Bond DVD Extras

Extra Scenes #4, Chapter 20-Epilogue, Mostly Gloomy and Doomy

1. Day 172, Friday, March 19 to Day 174, Sunday, March 21, Various POVs, This is beyond weird, Ron thinks as he stares at the unappetizing globby sludge-in-a-goblet that is Polyjuice potion.

2. Day 178, Thursday, March 25 to Day 183, Tuesday, March 30, Various POVs, Draco's memories aren't nearly as hazy as he'd like them to be. He's considered Obliviating them.

ooooooo

Author's Notes: This was the writing equivalent of doodling, prompted by a question from Dehlia. Here you go, Dehlia :)

Day 172, Friday, March 19 to Day 174, Sunday, March 21

Ron

This is beyond weird, Ron thinks as he stares at the unappetizing globby sludge-in-a-goblet that is Polyjuice potion.

"I can't believe I'm doing this again," he mutters, and Malfoy looks at him curiously.

"Again?"

"Long story," he mutters. "Ready?"

Malfoy nods, absently fidgeting with the frayed collar of Ron's uniform, hanging a little loose around his neck.

"Right, then, let's do it," says Ron, and pulls out a hair, handing it to Malfoy as Malfoy does the same. They silently add the white and pale orange hairs to each glass and watch them dissolve.

"Bottoms up," says Ron, bracing himself. Closes his eyes, takes in a mouthful, and swallows it down.

Augh. Merlin. That. Is. Revolting.

He starts to gag and claps a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from spitting the foul stuff right back up.

"Oh, come, Weasley, stop the hysterics-" Parkinson begins impatiently, stopping as Malfoy covers his own mouth, eyes watering slightly from the foulness of the potion.

"It's really, really disgusting, Pansy," Harry says sympathetically. "They can't help it."

"How would you know?" she asks him suspiciously.

"Long story," Harry says, wincing as Malfoy shudders from the taste of the potion.

Ron chases the taste away with a generous mouthful of butterbeer, and feels the change begin. Disgusting, disturbing, and uncomfortable as hell. His face is... bubbling, there's no better word for it, and he can feel his limbs doing a weirdly simultaneous stretch and contract. He's shrinking, very slightly, and Malfoy's impeccable, finely tailored uniform starts to feel a little more comfortable. He puts his head down, holding on to the back of a chair, closing his eyes to keep the confusing stimuli down to a minimum. Last time he did this - was it really five years ago? He ended up retching over a toilet, but this time it's not so bad. There's some merit in taking a potion brewed by a Potions master rather than a twelve-year-old girl, no matter how brilliant the girl.

Finally.

He opens his eyes.

Draco Malfoy's eyesight is not quite as keen as his own, Ron realizes immediately. He can't see the details of the medicine cabinet across the hospital.

He stares at his hands, his pale, smooth, unfreckled hands, long fingers - manicured, no doubt, the vain prat. Straightens up and stares, wide-eyed, at... himself. Locks eyes with a person he dislikes, who is wearing his face and looking at him in dismay. It's disorienting - like he's here, and simultaneously there. And there's an expression on his face that he's never seen in the mirror.

"Blimey," he says, and winces as Draco Malfoy's voice comes out of his throat. His own face stares back at him in utter disgust.

"Weasley-" Malfoy starts in slight alarm at his own voice, then steels himself and carries on. "If you can manage somehow to alter your diction while you're using my voice, that'll probably help a great deal."

"Malfoy, if you can manage somehow to keep from sounding like a poncey git while you're using my voice, that would probably help a great deal too," Ron snaps, and is surprised to hear a giggle.

"Erm. Sorry," Hermione chokes out. He would snap at her too, but he can see that Harry and Ginny and Parkinson are also biting their lips to keep from snickering and he doesn't particularly feel like providing more amusement for everybody. He trades an annoyed glance with... himself, again, and all of a sudden he gets why Harry went back to Malfoy.

Yes, he'd listened to Hermione's reasoning before they got back together, and after they did he was able to rationalize Harry's actions to himself by reminding himself of everything Hermione said. And he'd worked out, all by himself, that Malfoy must not be the complete git Ron had always thought he was when he saw that Malfoy was worried about Harry's health, and when he figured out what was wrong with Harry, and when he showed he was willing to risk being disowned again to help Harry.

But this brings it home more directly. Ron knows how he feels right now, wearing the body of somebody he deeply dislikes and watching his own face and body being taken over by that same person. Ron would be willing to do this for very, very few people. Harry is one of those very few, because Harry has been Ron's best friend for almost seven years.

