Catharsis

"Draco? Draco Malfoy?" A head topped with curly brown hair peeked into the Slytherin common room where Draco was relaxing on the couch with a book.

"Yes," he replied lazily, not moving.

"You are to report to the Headmaster's office at once." The first year Slytherin stepped into the room, delivering his message with a somewhat pompous expression, which faded as Draco lifted his eyes to regard the boy. "Err, I mean, Professor Snape asked me to tell you..."

"Very well." Draco rose gracefully from the couch and smoothed his robes. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"No. He just wants to see you." The boy sidled toward the door. "I've got to go now."

Draco smirked. "Aren't you going to take me there? I've never been to the Headmaster's office before." This wasn't entirely true, but he was enjoying watching the boy squirm.

"All right," he squeaked in reply.

When they arrived at the entrance, they found the Headmaster's door already open. Draco could hear muted voices from inside. He turned to the first year. "You have discharged your duties admirably. I will be sure to relate this to Professor Snape." The boy looked simultaneously pleased with the praise and relieved to be dismissed. He took off down the hall at a pace just short of a dead run.

Draco knocked quietly and then entered the room. "Ah, Draco." Dumbledore sounded truly pleased to see him. "Please, do come in."

He was surprised to see his father standing near Dumbledore's desk. He looked from the headmaster to Lucius and back again. "Is there some problem?"

"Not at all. Your father simply wishes to see you this evening," Dumbledore announced calmly.

"Actually, I'm here to take you home for the weekend," Lucius said, radiating displeasure. Draco shifted uncomfortably.

"Unfortunately, as I've explained, that would be impossible at this time, as we are preparing for mid-term exams." Dumbledore was polite but firm in his reply. "Please feel free to enjoy dinner with your son, but do make certain to have him back before curfew tonight. I know I can rely on you, Lucius."

Lucius's mouth tightened to a thin line. "Of course," he replied shortly. "His education must come first." He turned to Draco. "Very well. We shall have our supper in Hogsmeade." He nodded brusquely in the Headmaster's direction. "Albus."

"Lucius." The Headmaster stood to show them out of his office. "I wish you a very pleasant evening."

********************************

"Draco," his father chided him. "We are here to celebrate. Can you find a more pleasant expression to wear for the occasion?"

They were dining that evening at the Three Broomsticks. His father had spoken in hushed tones with Madam Rosmerta when they entered. She in turn ushered them to a private room in the back, which Draco hadn't even known existed before this night. Draco looked around in quiet amazement as his father confirmed his order and perused the wine list. Their food arrived, broiled dragonfish in some kind of herb sauce, with new asparagus tips and risotto. Draco had no doubt this was a specialty reserved only for the Malfoy family.

"What are we celebrating, Father?" Draco asked coolly. He was trying not to show it, but his father was making him nervous.

"Your ascendance into our ranks, of course." Lucius's smile didn't even come close to touching his eyes.

Draco regarded his food silently. "I see."

"It is time for you to take up the responsibility that is your birthright." Lucius spoke softly but firmly.

Draco sat silently for a moment, poking at the fish with his fork. He thought about what Snape had said. "And if I refuse?" Draco raised his eyes to his father's face. He barely managed to refrain from flinching at what he saw there.

"You will not refuse," replied Lucius. "You are my son, and you will see to your duty." His eyes narrowed as he continued. "However, if you require a demonstration of my commitment, I'm sure something can be arranged." He paused, his voice remaining placid and deceptively calm. "Something involving Harry Potter, perhaps?"

Draco's heart rate tripled; he was unable to prevent a startled expression from crossing his face. How could he know?

Lucius smiled coldly. "Yes, that would be sufficient, would it not?"

"I thought... you told me that you couldn't touch him," Draco stammered. "At least not while he's at Hogwarts."

"Ah." Lucius's smile never wavered. "As it turns out, we can."

Draco was thinking furiously. "But if you can reach him there, then why wait? If... the Dark Lord wants him, why not now?"

"Let us simply say that the timing isn't right," replied Lucius easily. "But have no fear, little dragon, we will come for him when we are ready."

"I see." Draco sat very still, his mind spinning.

"Yes." Lucius picked up his fork and speared a tomato. "I see that that you understand." He slid the tomato into his mouth, crushing it with obvious enjoyment. "While we do want you at Hogwarts you should understand, Draco, that our position must not be compromised. If it becomes necessary, you will return to Durmstrang. I will not hesitate to protect the Malfoy family interests."

