Bond

Anna Fugazzi

Story Summary:
It seems 95% of H/D writers feel compelled to write a "Harry And Draco Are Forced To Be Together By Something Beyond Their Control And Then Unlikely Stuff Happens That Leads To Twoo Wuv" story. Count me among the 95% ;)

Chapter 10 - October 29 - October 31

Chapter Summary:
Harry watched the slow rise and fall of Malfoy's chest and wondered if they were ever going to speak to each other again. He decided it didn't really matter.
Posted:
01/08/2006
Hits:
4,240
Author's Note:
Many thanks to angel of shadows, Luna6517, TearsxOfxBlood, ntfrenk, Airlady, tales, t_f_girl08, sieltjuh, Daktalakpak, LexiDevon, xsharpi, Blue Rhapsody, Dean's Darling, sangreal5678, cuteykitten, Mollys_Howler, StinaRocks0817, cass666, Tina1985s, angel of shadows, ntfrenk, orlandoorjude, zoolander, katka15, jemi89, shannonpickpocket, erased_erised, Henna Legend, freddie modesto, and opheliaimmortal for your reviews, and I really really hope I didn't miss anybody there. And as always, grateful thanks to beta!Kyllikki :)

Chapter 10

October 29 - October 31

Day 31, Thursday (morning)

Harry watched the slow rise and fall of Malfoy's chest and wondered if they were ever going to speak to each other again. He decided it didn't really matter.

He'd drifted up from a deep sleep and lain in a half-awake state for what seemed like hours thinking of nothing but the softness of the sheets and the warmth of the back of Malfoy's neck against his face as they lay spooned together, and the scents of honey, sweat, sex, and Malfoy's hair. Smelled like... jasmine, maybe? Some pleasant-smelling herb, anyway. Felt soft, too, and very fine. He'd blown on it gently, feeling it flutter against his lips, and sensed Malfoy slowly waking up but only opened his eyes when Malfoy turned onto his back. Malfoy had smiled sleepily and touched Harry's lips briefly with his fingers before sighing and closing his eyes again, one hand resting on Harry's thigh, fingertips absently moving in small slow patterns over his skin.

It was still early enough for them to make it to breakfast if they hurried. But Harry knew he didn't have the energy to get out of bed at all right now, let alone walk all the way to the Great Hall. He wasn't hungry either. And apparently, neither was Malfoy. So they lay next to each other, unmoving except for Malfoy's fingers, their breathing the only sound in the room.

A long time later, Harry glanced at the clock again. They had missed breakfast. And if they didn't get out of bed in the next ten minutes, they might not make it to Transfiguration on time. He sighed and slowly sat up, and Malfoy rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath, gathering his strength. Slowly sat up, and winced slightly.

Harry touched his shoulder, raising his eyebrows, and Malfoy gave him a small smile and shook his head, dismissing Harry's concern as he slowly stretched and got out of bed. Harry frowned as he watched Malfoy getting dressed and ready to go. Malfoy moved like he had to push himself to not just lie back down and go back to sleep. And, judging from his slightly worried frowns at Harry every so often, Harry probably looked pretty similar.

Transfiguration. That was the only thing that mattered. Getting to the class, and getting there on time. Not because they were afraid of losing points or getting another detention, but because the alternative was just lying down and giving in to their exhaustion.

ooooooo

McGonagall looked up at the slight murmur that ran around the classroom as they walked in, and immediately beckoned them over to her desk. Harry frowned in puzzlement; they weren't late. They'd barely made it, but they weren't late.

"Potter, Malfoy, Madam Pomfrey would like you two to go to the hospital. There are two Aurors that would like to talk to you."

"Aurors?" Malfoy repeated, and Harry realized that was the first thing either of them had said all morning. "Why-"

"I don't know, Mr. Malfoy. Now, run along and don't keep them waiting; they've been here since breakfast."

"Aurors," Harry said as they wearily trudged over to the hospital wing. "What for? Madam Pantere already talked to us about where the curse was set and what was going on when we walked through it; what else would they want to know?"

"Maybe get more details of the tiredness and all that," Malfoy said, rubbing his eyes. "Now that they're worried about this being something designed to hurt us."

"Malfoy... are you all right?"

"What? Yeah. Why?"

"You look terrible."

"Might not have had enough sleep last night," Malfoy sounded like he was going for dry humour but not quite making it.

"That's not it."

"I get the feeling we're about to talk about this quite a bit with the Aurors, Potter. Can we save it for when we absolutely have to?"

"Fair enough," Harry said glumly. Looked up, a little startled, as Malfoy's hand brushed against the back of his. "Yes?"

Malfoy had stopped and was looking at the floor, a little nervous. "Are... are you all right?"

"What?"

"With what happened-"

"Last night?" Harry found himself unexpectedly unable to suppress a wide grin, even through his weariness. "Absolutely. You?"

Malfoy's answering grin was all the reassurance Harry needed, and they stood there for a moment smiling at each other before looking away. Harry could feel about a dozen different emotions running through both of them, not one of them bad or unpleasant. Happiness, and surprise at that happiness. Cautious affection. A sort of shyness too, because this was all rather new to both of them.

None of which needed analysis or deeper thought. This isn't about thinking, it's about feeling, Malfoy had said a while ago, and he'd been right.

Malfoy nodded his head towards the hospital wing and they resumed walking, dropping back into companionable silence.

Oh... Pomfrey would probably want to know all about what had happened last night. And Harry suddenly realized he really didn't feel like sharing. It just felt too... well, intimate. He'd gotten used to talking to Pomfrey and Esposito about things he would've died to mention to anybody a few months ago, but what had happened last night...

It didn't have anything to do with the bloody bond spell. It did, but it didn't. What they'd done last night might have been started by the bond, might have happened only because they didn't really have a choice, but the way it had happened had to do with more than the spell. It had to do with the two of them overcoming everything they were up against and being able to build something together. Something bloody amazing. Because he doubted he'd ever forget his first time, as long as he lived, and if the emotions coming off Malfoy through the bond were anything to judge by, he doubted Malfoy would ever forget it either.

And Malfoy... that had been pretty damn powerful, Malfoy giving himself to Harry like that. He'd felt Malfoy's panic through the trance at one point, and been awed by the trust Malfoy had shown, letting Harry help him conquer it. Even after everything they'd done to each other, before and after their bond, Malfoy had let Harry help him, and then turned around and helped Harry too. Yes, a lot of that was probably due to the bonding and tranquility spells. But there was still something incredibly touching about having been able to take a boy who was feeling scared and overwhelmed and bring him back from the edge, just on trust.

