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Bad Faith	By : Jad Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6104 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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XI

Falling Is Like This

until your rapture falls to pieces

find in me the room to breathe

simple things like suffering¹

: : : : :

June 24, 1999

Harry stared at the date on the calendar, a destitute ornament on the wall across from his bed. It was currently illuminated by a soft, orange rectangle of light from the setting sun outside his window. His scar throbbed dully. His eyes stung. His throat hurt; the lead weight lodged there was heavy enough to hold him down despite the growling of his empty stomach.

He could hear distant voices drifting down the hall from the sitting room; Hermione had arrived a couple of hours before, announced by a tentative knock on his bedroom door that he had studiously ignored. From the sound of it, she and Ron were arguing again. They didn't do much else these days. They could argue about pretty much anything: work, Harry, the Order, Harry, dinner, Harry, sex and Harry were just some of their favoured topics.

He really should get out of bed.

He knew Hermione would try again, and soon. She did every year. It had taken some doing, finding a spell for his door that Hermione couldn't undo. Sometimes Harry considered putting the Fidelius Charm just on his bedroom and becoming his own Secret Keeper.

He wasn't angry at her; she cared and she was worried. He got that. What he needed her to get, however, was that sometimes there wasn't anything anyone could say.

Sometimes, he just needed to be left alone.

He could depend on Ron for that, at least. It wasn't that Ron understood what was going on in his head, any more than Hermione did, but Ron did understand that, as close as they were, as much as Harry trusted and loved them both, there would always be that barrier—that line that separated Harry from everyone else, even his closest friends. That line that they could never cross, no matter how lonely the other side of it might get.

The voices down the hall started to rise, then abruptly fell quiet. There was silence, then a tell-tale creak of floorboards outside his door. The knock was so quiet, so careful, he almost missed it.

'Harry?'

Harry rolled onto his back, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Stale tears ran from the corners of his eyes and into his ears.

'Harry,' Hermione tried again, her voice soft and muffled through the door. 'You really should eat something.'

Harry sighed heavily, rolling back onto his stomach, pulled a pillow over his head and waited. Every year, every twenty-fourth of June, they went through this routine. You'd think a girl as clever as Hermione would learn.

But it was all right. Any second, now, Ron would come to his rescue.

Sure enough, the floorboards creaked again, louder this time. There was a pause in which Ron would put his arm awkwardly around Hermione's shoulders.

''Mione,' followed by another pause in which Hermione would look at Ron, and Ron would shake his head.

Harry needed his friends, but not on this day.

Never on this day.

And now they would leave. Where they went didn't matter—Harry supposed they went back to Hermione's. Or maybe they went to hang out with other friends, people who never noticed that it was always on this day, every year, that Harry Potter took a day off.

The sound of creaking floorboards died away. A distant thud signalled the front door closing. Harry lay in bed for another half an hour or so, until the pain of a full bladder forced him to his feet and down the hall to the bathroom. He showered, too, for lack of something better to do while he waited for nightfall.

When the glow from the sun had finally faded, Harry dressed quickly, collected a tall bottle from under his bed and his Invisibility Cloak from the hook inside his bedroom door, grabbed his wand from the bedside table and Disapparated directly out of his flat.

It was a humid night, the ubiquitous mist casting a fine layer of water-beads on every surface, making the edges of the headstones glitter like glass. Harry took his time, taking the long route around the graveyard, but there was still a figure there when he arrived. He waited patiently until Amos Diggory, looking greyer every year, sighed heavily before turning to leave. When Harry was sure he was gone, he pulled off the cloak, sat on it and took the bottle from his robes. The scotch looked green in the blue light of the moon.

He had never been able to keep track of time here, but it didn't matter. The grass was wet, but warm and soft. He rested his back against the yew tree that sheltered the Diggory family graves and closed his eyes.

He had no idea how long he sat there, not quite asleep, before he felt it. He opened his eyes a sliver, and peered to his left. A dark figure stepped out of the shadows and dropped down unceremoniously by his side, accompanied by an overwhelming odour of cologne and ash.

'Not a wise place to fall asleep, Potter,' Blaise Zabini said, his voice too loud in the silence. 'Anyone with half a brain would know exactly where to find you today.'