Malfoy is looking every bit as appalled and uncomfortable with this polyjuice business as Ron is, but he's doing it anyway. Without almost seven years of friendship with Harry to make it OK for him.

He gazes at Malfoy and knows that it's highly unlikely that Malfoy's feelings for Ron have changed. But Ron's have. The dislike is there, yes, but Ron doesn't think he'll ever be able to hate Malfoy again. Six years of insults and hatred and bad blood between them don't stand a chance balanced against what Malfoy is doing right now.

He's gone from grudging acceptance to forgiveness, Ron thinks. He'll have to talk to Hermione about it.

"All right," says Parkinson. "Draco, we'll be back at bedtime."

"Yeah, all right," Ron's voice says, with no assistance from Ron. Bloody hell, that's disorienting.

Ron shakes his head to dispel the discomfort. "Harry, are you still sure you don't want-" he begins, and Harry cuts him off.

"I'll be fine overnight," Harry says firmly.

"You're being an idiot," Malfoy comments. "You know Weasley and I are both willing to go till tomorrow."

"Too risky."

"Blaise already knows what we're doing, and I don't talk to Crabbe or Goyle or anybody else in Slytherin any more. I'm sure even Weasley could pull this off till morning."

"We'll see," Harry says, starting to get annoyed, and Ron shakes his head at Malfoy.

"Fine," Malfoy mutters, giving up, and Ron makes a mental note: his own face doesn't appear to do "pout" very well.

"Right, Weasley, let's go," Parkinson says, and Ron spares one last glance at Harry, Hermione and Ginny before donning Harry's cloak and following Parkinson out of the hospital wing.

Neville

Oh, god, Neville thinks dazedly once his skin has stopped bubbling. They've done it. He is Draco Malfoy. And Draco Malfoy is him.

Neville gulps and his eyes widen and he stares at Malfoy, not sure whether his queasiness is due to the foul potion or a sudden and severe attack of nerves.

Oh god - how is he supposed to pull this off? Malfoy has always seemed the epitome of arrogance and self-confidence to Neville, since first year. How can Neville mimic that? Malfoy is never nervous, he never feels small or insignificant. Even now, wearing Neville's own homely face and body, and he doesn't look stupid or awkward or shy. Somehow he's pulling this off.

Actually, he's not. He's too relaxed, too self-assured, doesn't look like Neville at all. For one thing, Neville had no idea his own face could ever look at anybody with as much disdain as he sees there now, as he tries to imitate Malfoy's body language and Malfoy rolls his eyes in impatience at his feeble efforts, just like Grandmother often does.

Oh Merlin. With that disapproving glare set in Neville's face, with Neville's eyes that look so much like his grandmother's, and his jaw that he now realizes looks like his grandmother's when she's angry with him... right now, Draco Malfoy currently very much resembles Augusta Longbottom. All he needs is a huge handbag and a hat with a large bird perched on top.

Neville tries to block the hysterical giggle rising in his throat, but he can't. Everybody looks at him in alarm, which quickly turns to hilarity because obviously it must be funny to them to see Draco Malfoy lose it like this, and he's trying so hard to stop laughing but he can't-

"Longbottom! Stop that!" Malfoy snaps, and that only makes Neville laugh harder. If Grandmother ever got a severe cold and her voice dropped an octave, that's exactly what she'd sound like.

"Snap out of it!" Malfoy says, and glares around at the rest of them. "It's not funny. If he can't control himself, he can't go out there, and this won't work!"

The rest of them try to stifle themselves and Harry gives Malfoy a slightly worried look. Neville's stomach drops as he realizes something. The only way Malfoy can stay with Harry is if it looks like he's not here. For that to work, Neville must go out there and pretend to be Malfoy. If he can't, and if anybody gets wind of the fact that Draco's near Harry...

Neville's hiccuping, trying to get rid of the giggles, getting a little frantic, when Malfoy grabs his shoulders and gives him a shake. He braces for an attack, and is completely blindsided by what happens instead.

"Longbottom," Malfoy barks at him. "Pull yourself together. You can do this. You were there for Harry in the Department of Mysteries, you can do this for him now." Malfoy's voice is hard and uncompromising, but there's not a hint of contempt or condescension in it, and that shocks Neville into silence. "You are not going to let him down now; you never have." Neville takes a deep breath, firmly pushing down his hysterics as Malfoy goes on. "He told you once that you were worth ten of me. Now fucking well prove it!"