And then this morning, when they'd been next to each other without needing words, without needing anything to feel comfortable and...

Bloody hell, he thought, drawing himself up short. This was getting just a little too intense. He needed to get some perspective, back-pedal a bit.

A lot of what he was feeling was only due to the bond spell, he tried to remind himself firmly. Just a spell. The feelings of trust and tenderness and togetherness - yes, they felt wonderful and genuine, but they didn't necessarily mean anything. He and Malfoy might be spouses, but they were not really friends, not really lovers. All of this could very well wear off eventually. It could.

But in the meantime... it felt unbelievable.

Oh, god, and now they were supposed to talk to Pomfrey about it. That would be sure to bring them both back to earth with a resounding thud. He thought resentfully that it was bad enough to be going through this involuntarily; did it also have to be under a magnifying glass? Because he'd really much rather remember his first time because it had been unexpectedly brilliant, rather than because he'd had to rehash every minute detail ad nauseam with the school nurse.

Maybe Pomfrey wouldn't think to ask. Maybe they'd be too busy talking to the Aurors about their fatigue today, and last night wouldn't come up. That would be nice.

ooooooo

"Harry? Are you feeling all right?" Madam Pantere repeated for the third time, and Harry started.

"Yeah-"

"No, you're not. What's wrong-" but Harry was getting up, the vague unease he'd been feeling finally coalescing into a need to do something.

"Potter-" Pomfrey said in alarm as Harry went to the partition that separated him from Malfoy and Auror Tobin, who was interviewing him. Harry pulled it open without hesitation, barely registering Pomfrey and Pantere's protests as he met Malfoy's eyes and saw barely contained anger and resentment replaced by surprise and relief.

"Mr. Potter!" Tobin exclaimed.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked Malfoy.

"Mr. Potter, kindly return to-"

"Malfoy, what's the matter?" Harry asked, ignoring Tobin.

Malfoy pressed his lips together, shaking his head, and the Auror said, "Mr. Potter, I am conducting an interview here-"

"I didn't ask you," he said rudely, his eyes boring into Malfoy's. "What the hell is the matter? You're about to jump out of your skin." He put a hand on Malfoy's shoulder, puzzled as hell as Malfoy kept his mouth firmly shut and looked away from Harry, his anger still simmering and not directed at Harry at all.

"Mr. Potter-"

"What the hell have you been asking him?!" Harry demanded.

"I am gathering information about who might have wanted to target you, Mr. Potter. I am doing my job," he said rather self-importantly, and Harry caught the defensiveness hidden behind the pompous manner.

"Just doing your job? The job of figuring out what's happening to us, or are you trying to get other information too?" he asked accusingly, and felt a surge of indignation at Tobin's guilty expression. "You bastard! You're supposed to be helping us, not interrogating him about-"

"Potter!" Malfoy said sharply.

"What did you ask him about!!" Harry shouted, and Malfoy stood and grabbed Harry's shoulder and dragged him behind another partition. "What-" Harry started to say, and Malfoy clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up. No, shut up," he whispered, his anger at the Auror quickly focussing on Harry himself. "I don't need you coming in and rescuing me, you stupid git! I can handle-"

"What the fuck did he say-" Harry demanded, pushing Malfoy's hand away from his mouth.

"What the fuck do you think he said?" Malfoy whispered furiously, eyes glittering and hand tightening painfully on Harry's. "He asked what my father thinks about our bond, and what he's said to me about it, and what I think this means for my family, and how Father's doing with his... his 'social position' with the, with - and whether he thinks the curse was cast by a-" He abruptly caught his breath, stopped, and looked away, and his angry grip on Harry's hand loosened. He took a couple of deep breaths. "And whether my father thinks the curse was cast by a Death Eater who's jealous of him," he finally said, his voice soft. "And whether I thought it might have been cast by Father in the first place. To get rid of you, for the Dark Lord."

Harry caught his breath, his mind reeling that anybody could even think that of any father, let alone ask that of any son... and then reeling even more at the fact that he couldn't say for the life of him whether Lucius Malfoy had it in him to sacrifice his only son for the sake of Voldemort or his cause.

"And he asked a number of other things about my father, which I can't even talk to you about." Malfoy was still speaking softly and not looking at him, and Harry grabbed his shoulder, trying to force him to look up. "Potter, don't."

Damn it. Damn it to hell, they couldn't even talk about it. They couldn't, it was the single most important thing in their lives, in the lives of everybody in the wizarding world, and yet they were supposed to exist in the thick of it, Harry as Voldemort's nemesis and Malfoy as the son of Voldemort's right hand man, on opposite sides of the war, and pretend with all their might that it just didn't exist. Because it wasn't an outright war; it was all done through spies and lies and Imperius curses and manipulation and Malfoy's father didn't even admit to being on the opposite side, not really, not even after serving time in Azkaban.

"He can't ask you things that have nothing to do with the curse," Harry said slowly.

"Can you prove they have nothing to do with it?" Malfoy shot back.

Fuck.

"Do you want him to say shit like that to you, when he's supposed to be helping you?" Harry asked, deciding without letting himself think about it to pick Malfoy's side in this one thing. Not the whole war; just this one battle. This one battle that had to do with figuring out how to live through this curse.

What a Slytherin decision to make, Harry thought suddenly. Forget the grand scheme of things, forget that Auror Tobin just might be able to get information out of Malfoy right now that could help them win the fucking war. Forget all of that and just think of his own - and Malfoy's - health and safety, and-

No, no goddamn time to think about this right now. "Do you want him abuse his position right now to further his career in Magical Law Enforcement?"

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. "Further his career?? That a little cynical of you, isn't it?"

"That's what he's doing, and you know it."

"How Slytherin of you to assume self-interest."

"Don't start insulting me, you bastard," Harry snapped, "or I'll point out that trying to keep me from helping you right now is bloody Gryffindor of you."

Malfoy snickered, a startled, unexpected sound, and the tension between them lessened palpably.

"He can't ask you that kind of shit," Harry said gently after a moment. "It's not right, and it won't help. If he has to ask hard questions as part of the investigation, that's one thing, but if he's just doing it to get ahead - or even to, to help in the fight... this isn't the time."

Malfoy took a deep breath, shaking his head.

