Beneath You

Chapter Fourteen

It had been relatively easy for Harry to find Voldemort, after he understood the way the binding had worked. That feeling he’d had since he’d come back from Malfoy Manor, that there was someone else in his head… That hadn’t been madness and it hadn’t been Draco. It had been Voldemort, in his mind, violating that as fully as he’d violated everything else of Harry’s. Harry just had to close his eyes and reach out for that thread of connection to know where Voldemort was, like the homing instinct of a bird. He took his broom and flew for hours, south. The further he flew, the milder the weather grew, the less snow spotted the ground below, and when he finally arrived at the small English village he just knew Voldemort was hiding in, there was barely any snow left at all. If winter had just broken into spring at Hogwarts, it had been spring for at least a week here.

It was raining, and he was already soaked when he landed his broom and gazed calmly at the small house on the edge of town. It was modest for Voldemort’s standards, and Harry wondered idly why Voldemort would choose lodgings like these. A house meant to blend into a village, draw no notice. He knew that Voldemort was there all the same, he could feel it. His skin was tingling with heightened awareness, the scar on his forehead ached, the scars on his wrists itched. Voldemort was there.

He dropped his broom in the grass outside of the house and, still holding the chest of letters, walked up to the door. He could feel the security charms and curses pressing against him as he walked, brushing against him, like another layer of skin, snakeskin, but he didn’t pause. He was Voldemort’s now, Voldemort had marked him. The spells would not harm him and he knew it.

The locking charms on the door would not keep him out either. He was of Voldemort now. They fell open as easily for him as they did for Voldemort himself. Harry walked into the house unchallenged.

Unsure of himself now, Harry paused and glanced around before walking nervously towards the staircase.

The house was silent and he wondered idly if Dark Lords slept. Confident that he was well protected in this house surrounded by nasty security charms, he probably slept very well indeed.

Harry sneered as he made his way up the stairs. Voldemort wasn’t his primary concern, he had to make sure Draco was alright, if he was even here.

He probably should have questioned how he knew exactly which room to find Draco in and that he wasn’t quite sure where Voldemort was, but Harry didn’t. All he cared about was that Draco was there, he knew he was there, he was alive, and Harry was about to see him for the first time since that night at Malfoy Manor.

Opening the door silently and slipping into the dark room, his eyes immediately focused on the bed. Soft, hazy silver moonlight filtered through dark rain clouds that obscured the stars, spilt across the floor in puddles, and up unto the bed as well.

Draco lay there, sleeping, and Harry started trembling. He knew what a light sleeper Draco was and didn’t want to wake him just yet, so he silently made his way to the bed, dropping to his knees beside it.

He looked well enough. Draco’s face was still recognizable, pale, though he looked even thinner than he had before. His hair was a little longer and almost messy, as if he’d stopped caring what it looked like. The quilt was tangled around his hips, his chest bare, and one of his hands was resting on his stomach, the other stretched out beside him, as though he were reaching for something. He was breathing deeply, his eyelids fluttering as he dreamed.

Harry wanted to touch him, just to be sure that he was real. Hardly daring to breathe for fear of waking him, Harry didn’t dare touch him. He just wanted to watch him, because this had to last forever, it was all they’d have.

Draco could have been mistaken for dead, but for the rise and fall of his chest, his soft breathing, and Harry’s eyes narrowed carefully as he watched him, wanting to memorize the way the silver moonlight touched him, the way his eyelashes lay against his pale skin.

With a low whimper, Draco sucked in a deep breath, shifting restlessly, and Harry wondered if he was having a nightmare, and had just resolved to wake him, when Draco’s eyes flew open and locked on his face, a dark, hungry sort of look in them that was quickly overcome by panic.

The first look registered more with Harry, he knew that look. That fierce sort of possessive darkness, the heavy breathing, he recognized it because he’d had the same look in his eyes every time he’d woken up from a dream of Draco. The same look Draco had had every time he wanted Harry, was touching or kissing Harry.

Not a nightmare after all, then.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, probably to swear or curse, and Harry grinned recklessly and fell onto the bed, half on top of him, and kissing him, hard, distracting him from the questions and accusations he knew were coming.

Harry kissed him for a long time, possessively, almost angrily, weeks of fury and frustration taking their toll. Moaning, Draco kissed him back, his fingers tangling in Harry’s hair, his breathing so heavy that Harry feared he was going to pass out. He ran his trembling hands over Draco’s face, through his hair, over his shoulders, tracing the ridges of muscles on his chest and belly that he’d memorized but hadn’t touched in weeks. Draco didn’t caress him, he just held him close, desperately kissing him back, his heart pounding erratically.

Pulling back finally, panting, Harry breathed, “I missed you.”

Draco’s eyes flew open, dark and aching. He pushed at Harry’s chest suddenly, panicking. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, sitting up and running a hand through his hair.

“Where else should I be?” Harry asked indulgently, tracing Draco’s features.

“I hate you,” Draco lied weakly.

Harry smiled. “You think I’ll fall for that again? How stupid do you think I am? You couldn’t hate me anymore than you hate yourself.”

