Bond

Chapter 19

February 27 - March 16

Day 152, Saturday, continued

"Oh my god," Harry breathed as he rushed into the hospital wing at lunchtime, Hermione and Ron at his heels. Draco was sitting up on one of the beds, Pansy by his side, his left arm in a sling, a bandage across one cheek, his lower lip split. God, this was worse than he'd thought - all he'd heard was that there had been a "scuffle" and that Draco was in the hospital.

Draco smiled dryly at him. "You should see the other fellow," he quipped.

Harry shook his head, horrified, and hesitantly reached for his hand, not knowing whether Draco would accept a public display of affection or not. Knowing only that whoever had done this to Draco would have to be scraped off the walls after Harry was done with him.

"No, really, you should see the other fellow," Pansy said heavily, as Draco took Harry's hand and motioned him into the chair closest to him, opposite from Pansy.

"Who did this?" Hermione asked quietly, coming to stand next to Pansy.

"Goyle," said Pansy.

"What??" Harry exclaimed in angry disbelief as Ron swore volubly behind him.

"Oh stand down, you dolts," Draco said tiredly. "It's not what you think."

"He was a blubbering mess by the time he was done, too," said Pansy, shaking her head. "Poor Goyle."

"Erm... what?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Pansy asked him to," Zabini said, approaching the bed and standing next to Ron with his arms crossed. "And she had a time trying to explain in words small enough for him to understand."

The Gryffindors gaped at each other in complete bewilderment.

"My father drew a target on my back with that fucking Howler," Draco said impatiently. "I wasn't safe going back to Slytherin-"

"Then why the hell didn't you come to Gryffindor with me?" Harry asked, exasperated. "I told you after breakfast that-"

"Shut up, please, it hurts to talk and I'd rather not waste my time shushing you. Yes, you offered, but as I believe I told you, I couldn't run away from Slytherin just like that. Because then even if my father ever took me back into the family again, I'd be branded a spineless coward. So Pansy asked Goyle to beat me badly enough to get me admitted here, without causing permanent damage. He did a good job of it, too - no broken nose or black eyes, just a couple of ribs cracked, and my arm broken and the split lip."

"You're mental, the lot of you," Ron said faintly.

"Maybe, but I'm also safe in the infirmary, with not nearly as much loss of face as if I'd just ducked out before anything happened. And Goyle got to help out a friend, and he'll still have both my father's approval and his. Not a bad deal all around."

"Completely mental."

"You know, after having Goyle sobbing and dripping snot on my tie for the last twenty minutes, I'm not sure this was such a good deal all around, myself," Zabini said tightly.

"He'll get over it," Pansy said indifferently. "And hopefully this'll also help when Draco goes to see his father." Zabini gave a snort of derision but didn't interrupt. "It might make Lucius feel Draco's already been punished enough. Or, even better, make him feel guilty for having put Draco in a position to get hurt in the first place."

Draco smiled cynically. "He might also tell me he's going to hand over the family business to me and take up Hinkypunk-herding, but I'm not counting on that either, Pansy."

"You're going to see your father?" Ron asked sceptically. "After he disowned you in public like that?"

"What would you suggest, Weasley?" Draco asked.

"I wouldn't go back to him, that's for sure. If my parents ever did anything like that to me, I'd... I'd-"

"You'd what? Run to one of your dozens of brothers?" he sneered. "Or one of your hundreds of other freckled relatives, or some do-gooder friend of Dumbledore's? I've nowhere else to go," he said bitterly. "There's no relatives that'll take me in, and any family friends will just do whatever my father says."

"So stand on your own," Hermione said brusquely. "Get away from your bloody family."

"And do what, exactly? Blood Magic issues aside, I haven't got a Sickle to my name. I don't even have a name."

"Why, what's your father going to do if you use the family name?" Harry said angrily. "Disown you again?"

Draco rolled his eyes in irritation as Zabini and Pansy made impatient faces.

"He wouldn't have to," Ron said heavily. "Sometimes that's part of a wizarding Disinheritance. He really doesn't have a last name." Hermione and Harry looked at him blankly. "Give it a try. Try to call him anything but Draco; you can't."

Hermione's mouth worked for a moment and she looked horrified.

"Your father's a sick fuck, Draco," Ron said.

"For once I'm not arguing."

"He won't forgive you."

"You're an expert on my father, then?" Draco said coldly.

"He doesn't have to be," Zabini said. "I told you this would happen. I told you-"

"Yes, thanks, you told me so. You can go now. You said you'd not support me if my father found out, well he's found out, now kindly piss off."

"Oh, don't worry, I will-"

"Blaise, shut up," Pansy interrupted him. "The last thing he needs is your tender concern right now, idiot that he is." She turned to Draco. "D'you think your mother'll disown you too?"

Draco shrugged. "I haven't a clue. She... I don't know. She doesn't like to defy Father."

"Well, maybe she'll at least give you your Black inheritance, let you use her last name."

"And if not, why don't you use Potter's," Zabini said scornfully. "He doesn't appear to be doing anything useful with it."

Draco opened his mouth for a cutting retort, then glanced at Hermione as she made a small choking sound and bit her lip. His brow furrowed slightly, then abruptly a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. Hermione made a strangled sound, covering her mouth, and then all of a sudden Draco burst out laughing, and Hermione joined in.

"What?" Pansy asked, annoyed.

"Draco Potter?" Draco choked out, and then Harry was joining in, not really getting what was so funny about it other than the sight of Draco and Hermione sharing a laugh was too ridiculous for words.

"God, can you picture your father's face-" Pansy began, collapsing into giggles as the rest of them broke down too.

Pomfrey poked her face around the corner at the noise, rather bewildered by the sight of all of them holding their sides, but soon ducked back into her office.

"What Blood Magic issues?" Harry asked curiously, once they had settled somewhat, hoping he wasn't showing extreme ignorance of wizarding traditions yet again.