"Besides, how could you just let him - where's your stupid Malfoy pride? Why didn't you stand up for yourself and tell him to sod off?"

Malfoy sighed. "Potter, I've been asked those kinds of questions before. After my father was arrested, and for months afterwards. My mother and I were both worked over by just about every Auror in the Ministry," he said bitterly. "Believe me, I learned how to live with them. And the first thing I learned was that it didn't do any damn good to resist them outright, or try to outthink them. The only thing that ever worked was saying as little as possible. Especially with Mudbloods - oh, fine, Muggle-borns - like Tobin; they've got a special axe to grind with us."

Harry pressed his lips together. Damn it. He remembered, at the time, that it had given him a great deal of pleasure to think of Malfoy and his mother being interrogated like common criminals. Well, that was then, this is now, he told himself. "Look, you said your father hasn't talked to you about any of what they're asking about, so he can't get any information anyway if he interrogates you on this now. He's just wasting his time. Our time."

"I told him that. Oddly enough, he didn't believe me. I didn't feel like beating my head against a brick wall trying to convince him."

Harry thought for a moment. "You know, there's no reason to do the interviews separately. I could sit in with you."

"And what exactly would your heroic presence accomplish?"

"If nothing else, I can get them to stick to questions that might help us. And let them know you're telling the truth when you say you don't know anything."

Malfoy rubbed his eyes tiredly and nodded, giving in. Harry drew open the partition.

"I'm staying. You interview both of us together," he said flatly, amused at the looks on both the Aurors and Madam Pomfrey.

"Mr. Potter-"

"I'm not leaving. If you have something to say to him, you can damn well say it in front of me too."

"Mr. Potter, I hardly think that-" Tobin began, and Pomfrey stepped in front of him.

"You won't get anywhere, Mr. Tobin, Potter's very stubborn," she said to Tobin, and Harry caught a gleam of approval in her eyes, and a rather frosty look at Tobin. He smiled to himself. Brusque and unsympathetic as Pomfrey often was, there was no denying that she was very attached to her patients, and was probably seething at the idea that an Auror would've used his time to do anything that wasn't related to keeping two of her charges from deteriorating further.

"Well? Go on, Mr. Tobin. Ask your questions," she said, sitting down next to Malfoy.

Tobin raised his chin defiantly. "My questions are relevant to this investigation," he began, and Pomfrey nodded impatiently.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. Ask them. These young gentlemen are not missing valuable class time just to hear your speeches."

Tobin hesitated.

"What was the last question he asked?" Pomfrey asked Malfoy.

"He asked if I thought my father's political views might have led him to put me in danger by binding me to Potter with a deliberately miscast curse," he said evenly. "Before that he had asked a lot of questions about my father's political beliefs and connections."

"What??" Pomfrey and Pantere both looked at Tobin in disbelief.

"Those were legitimate questions! This boy's father supports the very people who have been trying to kill Mr. Potter for years. Considering his political beliefs, it makes sense to-"

"My father's beliefs are not against the law," Malfoy said angrily.

"His actions have been."

"You may have heard that he paid for them."

"If you call that payment-"

"He was in Azkaban for ten months," Malfoy interrupted heatedly, and Harry put a hand on his arm, calming him down.

"Yes, for breaking and entering into the Ministry, but he was also charged with murder. And because he struck deals with various people in high places, he was released. That's hardly what I'd call payment. He is also a known Muggle-hater and-"

"As I pointed out, his beliefs are not against the law." Malfoy's lip curled into a sneer and he glared at Tobin in distaste. "Nor are mine."

"You have the same beliefs?"

"I am a Malfoy," he said defiantly. "I stand with my family."

"Going to be a Death Eater just like dear old dad some day, is that it? Let me remind you of what I said before: Death Eaters are probably behind this."

"I wouldn't know anything about that."

"But you know the people he socializes with. You know which ones are Death Eaters, which ones are most likely to commit any kind of atrocity for You-Know-Who-"

"Auror Tobin-" Pantere began.

"These people are capable of anything. This boy's father is capable of anything, and he's training his son to be just like him, a little Lucius Malfoy-in-training-"

"This is not Lucius Malfoy!" Pomfrey broke in furiously. "This is a seventeen-year-old boy who is in serious trouble, and I'll thank you to remember that that's what you're here for!"

"I am an Auror; if you think I'm going to let the chance slip by-"

"You just did. You are off this case," Pantere said abruptly.

"What?!"

"I'm not as concerned about your questions as I am about why you are asking them. You are not able to focus on the task that has been given to you, which is to help these young men. I'm going to call in Shacklebolt. He'll take over for you."

Harry quickly suppressed his alarm. Kingsley Shacklebolt was part of the Order of the Phoenix. Technically, all Aurors were working against Voldemort, but Shacklebolt was especially dedicated to the cause. If Shacklebolt came onto this case, he wouldn't limit his questions to just the information needed to help Harry and Malfoy, though Harry knew that unlike Tobin, he would try to help. No, Shacklebolt's loyalty to the Order meant that he must use every opportunity (and this was certainly a good one) to extract information about Malfoy's family to use against Voldemort, even if that meant deceiving Malfoy about the nature of his visit. And Malfoy had no way of knowing that.

And they needed help. They needed somebody like Shacklebolt.

And... and it wasn't like Malfoy was an unsuspecting innocent, Harry reminded himself. He had experience with Aurors. And he was a Slytherin and a Malfoy: suspicious and devious and able to hold his own against anybody.

Well... except that he was also tired, and not thinking quite right, and letting down his guard around Harry, a little, which would probably lead him to not be as careful as he should be around Kingsley, especially if Harry didn't warn him that there was any need to be especially cautious when speaking about his father's activities.

How could he betray the trust Malfoy had placed in him?

Then again, how could he betray the trust the Order placed in him? Not only was he not supposed to reveal the identity of members of the Order, but keeping silent might allow the Order to obtain information about the inner workings of the Malfoy family that could be invaluable to their side...

Oh god, who to betray?

Malfoy was peering at him suspiciously as Tobin angrily handed his papers over and stalked out of the hospital wing, and Pomfrey and Pantere looked over his notes. Harry quickly schooled his features into perfect inscrutability and tried with all his heart to remember everything Snape had ever taught him in Occlumency. While at the same time trying very hard to not hear Malfoy's mocking "It's almost impossible to lie to your spouse under a new bond, Potter," in his head.

"All right, then," Madam Pantere interrupted his thoughts, "you two can go back to class, if you wish."

