Bond

Chapter 14

November 29 - January 21

Day 62, Sunday

Harry blinked his eyes open sleepily. Something was wrong. Something...

"Malfoy?" he whispered.

Malfoy was on his side, his eyes closed, his breath ragged, a frown on his face and dread and resentment flooding through to Harry.

"Malfoy?" Harry touched his arm and Malfoy startled and drew away, biting his lip, still asleep.

"No..." he murmured. "Don't..."

"Malfoy," Harry said, shaking him gently. "Draco. Wake up."

Malfoy woke with a start, eyes wide and haunted. "What-"

"I think you were having a nightmare. Sh, it's all right." Harry tentatively reached out, not sure whether his touch would be welcome or not.

"I was what?"

"Having a nightmare. You're awake now, you're all right," Harry said quietly, rubbing Malfoy's arm, noting that he was shivering.

Malfoy nodded uncertainly, still disoriented, and Harry slowly pulled him into his arms, profoundly disturbed as Malfoy welcomed his comfort and grasped him tightly, with apparently no thought for how vulnerable this made him seem.

"D'you remember what it was about?" Harry asked cautiously.

"N-no... yeah. Parts of it. About my father, I think."

Harry suppressed a shudder. "What about him?"

"Nothing that bad, just what he was talking about yesterday, the-" Malfoy suddenly closed his mouth and a rush of alarm and reticence flooded from him to Harry.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Harry said quickly. "Only it's sometimes good to talk out a nightmare. But, er, sometimes it makes it worse."

Malfoy nodded, his breath still unsteady, but gradually evening out.

"It'll make it worse?"

"Yeah." Malfoy cleared his throat and nodded, and his tight grip lessened as his unease seemed to subside, and now Harry felt a small surge of embarrassment from him.

He sighed. "Come on, Draco, you were having a nightmare. I usually wake up screaming from mine." Malfoy snickered and Harry felt him relax a bit. "Can you tell me why he was here?"

Malfoy cleared his throat again. "He... a lot of reasons. Information about the family, what's going on. A lot of it's obviously private, or I would've told you."

"I gathered that."

"Oh and he wanted me to know he's still trying to find who cast the bond."

"Is he? What can he do that the Aurors can't?" There was a very short pause, as Harry replayed his own words and gave a short laugh. "Never mind, I didn't ask that question."

"And I didn't hear it," Malfoy said, smirking.

"Anything else?"

"I'm supposed to talk to a reporter. Monday after class."

"About what?"

"Us, the bond, big happy family, etcetera etcetera."

"Lucky you," Harry said dryly.

"Quite."

"Isn't he worried that the reporter might twist your words?"

"She's on our payroll, apparently."

"Now that really is lucky. Wish I'd had a reporter in my pocket any time in the last seven years. Rita Skeeter would've been nice, in fourth year."

"Skeeter? Yeah, I can imagine. Though wasn't she the same one who did a very sympathetic interview with you in fifth year?"

"The same."

"Did you pay her off?"

Harry hesitated briefly. "Blackmailed her."

"What?!" Malfoy propped himself up on one elbow, looking at him in amused disbelief.

"She was an unregistered animagus, but you knew that. We threatened to expose her and made her write an honest story, for once in her career."

"You're saying 'we' but for some reason I keep thinking 'we' means Granger." There was a slight pause, and Malfoy smirked. "Not that I expect you to name names, of course."

"Of course. Anyway, I just wish we could've had her the year before that. Those articles she wrote around the Goblet of Fire fiasco were so bloody embarrassing."

"You really didn't say any of that stuff she said you did? I know you said that at the time, that she made it all up, but-"

"Honestly, still crying over my parents? Why would I? I've no memories of them at all."

Malfoy was silent for a moment before lying back down again. "I... god, I'm sorry I was such a shit to you over those articles."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?"

"Fuck you, Potter, you heard me, I'm not going to repeat it," he said stiffly, and Harry laughed softly.

"Right. Apology accepted. It's only you've never apologized for anything from before the bond."

"No and I don't intend to make a habit of it, either," Malfoy said firmly. "Or we'll both be spending the next few months doing nothing but apologizing for the past."

"This is a one-time offer, is it?"

"Absolutely. Blame it on my father's orders to me to get in touch with my sodding Inner Hufflepuff."

Harry laughed.

"You have no idea how much I hate this."

"I have some," Harry smirked. "It doesn't have to be that painful, you know. As long as you make sure your Inner Hufflepuff is Zacharias Smith, you should have no trouble."

"Smith?" Malfoy wrinkled his nose in distaste. "That-"

"Arrogant, sarcastic, hostile git?"

"Yes-" Malfoy suddenly got it and started laughing. "Fuck you very much, Potter."

"You're welcome," Harry said, thankful that Malfoy seemed to be over whatever his nightmare had been. "Can you go back to sleep again?"

"Yeah." Malfoy yawned and settled himself into Harry's shoulder. "Good night... Harry."

"Good night," Harry said, unaccountably pleased with the simple gesture.

ooooooo

Day 63, Monday

"Good god, Potter, that's appalling," Zabini laughed at Harry's potion which, truth to tell, was looking somewhat off. It was supposed to be brilliant blue with a hint of fire in the depths. Instead, it was puce, with bits of floating things which looked a lot like newt eyes because that was in fact what they were. Malfoy looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.

"Did you do any of the sixth chapter readings at all? Here." He grabbed Harry's ladle and poured a ladleful into a small bowl. "Watch what I'm doing, then do it yourself. Even you should be able to understand this." And he proceeded to explain in detail what Harry had done wrong and how he could recover from it.

Hermione had come over to watch. "Is that why the newt eyes don't dissolve? I thought it was just the heat that mattered."

