Balancing Act

BALANCING ACT

Getting together is easy. People do it all the time. The trouble starts when they try to stay together. Now that is a really tough job. You can only make it work by keeping the balance, holding onto your partner with fragments of yourself, those sharp angles and brims you've had all your life and could never adjust before. It is like climbing a steep rock, not that I ever climbed one, you grasp edges and clamber up, slide down scratching yourself in the process but don't let go.

If you do it right, you become entangled with your partner. You will discover that you and the one you love fit together perfectly, as if all the vacuum inside is filled, missing pieces found and put into places, mislaid elements rearranged. You will find it impossible to ever tear yourself off, not even if you decide you want to.

The problem is that sometimes your partner is the one who wants to let go. Then you lose the balance and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

And once you lose balance, it gets worse than before. Much worse. Because you could have been swinging and staggering all your life, believing it to be the only possible way, until suddenly you found the leverage and finally understood how it should have been all along. Then one fine day the leverage is gone and you're back to your previous off-balance state. And it hurts.

I learned that the hard way.

* * * * *

Now this circus has left town
This clown has got to get his feet back on the ground

I waved the wand in the air for the sixth time, cursing under my breath. Sometimes I really wished I had chosen to live in the Muggle district of London. Of course, that would render regular use of magic impossible but then I would not be forced to use it at every turn either. While it had once been fun to spend several weeks at the Weasleys' for a change, the never-ending necessity to apply the wand could become quite annoying. Especially when you were tired and magic was holding you back from entering your own house!

Entrance doors at wizards' residences were often spelled to be unlocked only with the owners' magical signatures. The sign had to be drawn with a certain wand and with great precision that I was not capable of at the moment, in my state of extreme physical and mental exhaustion. Harry Potter was unable to recreate his own signature. That sounded pathetic. But it wasn't like I had to use the signature on regular basis. Those signs were specifically designed for each wizard to be applied in spells requiring identification of the caster, whereas my use of magic these days was limited to the simplest of incantations, meant to make everyday life easier. Except for this lock, of course, which I would never have installed if it hadn't been for the heavy pressure from security-obsessed Aurors and my own slightly paranoid lover.

What wouldn't I give right now for a simple Muggle lock! But no, here I was, standing in front of my home and flailing some stupid stick like an idiot. A perfect ending for a perfect day. I could hear the shrill sound of the ringing phone, one of the few Muggle objects in my possession, inside the house. I wondered how long it would take the caller to understand that I would not pick up the phone. I took a deep breath and steadied my shaking hand. It just had to work. Once again... yes! The door swung open and I stepped inside my sanctuary with a sigh of relief.

The first piece of furniture my glance fell on as I entered was a couch, and I hastily diverted my eyes. We used to call it Make-Out Spot because every time we stumbled in together we fell on it - sometimes deliberately, sometimes too drunk to stand on our feet. There would be giggles, awkward groping, muffled curses as clothes stubbornly refused to be removed, soft bites and kisses. No elegance or consideration in this fumbling, just two young men getting off together.

When I came home alone, one look at this innocent object usually was enough to make me blush and smile. And certainly, nothing could stop me from pulling Draco there right as he entered the door.

I would burn it but that gesture would be too dramatic, smelly and potentially dangerous for the floor tiles. Fine. I'd just look into Disintegration Charms then. Not as satisfying as burning but equally efficient.

Instead of falling on the bed as my body demanded I looked around in search of some task. For the last two weeks I had been keeping myself busy with minor renovations, but repainting of walls and plumbing could only occupy you for so long. Perhaps it was time to take a look at the garden. Good idea. After a year of careless neglect it could easily qualify as a gardener's nightmare. It would take me ages to right it out, exactly what I wanted. No time left to dwell and contemplate.

I stayed at home most of the time because whenever I went out I'd see some blond head in the crowd and decide that it was Draco. Then I'd realize my mistake and hate the impostor for daring to walk here and look like my lover. At the same time I'd be happy that it was not Draco, because if Draco were in this stranger's place, he would look at me and then turn away, letting me know that nothing has changed. I wasn't his choice. No, better to be home where it was safe to touch his things, think of him and pretend he would return soon.

I did not know what would happen if I dared to sit down and face the reality. The very idea filled me with such dread that even a visit paid by a rampant Death Eater wannabe who would burst into the house and cast Cruciatus on me seemed a more attractive possibility. Maybe, if I were especially lucky, he would even use some particularly nasty curse afterwards that would cripple me and land into a coma for a couple of months. Maybe I would be placed in St.Mungo's. Maybe he would hear about that and rush to the hospital. Maybe I would wake up and he would be there, sitting beside my bed, holding my hand. Maybe I should answer the blasted phone that stubbornly kept on ringing all this time.

"Hello?"

"Harry, oh finally!" Hermione sounded glad and annoyed simultaneously. "I've been tried to reach you all day. Where've you been? It's not like you were in the office - I called and they told me you left for lunch and did not come back after that! Really Harry, what were you thinking? You will get into trouble if you keep on disappearing in the middle of the working..."

She could go on in this manner for ages, so I interrupted. "I did not feel very well, so I left early," I decided to give her part of the truth. No matter how much I loved Hermione, right now I did not feel up to pouring my heart to her. "And I will make amends with my boss, don't worry. Now just tell me why you were looking for me."

"Anything serious? Are you better now?"

"Just a headache. It's almost gone."

"Oh good. I am calling to remind you about the MQM." My mind was blank. What the hell was MQM?

Apparently Hermione understood what my silence meant. "Harry, this is unbelievable," she exclaimed impatiently. "I've been talking to you about it for months! You agreed to come! You wrote an article about it!"

An article. Yes. My brain finally switched on, obligingly supplying the forgotten information. MQM was the Memorial Quidditch Match organized by the Ministry of Magic to commemorate the deaths of the best Quidditch players who had bravely but stupidly launched the attack at Voldemort's lair in the wizarding version of kamikaze. An efficient yet costly distraction that let Aurors fulfill their duty, taking in the process the lives of too many people to be considered anything but a tragedy.

Hermione was insisting on my participation in the event that I personally considered a parody of Quidditch, with most of professional players dead and gone. I abandoned my broom after school but many people stubbornly preferred to think that my refusal to play was a caprice, a folly I could be talked out of. In the end, in order to make her leave me alone I threatened not to interview Dobby for the Daily Prophet front page article He Is One of Us, yet another one of Hermione's ideas meant to induce love for house-elves in wizards' hearts.

Unfortunately I could not use the same leverage with Derek Merrivale, my boss and the Daily Prophet sports column editor, and I still had to go to the Match on the newspaper's assignment, albeit in the capacity of a reporter.

If anybody were interested in my opinion, I would tell them that this match accomplished nothing and proved nothing. The hastily gathered teams of amateur players could not make up for the dent in the ranks of professional Quidditch players the war against Voldemort had left. If they wanted to commemorate the fallen heroes, they should have built a new wing in St.Mungo's hospital or opened another orphanage. This parody of Quidditch would have only made cringe in horror those whose souls they have been trying to appease.

And I did not want to witness that, in any case. Fame and attention of the masses have always been my worst enemies. For two years I worked diligently on disposing of all war-related things from my life. Highlighting sports events was one more step in that direction, whereas this game would drag me right back in the middle of grave-visiting, memorial feasting and solemn speeches.

My reluctance to go to the Match was not only explained by the anticipation of the players' incompetence and my own desire to forget. After several confrontations with Voldemort and his accomplices I grew weary of crowds of wizards. Being surrounded by all these wand-bearers, I could not help but expect hexes to start flying, my body tensing in wait for attacks. Each time I was among wizards, I had to fight the urge to draw my wand, risking to earn myself a reputation of a total paranoiac. This was obviously not a problem I could have openly admitted. What professional future waited a reporter being afraid of crowds? I had to go there and do my job.

* * * * *

I tried to make you happy
Lord knows I tried so hard to be
What you hoped I would be
I gave you what you wanted
God couldn't give you what you need
You wanted more from me
Than I could ever be

I stumbled into a lavishly decorated restroom, not particularly caring what the venerable guests would make of my hurried escape. The room was finished in jungle theme, with lianas hanging from the ceiling and profuse vegetation covering the walls. A little exploration made me conclude that the only water-producing orifice in the vicinity was a stream that started somewhere at the top of a large rock in the center of the room and was running down the rock in thin rivulets, water pooling in sink-resembling cavities approximately at my waist-level. My hands burned after multiple handshakes and I shoved them into one of those pools.

To my disappointment, the water was tepid instead of ice-cold. Obviously the engineers of this place chose creature comforts over a realistic reproduction of a mountain stream. Pity. I would prefer cold water at the moment. I could cool it myself, but these days magic became more and more of a trial for me. I lowered my face into the water as well. Maybe I should stay like that till the air ran out? The idea was tempting, but in all likeness the stadium, including all auxiliary premises, was enmeshed in protection wards, and I did not fancy an idea of medi-wizards telling the Daily Prophet how Harry Potter nearly drowned himself in a sink.

Slowly straightening, I looked around and was slightly surprised and relieved to find that stalls had not been replaced with bushes. Good to know the designers' fantasy hadn't stretched that far. I dove into a little niche among the lianas. The fairy ale that they served here was good for clouding your head up, but created the same problems as any Muggle type of beer.

MQM was everything I expected and worse. The game itself looked as if the players were performing a dance rather than playing for real. No Bludgers - wouldn't want anything to remind us of violence, would we? - the Snitch floating in the air with a speed of a newborn butterfly, players of supposedly competing teams exchanging hearty handshakes and flashing smiles at the spectators after every goal... No wonder the score was 560:600 after two hours of the game. At some point the Snitch finally flew into the hand of one of the Seekers - the result of a nimble spell, no doubt, as the game lasting over two hours would tire out the guests - and the match almost imperceptibly transformed into a reception. I honestly did not know how to comment on this "event of the year". A sincere opinion would get me kicked out from the editor's office in five minutes.

Strangely enough it was neither the match that left me so shaken, nor the crowd of people at the reception. But I saw them. A striking pair, indeed. Both tall, blond-haired, with identical half-smiles on their faces.

Unbidden memories began to infiltrate my head against my wil. Memories I had been avoiding so carefully for the last few weeks...

I had never been particularly successful in relationships. In fact, my few chaotic affairs could hardly qualify as serious relationships. Ill-matched and awkward, by the time of separation these affairs left me nothing but a mixed feeling of bitterness and relief. Hermione had probably given the most correct definition, "accidental collisions with wrong people". Laconic and to the point.

In my sixth year at Hogwarts I began dating Ginny Weasley. It started at the Burrow where Dumbledore allowed me to go for the winter holidays. With Arthur and Molly Weasley spending most of their time at the Order's meetings held heaven knew where, their elder children scattered all over the world either on business or in search of adventures, Ron, Ginny and I got stuck there practically on our own. Of course we saw the others daily but most of the time the only form of communication we had outside our small group was a greeting nod or a smile.

For Ron it was the period of discovering baseball which I had stupidly told him about, and he got to the task as wholeheartedly and devotedly as to Quidditch and chess before that, so for me it was either to sit with Ron and watch baseball games on TV, carefully hidden in the attic by Mr Weasley from his strict spouse and found by the twins in all but five minutes, or to chat with Ginny. I chose the latter, not knowing back then about the most likely consequences of spending too much time with one girl.