"We can go?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. I will consolidate my notes with Auror Tobin's, and will continue the questions later, with both of you present."

"Do you mean later today?"

"Yes, and hopefully I'll also have contacted Shacklebolt - oh no wait," she muttered to herself, "he's on assignment in Kenya right now. Damn. Well, I'll have contacted somebody else who can join me on your case. Never mind, just go back to your classes, and I'll see you later."

"We've missed all of Transfiguration, and most of Defence Against the Dark Arts," Harry noted as they left the hospital wing, desperately trying to not think about Kingsley Shacklebolt until he could be sure Malfoy was distracted by something else and wouldn't notice his inner turmoil.

"What's the matter?" Malfoy asked.

"Nothing."

"Potter."

They stopped in the middle of the corridor and Harry took a deep breath. "Nothing I can talk to you about," he said quietly, meeting Malfoy's eyes levelly.

Malfoy held his gaze, his expression unreadable, for a long moment. Finally he gave a small nod and turned to continue on their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts, stopping as Harry put a hand on his arm.

"Malfoy... I would if I could," Harry said awkwardly.

"I know. It's all right," Malfoy said quietly.

"It's not. But..."

"We have to get to Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"It's more than half over and I doubt we'll get anything done there anyway. Let's go home instead," Harry suggested, and Malfoy gave him a small smile and nodded.

ooooooo

"Harry, are you going to see Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked at dinner a few hours later.

"Yeah, maybe, after dinner. We didn't have much of a lunch," Harry said, listlessly trying to force himself to eat. They had ended up going back to their quarters and rather predictably falling into bed together, falling asleep after a groping session that had felt... oddly intense. Like they were both trying to use touch to bridge the distance that they were forced to maintain over so many important parts of their lives. Or maybe just trying to forget that distance in the easiest way they knew.

They had slept through lunch and Charms and had been woken up by Pantere, who had a new batch of questions that had caused them to miss Arithmancy and Runes and barely make it to Herbology at the end of the day.

"You missed breakfast too," Hermione pointed out. "Does she know that you're not eating?"

"He's just not hungry, Granger," Malfoy said quietly. "Stop bothering him."

Hermione's mouth dropped open at the almost civil tone with which Malfoy had just addressed her.

"He's a big boy. He knows enough to go see Madam Pomfrey if he needs to. Now either talk about something else or leave him alone." He went back to pushing his meal around the plate.

Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes and tried to concentrate on the meal before him and not the deep desire to just go back to their room and sleep.

"-een ball on Saturday, Harry?"

Malfoy elbowed Harry and indicated that somebody had just spoken to him.

"Sorry, what?" Harry focussed on Seamus.

"I asked if you're going to the Halloween ball."

"No. At least, I don't think..." He glanced at Malfoy, still listlessly forcing down food next to him. Malfoy shook his head.

"No. Too much homew-" and Harry stopped as the world became oddly red-tinted. He blinked, startled, but the red tinge didn't fade and somebody near him gasped. Malfoy looked up at him and then blew out his breath in annoyance, picking up his wand.

"Finite incantatem," he muttered, and the red tinge disappeared. Malfoy tucked his wand back into his pocket, going back to his meal as though nothing had happened. As though the Great Hall hadn't just erupted in a barely contained frisson of excitement, with cheers and groans breaking out from parts of the Slytherin table and some of the Ravenclaw table, and a low buzz from the head table as the teachers evidently tried to decide whether to wade in and demand that the students cease and desist their bet-settling activities, or just ignore the whole unseemly event.

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, deeply appreciating the silence at the Gryffindor table. Wonderful. Good old Virgo Acclaro. It was too bad it had been cast at dinner time, but as they'd missed all their classes with the Slytherins today he supposed he should've expected it to happen eventually. Especially since the Slytherins had probably wondered why they'd started last night at the dungeon but gone to their own quarters in the middle of the night.

Well, at least that was the very last time it would ever be used on him.

"Harry?" Hermione finally said hesitantly. "Are you... are you all right?"

"Yeah," he stabbed at his meal, wondering why he couldn't muster up a sense of indignation or anything more intense than mild annoyance. "Yeah, fine."

Hermione stared at Malfoy suspiciously, almost accusingly. Malfoy looked up and met her glare, and glanced around at the semi-hostile silent Gryffindor faces around him. Went back to his meal, not bothering to respond.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm fine. Just wishing this wasn't the subject of discussion for the entire school in the middle of dinner. And probably on the front page of the Prophet by tomorrow morning." He took a deep breath. "And stop looking at Malfoy like he's done something wrong," he said to the table in general. Malfoy looked up at him, startled, and Harry decided he'd had enough. He leaned closer and spoke into Malfoy's ear. "Come on. Let's go." Malfoy nodded and put down his fork and they both pushed back, leaving the Great Hall without another word.

"I'm sorry about that," Harry said once they were in the corridor.

"Not your fault."

"No, but..."

"Potter, don't worry about it."

They silently made their way to their quarters, and for once Malfoy didn't protest when Harry dropped everything on the floor as they entered. He dropped everything too and turned, taking Harry into his arms and resting his head against Harry's shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

There was a long silence. "No. I'm fucking well not, and you know it. And neither are you."

Harry shook his head, pulling him to their couch and drawing them down onto it, exhaustion making them clumsy and careless.

"I-"

"Potter, I don't want to talk about this."

"No," Harry said, and drew him closer, kissing him.

"God, no, I don't want to..." Malfoy said hopelessly, but met Harry's lips with his own, hands coming up to undo Harry's tie.

"I don't either, but..." Harry answered tiredly, desire fighting exhaustion, his own hands sluggish as they undid Malfoy's shirt buttons, pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

"Don't have much of a choice, though, do we?" Malfoy said grimly, gasping a little as Harry's fingers found their way into his trousers.

"They'll figure out what's wrong," Harry murmured. "They will. We'll be all right. It's probably just what Pomfrey said today, we just have to stop all other spells and potions, see if that helps-"

"It won't. It won't fucking help. Here, no, I'm not doing this on the sofa, let's go to bed-"

"I-"

"We're going to pass out as soon as we're done, you know it, I don't want to fall asleep here-" and they stumbled to their bedroom, collapsing onto the bed and managing to get each other's clothing off on the way, and Malfoy reached for the small jar of oil they'd used the night before.

"No, we, I can't-" Harry began.

"You bloody well can, you did it last night."

