyed him shrewdly.

'Just need to find the cork-popper,' he said, wondering why he felt so nervous. He wished he knew where Draco had wandered off to.

'Oh Harry, you complete Muggle,' Hermione said, pointing her wand at the bottle without releasing him from her gimlet gaze. With a fizzing sound the cork shot out, trailing bubbles.

'Put that down for a second,' Hermione instructed. 'I want to talk with you.'

'What, right now? Don't you want to celebrate?' Harry said, smiling uneasily.

'Soon,' Hermione said. She bit her lip, then said, quietly, 'You love him, don't you?'

'What?' Harry yelped, dropping the bottle in surprise. How could she have known? He'd taken pains not to make it obvious - and now -

Snapping out her wand, Hermione caught the bottle with a levitating spell just before it hit the ground, and floated it safely back onto the table. She crossed her arms.

'I thought so.' She shook her head, looking worried. 'Oh, Harry. It's not wise.'

'I haven't done anything yet!' Harry snapped, feeling inordinately riled.

'Oh, no. Oh, Harry. I am so sorry.' Hermione moved forward, catching Harry's face between her palms. Neatly trapped, Harry frowned at her.

'What do you mean, sorry?' he said.

'He's going to hurt you,' Hermione said softly, her eyes full of pain. 'He won't mean to - or rather he will, he's Malfoy. Hurting people amuses him. But he'll break your heart, simply because he won't know what to do with it.'

'Oh, lay off the American psychobabble, please,' Harry snapped. 'For crying out loud! Nothing has happened. Nothing - nothing will happen. You're just borrowing trouble.'

'Am I, though?' Hermione released him and stepped back. 'I saw the way you looked at him. Like he was the light and you were the moth. I don't think he realises. He certainly wouldn't know what to do if he did.' She took a breath. 'He hasn't yet told you what they did to him, has he?'

'No,' Harry said, after a time. 'But I've guessed most of it.'

'Then you see, don't you, why you can't do this to him.' Hermione's pleading eyes were huge in her face. 'You've managed to heal him beyond all we thought possible. You cannot, Harry, you cannot confuse him by trying to make him your lover as well as your - your patient, I suppose. He badly needed some boundaries. Now you've given them to him it would be cruel to take them away!'

'What do you know about cruel?' Harry demanded.

'What I've learned second-hand,' Hermione said solemnly, refusing to rise to the bait. 'Second-hand through Malfoy and people like him. The Death Eaters...they weren't kind, Harry. They didn't care much about how old their victims were, or who they were, or even what they did to them in the end. But the cruellest thing of all would be to try and make Malfoy love you when he can't.'

'How do you know he can't?' Harry shouted.

'You know why, Harry,' Hermione said, and she looked on the verge of crying. 'I think he would try. And it would kill him. He was a nasty, horrible little kid, but he didn't deserve what he got. The balance has now been repaid. He needs to leave and become whole on his own. Without you.'

'But I don't think I'm whole without him,' Harry whispered, his fingers over his face.

Hermione engulfed him in a bear hug, muttering, 'I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.'

'Hey, hey, what's all this?' Ron said cheerfully, clattering into the kitchen. 'Did you go to the vineyard for the plonk or what? And why are you hugging my fiance?'

Hermione whirled around and buried her head in Ron's shoulder, sniffing. Ron's arms came up around her. 'What's wrong?' he asked.

'I'm just - so - happy!' she choked out. Ron laughed. Harry took the opportunity to lean over the sink, scrubbing at his bleary eyes. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of a slight blonde shape in the growing dusk, sitting bolt upright on the garden seat.

Turning away resolutely, he grabbed at the champagne like a lifebelt. 'C'mon!' he said, with false heartiness. 'I'll get the glasses.'

The small party lasted until full darkness, when Remus regretfully reminded Ron that they both had work in the morning.

On the doorstep, Hermione fumbled in her copious handbag and finally retrieved a long, slim box, which she presented to Harry with a face like death.

'What's this?' Harry asked, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him what he didn't want to know.

'Malfoy's wand,' Hermione confirmed. 'And also the key to his Gringotts vault.' She stopped, before half-wailing, 'I'm so sorry, Harry!'

'Would you stop saying that, Hermione,' Harry said, in thinly-veiled irritation. 'It's not your fault.'