His eyes were closed again and Draco was shaking. “You’ve got to get out of here, Harry, it isn’t safe. Why did you even come here, you should have stayed where you were safe!”

“I came because you’re mine, Draco, and he can’t have you.”

“Sometimes you don’t get a choice in the matter!”

“I’m sick of people telling me to lie back and let fate take care of everything. All my life I have, Draco, until you. You don’t expect me to start again now, do you? I know why you’re doing this, I know what spell he used on me, and I’m not letting me be the thing that forces you into this, that destroys you. I’m not your weakness, Draco, I refuse to be. I will not leave you here with him.”

“What are you going to do?” Draco whispered. His anger was gone, replaced by an intense fear, like nothing he’d ever felt before. “Please, Harry, just go.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“You can’t, Harry. You think if it was that easy, he wouldn’t be dead already? Besides, if… if he dies, so do you.”

“If I die,” Harry said quietly, solemnly taking Draco’s hand and holding it firmly. “You’re free.”

Draco flinched. “No.”

“One of us has to die, Draco, to end this. I’m not playing by his rules anymore. Don’t make it both of us,” Harry begged. “This is the way it’s got to be.”

“It’s always been both of us! All or nothing, Harry, you know that. How would I live without you?”

“You will, Draco, I promise you will. You’re strong.”

“Not as strong as you. Don’t leave me.”

“You left me. That night at your house, you left me. You didn’t even explain…”

“I let you go. There’s a difference. It was for your own good.” Draco kissed him desperately.

Rage at himself for not realizing everything sooner, fury at Draco for letting him go, trying to protect him, tore through Harry, and he hissed, “If you ever, ever, do anything like that, for my own good, ever again, Draco, I swear…” Up until now, his face and tone had been furious. A devilish glint lit up his eye and a slow smile spread across Harry’s lips. “I’ll never shag you again.”

“Don’t you get it? I can do what they can’t. I can keep you safe! The one thing your parents couldn’t do for you, the one thing Dumbledore failed at, the one thing Weasley and Granger are too weak to do. I can do it. I can protect you.” Harry’s face was still resolute, and Draco grabbed his hands, pleading. “You think if it worked that way, I wouldn’t have done it for you, months ago? If I died, Voldemort wouldn’t succeed. But I didn’t, because any life is better than none at all. Even… Even a life without you.” His eyes widened and Draco glanced away, because the words had burned like ashes in his throat and even Harry knew it was a lie.

He trailed his fingers down Draco’s cheek. “It’s my life, Draco. To live with you, or give for you.”

“Don’t,” Draco whispered, his voice breaking. “I won’t let you.”

“Not everything ends the way you think it should.”

Draco’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “If you loved me —”

“Don’t,” Harry snapped. “He’s hunted me my entire life, Draco. This time he went too far. This time I’m hunting him. He’s mine. I’ll tear him apart, or die trying, and either way, I’ll win, because he won’t have you anymore. You’ll be free, that’s all that matters now. I wasn’t really living before you anyway, and after you left me, I remembered what that was like, not really living, not feeling. Only it was a thousand times worse because you’d taught me what really living felt like. I’d rather be dead than live without you.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re so stupid, Potter. You and your bloody hero complex. You can’t save everyone.”

“What’s the point in being able to save anyone at all if I can’t save you?”

Startling even himself, Draco laughed harshly. “You know, Snape was right after all, when he said you’ve got a death wish.”

Harry rolled his eyes and smiled. “Forget Snape. Forget everything. It’ll be alright, you’ll see.”

“Harry —”

One finger touched his lower lip and Draco stopped talking, swallowing a shaky breath. Harry traced his lip and then kissed him gently, stroking his face, trying to soothe him, make him understand. It was painful, a more painful good-bye than words ever could have been because Draco couldn’t fight it, couldn’t argue with it. He’d never been able to resist Harry when he kissed this way.

“Where is he?” Harry whispered against Draco’s lips.

“I won’t tell,” Draco replied, his eyes still closed.

“Then I’ll find him myself.”

He climbed off the bed and strode resolutely towards the door. Cursing savagely, Draco leapt off the bed, grabbing his trousers up off the floor and jerking them on, even while hopping after Harry, who tossed one faintly amused smile over his shoulder and slipped out of the room.

“He’s not here!” Draco snapped finally.

Harry froze and turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Not here? He’s got to be here, I followed him here, he’s in my head. He’s here.”

“He’s not. You think you would still be alive if he was here?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t risk losing you by hurting me.”

“Exactly. So all of this is pointless. He’ll just laugh at you, Harry.”

“Maybe at first.” Harry frowned, considering. “He’s really not here?”

“He left before sunset, won’t be back until just before dawn he said. He’s meeting Wormtail, they’re trying to identify the spy, no one knows we’re here, we’ve been hiding. Not even Wormtail.”

Harry considered for a moment. “It won’t be that long then, the sun’s almost rising. I can wait.”

Grabbing his arm and spinning him around roughly, Draco snarled, “You think I’ll let you? You’re out of your fucking mind. Get out of here, he never has to know you were here!”