"That was with a trance and - and I don't want to hurt you-"

"You won't hurt me, you idiot."

"I-"

"Potter, I don't have time to argue with you. We're both exhausted, Pomfrey and the Healer haven't a clue what to do for us and look more worried than they have any right to be, I've got Aurors suspecting my own father decided to sacrifice me to the Dark Lord and people are celebrating in Slytherin house right now because you nailed me last night and I'm so bloody exhausted I'd like to just sleep for a week except I'm so fucking hard I know I won't be able to, and I'd really appreciate it if you would just fuck me through the mattress so we can both pass out for a few hours until I can face my housemates and accept their congratulations without killing them. All right?"

Harry chuckled despite himself. "But aren't you-"

"Sore from last night? A little. Who gives a damn? Not me. Now are we going to do this or not?"

Harry took his mouth in a long kiss, wishing they weren't so tired, wishing he wasn't feeling so hopeless, wishing he could even muster up a bit of decent fear over their situation. Anything but this numbing weariness. He started to rub the oil onto Malfoy, noting how his eyes seemed duller, his skin paler than usual, but slowly starting to awaken as they touched each other. How ironic, that the same thing that was killing them seemed to be the only thing that could bring them to life.

"Here, hang on," Malfoy said, and turned over onto his stomach. Harry finished with the oil, carefully helping Malfoy relax, tiredly grateful for the distraction of what they were doing, for the hitch in Malfoy's breathing, the shivers that coursed through them both.

"Oh Merlin," Malfoy sighed as Harry carefully slid into him, and Harry echoed the sentiment, bracing himself on one elbow, nuzzling the back of Malfoy's neck as he waited for Malfoy to relax again.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little. No, don't - don't stop," Malfoy whispered, "I just need to relax." He took a couple of deep breaths, moved a little. "I'm all right. Just - go ahead, move, please..."

Harry started moving carefully, chewing on his lip to stop himself from going too fast or too hard, reaching under them with one hand, smiling when Malfoy sucked in his breath at the feeling of Harry's hand closing over him.

"That's - I'm not going to last-" Malfoy cut himself off with a groan. "That's - ah-"

"I'm not going to last long either-" Harry gasped, feeling himself careening towards his own climax. "Doesn't matter - oh-"

And then Malfoy was crying out under him, pulsing into Harry's hand, his muscles tightening around Harry and sending Harry right over the edge.

They lay panting together, Harry nuzzling into Malfoy's hair, limbs growing heavier by the moment. He started to move off.

"No," Malfoy murmured. "No, don't - you don't have to get off, you're not that heavy."

"I'm not crushing you?"

"No. Just feels warm. Nice," Malfoy murmured sleepily. "Like I'm safe."

"I wish," Harry said, then smiled to himself. If Malfoy remembered what he'd just said when they woke up, he was probably going to be more than a little embarrassed. "I'll spell the clock to wake us up in two hours, all right?" He waited for a few moments, but no answer was forthcoming and he realized Malfoy was already asleep.

ooooooo

Day 32, Friday

Draco glanced around the common room blearily, grateful to be in Gryffindor where he didn't have to pretend he was fine. Not that it was all that wise to let anybody in on just how drained he felt, but at least here there would be fewer repercussions if he was observed operating at less than full strength. And anyway, he didn't feel like he could pretend, even if he wanted to.

He gazed at the fire as Potter and his friends played Exploding Snap next to him, and wondered if any of them could tell just how tired Potter felt. Probably not; Gryffindors weren't terribly observant. Except for Granger. The Mudblood was a hell of a lot more perceptive and intelligent than the average Gryffindor; had she been a pureblood, she would've been in Slytherin, he was sure.

Actually, no; she used her perceptiveness and intelligence, as far as he could tell, almost exclusively for the good of Potter and the Weasel. Too altruistic. Maybe Ravenclaw, then.

He lay his head on his arms, chancing it. The latest advice from the Healer was to fight the lethargy and not allow themselves to nap during the day, since that seemed to only drain them even further in the long run. So here they were, no Pepper-up, no patience potion, nothing but themselves in the fight against sleep. And against desire, because that inevitably led to a need for more sleep.

No point fighting against consummation of desire, of course, since that had its own unpleasant consequences. No, they were supposed to try to avoid arousal itself. Which meant, of course, that they couldn't stay in their quarters, since that pretty much led to them wanting to shag all the time. And since their extreme fatigue also meant they had to stay away from Slytherins, they were left with Gryffindor. Noisy, irritating Gryffindor.

Not as irritating as Slytherin last night, though. It had been a special kind of torture, putting up with the party atmosphere over there. Keeping his face firmly schooled into gracious acceptance of their grating good-for-yous and amusement at their snide comments directed at and about Potter. Silently willing Potter to hold on to his own masks of stoic indifference and boredom, knowing that any hint of embarrassment would be pounced on like fresh meat before a pack of hungry werewolves.

Fucking wearying beyond belief, is what it had been.

The only enjoyable part of the evening had come near the end of the party, when Malcolm Baddock had made the mistake of pushing Potter just a little too far. Potter hadn't told Draco what had finally crossed the line, but Draco had sensed his exasperated boil-over and looked up just in time to see his green eyes take on a dangerous glint before Potter casually flicked his wand and said something that was immediately followed by a piercing shriek from Baddock.

Screaming Scrotalpox, the fourth-year boys who'd rushed a half-hysterical Baddock to the washroom had said with deep admiration when they came back, and Draco couldn't suppress a grin at Potter's creativity. Screaming Scrotalpox was not the most painful of hexes, but was satisfyingly foul-smelling and unsightly and, of course, loud - large sores on the scrotum, screeching ardent pleas to all and sundry to come and touch them while denigrating the victim's skill at masturbating with a disturbing amount of detail. It had taken three boys twenty minutes to get rid of them.

The fact that Draco had never liked Baddock, and Baddock had replaced him as Slytherin Seeker, had made it all the sweeter.

Even sweeter had been the grudging respect towards Potter that he'd seen on several Slytherin faces after that. Millicent had even surreptitiously handed Potter a butterbeer. And it certainly hadn't hurt Draco any for his housemates to see that his spouse could hold his own against Slytherins and give as good as he got when pushed too far.

He felt his eyelids growing heavy even as he smiled at the memory, and realized he'd have to do something to stay awake. Studying was right out - even Potions wasn't within his abilities in his present condition, and the bubble of silence he'd need to concentrate was right out as well; without constant sharp noise, he'd be lulled into sleep no matter what he did.