"You probably wouldn't know this, but it can be rather serious, being without a family in the wizarding world," Pansy said, and managed to not be as condescending as she could have. "Without a name or family behind you, there's some magic that doesn't work, some protections that aren't there. It's not just a matter of pride, belonging to the right sort of family. It's having some sort of family tie, by blood or marriage, to somebody. Anybody. If his father and mother both reject him and repudiate their blood ties, that'll make him vulnerable to all sorts of people, and all sorts of Dark Magic."

Harry thought of the magical protection he'd had from his mother's sister during his childhood, and nodded in understanding. It made a certain sense, that relatives would provide protection more than just in his particular case.

"And frankly," said Draco, "I don't fancy going up against Nott, and Queenie, and their families, and whoever helped put the curse on us in the first place, alone. Walking around with a target on my back forever isn't terribly attractive."

"Seriously, even Draco Potter would be better than Draco Nothing," Zabini said. "No offence, Potter."

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "You know, it's not that bad a solution," he said slowly.

"What?"

"I'll bloody well marry you again, if that'll keep you safe. We can always dissolve it later."

The others gaped at him and Draco scowled. "Oh, is that how Gryffindors do marriage proposals? It's really sweeping me off my feet, Harry."

"No, it's Goyle who did that," Zabini said curtly. "And don't be so quick to say no."

"What??"

"Your father's going to kill you. Or worse. Draco, you chose Potter over him."

"No I didn't."

"Your father thinks you did. Do you think if you crawl back to him he'll take you back into the fold?" He glared at Draco. "You know he's back in good graces with the Dark Lord. You know that. If you go to the Manor, your father will hand you over to the Dark Lord. And god only help you then."

Hermione paled. "That's-"

"That's life," Zabini said harshly. "Family ties aren't always as strong as we'd like to think. People who love each other betray or kill each other off all the time, Draco. Your father certainly wouldn't be the first. You might want to think about that before you go see him. Think about whether you're crawling back to humiliation or death."

"He'd never-"

"He swore a wizard's oath that anybody who wanted to punish you could do so with impunity," Zabini said, exasperated. "Nott, or Queenie, or Edgars or Archer or all of them together, could've literally killed you, and your father was oath-bound to do nothing in return. Do you really think he'd hesitate to hand you over to the Dark Lord?"

Draco swallowed hard.

"Draco, he didn't even want to join in the healing circle to save your life," Zabini said gently, sitting on the bed. "Weasley almost burst a blood vessel trying to pull him in."

Draco looked away, his hand tightening painfully on Harry's. He took a deep breath. "He came in eventually."

"How long are you going to make excuses for him? He's a dangerous, abusive-"

Draco's head snapped up and he glared at Zabini. "He's never once-"

"Never once laid a hand on you, yes, we know. He's never had to; he's always been able to do damage enough without lifting a finger. You've always been terrified of him, and for good reason. He's mentally unbalanced, you idiot. Defying him for the sake of a shag was about as astute as insulting a hippogriff because you're bored."

"And your mother's a paragon of sanity, is she?" Draco sneered.

"My mother has a few bats in her belfry too, but unlike you I'm not fool enough to ever forget that." Zabini shook his head in disgust. "If you want my opinion, going back to your father would be far stupider than accepting Potter's gracious hand in marriage." He stood up. "Either way, I'm not in your corner. You made your hospital bed. Lie in it." He stalked off.

Ron and Hermione stared after him, open-mouthed.

"Close your mouths," Pansy said coldly.

"Is that what you meant?" Hermione said shakily. "When you were lecturing me on Slytherin loyalt-"

Pansy rounded on her in fury. "Shut up! Sanctimonious Mudblood bitch!!" Ron opened his mouth for a sharp retort, but Pansy gave them both a scathing look and continued. "Blaise's mother has probably killed more wizards than all the Colonial witch hunts put together. And he still helped with Goyle, and he promised not to tell anybody that whole thing was staged, and then he came here - d'you have any idea what his mother would do to him if she found out he was associating with Draco for one minute after he was disgraced?? No, you don't. You don't bother to think. It's so much easier to just sit there and feel superior to him."

Hermione blinked, taken aback. There was a long silence.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Hermione finally said. "I didn't know." Pansy gave her a slightly startled look, and Hermione cleared her throat. "What about you? Won't your family care that you're still here?"

Pansy shrugged. "My family's probably going to be bloody furious with me. But since my father's a real father and not a gibbering lunatic and Draco please if you're going to defend your father again kindly do it where I won't have to toss up my lunch on you, there's a good boy - that only means I won't have to look forward to much of a birthday present next month. I'll handle it."

Draco gave her a small smile. "My father's always said yours was too soft on you."

"Coming from him, that's a compliment. Still, I shouldn't push my dad too much, so I'll be off now." She leaned over and brushed Draco's hair off his forehead. "Listen love, you've been a complete prat and if it weren't for the fact that you're just too tall, I would've been quite happy to beat you to a pulp myself and spare Goyle the heartache. But you've been through enough so I'll leave you with your... friends, to decide what you're going to do. Think it over seriously. I still think you should give your father a chance, but Blaise may have a point. I'll be rather put out if he's right."

She gave him a kiss on the forehead, careful to not touch any of his injuries. She stepped back from the bed, turned to leave - then at the last moment turned back, stepped up to Harry's chair, and slapped him, hard, across the face.

"If I were half an inch taller, you'd be looking like him," she hissed viciously, her furious face only inches from Harry's. "You didn't have anything to lose. If you cared one Sickle for him, you'd've thought of the consequences instead of following your prick wherever it led you." She straightened up and stalked out of the room.

Hermione and Ron stared after her and Harry held a hand to his cheek, his face burning.

"Bitch," Ron muttered.

Hermione shook her head. "Ron. She's right."