Neville gulps and nods, and Malfoy lets go of his shoulder. He nods at Parkinson, who's looking a bit blindsided as well. "He'll be fine," Malfoy tells her briskly. "Just make sure he doesn't cringe or slouch. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

Parkinson nods and gestures for Neville to put on the cloak and leave the hospital wing.

"Oh and Longbottom," Malfoy adds as they get ready to go, "don't forget that most of the Slytherins would love to hex you into next year. If you act like you're scared, or ashamed of yourself, or weak in any way, they will."

Neville nods and Malfoy gives him a grim smile.

"You can do this. Now go, or you'll be late for class."

Dean

So that's what white skin looks like from the point of view of the wearer, Dean thinks dazedly as he looks at his own hands and Malfoy and Parkinson exchange a bit of last-minute information. It's startling as hell. Like every time he catches a glimpse of himself, he's surprised. He feels like he's been... highlighted.

That's a Muggle thing, Dean realizes. Something that Draco Malfoy probably knows nothing about.

He swallows hard. The Gryffindor Polyjuice Squad seemed like such a bright idea yesterday, when Ron and Hermione first proposed it. And both Ron and Neville appear to have pulled it off without a hitch. But suddenly the whole idea seems insane, because no matter how much knowledge all four of them have crammed into themselves about Malfoy's life and habits and vital information, they're crazy to believe they can pull this off without exposure for more than a day.

It's true that they don't have to worry about being overly social with the Slytherins, because Malfoy doesn't talk to them any more, but there are still a million little things that could trip them up. Like Draco Malfoy making a comment about a highlighter, a writing tool that doesn't exist in the quill-and-parchment wizarding world. Or Draco Malfoy being unable to answer a question in Potions. Or Draco Malfoy knowing more about Herbology than any Malfoy ever would.

Not to mention Dean Thomas not being able to follow a discussion about football, Dean thinks, as he stares at his own face and voice talking with Parkinson. What if Justin Finch-Fletchley or Anthony Goldstein come by to visit Harry, and Malfoy can't figure out how to carry on a conversation with them? What if he somehow lets slip his complete ignorance of and contempt for the Muggle world, when he's supposedly Muggle-born?

And what about Dean's girlfriend? What if Tracey comes to visit Harry and the person she thinks is Dean? Off the top of his head Dean can think of about half a dozen inside jokes, endearments and shared experiences between himself and Tracey that Malfoy might not know about, might not understand.

Dean had wanted to tell her about the Polyjuice Squad, because it really didn't seem right to participate in something like this and not tell her, but he was outvoted by the others. Dean doesn't blame them; Tracey's a Slytherin, Dean hasn't been dating her that long, this is deadly serious and there's no urgent need for her to know... but it still feels wrong to keep it from her. She's nothing like what Dean always thought Slytherins were like. She seems aloof and cynical from the outside, but in private she's warm and caring and things have been getting serious between them and it's just not right, that Dean should go around impersonating one of her own housemates without even letting her know. It's even less right that he allow one of her housemates to impersonate him without telling her.

What if she decides to come visit Dean in the hospital today? The thought of Tracey cheerfully dropping a kiss on Malfoy's cheek and snuggling up to him, innocently thinking he's Dean, makes Dean a little queasy. And he knows how betrayed he would feel if Tracey did something like this to him.

Well, Tracey's a Slytherin. Hopefully, if she ever finds out about this, he can appeal to her logical, pragmatic side. Hopefully she won't see his deception as betrayal, but as an unpleasant yet necessary act.

Dean gulps as Parkinson gives him a curt nod and he picks up Malfoy's schoolbag, startling himself again with the sight of his blindingly white skin. Parkinson smirks at him and Dean wonders if she just caught him flinching at his own hands.

It's only for three hours, Dean tells himself as they walk out of the hospital wing. He can do this. He may be wearing a Slytherin's face and body, but right now what he really needs is some solid Gryffindor courage.

Seamus

Oh, not cool, thinks Seamus as he watches Malfoy take his own shape. Not cool at all.

This is crazy. It's not going to work, even though Malfoy looks exactly the same as what Seamus sees every morning in the mirror, as well as perfectly blasé about Seamus' appearance. Of course; he's been doing this for two days, he's used to seeing other people wear his face. Besides, he's not the one who has to go out there and pretend to be somebody else; for the most part, he'll only be around people who are in on the scam.

Malfoy's started to talk to Harry, dismissing Seamus entirely, and Parkinson tugs on Seamus' sleeve.

