Of Love and Ley Lines

Author's Notes--This is my first attempt at a novel length fic and so all feedback would be greatly appreciated and rewarded with undying love and homemade muffins =^_^= This fic is rated R for later chapters (yes, there will be slash--eventually!) Any nc-17 scenes will be password protected and archived elsewhere, available on request.

Beta'd by the amazing Naka (live journal user fcmwt_r_do) and FictionAlley's very own grammar Queen, Alexa Black. Thanks so much girls!

Students almost tripped over themselves in an attempt to clear a path for the Spoiled Princeling, better known as Draco Malfoy. His silver eyes were stormy and the glare on his face was screaming for an excuse to hex someone into oblivion. No one was stupid enough to get in the way of this sixth year, not even the older students; there was no doubt in their minds as to who had managed to reduce Malfoy's usual façade of serenity to a volcano of rage and hatred.

"Fucking Potter and his fucking perfect life," muttered Malfoy under his breath as he rushed forward, knocking over a tiny first year Hufflepuff girl on the way without even stopping to apologise.

Draco had just received a particularly critical letter from his mother -- no doubt on his father's orders -- about the recent Quidditch match in which Gryffindor slaughtered Slytherin, thanks to Potter's audacity to out-manoeuvre Malfoy at every opportunity. Well, Draco was not going to put up with it anymore. That half-blood, scar-headed, Witch Weekly pin-up boy had no right to make a blatant fool out of someone who was by far his superior. Fortunately, both boys had a free lesson on Fridays after breakfast and Draco was going to make full use of it to teach Potter a lesson of his own, one that he would never forget. However, when he entered the otherwise deserted classroom that his sources of information had traced Potter to, he, not Harry, was the one in for a surprise, and not a nice one at that.

Harry was lying where he had collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain, his limbs entangled in his school robes. His deathly-white face was beaded with sweat and tears fell silently from his blank eyes. His scar was bleeding freely and he didn't seem to have any awareness of his surroundings, or even of Draco -- who was so used to attention that he was a little put out.

The Slytherin knew that his father would expect him to turn and walk away at worst and, at best, cast a few curses whilst Potter was defenceless. Draco stood a moment, internally debating what to do, when suddenly Harry let out a particularly loud cry. Inwardly cursing Potter for putting him into this position, Draco swooped down on Harry, instinctively pulling his upper body into his arms as he whispered a long string of charms for waking, healing and easing pain. If his father knew that he was using his years of Dark Magic training to save the Boy Who Lived, Draco had no doubt that Lucius would kill him, resurrect him and kill him again for good measure. And yet, something about the vulnerability in Harry's usually life-filled emerald eyes had entranced him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry suddenly seemed to convulse back into a state of consciousness. He fought against Draco's protective hold of his chest only to fall back into his arms and cry softly, his head leaning back against his shoulder. Malfoy was shocked by the raven-haired boy's actions but completely disgusted that he, the cold-hearted Slytherin, didn't actually seem to care. It was as if his body had been taken over by some motherly spirit, insistent on rocking Harry backward and forward rhythmically until his crying subsided.

*~*~*

Hermione had been worried about Harry ever since they had returned to Hogwarts for the new school year. The boy that Hermione loved as a brother always looked tired, despite Ron's assurances that he slept as heavily as ever. He hardly ate and his eyes never seemed to match his smiling face. Hermione had put it down to grief over Sirius and even now she felt this was partly true. Harry's face became a queasy pale whenever someone mentioned the name of his godfather and his eyes sparkled with unshed tears. But Harry had made no attempt to hide this grief from Ron and her. There was something else, something still unspoken, troubling Harry daily and it hurt her to know he was suffering without confiding in her or Ron. So when he didn't turn up for their arranged study session in the library, she began to worry.

She rushed up to Gryffindor Tower and without explanation, ignoring the wolf whistles of Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, dragged Ron bodily off his comfy chair by the fire grate and up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

"Err 'Mione...Any particular reason why you're dragging me to my bedroom," Ron asked in a would-be calm voice, with a blush so strong it reached his ears.