"What??" Ron gaped at her.

"Harry should've known better. I'm sorry, but she's right, Harry. You should have." Harry looked away from her miserably, and Draco squeezed his hand.

"Come on, Harry," Ron protested, "he knew what he was doing, you can't blame yourself for-"

"Ron, not right now, all right?" Harry broke in, unable to face any of them. "Why don't... why don't you go and I'll stay here for a while."

They left, and there was a long pause before Harry said, shamefaced, "She's right."

"So's Weasley," Draco said quietly. "I knew what I was risking."

"Fuck, I'm sorry. God, I... I'm so sorry," Harry repeated hollowly. What else could he possibly say? Sorry I put you in danger. Sorry I ruined your life. Sorry I was too bloody selfish and too ruled by my dick to think about your safety and well-being for even a moment.

"Are you... d'you want me to stay?" he asked hesitantly, making himself meet Draco's eyes. "You're supposed to... I mean, d'you think your father can tell if I'm near you, or-"

"I don't care."

"Draco-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about my father right now, Harry," Draco said tiredly. "I don't want to think about him."

"Not thinking about him is what got you here," Harry pointed out.

"I don't care," Draco whispered, and Harry sensed his anguish like a physical presence. He sat for a moment, trying to think of what Draco might need, what might help. Weighed the consequences of staying and possibly angering Lucius more, versus leaving and making Draco face what had happened to him all alone. Tried not to think of what he wanted, and concentrate on what would be best for Draco.

"Here, shove over," he finally said, and Draco moved aside on the bed. Harry climbed up, and they both shifted down a bit till they were lying side by side, facing each other, as they'd done so many times since the end of September.

Harry took a deep breath, taking Draco's hand in his again. "If you go, and he forgives you, we can't see each other any more. You know that, right?"

"Harry, please. I'm going home on Sunday, I'll have plenty of time to think about what it means and what to say, I'd really rather not think about it right now."

"Will you be in the hospital till you go, then?"

"Yeah. Pomfrey said I shouldn't be moved. Said I took some internal damage-"

"Oh my god - you said-"

"-and she's a bloody pathetic liar, but I'll gladly go along if it keeps me out of Slytherin." Draco gave him a small smile. "Don't look like that. I don't feel very good right now, but Blaise did a pretty deep pain-blocking spell before Goyle started. I didn't actually feel much while he was kicking the shit out of me."

Harry swallowed hard, closing his eyes. Draco shifted and pulled him closer, motioning to Harry to rest his head on Draco's unhurt shoulder, and Harry reflected miserably that he wasn't doing much good; he was supposed to be comforting Draco, but instead Draco was comforting him.

They lay in silence for a few moments, Draco running his hand over Harry's hair idly.

"Why did you cut it?" Draco asked curiously after a few minutes.

Harry smiled. "Just doing my part to uphold wizarding tradition."

"You should've kept it long. It suited you better."

"Not married any more, remember?"

"Not all wizarding traditions deserve to be upheld," Draco said softly.

"You'll probably want to not say that to your father."

"I might," Draco said. "It might not make any difference."

There was a long pause. "Draco... don't go," Harry said softly.

Draco took a deep breath, shook his head. "I have to. I have to at least say goodbye to my mother."

"But-"

"Harry, I have to. Don't - let's not talk about it any more."

ooooooo

Day 154, Monday (dawn)

Ron woke up suddenly, tying to pin down what had woken him up.

Retching. Somebody was throwing up in the washroom.

He glanced at Harry's bed. Empty. "Harry?"

No answer, just more retching sounds. Ron got up, padded to the washroom. "Harry? You all right?"

"Yeah." Harry emerged unsteadily from a cubicle, looking shaken and wiping his mouth.

"You're not. I told you that was too much firewhiskey."

"Yeah, thanks, Ron." Harry went to the sink, rinsed out his mouth with a grimace.

Ron winced at his grey features and unsteadiness. Harry had been looking distinctly off ever since Draco had left for Malfoy Manor, and Seamus had come up with a patented Seamus solution and challenged Harry to a drinking contest to drown his worries away. Not having nearly as much experience with firewhiskey as Seamus did, he was certainly suffering for it now. "I think Seamus has some of Bulstrode's new hangover potion in his-"

"Not sure I could keep it down yet-" Harry suddenly disappeared into the cubicle and Ron heard him being sick again.

"Better out than in," Ron said as Harry re-emerged.

"Nothing left to come out," Harry said weakly, rubbing his forehead.

"Headache too?" Ron said sympathetically. Harry nodded.

"How long have you been up?"

"About half an hour."

"You woke up spewing?"

"Nightmare."

"What about?"

Harry shrugged.

"You're worried about Draco, aren't you?" Ron asked, seriously creeped out that he couldn't even think of Draco's former last name, let alone say it.

"Yeah."

"You know, Parkinson didn't seem to think he'd be in that much danger. And she knows his father better than Zabini does."

"I know. It's just... Zabini's right, Draco's father's unbalanced."

Ron looked at Harry closely. "You're not still thinking about what Parkinson said, are you?"

"She was right."

"No she wasn't. He's an adult, he knew what he was risking."

"I pushed him, though. He was... he was hesitating, and I kind of... pushed him. I should've backed off."

"He's not some fair damsel you seduced, Harry," Ron said firmly. "It was still his choice."

"It wasn't fair. I knew how he was feeling, and I used that against him, and I shouldn't have."

"Well, it's done now. And who knows, it might turn out all right in the end. If his father doesn't forgive him... well, you won't have to worry about him being on the wrong side any more."

"He doesn't want to switch sides, Ron."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"And you still want to be with him?" Ron asked sceptically.

"He's just got different beliefs. They're horrible, but they're not against the law."

"You'll want to not let Hermione hear you say that."