“I’ll only leave if you come with me,” Harry replied easily.

“I can’t,” Draco argued. “You know I can’t, it’ll be disloyal, he’ll kill you. Harry, I won’t be able to stop him from killing you or you’ll die anyway because I was disloyal! Don’t you understand? You can’t put me in this position.”

Harry kissed him quickly. “I know you won’t be able to stop him, that’s the point.”

“I could curse you,” Draco threatened. “I could but the full-body bind on you and get you out of here before he gets back.”

Harry smiled indulgently. “You left your wand in your bedroom.”

“Stop smiling at me! This isn’t a game, Harry!”

“I know. It’s dead serious.” He walked past Draco and down the stairs, into the front room, where a couch and a large armchair sat before an empty hearth. Draco followed him. “Voldemort sits there?” Harry asked, pointing to the armchair.

“Yes.”

Harry nodded once before throwing himself back into Voldemort’s chair. There was a table against the wall with a few glasses and a bottle of scotch. Harry summoned it with a flick of his wand and poured himself a drink, and then one for Draco, who collapsed weakly on the couch and stared at him.

“You really do have a death wish,” he whispered.

Harry smiled rather recklessly and sipped the scotch. It was going to his head, this recklessness, almost like alcohol. The knowledge that no matter the outcome here, he couldn’t lose, it was an intoxicating idea. He couldn’t lose because no matter what, after tonight, Draco would be free. After years of fearing his destiny, Harry wasn’t afraid any longer. It was in his hands now, for once he was in control. Maybe he was going to die, but he was doing it on his terms.

He’d never been reckless before. Oh, he’d done reckless things, but never with the intent to be reckless. Understanding of that recklessness had only come in hindsight. This was walking in with wide-eyed understanding that he wouldn’t be coming out.

It was exhilaration in the purest sense of the word. Either way, what had been years of worry, darkness, and terror… It ended tonight, at Harry’s hand.

“Drink up,” Harry said, jerking his head at Draco’s glass of scotch. “You look like you could use something to calm your nerves.”

Draco slammed his glass on the table. “This isn’t a fucking game, Harry! He’ll kill you.”

“Not right away,” Harry said easily. “I suspect I’ll have to make him really mad first. Besides, I’m going to try to kill him first, you know. That way he’s gone and everyone else is safe, not just you.”

“He’ll hurt you! And I won’t be able to stop him!”

“That’s the point, Draco. I don’t want you to stop him. I don’t want you to do anything. I don’t even want you to be here.” He took another sip and studied Draco in the darkness before flicking his wand at the hearth and lighting a fire.

Draco swallowed heavily and left the couch, kneeling in front of Harry and speaking very gently, as if speaking to the mentally ill. “Alright, Harry,” he said soothingly, taking Harry’s hand and squeezing it. “I understand, I do. He killed your parents, he hurt you, he terrorized you, all of that, and you’re angry.”

“He took you away too,” Harry reminded him.

“Yes. But it’s nothing to lose your head over. Calm down, go back to Hogwarts, talk to Dumbledore, even Snape if you want to. We’ll think of another way. Alright? This isn’t necessary.”

Harry smiled indulgently at him. “There is no other way, Draco.”

“Then you’ll just let him win?” Draco cried. “Let him have you?”

“It won’t be him winning because…” Harry frowned thoughtfully. “Because it’ll be my choice. Besides, he doesn’t want me dead anymore, he wants you. You could run with me. We could go away and leave nothing behind except our dirty glasses. He’d never find us.”

“And how far would we get before he realized that I’d gone with you and killed you with a thought?” Draco growled. “You’ve lost your mind. You’re mad. I should knock you out and sent you to St. Mungo’s, maybe they can sort you out.” He got up and began to pace the room furiously. “It’s disgusting! You’re so weak! Stupid, I’ve always known you were stupid, Harry, but I didn’t know you were mad as well!”

Harry sighed got to his feet and placing both hands bracingly on Draco’s shoulders. “Draco,” he said gently. “It’s alright to be scared.”

Scowling furiously, Draco glanced away. “I’m not,” he lied.

Harry kissed his cheek and rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, arms wrapping around him. “Alright,” he agreed, if only to soothe him. “I’m scared, if it helps any. I mean… I don’t… I don’t want to leave you.” His voice cracked a little. “But fuck it, if I can’t have you neither can he.”

He suddenly realized that Draco was trembling, and Harry took him gently by the hand, tugging him back to the large armchair, curling up on it and pulling Draco down beside him. Letting himself collapse against Harry, Draco rested his head on the other boy’s chest, his ear over Harry’s heart. Wrapping an arm around him and resting his cheek on Draco’s head, Harry closed his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.

***

“Where the hell have you been?” Hermione snapped, and Ron stopped, eyes widening as his face flushed guiltily.

“I… I was…” The truth was that he had been out after hours meeting with Pansy, of course, but he’d hardly confess that to her.