"No, it's the speed of stirring as well. Well, the heat helps too, but it's mainly the speed," he said, and they began a lively discussion of the different elements of the potion that left Harry completely bewildered in about a minute. He looked up at Parkinson's slightly bemused expression at the alarming sight of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy having a perfectly cordial exchange of ideas.

Apparently Parkinson was able to follow the topic as well, because she suddenly frowned. "That's - no, that's all wrong," she said, joining in. "Draco, Granger's right, actually, the counter-clockwise direction only affects the taste and colour, not the potency."

"She's right? Did Pansy Parkinson just say Granger is right?" Queenie Greengrass, at the next table over, whispered loudly to Nott. Parkinson flashed her a dark look.

"Queenie, darling, you'll want to not lean so close over your cauldron; that's why you keep getting all those dreadful spots," she said breezily before turning her back on Greengrass and plunging back into the discussion, but her manner towards Hermione was somewhat chillier nonetheless.

Hermione met Harry's eyes over the cauldron and sighed. Hermione had told him that Parkinson had approached her at the Halloween ball, trying to find out what was wrong with Malfoy and Harry, and that Hermione had brushed her off. She'd been trying, since the circle, to mend bridges, but apparently Parkinson's willingness to extend her friendship (or at least her non-hostility) to Harry didn't extend to Hermione. Her manner was more polite than it had been before, but no warmer.

It was all so much simpler when Gryffindor and Slytherin were enemies, thought Harry. Gryffindors had always been friendly with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws and Slytherins were often seen together, but the enmity between Gryffindor and Slytherin that was such a solid foundation of their school seemed to be eroding. This new reality was extremely confusing, as parts of Slytherin cheerfully tore into each other like particularly malicious pixies and strange alliances sprang up between Gryffindors and Slytherins. People from both houses were sometimes cooperating in class and during extra practice sessions, like today's. There had even been a few Gryffindors and Slytherins visiting one another's common rooms. It was bizarre.

It was particularly odd for this to be happening against the backdrop of increased Death Eater activity, not knowing whether the people who were suddenly being friendly were the same ones whose parents were involved in the horrifying activities reported in the papers. There were now odd silences here and there whenever politics came up. The whole situation was terribly disconcerting.

"Are you listening?" Malfoy cut into Harry's musing.

"Oh - sorry," Harry said, startled.

"Merlin, Harry, this is your potion we're all working over. The rest of us may not agree over why it's gone wrong, but yours is the only one that looks this bad. The least you can do is pretend to pay attention to what we're saying."

Harry nodded apologetically.

"Oh it's Harry now, is it?" Greengrass said archly, and there was a small silence, broken by Parkinson.

"Good heavens, Queenie, your potion really is giving off the most foul - oh. Oh that's not the potion, is it? You poor dear, you really need to stay away from the bean and hemlock stew, it doesn't agree with you at all-"

"Draco," Zabini said, "don't you have that interview with the Prophet at five today? It's four thirty already."

"An interview?" said Nott. "My my, we do like ourselves, don't we?"

"Shut up, Nott," Parkinson said impatiently, glancing over Malfoy. "Good lord, Draco it's a good thing you taught me all those grooming spells-"

"I'm fine-"

"Not for pictures in the paper, you're not. Draco, you're one of the more presentable boys in our year and living with Potter hasn't harmed that - in fact I must say he's looking rather less scruffy than before - but you need to look immaculate for pictures. You don't want to look like the Weasleys did when they made the front page."

Ron scowled and Harry shot him an apologetic look.

"We don't know she'll want to take any pictures, it's not that big a story-"

"Not that big a story? The entire wizarding world has been starving for crumbs and nibbles of gossip about you two for months and you think your interview won't be front-page news? No, don't tie your hair back, then it looks short." Malfoy scowled at her. "One of these days I'm going to tie you down and make you look at all the articles I've saved-"

"Not unless you want me to Incendio them all."

"There. Now you look like a proper respectable married man. Go and gush about your wedded bliss." Malfoy shot her a dark look as he and Harry left the room.

"Oh and, Draco, if they want pictures of the two of you, make sure you use a lot of tongue-" Nott said, and Harry put his hand firmly on Malfoy's back.

"Move. Forward. Do not think of what he just said."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to deal with the bloody reporter and-"

"No, I don't. I get to sit and watch and get my revenge for every comment you ever made about Rita Skeeter."

"Yes, and thank you for your loving support," Malfoy said sourly.

ooooooo

Day 68, Saturday

"Fuck," Draco said softly as he opened the Prophet to the second page.

"Not yet another letter about your interview, is it?" Potter asked, buttering his toast.

"No, I told you, those have tapered off," he said irritably. "It's just they've caught Rodolphus Lestrange..." He scanned the article.

"What? How?" Potter looked over his shoulder.

"Doesn't say, they just found him." He scanned to the end, going back to read more carefully. "Damn. My mother must be frantic," he muttered.

"Why?" Seamus Finnigan asked.

"If they've found Rodolphus, that means my aunt B-" he stopped and his face flushed as he swallowed the rest of what he was going to say, suddenly acutely aware of Neville Longbottom's presence, right beside him at the breakfast table.

"Aunt who?" Finnigan asked, his mouth full of porridge and his eyes on the Quidditch pages, his words dropping into the sudden complete silence at their end of the table.

"Erm, so Malfoy, you're both staying here for the hols, right?" Weasley broke in loudly, and Draco felt an annoying surge of gratitude towards him.

"Who's your aunt, Malfoy?" Finnigan asked curiously, still shovelling down porridge and utterly oblivious to the tension surrounding him.

"Lestrange's wife Bellatrix," Draco said quickly. "Yeah, we're staying over. You're going home, Weasley?"

"Yeah, not for the whole thing, though. I'll be-"

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" said Finnigan.

"-we'll be spending part of the hols with-" Granger said.