Harry groaned. "I know. It's awful, what he thinks of Muggles and Muggle-borns. It drives me crazy. Never mind the fact that one of my best friends is Muggle-born - my mother was Muggle-born, and the lunatic he wants to follow killed her, but I'm still..." He pressed his lips together. Took a deep breath. "And the other thing is, he's smart. Part of me just can't accept that he actually believes any of that rubbish."

"But you still..."

"I know. It's just... after seeing what his dad's like, can you blame him for not wanting to even think anything different from what his father wants him to? His father disowned him for dating the wrong person. What would he do if he believed the wrong things?"

Ron nodded, then peered at him in concern. "You still look ruddy awful."

"Yeah," Harry scrubbed at his face with his hand. "Still feel awful."

"Here, let's get Seamus' potion. I think I've got some of that sleeping potion Hermione made last term too. You're not going to do him any good staying up all night worrying about him. You might as well try to get some sleep."

ooooooo

Day 154, Monday (evening)

Harry looked up from picking at his supper as the door opened and the noise level in the Great Hall dipped, then rose sharply as Draco quietly walked in. He made his way to the Slytherin table without ceremony, without meeting anyone's eyes, but not as though he were nervous, or ashamed, or anything other than deep in thought and a little tired. A buzz began at the Ravenclaw table and spread through the hall: Draco Malfoy was wearing his family's signet ring again. And with that came a realization: Draco Malfoy could be addressed as such again.

He'd been forgiven.

Harry covered his mouth with his hand, honestly not able to figure out what he felt about that. Relief, certainly. Zabini's words had left him thoroughly chilled, and a huge part of him had honestly wondered, in the horror of last night, if he was ever going to see Draco again. Having experienced Lucius Malfoy's fury first hand...

But he'd been forgiven. What could that possibly mean?

Harry realized he was staring, but it didn't matter, because everybody was staring, hundreds of eyes glued to the pale boy taking his place at the Slytherin table and picking up a fork, briefly nodding at his table mates. Pansy turned to him, putting her arms around him, and he gave her a quick hug back. She asked him something, and he shook his head, making a "later" sign.

He looked up and met Harry's eyes, and Harry felt paralysed. No idea what to expect. Distance? Regret? Coldness? Certainly not what he actually got, which was a small nod and a mouthed "After supper?" He nodded back, somewhat stunned, as another buzz went around the hall.

Draco had just been through god only knew what for associating with Harry. And now he was just nonchalantly letting him know they'd be getting together later? In the middle of supper in the Great Hall?

Harry went back to his meal, utterly bewildered.

ooooooo

Harry looked up as the door to their quarters opened and Draco came in, looking relieved to see Harry there. No less relieved than Harry, who hadn't been sure where Draco had wanted to meet but had figured he wouldn't want it to be anywhere public. Apparently, he'd guessed right.

He started to get up, only to be waved back into his seat by Draco, who sank down next to him, tiredly laying his head against the back of the couch.

"Erm... did anybody see you coming here?" Harry said nervously. "Because I, er, I made sure nobody saw me, but-"

Draco waved him to silence impatiently.

"How... how are you?" Harry asked cautiously.

Draco shrugged.

"I take it your father took you back."

Draco nodded.

"It was all a bluff, then?" Draco shook his head, and Harry frowned. "Can you say anything?" he asked, a little impatiently.

Draco turned his head and met Harry's eyes, something indefinable in glimmering in the depths of his own. He gave Harry a small smile, cleared his throat. "Not... much, no," he said, his voice very quiet, almost a whisper.

"What - what happened?"

"He... I had to prove myself," he said softly, his voice rough, and Harry had to lean close to hear him. "Show that I was willing to sacrifice for our family. Willing to endure pain."

"What did he do?" Harry asked, his own voice hushed, dread in the pit of his stomach.

"Well... you know how the Dark Lord makes people show their loyalty. It... hurts. A lot."

Harry's heart stopped. "You're not... Marked," he said in a horrified whisper.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be thick. The Mark's an honour, not a punishment. The Dark Lord wouldn't give that honour to somebody's who's been sleeping with his enemy, would he?"

"Then what..."

Draco hesitated for a moment, then loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, pulling it down a little.

Harry sucked in his breath. There, beneath Draco's right collarbone, was a stylized Malfoy crest in inky black, the skin around it an angry red.

"God. My god, Draco. Your dad did that to you?"

"Just like a Dark Mark, except tuned to Father instead of the Dark Lord. It'll call me to his side whenever he wants, and hurt like hell if I ignore it."

Harry couldn't speak. He reached out tentatively, touched the skin around the mark carefully. Draco drew in his breath but was otherwise still. "He put it on the same way Voldemort does, didn't he?" Harry realized too late that he'd said Voldemort's name and started to apologize, but Draco merely nodded.

Harry shuddered, remembering Lucius and Snape's agonized shrieks from his memories of the healing circle. That Lucius could turn around and do the same thing to his own son...

"It's all right," Draco said. "I got off pretty lightly, considering."

"How could he force you to-"

Draco shook his head. "A Mark's never done involuntarily. I chose it."

"You didn't know what you were choosing though, you didn't know how painful it would be-"

"Not before he started. But the reason the Dark Mark shows loyalty is that... well, everyone screams, though he said I broke before most. But the Dark Lord always stops halfway through, and the test of your loyalty is in whether you choose to go on or not." He cleared his throat. "I did."

Harry drew in his breath shakily, totally appalled. "How could you-"

"Didn't have much choice," Draco said roughly, and Harry winced. He must have screamed himself hoarse, and he'd still, when given the chance, chosen more pain over remaining cut off from his family.

He pushed that thought away. What was done was done. He took a deep breath. "Aren't you... I mean, aren't you afraid to be seen with me, what if-"

Draco gave a mirthless laugh and shook his head. "I could probably shag you on the Quidditch pitch and I doubt he'd do much. I've shown where my loyalty lies. And if I'm wrong..." He shrugged carelessly. "I don't much care."