It came as surprise to no one but me that Ginny and I returned that autumn to Hogwarts as a couple. I didn't put up much resistance to that establishment, to say the truth. After all, it was quite flattering to have a girlfriend of my own, rush outside to meet her in the evenings and return to the common room with lips tingling from kisses. The novelty wore off in a few weeks and then "Sorry, guys, gotta run, Ginny's waiting!" gradually changed to "Harry, aren't you going for a walk with Ginny?"

More often than not Ginny treated me as a gifted but slightly mental guy who needed a fair share of guidance, coddling and controlling. Ginny could have been right but I found her attitude unbearable. She was so homey that it was scary. When she reminded me about not staying up too late at night and put my scarf on because the air was chilly, I felt as if she was trying to strangle me with that damned scarf.

My friends laughed at us, seeing a perfect couple of a slightly absent-minded hero and his overprotective girlfriend. It got to the point when I didn't want to get out of bed in the morning for the fear of meeting Ginny in the common room where she would be waiting for me with an indulgent Harry-you-overslept-again-you-silly-boy smile. And it was not Hermione's know-it-all manner that I had already got used to. It was the behavior of a future wife who knew her rights and duties and was eagerly practicing them on her boyfriend.

In the meantime the Headmaster insisted on continuing my training in Occlumency. What had been a total disaster in the fifth year turned into my most interesting lessons a year later. Although Snape did not admit it, he must have felt guilty about Sirius' death and not having been fast enough in alerting the Order. That was the only way to explain the slight softening of his attitude towards me during our private sessions. However it did not really explain the change in my attitude towards him.

By the time Christmas holidays arrived, I developed a serious crush on him. I could not believe I had never noticed the appeal of the man. And of course Snape was the only person around who took part in my well-being and was capable of understanding my pain and loneliness.... Yeah, well, teenagers do have this stupid habit of mistaking adults' attention for real caring, and I was no better. With just a little strain of imagination, I made myself believe that I was loved and protected and cared for.

The realization that I was attracted to a man did not shock me much. Same sex relationships appeared to be common in the wizarding world, with majority swinging both ways, and I was even somewhat pleased to discover that I was no different from other wizards in the regard of sexual preferences. In fact, wizards did not mind whom or what you were going out with as long as your partner was a creature classified by M.O.M. no higher than the XXX degree of dangerousness.

There was a little pang of guilt when I remembered about Ginny Weasley but by that time our mutual disappointment reached the stage when both were grateful for the separation provided by the winter holidays, even though neither of us had the heart to break up formally. We just drifted apart letting the bond, if it had ever existed, dissolve on its own.

Several weeks later, when my studying schedule was back to normal, Snape occupied considerably more space in my head than Ginny. The training was way more productive than a year ago, as now I actually wanted to attend Snape's lessons. In the Potions class his infuriating calmness and scalding sarcasm still often left me shaking with impotent fury and wishing I had had enough brains not to choose Potions after passing OWLs, but also evoked admiration.

It would be hard to say when Snape felt the change in our relationship - probably much earlier than I did - and why he decided to go along with it but in a month or two I was in his bed. His morning-after manner of looking at me as at remains of some failed potions experiment he forgot to clean off yesterday left a lot to be desired but I chose to disregard this minor flaw. I also preferred to ignore his presumably humorous comments about me earning a passing grade at Potions in his bed. That was an out and out slander, as I could not remember a single time he showed any indulgence in marking my work after we got together, but a very effective insult. Each time I left his rooms, it was with a mixed feeling of deep physical satisfaction and mental outrage.

We continued dating in secret for several months, although "dating" would probably be an incorrect epithet to describe a relationship between two people who did not even know what to say to each other when they stayed alone. The affair was not over when the attack at Hogwarts happened, followed by the final fight - for Aurors and Dumbledore - and the longest Cruciatus curse I could imagine for me.

One would think that after such a promising start with throwing off the Imperius I should have also developed the similar resistance to the Cruciatus by then. Unfortunately I didn't and hence I was deprived of the pleasure of watching the spectacular end of the battle. Although I was not unconscious - the Cruciatus has this nice side effect of not allowing the victim to lose consciousness completely - I was pretty much out of things happening around me.

Much later, lying in the hospital wing, I was visited by many people who all eagerly told me about Albus Dumbledore casting some very powerful unknown spell and effectively destroying Voldemort who was too distracted with torturing me at that moment to retaliate. Literally destroying. The Aurors did not find a single particle of the former Dark Lord. So I could safely boast about being an important factor in the victory of the Side of Light if I wanted to. "What exactly was your input in the Battle, Mr Potter?" "Oh, I was rolling on the floor and screaming so loudly that Voldemort missed the curse directed his way."

What I found surprising and a bit unsettling was that Severus Snape wasn't among my visitors. For a little while I worried about his fate. Through some deliberately careless questioning I learned that he had not even been anywhere around the place of the battle. This information comforted me. At the same time I could not help feeling slightly bitter. What could keep him from visiting? Plenty of people, Hogwarts professors included, spared a minute or two to come and see me. So he should not be afraid of arousing suspicions about us. Was he too busy? But surely he had enough free time to send me a note, at least...

When I finally regained my strength and came to him myself, Snape did not act any differently than usual. I did not dare to demand explanations, partly because he still remained my teacher, partly because I was not sure I wanted a confirmation of the answer starting to form in my head. We kissed, we had good sex, but all in all, I got the message: Snape was not to give and did not expect to receive from me any feelings. He was offering me pleasurable pastime; I was repaying in kind. No strings attached.

Having defined our illicit affair in this manner, I did not return to him for a week. Disappointment hurt and made me consider ending the farce. Besides, now that there were no evil wizards to poke around in my mind and hence no reason for me to continue Occlumency lessons, I had to take extra caution in playing the game. But I felt lonely and still needed him even if this was just a self-delusion on my side. Whatever conclusions regarding our "romance" I had arrived at on my own, I wisely kept to myself. It appeared that Snape himself was surprised that I kept coming back when the training was over but no questions were asked, not by him and not by me.

The funny thing about all that was how both of us were struggling all this time to keep up the air of formality. We never even came to use each other's first names. I was "Potter" and he was "Professor" when I had to address him and "Snape" when I thought of him. In bed we remained silent except for occasional moans and instructions like "harder" and "more". It never occurred to me to call him Severus. Probably for the better, too, as I just might have ended up hexed or poisoned.

Sometimes I looked back at those times and shuddered, thinking how pathetically lonely I must have been to actually derive pleasure from this relationship. Sometimes I looked around and thought that nothing changed.

The next stage of my life began with Dumbledore's idea of students doing study projects in pairs. Pairs were selected randomly; one would pick a piece of paper with the name of his partner for the next month from the Sorting Hat. It was probably a crazy idea, to make people work together like that, in spite of the classes they were taking and whether the partners were in different years (both sixth and seventh year students had to participate).

Tasks that were written on papers along with the partners' names were rather weird and pointless, like growing a one feet high strawberry-bearing palm at Professor Sprout's greenhouses or making an inkpot burst with a song when empty. Still, despite their outward simplicity, the tasks turned to be quite time-consuming and complicated to carry out, promising to occupy most of our free time.

As Professor MacGonagall explained, the tasks were meant to estimate not our knowledge of the school program but our ability to cooperate and "apply creative thinking in day-to-day life". In other words, we were supposed to invent a combination of charms and potions to achieve the desired effect without the slightest chance to find the correct answer in the books. To our horror, we were promised that results of our work would be evaluated and taken into account during the NEWTs. That applied even to sixth year students who were most definitely not prepared to think about passing the final exams.

Draco Malfoy drew out my name. I was among the other half of students, those who were waiting to be picked by their, sometimes extremely distraught, partners. He was so upset by his bad luck that I almost felt sorry for him. I was not that shocked. By that time I was sleeping with the head of his house, Severus Snape, so why should I have any prejudice about working with a Slytherin? By the time when the Partnership Project started our meetings with Snape became quite rare as I found myself looking for excuses to avoid each next meeting.

With the new project demanding a lot of my attention and with my working partner who got irritated at the very suspicion that I was trying to make him do most of work, the relationship with Snape regressed from fading away to non-existent. Again, there was no "official" breakup. I simply stopped visiting and Snape's attitude towards me never indicated that we had ever been anything other than a teacher and his strongly disliked student. My grades at Potions stayed as abysmal as they had always been.

Of course Draco did not have any idea of this. Knowing that the exposure could get Snape fired and me kicked out of the school, I tried to be discreet about our illicit affair. Thankfully, so far even my friends did not figure out the truth. We grew a bit distant in the last months, and my drifting away from Ginny played no small part in it. Both Ron and Hermione were disappointed, both with the outcome of our short love story and with my reluctance to give them a coherent explanation.

Somehow all of my and Ginny's friends came to a conclusion that I had been the one to initiate the relationship and then the breakup. Since then my classmates had been divided into two groups: those who believed in Harry the Cruel Heartbreaker and others who stuck to the Emotionally Crippled Boy theory.

It did not really bother me as I was not looking for a new relationship, but it was not very pleasant to learn about yet another by-product of being a celebrity, about every small step I took earning me a new indelible label. I could only wonder what gossip my work with Draco Malfoy would result in. Probably some unflattering rumor about our plan to conquer Hogwarts with Dark Arts.

The young Slytherin did not lose much of his arrogance during this year, although it appeared that massive drastic shift of the wizarding society's sympathies to the winning side forced him to revise his choice of companions. Several times I witnessed him walking down the corridors with most daring of Gryffindor girls and even - good gracious! - bestowing a smile in the direction of a petite brunette from Hufflepuff. The overwhelmed girl fainted.

Even before Voldemort's demise, I had been hearing rumors about Malfoy's dramatic argument with his father upon the latter's release from prison and a refusal to become a Death Eater followed by running away from home. At least this was the version whispered to me by Gryffindor girls, overwhelmed by the tragic tale.

There was no official confirmation of that, since the Ministry had quite swiftly brought apologies to Lucius Malfoy for the "Azkaban episode" and it was never publicly declared that Malfoys had ever done something as vulgar as supporting Voldemort. Narcissa Malfoy mysteriously disappeared shortly after Voldemort's death. There were occasional talks about her being seen in France but nothing concrete. Officially it was declared that she went abroad to take care of her ill relative, never mind all her family lived in England. Once I overheard a conversation between two Aurors. One of them said that she was sick of her husband and would have probably told a lot to the court about his dubious connections, so Lucius Malfoy chose to pay her off instead. At least this way she was free and rich.

Draco Malfoy himself neither denied nor confirmed any of those assumptions. Lucius Malfoy remained confined to the Malfoy Manor, gradually repairing his damaged reputation, and his son ceased all public communication with home. Whatever the truth was, it did not stop him from playing the role of a noble prince in exile and enjoying it in full.

The gossips about his change of sides did not influence the hostility between us in the slightest. We were implacable in our rivalry and mutual dislike, although for me, unlike Malfoy, this enmity held no sacred meaning. I did not take our assignation as a personal insult and did not file a petition to Dumbledore with a request for drawing another lot. Malfoy's petition was rejected, of course. Hogwarts' teaching policy had little respect for personal feelings of the students.