“Forget it,” she snarled. “I don’t care if you were out with Pansy, I honestly don’t.” Strangely enough, it was no longer a lie. She’d recently had her priorities shifted drastically. “Harry’s gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?” Ron asked, frowning. He and Hermione had both been worried about Harry in the weeks since Malfoy’s father had died and he had gone to live with a relative or something. Harry had never explained, and Ron had personally decided that Malfoy had attacked him or something that night at the manor. That they’d broken up or something, which would explain why they no longer kept in touch. He would have killed Malfoy for it, had he known where to find him. As it was, he could only watch Harry as he went about life with dark, bruised eyes.

“After Malfoy,” Hermione snapped, shoving a thick wad of parchment at him. “He left this.”

“Fucking Malfoy,” Ron snarled. “Did he do something? Why now? I thought he was getting over it. I never should have brought him there.”

“Ron,” Hermione said, her face very grave. “He explained it all in the letter, but there isn’t enough time for you to read it, I’ll explain on the way. We’ve got to go after him.”

“What the hell did Malfoy do this time?”

She touched his face and smiled painfully. “He didn’t do anything,” she whispered, sounding as if she were about to cry. “He never did anything. I’ll explain, but we’ve got to go after him.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“No. I was hoping… Maybe Pansy would know where to find him?”

Ron frowned. “She might. Come on, and explain on the way.”

She told him all she’d read in the letter as they made their way down to the Slytherin dungeon, about the Gobbler’s Ink and what had really happened that night at the Manor, the binding spell, all of it. “He’s only just figured it out for himself,” she whispered. “The spell, and why Malfoy said all he did at the Manor. He’s gone after him. He doesn’t intend to come back.”

Ron, who’d whispered the password so Hermione wouldn’t overhear it (Pansy had made him swear not to tell anyone), glanced over his shoulder at her, horrified. “What?”

“He’s gone to kill Voldemort for daring to take Draco from him, and Snape’s told him that if Voldemort dies, so does he. We’ve got to bring him back before he does something stupid.”

Aware of the urgency now, Ron led the way into the empty common room and left Hermione there, running up the stairs to Pansy’s room. When she came down the stairs five minutes later in her nightdress, she glared at Hermione, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What on earth are you doing here?” she snapped. “Ron told me you needed me.”

Hermione didn’t waste time and said bluntly, “Do you know where Draco is?”

Instantly, Pansy looked wary. “No. Why?”

“Because we need to find him and I figured if anyone knew where he was, it would be you.”

“Well I don’t, so if Potter’s having some melodramatic snit and wants to take it out on Draco, he can just forget it, because I won’t tell.”

“The fact that you won’t tell implies you’ve got some information you’re keeping secret,” Hermione snarled.

“Pansy,” Ron said, more gently. “It’s important, do you know where he is? Harry’s gone after him.”

“Gone after…” Pansy trailed off, her eyes widening. “What is he, mad? Draco’s gonna kill him, if You–Know-Who doesn’t first!”

“You know he’s with Voldemort?” Hermione asked, eyes narrowing. “Dumbledore told everyone he’d gone to live with relatives.”

Pansy looked at her in silence for a long moment, tucking her long hair behind her ear. “Only those who didn’t know any better would have believed it. My family and the Malfoys have known each other forever. He has no relatives.”

“And you just let him go? With Voldemort?” Hermione whispered in shock. “I thought he was your friend.”

“What was I supposed to do?” she snapped. “Dumbledore told me there was nothing to be done, that Draco was safe for now, until he could think up some way to get him back without… without…” She glanced at Ron nervously.

“Without killing Harry,” Ron finished for her in a shocked whisper. “Pansy, why didn’t you tell me?”

“They told me it was important that Harry didn’t know. So that he didn’t do something stupid like this…”

“Can the binding spell be broken?” Ron asked her urgently.

“No,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t matter, none of this matters, just get me to him before he does something stupid,” Hermione cried, interrupting them. “Do you know where he is?”

“No,” Pansy said quietly. “But I can find him. There’s a game we used to play as children, like hide-and-go-seek. I still remember the spell for it.”

“Spell?” Hermione asked, frowning. “Can’t wizard children do anything without magic?”

Pansy sneered. “It’s going to help us now, isn’t it?” she snapped. “Besides, usually it only works as children, during the game, but… Draco and I were friends, we saw each other nearly every day, and he always used to tell me he was going to run away from home. So we… sort of made the spell permanent. So if he ran away, I could always find him. I bet he’s forgotten.” Her face was a little flushed, and Ron was looking suspicious and a little jealous.

“Right, just do the spell,” Hermione snapped.

Pansy, not looking at Ron, nodded and went back upstairs to get her wand. She returned, still in her white nightdress, though looking more awake now. She pushed some chairs and tables away from the center of the room, clearing a large space, and pointing her wand at it. “Finden sie Draco,” she whispered, and there was a ripple on the stone floor, the veins of quartz in the old granite rearranging themselves into a type of map, a glowing star in the center.

All three of them studied it for a long moment, before Hermione said, “I know where that is. It’s a few hours away from my home.”

“That’s hours away,” Ron groaned.