"But-"

"Seriously, I don't give a shit. Yeah, I know, everybody saw me tell you we'd be meeting later today. For all they know we could be meeting about our schoolwork. That's what I'll tell anyone who asks, anyway," he said offhandedly, and lay his head back against the couch.

Harry frowned. This wasn't like Draco at all. Draco was never this reckless. "Does... does the mark still hurt?" he asked, not sure what else to say.

Draco shrugged. "Not much," he said, and Harry hesitantly reached for his hand, remembering how Draco had welcomed that comfort in the hospital wing after Goyle had sent him there. Surprised when Draco not only allowed the touch, but pulled him closer and kissed him.

"Draco-" Harry broke off slightly, "are you-"

"Shut up," Draco said roughly, kissing him again, and Harry followed his lead for a few moments. Gently pushed Draco away again after he inadvertently touched the mark and Draco hissed in pain.

"No. No, I don't think you're in any shape to - here," Harry said awkwardly, gently turning Draco away and then pulling him back so that he was nestled against Harry's chest with Harry's arms loosely clasped around him. "Just sit. All right? Just... just sit."

And Draco, after a startled moment, sighed and relaxed against him and closed his eyes.

ooooooo

Day 160, Sunday

Draco gazed at the wall blankly as Harry shifted a little, briefly letting go of his waist before settling back against him, holding him close as they lay spooned together. He closed his eyes, willing his thoughts to slow down and concentrate only on this.

This kind of thing was happening a lot lately. Since the day he'd come back and had ended up simply resting against Harry's shoulder for an hour, the silence a soothing balm for his raw and jagged emotions, they'd fallen into the habit of, whenever they could, shagging and then holding each other for a long time afterwards.

For some reason today it didn't seem quite so soothing. Probably because random unwelcome thoughts kept intruding into the peace of their embrace.

Thoughts like how fucking insane he was for doing this.

Thoughts like how Pansy and Granger and Weasley were about to disintegrate from sheer nerves, and Harry wasn't far behind, because there had been a few too many close calls in the week since he'd come back. McGonagall had almost walked in on them in her classroom - which, had it happened, just might have put him off sex for life. Harry had almost gone into the Great Hall with a rather noticeable love bite on his neck, which Granger had whisked off at the last moment. And only Ginny Weasley's very quick thinking had prevented the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team from walking in on them at the Quidditch hut.

Thoughts like how he didn't give a damn.

Thoughts like how hard he'd screamed, how much he'd wanted to die while his father, perfectly calm, was burning the crest onto him.

Like how he'd opened his eyes at one point and caught real regret in his father's eyes for half a second, but even that hadn't stopped him, and Draco didn't know whether that was better or worse than thinking his father had felt nothing.

His father had said afterwards that it was for his own good. Handed him back his wand and signet ring and told him suffering built character before dismissing him peremptorily and letting him stumble to his room, to throw up and shake and curl into a fetal position and cry until he couldn't feel anything any more.

He closed his eyes and tried to think only of the warmth of Harry's body against his back, Harry's arms around him.

And tried not to think about how ashamed he'd felt, being made to sit, for an hour and a half, in silence in the study, listening to Father write and dictate letters, before he abruptly said "Come here," and began Draco's punishment. Telling him, in great detail, just why he was such a disappointment - never good enough, never smart enough, letting Granger best him in grades, letting Potter best him at Quidditch, letting Goyle beat him to a pulp. Not good enough to be a Malfoy. Not good enough to be Lucius' son. A disappointment, his entire life.

Business as usual, in other words. Nothing new, he'd been hearing that kind of thing for as long as he could remember.

It was a little different hearing it from the other side of the Great Disowning Threat, though. Where before he'd often alternated between terrified, angry, and occasionally bored that the same old menace was being trotted out, now he knew full well what it meant.

Harry gently kissed the back of his neck.

It meant no name. No family. It meant exposure and humiliation in front of the entire school. It meant being grateful to Greg Goyle for sending him in the hospital. It meant fear for his own safety, and despair, and not knowing whether he'd ever see his room again, the Malfoy Manor grounds, the pond he'd played in as a child. Whether he'd ever belong in the hall of their ancestors. Whether he'd ever again speak to that great-great-aunt in the green kerchief who'd been a famous birthing-witch during the Renaissance, or the young boy who'd gone to Durmstrang in the last century, or Phineas Black.

It meant knowing even Ronald Weasley had more money than him. Knowing he had absolutely nothing.

It meant listening to the same old words with a brand new fear, listening while trying desperately not to break down, yet curiously numb too.

He sighed as Harry's fingers idly caressed his bare chest.

It meant saying yes, unhesitatingly, when Father asked whether he would be willing to do penance to return to the family. Saying yes with relief, not caring what that penance was, as long as he had a chance of belonging again.

It meant saying yes again unhesitatingly after Father had explained said penance, saying yes again despite the echoes of Father's own remembered screams of pain.

He put a hand over Harry's as it went lower, to his stomach.

It meant screaming until he had no voice left, then being freed from the pain, looking down and seeing that the mark wasn't completed, and whispering yes again. Because the alternative was more terrifying than any pain.

It meant, in the ensuing week, feeling like he didn't give a shit whether he had to do it all over again.

He smiled as Harry's hand went lower and he felt that subtle shift within both of them, that segue from innocent embrace to the beginnings of arousal.

It meant he didn't give a shit even though Pansy had cried as he told her what his father had done, though he hadn't shown her. Would never show anybody but Harry. Who kind of deserved to know, for good and bad.

He dropped his head back, letting Harry's lips brush against the side of his neck.