The only thing that came to mind was socializing. With Gryffindors.

He sighed, trying to delay joining them as long as possible, and cast about for something else to do. Something that wouldn't require too much concentration, wouldn't require interaction with anybody, wouldn't put him too close to Potter or give him any ideas, wouldn't tire him out... bloody hell... nothing came to mind. Nothing but sitting and staring at the colours of the fire and feeling the soothing warmth of the flames, the flickering lights dancing and keeping away the dark, comforting and peaceful and-

"Malfoy," Potter's voice startled him. "Don't fall asleep."

He blinked, shaking his head. "No, I'm not-" he covered his mouth, hiding a yawn. "I'm trying," he muttered irritably.

"Not trying hard enough," Potter muttered back, and Draco didn't bother to answer that. He glanced at the other Gryffindors.

"Are you not playing any more?"

"We're taking a break. Seamus went down to the kitchens to get something to eat."

"Mm." He looked back at the flames.

"No, come on, stay awake. Talk or something."

"About what?"

"Well... what did your parents say when you talked to them tonight?" Potter asked.

"You mean my mother," Draco said dryly. "You know my father hasn't spoken to me since the day we got suspended, Potter. Don't bother doing the noble Gryffindor thing, avoiding upsetting me with reminders of unpleasant facts."

"I think you have Gryffindors confused with Hufflepuffs. I was just being polite so you wouldn't bark at me and tell me to mind my own business. What did your mother say, then?"

"About what?"

"About us having to come back to Gryffindor, about the Healer and the Aurors-"

"She hopes everything works out well, what do you expect her to say?"

Potter stared at him questioningly. "This isn't one of those 'I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you' things, is it?"

"What?"

"You haven't told her what's happening. You haven't told her how serious it is."

"Pantere's already told her and Father what's going on, more or less."

Potter seemed baffled. "Don't you want to talk to her about this?"

"Why would I? She's not my friend, Potter. She's my mother."

"But you don't talk to your friends either."

"I-"

"You don't. You haven't confided in anybody. You don't have anybody to talk to."

Draco swallowed hard and looked away, and Potter put a hand on his arm.

"Don't try to do the calming thing, Potter," he said dully. "Because it's possible that thinking 'it'll be all right' at me won't feel all that believable right now."

"No." Potter turned so that they were more closed off from the rest of the room, in their own separate corner near the fireplace. "Somehow I don't think you can reassure your spouse that everything's all right if you don't believe it yourself."

Draco nodded and, after a brief hesitation, covered Potter's hand with his own. Shifted a little closer to him, allowing himself to take what comfort he could in Potter's presence.

"You're scared, aren't you?" Potter said very softly, and Draco automatically started to withdraw. Potter tightened his grip slightly. "I'm sorry. It's just..." he swallowed. "So am I."

Draco closed his eyes briefly, stopped trying to pull away.

Yes, he was. Scared, damned scared - as much as he could be, considering his fatigue. Healers and Aurors didn't look the way Esposito and Pantere looked unless things were really serious. They didn't just decide to practically move into Hogwarts to follow one particular case if there was nothing to worry about.

Potter's hand was idly playing with Draco's fingers, his expression serious. "I keep trying to not think about it. If I'm really tired or busy, it's all right, but when I'm not..."

Draco nodded. "Me too. Thinking about how we felt yesterday, and how much worse we are today, and trying not to think about how much worse we'll feel tomorrow-" Potter made a sound in his throat and Draco stopped.

"I keep thinking it feels rather unfair." Potter absently brushed a stray tendril of hair off of Draco's face, tucking it behind his ear. "Don't you think? That we managed not to kill each other through the first few days of the bond, and now the bond's killing us instead?"

Draco smiled grimly. "Yeah. I would've thought anybody wanting to kill us both wouldn't have needed to do anything more than bond us together. I wouldn't have bet on us surviving that."

"Neither would I," Potter smiled back. And somehow his smile felt comforting, despite everything. Reminding him of two nights ago, when they'd been doing more than just surviving their bond, they'd been enjoying it, and enjoying each other, and...

...aand this was probably a very bad idea, Draco realized as Potter's eyes widened a little as they both recognized where they were headed. Again.

"This was a bad idea," Potter said softly.

"We can't avoid it all the time, Potter," Draco said hollowly, knowing it was too late, it took so little to arouse them and it took such effort to keep away from each other. They were dancing along a fine line, trying to avoid the negative consequences of resisting the bond spell and the negative consequences of giving in to it, and the dance was impossible to maintain and all they could do was desperately try to delay the consequences as long as possible, hoping that somebody would come up with a cure or find the caster of the spell before they both collapsed for good.

And the only thing that made them forget the danger they were in was the very same thing that put them in danger in the first place.

Potter was drawing closer, their faces close enough to touch and Draco didn't give a damn that they were in the middle of Gryffindor's common room, they were bloody well married and anybody who had a problem with them acting married could go jump out the window as far as he was concerned.

He bridged the distance between them and then their mouths were locked together, this was so damned addictive, it was the only thing that felt good any more, the only thing that cut through the exhaustion and fear-

"We - we can't stay here-" Draco said breathlessly after a moment, pushing himself away from Potter.

"No, let's go-" Potter got up, pulling him up, and Draco reflected as they hurried to the door that when his entire body yearned so desperately to pull Potter closer and feel all of him, when his skin was screaming for more contact, it was insane that they had to make their way across the common room with a minimum of decorum. The minimum was so incredibly frustrating.

"Harry-" Weasley called out, and Potter gave a small groan but stopped and turned.

"We're going to be upstairs in a while, right?" Weasley said, looking extremely red and embarrassed, and Potter rubbed his forehead and nodded, immediately turning and almost pushing Draco out the door and up the stairs.

"What was that about?" Draco asked.

"Ron knows we're supposed to try to stay awake right after, so..." Potter cleared his throat. "So he and Hermione are going to come upstairs so they can prevent us from falling asleep."

"How fucking annoying."

"They're trying to help," Potter said, grabbing him as soon as they were in the dorm room, and Draco didn't feel like stopping to explain that - for once - he didn't think Weasley and Granger were being annoying; he was referring to the situation itself.

No time to discuss that as they hastily moved to the bed and drew the curtains and rational thought fled again as they gave in, not bothering to remove any clothing that didn't interfere with what they were doing. Nothing slow or languid or tender, what they needed was this, quick and rough and a little desperate, Draco's legs over Potter's shoulders, both of them coming fast and hard.