“We’ll fly to Hogsmeade and Floo from there to my house,” Hermione said. “Then fly from there. It won’t take too long.”

“I’m going with you,” Pansy decided, giving them no time to argue. She ran up to her room to get dressed.

They left a few minutes later, sneaking out of the castle and mounting their brooms. Ron had his Firebolt Hermione and Harry had got him for his last birthday and Pansy, who had a Nimbus 2001, had stolen Draco’s Firebolt to lend to Hermione. They made fast progress to Hogsmeade, Floo’d with their broomsticks in hand, and dawn was just lightening the sky when they took to the skies again.

***

“I’ll fight you, you know,” Draco said quietly. They’d sat there together for a while in silence, weeks of being apart and missing each other so badly that it was hard to breathe melting into some sort of panic, all the more painful. Draco felt like he was caught in some sort of whirlwind he couldn’t escape. He’d lost all control of everything.

“I’ve always known that when it came down to it, we’d be on opposite sides.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “That’s not true. It was always us against the world, Harry. We’re on the same side here… You’re just… trying to be a sodding hero again. And I’m not going to let you.”

Harry kissed the top of his head and whispered soothingly, “Of course not.”

It was quiet for a moment, except for the cracking of flames in the hearth, and finally, Draco shifted a little and said, “How are you going to do it? Kill him, I mean. You don’t know any spells strong enough to kill him, and he’s got himself wrapped up in so many spells to prevent that sort of attack that it’s impossible.”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied thoughtfully. “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. It’s all been easier than it should have been so far.”

“Do you even know any spells to kill? They don’t teach that at Hogwarts.”

“Do you know his weaknesses?”

“Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. It would be disloyal and what if he overheard?”

Harry nodded and then, tightening his hold possessively on Draco, he stared into the fire. “Arrogance, I think,” he whispered out loud. “His weakness is that he thinks he hasn’t got one. He thinks everyone else is weaker than him.”

“You are weaker than him.”

“Not everything comes down to how many anti-Avada Kedavra spells you’ve wrapped yourself in, nor how many death charms you know. There are other ways to kill.” Harry trailed off, frowning. There was a building pressure in his head, quickly blooming into pain, a pain he recognized. His scar was slowly beginning to burn. “He’s close,” he whispered, and Draco lifted his head, eyes wide.

“How do you know?”

Before he could reply, Harry hissed a painful breath through his teeth, his scar burning worse than ever, the burn marks on his arm itching like fire was dancing along his skin. He jerked away and turned his face towards the doorway. Voldemort stood there, looking almost pleasantly surprised to see him.

Draco scrambled off the chair, his face pale. “I didn’t let him in,” he said quickly. “I didn’t betray you. I wasn’t disloyal, I —”

“Draco,” Harry said quietly, climbing out of the chair and taking Draco’s hand. “Shh.”

“You’re looking better than when I saw you last,” Voldemort greeted finally, smiling in a vaguely polite manner. “But honestly, I can’t for the life of me imagine what would have brought you here.”

“Can’t you?” Harry asked in a deceptively casual tone.

“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that you mean anymore to me than the irritating son of a foolish father and a Mudblood mother.”

Harry smiled sharply. “That’s funny, your blood’s just as dirty as hers was.”

“She died for hers,” Voldemort said coldly, all amusement gone from his face.

Shrugging easily, Harry said silkily, “And you’ll die as well, though not for something as trivial as your bloodline. Something far more personal.”

“Insolent boy,” Voldemort sneered, walking past him and picking up Draco’s abandoned drink. “You think you’re anything more to me than an irritating child?”

“You think you’re anything more than a Mudblood on a power trip?” Harry countered sharply.

“Harry,” Draco snapped.

Harry turned to him with wide eyes and an innocent smile. “Yes, Draco?”

“Get out of here.”

Turning back to Voldemort with a bright smile, Harry ignored him. “I think it’s rather amusing, personally,” he drawled casually.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, and he fought to hide his scowl, lifting the glass to his lips. “What is?”

“The fact that you tried to hide the fact that you were too weak to kill me by pretending you did it on purpose, that it was all some master plan. It’s pathetic, really.”

“Again, Potter, this has nothing to do with you. Perhaps you had some illusion of grandeur, thinking you were my arch nemesis or something equally respectful, but you were never that to me. Just an annoyance. A little boy playing at being hero who could be exterminated at any time.”

“Like when I was a baby and I nearly destroyed you?” Harry hissed.

“Lucky chance,” Voldemort answered lightly. “Having nothing personally to do with you.”

“Like at the Triwizard Tournament? You couldn’t even beat me in a duel,” Harry laughed.

Voldemort slammed the glass down so hard that it cracked. “That,” he snarled, “was no doing of yours but a coincidence. It was your wand!”

Harry nodded sagely. “Of course, and none of this has anything to do with the fact that you’re just too weak to kill a useless boy like me.”

Voldemort did smile now, though it was by no means a pleasant smile. “It’s not going to work, you know,” he said in a conversational tone. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“No,” Harry said brightly. “You’re not. I’m going to kill you.”