Forced to work side by side, Draco and I soon overcame the urge to exchange insults all the time. There was just so much time we could have spent sneering at each other. After a while it got boring. It took us less than a month to come to terms with necessity of cooperation if we wanted to finish the task before the end of the year.

Our task was to brew a sleeping potion that would make the person fall asleep for one hour, then wake up for exactly five minutes and go back to sleep again. This cycle should repeat itself eight times. The sleeping part was easy, since this was the fifth year material. But to make one wake up after certain periods of times proved to be quite hard. I was the one who had to try the potion, and since our first attempts were not very successful, Draco had to wake me up many times. That included shaking, wresting over blankets, pouring cold water and eventually even something as friendly and playful as tickling.

The common for the wizarding community lack of inhibitions regarding sexual orientation made the next step easy and natural for both of us. A bed, two hormonal teenagers, loneliness - if Draco had any romantic attachments at that time, I was not aware of that, and he sure as hell looked bored and lonely when he thought nobody was watching him - we had enough of incentive to become close.

There were no heartfelt confessions between us, even in private I did not jump up with a "Oh my god, I am in love with him!" revelation. Playful shoves and friendly patting on the shoulder somehow transformed into intimate touches, and we just slid into the routine of an established relationship completely skipping the classic stages of confusion, stunned revelations, denial and acceptance. That was probably for the best for I was no good in dealing with complex feelings and would screw this relationship up completely.

The one change I did insist on, though, was the use of our first names. Ever since the first time we tumbled into bed together I addressed him as "Draco". It annoyed him in the beginning, especially when I called him that in public, violating our honed ritual of hostility display. With time, he realized how ridiculous it was to hold on so desperately to the old habit when I already moved on and resigned himself to returning the favor.

I did not expect much out of this affair, born out of inertia and convenience rather than actual desire. Draco Malfoy was close, pleasant-looking and available. These reasons appeared sufficient to me. How could I have known back then that an enjoyable pastime would gradually transfer first into a habit and then into a necessity?

It would have been difficult to judge whether this relationship was ever that important to Draco. He always seemed to pour his heart and soul into the "fun" part of the deal but chose to avoid any serious discussions. In the beginning it was fine by me. Draco's distraction techniques were supreme. Sex with Snape, albeit a memorable experience, was intense but not very original. I learned to appreciate Draco's inspiration and rich fantasy that he so enthusiastically applied in our sex life.

Despite the long and complicated road we had to go from rivalry to tentative attachment, my third attempt at settling down with someone seemed to be working out quite well. We did not go public intentionally but when my fellow Gryffindors started noticing my strange new tendency of "consorting with Slytherins", as Dean Thomas put it, I did not bother to deny a thing. I cut short my friends' agitated exclamations on the topic of "how could you", firmly letting them know that my choice of a partner was not up for discussion. My first conscious try for authority was surprisingly successful. No more dubious comments or advices regarding my love life reached my ears till graduation. When somebody did venture raising the topic, I laughed their worries off, saying that this had been the only way to ensure that Draco wouldn't bother me with his pranks anymore.

As for Draco, most of the time he acted as if he couldn't be bothered with such trivial matters as explaining the nature of our relationship to the public. Sometimes it felt that I was the only one pursuing the relationship and trying to keep it going. Draco just went along with it, choosing to let me in or stay outside of his life. Eventually I realized that this passivity was merely an illusion, which quickly dissipated as soon as Draco stopped liking the course events were taking and felt that he had to set things straight.

When the time of graduation arrived Draco apparently was still on bad terms with his father, although he refused to discuss it with me. I also had no family to return to. At first I thought it would be a decent thing to at least inform Dursleys about my future plans but my opinion changed when I arrived at Little Whinging.

Aunt Petunia was in the garden and she saw me first. I could read all the emotions playing on her face. First shock of recognition, then disappointment and irritation that I came here, and finally tired resignation of somebody who would have to deal with an unpleasant task yet again. I turned around, not even reaching the gate and Disapparated. It was bad time and place to display my kindred feelings.

I picked a house in the wizarding district for us when we decided to go to London. It was not a place my first choice would have fallen on, but I was looking for something Draco could fit in, sort of a pied-a-terre before he would agree to something more... ordinary.

We left the school separately, agreeing to spend the short time of the trip in the company of our respective houses. It would have been no use to try stuffing our friends in one compartment, due both to small space and to their absolute incompatibility. It nearly killed me to watch him boarding the train that would one last time take us away from Hogwarts. Even though I knew we would meet again at King's Cross, the less rational part of my mind refused to believe that. By the time the train arrived, I was almost surprised to see Draco approaching me with a smile on his face instead of leaving with other ex-Slytherins.

When we settled down in our new house, we made love naked for the first time. We both accepted the change with a relief. No matter how erotic and arousing the process of tearing away the clothes of your partner in search for hot flesh can be, the hasty awkward fumbling in the fabric folds becomes tiresome after a while.

Almost immediately upon our arrival Draco started working in the Ministry. I failed to find out how he got the job and what he was actually doing there. To all my questions about the actual position he was occupying and his responsibilities the only answers were "boring" and "tiresome". From time to time he dragged me to lunches and parties with business-like wizards that would stare me down with aloof appraising glances. Their conversation made me dreary and itchy as if I was reading a Daily Prophet filing.

Nevertheless I kept accompanying Draco whenever invited simply because it was interesting to watch him switching in and out of his public mode. I almost missed those subtle changes in Draco's demeanor and outfit. From a golden youth to a respectable businessman, from an eccentric adolescent to a model of wizarding nobility. Most of the time he played the role of a cold-blooded aristocrat, always prepared to strike back if he felt offended in the slightest.

It was only when we stayed alone that he allowed himself to relax. In Draco's case, "relaxation" meant allowing oneself minor slips such as licking chocolate traces off his fingers after finishing off a Chocolate Frog and throwing his shoes across the room when he was upset. Those moments I treasured the most, even when one of the shoes was flung at my head. I knew how important upholding of that impeccable image was to him; the fact that he allowed me to see a glimpse of the uncensored Draco was a clear indication of his trust.

Those were the nice sides of Draco. The nasty side was normally demonstrated when he was tired. Exhaustion, battling with a determination to appear full of energy and inner strength turned Draco into a snappish, sarcastic son of a bitch who enjoyed embarrassing people and getting them in all sorts of trouble.

* * * * *

My heart keeps breakin' and my body keeps aching for you
It's time to hold on but there's nothin' left to hold on to

Oh damn. So much effort put into not remembering, and here I was, drawing it all to the surface again. I was still standing in the small cabin looking at the wall and seeing my life. How romantic, to reminisce about lost love in a stall.

I returned to the common area of the restroom and immediately noticed that I wasn't alone any longer.

"So glad to see you back. I was beginning to worry that you have some serious problem with your kidneys and considered calling for a medi-wizard," I recognized the voice of the man I wanted to avoid the most.

Deciding to ignore the talker for the time being, I headed to the artificial spring. The water, of course, failed to produce any kind of refreshing effect on me and I started looking for a towel - or at least some exotic plant fulfilling its function.

Before I managed to find anything, a sudden cooling sensation on the skin of my face and hands made me jump.

I turned my head back just in time to watch Lucius Malfoy putting away his wand that he had apparently used to cast a drying charm on me.

One of the most famous Malfoy traits - they could not stand being ignored.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing. But I could not help but notice how sad you looked. So I thought I'd say hello."

I felt tempted to ask what gave him an idea that his greeting would cheer me up but restrained myself.

There was familiar trembling in my joints, a reminder of the times when I'd faced Lucius Malfoy, fully knowing that he had been a deadly enemy, waiting for him to point his wand and finish me off. This time the situation was almost the same, the only difference being that no spell of his would be needed. He had accomplished the Destroy Harry Potter mission already when he had taken Draco away. My Draco who had always made me feel that I'd captured something precious and wanted, like a Snitch during a game of Quidditch. Something I would not have let go of voluntarily, at any cost. Come on, Harry, show him you still have a backbone!

"So you did. Why don't you leave me alone now?" I was very proud to notice that my voice didn't shake.

"But I just came in! I thought we'd chat a little, Harry. After all, we've got a lot things in common we could discuss." He managed to say that without the slightest trace of mockery in his voice.

Very well. I'd show him that I could play that game too. "Why, Mr Malfoy, you think you might need some tips from me on how to handle things we have 'in common'?"

His eyes narrowed in irritation. My retorts probably weren't in his script. "Not really. Just wanted to satisfy my curiosity."

"About...?"

Instead of replying, he approached me, coming to a stop just a few inches away.

He raised his right hand, slowly enough for me to realize what he was about to do but not to prevent it. Fingers touched my cheek, slid down the jaw and stilled there, only his thumb going up to trace my lower lip. I couldn't back away now. If I did, the field would be his. The problem was that staying put meant that he'd get his way, too.

Lucius had the same eyes, same hair. For one crazy moment I felt like I traveled forward in time and was facing an older Draco.

"I wondered what was it about you that made Draco stay with you for so long," he remarked in a hushed voice. "I understand why he would get interested in the first place, for how could he resist the temptation of dating a celebrity? But it doesn't explain the rest of it. There must have been something special to hold his interest for over a year."

His glance raked all over my body, from head to toe, boldly lingering on the crotch and then returning to my face. What the hell was he doing and, what was the most important question, why was I letting him get away with it?

I knew the answers to both questions. Lucius Malfoy was playing with me because he was a vicious bastard who derived pleasure from torturing me. I was tolerating his treatment because he reminded me so strongly of Draco and could tell me something about him. That Draco was missing me. That Draco would come back to me very soon. That could be the reason Lucius was behaving so strangely. He knew Draco would leave him in no time and was angry enough to take it out on me. He-

kissed me. Lips pressed to mine, first barely touching, then demanding, coaxing a response from me. A tongue entered my mouth and I was too shocked to stop its advance. His hand remained on my chin, to direct rather than immobilize. I wasn't putting up much resistance anyway.

I'd never been kissed by Lucius Malfoy but this kiss felt like something forgotten long ago and missed, something I ought to have known. The kissing partner was wrong but the kiss, an amazing combination of gentleness and passion in it felt right, too right to interrupt. Not to mention that interruption of the kiss was likely to become for me a beginning of a very humiliating and awkward confrontation. If I couldn't even explain to myself why I allowed him to kiss me, how was I supposed to look Lucius Malfoy in the eyes after that?

"Father, you here?" an all too familiar voice called out and I would've groaned if my mouth wasn't occupied otherwise. What, this restroom was Malfoys' favorite meeting place?

Not looking in the least embarrassed, Lucius stepped back from me and waved at his stunned son, as if inviting Draco to join a pleasant conversation. I remained where I was, back pressed to the water rock, wishing I could become a part of it.

Judging by clenched fists and red blotches on pale cheeks, Draco was furious. I noted absentmindedly that I never could have evoked such a violent reaction in him, probably not even if he had caught me in bed with somebody. Now he was feeling possessive, albeit not of me, and I was the one poaching at his territory. Maybe this whole business with kissing wasn't such a bad idea, if it riled Draco up that much, if his hurt now equaled one tenth of what he had made me feel. Although my self-preservation instinct, usually silent, was insisting that the last thing I needed right now was to get involved in a lovers' spat - especially these lovers'!