"Let's go, Finnigan," she says impatiently, and Seamus follows her automatically for a few steps before balking.

It's all old hat to them, he knows; Ron's been Malfoy more often than he's been himself in the last two days, Neville's been Malfoy four times and Dean three, Parkinson has been shepherding them all through all their classes and meals - even Blaise Zabini has helped, making sure Ron didn't give himself away in the Slytherin boys' dorm last night. But right now Seamus is realizing that insisting on taking a turn was not a good idea, at all.

"I shouldn't have done this," he blurts, stopping in his tracks, and Parkinson raises her eyebrows.

"Excuse me?"

"I - I can't do this, it's not going to work," he says.

"Bloody hell, Finnigan," snaps Parkinson, and Malfoy looks over at them. "We don't have time for a pep talk."

"Problem?" Malfoy asks, and Seamus frowns.

"He doesn't sound anything like me. And I can't sound like him."

"Which is why you're only doing this during the Astronomy lecture and dinner," Parkinson says impatiently. "You won't have to talk during either one."

"But what about him?" Seamus nods to Malfoy.

"What about me, you stupid tosser?" Malfoy asks impatiently, so close to Seamus' own accent that Seamus blinks, startled. Harry, Hermione and Parkinson start laughing.

"You-"

"Yeah, I know what you sound like, Finnigan," Malfoy says, still in Seamus' accent, totally deadpan. "Probably as well as your own Mam does. Now go on with you."

"He's good at imitations, Finnigan," says Parkinson, pushing Seamus out the door after making sure that the corridor is empty. "Does McGonagall so well you can almost see her glasses quivering on him."

"I didn't know that," Seamus admits. He did know that Malfoy enjoys imitating Harry in order to make fun of him, but he hasn't done that much this year, for obvious reasons. Besides, who knew he could do it for real?

"No, of course not," Parkinson says scornfully as they head down the corridor, and Seamus frowns at her.

"Well why should I?"

"He lived with Potter how many months? And how long did he spend in your dorm?"

"He wasn't exactly friendly."

"Neither were you."

"What?" Parkinson turns the corner and they head out into a busy corridor. "What are you talking about?" Seamus asks. "I was friendly."

Parkinson snorts cynically, then smiles and leans closer to him and he's momentarily disoriented. "Draco, come on, we don't want to be late," she says, raising her voice slightly, and he's totally thrown off during the second it takes him to remember just what it is they're doing. He tries to blank out his face so that the gaggle of first years walking past don't notice he's not actually Draco Malfoy. Not that any of them are looking.

"Stand up straight," Parkinson hisses through her teeth, and Seamus does his best.

"I was friendly," he mutters back at her once the little ones have gone past.

"When you weren't racing off to the loo whenever Draco and Potter got within arms' reach of each other."

"What are you talking about?" Seamus frowns at her.

"A wee bit homophobic, are we, Finnigan?"

"I'm not hom-" Seamus suddenly remembers himself and lowers his voice as a group of fourth year Ravenclaw girls walk past them, loudly arguing over an Arithmancy exercise. "I'm not homophobic," he says firmly once they're past.

"Oh of course not," Parkinson says dryly.

"I'm not!"

"Whatever you say," Parkinson says, reaching the Astronomy classroom and grasping the door handle. Seamus pulls on her sleeve and she turns around, her eyebrows raised.

"I'm not homophobic," he tells her heatedly. "I didn't mind that they were together. I just didn't see why they had to do... some things in public."

"What things? Hold hands? Snog? How horribly brazen of them."

"Look, I just don't like to see that kind of thing; it doesn't mean I think any less of Harry for doing any of it."

"You're a half-blood, right? Muggle father, witch mother?"

"Yeah, why?"

"It shows," Parkinson said dryly.

"Excuse me?"

"Muggles do love focussing on what's important, don't they. Like the colour of a person's skin, or the sex of the person they sleep with. Who cares about what they're like as a person, or how strong their magical ability is." She shook her head contemptuously. "And you wonder why we don't want your kind around."

"You're saying I didn't like watching Harry and Malfoy snogging because my dad's a Muggle?"

"Everybody knows how prejudiced Muggles are about-"

Seamus interrupts her, outraged. "Where do you get off telling me what Muggles are like?!" he almost shouts, and Parkinson starts in alarm. They both automatically glance around and Seamus breathes a sigh of relief. They're alone in the corridor.