Draco realized that he was right. His father could do that. He had never thought about it before, but he simply had no safety net like Harry did. And if Harry wasn't safe... well, that didn't bear thinking about. Harry had to be safe. Dumbledore would make certain that Harry was safe.

"Of course if you refuse, that will make things a bit difficult for us. It might require that we step up our plans with regard to Potter," Lucius continued, sipping his wine.

"I see." Draco clenched his hands in his lap, feeling sick.

"So it really is in your best interests to comply with my wishes, Draco." His father looked at him intently over the rim of his glass. "Not to mention Potter's best interests as well."

"What makes you think I care about Potter's best interests?" Draco attempted what he thought was a cool tone, but which came out sounding rather more pathetic than he would have liked.

Lucius looked faintly amused. "Please, Draco. Give me a little credit? I'm not blind."

This was it, Draco thought numbly. He couldn't refuse. Some part of him was grateful that his father's well-laid trap would make his decision seem believable. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "When?"

"When you come home for the holidays."

How could his father be so calm when Draco felt the ground rapidly tilting away from him? He clenched his hands until his nails cut into the tender flesh of his palms. The pain helped him to focus enough to keep from falling from the chair. He opened his eyes and looked at his father, surprising himself by making and keeping eye contact. "All right. I'll do it. I'll be there."

"Of course you will, Draco." His father's voice was deceptively gentle, but colder than he'd ever heard it. "It was never in doubt."

**************************

Harry left Dumbledore?s office later that week wishing for a door to slam. Draco had been fairly closed-mouthed about his sessions with Dumbledore, but he had definitely led Harry to believe that they were working together to solve the problem. And yet, when he saw Dumbledore that afternoon, the Headmaster told him that Draco hadn't been to see him in over a month.

He banged hard on the Slytherin common-room door, shouting for Draco. One of the third-years opened the door resignedly -- they'd become accustomed to Harry Potter's frequent visits to the Slytherin inner sanctum -- and let him in, rolling his eyes a bit at the expression on Harry's face.

"Don't worry," Harry insisted, through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to kill him. Yet," he muttered, under his breath.

"That's good," the third-year answered coolly. "I don't imagine you'd fancy explaining to Professor Snape."

"Draco!" Harry yelled, knocking hard on his door. "I'm coming in, whether you're decent or not!"

Draco looked up from his homework, puzzled. "Not that it doesn't please me to think you've gotten over your inhibitions, but really, Harry, shouting? Not generally the ideal path to seduction." He winked, and then caught a glimpse of Harry's expression. "What? What is it?"

"You," Harry growled. "You lied to me. You said that you've been meeting with Dumbledore, and now I find out you haven't seen him for a month!"

Draco gaped at him, but recovered quickly. "I don't know where you got that idea. I never said I was meeting with him. I met with him. We talked about the problem. He gave me some suggestions, and I?ve been working on it since then. Why can't you believe that I have things well in hand?"

"Well in hand? What are you talking about? You have no idea what you're going to do! Do you even have a plan?" Harry shouted.

"You needn't concern yourself with it," Draco replied shortly. He got up and moved to his wardrobe, where he shifted hangers with school robes from one end of the rod to the other, obviously avoiding looking at Harry. "Look, Dumbledore himself told me that I should work with Professor Snape - which I have been! He hasn't asked to see me since then."

"Stop fussing," Harry insisted. "Come here and talk to me. I won't be put off that easily, you know."

"I can always hope," Draco muttered under his breath, but he went to the couch and sat next to Harry anyway. "I'm not going to give you details," he stated flatly. "It's dangerous for you to know more than you do. But obviously you won't stop pestering me until I tell you something, so here you have it, in a nutshell: Going head-to-head with my father is a bad idea, so Snape is acting as my mentor in a particularly Slytherin plan that will protect me from being Marked while appearing to cooperate with my father."

"Oh." Harry frowned, considering this information. "How will he not notice when you're not carrying the Mark?"

"It will appear to be there, but it won't actually be. And that's more than I wanted to tell you." Draco folded his arms, his expression obstinate. "That's all you're getting from me."

Harry looked at him, considering. "All right," he finally said. "I suppose you know your business. It's just?" His face twisted. "I don't know what I'd do if something went wrong. I can't lose you, Draco."