"Why?" Draco demanded, his glance shifting from Lucius to me and back.

"Just wanted to get a little better acquainted with Harry," the older man answered with a charming smile. "Surely you don't have a problem with that, Draco."

The relaxed tone of the reply seemed to mollify Draco somewhat. "Looked to me like one hell of an introduction," he responded with a wry smirk, studying my undoubtedly ruffled appearance.

Suddenly I desperately wished to be somewhere else. All was well in Malfoys' paradise and I most definitely didn't belong there. Any minute now they would start comparing experiences or something.

"What the hell is that?" Draco's voice suddenly interrupted my thoughts. I realized that the question was addressed to me only when I noticed both of them staring.

"Well? What is it?" Draco demanded. He approached me in two strides and pulled the already undone by Lucius collar of my shirt further down. He turned to his father.

"You told me it was just a kiss. But this looks more like an orgy!"

Lucius stepped forward and took a closer look at my neck. This felt extremely uncomfortable, the two of them inspecting my skin. I had a feeling that the elder wizard was secretly - or not very secretly - enjoying the show he was participating in.

"I am sorry, Draco, but this is most definitely not my work. I guess you will have to ask your ex about his late activities," he nodded in my direction.

Draco stared at me expectantly. I knew perfectly well what had caught his attention. It was a cigarette burn, or rather a trace of those. Derek enjoyed spending time among Muggles and picked quite a lot of their habits.... It was hard to tell which part of smoking gave him more pleasure: inhaling smoke or putting out burning cigarettes against my skin.

By the change in Draco's look from anger to shock I could tell that he understood.

"What is it, Harry? Harry?!" he questioned with a troubled look in his eyes.

"Fuck off," I gritted out. At better days Draco would have berated and ridiculed me for such a feeble response. This time he only tightened his grip on my collar and shook me slightly.

"Harry, you've got to tell me who did this to you. Or did... did you do this yourself?" The anxious, caring tone he began in almost softened me but the ending of his question shoved me right back into reality. Oh, bravo, Draco, what a brilliant deduction! I cannot imagine my existence without you, so once you walk out on me, I succumb to self-mutilation.

"Let go of me," I growled and twisted out of his hands. Not sparing either of them another glance, I did what I should've done much earlier. I left. Five swift steps brought me out the door. A hasty, too hasty to maintain any resemblance of dignity, retreat to the exit of this circus, and I found a shelter in a passing-by taxi.

* * * * *

Father time
I couldn't make him wanna stay
I couldn't seem to find the words to say
Now I have to live in yesterday

Their love for each other was real, I'd known that ever since I'd seen them together and it had nothing to do with their identity or my relation to them. I would never be able to wipe the image out of my mind: two graceful lean figures, albeit not quite locked in an embrace, were standing very close nevertheless, practically blending; their blond hair of exactly the same hue emphasized the unity. They were looking into each other's eyes and talking in low voices, smiles playing on their lips.

"Draco," I called not even knowing what I was going to tell him, and the smaller one turned his face. There was still that tender dreamy expression on his face but I could see realization forming in his eyes as his gaze stopped at me.

"Harry... I thought you planned to stay home..." Not a very good way to start a conversation. I glanced at his father who made no attempt to disengage himself. Well, I had no doubt that he was enjoying this situation to the full.

I swallowed. My turn to speak, yet I had no clue as to what I should say. All the questions I had been torturing myself with before about the nature of Draco's relationship with his father, all the suspicions I had been squashing down all this time rushed to the surface. Now I had the answers and I wished I did not. Vague suspicions are one thing and blunt facts are another. Still, the shock was not as large as I thought it would be.

Violating all canonic rules of breakup scenes, I decided to go straight to the conclusion. No point to rant and throw accusations now, was there? I'd rather not provide any more entertainment to Lucius. "I'll pack your things tonight. Where do you want them to be delivered? Malfoy Manor?" I said bluntly, not looking at Lucius Malfoy anymore.

Draco went rigid. I could easily guess that he expected a chance to explain himself, to argue. Instead I processed the case and passed the verdict all by myself. Sorry to disappoint, lover.

My reaction to the discovery of the true nature of Draco's relationship with his father surprised me. By all means, I should have been disgusted, sickened, outraged. But all I felt was... sadness.

I was sad because it meant that Draco was lost to me forever. I could compete with a love between a child and a parent. After all, most of us have strong ties with our relatives and the choice between one's family and one's lover cannot be easy, especially for a loved, cherished child. Yet I still hoped that Draco would someday grow out of it, would realize that he was old enough to live independently and separately from his father. I could fight for Draco on these terms, could show him again and again that here, with me, he would find something as precious as parental love.

But he loved Lucius in more ways than one. And I knew that I did not stand a chance in the battle for Draco's heart when my rival was the perfect Lucius Malfoy. The man had all the resources to win this game: time they had spent together, knowledge of Draco and his wants, Draco's memories and adoration.

The signs had been there all along. How could I remain blind for so long and not notice that warm glow in Draco's eyes that appeared whenever a letter from Lucius came? How could I ignore the yearning in his voice every time he spoke of his father? But I wrote it off as a normal attachment to his family. Should have known better... Showed how well I knew my lover.

This time my trip down the memory lane was interrupted by the taxi driver's glare drilling a hole in me. I pushed several banknotes in his hand but a scowl told me that I made a mistake. Muggle money wouldn't be welcomed here.

A quick look at the dust-covered dashboard confirmed my guess: the vehicle disguised as a Muggle taxi was in fact yet another means of ensuring MQM guests' safe transportation. Unwilling to risk wizards' confrontation with Muggles and forbidding Apparition from the stadium territory for the sake of preserving the security wards, the match organizers arranged for taxi-masked magical vehicles to take the guests to their homes. After all, what sane taxi driver would willingly take into his car a guy dressed in robes? I fumbled in my pocket for wizarding money and paid the driver.

Just as I approached the house, a silhouette slinked to me out of shadows. "Back so soon, Harry?"

I tensed in recognition. Derek Merrivale had an unprecedented talent to appear when I couldn't refuse him. Damn it, of all people, of all times, why did it have to be him and why did he choose this time to pay a visit? I inwardly groaned but voiced just a polite reply, "I didn't feel very well and decided to slip away once the game finished."

Derek grinned. "Well then, I suppose it's a good thing that I was passing by and decided to pay you a visit. I know plenty of ways to make you feel better."

With that, he turned around and started walking towards my house without waiting for my invitation. Derek Merrivale didn't need one. Apparently I was a magnet for arrogant shits.

Determinedly not looking at the make-out coach, I walked into the living room. Derek followed and headed straight to the liquor cabinet. Once we were armed with drinks, even though I hadn't asked for one and didn't know what was in my glass, Derek turned to me with a broad smile and I was reminded of the reason I'd let him into my life after Draco had left. Accompanied with shiny blue eyes, wavy light brown hair and athletic complexion, his smile was practically irresistible, turning him into a walking advertisement of friendship, care, trustworthiness and the best boyfriend one could dream of. Naturally I was stupid and heart-broken enough to look for consolation in his arms. Idiot.

"So. Are you, er, hungry?" I began uncertainly, although if Derek were hungry he wouldn't wait for my invitation to eat.

Derek's smile widened. "Is that the best you could come up with to welcome your boss, Harry?"

* * * * *

Tonight I'll dust myself off
Tonight I'll suck my gut in
I'll face the night and I'll pretend
I got something to believe in

When I woke up, it was still dark and I concluded that Derek left just recently. I was lying on my stomach, hands trapped underneath me. I tried to free them but a sharp pain in the wrists told me that not only the weight of my own body was holding my hands in this position. "Derek, you fucking son of a bitch" I muttered with feeling as the realization hit.

Derek Merrivale and his twisted domination games. Only an utter moron could let anybody do this to oneself, I told myself, awkwardly turning over and studying my swollen and bloodied wrists. Derek tied them with a wire, a very thin yet durable wire that cut through the skin in several places. A simple binding spell would have done the job just as efficiently, not to mention that it would wear off on its own some time later, but Derek was too taken with Muggle contraptions to use something that simple. Of course he had chosen a wire. And as usual, he hadn't bothered to restore the damage he'd caused before leaving.

After several minutes of awkward fumbling around the bed with my foot I managed to find my glasses. Miraculously, they remained intact. I picked them and somehow pushed onto my nose.

My fingers already grew numb and would not be able to operate a knife, even if I found one sharp enough to cut the wire. I knew I could not get free without an outside help. And I'd be damned if I let anyone see me like this. Tied, naked, dirty, I refused to even consider the option of walking out of the house wrapped in a sheet and begging my neighbors for help. Derek left me no other alternative than to lie here and hope that he'd return in the morning. To wait any longer would probably be dangerous for my hands because of the disrupted blood circulation, and my health could compromise with my dignity only so much.

I should have been smarter than that. To accept an offer to experiment coming from someone who had already introduced me to his definition of "living dangerously" several times was a display of utmost stupidity on my part.

It wasn't the kind of relationship I ever wanted, no matter what Draco had thought about me doing some kind of self-punishment. Derek was a distraction. His ideas of fun had seemed too extreme, too violent to me at first but I'd agreed to his terms. If I wanted to keep him interested in coming back, I had to play by his rules.

His favorite game was to start an argument with me, usually caused by my real or imaginative misdemeanor. Argument led to a fight, fight swiftly turned into a "lesson" for me. It could be me not opening the door to him fast enough. Draco's picture or something of his belongings that he left behind getting in Derek's sight. Fresh coffee I forgot to brew. This time it was a primitive "You don't seem very glad to see me, Harry." Wonder why was that, Derek? Might it be because you broke two of my fingers during your last visit and I spent three bloody hours looking for a healing charm in the books? Or that stupid game with cigarettes that almost got me into a counseling session with my own ex?

I had a feeling that this time he had been aiming for more severe damage. Even if Derek hadn't said a word, he must have guessed my real reason for returning home early. He knew about my recent breakup with Draco and could have realized the actual reason of my distraught state, for Draco Malfoy had had to attend such an important social event. And Derek did not appreciate competition.

Derek and my current work in the newspaper were opportunities kindly presented to me by the Hogwarts Headmaster. When I was at a loss as to what I should do with my life while Draco was busy making a career in the Ministry, Albus Dumbledore lent me a helping hand in the form of a recommendation letter to the Daily Prophet chief editor. Initially I found the idea of becoming a reporter ridiculous, the past experience with Rita Skeeter providing me with a deep hostility towards this particular profession. As it turned out, the chief editor was likely to agree with me on that. He was of the opinion that there wasn't much sense in making an interviewer of a man who had spent a considerable portion of his life being interviewed himself. A celebrity, even a former one, wouldn't make a good, sneaky and inconspicuous, reporter. However, a request coming from Albus Dumbledore could not be overlooked and I was assigned to Derek Merrivale as an assistant. My task was to keep an eye on promising teams and interview Quidditch star players who were supposedly more willing to communicate with the "Youngest Seeker in a Century" than with a common journalist.

It suddenly occurred to me that all my partners apart from Ginny came into my life because of Dumbledore. Even Ginny was dubious, considering how the Headmaster encouraged my friendship with Weasleys. Funny. What would the old man's reaction be were he ever told all this? Would he be horrified if he found out what became of me? See me as I was now, lying restrained and bruised on dirty sheets?