"My dad doesn't have a problem with it," he says, lowering his voice. "His brother's gay. It's my Mam who's disgusted by it. She won't even let my dad invite his own brother into our house. And she's a pureblood," Seamus says forcefully. "So don't go making assumptions about her either." Parkinson gapes at him, momentarily off-balance. "And stop making assumptions about me too while you're at it!"

"And stop talking like the ignorant Irish buffoon that you are," Parkinson snaps back, her embarrassment turning to hostility. "Do try to remember that you're supposed to be Draco Malfoy, and try to act like it. And keep your opinions about Muggles to yourself while you're at it!"

Seamus narrows his eyes at her. The hell with this sanctimonious prejudiced Slytherin bitch. The hell with her precious Slytherin friend, for that matter. Seamus sure as hell doesn't need to waste his time pretending to be the bigoted little bastard just to keep him safe from his lunatic of a father.

"Maybe I don't want to act like him," he says belligerently.

"What?"

"Maybe I don't need to be walking around looking like a great bloody poofter who's too scared of his Dad to stand up for himself!" he sneers at her, and, infuriatingly, she smirks back at him.

"Poofter? Finnigan, are you using a derogatory term for a boy who likes other boys?"

"That's the general meaning of the word, yeah," Seamus says nastily.

"Hm... I wonder, if Potter's boyfriend's a poofter, what does that make Potter?"

Seamus glares at her. "Shut up. Harry's not like that, he's just under the bond spell. Malfoy's the one who's still with him even without a bond."

"If you really believe a bond is all that's got Harry with Draco, you're even thicker than I thought you were."

"You know what? I don't have to put up with this."

"So you're going to do what? Stomp back to the hospital wing and tell Draco to bugger off?" she says scornfully.

"Yeah! I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I don't have to do this - I'm doing Malfoy a favour!"

Parkinson sneers at him. "Oh, go ahead. Go back to the hospital wing, stop trying to hide the fact that Draco's in there with Potter. See if you can get him into even bigger trouble than he's already in, why don't you. I'm sure it'll make your day. You've probably been itching to do this for years."

"Fine," he turns on his heel and starts back to the hospital.

"And I'm sure Potter will understand," she calls out.

Seamus stops.

Fuck.

Harry.

"Right," he mutters, kicking himself for forgetting that one rather important fact. Right, Harry. He closes his eyes and reaches for patience. He's going to need it, if he's going to spend the next three hours with Pansy Parkinson, a girl who can't even see that her prejudice towards Muggles is just as bad as any supposed prejudice Seamus harbours towards gays.

Oh, this is going to be a bloody long afternoon.

Draco

He's worn Weasley's patched robes, made himself awkwardly drop a bottle of pain relief potion in front of Colin Creevey when Creevey visited the hospital during one of Draco's turns as Longbottom, tried not to blink in confusion every time he caught a glimpse of his own chocolate-brown hands out of the corner of his eye, had to force his mouth into witless Irish banter when Hannah Abbott showed up to visit Harry during a Finnigan period - even worked the word "blimey" into the conversation - and spent the dawn hours wondering if Weasley was going to blow the whole thing last night when Harry finally admitted he needed Draco to stay with him overnight.

Blaise thinks Crabbe and Goyle suspect something. Not that either is likely to figure out what, exactly, "something" means.

This can't go on much longer. He can't keep doing this. Every time Harry's asleep, Draco gets tired of the whole thing, tired of seeing nothing but the hospital wing, tired of the taste of Polyjuice, tired of spending time with only Harry and occasionally Granger or Pansy. Every time, he tells himself he's being an idiot and determines that the next time Harry awakens he's going to regretfully tell him he has to leave.

And then Harry wakes up, usually feeling ill or nauseated. And he can see that Harry feels better when Draco touches him, whatever guise he's currently wearing. And he decides to give it one more day.

One more day, and please, please, let there be some sort of cure for this. It's foolish to hope for something so impossible, but Harry's come through so many impossible predicaments before. There's got to be some way for him to get out of this, and Draco's willing to risk quite a bit - within reason - to give Harry the chance to be rescued yet again. There's got to be something that will save him.

There's got to be.

ooooooo

ooooooo

Author's Notes: Another doodling update, "five hideous days" that take place between chapter 21 and the epilogue.