"Isn't she a Death Eater too?" Finnigan asked.

"Yeah, she is," Longbottom snapped. "And everybody's trying to change the subject, Seamus."

Finnigan looked up, shocked at Longbottom's tone. "Oh." He looked around and finally registered the substantial unease in the air. "Erm. Sorry," he mumbled, ducking his head and going back to inhaling his porridge, his face a deep crimson.

Draco cleared his throat. Merlin and Mordred, this was so impossible. What was he supposed to do? Apologize to Longbottom for his aunt's actions? Be silent for the rest of the meal? Start a new topic of conversation?

"Thanks," he murmured to Longbottom.

"I didn't say that for your benefit," Longbottom said curtly, and Draco's eyebrows went up. Longbottom really did have a spine somewhere in there. Draco felt like he'd just found out a newt could play chess.

"I know. Thanks anyway."

Longbottom looked up, a little surprised. "You're welcome."

Draco put his paper away. "You're not going home for the whole holiday?" he addressed Weasley again.

"No, we're staying with Hermione's parents for a bit. It's going to be weird; I've never stayed with Muggles before."

Draco suppressed his immediate response of "I've never stayed at a Flobberworm lair either, I still wouldn't want to do it over Christmas." Probably not the done thing, saying something like that when Weasley and Granger had just tried to rescue him from considerable social embarrassment.

"I'll get my father something Muggle, it'll make his Christmas. Which reminds me, I should go to the owlery to put in the order for Ginny's present." He and Granger stood up and started off together.

Presents. Draco frowned. He should probably get Potter something, he realized for the first time. But how would he go about getting a gift? The next Hogsmeade visit should be soon, and they had been planning on spending part of it apart, testing the limits of their bond, but he was going to be with his Slytherin friends. What would they think if he bought something for Potter?

And how would he even figure out what to get him? He had a sudden vivid image of himself saying, "What do you think Harry would like for Christmas?" to Granger or Weasley and immediately perishing in a flaming burst of mortification.

He ground his teeth in frustration. The awkward moments just didn't seem to let up here. "Come on. Let's go back to Slytherin," he said brusquely to Potter.

"What's your problem today?" Potter asked irritably as they headed out of the Great Hall. "You've been barking at me all morning; are you going to snap out of this bastard phase any time soon?"

"I'm not barking at you."

"You are. In fact ever since that interview with the Prophet came out on Wednesday you've been miserable to live with."

"I haven't."

"Look, it went well, you git. It was a good interview, you did what your father told you to. There's been a good response to it, mostly, and it's not my bloody fault your Slytherin enemies have been quoting from it. It's not even my bloody fault that you're upset because your family's decided to switch sides."

Draco scowled. 'I wouldn't call it love - we care about each other, I suppose,' and 'He's not bad, once you get to know him,' had been Nott and Queenie's favourite quotes, but there hadn't been a scarcity of material in the article for merciless Slytherin mockery. Oddly, the quotes that got under his skin the most were not his but the ones from the reporter. 'These two boys have turned what could have been a nightmare into a warm and caring marriage,' and 'Would that more adults could behave with the courage and dignity that these young gentlemen have demonstrated' were the two that he was most thoroughly sick of hearing.

And if that stupid article was all that was wrong with his life right now he'd think himself lucky. "It's not the article."

"Then what is it? Is it what happened with Neville just now?"

"No, and shut up," he snapped. "I'm worried about my mother, all right? Does that occur to you? That families sometimes worry about each other?"

"Worried about your mother, or your aunt?"

"Her too. And don't start in on how she's a lunatic who deserves to be locked up - she's still my aunt-"

"You didn't even know her before she escaped from Azkaban two years ago-"

"Will you drop it?"

"You're fucking impossible," Potter said impatiently. "If I try to be nice to you, you snarl at me. If I just leave you alone, you sulk. And why are we going to Slytherin right now anyway?" he asked as they reached the Slytherin doors.

"Yeah, why are you going to Slytherin right now anyway?" a snide voice came from behind them and for once Draco didn't give a damn about maintaining his dignity by ignoring Nott.

"Go fuck yourself, Nott," he tossed over his shoulder as they stepped through the doors. "I was sorted into this house, same as you. I've as much right to be here as any of you."

"He doesn't."

"Well he isn't the one you're objecting to, is he?" Draco turned around, glaring at Nott.

Nott crossed his arms and sneered at Draco as the common room rustled with interest. "I object to anybody who's stupid enough to ally themselves to him. You have been reading the papers, Draco? You are aware of what's going on? Or are you so firmly on their side now that you're just as clueless as they are?"

"You-"

"Nott. Shove off," Blaise said curtly from one of the corner tables. "Potter, don't forget you were going to go over those Inferi hexes with me before Monday's exam. I still haven't a clue how they work."

Pansy spoke up. "Yes, really boys, this is all quite fascinating, but do you think we could leave off the drama for a few days? Seeing as how we all have exams starting Monday?"

Nott smirked and headed off to his room, and Draco took a deep breath, dreaming of smacking that stupid condescending grin off Nott's stupid condescending face.

"Don't let him bother you," Pansy said dismissively, coming to stand close to him.

"He's right," Draco said flatly as Potter went to review with Blaise. "I don't have a clue what's going on."

"Well, I don't either. My parents aren't speaking to me about it."

"What?" Draco's gaze snapped to Pansy. "Because of me?"

"Yes. No, they're not angry at me. They just aren't telling me anything to do with the Dark Lord." He stared at her. "No, I haven't switched sides, Draco. But-"

"But I have," he said bitterly. "Whether I want to or not, I have."

"That's not the end of the world, you know."

"Feels like it to me. And why are you still associating with me anyway?"