One thing I could say for Derek: he was a very good distraction. Being with him and recovering after his visits, I rarely had time for Draco-related thoughts. However this time it didn't seem to be working. Incapacitated so efficiently, I had no choice but to dwell on my sorry excuse for life.

I thought about Ginny who had anticipated a glamorous life with a hero and received a neurasthenic instead. I thought about Snape who had slept with me for relaxation. I thought of Draco for whom I had been a temporary stage until he resolved his issues with Lucius. Now Derek was using me for playing out his kinks. Each time I ended up either being a disappointment or thrown aside as a used toy. To fail at relationships so many times, this was probably a record of some sorts. I must have been doing something wrong. Perhaps I was simply incompatible with normal life and normal people.

Desire to remove the damned wire was growing stronger with every minute. I felt too exposed, lying here naked and partly disabled. Why the hell was Derek taking so long? If I tolerated his games, it did not mean he could treat me like some sort of a fucktoy.

It was ridiculous to expect somebody to enter the house. It was entangled in a web of security wards, mostly designed by Draco Malfoy, which made them practically unbreakable by default. Distracting wards, alert wards, blocking wards... and even if taken down, all of them restored themselves automatically in a matter of ten minutes. Draco always addressed the issue of our safety very seriously. An attempt to recollect all the wards he had placed did not make me feel any better.

I rose from the bed, knowing that I was about to do something entirely childish. I had never tried this before although the idea had seemed tempting many times. Normally the very consideration of the possibility had been enough to calm me down. I could do it anytime I wanted, hide in the safe, familiar place, I repeated to myself out of habit. Just a few steps and I would be there. It was stupid. The place was dark, and small, and stuffy. I used to hate it when I was little, dreaming of nothing but a chance to get out. Now I wanted back. The option appeared attractive compared to nestling in-between dirty sheets. So be it. Hello, childhood.

There was plenty of space inside, with practically all Draco's clothes removed. I easily fit in. Draco could have had many reasons to choose this particular house, but there had been just one reason for me. An unobtrusive door in the wall of the bedroom. Draco had probably seen it for what it should've been - a storing place for his wardrobe, but it meant so much more to me. There was a world behind that door. Memories, fears, loneliness and, above all, a home. Location was wrong but I had still been fast to agree to the purchase once Draco had reluctantly nodded his head.

It was dark and quiet in the cupboard, just as I hoped it would be. I closed the door from the inside and wrapped myself into an old plaid, so conveniently forgotten by either Draco or me on the floor. Draco and I had had a habit of making a nest out of any available sheets and blankets and in general turning the bed in a mess. Each time a playful fight had ensued and after kissing, tickling and teasing we'd have fallen asleep snuggling.

One more memory was tucked away to the background of my mind. I could dig it out later, when it would become an old harmless toy. Now was not the time. I was already sore on the outside and saw no need to extend that soreness to my soul. I shut my eyes and tried to imagine the cupboard at Privet Drive 4. I was back at home where nothing extraordinary ever happened. If I locked my door, no one would bother me till morning. Not Uncle Vernon who mostly chose to pretend that the cupboard wasn't there at all. Not Dudley who usually forgot about my existence till he saw me. Not Aunt Petunia who only called me out to do some chores, either in the kitchen or in the garden, and would not have any new tasks for me when her family was going to sleep. In her opinion, I was too keen on trouble-making and would disrupt their rest...

* * * * *

I was a lover lost at sea
You found me washed up on the beach
You took me home, you gave me breakfast
I said I'd offer you protection, but you didn't charge a fee

Steps woke me up from my slumber, steps and light piercing through the crack between the cupboard door and the floor. Then the door was abruptly opened and I had to blink several times, adjusting to bright light. It didn't take me long to recognize the intruder. There was only one person who could enter the house without my compliance, the one I had been once sharing it with. It belatedly occurred to me that Derek, even if he had returned later on, wouldn't have been able to come and free me after all, as I wouldn't have heard the doorbell from here and let him in. Draco leaned to me and lifted up the plaid I had covered myself with. I watched shock on his face gradually transforming into understanding and pity.

"Harry," he sounded very calm. Too calm, perhaps. "What. Are. You. Doing. In. The. Cupboard?" Draco Malfoy had a habit of asking the hardest questions. I desperately tried to think of a reasonable explanation that would suffice and not make me look as a madman. Maybe I should tell him that the light from the windows was too bright?

"I... I was looking for clothes to wear tomorrow, and I guess I fell asleep." My eyes shifted to the cloth that he pulled off me and was still holding in his hand, then to my bound wrists that had turned a disturbing shade of purple, and I wisely shut up.

"So I see." Draco kept studying me, probably expecting froth at my mouth and convulsions any minute now. He withdrew his wand and pointed it at me. I didn't even have time to utter a protest as I found myself floating in the air towards the bed.

For a second I froze, a feet above the dirty sheets. A cleaning spell was muttered behind me and my body was flopped on fresh-looking fabric in a rather careless manner.

I didn't know whether to take offence at being manhandled so rudely or feel astonished with Draco's display. Not many wizards could perform two spells at once. Even fewer could do it as effortlessly as Draco did. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to those frighteningly thick books in the Malfoy Manor library. And why did I want to sleep so much all of a sudden? Was that a sleeping spell?

That was my last thought for a while...

A cooling sensation on my skin. Indistinct mumble somewhere near. I realized that Draco was performing healing charms on me. With difficulty I opened my still heavy eyelids and twisted to see him. To my surprise my movements remained hindered. Did he leave the wire? But why wouldn't he free me already? It felt really awkward to lie like that in his presence.

"Aren't you going to untie me?" I risked finally.

"I am not sure I should," followed the dry response. "Maybe it would be wiser to keep you tied down, for your own safety."

Was he still angry with me because of this kiss? Damn, he had no reason to. If he had a problem with his relative - or should I say lover? - there was no need to drag me into it.

How sick I was of all that. Now I was about to get lectured by my ex on the inability to take care of myself. I had no desire or strength left for a fight with Draco. I did not care if he thought he had a right to interfere in my life or not. He left me and then felt an urgent need to protect my virtue? Well, nobody asked for his help here.

Just as I was about to share my thoughts on the subject with him, we both heard someone opening the entrance door, which meant that Draco had been flustered enough when he'd come to leave the shutting shields down, and a cheerful voice called out, "Honey, I'm home. Did you miss me much?"

"Just a minute," Draco squeezed out through clenched teeth and headed towards the sound before I could react. The next moment I heard a startled exclamation that turned into a pityful moan.

The door slammed shut and Draco came back. There was a content, peaceful smile playing on his lips and I felt sorry for Derek. Draco smiled like that only after he'd done something very, very bad. Probably messy and painful.

"What did you do to him?" I ventured, not really expecting to get an answer.

"Nothing he didn't deserve." Since Malfoys' ideas of justice slightly differed from the opinion of the rest of the world, that statement didn't do much for my comfort.

Draco approached the bed and stared at me appraisingly. "Just what the fuck have you been doing to yourself? Your magic keeps flickering on and off like lights on those stupid Muggle Aurors' cars." That meant police vehicles. Draco had never bothered himself with learning Muggle terminology. Instead he'd chosen to translate Muggle world into the wizard-speak.

"Did that shit give you something? Enhancement potions? Bloody hell, Harry, I warned you about-," he went on, fueled by his own conclusions.

I was impressed both by his ability to notice the problems with my magic and his quick deductions. Well, this was Draco Malfoy, the top expert on the nature of magic and means of its manipulation, second only to his own father.

"Would you please untie me?" I interrupted the speech that, if I knew Draco, could go on for at least half an hour without pauses.

"No," followed a curt reply. "Not until I assess the damage to your mental and physical health."

"Mental? Just what the hell you think-"

"I simply can't find another explanation for this little escapade of yours. I must admit, your behavior of late has been quite daring, even for you. Kissing my father, getting involved in a BDSM session...."

"Untie me. Now."

"Or maybe you were just taking whatever you could, is that right? So desperate to get laid that you agreed to be tortured?"

"You still don't get it, Draco? You don't understand what attracted me in Derek? I would never, ever fall in love with a sadistic bastard like him, that's what!" Should have refrained from saying the words out loud but there wasn't any point in denying what we both knew. And what right did he have to hex Derek? Of course, Derek was a scum and deserved the worst treatment imaginable but my love life was no business of Draco!

Draco listened out my explosion rather impassively and, as usual, made his own conclusions. "I'm taking you to the Manor."

The most obvious reply would have been that this was my home and I could stay as long as I damn well pleased. But these words might easily result in his leaving so I refrained from saying them. "What on Earth for?"

"Your magic is unstable. You are unstable. I won't leave you here on your own while that sorry excuse for a lover is still slithering about." Funny to hear a former Slytheirn using that particular verb.

"Didn't know you cared." The sarcastic intonations were entirely lost on Draco who was already busying himself with sending my clothes in a whirlwind in the center of the room with a wave of his wand. Packing.

"I am not going anywhere!" The bad night and the fucked-up morning were rapidly growing into a disaster of epic proportions. I knew I was far from well but how would staying in the same place with Daddy Lucius help me to get better? Unless the desire to escape from there was meant to speed up my recovery...

I refused. I insisted that I was fine, that I needed no help from him. Both pride and common sense demanded this reply. But I didn't have much dignity left and I had never had a lot of that thing known as common sense to begin with. A single thought kept playing in my head. He wants me. He wants me to go with him. He wants me. Draco invited me to hi- their home, invited me into their lives. It wasn't a tempting offer.

My answer was still negative. I wasn't going and that was the end of it. So I told Draco with all the firmness I could muster.

Malfoy Manor was located on a mountainside, a strange choice of location. Rocks surrounding it provide a good shelter from prying eyes, if there ever were any, but not from sunrays, rain, snowstorms and wind. It was the best place for someone who desired to fully experience all sorts of weather on one's hide.

The Manor looked as if it had been embedded into the mountain. Most of its windows faced east. During my first breakfast at the place Lucius who didn't seem troubled in the least by my appearance pompously declared that the Manor's position allowed all of its residents to be awakened by the sun in the morning. He refrained from mentioning that it also ensured scalding heat at noon transforming into chilling cold piercing through the bones by evening. Thankfully, all rooms of the Manor had fireplaces that lit up on their own as soon as the twilight set in.

Draco's determination to get me here had left me convinced that he was genuinely worried about my condition and would spend time taking care of me. How silly of me. Less than a few minutes upon our arrival Draco had disappeared, only pausing to remove the wire off my wrists, and left me at the mercy of Lucius Malfoy.

Ever since Draco was efficiently avoiding any face-to-face confrontations with me. When we did meet Draco ignored me and my attempts at communication altogether. Only if I ceased seeking him out and trying to talk to him, Draco began studying me, as if feeling honestly surprised by my discretion and expecting me to do something horrible any minute now. This treatment irritated me, as I was never sure how exactly I should behave.

Lucius was easier in this regard. Judging by the cold appraising look that never left his eyes, it was safe to presume that he already had the lowest possible opinion of me, my intellect and my past and future behavior. Any misstep of mine would rather confirm his conclusion than disappoint him.

And here I was, poking at my food and determinedly ignoring Lucius' presence. Draco had just walked out of the dining room, having dropped a couple of pleasantries in passing.