"Harry's not turned up at the library, Ron! I'm worried about him and you have to help me find him!"

"As much as I can't blame the guy for avoiding one of your study sessions, I fail to see why dragging me up here will help. He isn't in bed."

"I never said he was," groaned Hermione in a tone that suggested that Ron had missed something she considered to be obvious, "but you know where the Marauder's Map is, right?"

*~*~*

After a good amount of searching, Ron and Hermione left Gryffindor Tower together amidst a good deal more wolf whistling which resulted in a rushed Bat Bogey hex for Seamus, thanks to a very concerned Hermione Granger. She and Ron hurried on the quickest route towards the deserted classroom where the map had labelled two dots in such close vicinity that they all but merged on the paper. These dots went by the names of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

By now, Hermione and Ron were concerned for their friend's welfare, but for entirely different reasons. As she ran, Hermione's brain ticked over the long lists of curses that Malfoy and Harry could be shooting at each other at that very second. Whereas Ron, his blush still present as Hermione pulled him along the corridor by his hand, was more concerned about what other things Draco and Harry could be up to that required them to be so close.

Harry had finally, after years of agonising denial, admitted to himself and his two best friends that he was gay. And although Ron had neither any knowledge nor interest regarding Malfoy's sexuality, he wouldn't put it past the slimy little git to Imperio Harry into kissing him or something much worse, simply to say that he had had his way with the famous Harry Potter.

Neither Ron nor Hermione were prepared to see the concerned expression haunting the blond's face as he protectively held and tried to soothe the still crying Harry Potter. Harry's scar had stopped bleeding but both boys were stained from its earlier pouring, and it was hard to tell who was holding whom for comfort.

Upon seeing Ron and Hermione standing at the doorway in shock, Malfoy's grip on Harry tightened slightly and his comforting muttering ceased. He made a feeble attempt to get his voice back to its usual cold and uncaring tone as he began to speak; his mind was in overdrive as he tried to think of an explanation for something that he, himself didn't have an answer to.

"Well it's about fucking time! Look Potter, your cavalry has arrived to save me the bother of sitting with you a moment longer. In the space of the last half hour or so, I think I reached my quota of good deeds for my freaking lifetime."

As Harry stiffened at his harsh tone, Draco felt compelled to hush him quietly and whispered softly in his ears so that only Harry could hear him.

"Don't take things so personally, Potter, you'll give yourself another episode or whatever this was. This is just how I deal with things I don't understand, okay?"

Harry instantly relaxed and nodded slightly and Hermione, recovering from her brief occupation of impersonating a goldfish out of water, rushed over.

"Mordred Harry! What happened? What did you see? It was another vision, wasn't it? Should I go and get Dumbledore? Or do you need Madam Pomfrey? Does your head hurt? Well Merlin, sorry Harry, of course it does! That was a stupid question..."

"Granger, shut the fuck up and let him...."

"Don't speak to her like that, Malfoy! And don't look at me like that either!" Ron interrupted as Malfoy gave him the best death glare he could summon.

"Look, s'ok Ron," Harry murmured with some difficulty before being shushed again by Malfoy.

"Now what the hell do you mean a 'vision,' Granger? Gods I know you are a Mudblood but you have enough brains to realise that Potter has as much skill with Divination as a...as a....teaspoon does."

"That as it may be, Mister Malfoy," came the calm and authoritative voice of Albus Dumbledore who, with his keen sense for problems, had arrived in the classroom, "but Harry's visions are not the result of prophecy. They are the result of his link with Voldemort."

It was now Draco's turn to impersonate a goldfish as he listened to Dumbledore's brief explanation while the old wizard checked Harry over with a handful of diagnosis spells. Straightening up, the Headmaster surveyed Draco with an aura of disbelief and interest before saying, in a tone of polite amusement, "I do believe you have been fortunate, Harry my boy. Had it not been for young Master Malfoy's impressive charm work, I doubt very much that you would be alive right now."