"Beyond the fact that I just plain like you?" Pansy hesitated for a moment, then drew him aside into a relatively empty corner of the common room. "Darling, it must have reached your notice that the Dark Lord is not exactly a shoo-in for Cleverest Wizard of the Year. He's been overpowered or outwitted by Potter three times so far, that we know of - and one of those times Potter was still wearing nappies. I don't think it's impossible that he'll be beaten in the end. I believe in what he's selling, but just in case it doesn't pan out, I'd like to have a friend on the other side, should I need one."

Draco smiled. That, he could understand.

"Don't worry, Draco. Your family will come out on top eventually," she said encouragingly. "They always do. And even if they don't... not everything is about politics. I told that stupid suspicious Mudblood cow that Slytherin isn't always about who's on top, and she didn't believe me, but you should have."

There was real hurt in her voice underneath her light tone, and Draco had to look away. "I was ill, Pansy. I couldn't think straight any more."

"And I still stood by you anyway, didn't I? Still risked my family's anger to help you?"

Draco nodded.

"It's not always about who's on top," she repeated, then giggled. "Although I must say, when I said that to Granger I'd no idea I meant it literally. Then I saw your memories. Draco, darling, the things you do in the name of marital harmony. Is he worth it?"

"Pansy!"

She snickered. "Sorry, love. Come, let's join Blaise and Potter, and let's make sure next week's exams don't catch us all flatfooted. My family may be willing to forgive my association with you horrible anti-Dark Lord types, but they won't forgive me failing my December exams."

ooooooo

Day 75, Saturday

Draco glanced over the screaming crowd, their relentless red and gold garb garishly assaulting his eyes, and sighed. Here was yet another topic that wasn't covered in any of the marital literature they'd received in the first days of their bond: Awkward Quidditch For Newlyweds, AKA who to cheer for during a Quidditch match when your spouse is from your bitterest rival house. Do you cheer for his team, out of loyalty to him? Or do you cheer for their opponent, because if your spouse's team wins your team will probably be placed dead last in Quidditch points?

Decisions, decisions.

For once he found himself rather grateful that their bond still made it terribly uncomfortable for them to be around crowds. Being touched by others no longer felt like a third-degree burn, but it was still jarring and a little painful, like a knee to the groin that landed a mere half an inch away from its target. So here they were, at the very edge of the Gryffindor contingent, the excuse of the crowd a very convenient way to avoid sitting up there with all the rest of them.

The Weasleys weren't bad, he decided as he observed them. They couldn't touch Potter for skill, either as Captain or as Seeker, but they had some talent. Ron Weasley, whose goalkeeping always mirrored his mood, was doing relatively well today. It probably helped that John Bryant, the new Ravenclaw Keeper, was perhaps more useful than a wet piece of parchment in front of the goals, but only just, and that the odds were favouring Ginny Weasley to catch the Snitch.

Oh - there they went, the Ravenclaw Chasers headed for Weasley. All three of them zipping about trying to confuse him with their speed and recklessness; playing more like Gryffindors than Ravenclaws. In fact, he'd heard that no house was playing its stereotype this year. Gryffindors were being cautious and conservative, Ravenclaws were diving about like lunatics, Hufflepuffs were scaring the hell out of everyone with their take-no-prisoners fierceness, and Slytherin... suffice it to say that cunning and ambitious did not describe Slytherin's Quidditch team this year. Wretched and pitiful was rather more like it.

"Save!" Potter yelled. "Oh, good for Ron!"

"Not bad," Draco admitted.

"Should he be doing that?" Granger said worriedly, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"It's a Badler Twist, Granger. It's allowed."

"But isn't it dangerous?"

Draco rolled his eyes again.

"No!" Potter yelled as the Ravenclaws wheeled back and put another Quaffle past Weasley. "NO!! That wasn't bloody well fair-" he sputtered furiously as Madam Hooch refused to stop despite the mutinous grumbles from the Gryffindor stands.

"It's legal. Barely," Draco said.

"Barely! And you know damn well that's not how that play is supposed to be used, it's a Seeker's-"

"But that's allowed now."

"It bloody well is not!"

"Bloody well is," Draco countered.

"Since when?"

"Sometime around the end of September, if I recall correctly." Potter looked blank. "You know, our wedding anniversary? There was a meeting about it, shockingly enough you and I disagreed, which led to our current state of marital bliss... does any of this ring a bell?"

"Is that what was decided in the end?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, you twit. Did you never bother to look up the regulation again?"

"No," Potter muttered, eyes glued on the players.

"Remind me to point and laugh at you at every anniversary then."

"NO!!" Potter yelled as Ravenclaw scored again. "That's not fair!"

"It is, you git. I told you, that's-"

"Malfoy, shut the fuck up!"

"It's the new regulation-"

"And you'll get your head hexed off if you say one more word about it; that's our Keeper out there getting his arse handed to him over this damn rule-"

"You'd hex me for pointing out that it's a fair play?"

"Will you shut UP!" Granger shrilled, her eyes glued to Weasley, who was looking more and more desperate.

"It's a fair-mph-" Potter clapped a hand over Draco's mouth.

"No, I won't hex you, but there's about seventy Gryffindors behind you and I don't fancy getting turned into a giant slug along with you halfway through the game!" he shouted over the roar of the crowd, never taking his eyes off the players. "Bloody HELL!!"

"And it's 30-0 for Ravenclaw," Zacharias Smith's voice floated over the crowd. "And Keeper Ron Weasley struggles, as usual a bit off balance, not a steady player at all, but then again, being Harry Potter's friend..."

Draco scowled up at the announcer's box. "Smith. That prat."

"Your Inner Hufflepuff, remember," Potter reminded him, wincing at yet another near miss.

"Here, shove over a bit-"

"Draco!" Potter gulped and slapped down Draco's wand hand. "What are you-"

"I wasn't going to do anything permanently debilitating," Draco said defensively. "And in fact I would think you'd be grateful. I was about to make Weasley's life a little more pleasant."