It meant Blaise still not looking at him. Crabbe and Goyle not speaking to him. In all of Slytherin, nobody but Pansy saying a word to him, ever since he'd come back. None of them knew what to do with him; a Malfoy again, but a Malfoy still in deep disgrace. He was a non-entity, and was glad to be that, and mostly stayed in his room or in the library, or with Harry.

With Harry, who was ever so gently stroking him into hardness while his lips continued to caress his neck, his earlobe.

With Harry's worries, his ineffectual protests.

With Harry's breath warm against his, hands caressing him, body hard and hot against his in unused classrooms, storage areas, the Room of Requirement, and occasionally in their old quarters - like right now.

With even Sir Xander giving him strange looks some days, like today, when he arrived at their room without bothering to use any but the most minimal concealment spells.

And he didn't give a damn.

After all, what more could Father do to him?

Not a good idea to think of his father. Bitter anger boiled up when he did that, and that distracted him from more pleasant things, like what Harry was doing down below, like what it felt like when he felt Harry start to get hard, as he was doing right now.

He must have made some kind of noise or movement that showed that he really wasn't all that interested in sex right now, because Harry gave a sigh and his lips and hands changed their movements. Still gently stroking him, but somehow very clearly no longer working towards arousing either of them. Clearing his throat and shifting slightly behind Draco so that his half-erection was no longer in contact with Draco.

And this wasn't the first time thoughts of Draco's father had completely derailed other more pleasant thoughts. Whether those thoughts contained anger, or hatred, or, occasionally, pity. Pity because Lucius had, in his anger, miscalculated, and Draco was sure he regretted part of what he'd done.

Not the part about branding him like cattle in a way that gave him nightmares that his room mates pretended not to hear. But the part about disowning him so very publicly - front page of the Prophet, again, like they never had anything better to write about, how pathetic - because it had made public some things that weren't supposed to be quite so public quite so soon. Because no father would do what Lucius had done to his son because of a mere inappropriate fling. The same man who'd calmly said he "respected his son's privacy" over the first, innocent picture in the Prophet, had lost it absolutely at the second, damning one. What bigger sign could he have possibly given of his political allegiance?

Poor Father. Consummate politician and master of shrewd Slytherin power plays, goaded into a tactical error by his worthless son's stupidity.

Draco had a feeling, though, that Father's mis-step hadn't been of grave import in the grand scheme of things. It might have blocked Father from access to a few places he would've liked to have had access to, but it seemed the Dark Lord's plans were proceeding apace anyway.

Pansy was rather subdued these days when she read the paper. From what little Draco could glean from stunted conversations around him, Things were Happening. Theo Nott walked around far too smugly for there to be nothing going on. The Prophet reported a valued magical jewel gone here, a prominent person missing there, an uneasy air of forces gathering. Death Eaters sighted at this public event, or that ominous anniversary.

But it wasn't wonderful, like they'd all thought it would be. It didn't consist of the Slytherins looking down their noses at the other poor sods who were going to be bowing and scraping to them in a few short months. It consisted of silences, hesitancy, tears... and so much fear and uncertainty, on both sides of the political divide.

Frankly, Draco didn't much care. Things would happen as they would; they'd been on the cusp of great triumph before and had it turn to shit and they'd been in the depths of despair too and had everything come up roses, and it didn't matter. He'd just do as he was told, like a good little Malfoy, and not bother himself with the details. Just like Father wanted him to.

Except for the one slight disobedience of still fucking the boy who could presumably ruin everything for them. Because Harry at least didn't use him as a canvas on which to cut or burn his initials. Harry held him and gave him solace and warmth that he didn't get anywhere else. Two hurt little boys, Blaise had sneered at them, and all right, yes, fine, maybe that's what they were. Now they were two scarred little boys, too, and wasn't that nice.

The only problem was Harry's bloody cautiousness these days, and Harry's irritating gentleness at times. Harry looked at him like he was fragile and treated him accordingly, and made Draco want to slap that worried look off his face.

There was a Prophet on the side table, and Harry was studiously not looking at it, because Harry was all about tiptoeing around Draco's fragile feelings these days.

And Draco didn't much care for that. "Looks like things are happening," he said challengingly, nodding at the paper and turning onto his back.

"I know," Harry said, a little nervously after a pause.

"What d'you think about it?"

"I think it's horrible."

Draco shrugged. "Anything's better than sitting around waiting for the axe to fall."

Harry looked at him in disbelief. "D'you really think so?"

"Don't tell me you're not tired of being scared. Won't it be easier, once it's all over and done with?"

"Depends who wins," Harry said dryly.

Draco shrugged again.

"Doesn't it matter to you?"

"Why should it?"

"I'm sure your father would be thrilled to hear you say that," Harry said. "So what's the point of that mark on you, then?"

"Decoration," Draco shot back promptly, angry at Harry for mentioning it casually like that. "Pretty, isn't it? I'm sure soon all the young heirs will want one."

"I hate it. And I hate that you might have another one on your arm some day."

Draco shrugged. "Not worth getting your knickers in a twist over it."

"You'd do it?"

"Are you joking? Of course I would," he said, part of his brain sitting bolt upright in deep alarm as his mouth ran away with him.

Harry sat up. "You're really going to be a Death Eater, if asked?"

"Yeah."

"God."

Harry sat staring at him silently for a moment, and Draco realized he felt a little better, the numbness and vague anger receding a bit.

Then Harry took a deep breath. "We can't keep doing this," he said for the tenth time since Draco had come back.

"No, we can't," Draco said, bored with the conversation already.

"Look, your father-"

"Will kill me, yes, I know." He rubbed his eyes and stretched lazily. "And I need to think about that or at least be more careful. I know."

"No, you don't," Harry said brusquely. "I'm putting a stop to this. We can't see each other any more."

"You want to break up?"

"Yes," he said, going for a firm tone.

Draco laughed. "How nice. Thanks, Harry. I got a bloody brand on me because I was fucking you, so it's nice to know I meant enough that you'd like to get rid of me a week later. But hey, sure. I mean, the Boy Who Lived gets to do whatever he wants, right?"