"One would think that Draco is avoiding my company," I remarked bitterly, not really caring if Lucius heard me.

"No surprise about that after your little stunt," Lucius raised his head from the newspaper.

"What stunt?"

"Why, Derek, of course." I tensed at his nice conversational tone. Lucius Malfoy made me nervous. When he wasn't trying to kill me or one of my friends, he was busy either destroying my love life or making advances at me. He was the last person to discuss Derek with.

"Derek has nothing to do with this. Draco already overstepped the boundaries when he attacked him. I don't even know if Derek is alright. Draco never bothered to tell me what he'd done to him!"

"What's the problem, Harry? Worried that you won't get another chance to find consolation in Merrivale's torture chamber?"

"You have no right-" I rose from my chair in anger.

"I do and I intend to use it. And I would recommend you to listen to my words very attentively, because next you will be discussing it with the Daily Prophet readers."

"What are you saying?!"

"You heard me. Now sit back and pay attention." Reluctantly, I obeyed.

"Your latest lover has a habit of sharing all interesting information he comes across with the Daily Prophet audience. Masochistic tendencies of Harry Potter definitely fall into the category of 'interesting'."

I paled but squashed the automatic "I don't believe you!" protest. I did believe him. Derek was a reporter through and through.

Noticing my internal struggle, Lucius chuckled. "All part of being a celebrity, Harry. Even your bed habits can become an object of scrutiny. So tell me, did you ever see Derek taking notes while lying by your side?"

"I'll stop him. I-"

"Down, Harry. I took care of the matter. Believe me, I don't particularly desire any curious minds to draw parallels between your affair with Draco and your choice of... entertainments."

I had been dating Draco at school, we'd been living together for well over a year and he called it "an affair". Bastard.

"So for now you are staying here, Mr Merrivale will keep his mouth shut and everything is right with the world. Aside from the fact that you might need to start looking into job opportunities soon. But this shouldn't be much of a challenge, with your social status."

I was mildly impressed with Lucius' ability to pronounce Derek's name as the dirtiest of insults. And less than impressed with the decisions he was making regarding my life.

"My affair with Derek is none of Draco's business." I did not add "or yours" but tried to make it obvious with my tone.

"We are very touchy about our possessions, Harry, you should know that. And your behavior was nothing if not discreditable. The press would have a field day were your antics to come out."

"Possessions? Draco doesn't own me and never did. Besides, whatever we had with Draco is over."

An arrogant "I know better" smirk was his only reply.

"It's over! You are well aware of it!" I stated firmly and stood up again, ready to leave the room. I refused to show how hurt I was by the implication that Draco still had some hold over me. I would not give Lucius Malfoy that satisfaction. However his next words made me freeze on the spot.

"What a pity... and here I thought you would like one more try."

I paused at the doorstep, waiting for a clarification. Which of course didn't follow.

"The weather is lovely today, don't you think? A bit of fresh air would do you a lot of good. You should spend more time outside, Harry. But first, take your medicine." Indicating the end of our talk, Lucius nodded with a smile at the small glass on my end of the table, which I had been persistently not noticing.

It was a restorative potion, prepared for me by Draco - the only sign that he hadn't completely forgotten of my existence since I'd been brought here. Although the taste of the potion made me wish he had. Clear and odorless as water, the liquid was revoltingly bitter and felt like it was burning a hole in my stomach.

More than once I attempted to "forget" about drinking it and Lucius never failed to remind me. He also watched me gulping it down every time, nodding approvingly when I was done, as if checking up on a disobedient child.

Puzzled and irritated, I went outside, only to get a frostbite and run for shelter half an hour later.

The climate was hard to get used to; every change in weather that would probably pass unnoticed somewhere in London was shocking and severe here.

The wind got stronger as the night approached. By the time the darkness settled on the garden the wind gained strength to force you to hold on to a nearby wall just to stay on your feet. It constantly changed, never receding completely, from almost playful shoves in the back to powerful blasts. I had never seen such a fierce rain before. Maybe it also had magical qualities? Raindrops were so large that it felt they were bruising skin, wind changed direction every minute ensuring uselessness of an umbrella and even water-repelling charms somehow failed here.

The chance of taking a romantic evening stroll outside was pretty slim, not to say that the only company around the Malfoy Manor I could consider was a random house-elf. And even those creatures were hard to find here. Whether it was a habit they developed because of Malfoys' less than careful treatment with their servants or a rule of the household, they remained invisible all the time. Remembering Dobby, I thought that Lucius had probably been the only person in the family who'd actually known Dobby's name. Eventually I resigned myself to staying inside the Manor's walls most of the time.

I developed a habit of wandering through its corridors at such occasions, sometimes finding new corners, sometimes revising the routes that I had explored before and marveling at the details I had missed. It seemed that not only portraits but even sculptures had lives of their own. They got almost ecstatic whenever they managed to engage me in a conversation but froze as soon as Lucius or Draco came into view. I learned soon that they were forbidden to bother guests with chatting. There also seemed to be an old code of Malfoys that prohibited a Malfoy to communicate with another Malfoy's guest unless specifically permitted.

It seemed a weird rule to me until a painting of a pleasant-looking lady in mid-thirties, ignoring hushes of a tight-lipped old man at the neighboring portrait, explained to me that a Malfoy was considered to be in charge of a guest he or she brought. Were the guest to cause or get into any trouble, it was the guest-bringing Malfoy's headache. At this point I concluded that Malfoys' guests were prone to getting in a lot of trouble if a need for such rule appeared.

The code was supposed to concern every living or dead soul inhabiting the Manor, but apparently several centuries of induced silence and gossiping with each other made the inanimate residents forget those rules. The ban against leaving the room a painting or a sculpture was assigned to didn't make it easier for them.

During one of my expeditions I heard a moan. It took me less than a second to recognize the voice. Draco. I rushed to the door from behind which I heard the sound. It was not closed completely, there was a crack two inches wide and I looked inside. Draco was stretched on the bed, naked, his hands and ankles tied to the bedposts. Lucius, still in his robes, was standing next to the bed, securing the ties. A mad hope flared up in my mind: was this relationship non-consensual? Was Lucius forcing him? In my mind I saw myself bursting into the room, freeing Draco, taking him away. And then everything would be alright, we would be alright again.

The hope died as abruptly as it came to life. Lucius placed his hand on Draco's cheek, and the younger wizard tilted his head leaning into the touch. Lucius' hand slid down, to his chest, and I heard the moan again. I realized that the sound I had heard was a moan not of a suffering victim, but of a lover asking for more. Just a game. It was a game they played, Draco was not being raped or forced into something he did not want. I stood there unmoving for a few more moments, not really seeing what was happening before my eyes. There was no place for me in this room or in Draco's heart.

I stumbled in the direction of my bedroom, the pattern of the corridors I'd thought I'd learned so well becoming completely unrecognizable. Just like the whole place and people here. I was a temporary stage, a guest, and never again I would rate higher than that. With that thought I burrowed into the blankets as images of Draco's arching back and hips rising from the pillow underneath to meet the caressing hand flashed before my eyes again and again, challenging and teasing me.

In the morning I woke up predictably alone, sheets under me damp, body shivering from the just released tension. Dream-Draco had been taunting me all night long. In the past weeks I had almost succeeded in not thinking about him every time I'd come. Last night's accidental peeping was enough to send my efforts to waste.

The rational thing would be to use a cleaning spell or at least turn on the other side, but for a few moments I lay there imagining that in a second or two an arm will wrap around me, soft lips will kiss and nibble sensitive skin of my neck. I sneezed and the spell was broken. Draco wasn't coming. He was lying in his father's bed right now and couldn't care less about my night fantasies.

* * * * *

I'm learning how to fall
Learning how to take a hit
Had to walk before I crawled
It was winner take it all
Now I'm learning how to fall
Yeah, I got the hang of it

Weather was changing slowly, so slowly that you could practically tell in advance if it would be raining or snowing in a week. It took me some time to notice the pattern, how clouds lazily gathered or dissipated for several days, how wind blew steadily, never changing direction. I'd found the absolute predictability of the weather disconcerting in the beginning but eventually got used to it. The actual knowledge, even of such a small, relatively insignificant thing, made me feel safer, more confident.

Lucius began accompanying me to the garden. At first I had been reluctant to leave my room, let alone in the company of the man who'd been solely responsible for my miserable state of spirit, but my resistance didn't last long. As soon as I laid my eyes on the garden, washed in dew and rays of sunshine for a change instead of snow, mist and rain, I was lost.

It was not trim and formal, as the rest of the Malfoy Estate. In fact it gave out an impression of being once planted by a skillful master and then abandoned to live its own life.

The whole territory was covered with trees and bushes, each plant at least five feet high. Narrow paths winding between them formed an exquisite never-ending labyrinth, full of wonderful secrets unfolding with every twist of the path: a little marble bench, a spring of sparkling water, an exotic flower bed, a tiny fountain in the form of a statuette. Whenever I tried to memorize the road and find the way back on the next day, I failed. It seemed that the paths rearranged themselves each night.

I asked Lucius once why nobody was looking after the garden. He laughed.

"Harry, the garden has been taking care of itself as long as I can remember. Besides, even if I hired a gardener, it would not tolerate anyone's interference. This garden is very independent. You should have seen what happened to some unfortunate garden gnomes that tried to settle down there. Take a closer look. Although unkempt, the garden is not derelict. It lives its own life and decides what plants may grow there and where the paths may lead to." That was probably the longest and nicest speech I got from Lucius since... well, since I'd met him.

The garden became my favorite place, especially after Lucius stopped following me like a shadow, making sure that I left the room at all. Soon these walks turned into an addiction and I found myself impatient to get there every morning.

Peace and quiet of the place charmed me to the point when I almost stopped asking Draco when I would be allowed to return home. Regardless of my insistence, his answer remained the same: I wasn't ready for return.

I could reason and argue all I wanted and even try to escape - it wasn't like Draco kidnapped me, after all - but apparently I lacked the will for such a step. If I left now, Draco would take it as walking out on him and I would lose even a chance of ever having a civil conversation with him, much less a hope of reconciliation and getting back together that I was still secretly harboring.

After unavoidable "family dinner" I usually sought out refuge in the library, where I was yet to see anyone holding a book in one's hands and trying to read in the dimmed light spreading from corners of the ceiling. As I gathered, the room was mainly intended for sprawling in comfortable armchairs and sipping exotic alcoholic drinks. That's how I was using the place, anyway, if seeing too much of Draco's and Lucius' interaction during the day killed in me the desire for outside walks and the Manor explorations.

Another show of father and son tenderly staring into each other's eyes throughout the entire meal led me to the idea of getting blissfully drunk and then sneaking back into my room to stay there till morning. But it seemed that I wouldn't have the solitude I'd been seeking. Before I finished the second portion of the cognac I'd been favoring during my last several library visits, Draco materialized in the armchair opposite mine.

"We need to talk." Talk indeed. The best if not the only way of communication I was good at was sex. And Draco was well aware of that. With scratching, and nibbling, and kissing, I could inform him of everything, be that a complaint about his behavior or a desire to play.

"I see you've found a way to entertain yourself. Wonderful choice. Books make a very good company."

"Much better than other inhabitants of this house, that's for sure," I grumbled.