Harry opened his eyes fully, looked at Blaise, then looked down. Blaise followed his gaze and saw the tip of Harry's wand, tucked out of sight in his lap, aimed discreetly at his ribs. Blaise looked back up and smirked. 'Point,' he said, and then, 'Is that whiskey?'

Harry held the bottle up to the light, evaluating how much was left. Not enough to share. He handed it over anyway.

'You're going to become an alcoholic, you keep this up,' Blaise remarked, taking a swig.

'There's far worse things I could become,' Harry said darkly, looking away.

'Fair enough. Anyway, sorry to interrupt your séance, but I thought this might cheer you up.'

Blaise handed him a small scroll of parchment and Harry, wordlessly casting Lumos, glanced at it half-heartedly. He blinked and squinted at it, reading it again, carefully this time. He looked over at Blaise, who raised his eyebrows.

'And?' Harry prompted. 'What did you tell them?'

'Nothing, yet,' Blaise said, taking another swig of the scotch, draining it. 'I figured you'd want to know before I sent a reply, but as it's rather time-sensitive material, it couldn't wait.'

'No,' Harry agreed. He was actually thankful for the distraction. 'Are you ready for this?'

'No,' Blaise spat, tossing the empty bottle at a random headstone. It didn't shatter, but clanged sharply, once, before thudding softly onto the grass. 'Fuck, Potter. I'm not ready for what I'm doing as it is.'

Harry didn't tell him he had known what he was getting into, because he hadn't. Nobody ever did. Harry had tried to warn him, anyway, years ago—but maybe not as strongly as he should have, because Harry had needed him. Still needed him. People weren't exactly lining up to volunteer for this sort of thing.

'I need you,' Harry told him now, wishing he had thought to bring another bottle. 'I wish there was somebody else, but there isn't.'

'Don't try to guilt me into this,' Blaise said sharply, though he knew that Harry was doing no such thing. 'I shouldn't even be here. None of this has anything to do with me.'

'You already agreed to this, Zabini.'

'Fuck you,' Blaise snarled, rounding on him. 'Do you have any idea what you're asking me to do?'

'Yes,' Harry answered, truthfully. 'I have every idea.'

Blaise was silent a moment. He pulled up the left sleeve of his robe, exposing the naked forearm underneath, and stared blankly at the unmarked skin there. Dropping his sleeve abruptly, he summoned the empty bottle with a quick flick of his wand. He closed his eyes and, after a minute of concentration, placed the tip of his wand to his temple and withdrew a long, thick string of memories and deposited them in the bottle. He capped the bottle, stared at it for a moment, and then handed it wordlessly to Harry, who took it.

'If I don't come back,' Blaise said finally, his voice flat, 'see that my mother gets those.'

Harry nodded. Blaise stood up and turned to leave.

'Zabini,' Harry called, halting him. He couldn't thank him, not for this, and Blaise would probably kill him if he tried. 'Come back.' He said it like an order.

Blaise looked at him then, over his shoulder, eyes unreadable. He nodded, once, before Disapparating without a word.

: : : : :

it feels like reckless driving when we're talking

it's fun while it lasts, and it's faster than walking

but no one's going to sympathize when we crash

they'll say, you hit what you head for, you get what you ask

and we'll say we didn't know, we didn't even try

one minute there was road beneath us, and the next just sky²

: : :

'You think it, like, hurts,' Draco was saying slowly, so very slowly that Harry could not remember what had led to this inane babble, 'like, really hurts, when we eat them? I mean, everything has feelings. Even frogs. Even chocolate ones. Right?'

Harry sighed, forcing two streams of smoke out of his nostrils. He felt extremely lazy all of a sudden. 'Mm. I dunno. Even chocolate?'

'Why not? Chocolate makes me feel pretty good.'

'Lots of things make me feel good—'

'Like what?'

'Like... hell, I dunno. Flying. Sex. Smoking shrivelled figs, apparently. But it doesn't mean they can feel anything in return, though. Does it?'

'Maybe if you've been having sex with inanimate objects. Chocolate tastes good,' Draco went on, seemingly determined to prove his point even if neither of them could remember what it was. 'And if they hopthat means they're alive and if they're alive they have feelings, amiright?'

'I've only had sex with animate objects,' Harry insisted. 'Anyway, they hop because of magic, I thought. They're just chocolate—it's a spell. Like lumos, only for hopping instead of light. What's "hop" in Latin, d'you know?'