"How?" Potter's attention turned back to the game.

"Heroamus." Potter shook his head, not recognizing it. "Hero-worship spell."

"What?" Potter turned to look at him.

"Get Smith suddenly charmed by Weasley. He'll start blithering about what a marvellous player he is, and Weasley's so thick he'll probably take it as genuine and put in the match of a lifetime."

There was a brief pause, then Potter started laughing.

"What?"

"You're unbelievable." He laughed, grabbing Draco and taking his mouth in a quick, heated kiss, reaching back to cuff Finnigan on the back of the head as Finnigan made a strangled noise in his throat. He broke off the kiss, still laughing, as the crowd roared - and then roared even louder, on the heels of the first outburst.

"What?! What happened?!" they both asked.

"Ron let another goal in," yelled Granger, sounding absurdly delirious about it, "but Ginny-"

"-Gryffindor wins! Gryffindor wins 150 to 40, despite some truly spectacular Ravenclaw plays and a rather dismal performance by the Gryffindor Keep-" Smith's voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd, as the Gryffindor team did a victory lap around the pitch.

"Come on, let's go see Ron," Granger yelled over her shoulder, heading out towards the pitch as the crowds started to leave the stands.

"We'll be there in a bit - too much jostling around right now," Potter yelled back, and she nodded and ran towards the team.

"Do you not want to celebrate with them?" Draco asked. "The crowd-contact's not so bad any more."

"I'll go later," he said, and they gazed out at the pitch as the stands rapidly emptied.

"What is it?" Draco finally asked.

"Just hoping I can play again. Hoping we both can." He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Were you really going to hex Smith?"

"Yeah, why not? He's a git. And not a terribly well-connected one, either."

"You were going to do something nice for Ron?"

"No, not really-"

"Why? It's not as though you like him at all, or think he's well-connected either."

"He's not that bad. Besides, he is well-connected: to you," Draco grinned. "Don't read more into it than it deserves."

"Thanks anyway." Potter smiled and reached for him again.

"Right, then," Draco said when they came up for air. "Let's go to your dorm and get drowned in the riot of gold and red that you lot insist on overdoing. How your eyes don't bleed in that environment is beyond me."

"Will you be celebrating with us, or hiding in the dorm room?"

"Oh, I'll be drowning my sorrows in butterbeer, for the fact that Slytherin is in dead last place."

They glanced up at the scoreboard. Hufflepuff 190, Gryffindor 150, Ravenclaw 40, Slytherin 10. "You know, that's so pitiful, it even hurts me," Potter said. Draco glared at him.

"Cheer up," Potter continued, patting his arm encouragingly. "That 10 might get you back on the team."

"From your lips to Carmichael's ears," Draco said, and they headed for the Tower.

ooooooo

Day 86, Wednesday

"Draco? Are you coming?"

"I still don't see why," Malfoy muttered rebelliously. Parkinson shared a pained look with Zabini. Both of them were fairly tired of coaxing and wheedling Malfoy and Harry to the Yule Ball.

"It's the social event of the season," she said. "You must be seen."

"Yeah, seen sitting around, watching everybody else have fun," Harry said, struggling with his formal tie. "I can't wait."

"Don't pout. It does absolutely nothing for you."

"He can pout if he wants to," Malfoy muttered, fixing Harry's tie with a wave of his wand.

"Just stay for two hours. I'll keep you company. You look very handsome, by the way," she said, practically pushing them out the common room door.

"Yeah, great," Malfoy said. "New dress robes. My heart beats pitter-pat."

"Last year you would've been quite happy with them."

"Last year I would've been happy getting under your robes," he muttered.

"Last year you did." She grinned, and he gave her a small smile.

"Come on, Draco," she said patiently. "There's no doubt going to be people watching you, possibly taking pictures, and the papers will want to see their happy couple. As will your father."

Malfoy scowled.

"Don't look like that, darling. Your father's pleased with you, the package this morning was ample enough proof of that. And well he should be; your family's star is rising again, in large part due to you. The papers have him spotted at a few very nice events lately."

"I hate reading the rubbish in the papers."

"I know, I know, it's heartbreaking. You would've killed for this kind of publicity last year. Now you do everything in your power to pretend it doesn't exist," she sighed. "You've changed so much," she said pensively, and he looked away. "You're doing your family proud, Draco. Lucius is pleased with you."

Malfoy sighed and Harry couldn't help remembering this morning, and Malfoy's closed expression as he'd opened a package from Lucius containing a new set of very high quality dress robes and a handwritten card. The first example of parental approval that Harry had seen from Lucius to his son. He would've thought that, hard as Malfoy tried to please his father, he would've been ecstatic instead of oddly subdued.

At least the rise in the Malfoys' status was translating into some lessening of the poisonous atmosphere in Slytherin. While there were still snide remarks and smirks from a sizable minority of Slytherins, a larger group now seemed carefully neutral, and a few of their opponents had even switched sides.

"Oh, 'scuse me, Draco," a fifth year boy said, narrowly avoiding bumping into Malfoy on his way into the Great Hall.

"Watch where you're going, Archer," Malfoy snapped.

"Right, so sorry," Archer nodded quickly. "So Draco, you're, erm, you're staying over the whole holiday, are you?" he said brightly.

Malfoy didn't bother to acknowledge him as he led Harry to their table, and Harry wondered if it was wrong of him to get a warm glow over Archer's kicked-puppy expression. Then he compared it to Archer's malicious glee over Malfoy's ten inches of vapourized Transfiguration essay a few weeks ago and felt better.

"I'm not a big fan of these even when I can dance," Harry muttered as they sat down. "I've never been much good at it."

"No, the phrase 'disgrace to the dance floor' was made for you."