Day 178, Thursday, March 25 to Day 183, Tuesday, March 30

The last thing Harry remembers is that he'd been laughing at something Seamus had said at dinner. They were at the Gryffindor table, for the third meal since they'd been bonded again, and Harry had stopped worrying what Draco was going to do with no friends or house around him because there was no point thinking about it. He'd cast his lot in with Harry and his friends, and there was no point trying to pretend anything different. He wasn't being terribly friendly to any of the Gryffindors, but that was all right; they still hadn't heard from his father, were waiting for the axe to fall in the form of yet another Prophet headline, and it was understandable that Draco wouldn't want to talk very much right now.

Seamus had just finished the punchline to his hag, hippogriff and selkie joke, and Harry had laughed and turned to Draco in time to catch a half-amused glimmer in his eyes before Draco suddenly gasped and put a hand to his chest, dropping his glass of pumpkin juice. Harry felt the shock and grabbed Draco's hand, and instinctively pulled Draco to him as if he could physically take the pain and transfer it from Draco to himself.

Draco's mark.

Draco's last memory is of tepid pumpkin juice, and an irate thought that Malfoy house elves would never allow pumpkin juice to sit until it got warm. Or perhaps he'd just noticed for the tenth time that it was odd how, even though he didn't belong at the Gryffindor table, he felt a damn sight more relaxed here than he had in the three weeks that he'd been a pariah at Slytherin. Feeling like a long nightmare of exclusion and fog that had begun the day his father had disowned him was finally lifting.

And then a burst of flame. Flame from the mark that had sat like a curse-mine on his chest ever since his father had put it there.

Hermione remembers only a slight worry over her Arithmancy test the next day, and then Malfoy suddenly gasping and a shattered glass on the floor and Harry moving lightning-fast to grab Malfoy as his eyes closed tightly and he drew in on himself, hand to his chest, Harry's arms encircling him.

Oh my god-

Fuck!

Malfoy!

What the-

Draco!

Pale faces around the table, a buzz going around the Great Hall and teachers getting up, so much like that day so long ago when they both collapsed, except this time Snape and McGonagall were rushing to the same table and neither boy was unconscious, and Snape looked half-livid and half-nauseated, unconsciously rubbing his forearm, and none of them could touch either boy, what with the bond having just been renewed. Harry murmuring quickly to Malfoy. Malfoy's breathing laboured, his body rigid, his forehead against Harry's and his eyes clenched tight.

Harry's memories of the next five days are mercifully blurred, and he hopes Draco's are even more so. The effect of the mark ranged from mild irritation to dull ache to clawing ripping agony that left Draco unable to do much more than lie shivering in Harry's arms, and he doesn't really want to remember most of that.

Draco's memories aren't nearly as hazy as he'd like them to be. He's considered Obliviating them.

Harry remembers wishing desperately, many times, that he hadn't let Draco re-enter the bond. That they'd waited just a little longer for the Healers to find some way of helping him without putting Draco in danger. He remembers being afraid to ask Draco if he regretted his decision, and rationalizing his own silence as plain common sense, because it didn't matter what Draco did or didn't regret. The decision had been made, and there was no going back.

Draco knows what Harry was afraid to ask, and he's glad Harry never asked it.

Hermione remembers feeling sickest of all at the fact that, of all the teachers, students, Healers and Aurors who bustled around or stood helplessly watching Malfoy suffer, not one person ever suggested he return to his father. Not one of them was willing to trust that Lucius Malfoy wouldn't kill his only son, or hand him over to Voldemort. The closest anyone ever came was one Auror who commented on how frustrating it was that they were going crazy trying to locate Lucius, when they all knew that if Draco accepted his summons he'd be immediately drawn to wherever Lucius happened to be.

Pansy remembers starting to develop a hex to work on Lucius. It had to do with rather a lot of pain, both physical and emotional. She didn't finish it, but still has her notes, and every so often, when she remembers Draco's ashen features and the way his sweat-soaked hair clung to his forehead as Potter held him through the worst of it, she fiddles around with her curse some more.

Both Pansy and Snape - and quite a few other Slytherins - remember the bitterness of knowing that the only reason Aurors were frantically looking for Lucius was that Draco's suffering was affecting Potter.

They remember the day an Auror started to say something about "the Malfoy boy," as they so caringly called him, and got only as far as "the-" before he stopped. And that's when they all realized he'd been disowned again.

Draco doesn't remember that; he was too busy praying that he could pass out.

A few minutes later, Draco had ripped his signet ring off again, and Harry and Draco both remember the flash of wandless magic that shattered the ring and sent white-hot pieces of it flying in every direction. They both remember one of Madam Pomfrey's bedsheets bursting into flame on contact. But Draco doesn't remember that it was both of them who cast the spell. Harry does.