Draco shook his head in mock contrition, "I know, I know, Harry. You are used to noisy, cheerful people, and we are nothing like that."

At the Manor, I could see many of Draco's old bad habits rearing their scaly heads. The way he turned every conversation in a lecture peppered with quotes from the authors whose books I never bothered to open, the way a walk down any corridor, filled with portraits and various artifacts, became a tour down the Glory Path of Malfoys in the History of the Wizarding World, the way my presumably smart remarks transformed into baby-talk with one twist of his lips. But it was his sarcasm I hated the most.

"I think you could safely say that you are nothing like anyone I've ever known."

"You are usually more cheerful when you drink too much," Draco remarked. As it often was in cases with Draco, this remark contained two messages: that I had had too much alcohol and that I should think twice if I were planning to make a scene.

His disciplining was entirely unwelcome here. No one asked him to bring me here. If I felt like sulking, I would be sulking. I didn't need to hear some self-conceited prick complain that I wasn't providing good entertainment for him.

"I don't think you really remember what I am like, drunk or sober," I cut off.

"But I do! You tell stupid jokes and giggle a lot when you are drunk."

I had last hit Draco at Hogwarts, many years ago, but now I was seriously tempted to resurrect the memory. I would do it, too, if alcohol didn't render me slow and clumsy. Physical assault was out of question and in verbal fights with Draco I always ended on my back.

"The situation I'm in doesn't give me many reasons to joke or laugh. Same could be said about the present company." I managed to slam the door rather loud when I left the room.

The garden was unusually quiet, its far-off corners had already succumbed to darkness and it seemed that shadows were closing in on me. The place looked gloomy and desolate, too strongly corresponding with my mood. I should return to my room. Better yet, to my house. To my normal life.

I wasn't ready to talk to Draco. I needed him as much as ever before but what was the point in teasing myself with what I couldn't have? No amount of persuasion and pleading would take him away from his home and his lover. If there were any possibility that he might decide otherwise, Lucius would never allow me to see Draco at all. The very fact that I was left alone with Draco meant that I represented no danger to their relationship. That must have been the only reason why Lucius was playing the role of a gracious host. I should turn around and go back. Now.

Then I saw my ex. He was standing in the middle of an alley, staring down intently. One might have assumed that he was contemplating a difficult, vitally important problem. I knew he was pondering whether his shoes needed another polishing spell. Unwilling to listen to a lecture about alcohol's bad influence on my magic, I started walking down the path away from Draco, delving deeper into the garden.

My Draco. I knew him so well. Did Lucius know him that well, too? He was his father, true, but being with somebody for long didn't mean knowing everything about him. Most people just learn the information they believe they need in order to understand their loved ones and don't bother to look deeper. I always looked, Draco, why wasn't that enough for you?

I fervently hoped that it was purely alcohol's short-term effect that made me so maudlin.

Arms wrapped around my waist from behind and I barely suppressed a flinch.

"I am sorry," Draco whispered.

"For what?"

"For leaving you alone, for avoiding you for so long." It was true. Aside from polite greetings at the meals and "no, it's too early for you to go home, Harry" brush-offs, I hadn't seen or heard much from Draco during my stay at the Manor.

I felt anger rising. "You think I need you that much?"

And was immediately disarmed with a tame, "I hope so."

I turned to face my former lover. "What does it mean?"

"I know I treated you wrong, Harry. I want to explain myself. Will you let me?"

I nodded, afraid to spoil the moment with words. It was a rare occasion when Draco found it necessary to "explain himself".

"We are a lot alike, Harry. You are scared of being on your own," seeing that I was ready to protest, Draco pressed a finger to my lips. "Don't deny it. You know it's the truth. And I am the same way. I cannot live without my family. This place is where I belong, where I must be. Even with you I felt lost, no matter how much I loved our life together."

"You loved our life together? In past tense? So my assumption was correct, wasn't it? I was a convenient temporary phase for you."

"I feel guilty for leaving you like I did," Draco went on, unperturbed, "but back then I did not see any other way. I was sure that my father and you were incompatible."

"And?" I prompted. What could my compatibility with Lucius Malfoy, or the lack of it, have to do with Draco and me?

There was a pause, then Draco softly replied, "I've watched you two together."

My face began to burn. Surely he wasn't implying...

"Don't make excuses. You liked it when he touched you, right? He makes me feel the same way, so warm and good."

I shook my head. "Draco, you are misunderstanding everything! Your father creeps me out and the only desire I feel in his presence is to run away as fast as I can-"

Draco grasped me by the forearms. "Don't deny it. He is irresistible.... From the first moment he showed how much he loved me, I craved his touch more and more." The corners of his mouth rose upwards in a dreamy smile.

"On my fourteenth birthday my dad raised a goblet and said a toast in my honor. I don't remember how exactly the toast sounded, I only remember the scene. We were alone in his cabinet, standing near his desk. He was looking into my eyes and smiling. We drank the wine - he never offered me wine before - and then he leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth. It felt so natural... as if it should have happened ages ago. I was not even surprised, I just wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. I think we both dropped our goblets simultaneously..."

How strange. Before that, the idea of my lover telling me of his previous relationships horrified me. I used to think it would make me feel embarrassed and humiliated, like I was compared to them - and not in my favor. But Draco's story did not make me feel bad. Perhaps it was because I already accepted the importance of Lucius to him as a fact. Either that, or I just couldn't feel any worse than it was.

"This is why I return to Lucius again and again," Draco went on excitedly. "I am doing it because it makes me feel good. It took me quite long to realize that the other, more correct description of my feelings would be love. And forgive me for taking so long to arrive at the same conclusion about you."

"WHAT?" I broke loose from Draco's arms.

"I love you too, Harry. And now I have enough courage to admit it, because I know that you will need it to make the decision," With these words, Draco turned and began walking away.

"What decision?" I called out but received no reply. Well, I'd be damned if I let this conversation be dropped like that. I followed after Draco's rapidly retreating figure. It seemed to be Malfoys' common trait not to reply to straightforward questions and to end conversations hanging in mid-air. First Lucius, now Draco. What the hell did they want from me?

* * * * *

No one's pinnin' dreams on me
No one's asking me to bleed
I'm the man I wanna be

Even though I entered the Manor seconds after Draco, he had already managed to disappear out of sight. Forgetting such trivialities as good manners and enemy's territory, I headed to his suite, location of which I had found out so painfully during my failed rescue party.

The first three doors I checked while walking down the corridor were closed. The fourth subsided under my push, revealing a dark silent room. "Hello? Draco?" I wasn't particularly keen on entering an unfamiliar place where every wall could well be layered with hundreds-year-old Dark curses.

"Took you long enough, Harry. Come inside, will you?" Draco's uncharacteristically soft voice responded. I stepped forward.

Curled around each in the bed, they were both lazily staring at me as two large cats studying a potential prey.

Lucius' first words made me freeze in shock. "That was a very clever thing, Draco, to bring Harry here," I could practically sense the smile accompanying this.

"Yes, he'll fit just fine, I'm sure of that." Draco's eyes were shining brightly even in the dark.

The memory of Draco's words about mine and Lucius' compatibility and decisions was coming back and looking very disturbing. Surely he hadn't meant...

One of them - I couldn't tell who, as they were lying too close - flicked his wand and my clothes were gone. I just looked down upon myself and saw them gone. One second I was dressed, the next I was standing in front of them naked, with just the sudden chill, the white gleam of my skin and a pile of fabric on the floor informing me about the loss of my wardrobe. No wonder most of wizards avoided using this spell entirely - at least on themselves.

"Come to bed, Harry," Draco stretched his arm in an imperative gesture, and I obeyed for the lack of better ideas. That restorative potion I was taking, did it have some hypnotic properties? I suddenly hoped it did. Otherwise what excuse I had for not fleeing as soon as I saw them lying there?

There was a time when I thought I'd found a perfect balance with Draco. It was so different from my past failures. I did not have to play the role of a romantic lover, as with Ginny, of an eager student, sometimes pretending even more innocent than I really was, as with Snape. I could be my everyday self and it would be enough. Or so I thought.

Now it occurred to me that I had failed to give Draco what he wanted, he wouldn't have gone back to Lucius if I'd been good enough.

Draco was a prince. And princes demand to be loved, pampered and worshipped. I could only watch from afar Lucius providing that to Draco, knowing that all my love would not be enough to substitute the bond between them. And if I couldn't replace Lucius in Draco's life, what was I doing here? Entertaining the father and the son?

Ridiculous as it seemed now, I'd gone along with the "invitation" to the Manor in hope to make Draco jealous. After all, my affair with Derek angered him; perhaps he wouldn't stand to share me with Lucius either? My little gamble was for nothing. If I did succeed in bringing out a reaction from Draco, it was this, whatever it was they planned to do with me now, rather than displeasure. But was it really that much of a sacrifice? For a sacrificial lamb I was a bit too compliant.

I approached Draco's half of the bed and allowed myself to be dragged on top of him, our mouths immediately gluing together in a kiss. Before things progressed too far, an arm, larger and firmer than Draco's, wrapped around my chest from behind and I was pulled back. I was too distracted by Draco's kisses and touches to put up any resistance.

A hand confidently glided down my back, and even though I was almost feverishly hot it still burned me. I had no doubt about the direction the hand was taking and for one second my own indifference on the matter struck me as unnatural. I lazily contemplated whether I had been drugged and if I had been, whose doing that could have been. The hand demanded access and my flesh yielded following my mind's example. I did not want this... no... please... I heard soothing whisper in my ear. I must have been speaking aloud. My objections probably did not seem any more convincing to my companions than to myself. Caresses neither slowed down, nor intensified. In fact, it felt as if these fingers were playing, testing my limits.

"I wonder if you know how fetching you look right now, Harry?" Lucius whispered into my ear, his hand slowly massaging my belly in circles. "With your eyes shining so brightly, hair wet from sweat, skin flushed as if you just ran several miles. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel, Harry?"

I shook my head, my throat too tight for speaking.

"You look fuckable, so perfectly fuckable, my dear. Even more tempting than Draco."

I should have probably felt repulsed at these words, at this man remarking how sexy I looked compared to his own son. Instead I felt flattered. Nobody had ever compared me to Draco in the appearance department to my advantage. Nobody had ever talked to me in bed like that. I had never imagined how good that might feel.

I squirmed, suddenly desperate to escape those skillful hands, but to no avail. Draco leaned forward crushing our lips in a wet kiss and I automatically responded to the familiar sensation. How I missed the feel of his mouth on mine. I stopped caring who was doing what to me. Draco was here to love and support me so it had to be all right. Then my body was entered and I pretended that it was Draco taking me, holding me so tightly, settling into an energetic rhythmical motion. I opened my eyes, needing more reassurance. There it was, my anchor, Draco's gray eyes staring into mine. One of his hands was stroking my nipples and I did not need to look down to know what the other was doing. I felt it all too well. Draco's skin was flushed, his gasps almost drowned mine. It registered somewhere in the back of my mind that he was also experiencing Lucius' attentions. Apparently I was not expected to put much of a fight any longer and the hands of my lover abandoned my body and switched to his son's.