The motherly, protective feeling Draco had been fighting with since he found Harry in such a state was instantly squashed as the realisation hit him. He, Draco Lucius Antoine Malfoy, had just saved the enemy of his supposed Lord and Master. He had just saved his arch-nemesis. He had saved the Boy Who Lived... He was so going to get a howler...if he was lucky.

*~*~*~*~

Two days had passed since Draco had sealed his own fate by saving the life of the Boy Who Lived, and the blond felt as though his world had been turned upside down. After Dumbledore's brief explanation to Draco, he had whisked Harry away to the infirmary, with Ron and Hermione tripping over themselves to keep up, leaving Draco alone. Alone without the comfortable weight that he had been clutching against his chest. Alone, covered in the blood and tears of the boy whose life he had just saved. Alone with the growing fear of the vengeance his father would take upon him should he find out. Alone.

He had been on the side of good for just over a year now, ever since he had been thrust into the company of his 'Lord' and forced to beg for his approval like some kind of slave. Watching his father suck up to this abomination had been sickening enough; but when he accompanied the Death Eaters on a riot in a small Muggle village, saw what they did to the women and girls whilst making the men watch, saw how they killed tiny babies without a second thought, Draco realised he wanted nothing to do with this life. He may think himself better than Muggles, but he would never wish that on anyone, and his prejudice against Mudbloods was mainly thanks to Granger besting him on every single one of their exams.

And so he had used every ounce of his charm to evade getting the mark while keeping up the pretence of being loyal. It hadn't been easy but it had been going well, until now. If Potter's condition was due to his link with Draco's 'Lord', then what were the chances of him not knowing that Harry had been saved? It wouldn't take his father long to work out Draco's role in this; he was the only one of the Death Eater's children at Hogwarts who had any aptitude in the healing aspects of the Dark Arts. Blaise Zabini was the only other student who had received training and his spellwork was just as abysmal as his performance in school.

He needed to talk to Potter to find out about this link and what consequences it could have for Draco. But how could someone walk into the infirmary to visit their arch nemesis without invoking suspicion?

His head was throbbing as he tried to work his way out of the situation he had got himself into. Struggling to deal with the stirred emotions and confusion that had imploded their way into the front of Draco's mind, he resorted to his tried and tested method of dealing with things: blame Potter.

"Damn that bastard! Damn him to the depths of hell and back again. Why did he have to look so needy and pathetic when he was suffering from his stupid 'gift' as, in a way typical of the old interfering git, Dumbledore had deemed it,? Why did he have to look so damn fuckable the rest of the time? Doesn't he know that I am trying to be straight, damn it?! He could at least wear something resembling the Muggle rags I've seen him arrive to Platform 9 ¾ in at the start of the school year. But no, Mr. Harry James 'I am determined to ruin Draco's life' Potter decided to get finely tailored and tight-fitting robes and collapse where he just knew I would find him, making sure to look as vulnerable as possible."

Draco knew it was all to spite him, and if Harry wasn't still hiding up in the infirmary -- obviously to make him worry about him -- Draco swore he would be aiming a few less-than-friendly spells in the vicinity of Harry's admitably nice ass.

He managed to continue blaming Harry for a grand total of five minutes. Sinking down into his favourite chair in the Slytherin common room, sending death glares at anyone within a ten metre radius, Draco lost himself in thought for what seemed like the millionth time since Friday. Sometime later when the resounding crash of Goyle tripping through the entrance hole for the fifteenth time this week shook him from his contemplation, he had finally worked out some of his tangled emotions.

Despite all his concerns for his own safety, Draco was also scared for Harry and the Wizarding world as a whole. What horrors had Harry seen? He felt an odd link with Harry, knowing that he had been through some of the same experiences as him, even if it wasn't first-hand. He wanted to know what the Death Eaters were doing, what they were planning. But most of all, Draco wanted to know how many died this time.