Harry glanced around the Great Hall. At least the food looked good, and the music was interesting. And the Hall, as usual for Christmas, was decorated beautifully.

Two hours of sitting around in dress robes, listening to music. What fun. Harry ordered and slowly savoured a glass of butterbeer, and wished he could get completely drunk like he had during their suspension, just for something to do. He caught Malfoy's speculative gaze at his own glass and chuckled. "I don't think getting drunk tonight would impress your father," he said as they watched Hermione and Ron dance by. "And I don't think Parkinson could avoid charging you if the whole school saw it."

"God, you two were pathetic that night," Parkinson said. "Funny, though. And I must say it warmed my heart to be able to charge you and not Draco."

"I'm shocked," said Harry.

"Let's only stay one hour," Malfoy said.

"Oh come on, Draco, where's your Christmas spirit?" Parkinson said.

"Already on holiday."

"Well. This calls for some serious intervention." She got up and headed towards the heaping table of pastries.

"After we leave, let's go home," Malfoy said.

"Not Slytherin?"

"Not tonight."

"They've gotten a lot better over there," Harry shrugged.

"I still don't feel like dealing with a bunch of randy, half-drunk house mates who've all been partying while we sit and watch. Or who are going to be all packed up and talking about going home while we stay here."

Harry sighed. Almost everybody else was out there dancing. Almost everybody else would be gone tomorrow, seeing family or friends. But since their only choices were the Manor or the Burrow, here they would be, left behind and forgotten by everybody.

Getting drunk didn't seem like such a bad idea now. He sighed again.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, circles please," the band leader called, and Malfoy glanced at the dance floor in surprise.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"A circle dance," Malfoy said, a little puzzled, as people on the dance floor started to rearrange themselves into large circles.

"All right, you two," Parkinson said, coming back to their table. "No excuses, circle dances require no contact, so up you get. Join the party."

"Who asked for this?" Malfoy asked.

"I did," Pansy said tartly. "So you could get a chance to dance too."

"But nobody but purebloods will even know how, it's hardly ever done any more-"

"No, not normally," she said, "but as you can see-" she indicated the students rapidly filling up the floor. Hermione approached their table, smiling at Harry.

Malfoy shook his head. "Harry doesn't even know how-"

"Actually, I do," Harry said slowly. "That had nothing to do with an Ancient Runes paper the other day, did it?" he asked Hermione, and she smiled and shook her head.

"What?" said Malfoy.

"We were studying the other day, you and Pansy went to get a book from the library. Hermione started reading from a parchment in Ancient Runes that talked about a Celtic wizarding circle dance." It had been a passing remark, but Hermione had described it and Ron and Neville had mentioned they'd both learned something like it as children. They'd demonstrated the simple steps, then teased Harry and Hermione that they couldn't do it, so of course they had. It had seemed just a casual study break at the time.

"You planned this?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Yes."

"Together?" Malfoy asked Parkinson.

"Well... yes," they both said, amusingly identical expressions of distaste on their faces.

And if this had been a fairy tale, Harry thought, there would've been smiles and inter-house hugs and God Bless Us Every One all around right now. As it was, Parkinson and Hermione still looked like they would rather hex each other's eyes out than share in the spirit of the season, and Millicent Bulstrode looked a little green around the edges, being around so many Gryffindors. But Zabini and Ron had actually become fairly good friends lately, and were laughing together at Harry and Malfoy's bewildered expressions, and there were plenty of welcoming smiles from the people on the dance floor.

Harry felt a small glow of warmth at their classmates and glanced at Malfoy, whose expression had gone from confusion to amusement.

Malfoy shrugged and gestured at the dance floor, his lips curving into a grin. "Shall we?"

ooooooo

Day 98, Monday

Potter actually seemed to know what he was doing today, thought Draco twelve days later as he uncorked a bottle of bat blood. Which was good, because they were starting the new year with a joint Potions-Herbology class on brewing magical fertilizers, an almost impossible task. He supposed it was Snape's way of making himself feel better about the fact that, as usual, he'd also spent the holidays here. A sort of "welcome back from your heart-warming time with family and friends, please dive into a cauldron of owl dung" present for them all.

"Draco, do you have purified adder venom yet?" Potter asked, reading over his instructions.

"No, you don't need it till the third step," Draco said.

"I thought you were supposed to boil it while the blood congealed."

"You could do that; I just never find that the effort you put into it pays off. Besides, it's quicker to use a venom distiller."

"Which I don't have."

"So use mine, you git," he said, handing over the distiller that had been his Christmas gift from Potter.

"So it is useful, then?"

"Oh, very. Who told you about it?"

"What?"

"I know you didn't think of getting it for me on your own."

"Blaise, actually," Potter said, watching the distiller extract purified venom, checking his potion to make sure it was brewing as expected.

"You're a lot better at this now," Draco observed.

Potter flashed him a grin. "Your incentives make learning this rubbish worth the effort."

"What incentives?" Granger asked, and Potter gave a start of alarm as Draco opened his mouth to answer her.

"Er-"

"I offered to tidy his desk if he read ahead," Draco said innocently.

"Oh," Granger said absently, peering at her potion. "That was nice of you."

Draco and Potter hid their smiles. It had been a good holiday, all things told. Spending a bit of time apart, getting more comfortable with distance. Spending time together without too much school or social pressure. At one point, they'd rediscovered The List, had a good laugh over it, and decided to do some of the undone items like taking out their knickknacks and putting up their rival Quidditch posters and settling into their quarters. Quarters in which they'd spent the bulk of the break, as both Gryffindor and Slytherin had emptied of almost all their friends.

They'd also spent a lot of time flying, trying to do what they could to be able to rejoin their teams some time in January. Maybe, just maybe, in time for the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game.

Of course, they'd studied. And studied, and studied, and studied some more, because their Christmas marks had been abysmal and that was just simply not on.