Draco's anger deflated at Harry's expression of pure misery. He reached out and squeezed Harry's hand briefly. "I promise it'll be all right. Even if you don't trust my ability to keep myself out of trouble, you know you can trust Snape."

Harry managed a small chuckle. "And isn't that ironic."

Draco nodded and scooted closer. He reached up and fussed with a piece of hair. "When are you going to do something about this?"

Rather than rising to what had become an old argument, Harry kissed Draco with everything he had. He just hoped that it would be enough to convince Draco that he needed him to return from his holiday, alive and in one piece. From Draco's enthusiastic response, he thought his unspoken message just might have got through.

Harry lay awake for a long time that night, staring at the bed canopy. Worry for Draco combined with the feeling that everything was suddenly accelerating toward a future over which he had no control kept his thoughts churning for what seemed like hours. He didn?t even notice when he finally did fall asleep.

When he opened his eyes, a short time later, it was still dark. A few moments of looking around, however, led him to realise that not only was he standing, the stone walls were not those of his dorm room.

The walls were damp and the ceiling high enough that he couldn't quite make it out in the gloom. It was like being at the bottom of a huge well; a faint dripping sound reinforced the sense of damp and cold. The room was circular, like Gryffindor tower, only larger -- some forty feet across -- and there were no windows. Water ran down the walls in steady rivulets; he wondered if they might be underneath a lake or a river.

A door on the far wall opened and a line of people entered the room, carrying torches. Light glinted from the objects they carried; black hoods covered their faces. Another Death Eater meeting. Harry's stomach clenched as he recalled the last gathering he'd witnessed. He hoped fervently that they weren't going to perform another sacrifice.

Most of the Death Eaters formed a circle as they entered the circular tower. Two of them walked to a stone standing in the centre and began placing objects on it. An altar, Harry realised. So this was to be some kind of ritual. His stomach flipped again at the thought, but he gathered himself and stepped forward to take a closer look at the objects on the stone.

He caught a glimpse of two candles, a book and what appeared to be a knife when a presence behind him distracted him. He glanced over his shoulder and sucked in a sudden breath of air. It was Voldemort, his hood back, wand in his hand -- the same Voldemort who had met with Peter Pettigrew in his previous dream. Younger, strong and utterly terrifying, even more so in the enclosed space of the stone room. He was talking to another Death Eater who, apparently in response to a command, turned and left the room with one other. They returned a few minutes later with a figure held between them. The captive had his hands bound behind him, and his face was slumped forward so that Harry had to peer at him closely before he recognized who it was. Lucius Malfoy.

Harry was shocked at Malfoy's demeanour. The man was barely able to walk and seemed to be dragging something attached to one ankle. A rope? Chain? He couldn't see well enough in the dim light.

"Bring him," Voldemort commanded, his voice containing just a bare hint of the sibilance he would use later. It was a strong voice, used to being obeyed. Harry could easily understand why people would leap to do his bidding.

The two Death Eaters half-lead, half-dragged Lucius to the stone altar. There they took the chain, which was in fact attached to a ring around his ankle, and they pulled it through a corresponding ring on the altar, fastening it tight. Lucius wasn't going anywhere, even if he had been able to walk, of which Harry had his doubts.

"Lucius." Malfoy looked up at Voldemort. He looked terrible, Harry thought with a kind of grim satisfaction. "Why are you here?"

"I am here to swear to you, My Lord," Lucius replied, his voice weak but unwavering. "My undying loyalty."

"Yes," Voldemort replied coldly. "Undying loyalty. I know that you understand the benefit to you. It's time you understand the price as well. Bare his arms," he said to the two on either side of Malfoy. They pulled Lucius's sleeves up above his elbow. There was no Mark there, Harry realized with a shock. Instantly it became clear to him what kind of a ceremony he was to witness tonight. Not a sacrifice. Or, not exactly.

"If you are to become one of us, Lucius, you must be willing to bear my Mark. Are you so willing?" Voldemort's voice cut through the deadly silence.

"Yes, Master." Lucius stood a little taller. "I am so willing."

"You may call me Master now, but shortly I will be your Master in fact. Are you willing to devote yourself to me now, body and soul?"

"Yes, Master." Lucius spoke without hesitation, seeming to grow stronger from each affirmation.