Voldemort laughed, and Draco snapped, “That’s enough, Harry, I’ve had enough of this. Just go home, you couldn’t kill him if you tried and you know it! Just go! If it was that easy, he’d be dead by now!”

For the first time, Voldemort focused his attention on Draco. “That nearly sounds like disloyalty,” he said silkily, and Draco snapped his mouth shut with a furious scowl.

Harry’s eyes narrowed and he pulled his wand out of his pocket. “What sort of loyalty is bought anyway?” he snarled.

Voldemort turned back to him, all amusement gone from his face. “I grow tired of your games, Potter,” he spat. “I will not kill you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you. But I’ll give you another chance, just because I fear Draco wouldn’t enjoy watching me bleed you again. Get out of here now and you go unscathed.”

Harry didn’t reply. He still had the scotch glass in his hand and, desperate to provoke Voldemort, he threw it at him. It hit the wall behind him and shattered.

“Harry!” Draco snarled, marching forward and grabbing Harry roughly by the arm, dragging him towards the door. “That’s it, I’m not letting you do this, so stop, you’re being a prat, get out of here.”

Voldemort’s wand was in his hand now, and he hissed something low between his teeth. Draco was suddenly torn away and slammed into a wall across the room, a low moan of pain escaping his lips.

“Suddenly I want him to stay,” Voldemort whispered, watching Harry like a snake.

Harry was staring at Draco, wide-eyed and stunned. He’d never expected Draco to get hurt by this.

Cold rage made his eyes darken as he turned back to Voldemort, clutching his wand in whitened fingers, his lips pulled back over his teeth in a silent snarl. “If you ever hurt him again —”

“Come now, Harry,” Voldemort chided. “Do you still think you’re in control here? You haven’t been in control of anything for your entire life, why should that change now, just because you’ve decided you want to die? I am not going to kill you, but I can certainly make you wish you were dead. Crucio.”

Pain erupted inside Harry’s body, but he’d expected it and, having been under the curse before, knew how it felt, how it started like a nail running along exposed nerves, the agony working up his body to from his toes before taking his mind last, making it nearly impossible to breathe and think. He fell to his knees, his jaw locked shut against the pain, refusing to scream. He didn’t know how long it lasted, was blind and deaf to anything going on around him except the pain, and when it faded, he was lying on his side on the floor, his body twitching a few times, bathed in sweat, and Draco was there, calling his name in a panic-stricken tone, kneeling beside him.

Harry shoved him away and got shakily to his feet, a lopsided, grim smile on his lips. “Creative,” he rasped, ignoring that his voice was rough from the pain. “Rely on Voldemort to always fall back on the Unforgivables. Honestly, I expected better.”

Voldemort was furious at that, his anger all the more blinding because Harry dared to defy him, even after that curse, that he hadn’t broken. “You want creativity?” he snarled. “Diffindo.” He snapped his wand like a whip, and there was a crack in the air, the force of the spell hitting Harry in the face, tearing into it like a clawed hand, ripping three long, deep gashes. The force of it knocked him off his feet and left him stunned, blood running from the cuts in a hot stream.

He was on his hands and knees, fighting to get to his feet, when suddenly Draco was kneeling before him, touching his bloody face with trembling fingers. “Stop it, stop it, please, Harry. Don’t you understand that losing you would destroy me more than he ever could?”

Harry turned and looked solemnly at Voldemort, who was watching them with a smug, self-satisfied smile. He turned back to Draco with a small, gentle smile, shaking his head a little. Drops of blood splattered the floor. “No,” he whispered. “You’re stronger than you think.”

“If I have to be strong, so do you. Don’t do this.”

Harry just smiled and got to his feet. “Petrificus Totalus!”

The spell hit Voldemort and made him stumble a tiny bit, but nothing more. He was laughing. “A first year body bind?” he sneered. “You think that’s strong enough to stop me?”

While he was gloating, Harry snapped his wand and shouted, “Stupefy!”

It was only slightly more effective, in that it stopped the arrogant laughing. There were other spells after that, spells which Harry absently tried to duck or block, though he put more effort into trying to think up anything that would be effective. He was tossed around, bruised, and bleeding more than ever, having only managed to cast a few weak attempts at leg-locker charms, conjured a few snakes which were quickly ignited by Voldemort, and sent one silver stag prancing about the room. It was a ridiculously unfair fight and he knew it. That wasn’t the point, however. The point was in not letting Voldemort incapacitate him instead of kill him. Draco was foolish enough to remain loyal to Voldemort in defense of him even if he were no more than a mindless shell, Harry was sure. As long as he still breathed, Draco would be foolish enough to let Voldemort control him.

“Cassesprit,” Voldemort hissed, and Harry ducked quickly to avoid it. After all, having his mind broken wouldn’t solve a thing.

Draco was shouting again, though Harry wasn’t really listening. He was trying desperately to think of a spell that could be in anyway effective. Draco shoved passed him suddenly and Harry watched him almost numbly as he ran from the room. For one wild moment, he thought Draco was running away, but the other boy took off up the stairs instead of out the door, still cursing savagely under his breath.