Snape and Blaise and Pansy all remember how, for a while after that, Draco was "Potter's spouse" to the Aurors. Until at one point the Golden Boy overheard one of them and nearly gave her a heart attack as he suddenly rounded on her in fury, with a long expletive-peppered diatribe that ended with "And his name is DRACO!"

Snape remembers it as possibly the only time he ever felt anything positive towards Potter.

Pansy only remembers that Draco didn't hear any of it.

Blaise remembers that as the moment he decided where to cast his vote. Not so much because it was oh so romantic that dear, heroic Harry Potter stood up for his spouse and demanded he be treated with respect, but because Potter's furious involuntary magic shook the beds in the infirmary, put out a couple of candles, shattered a glass vial, and scared the living hell out of the sanctimonious Auror - and Blaise, actually - without Potter even noticing what he was doing.

Potter, Blaise decided, was scary as shit. And had maybe had more than just sheer dumb luck on his side all those times he'd beaten the Dark Lord.

Neville remembers that during one of the times Malfoy felt relatively fine, he played Dragon Rummy with Neville while Harry slept, exhausted from being up all night. And at one point Malfoy had winced and caught his breath, Neville asked if maybe he should wake up Harry, and Malfoy shook his head impatiently.

"Let him sleep," he'd said curtly, shuffling the cards. "I can deal with this on my own. I'm sure I'll wake him up screaming in an hour or so anyway." And Neville felt the way Malfoy almost always made him feel, like a bumbling, ineffective idiot.

Then he'd reassured himself that maybe he wasn't all that ineffective; if he could make Malfoy act like Malfoy, despite what was going on, maybe he was doing some good after all. He'd gone on to win the next round.

Harry remembers Draco pulling him close at one point, possibly on the third day, kissing him and fumbling with his jumper. He remembers Draco choking out, "Blow me, fuck me, I don't care which, just - God, give me something else to think about," and he remembers not hesitating before portkeying them both to their bedroom, not even bothering to say anything to Ron and the two startled Aurors who were with them in their sitting room, slamming the door shut with wandless magic, grabbing Draco and pushing him back onto the bed and proceeding to do anything and everything Draco wanted him to do. He remembers how Draco was in pain through the whole thing, how rough they were with each other, how Draco didn't even bother to prepare him before shoving into him, how much it hurt and how little he cared, as he urged Draco on. How good it felt to be with Draco even for a few moments while Draco had something else on his mind other than pain.

Draco only remembers the cool soothing feel of Harry underneath him, the brightness of his climax, the brief respite from hurt.

They both remember Pomfrey taking Draco's wand away during one of his more lucid moments on the fourth day. Only Harry remembers Pomfrey and Hermione and a couple of Order members whispering about giving Draco some kind of potion to dampen his magic, as his emotional control got more and more fragile and his magic started to manifest itself randomly and increasingly destructively. Thankfully, Snape was able to convince them to just keep trying to contain Draco's magic safely. Informed them, moreover, that dampening potions might make the rest of them safer, but would take away any defence Draco had against the effects of the mark.

Hermione remembers a Healer asking Snape if he had any thoughts on what might help Malfoy. She remembers that Snape talked for about an hour about the Dark Mark, answering every question the Healer asked, and ended up filling several parchments on the subject, much of his information based on firsthand experience. Remembers also that he didn't even flinch when he saw her reading the parchments.

They all remember brief respites when, thankfully, the torment ceased. For some of those, they figure Lucius was probably asleep. The rest were caused by various spells or potions that blocked or counteracted the effect of the mark for a while.

None were effective for long. Lucius, clever and inventive as always, had improved on Voldemort's original designs, they'd realized early on. In fact, Lucius had the power to drive Draco insane, literally - and a hell of a lot faster than they'd expected, too. And what with Draco and Harry being bonded, it was possible that Harry could very well be done in by Draco's insanity or eventual suicide. The possibility that this had been Lucius' plan all along was quietly discussed among the Aurors, though none of them was stupid enough to mention that particular theory in front of Draco. Or Harry, for that matter.

Harry remembers Draco finally breaking down around the fourth day, and remembers not being able to stop his own tears. He remembers both of them sobbing tiredly in each other's arms, and it wasn't cathartic and it wasn't cleansing and it wasn't a relief, it was just painful and exhausting and hopeless.