*~* Vision*~*

Pain; sharp, searing pain burst through Harry's head without any notice. He felt light-headed and his limbs were stiff and heavier than his own. Every sensation crawling to his brain felt surreal, as though his whole soul had been displaced. A slow sense of familiarity grew in Harry's mind as he became accustomed to the situation. This familiarity was teamed with a sudden realisation: he was in Voldemort's mind, in Voldemort's body, seeing through Voldemort's eyes, a slave to Voldemort's will.

He was standing in the remains of a Muggle school hall. Corpses of teachers and children littered the ground. Some had been raped, some had been tortured and all had been killed. Harry surveyed the Death Eaters kneeling before him with a cold glare and spoke to them in a penetrating hiss.

'Well asss entertaining asss I am sssure thisss wass for you...did any of you actually manage to locate the area? No...? Luciusss!"

One of the masked faces bowed swiftly towards Harry.

"You sssaid you could handle thisss sssituation....but what do I find? You have been too busssy raping and torturing to notice that an entire classs of Mugglesss essscaped your ssearching"

Harry felt a slight tingle, like air becoming charged, as Voldemort wandlessly parted the heavy curtains of the stage at the far end of the room. A class of small children, younger than any of the corpses that littered the floor, were huddled together, crying silently and trembling with fear.

"Younger sssoulss. Purer sssoulss. If you had been more foccusssed on the task and ussed thesse too, then maybe the ritual would not have failed. You will learn from this misstake Luciusss. I will ssstrike you hard, where you least except it and yet you will thank me. You will thank me for allowing you to live becaussse otherwissse I will continue to teach you until you learn from your misstakess."

Then with a final, icy gaze at Lucius, Harry felt Voldemort's body spin round to face the stage. Horror filled Harry's mind as he felt a hand rise. He let out a silent scream as he felt the magic leave his core in a rush of hate and fury. He cried inside as he saw the small children convulse in agony. He longed for their pain to be his instead, he longed to spare them. But he was just a spectator, like a reader unable to change the plot of a book. He tried to close his eyes, but he was compelled to watch. He felt their deaths, one by one, in rapid succession. Then everything went black. An empty nothingness consumed him. He felt so close to death, the veil of between the worlds was so thin after the massacre that he could slip through so easily.

But something was holding him back. Words drifted around him, magic gripped his soul and held it in a caress almost as tight and comforting as the arms he felt on his body. The grip on his soul faded but the hands held him firm. Life flooded back into him and he breathed again. He saw again. And he saw Draco Malfoy.

*~*End Vision*~*

Harry felt like a herd of rampaging hippogriffs had been let loose in his brain. His scar couldn't seem to make its mind up between a throbbing ache and an irritating tingle, so it settled for both, bleeding at regular intervals. He was still reeling from what he had seen, but what shocked him the most was the knowledge that Draco Malfoy had saved him.

As much as he would have liked to ponder that fact and come up with reasons why the son of a convicted Death Eater, not to mention his rival of six years, would want to save him, Dumbledore had other ideas. Despite relaying details of his vision to the Headmaster several times now, the old man seemed to be obsessing over the most peculiar of details: the way that Harry described how he could feel the magic as it was cast. Harry wanted to stop Voldemort; he was interested in what 'ritual' had required so many souls and what needed to be 'located'. But most of all, he just wanted to forget what he had seen and ask Draco why he had saved him.

Dumbledore watched Harry closely as he questioned the boy again. He saw the pain in Harry's eyes, the guilt, the need to not think about what he had witnessed. He hated putting the boy through so much turmoil but the answers to this puzzle were still eluding him.

However when he mentioned asking Draco Malfoy to visit Harry and explain what he had seen when he had found Harry unconscious, he saw some flicker of emotion cross the boy's face so quickly the Headmaster thought he imagined it. He finally understood why Harry seemed to be less interested in the vision than he would expect. He could barely suppress a grin as he excused himself and swept out of the room in search of a certain Slytherin.