Hermione gulped. 'But it is, Harry. It is.' He stared at her fiercely and she quailed, but soldiered on. 'It was my idea for you to help him. I was the one who suggested it to Dumbledore. And for that,' she shook her head miserably, 'I am eternally sorry. That, I will always regret.'

She turned hurriedly and disappeared into the mounting darkness, following Ron's drunken voice, raised in song.

'...Weasley is our King!'

Harry turned over the box in his hands, listening as Hermione's footsteps receded into nothing, bringing his heart with her.

~

The sound of a door opening. The snicking as it was pulled shut.

They alerted, warned Harry, and even his instinctual reaction - to turn and see who was there, even though he already knew, would always know - was stilled. He remained motionless, sitting as he had been for hours. The wand and the key - Draco's freedom, Harry's freedom, the end of the world as he knew it - lay upon a low table before him. His gaze was directed away to the side, away from the door. He couldn't bear to look at them.

'Harry?' Draco's voice was low and controlled, but Harry almost laughed at the realisation - that he knew him so well he could hear the bubbling worry beneath his blasé tone.

'It's very late. Aren't you coming to bed?'

Harry shrugged, or at least attempted to. It seemed like far too much of an effort right now. After a desultory movement of one shoulder, he sunk back into pathetic lethargy.

'You're drunk, aren't you.' Draco sounded relieved now, and almost amused. 'Do you tend to sleep in odd places when you are? I know I once ended up in Pansy's wardrobe...' his voice trailed off as he stepped into the room. Harry knew he had seen the wand. At last, he allowed his gaze to shift.

Draco was standing in the little pool of light cast by the one lighting lamp. It threw up strange shadows beneath his eyes and chin and made his hair glow like burnished metal. He looked like a demon from one of his own stories - a beautiful, savage demon, remorseless, whose only aim was to destroy whatever they touched and whose fate was to destroy the one thing they wanted most.

He knew Draco recognised the wand. It was as essential a part of him as his own hand. Harry couldn't imagine what it felt like to have been separated from it; or he could imagine - an amputation.

Draco made no move to retrieve it, however. He merely stood there, his gaze fixed upon it, eyes eerily lambent in the odd light.

After an eternity had passed, he spoke. He sounded strained, and Harry heard him as if he were shouting from a great distance away.

'What does this mean?'

'It's your wand, Malfoy,' Harry said, darkly amused. 'Surely even you could figure that one out?'

Draco sent him a sharp look, but Harry refused to meet his eyes. If he could drive Draco away, so much the better. Harry couldn't think of any other way to achieve wholeness for Draco except at the expense of his own.

Tearing his eyes away from his wand, Draco strode over and sat down beside Harry. Startled, Harry shied away, but Draco reached out and grabbed Harry's wrists in a surprisingly strong grip.

'Why are you doing this?' he demanded harshly. 'Why are you sending me away?'

'I'm not - sending you anywhere,' Harry said through gritted teeth, trying to loosen Draco's hold on him without sacrificing his own dignity. It was a Sisyphean task. 'You need to go. You need to have your own life.'

Draco sat back on his heels, releasing Harry so suddenly he nearly fell over. 'I don't want anything more than this,' he said flatly.

Harry swallowed. He had never desired anything so much in his life as to not have to do what he was going to do next. 'What you need - is not the same as what you want,' he said, feeling something inside him shatter into tiny little pieces.

'Is that what it's about?' Draco said, quirking his head. His eyes were cold. 'You want to fuck me but you can't admit it. For god's sake, Harry.' His hands moved to his pyjama buttons, his eyes never moving from Harry's horrified face. 'You only had to ask.'

'No!' It seemed to take forever for Harry's mouth to form the word, but when it did it was in the form of a strangled scream. 'No,' he repeated, somewhat more calmly. He put out his own hands, covered Draco's with them, moved them away from his chest. 'You've got this entirely wrong -'

'Have I,' Draco said archly, and Harry quickly snatched his hands away.

'Yes,' he said, because in a way it was true. 'Draco, after all this time, I - you're very important to me. Your well-being is very important to me,' he amended. 'I sincerely think you need to progress to real life now. You have your bank account back, you can go flat-searching, look for a job maybe...you could go overseas...'

Draco's opaque stare unnerved him, making his thoughts tangle themselves up like so much knitting, forcing his tongue to stumble over the words and finally lie still.

'I very much doubt anyone is going to employ me,' Draco said dryly. 'Do you want rent or something? Is that what you're saying?'