And the sex had been fantastic. And frequent. And creative and often rather loud.

It had been a nice holiday, nicer than Draco had expected, despite the rather ominous daily news from The Prophet. Two Ministry employees had gone missing; a member of the Wizengamot was suspected of being under Imperius; Florean Fortescue had disappeared from his ice cream parlour from one day to the next. And through it all, the Malfoy family's star continued to rise.

"Weasley, that's not - come on, mate, that's disgraceful," Blaise was saying a few cauldrons away. "Call yourself a seventh year? Five Galleons says that explodes in five minutes or less."

"You can keep your bloody Galleons, the potion's fine - oi! Hands off, Zabini!"

"My cauldron's next to yours and I don't fancy picking owl droppings out of my hair when your mess explodes. Look - there, see? You add the venom and the bubbling goes down again."

And behind them, Longbottom was arguing - in a semi-friendly way - with Pansy, who was smirking at him and saying, "Listen darling, you may be a genius in Herbology, but you're pure rubbish at Potions. Trust me on this."

Some things had really changed in their year, Draco mused.

"Longbottom," Snape said imperiously. "I see Professor Sprout's confidence in your abilities is sadly misplaced. Or perhaps she failed to accurately describe to you the fine distinction between making plants grow and making them implode. That will be ten points from Gryffindor. Evanesco!" he snapped, and Longbottom's potion disappeared. Longbottom's face darkened and he glared daggers at Snape's retreating back.

Some things had changed. Some things hadn't. Draco smiled to himself.

"It's absolutely amazing what you read these days, isn't it?" Queenie Greengrass said airily, risking Snape's wrath by reading the Prophet under her desk while she waited for her potion to congeal.

"What d'you mean?" asked Nott.

"Well, you see, here's this article about a new convalescent home near St. Mungo's, for people with permanent magical injuries. And look whose name is head of the list of donors to the project. Lucius Malfoy, being thanked publicly by the Minister of Magic, no less, and smiling as though they're old friends." She paused, shook her head. "It really is amazing how little pride some people have. And truly amazing what a few well-placed Galleons will do."

"Yes, it is," said Draco pleasantly. "Really, truly amazing."

She ignored him and turned the page. "Really amazing, too, what a few Galleons won't do. Looks like Olivander's family is offering a lot of money for the Death Eaters to return him from wherever they've taken him. Nobody's biting." She peered at the article. "Then again, of course, there's the whole issue of - oh good heavens I almost said something indiscreet." Queenie gave Draco a look of feigned shock.

Draco frowned. He hated these reminders of how out of the loop he was. Hated that he no longer knew whether to be pleased or upset at news of the Dark Lord's forces amassing. As a pureblood, the idea of the Death Eaters monopolizing the services of the best wand-maker in centuries was wonderful. As... whatever he was now, politically... it was rather disturbing.

And as the spouse of one of the people most likely to be hurt or killed in the coming battle, it was terrifying.

He hated even more the up and down nature of the situation. One moment the Prophet would report all sorts of horrifying things, and it seemed Death Eaters would be storming the Ministry and Hogwarts at any moment. Then the stories would taper off, and there would be a respite. And then back to panic. It was nerve-wrecking.

Potter leaned over his shoulder. "Don't let it bother you," he murmured.

"You know a lot of what they're saying is true."

Potter shrugged. "Not much we can do about it. And besides, you know the other thing they're saying in the papers; some people have been switching sides."

"Because of my family," Draco said bitterly.

"Partly, yeah." Potter leaned closer, searching his face. "What's the matter?"

"What?"

"You get this look sometimes, like you're... I can't read it. Like you're really conflicted about something."

"Oh, what could that possibly be, Harry? The fact that the side I actually believe in is the same side that might kill me?"

"No, it's more... personal than that..."

Draco stared at him. A sarcastic remark about what could possibly be more personal than fearing for one's own life was on the tip of his tongue but was quickly discarded. He shook his head. "Don't. Don't try to read my-"

"Harry," Granger hissed. "Snape."

Draco glanced up to see Snape glaring at them and they both quickly turned back to their cauldrons, stirring and pretending great industry. After a few moments, Potter reached over, ostensibly to return the distiller, and took the opportunity to lean close to Draco's ear. "Never mind reading your thoughts. How about after class, we go back to our quarters, clear off my desk, then you start talking about politics and I'll see how quickly I can... distract you. And then you do the same for me."

"My desk. It's tidier. And sturdier," Draco whispered, discreetly adjusting himself and trying to replace the mental image Potter had created with an image of McGonagall in a tartan negligee to kill his rather badly timed arousal. "That's your solution to everything, isn't it?"

"Brilliant, isn't it?"

Draco smiled. "Yeah. Brilliant."

ooooooo

Day 115, Thursday

"You're too good at that," Malfoy said faintly, his chest still heaving, head thrown back, one hand braced against the wall, the other relaxing its tight hold on Harry's fingers.

"Reciprocity's nice, isn't it?" Harry smiled, pressing a kiss onto Malfoy's upper thigh before standing up and leaning against Malfoy, smiling at the sensation of Malfoy's rapid pulse against Harry's cheek. "Come on, we've got Charms study group at the Great Hall in a few minutes."

Malfoy groaned. "Yeah, give me a minute. I want to... savour the moment." He breathed deeply, idly running his hands over Harry's back and sides. "Thank god we have our own place. Can you imagine Finnigan's face if he walked in on this? Or Blaise or Nott, trying to get a picture for The Prophet, of The Boy Who Blew?"

"It'll be nice not having to deal with any of that after school's done."

"Where are you going to go after school?" Malfoy asked, and Harry realized with some surprise that they'd never really talked about it.

"I've got a standing invitation for the Burrow. And Ron and me always talked about getting a place together after seventh year." He frowned. "But we'll still need to be in contact fairly often for the first little while, won't we?"