His eyes narrowed, Harry resolved to go after him and turned back to Voldemort, shouting “Incendio!” as he ran from the room. His wand had swung wildly and, rather than a small, sedate fire that usually resulted when that spell was used while pointed at a hearth, the armchair, curtains, and wooden walls burst into flames.

Harry didn’t pause to see if it slowed Voldemort down at all. He was worried about just what Draco was up to, and he took the stairs three at a time, slamming into Draco in the hall outside the room he’d originally found him in, nearly knocking him over. Draco had fetched his wand.

“What are you doing?” he panted, his hands braced on Draco’s chest to steady himself. His face was still bleeding, his body felt bruised all over, torn and nearly broken. He probably had a few broken ribs judging from the lancing pain that tore through him whenever he breathed, and Draco had to practically hold him up.

He leaned close, his hands clasped around Harry’s arms, and hissed, “Sommeilmort. When I squeeze your hand, point your wand at him and say that, alright? Fuck, Harry, you’re crazier than I thought, coming into this with charms to make him dance or switch his knees around. Honestly.”

“But… but it’ll be disloyal…” Harry gasped.

“We’ll deal with that after, hopefully it’ll happen too fast for him to kill you before it hits him. I think both of us casting it will make it strong enough to harm him. Come on.”

Draco tightened his hold on Harry’s hand and tugged him down the stairs again, where Voldemort was still extinguishing all the flames, looking quite irritated. If the Muggle fire department showed up to deal with this, it would mean a lot of wasted time, killing them all. He didn’t have the patience for little boy dueling tactics.

Draco raised his wand and glanced at Harry, squeezing his hand tightly, knowing this could backfire horribly and result in Voldemort killing Harry instantly, but he couldn’t stand to see Harry hurt anymore without doing something. “Sommeilmort!” he shouted, Harry’s voice echoing his.

There was a crack in the air and a flash of almost soothing pale blue light, and he waited with breathless anxiety, his eyes trained on Voldemort, waiting for either the Dark Lord or Harry to crash to the ground.

Voldemort fell; he wasn’t breathing.

Draco let out a shaky breath and dropped Harry’s hand.

“He’s dead?” Harry cried, startled. “Why aren’t I… If he’s…”

“He’s not. It’s a Bewitched Sleep, I learned it the summer after fourth year. It’s what Dumbledore used on the people he put in the lake during the second challenge.” Draco was feeling incredibly weak, he just wanted to collapse to the ground and cry. “You’re not dead because it happened too fast for him to kill you, and now he’s dreaming and has forgotten all about this fight. I don’t know how long it will last on him though. He could wake up at anytime.”

Harry was walking around Voldemort, studying him. The ground was scarred with scorch marks, and it was giving him a vague, hopeful idea. “Right then,” he said calmly, glancing up at Draco and idly wiping his bloody face on his sleeve. “I’d best hurry.”

“With what?”

“Killing him. Before he wakes up.” Even as he spoke, Harry was walking from the room, determination in his stride. He glanced out the window into the back garden, the predawn light casting a ghostly glow over it. There was a shed out there, and he asked, “Did Muggles live here, before you and Voldemort came here?”

“Kill him?” Draco cried. “But then you’ll die! Honestly, stop being so dense, Harry, we’re not going to kill him. We’ll keep him in the bewitched sleep forever. Drop him to the bottom of the ocean while we look for a way to break the binding spell he used on you. He can’t kill you if he’s like this forever.”

Harry glanced at him indulgently. “You said yourself that it won’t last forever, he’s too strong for that. I’m going to kill him, Draco. Now, Muggles used to live here, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, feeling numb. Even after he’d helped him, Harry was still going ahead with his plan? “It’s a summer house, but Voldemort killed the people that lived here months ago, before Christmas, and took it over to hide out until he’d drawn the spy out.”

“Summer home. Good.”

Harry let himself out the back door. It was still raining and the cool rain soothed his torn face and aching body as he limped to the shed, unlocking the padlock with a flick of his wand and then lighting the tip of it as he stepped inside. It was cold and dusty, a forgotten fishing boat in the back, and a few bikes with rusted chains. In the corner was a plastic tank of gas for the little boat.

He picked up the gas and carried it back into the house. Standing at the door and frowning, Draco watched him. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Voldemort’s weakness. He never thought the Muggles could ever produce anything that could hurt him so he didn’t ward himself against them. Hopefully. It’s petrol.”

“How is that going to kill him?” Draco growled, following Harry back into the main room and watching as he splashed the gasoline over Voldemort’s unconscious body and then liberally around the room, on the armchair, the floor, the walls.

“It’s extremely flammable,” Harry replied with a shrug. “I’m sure even dark wizards burn well. It’s how they used to kill witches and wizards in the old days, isn’t it?”

“They’d cast a spell so they didn’t feel the flames,” Draco whispered, watching in horror as the liquid splashed onto the floor and over Harry as well.