'No!' Harry said, exasperated. 'You're not listening. Or you're refusing to hear. You have to leave. If you trust me at all, you'll leave. Soon. Next week.'

'If next week, why not tomorrow?' Draco said, rising smoothly to his feet and towering over the squirming Harry, his face unforgiving as a whirlwind.

'Draco, I'm not going to chuck you out on your ear,' Harry said lamely. 'I just think you need to start preparing yourself for the off.'

'Oh, I'm prepared all right,' Draco said. Harry looked up at him, meeting his eyes willingly for the first time. He felt all the woe and pain of this parting simmer to the surface and something in Draco's glacial expression melted slightly.

'Harry, did I ever tell you that you are the world's. Biggest. Prat,' he sighed, crumpling onto the sofa beside him and wriggling his cold toes under Harry's knees.

'On a regular basis,' Harry said, smiling. In his heart of hearts, he didn't want a hostile farewell from Draco, after everything that had passed.

He did love him, after all.

'For someone who is, after all, a helplessly heroic and truthful Gryffindor, you have awful trouble in just spitting out the bleeding obvious,' Draco added, and leaned forward to catch Harry's mouth with his own.

For one spellbinding, exquisite moment, Harry let himself be kissed. Even afterwards, he could never regret giving into the temptation. Even as his heart broke again for the knowledge that he would never again be able to taste that mouth, feel those rather dry, wonderful lips, he could not bring himself to not want it.

Draco made a humming noise of smug satisfaction, bringing his hands to circle Harry's back and press him deeper into the kiss, while Harry scrabbled at his shoulders like a drowning man. Which he was. Drowning in the most amazing sensations he had ever experienced and then Draco's tongue slipped into his mouth and he thought, Yes, I am going to die of this...

Draco cupped Harry's jaw as he broke away, panting slightly and grinning like a Cheshire Cat who'd just binged on cream. Harry shut his eyes, willing the rising dampness to fade back to the misbegotten glands from whence it came. Draco drew Harry's forehead towards him and gifted it with a light kiss.

Slowly, feeling every muscle movement as if it were the tightening of a noose, Harry took Draco's hand in his own, pressed it to his lips, and returned it to Draco's lap.

'Harry...' Draco said warningly. Harry bit his lips, hard, and nearly cut through them when his eyes met Draco's accusing ones, the accusation a thin layer over the suffusion of happy lust therein.

'Harry!' The sound rose to an almost-wail as Harry, feeling like a murderer, extricated himself from the tangle of limbs.

'Harry.' A gasp tailing a breathless sob, as Harry closed the door behind him.

~

'Harry.'

The deep, resonant baritone thrummed through Harry's ears, and he looked up blearily. He tried to remember when he'd last moved. His aching, contracted muscles opted for 'a long time ago'. He pushed his tangled fringe out of his eyes to focus through smeared glasses on the gaily-bedecked, lanky figure of Albus Dumbledore.

'Professor,' Harry said, feeling vaguely guilty. Dumbledore's perpetually cheery persona tended to have that effect on people. 'How - how are you?'

'I'm fine, thank you, Harry. However, I am worried that you are not.' His sparkling blue gaze lit on Harry's crumpled, dirty clothes and the state of the room in which he was ensconced.

Harry got to his feet, feeling several joints creaking. He winced.

'Shall we take a turn in the garden?' Dumbledore had never got the hang of asking a question convincingly enough so the person thought they might have a choice in the matter. He proffered an arm and Harry took it, trying not to breathe through his nostrils. Bathing hadn't been high on his list of priorities lately, nor had there been much air movement in his room in recent days.

Harry blinked owlishly in the sunlight, feeling a sudden empathy with the race of vampires. Dumbledore led him a brisk pace and set him down on the garden bench. The sharp sea air held a hint of autumn's chill. Harry shivered as his cobwebs were blown most emphatically away.

'When I, on Miss Granger's advice, assigned you this task, it was because I believed that Draco was not the only one who was in need of some healing,' Dumbledore began, in his thrilling voice, as Harry stared listlessly out to sea. 'I am still certain that there was a part of you that has never been whole. So many deaths in your life, a dire prophecy, a requirement for murder - Harry, since you were a boy one crisis after another befell you. It was simplistic of me, but I thought - nay, I hoped - that helping another, someone even worse off than yourself, could perhaps make you appreciate what you have. In a sense, it might even have worked. Of course, I did not forsee it turning out this way. A way that should have been obvious - particularly to me. And for that, you have my sincerest apologies.'