"You think I want this? I'm splitting us up because of your father and because of you wanting to follow Voldemort-"

"Oh please-"

"And I don't want to do it. It's one more thing in my life that's the way it is because of Voldemort, and I don't want it that way at all!"

"You poor dear," Draco said scornfully.

Harry's eyes took on an angry glint. "Who raised me was determined by Voldemort. How people saw me when I first came to Hogwarts - Voldemort again. The fucking Triwizard Tournament was him again, watching Cedric die was him again, my godfather being killed, and even - even the first time I had sex, and the first time I got married, happened when and how they happened because of bloody Voldemort. And I got something good out of that last one, but now I can't have it back, because of bloody fucking Voldemort. No, I don't care that you don't want to hear his name. I live with what he's done to me every fucking day of my life, and I'll bloody well say his name and make you uncomfortable if I want to."

"If you can manage, during your little pity-party, do try to remember that the first time I got married was because of Voldemort too." They both started a little at the way the name dropped easily from Draco's lips, but Draco was in no mood to mull over how that had happened. "And if you're going to toss me out, don't make me puke by telling me you're doing it for my own good."

Harry blinked, then his face took on a scornful expression. "Oh really?" he sneered. "You believe your dad when he tells you he's doing something for your own good."

"What the hell does my father have to do with-"

"Everything. I'm sick of dealing with your issues with him."

"What?"

"You're impossible. You don't ever see him for what he is, and it's become boring, actually."

Draco smirked. So much for nobility. That sounded more like he actually meant it.

"Your father's an abusive bastard, just as abusive as the Dursleys, except maybe more so because he loves you. The Dursleys at least never pretended that."

"You're comparing him to Muggles??"

Harry shook his head in contempt and stood up, grabbing his clothing and starting to pull it on. "He doesn't deserve your loyalty. But you're too bloody fucked up to realize that, and you're too bloody fucked up to bother with any more. Go home. Go back to trying to be everything your father wants you to be, so he can disown you some other time." He buttoned up his trousers. "Oh, and if anybody asks, go ahead and tell them you're the one who ended this. That ought to warm Daddy's heart," he tossed over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

Draco stared after him, somewhat stunned. Gradually becoming angry. Put on his own clothing, anger growing by the second, until he was livid and walking down to the dungeons itching for somebody to give him an excuse to hex them.

Still seething about an hour later, as Pansy poked her head into his dorm room.

"Are you all right?" she asked cautiously, standing at the door.

"Yeah, why?" he asked tightly, not looking up from his Potions text.

Pansy took a deep breath, came in and sat down on the bed. "I ran into Potter. Or rather, he ran into me. Told me what happened."

"Did he."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine." Draco underlined a word in his text. "It wouldn't have worked out anyway, right? At least this way I won't get another Howler."

Pansy reached over and closed his book, her expression carefully neutral. "And you're all right with it? Not going to try to get him back?"

"Mordred, no," Draco spat angrily. "He can rot for all I care. Now, will you let me work on my Potions essay?"

"Right," Pansy said, standing up. She tilted her head, regarding him thoughtfully. "Well, I can't say I'm sorry this happened. I do wonder why Potter wasn't sorted into Slytherin, though," she murmured as she left the room.

ooooooo

Day 166, Saturday

Ron trudged wearily out of the Quidditch hut and locked it shut, the last one out. Miserable about the game, despite the fact that as a team, they'd never played better; their Chasers had sent the Quaffle into Hufflepuff's goal six times, and Ron himself had only let in one, despite Hufflepuff's terrifying attacks.

Unfortunately, none of that made much difference when your Seeker didn't catch the Snitch.

And it would've been nice if that was all that was wrong with the game today.

"Weasley," a voice hissed, and he looked up, surprised to see Malfoy in the shadows of the Quidditch hut, looking at once uncomfortable and defiant, beckoning to him.

"What do you want?" he said tiredly, coming closer, checking that they were out of line of sight of the school. A little intrigued despite his exhaustion, because ever since Malfoy had ditched Harry a week ago, he'd been acting like none of them existed. Not that it was that different from how he treated everyone else; Malfoy didn't talk much to anybody any more, not since he'd been disowned.

"Why wasn't Harry playing today?" he asked brusquely.

What the hell? Ron blew his hair out of his eyes impatiently. "Ginny was flying better than he was during practice this week, so he decided to send her up instead."

"Is he sick?"

"He's..." Ron hesitated. "We don't know. He's having trouble concentrating. Not eating or sleeping too well, either."

"Has he seen Pomfrey?"

Ron thought for a moment. Not knowing whether Harry would welcome Ron talking to Malfoy about him. Not knowing whether to risk sharing private information with someone he shouldn't, or risk alienating a Slytherin who could actually prove to be a friend, as Hermione had alienated Parkinson way back in October. "She's a bit worried," he finally said carefully, "but she doesn't know what's wrong. She says it could just be the flu or something."

"And you don't believe that?"

Ron frowned, a little irate at Malfoy for putting him in this position. Why the hell was he poking around Harry's business? He'd made his choice, gone back to his father, ditched Harry, ignored all of them for a week, and now he was... what? Curious about Harry? Concerned about his health?

On the other hand, he also looked intensely uncomfortable right now, like he was here and talking to Ron against his better judgment. And for some reason that almost made Ron want to trust him. Maybe.

He took a deep breath. "Not really. I think... I think he's been cursed."

Malfoy stared at him. "How long has this been going on?"

"Why do you care?" he asked curiously.

"Don't be stupid," Malfoy snapped, and Ron's defences went up. Right, this had probably been a bad idea.

"Well, it's been lovely talking to you," he said sarcastically. "Let's not do it again, all right?"