*~*~*~*

The Slytherin common room fell into a stony silence as Dumbledore entered the room. They hustled around, hiding this and that from the Headmaster's gaze in an almost paranoid manner. The old man chuckled to himself at this typical Slytherin behaviour, causing the congregated house-mates to look even more shifty and unsure. With a twinkle in his eye and a disconcerting smile, Dumbledore surveyed the group before walking towards a chair near the fire grate whose occupant seemed both too lost in thought to notice the Headmaster's presence and too troubled by his thoughts to care.

"Draco." Dumbledore spoke softly and yet the boy flinched as though he had forgotten he was not alone, but in a room full of other people.

"Professor Dumbledore," Draco acknowledged, recovering his composure and moulding his face into a façade of polite interest. "May I help you, sir?"

The old man merely gave an enigmatic nod at this response, chuckled some more and gestured for the Slytherin to follow him.

The Headmaster led the young blond on a winding route through the dungeons before emerging behind a tapestry near to his office. Neither had spoken; both were slightly uncomfortable with the other's company and seemed unsure of how to respond to this.

Dumbledore's expression was of slight amusement as he pondered the fact that, despite his age and experience of communicating with teenagers, there was something almost untouchable about Draco Malfoy. Something seemed to rule his every action and, in the eyes of one who prided himself in knowing as much about each of his students as was possible without breaking their privacy, he found it impossible to break down the shields that Draco appeared to build around himself. The old man had not heard of him having a true friend, a girlfriend or even anything more than a gaggle of Slytherins bent to his will. All he had as a constant was his rivalry with Harry Potter and now that he had begun to doubt that, Draco needed something more substantial. So, in a move more underhanded and Slytherin-esque than the loyal-at-heart Gryffindor Headmaster would care to admit, he set up the pieces and hoped the game would play out the way he planned.

It was Draco's turn to snicker slightly as Dumbledore stopped in front of an impressive gargoyle statue and, with an exaggerated flourish of his arms, said "Liquorice Allsorts!" The old man turned in response to Draco's muffled laughter and merely raised an eyebrow before offering the shocked blond one of the offending sweets.

"Never doubt Muggle confectionary, my boy," the Headmaster declared in such a serious tone that Draco stopped laughing and studied the old man as though he doubted his sanity. He proceeded to follow Dumbledore as he walked up the stairs towards the office.

Dumbledore crossed the room swiftly, sat behind his desk and gestured for Draco to take the seat opposite him. The boy did so, but not before looking interestedly around at the room. Dumbledore noticed that his eyes lingered in distaste on the cabinet holding Godric Gryffindor's sword, curiosity on the phoenix perched in the corner, and almost nostalgically on the Sorting Hat resting on a shelf amongst countless books.

Dumbledore felt comforted by the knowledge that Draco obviously wasn't emotionless -- as he had feared most -- but rather hid his emotions...something he had also feared, but felt was more easily cured. If anything, he became more resolute in his decision to take action. Looking down at Draco through his half moon glasses with a steady gaze, he began to speak.

"For once, my boy, I am not going to beat around the bush, so please forgive me for being frank. I have asked you to join me here because of your actions on Friday that saved the life of one of your classmates." Dumbledore paused, his eyes sparkling as he saw the conflict on Draco's face at hearing Harry Potter being described as his classmate, before continuing in an even tone.

"Obviously we are nothing but grateful for your actions, but the nature of the spells that you used to save Mr. Potter clearly shows that you have an extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts. Now don't get me wrong, I am not here to chastise you for using these spells to save Harry's life. On the contrary, I have brought you here to ask for your help."

At this statement, Draco's eyes widened slightly and he once again regarded the old man as though he thought him senile, but Dumbledore continued unperturbed.