'You couldn't have thought it would be like this,' Harry said bleakly. 'And it's nobody's fault, because - because even if it could have been prevented, I - I don't think I'd have wanted it to be.'

'Oh, my dear boy,' Dumbledore said, his voice heavy, laying his hand on Harry's shoulder and staring out across the horizon. 'What burdens I have laid upon you, all the while thinking to lighten your load.'

'Perhaps it was fate,' Harry said, quirking his mouth. Dumbledore chuckled.

'May I tell you something?' he asked, and Harry nodded, soothed by the endless blue before him.

'Despite all that has changed with you and Mr Malfoy, despite how much you love him -' Harry's shoulder tensed beneath Dumbledore's hand, and he squeezed it reassuringly '- the chances of it hurting you both very badly indeed are still exceptionally high. You are both so young, and youth is not forgiving. Neither of you are docile of personality, and as yet neither has had the chance to mellow. Perhaps in ten, twenty, thirty years, you would reach a point where the pair of you would no longer feel the need to hurt each other because of your own pain. But I do not think you could have reached that point today.'

'We could have tried,' Harry muttered, hunching against the rising wind.

'Yes,' Dumbledore said, sounding both sad and proud. 'And damn me but if you would not have killed one another in the attempt. You know, of course, that House divisions are mere sophistry; yet, they can be a good rule of thumb in terms of judging character. By nature, those Sorted into Slytherin and those Sorted into Gryffindor are superficially opposites. In different concentrations, each member is imbued with traits that make them unattractive to members of another House. The rashness of Gryffindor is rarely valued by the cold calculation of Slytherin, and so on and so forth. However, they both have a common, underlying thread which, in certain people, makes them more similiar than they are different. There are exceptions, but the majority of the time, a mixture of two so alike ends in tragedy.' He took a deep, shuddering breath. 'Wounds decades old can still hurt, Harry, my boy. I was once in your position. A beautiful, wild, reckless girl and myself - we were in far deeper than you were when we realised how we had deceived ourselves.' He sighed again, heartfelt. 'To love a Gryffindor is to walk into a lion's den'. I believe that is a proverb.'

'What?' Harry said, startled. 'You mean to say - you weren't in Gryffindor?'

'Why, Harry,' Dumbledore laughed. 'Whatever gave you that idea?'

~

Draco dropped his - Harry's - rucksack on the sandy sward, discarding the cloak Harry had bought for him. He carefully avoided the painful thought that nearly everything he owned really belonged to Harry. Not the least of which was his heart.

Harry had been fond of this place, by the cliff, and even Draco had recovered from his vertigo after a while. The first time Harry had jumped over the side, hollering and ya-hooing like a madman, Draco's breath had nearly stopped in his chest. Ten minutes he'd spent alternating between fury and gnawing fear, until Harry emerged from the sandy path, clothes soaking, dripping from head to toe and flashing him that - now drenched - crooked smile.

It hadn't been the last leap, and Draco had resigned himself to Harry's thrill-seeking ways. He refused point-blank to indulge in it himself. The idea of free-falling helplessly into nothing went against all his innate love of control and self-command. Harry had given up cajoling, after a while, but every few days he would still drag Draco out and force him to be a spectator to Harry's dive. Draco could still feel the dread he'd felt every time - that Harry would hit a rock, be pulled under, drown and never come back, leaving Draco alone - with the added sharpness of a real loneliness tugging at him now.

He hesitated for a moment, then his intrinsic common sense forced him to discard his shoes and jumper. He wasn't a natural swimmer after all and he wasn't about to risk himself, despite Harry's assurances that the little cove was perfectly safe and too close to the shore to fear drowning in.

He took a deep breath and walked forward to stand on the edge, toes curling around the spiky marram grass. He gulped in more air, puffing up his lungs in preparation for the Scream. Harry had always described it in capital letters. A mixture of adrenalin, panic and pure, utter exhilaration. He supposed the Scream could be a good description of life with Harry in general. He wondered, yet again, how he was going to live without him.

Banishing these familiar thoughts wearily, reminding himself of the time when he, as a Malfoy, had needed no one, least of all Scarhead Potter - even though the last had never been completely true - he bounced on the balls of his feet, to psyche himself up.

Draco jumped, the Scream tearing out of his sob-torn throat.

He closed his eyes.

~FIN~