Draco was not looking at me, I realized then. He was looking behind me, at the man he loved. And I was like padding between them, a means for Lucius to show what lengths he would go to for his son and for Draco to entertain himself when Lucius was not here. I felt sick and would have sprung out of bed if I were not trapped so efficiently. Lucius kept moving in me, too slow for me to come and get it over with, too fast to let me concentrate on anything but the rhythm. They did not want me here, did not need me... I had to get out of here. And I wanted to spend the rest of my life like that.

"Draco," I whimpered, not knowing myself whether this was a moan of passion or a plea for help.

"Let go, Harry. Just let go," the low voice whispered in my ear and this time there was no doubt that it belonged to Lucius. It made me want to give up all control, let him decide and guide me, even if the direction was entirely wrong. I had no choice but to comply.

I slumped lifelessly between them afterwards, torn between a very strong need to go to sleep and a worry that Draco might get up then, leaving me alone with Lucius. I understood that eventually I would have to turn and face the man but I'd prefer it happening rather later than sooner. Sex I could handle, a direct confrontation... I didn't know. I came here and stayed because I hoped to get Draco back. Instead I lay in their bed. It would probably be a good thing to work on my impulse control. My current objective was to make Draco stay in bed, preferably until this situation got resolved on its own.

I shifted my leg forward, pushing it between Draco's eagerly spread thighs and hooking it around one of his legs. That was better. He'd stay now.

Draco grinned, apparently understanding my tactics and my awkwardness with Lucius. And as a good little Slytherin graduate, he couldn't let it go. "Kiss him," he whispered mischievously, looking straight into my eyes. No way. I stared right back at him.

"Ple-e-ease," Draco put his palm on my chest and rubbed gently, as if wanting his request to sip through my skin. I remembered that habit of his, a physical touch whenever he wanted something. Was it something he had been taught to do in his childhood, to use his body for getting what he desired? Or perhaps there had been no need for such lessons, with Draco being not a quick learner but rather a natural talent in achieving his goals? For the first time it occurred to me that Lucius hadn't necessarily been the vile seducer in their relationship... Draco was capable of playing that role just as well.

Holding to this thought, I twisted my head back. Lucius' mouth met mine before I finished to turn over. His lips were hot and silky. It was easy to get lost in his kiss. When I finally opened my eyes, I was startled to realize that Draco left the bed without me even noticing that. Damn. I started to rise, at the same time trying to locate my clothes on the floor. A large hand on my thigh stopped me.

"Am I scaring you?" Lucius inquired politely.

"No." I proudly raised my chin but remained with my back turned to him, not daring to look the man in the eye.

"Then I don't understand why you are so impatient to escape." The words were playful but continuation sounded much more serious. "I find you attractive. You are not disgusted by me either. We both enjoyed the night and Draco doesn't mind us getting closer acquainted with each other."

"It's insane. I won't have Draco back at the price of whoring myself!" There, I said it.

The hand glided down my buttocks, then slid between my thighs and I gasped. "Somehow I don't think the 'whoring' part disgusts you much," he sounded very pleased with himself.

My skin, still damp with perspiration, was cooling fast in the chilly room. It was one of the peculiarities of the Manor. Somehow, the strongest heating spells were not enough to warm up these bedrooms. The walls seemed to suck all warmth out of the air. Perhaps Lucius intentionally kept the temperature low so that it wouldn't contrast with the ice in his veins... Although after what just happened I'd probably have to revise my opinion of him as of "cold-blooded".

Lucius half-rose from the bed and began to rearrange the blankets. A few moments later I understood what he was doing and couldn't hold back a groan. Draco used to do it all the time, build up piles of blankets around us and snuggle with me in the center of the constructed chaos. Erecting those blanket barricades, he would take particular care to leave my body uncovered, letting the soft fabric keep me warm on sides and lying atop of me for "additional heat". It was cozy and ridiculous all at once. I often teased Draco about it, enquiring if he was developing a nesting urge. That teasing, as most of my attempts to pick at Draco, usually resulted in a pillow fight. It appeared that now I knew where exactly he had learned that little game.

Judging by Lucius' indulgent smile, he anticipated my recognition. "We called it 'burrowing'," he clarified. "When Draco was little, he wouldn't go to sleep without this. Said it made him feel safe from Bad Wizards."

"Pity it didn't protect him from you. Was that the time when you began sleeping with him?" I immediately regretted the bitter words that came out unbidden and threatened to ruin the precarious silent peace.

The grip of the hand on my thigh tightened almost imperceptibly but Lucius' voice remained calm as he spoke, "No. I hadn't bedded Draco till he was old enough to fully enjoy it."

Strangely enough, I believed that. However wrong and twisted their relationship was, in the past few weeks I've watched their behavior around each other long enough to convince myself that neither would do anything to harm the other.

It was an arousing sight, Lucius straddling my hips, staring into my eyes with an amused smirk on his lips, his hands roaming up and down my body, stroking and pinching and sometimes just hovering above skin, close enough to make me feel the heat.

This time Lucius seemed to be staging a play based on a "How long till I make you scream" scenario that, after we discovered that it wouldn't be very long at all, progressed into a new one, "How long till I make you come". It would probably take me no less than fifty years to beat him at this game.

"No matter how good you'd been, Draco would've left you anyway. Don't you understand that?" Words were gentle yet strong. Like a poison.

"Shut up!" I hissed. It was probably too much to hope that we could spend the rest of the night in silence.

"Draco needs discipline and control, dependency and freedom, all at once." Lucius went on insistently, "I couldn't give him all that and neither could you. He ran away from me, only to return when you proved not to be enough. But it's not permanent. He'll leave again in several months and I think I know the direction he's going to take. Yours. You'll accept him, of course - only to go through all this again some time later."

"You don't need to rub it in, you know," I muttered under my breath.

"Rub what in?" It wasn't my intention to be heard. But before I could stop myself, my tongue continued.

"That Draco will always be choosing you over me."

There was a pause, and then, "He did not choose me, Harry. There never was any choice. Malfoys need to be together, no matter whom they love. Draco would be unhappy if he stayed with you."

I nodded. I already knew that.

Lucius took my chin, making me look at him. "No, you are still misunderstanding. Draco loves you. Is your opinion of him low enough to assume that he would go back to me because I was a more experienced lover?" How the hell- he was just like Draco, always twisting every word I said into something I did not mean!

"Malfoys cannot stand being separated for too long. Draco came back not because of me, but because he belongs here. We depend on each other more than you can imagine. It is an invisible link that makes us stay together, protect each other, sometimes even fall in love with each other. But it seems that Draco loves both of us. I can accept his choice. What about you?"

"I already accepted it, didn't I?" I replied bitterly. "When Draco decided to leave, I did not try to step in his way."

"I am not talking about your pathetic attempt at self-destruction here," Lucius snapped out. "What I mean is this." He pointed at our bodies that were still entangled together.

My confusion increased, but Lucius did not give any further explanation. He rose from the bed and made his way to the door, at the same time throwing on the robe and adding: "It is your time to make the choice, Harry. I am sure you will make the right one, for all of us."

He left me in bed alone, uncomprehending, dumbfounded and still cold. What did he want from me? What choice should I make? Was there any choice for me in this situation? The only one I could think of was the exact time of my departure from the Manor, and even that didn't seem to be up to me. But Lucius probably meant something else.

Draco returned to the bed at some point, as I discovered when I opened my eyes. Lucius was still gone. No one had warned me that this bed was like a busy highway. But I did appreciate Draco's return, as his enthusiasm made me forget all about Lucuis' parting words.

The next evening, when I was about to retire to bed, Draco simply put his hand on my shoulder and led me into his - their - bedroom. By unspoken mutual agreement there was no conversation that night. Nor the next.

After a week or two I began to catch myself at doing the unbelievable - making comparisons.

Draco often let himself be awkward in bed, movements a little less calculated and precise than usual, volume of his voice and sharpness of his nails unrestrained. Our lovemaking was about enjoying ourselves. It was an unspoken tradition between us. No pretence, no role-playing. Just take what you want and let your partner have fun too.

Lucius was all about perfection, about turning sex into some kind of elaborate erotic play. Fluent speech, honed touches and absolute control, even in climax. He must love acting as much as sex. For the first time in my life I was touched like that, experienced so much attention and care lavished on me. It felt more like a ritual of worship than sex. It was hard to tell whose way I preferred.

Conversations with Lucius were unquestionably the weirdest part of my Malfoy Manor experience. He would occupy a seat opposite me, fold his hands on the next available surface, be that a table before him or his own lap, and look at me very attentively. He would calmly speak to me, very polite, never raising his voice. It made me nervous as if I was being interviewed for a job position. It happened every time we spoke, whether it was tomorrow's weather or the Ministry's policy we were discussing. And to my embarrassment I would invariably grow hard from his even tone, instantly remembering the same voice talking behind my naked back. I could not tell if he noticed my physiological reaction. He might have. He was good at paying attention to his opponent's weaknesses and sensitive spots. I had a feeling that he definitely knew all mine.

"We asked you to come here in order to discuss your future plans." Well, this was one conversation during which I was unlikely to get aroused. Were they finally kicking me out, after the strange game of the last weeks? I knew that physically I was ready to leave, Draco's potion had done its work just fine, but mentally? I couldn't decide how to feel about going away.

"I... will go back to work."

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Which one?" Oh yes, owing to Lucius' and Draco's combined efforts the road to Derek, my boss, was now closed to me. He'd never look at me again. Assuming he was still alive.

"Then... I'll be looking for something. I didn't exactly count on this turn of events."

"This is stupid not to have a backup plan," Lucius remarked casually, "but fine in our case, because we just wanted to suggest one."

"Really?"

"Yes, what do you think about staying with us?" It was Draco who asked the question, apparently bored with Lucius' procrastination.

"In what capacity?" I couldn't believe my ears. They seriously considered my long-term stay here?!

"Of a lover, obviously." Lucius smiled at me condescendingly.

"Whose?" The question would undoubtedly sound crazy to an outsider but here it seemed absolutely normal.

"Ours, of course." Draco grinned.

"This is a rational proposition, Harry," Lucius added. "We both like you, you love Draco and enjoy spending time with me, as we had a chance to witness. Draco and I decided that it would be nice to have you here on a permanent basis. Well, Harry, what do you say?"

We had nothing in common, Malfoys and I. I could cope with Draco for most of time but both of them? No way. Staying would be a mistake. Together, these two could make my life hell. Oh, wait, they had already done so. They were so much alike that it felt almost scary. Yet maybe their similarities were the main reason they were inviting me to stay? Then it wasn't pity that motivated their proposal, it was a logical decision to bring a seemingly incompatible component into their all too comfortable life, sort of a small counterbalance. I smiled. Yes, I could do that. And if Malfoys began to make my life too unbearable... well, Draco had said once that I could give any Dark wizard a run for their money with my hexes.

I shifted my glance from one Malfoy to another and wondered for a thousandth time if they still practiced the Imperius on people to get what they wanted. I knew I had a natural resistance to the curse, but maybe my immunity was wavering.

What happened next only served to confirm my suspicion because even before my brain began to process their offer, I heard my own voice saying, "All right". And identical amused smirks on the faces of the two blonds sitting in front of me told me that my agreement was anticipated. To hell with Imperius theories, why bother finding excuses for something that felt so good.

Draco had told me once that Malfoys were the best familymen in the world. Why not finally test that bold statement?

The End