"To be my true servant, to carry my Mark, you must be willing to surrender to me that which is most precious to you, and most useful to me. You must give me your magic, without reservation or hesitation. I will return it to you, as part of your Mark, and we will be thereby bound."

"Everything that I have, I give to you, without reservation, Master. I bind myself to you, body and soul."

Harry thought that Lucius was just a bit over the top with that statement but Voldemort seemed satisfied with his response.

"One final question, Lucius. You are left-handed, are you not?"

"Yes, Master."

Harry was puzzled. Why was that pertinent?

"Very well." Voldemort pulled his wand from under his robe and pointed it at Lucius. "Abbahagyás."

Malfoy screamed as his body was wracked by tremors. A blue, swirling mist formed around him, seeming to ooze from his body. The cloud thickened, becoming so opaque it nearly concealed Malfoy entirely, until it was abruptly sucked into Voldemort's wand.

Lucius collapsed, falling to his knees. His deep, gasping breaths suggested that he was in considerable pain. Voldemort gestured, and one of the two Death Eaters turned Malfoy's left arm so that the wrist was pointing up toward the ceiling. Voldemort pointed his wand at Malfoy's forearm, just barely touching the skin below the elbow.

"Morsmordre."

Lucius screamed aloud this time as a black mist emerged from the wand, coalescing around his arm, eventually settling into it. It spread from his arm, seeming to glow black beneath his skin, which if it had been pale before, was nearly translucent. Malfoy's right hand gripped the top of the altar tightly as he struggled to keep himself upright.

Harry found himself actually feeling pity for the elder Malfoy, until he remembered Lucius's plans for Draco. A cold rage came over him. "You bastard," he hissed, knowing that they couldn't hear him. "How could you even think about doing this to your own son!"

Malfoy gasped, cradling his left arm to his chest. He struggled to rise, and at a nod from Voldemort, the two Death Eaters at his side reached down to assist him in standing. They released his ankle from the chain, freeing him from the altar, though Harry found that symbolic freedom ironic in the extreme.

"Welcome, Lucius." Voldemort opened his arms in an obscene gesture that was a parody of affection. "Welcome to my service. As a Death Eater you will gain power beyond your wildest imaginings. Of course I have high expectations of you as well."

Harry clenched his fists furiously.

"One last thing, Lucius," Voldemort added in tone that was almost offhand. "By joining my ranks, you have joined your lot with mine. You rise or fall with me. If you should ever give up my Mark - if you abandon my service - you will give up your magic as well. You have given your magic to me, of your own free will, and I have returned it to you for as long as you serve me well. So my advice to you is this: serve me well, Lucius. Your magic is only yours at my sufferance."

"Yes, Master," Lucius responded breathlessly, his eyes a bit wild. "I will serve you well."

Harry suddenly opened his eyes, staring gratefully at drapes over his bed. His hands were still clenched into fists at his sides. He was more determined than ever that Draco would be spared Lucius's fate. Whatever it took.

**************************

"Sirius," Harry began hesitantly. "There?s something I'd like to talk to you about." He dropped rather suddenly into the armchair, as though his legs would not support him any longer. A low fire burnt in the grate, lending the room only a little warmth and even less light.

Sirius looked at him expectantly. "Yes?" he said encouragingly.

"Well." Harry took off his glasses and cleaned them on his sleeve. "Now that it's come to it, it's a bit hard to say..."

Sirius sat back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. "Take your time, Harry. I'm listening."

Harry looked over at his godfather, and it was almost as if he was seeing him for the first time. The slight frown of concentration ruffling an otherwise calm exterior. Sirius really was a bit dog-like, when he thought about it. The bravery so common with a Gryffindor, combined with unwavering loyalty and affection. Harry felt an unexpected surge of confidence. "I think I'm gay," he blurted out, and immediately looked down at his hands, which were twisting around themselves on his lap.

"Oh."

Harry chanced a glance at Sirius, who seemed slightly surprised. There was no horrified expression, no outburst of disapproval. Harry relaxed marginally.

"Well, that's... interesting," Sirius continued, his expression becoming unreadable.

"Um." Harry cleared his throat, which had constricted with anxiety. "What does that mean?"

Sirius chuckled dryly. "Oh, don't worry, Harry. You'll never hear a word from me against anyone's lifestyle choice. Well, except the Death Eaters and practitioners of the Dark Arts, I suppose." He chuckled again.