'It's tripudio. I think? But that's technically leap. I don't think there is a Latin word for "hop". D'you think magic has feelings?'

'How can you remember that? I can't even remember whyI was pissed off with you,' Harry muttered, disgruntled. 'And I dunno. Maybe. Like, do you mean, if you poke it and it hurts sort of feelings, or if you, like... I dunno, break up with it and start using some other sort of magic type of feelings?'

'You can't break up with magic,' Draco said with a lazy wave of his hand, sending smoke swirling from his joint.

'Sure you can. Cos what if you, er—' Harry fumbled to articulate his next thought, '—like, I dunno, broke your wand, or something, and then never got a new one and you moved into a Muggle neighbourhood and never used it again.'

'Even if you don't use magic, it's still there. It's always there. It's like... like... ah, I dunno. Trying to live without oxygen—you can try to hold your breath and it might work for a minute, or two even, but then, eventually, you get all red and blue in the face and such and your cheeks hurt and, and you have to breathe in. Don't argue; we both know I'm smarter than you.' He paused, considering, then added, 'And far better looking. And fantastically wealthy, of course.'

'You could suffocate,' Harry pointed out. 'And who says you're better looking than me? Just because you're blonde, but that doesn't mean anything.' He paused, deliberating. 'I do suppose you're a loaded fucking git, though. But money doesn't make you better-looking.'

'It does so. Don't pretend you're not jealous – you're so full of envy that your eyes are green. Who would want to suffocate? I like breathing magic.' He took another drag of his joint, letting the smoke trail lazily out of his mouth as he exhaled.

'My eyes are dashing. My mum's eyes, everyone says so; my mum was very pretty.'

'My mum is very pretty, too, you know.'

'Mm. But you don't have her eyes.'

'No,' Draco considered. 'I suppose I don't. Bugger.'

'You have something else. From her, I mean. Not eyes or hair or nose, that's all from Lucius and he was a bastard so I don't want to talk about him. But your eyebrows. Smile. Also hysteria.'

'Also pretty. And you're a bastard, you bastard. Leave off about my father. It's unfair to pick on the dead, they can't fight back. Eyebrows? Really?'

'All right, all right, sorry. Yes, eyebrows. Attitude, too,' Harry said, looking around. 'Hey, what happened to Bill?'

'Ah—I think we lost him,' Draco said. He sat up on his elbows and looked around, and from beside him Harry could see his eyes: thin, bright silver rings and wide pupils reflecting the starlight. 'Oh, wait, no, he's there.' Draco pointed to somewhere over Harry's far shoulder before collapsing back on the ground. 'The man has no stamina.'

'He has stamina,' Harry reasoned. 'He fights mummies for a living. You need stamina to fight mummies.'

'Mummies.' Draco shuddered. 'Can you imagine being mummified? Bloody hurt, wouldn't it, being tied to a table and having all your insides and stuff taken out, and they put 'em into little jars with weird heads on, and they wrap you up in this little cocoon thing that's all gauzy and suffocating... no room to breathe...'

'It wouldn't hurt; they do it after you're dead.'

'Unless you're naughty. I saw that Muggle film on the telly; that priest was shagging the Pharaoh's concubine, and they took him and all his little priestly man-slaves and did them alive. Alive while they couldfeel it. S'creepy.'

'You need to stop staying up all night watching scary movies.'

'It wasn't scary, it was hilarious. Except for that bit, where they tied them down and sliced them open, you could see 'em being all twitchy and screaming and then they cut out his tongue—'

Draco shuddered again, harder, and it vibrated through Harry, who hadn't realised they were lying so close. He formed a very warm, solid barrier against the chill of night. Harry leaned into it, following Draco's gaze upwards.

They lay in silence for a few moments, then, 'The sky,' Draco said. 'It looks so... so...' he made a wide, explosive motion with his hands, 'big.'

'Doesn't look that big in London,' Harry agreed.

'Maybe it grew when we weren't looking?'

'Is that even possible?'

'The Heavens work in Mysterious Ways.'

Harry gave a snort. 'A bit like women's minds, then.'

'So is that why you're single?' Draco turned his head towards Harry. 'Because women's minds are like the Heavens?'

Harry shrugged, still looking up. 'I guess. Yeah. No. Hell, I dunno,' he said, frowning again. 'It's just such a... a bother, you know?'