"Have you ever heard the old tales about Percuro Adfinis Rerum Natura or the Elemental Healers? Well, they are legendary duos of witches or wizards, each member of the duo with certain skills or powers. They work together as a unit to heal in times of war. For example, one member acts as a sensor, feeling the pain and injuries of others -- and the traces of magic cast on the victim -- and directs the other member, the healer, to cure these injuries efficiently. There hasn't been one of these duos for around three centuries due to the fact that, like Metamorphagi, these sensors must be born with their powers and they only blossom when they come into close spiritual contact with someone who has the skills to become their healer. When you healed Harry, your souls were spiritually close and I think you awoke the powers of a sensor within him. Can you see where this is heading?"

Draco nodded mutely, trying to comprehend the sheer unbelievable nature of what Dumbledore had just implied. As a pureblood, schooled from an early age by a tradition-obsessed father in the myths and legends of the magical world, Draco had heard of the stories about Percuro Adfinis Rerum Natura, or 'to thoroughly heal by the nature of the world' as it was traditionally translated to before it was simplified. These people were great warriors, fighters in all the famous magical wars. They duelled with the added duty of healing casualties. The sensitivity of the 'sensor' meant that they had the ability to sense the very elemental magic that drove the earth; the close link they were trained to share with the healer resulted in two fighters with lighting-quick reflexes, usually highly skilled in wandless and non-verbal magic, who could save people even an inch from death. These men and women went down in history for their skills and their deeds, and here was Dumbledore suggesting that Draco, along with another fifteen-year-old boy, had the potential to be part of this.

The old git really has lost it, Draco thought. He has finally gone completely off the edge of the map, lost what was left of his already depleted marble collection... gone round the bend, stark raving fucking insane!

Obviously unable to politely vocalise his thoughts, Draco sat in a shocked silence. Dumbledore began to speak again, but he was barely listening. He managed to get the basic drift of the Headmaster's words.

He expects me to do this, to openly fight on the side of light when the war really starts. He expects me to openly betray my family and their Lord...and he expects me to do so with Potter at my side!

If Draco had felt himself in an emotionally mixed up dilemma before this point, he was slowly beginning to realise what the true definition of that feeling was like. Every fibre of his being was reeling with shock, fear, confusion, and the ever growing need to talk to Harry Potter. Eventually unable to pretend to be focused any longer, he asked if Harry had been informed of the situation and whether he could talk to him about it. Inside, he was hoping that Harry could prove the Headmaster's theory to be the complete bullshit that the logical part of Draco's brain already knew it to be. He just needed the reassurance that he was right. No matter how surreal it felt, the part of Draco already resigned to this new fate was arguing 'Since when has anything concerning Potter been logical?' and Draco was determined to prove this part of him wrong.

He wasn't expecting the Headmaster to respond by saying that Harry was still in the dark about this and that perhaps Draco should be the one to explain it to him with the Headmaster. Draco rose from his chair and stared at Dumbledore, dumbfounded, but the old man decided the take advantage of Draco's shock-related disability to string together a coherent argument.

He swiftly left his chair and ushered the stuttering blond towards the hospital wing, much to the amusement and interest of everyone they passed on the way. After some skilful bartering by Dumbledore for visiting permission from the formidable Madam Pomfrey, Draco finally came to his senses only to find himself being led into a side room with only one occupant. The occupant was the one person whom Draco had been longing to talk to, but now would rather see anyone else...even Ron Weasley!

Harry sat up slightly in his bed, self-consciously pulling his covers higher up his chest. He looked much better, Draco observed. Still weak, with dark shadows under his entrancing eyes, but better all the same. Draco lowered himself into the chair Dumbledore conjured for him and waited to see how Harry was going to respond.

*~*~*~*

A/N--Thanks for reading! Please hit the shiny review button and let me know your thoughts. If this fic is a while between updates, it's because I am getting ready to go to a Boarding College (very Hogwarts, huh?) and my writing time will be cut down, especially once I get there. This fic won't be abandoned.