Harry's stomach lurched as he suddenly came face to face with confessing that the boy he was seeing was, in fact, the child of a suspected Death Eater and voted most likely to become one himself.

Sirius, however, was regarding him intently. "You really are a lot like your parents, Harry. It's amazing, considering they didn't get the chance to raise you themselves."

"Yeah, well my parents weren't gay, were they?" Harry replied, surprised at his own bitterness. Where did that come from, he wondered.

"No, but they had friends who were," Sirius said sharply. "And they were very supportive. I'm sure they'd have no problem with their son being homosexual. Truth is, some of their closest friends were."

"Wha.. huh?" Harry frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Sirius simply watched him with one raised eyebrow.

"Oh." Harry's eyebrows went from being drawn together in puzzlement to somewhere up around his hairline in an expression of comical amazement. "Erm... you?"

"Me," Sirius confirmed. "And one other."

"Uh." Harry looked like he was working very hard to add two and two while making it come out five instead of four. "You're... gay?"

Sirius nodded.

"And one of my parents' other friends was also gay?"

Sirius nodded again.

"And you're going to make me guess?" Harry's voice sharpened to include a note of irritation.

Sirius chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. "Moony."

"Really?" Harry squeaked. In one of those moments when the brain seems to step outside of time, Harry's mind performed a quick analysis and presented him with the realisation that he had admired the man that he always thought of as his Professor, on a number of levels. Faintly disturbed, he filed the thought away for later pondering.

"Really," Sirius confirmed.

"So were you and he..."

"Harry." Sirius looked suddenly serious. "You do understand that I'm sharing some rather personal information with you here?"

"Oh, yes," Harry stammered. "And I won't mention anything to anyone, of course. I, uh, don't mean to pry, I just? it's just..."

Sirius allowed himself a small smile. "It's all right, Harry. I just wanted to make sure you understood that this information should be treated as confidential. Not because there's anything wrong with it, but because it's personal. You know?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, thinking again of Finch-Fletchley. "Yeah, I understand."

"Hmm. I see you do," Sirius replied with a lop-sided grin. "Yes. We were? how shall I say this? Involved? Moony and I. Still are, on and off."

"Oh," Harry breathed, eyes wide. "That's amazing."

"I couldn't agree more," Sirius replied, smiling ruefully. "I often wonder what he sees in me.

"So, Harry," Sirius continued, his expression turning thoughtful again. "Are you involved with someone? Or is this all strictly theoretical?"

Harry stared at his godfather, suddenly feeling trapped. "Oh. That. Well, it's not exactly theoretical."

"Anyone I know?"

"Maybe," Harry hedged, certain that Sirius would recognize the family name of Malfoy.

"Hmm." Sirius stared at the fire for several minutes. "Not Ron."

Harry made a face. "Sirius! He's like a brother to me! That's just... wrong."

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him again. "Not everyone thinks like that, Harry."

"Oh, ugh." Harry grimaced. "I don't need to hear any more."

"So, not someone in Gryffindor." Sirius stretched his legs out, putting his hands behind his head. "Or you wouldn't hesitate to mention his name." His expression turned suddenly sly. "Are you going to make me guess?"

"Augh!" Harry looked around for something to throw. Finding nothing available, he threw his hands up in the air in surrender. "Sirius? I want to tell you. I do. It's just... well, I think it's a bit surprising is all."

"You're not really out about this, are you?" Sirius' eyes darkened with some emotion. "Does anyone know?"

"No," Harry confirmed, dropping his hands into his lap and staring at them. "We haven't told anyone. You're the first person I've told about myself."

"All right, Harry," Sirius said slowly, watching his godson carefully. "I respect your decision. Just do me a favour? When you're ready to talk about it, I'd rather hear it from you than read it in the Daily Prophet."

"Oh my god." Harry massaged his forehead with one hand. "I hadn't even thought about that."

They sat in silence for several minutes as the day darkened and the fire turned to deep red coals.

Harry lifted his head and looked at his godfather, taking a deep breath. "It's Draco," he said, his voice low and steady. "Draco Malfoy." He stared at the fire, afraid to see the reaction.

A low chuckle rose to become loud raucous laughter, startling him so that he turned to look at Sirius.

"Oh, Harry." Sirius shook his head, still laughing. "You are so like your parents. Never taking the easy road, eh?" He stopped laughing and grimaced. "Can you at least tell me you're being careful? I don't mean to air dirty laundry, but he is a Malfoy."