Draco doesn't remember much about one potion they were warned would "probably cause some regression, disorientation, loss of inhibitions," and a string of other side effects. He doesn't remember agreeing to take it, because he didn't. By that point he was in no shape to consent to or refuse any kind of treatment, and Harry was making all medical decisions for him. He does remember that the world lost all its hard edges, and he said quite a lot of things, and Harry was there.

Harry remembers everything Draco babbled about, his eyes dazed and his voice very soft.

"I love you, you know. Course you know. I don't know when that happened. My father'll be furious." Blink. "Wait, he found out, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Mm. Miserable bastard anyway. Y'know I always wanted to be like him. He was so strong. He was really nice, too, sometimes. D'you know he got me a baby dragon, when I was a kid? And he used to take me flying when I was really small. But he was such a bastard."

"I know, Draco."

"I love you."

"Erm... me too, Draco."

"Y'know I used to think you were such a git. No, I really did."

"I believe you."

"But bloody bond spell, powerful, isn't it? Can I have some water?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. Still hurts, you know. Why would he do that? If I ever have kids I'm not going to be like him. Only they'll have to be respectful. D'you ever wish you knew your parents?"

"Yeah."

"I don't have any, any more. I don't think Mum'll go against Father." Sudden frown. "Shit. You're the only family I've got."

"You're the only family I've got, too," Harry said, smiling a bit.

"That's all right, then. I dunno when I fell in love with you. I was so pissed at you, and the fucking bond. That's why I got angry that time, when we were suspended."

"Because you'd fallen in love?"

"Well no, but I was starting to like you and that really pissed me off. I'm really sorry the papers said you were abusive. When did you?"

"When did I what?"

"Fall in love with me."

"Oh. Erm... not sure." Uncomfortable pause that Draco didn't seem to notice. "Erm, I dunno, sometime around when we slept together that first time. I think."

"Wow, that's a long time. The mark hurts."

"I know."

"It really hurts."

"I know."

"Fucking bastard." Another frown. "Can you make it stop?"

Harry sighed. "No. I'm sorry."

"You can do other things, though. You're really powerful. Why can't you make it stop?"

Harry closed his eyes and held Draco closer.

"'Sokay. I don't mind. Hey, don't look like that. Think I could go flying?"

"N-no, Draco, you're - if you lost control and fell-"

"Yeah, I suppose. But chocolate frogs might be nice. Merlin, what am I, twelve? Firewhiskey."

None of them remember the last time the torment stopped, because it had stopped so many times. Stopped, only to return again, and in some ways the return was worse for the respite. Draco remembers just closing his eyes and going to sleep, knowing he'd be awakened when it began again. He thinks he was in the Gryffindor common room.

He definitely remembers waking up though, ten hours later, in the Gryffindor boys' dorm, from hunger rather than pain. Seeing Harry still asleep next to him, shadows under his eyes and three days' stubble along his jaw. Most of the other Gryffindor boys still asleep, and Granger curled up in a large armchair next to their bed, hugging a book to her chest. Weasley sitting next to her, absently rubbing her back as she slept, staring off into the distance. Glancing in his direction, automatically starting to get up to call the Healer - and then registering that Draco didn't seem to be in pain.

"You all right?" he'd said, his voice rough.

Draco thought for a moment. "Yeah," he'd said, and winced at the raw tone of his voice.

Ron remembers the other boys in the dorm waking up one by one, Seamus blearily staring at Malfoy and saying something like, "D'you think it's really over? He gave up? Or maybe the Aurors found him."

He also remembers Dean saying, with uncharacteristic obtuseness, "Or maybe he's dea-" before Neville elbowed him.

"I should be so lucky," Malfoy muttered bitterly. "If he is I hope he rots in hell."

And none of them had any clue what to say to that. Harry had said nothing, just rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, then Accio'd their towels and soap and shaving potion and tugged on Malfoy's arm, silently nodding towards the washroom and much-needed showers.

Ron still shudders when he remembers the vicious hatred in Malfoy's voice as he wished his father dead. Can't find it in himself to censure Malfoy.

Draco won't say what he felt when he was told that Lucius hadn't been arrested - or killed - by Aurors. Won't say how he felt about his father leaving Voldemort's side and going underground. Won't say whether he believes Lucius finally remembered that a father is supposed to love his son, or whether he believes Lucius had some other reason for abandoning everything he'd worked for, for over half his life. Won't admit to still worrying that some day the pain might return.

Harry's pretty sure he knows what Draco thinks and feels about all of the above. But he's never asked, and probably never will. Some things don't get better when you talk about them, some memories are best left unremembered, and some wounds can only be healed by time.