Followed by the deadly heaviness of their limbs and slowness of their thoughts and the seductive pull of sleep that didn't do anything but pull them farther down each time.

ooooooo

"Harry?"

Draco groaned at the sound of Granger's voice, and Potter sighed in resignation.

"They're trying to help," he reminded Draco as he slowly rose up and off of him, and Draco nodded listlessly.

"Malfoy, come on," Potter said, pulling up and buttoning his trousers. "Get dressed."

"Harry?" Granger repeated, a little louder. Potter undid the privacy spells around their bed.

"Yeah, we're awake, just give us a minute," he called out, and handed Draco his trousers. Draco put them on mechanically, nodding at Potter once he was decent again, but not bothering to sit up. Potter opened the curtains.

"We brought some cauldron cake and cocoa," Granger said brightly, her casual manner belying the blush on her cheeks as she caught sight of Draco still lying on the slightly rumpled bed where he and Potter had just had sex, and tired as Draco was, he snickered. Some things never got old, such as the shy awkwardness with which most of the non-Slytherin students treated sex. What a lot of fuss over something so damn simple. He suddenly wished he had Pansy or Blaise or even Crabbe and Goyle there to join him in poking fun at Granger - and at Weasley, whose face matched his hair right now and who was looking everywhere but at Draco.

Then again, if any Slytherins were here, he wouldn't be lying down. He'd be doing his best to look and act like there was nothing wrong. He stared up at the ceiling and sighed wearily as the others settled on the floor near Potter's bed and Granger started cutting pieces of cake.

"Malfoy? Would you like some cauldron cake?" Granger offered with forced politeness. He shook his head, not bothering to glance in her direction.

"Erm - anybody care for a game of Exploding Snap?" Weasley asked.

"Oh, brilliant," Draco muttered.

"If you've got a better suggestion-" Weasley began defensively, and Draco rolled his eyes in irritation.

"I'm not being sarcastic, Weaselby. I don't actually have any better ideas."

"Malfoy, come on," Potter poked him. "Get up."

"Stop that," he muttered. "I'm awake."

"You won't be for long if you don't sit up," Potter half-snapped at him, and Draco glanced over at him, his own sharp retort dying unsaid as he took in Potter's appearance.

Mordred, he looked godawful. Eyes bloodshot, face pale, hair a complete mess, courtesy of its innate nature plus their recent activities. Draco propped himself up on one elbow and touched his shoulder.

"What?"

They gazed at each other silently. No need for words, and no words to say, really. "Are you all right?" No, of course he wasn't. "We'll be OK?" Meaningless. "Don't be scared?" Ridiculous.

"Your hair's a mess," Draco finally said, and sat up, wincing a little.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Potter asked, a little alarmed.

"Bloody hell, Potter, stop asking that after every time, it's getting annoying," Draco said irately, and accio'd Potter's hairbrush.

"What do you mean, after every t-OW!" Weasley broke off as Granger suddenly elbowed him, and turned to glare at her. "What was that for??"

"I think your girlfriend's trying to tell you to not ask questions about a male couple's sex life," Draco said, amused, "unless you want to hear all about who does what to whom and-"

"Malfoy!" Potter snapped, and Draco snickered at Weasley and Granger's beet-red faces but didn't continue, choosing instead to busy himself trying to make Potter's hair resemble something semi-civilized.

"I'll, er, go get the cards," Weasley mumbled and started to get up. Granger stopped him with a hand on his knee and cleared her throat.

"Harry, we erm... we've been wondering..." She cleared her throat again and glanced at Weasley for support.

"What are you going to tell the others?" Weasley blurted out, then plunged on quickly as Draco and Potter looked at him questioningly. "Because people are already noticing that you two aren't exactly in top form right now, right? And it's - it's getting a little awkward not saying anything, especially to the other blokes here."

"And we thought if some of your friends know what's going on at least they can help keep things quiet. Because you know how nosy Dean can be-"

"And Seamus and his big mouth-"

"And they might even be able to help to keep you two awake, and, erm..."

"Distracted," Weasley supplied helpfully.

"Distracted, yes, and so we thought it would be a good idea to let at least some people know what's going on," Granger said. "Like, for example, your roommates, because even Seamus is going to notice something, and blab it about. And maybe Ginny, because she's around us so much, and you know she can be pretty good at distracting people who are asking questions."

There was a short silence.

"That's... fine by me, I think," Potter finally said. "Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, not particularly interested in the topic. Which, he reflected as he worked a tangle out of Potter's hair, he should be. He supposed he should put up at least some token resistance. "Do you want everybody in this bloody house know what's going on?"

"No. Just people I - ow, that hurt - I trust."

"Hold still, then. And I repeat, do you want everybody in this bloody house to know?"

"Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Ginny," Potter said. "I trust them."

"You don't trust the rest of your house?"

"Not necessarily."

Hm. Interesting. He should probably file that factoid away for some future time. Providing the bond didn't kill them first.

He shrugged. "Fine," he said, giving in and picking up a letter-ribbon to tie Potter's hair back. Why Potter had a letter-ribbon on his night table, he couldn't fathom, since he never seemed to get or send any owls, but maybe it was a memento of some sort.

So, he thought as Weasley went off in search of confidantes and Exploding Snap players. Two Weasleys, two Mudbloods, a half-blood Irish buffoon, and pathetic little Neville Longbottom were all going to work to keep him and Potter from collapsing or being seen collapsing. Lovely. Very dignified. Worthy of a Malfoy. Father would likely be owling him soon, with a politely worded request to please explain why the remains of their ancestors had just exploded all over their family crypt. And he would tell Father, and then Father would explode too. And maybe that would keep Draco awake for five whole minutes.

Now he was getting maudlin. Charming. He shook his head and tried to get himself under some semblance of control before the Gryffindor troops came marching in.

ooooooo

Day 33, Saturday

Hermione smiled at Terry Boot as their dance ended and he bowed to her formally.

"Thanks," he grinned, and leaned in closer as the band started the next dance. "And I never did ask, to what do I owe this pleasure? In other words, where's Ron?"

"Prefect duties," she said. "He'll be back later."

"Duties on Halloween? That's rotten luck. Well, his loss. Another dance, then?"

"I'd love to, but I promised to go with him for part of his rounds - right about now, actually."