“Which just means they weren’t immune to the flames themselves,” Harry said thoughtfully, dropping the empty tank. “He can’t protect himself from the flames when he’s out like that.” Finally, Harry glanced up at Draco. “I’d better light it before he wakes up.”

Draco laughed desperately. “I told you, I’d fight you, you’re not doing this. I won’t let you kill him, Harry, you’ll die as well.”

Irritated, Harry snapped, “You think if you keep saying that, it’ll make me change my mind? I know what it’ll mean if he dies, Snape told me, alright?” He jerked his sleeves up to show Draco the seared scars on his wrists, which were covered now in blood and bruises. “I’ve studied the scars he marked me with. I know what it means and it doesn’t matter! Nothing matters except that he doesn’t have you anymore.” Harry grabbed Draco by the arm and jerked him close, kissing him hard. It tasted of blood and gasoline. “Now stop it, Draco. There’s no other way and this isn’t making it easier.” He stepped back and smiled gently. “You’ll be fine, Draco. Wait here.”

He hurried up to Draco’s room and found the small chest of letters on the floor. He picked it up, his hands leaving smudges of dirt and blood on it, and carried it back to Draco, pushing it into his hands. “Take this and go,” he said.

“No,” Draco snapped, though he instinctively took the chest. “What is it?”

“It’s yours. It’s enchanted so only you and I can open it, you’ll see what it is later, now go.”

He turned away, as if he honestly expected Draco to listen. “Incendio,” he whispered, pointing his wand at Voldemort. Flames erupted, greedily streaking along the gasoline, until they’d consumed Voldemort and were dancing along the floor, up the walls.

Draco was still standing there looking defiant when Harry turned. “You honestly think,” he said in a furious hiss, “that I’d leave you in here to die?”

Harry sighed. “I’m going to die whether you’re here or not, Draco.”

“Don’t you remember?” Draco whispered painfully, setting the small chest aside. “In the great hall, that last night. You said you wouldn’t be scared to die if I was there to hold your hand.”

Harry flinched, his eyes going wide. “I didn’t mean like this.”

The flames were spreading, swirling all around, singeing Harry’s clothes, reflecting in his glasses. Draco took his hand. “Doesn’t matter. It’s always been us against the world, all or nothing, remember?” He smiled gently, rubbing some of the soot off Harry’s lower lip with his finger. “If you stay, so do I.”

The fire was so hot now that Harry could feel it burning his skin, flickering on his clothes. “No,” he whispered, grabbing up the chest of letters and taking Draco roughly by the hand, tugging him towards the front door. The roof over the front room had collapsed now, the dry wood inside the house lighting up like paper. Ashes, sparks, and soot were falling from the ceiling, the rain outside useless to slow the flames.

“Get out!” Harry shouted, shoving Draco towards the back door. The foundations of the house had weakened from the heat, he could hear them groaning, shifting, and knew it was all about to come crashing down. “You don’t have to do this!”

Draco shook his head very slowly, strangely untouched, unmarred by the ashes, and cinders, his face still smooth, perfect. Carved from marble, Pansy would have said.

“I won’t,” he said calmly. “You brought this on us both, you think I’d let you go without me?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped and he glanced from Draco to the calm, cooling rain on the other side of the glass door. “Please,” he whispered.

“Come with me,” Draco replied, taking his hand. “Walk away with me.”

“I’m bonded to him. I’ll die anyway.”

“We’ll take him. Heal him. He’s not dead yet or you would be too. We could keep him alive and unconscious forever.”

“That’s not possible and you know it.”

“Then I’m staying too.”

“Draco!” Harry screamed, furious. “You’re not, I won’t let you, I won’t!”

His screams were lost in the sudden roar of flame and crashing sounds as the house fell down around them, the roof plunging down. Draco’s eyes widened as he saw it coming and, acting purely on instinct, he shoved Harry with all his strength, straight through the glass door, stumbling onto the slippery grass and falling to his hands and knees. The chest of letters rolled away, landing on its side.

“No,” Harry whispered, scrambling to his feet, spinning around to stare at the ruin before him.

The house was a ball of flame, and he could see Draco, partially buried beneath some of the burning rubble, his perfect face marked now, seared and dirty, bleeding a little, his hair singed.

“No, no, no,” Harry chanted, falling to his hands and knees and pulling the burning chunks of wood off of Draco, struggling to pull the other boy away from the fire. He was sobbing dryly and, as if to make up for his inability to cry, the sky suddenly opened further and rain that punished and stung pounded down on him, trampling out the remaining flames that hadn’t been smothered when the house collapsed.

A heavy haze of smoke covered the area now, suffocating him, and Harry coughed weakly, shaking Draco, who was limp in his arms. His eyes didn’t open, and Harry couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

“Please, please,” Harry cried, clutching Draco’s shoulders. “Please…”

And then, his body aching from the flames and all the wounds he had sustained, Harry finally gave into the blackness that had been calling him, and, whether it be to follow Voldemort into death or just because he had nothing to stay alive for any longer, he gave himself up to it, exhaling gently as he let his eyes slowly shut, his arms still wrapped around Draco, his head resting on the other boy’s chest.