"Weasley-"

He started to leave and Malfoy grabbed his shoulder. "The hell, Malfoy?" he exclaimed, pulling away from him.

"Why are you being such a git?" Malfoy said, annoyed.

"Why do you care how Harry's doing?" Ron shot back. "He's not your concern any more, is he?"

"I... no."

"Well then."

"He's not my concern. But..." Malfoy trailed off, looking away from him.

"Look," Ron began heatedly, "you dropped him after your father put pressure on you, and nobody blames you for that, but you don't get to-"

"Wait - what?" Malfoy interrupted, frowning. "Is that what he told you?"

"What?"

"That I dropped him."

Ron blinked. "Erm... didn't you?"

"No!" Ron felt his eyebrows rise. "Merlin, Weasley, close your mouth," Malfoy snapped.

Ron did so, his mind racing. Come to think of it, no, Harry hadn't given them much detail over the break-up. They'd just assumed, and Harry hadn't corrected their assumption. "Well he... he knew you would've, eventually," he said, going for a firm tone.

"Yes, of course," Malfoy sneered. "What with Harry being such an astute judge of character and all."

"Malfoy-"

"Look, I just want to know what's going on with him," Malfoy said impatiently.

Ron stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. Finally he cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. "Why do you care anyway?" he asked. "No matter who dropped who, you've picked your side."

"He's not my enemy," Malfoy said quietly.

"Maybe not," Ron said thoughtfully. "But... look, I'm sorry, Malfoy, but what happens to Harry is none of your business any more. Go back to your house."

ooooooo

Day 169, Tuesday

"All right, where the hell is he?" Malfoy cornered Hermione three days later as she left Arithmancy.

She gave him an icy stare. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't, Granger, not now. Where's Harry? Why isn't he in class?"

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him exactly where to go, then stopped herself. Ron had told her about his conversation with Malfoy the other day, including the odd fact that it had apparently been Harry who'd split them up, and not Malfoy. And the fact that Malfoy had seemed really concerned about Harry, genuinely disturbed that something seemed seriously wrong with him.

She took a good look at Malfoy, noting the tenseness of his posture and expression. "He's... in the hospital wing," she finally said him, noticing how he simultaneously relaxed at the fact that she was willing to talk to him, and tensed up at her news.

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Same thing that's been wrong with him for weeks. He's nauseated, has a headache, can't concentrate - all the same things he's been dealing with since January or so, except this time it isn't going away."

"Since January?" Malfoy looked puzzled.

"Off and on. Didn't you notice?"

"He always seemed all right to me. Until the last week or so."

Hermione kept her face impassive, though inwardly she berated herself for completely missing the fact that Malfoy had apparently been paying attention to Harry, for all that he'd looked like he didn't know the Gryffindor side of the room existed. Slytherins, she thought to herself impatiently. "Well, he's not. He hasn't been, for a while. He was all right for a few weeks, but then he went back downhill. The last week's been particularly bad. Pomfrey doesn't know what to do with him. She's tried all sorts of cheering charms, enervating spells, concentration spells, all of that, and nothing works. He just keeps getting more and more irritable and nauseated."

"It's not like when we were cursed with that unbalancing-"

"No, she looked for that. And Harry said that when you two - when, er, you had sex, it wasn't like it had been when you were cursed."

"No, it wasn't. He was fine. Was he all right with anybody else?"

"He didn't sleep with anybody else." Hermione paused for a moment. "He said he felt like he would've been unfaithful."

Malfoy looked at her in surprise, then frowned in thought.

"You did, though - Parkinson, right?" Hermione said.

"Yeah," he said absently. "And Stephen Cornfoot."

"Cornfoot?"

"A couple of times, yeah, nothing bad happened with either one." His frown deepened. "But... but Harry was all right. He said he felt fine. He was fine - besides, what kind of curse would take a few weeks off like this?"

"I don't know."

"Are you working with Pomfrey?"

"Yes."

"Good." Malfoy chewed on his lip distractedly. "You'll figure it out, if anybody can."

"I... I hope so."

"I never noticed he was sick," Malfoy repeated, almost to himself.

"You happened to catch him in between bouts of this whatever-it-is. Or you made him be between bouts - which, if you did, Pomfrey wants a word with you."

"What do you mean?"

"Pomfrey found that there was some kind of anti-nausea or anti-irritation spell, or both, cast on Harry a long time ago. Months ago. Pomfrey didn't do it, and Harry doesn't recall anybody else casting it on him, so we thought it might have been you. We thought that maybe you got tired of hearing him complain, and cast a spell to shut him up."

Malfoy shook his head, puzzled. "No, he didn't say anything to me. Anti-irritation?"

"He's complained of an irritating feeling, like ants crawling over him. Well if it wasn't you, then who would it have been?"

"Damned if I know," Malfoy said helplessly.

"I'll have to tell Pomfrey you didn't do it. She was a little upset - said that might have made things worse, which is why you never cast medical spells without supervision, because you may get rid of the symptoms but the problem stays."

"I didn't do any medical spells on him," Malfoy insisted. "I wouldn't have, I'm rubbish at them."

"He's also been having trouble concentrating... though I think that's probably due more to..." Hermione trailed off, not wanting to voice what she really felt, which was that it was due to missing Malfoy. No sense in that. "And he's had muscle pains. I don't think those are so bad. The loss of energy's getting pretty severe, though. Although I think the curse you were under was worse - then again, you two were doing your best to cover how bad you felt, but he says this isn't as bad..." Hermione trailed off, realizing Malfoy wasn't listening to her. He was gazing at the ground, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Granger... can you do something for me?" he said slowly, and Hermione was too surprised to say anything sarcastic.

"What?"

Enough of her sceptical attitude must have come through, because he frowned briefly. "All right, not for me, then; for him. I need you to check on some things."

"Why?"

"I think I have an idea... I just hope to god I'm wrong."