"He's changed," Harry asserted, not too forcefully he hoped. "Really, he has. He's not like his father. In fact, they're completely at odds since Draco sort of... declared his independence."

"Really?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Lucius is such a controlling bastard, I'm surprised Draco has the backbone to stand up to him."

"He's really, really stubborn," Harry answered with complete honesty. "Maybe it comes from having been a spoiled brat for most of his life, but he doesn't want to let his father dictate his life."

"Ah, Harry," Sirius said sadly. "Our parents continue to affect us long after we've become independent adults. It's the gift that keeps on giving." He sighed. "Well if that's what young Malfoy wants, I can only wish him luck." Sirius eyed Harry speculatively. "And I suppose I should wish you luck too. It can't be easy, being involved with a Malfoy."

"It's not always," Harry agreed. "But he's worth it."

"I hope so." Sirius smiled ruefully. His expression turned serious. "You need to find a way to talk to your friends about this. It's important for you to know that you can count on them, no matter what."

Harry winced. "I've been trying to work that out. I reckon Hermione would take it fairly well, but Ron... well I just don't know."

"At least tell them about your, err, preferences," Sirius urged gently. "One shock at a time, you know? And believe me, you don't want them to find out from the Daily Prophet either."

"Hmm," Harry agreed fervently. "Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"How did you tell my dad and mum?"

"Ah, well your dad kind of... found out." Harry was surprised to see Sirius go red.

"Oh," he said. Then, "Oh!"

"And I think he told Lily. I never really knew how she found out," Sirius mused, his colour gradually returning to normal. "But she was always very kind about Moony and me. Well, after she threatened to hex off my bollocks if I hurt him in any way." He grinned ruefully. "Even Peter was all right with it. I guess because we were all best mates, you know? And that's what best mates do."

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "You're right. That's what we do."

*************************************

"So, how has your week been? I've hardly seen you," Harry said.

"All right, I guess," Draco replied. Harry thought he seemed out of sorts. He wouldn't look at Harry, and kept pulling away every time Harry tried to touch him. The piano room was dark and quiet; Draco had stopped playing the minute Harry walked through the doorway.

"What have you been up to? Still working on that scroll?" Harry's tone was deceptively casual.

Draco glanced at him and shuffled through his music. "What scroll?"

"Snape's essay? Oh come on, Draco. You don't think I didn't notice?"

Draco scowled. "I rather thought you hadn't, no."

"And? What are you working on?"

"Look, I've already said I'm not going to give you details," Draco replied crossly. He stood abruptly. "I need to go."

"Wait! Draco, what's wrong?"

Draco stared at Harry for a long moment. He hesitated before he spoke. "I saw my father on Friday."

"Oh." Harry stared up at him, concerned. Draco had gone quite pale, he thought. "Was he..."

"We had dinner." Draco sat rather suddenly. Harry considered moving closer but decided to wait. "Did you know Madam Rosmerta serves a fantastic dragonfish? I don't know what her cook uses in his sauce but it's nothing like the dill butter sauce they use at..."

"Draco," Harry interrupted. "What happened?" He did scoot closer then, and Draco didn't move. Harry dared to put an arm around Draco's shoulders, and Draco leaned into him, closing his eyes.

"He gave me an ultimatum. I'll be going home at the holidays. He insists that I take the Mark then." Draco clenched his fists.

"I see." Harry was plunged back into the memory of his dream of Lucius and Voldemort. The image shifted suddenly and it was Draco instead of Lucius who screamed as his magic was ripped away from him. He shivered suddenly and pulled away from Draco.

"But, it will be all right." Draco turned to him. "You'll see."

Harry didn't answer, clenching his teeth against the vision.

"Harry?"

"I had a dream," Harry finally managed to choke out.

"Oh?"

"About your father." Harry took a deep breath. "About his... when he went to Voldemort. His... initiation. Marking. Whatever you want to call it." His hands gripped each other in his lap, like they were looking for something to cling to.

Draco nodded, taking one of Harry's hands. "Was it very bad?"

"Horrible. It was... just awful." Harry turned to Draco. "Please. Don't go home."

"I have to," Draco replied. "I can't choose otherwise. The consequences would be... well. Let's just say it's nothing I could live with."