"I don't suppose you'd fancy shagging at the Manor."

"D'you fancy shagging at the Burrow?"

Malfoy shuddered. "No. Nor would I want to be a guest at a flat owned by Ron Weasley. We'll need a neutral place to go."

"Not to mention your parents will probably want to keep up the Happy Family thing."

"Yeah, there's that too."

"You know, it still seems so odd to me that the fact we're both boys doesn't seem to be a problem. In the Muggle world nobody would use the fact that their son's involved with another bloke for social climbing, no matter who the other bloke was."

"Did you never fancy any other boys, before?"

Harry flushed slightly. "No! Of course not!"

Malfoy tilted an amused eyebrow at him. "Harry, has it occurred to you that it's a little odd to be so adamant about your heterosexuality to the bloke upon whom you've just performed fellatio?"

"I suppose so," Harry said wryly. "No, I don't think I ever did, not seriously. Did you?"

"Nothing serious. Just the usual, you know, professional Quidditch players and all. You don't really know where the admiration ends and the lust begins." Harry snickered. "And of course half of Slytherin's fancied Blaise at one time or another, which is too bad for the boys because Blaise is one of the most relentlessly heterosexual people in the school."

"D'you fancy any other blokes now?"

"I don't think we can fancy anybody else yet."

"We will eventually, though."

"Eventually, yeah."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling Malfoy's heartbeat slowing down, his breath evening out.

"Does that bother you?" Malfoy said, his voice quiet.

There was a brief silence.

"Does it bother you?" Harry asked.

Another, rather longer, pause, and then Malfoy looked at the clock. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Harry nodded and they separated, straightening out their clothes and gathering their books and papers. "I can't find my-"

"Charms book, yeah, it's under that pile." Malfoy flicked his wand at the mess on Harry's desk. "Last time I'm clearing your desk for you, I'm not your house elf," he said, and Harry nodded thanks and apology and grabbed the book, and they headed out the door.

And Harry was once more struck by what an odd situation they were in. He'd think he was used to it, think he'd finally adapted, and then something like this would come up. Assumptions that had to be re-examined. New realities to deal with.

And new patterns of behaviour to deal with. Like, for example, the fact that they were now able to be apart for more extended periods of time. Today they'd been able to attend almost all of Ancient Runes and Astronomy separately. It was a little uncomfortable, and they'd come straight home afterwards to 'renew the bond', but as that involved sex they considered it well worth the sacrifice.

They greeted the others in the group - mostly Slytherins, plus Ron and Hermione - and settled themselves in, though it seemed Greengrass wasn't there yet and the others were waiting for her before starting serious study. Another pleasant change: as the Malfoys' fortunes changed, they were being treated much better. Even Greengrass was occasionally being polite, though they weren't sure if that was a cause or an effect of her romance with Nott being rather shaky lately. It seemed Lucius' careful balance between support for one side's political position and the other sides' ideals was gaining him popularity. Some people were beginning to hold the opinion that if Voldemort was defeated, at least Lucius would be there to champion the cause of the more conservative purebloods. Achieve some of Voldemort's goals, whether the man himself was there or not.

"Draco?" A fifth-year Slytherin came running up. "The Headmaster wants to talk to you. Something about a message from your father."

Harry started to rise with Malfoy, and Malfoy shook his head. "No, don't, I'll be right back. It's not that far, and it'll only be for a few minutes."

"Fine," he said, giving Malfoy's shoulder a small squeeze and sitting back down.

"Potter, you're back as Seeker and Captain, right?" Bulstrode asked.

"Yeah."

"Too bad Carmichael didn't step down; Draco's worth two of him as Captain," said Parkinson.

"Too right," said Ron.

"Draco wasn't expecting him to. He's lucky Carmichael took him back at all," Zabini reminded them.

"We're all lucky; Baddock is embarrassing," said Bulstrode, whose manner towards Malfoy had been gradually warming, along with Crabbe and Goyle's. "I only wish Draco could fly this Saturday against Ravenclaw."

"He should be up Saturday. He's doing fine in the Seeker's Games," Parkinson said angrily. "It's just stupid politics, is what it is, Carmichael not letting him back yet," she said, and the table burst into a heated discussion. Harry found himself arguing in Carmichael's defence - though it was rather difficult to explain his reasoning to a bunch of people who didn't know anything about Seeking or about being bonded.

"No, I'm not exaggerating," he found himself repeating at one point, exasperated. "You need to be really focussed Seeking, and it's not easy when you're far away and the bond's sort of gnawing at you. We're both fine up there against each other - all right, he's more fine than I am, thanks, Parkinson - but in a match one would be up there alone with the other on the ground and we're neither of us ready for that. I don't even know if I'll be good to go next month."

"You'll be fine," Ron said dismissively.

"Against Hufflepuff? Have you seen the way they're playing this year?"

"It's a sad, sad day when Slytherin and Gryffindor are both afraid of Hufflepuff," noted Parkinson, and glanced up over Harry's shoulder.

Harry turned around. "Oh, you're back," he said, moving over so Malfoy could sit down.

Malfoy leaned down and spoke into Harry's ear. "I need to speak to you in private. Now."

Harry rose, frowning at Malfoy. "Is something-"

"Nothing's wrong," Malfoy assured him hurriedly, and "Everything's fine," he said to the others. "We'll be back in a few minutes." And he put a hand on Harry's elbow, steering him out of the Great Hall and into the corridor.

"What is it?" Harry asked, struck by how completely closed off Malfoy felt. No way of reading his expression, other than "intense"; eyes boring into his, breath quickened. And his emotions were a bewildering jumble that Harry couldn't get a read on at all.

"What is it?" he repeated.

Malfoy took a deep breath. "Father found him. The caster of the curse."