"That's true devotion for you," Terry said wistfully. "Maybe if I'd been that dedicated to Susan, she wouldn't have dropped me for that oily little sixth year Slytherin. Ah well. Plenty of other mermaids in the sea and all that." He waved at Hermione as she moved off and was already chatting up a gaggle of fifth year Ravenclaw girls by the time she had reached the punch bowl.

"Hermione! Not going home already, are you?" Ernie MacMillan said as she passed him, and she pasted on a polite smile. He wasn't so bad, really - just a little slow, which she didn't need to deal with right now. She was supposed to be back at Gryffindor, taking her turn accompanying Harry and Ron and Malfoy, so that Neville and Ginny could come to the ball and people wouldn't comment on the absence of so many of the Gryffindor upper years.

"Sorry, Ernie, I have to run - Ron's expecting me-" Ernie's forehead began to furrow and Hermione quickly added, "And Neville, of course, they're both waiting for me - special Astronomy assignment."

Ernie's brow cleared and Hermione sighed in relief that she hadn't had to endure one of Ernie's exhortations on proper Prefect decorum and not being seen carrying on a romantic assignation or other rule-breaking activity past curfew.

"Good luck!" Ernie called as she wove her way through the other students.

She checked the time. Not that late. Hopefully Harry and Malfoy wouldn't already be asleep; they were supposed to stay up until ten, at least. Which she doubted they could do; they'd been slowing down so visibly and drastically that she was really starting to panic. This morning it had taken Neville and Ron ten minutes just to get them out of bed.

The situation was getting desperate. It was no longer a question of whether to let anybody else know what was going on, but only when; at this rate, by Monday there would be no choice but to take them both to the hospital. And after that...

She hurried to the Great Hall doors. Ron and Neville had said they might try some light Defence Against the Dark Arts practice. It was a little odd to think of voluntarily doing Defence Against the Dark Arts practice with Malfoy, but if it kept him and Harry awake, they'd consider it a success.

They'd keep them up two more hours. Just two more hours. Then she'd put in another appearance at the party, and then she'd go home and finally be able to keep working through the stack of books and scrolls she'd obtained from Madam Pince. Life spells, waking spells, special counter-curse spells, advanced counter-curse-creating theory...

Esposito had also mentioned that she might want to consult the works of Paracelsus, Cliodne, and Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. She could look them up tomorrow. And she'd try not to think about how much it worried her that Esposito, a well-known and respected Healer, had so readily accepted her offer to do research. If Esposito was accepting the help of a seventh-year student, the situation was dire indeed.

"Granger!" a voice hissed from behind her as she entered the corridor.

Oh, god, what now, Hermione thought, and turned. Blinked. Pansy Parkinson was half-hiding in the shadows of the corridor outside the Great Hall, and beckoning her closer.

"Parkinson?"

"Granger," Parkinson said, barely hiding the distaste she felt at having to talk to a Muggle-born. "What the devil is going on with Draco and Potter?"

"What?"

"Why aren't they at the ball?"

"Why would they be?" Hermione asked, trying to act genuinely puzzled. "They can't dance with anybody-"

"That didn't keep Draco away when he had a broken arm last year."

"Crowds aren't a good idea for them, you know that; people bump into them all the time-" Hermione tried to continue on her way and Parkinson stepped in front of her.

"Why did Draco go back to the Gryffindor dorm?"

"You know they're spending time at each other's-"

"Rubbish. What is wrong with Draco?"

"Nothing, why?"

"Granger!" Parkinson looked like she was trying very hard to keep a hold of her temper. "Just tell me what's going on!"

"Nothing is going on-"

"Granger, I swear-" Parkinson stopped, and visibly took a hold of herself. "I know something is wrong. I know Draco as well as anybody alive, and I can see that he's not doing well. He looks exhausted, he's hardly talking at all in class, he's always in the Gryffindor dorm, he didn't go to the Quidditch game today-"

"Why would either of them want to go see Quidditch when they can't play?" Hermione said impatiently. "And he's probably not talking much because he's fallen too far behind in his studies."

"Bollocks. There is something else going on."

"Why don't you ask Malfoy, then," Hermione said frostily.

"He won't tell me anything!"

"Then perhaps there is a reason for that."

"What?"

"If there was anything going on and he wanted you to know about it, he would tell you, wouldn't he? Why are you so interested in finding out what he obviously doesn't want you to know?"

"Because I care about him, you stupid Mudblood bitch-" Hermione turned on her heel and started to walk away.

"Granger!" Parkinson grabbed her arm, and Hermione spun around, shrugging her off and drawing her wand. Parkinson took a step back, startled, and grabbed for her wand as well, and they faced each other silently for a long, tense moment.

Abruptly, Parkinson lowered her wand and pocketed it.

"Granger." Parkinson took a deep, careful breath. "Please."

Hermione blinked, startled.

"I'm asking because I'm Draco's friend and I care what happens to him. I'm not plotting against him - or your precious little Potter."

"Really."

Parkinson sighed. "Look... you don't understand. Draco and I have been friends since we were children. I wouldn't hurt him, I just want to-"

Hermione barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Loyalty and altruism, from Pansy Parkinson. That was rich.

Parkinson noticed her expression, stopped and shook her head. "So damned typical of you people," she said bitterly. "You see Slytherin pureblood and all you see is the enemy. And the Dark Lord. You have no idea what it means to be part of our world. To be part of a group of families that have stood together against all sorts of things for centuries. My family and Malfoy's have been allies for generations, Granger. That's loyalty your kind can't even imagine."

"I've don't have to imagine it; I've seen pureblood family loyalty firsthand. I was there the night Bellatrix Lestrange killed her cousin Sirius Black-"

"Yes, and you Gryffindors are all so very, very loyal to each other, aren't you? I seem to have heard about a certain slimy little Gryffindor called Peter Pettigrew-"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and Parkinson shook her head in disgust.

"Look... fine. Fine, you stupid cow, you wouldn't know true friendship and loyalty if it came up and bit you in the arse. Tell Draco, though. Or maybe tell Potty and he can talk to Draco; Draco would never listen to the likes of you. Tell him... tell him Draco still has friends in Slytherin. He can count on some of us to help. And he can count on some of us to remain friends even if our families decide otherwise."

Hermione's eyebrows went up.

"It's not always about who's on top in Slytherin," Parkinson said roughly. "You remind him of that. Sometimes we can be human beings too." She turned and went back into the Great Hall.

Hermione watched her go, and couldn't help feeling she'd let something important slip away.