"It's just, I can't stand the thought of that happening to you," Harry said, deliberately relaxing his grip on Draco's hand. "Although..." He paused for a moment. "I don't really know if it was a true dream or not. It seemed very real. Very authentic."

Draco looked down at their joined hands, and shook them slightly. "Didn't you write it down in your dream journal?" he asked, eager to change the subject and relieved that Harry seemed willing to go along with it.

"Yeah, I did, but... how do I know if a dream is real or not? I've never quite worked that out."

Draco laughed then, startling Harry. "Oh Harry," he said, grinning mischievously. "You don't know how to use your dream journal?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry retorted, folding his arms across his chest and frowning.

Draco sighed. "Do you have the journal here?"

"No, it's in my room."

Draco hopped down from the bench. "Well, let's go then." When Harry looked at him puzzled and slightly cross, he added, "To see your journal. And I'll show you how to use it."

"Oh!"

Harry swirled the invisibility cloak around the two of them, and they raced down the corridor and up the stairs to Gryffindor tower. He left Draco under the cloak while he stepped out and spoke the password to gain entry through the portrait hole. Once inside, they snuck quietly into Harry's dorm room, where Draco jumped on Harry's bed and struck a seductive pose. Harry snorted quietly and grabbed the journal, climbing over Draco to sit with his back against the headboard. Draco closed the bed curtains with a swish of his wand and a muttered spell.

"Lumos," Harry said.

"Hmm," Draco hummed appreciatively. "Harry Potter's in-most thoughts. How nice." He smirked, and Harry hit him.

"Funny, Malfoy," he retorted. His expression turned serious as he opened the journal. "I've only shown this to two people, you know."

"And I appreciate my privileged position," Draco said with a smug grin. "Hand it over, Potter."

Harry did so, feeling surprisingly reluctant. He stared at the duvet while Draco flipped pages, until he came to the most recent entry. "You might not want to read that," he warned as Draco found the entry with the dream about his father.

"You... may be right," Draco said, glancing at the pages. "But I don't need to read it to do this." He touched his wand to Harry's scrawling script. "Veritas."

The script glowed briefly and then, to Harry's surprise, changed colour, from burgundy red to a metallic gold. "What was that?" he asked.

"That, my dear, is the spell to sort out the true dreams from imagination," Draco said smugly. "A true dream, then." He frowned and handed the book to Harry. "You try it. The script will change colour. It's a basic function of the book."

"Why does no one tell me anything?" Harry said crossly.

"Do you mean to tell me that Granger didn't know?" Draco looked positively gleeful. "How delightful! I mean, how fortunate for you that you mentioned it to me." He grinned. "Always happy to help out, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry said with a tight smile. "I do appreciate it. Even if it really annoys me that I'm constantly running across things that everyone knows but me." Harry touched his wand to a different page. "Veritas." The text glowed briefly and turned brown. "Not a true dream, then. Sorry Ron, I guess you're not destined to win the Quidditch world Cup after all."

Draco slid half behind Harry. "So..." he began, tracing one finger up and down Harry's arm, "now that I have you in your bed..." He grinned wickedly.

Harry turned to look at him, the book falling shut, forgotten amid the bedding. "You... I... what?"

Draco took advantage of the shifted position to kiss Harry. "You know. You. Me. Your bed. An ideal situation, n'est pas?"

"No French," Harry warned. "And no, not so ideal. My dorm room. My room mates. And frankly, Draco, I... ah... I don't think I'm ready for... um... that. Yet. You know?"

Draco pulled his hands out from under Harry's shirt. "No?" He looked truly disappointed, Harry thought.

Harry leaned in to kiss him apologetically. "I'm just not ready." He sighed. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just... this isn't the right time. Or the right place." He grimaced, nodding to the bed curtains and the room beyond.

"Hmph." Draco frowned. "I suppose that having roommates around might put a damper on one's enthusiasm." He leaned back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling. "You do want to have sex with me though, yes? No doubts?"

"Definitely," Harry agreed fervently. He caught Draco's hands and held them, partly to keep them from wandering too far down Draco's torso. "No doubts. Just want the right place and time."

"All right, Harry," Draco said with a glint in his eye. "I'll see what I can do."

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Notes: "Abbahagyás" - surrender. From the Hungarian "abbahagy" meaning to give up, to give over. I'm sure that this is not the proper conjugation for the command form, so if you know enough Hungarian to correct me, please feel free to do so.

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