'No,' Draco said. 'Can't say that I do. Never bothered to bother finding out if it was a bother or not.'

'Some of it's nice. I mean, girls are pretty nice to have around. Most of the time. Until you get worried about them. Cos girls worry about everything and everyone and they do it all the time, but if you get worried about them they get all in a bother because they do enough worrying for the both of you and it's. It's just not fair.'

'Pansy was nice to have around,' Draco said, tilting his head to the side. His temple bumped Harry's shoulder lightly, and rested there. 'Well, when it was just, you know. Friends, or even the boyfriend-girlfriend stuff was all right at first. But I mean, I really wouldn't know, it was sort of like, I was snogging my sister instead of my girlfriend, so I don't think it really counts.'

Harry looked over, curious. 'Did you love her?'

Draco exhaled heavily. 'No,' he said. 'Well, I guess, sort of how you probably love your clueless duo. But not the, like, I want to stroll through flowering meadows and make sweet love to her sort. You know?'

'I think so. I dunno, caring was never a problem. It never is. It's always people being idiots or jealous or unreasonable that is. Or sex,' Harry added thoughtfully.

Draco hacked mid-drag. Sputtering and still coughing, he managed to choke out, 'Sex is a problem? For you? Are you kidding?'

Harry hesitated, reluctant to elaborate. It wasn't as if it were his partners' fault, after all. 'I didn't mean—it's like, there's the two of you and sex, and then there's just, well, sex. I mean, I guess some blokes want that, and I'm not saying I don't, but some people are so stupid about it. Like you would not believe.' He paused, considering. 'I'm not making any sense, am I?'

'None whatsoever, but I agree, it sounds like a bother,' Draco said wisely. 'Glad I never bothered. I hate that word, bother. Bother bother bother. Bugger.'

'Bother,' Harry amended, glad they were off the subject. 'But, if you never bother, don't you get lonely?'

'Sometimes.' Draco didn't seem aware that he had said that aloud until Harry turned his head to look at him again, brow furrowed. Draco grinned wickedly at him. 'Nothing a good wank couldn't cure, though.'

Harry groaned, looking away and grimacing. 'I am so sorry I asked.'

'Oh, please. You haven't been laid in how long, Mr Bothersome?'

'Hear no Evil,' Harry pleaded.

'Even blokes with women crawling out of their ears have time for the occasional wank.'

'Too much information, ' Harry chanted. 'Way too much information.'

'Stop being such a prude, Potter.'

'Oi,' Harry said, opening his eyes. 'Prude? I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, which one of us is on cuddling terms with unicorns?'

'A sexual experience does not make you All Knowing. Did you just call me "mister"?'

'I've had sex more than once!'

'Sure, go on; boast all you like about your collection of venereal diseases. But like you said, just because you've had sex doesn't make you less of an idiot about it.'

'But the fact that you haven't does make you an idiot about it, so sod off.'

'Hey,' Draco said, waggling a finger at him, 'there are lots of people who'd love to shag me.'

'Right,' Harry said, voice thick with sarcasm. 'I'm sure they form queues to get into your trousers.'

'Fuck you,' Draco said, with an arrogant sniff. 'I could go off and have sex whenever I felt like it.'

'Yeah, well, perhaps if you lowered your standards to realistic proportions you'd have something to brag about,' Harry remarked, giving him a look.

Draco glared at him. 'You know,' he said stiffly, 'I'm not really as shallow as you like to think I am.'

Harry squinted at him, and then he frowned. 'Shit,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I can be very, very shallow sometimes. Most of the time, actually. And usually on purpose.'

Harry shook his head fervently. 'No, no, no, I am,' he insisted. 'That was a real cuntish thing to say.'

'I've said worse about you.'

'Doesn't make it okay.'

'No,' Draco agreed, 'I suppose it doesn't. But you don't have to be sorry about it.'

Harry looked back up at the stars. 'But I want to be,' he said. 'I am sorry, about a lot of things.'

'You're always sorry. For everything.'

'So?'

'So,' Draco persisted, 'that's a lot to be sorry for. And that's not fair, you know, you having to be sorry all the time.'

'Somebody has to be sorry.'

'Says who?'

'If nobody is sorry, then nobody cares. If nobody cares, there's no point.'

'No point in what?'

'Anything.'

Draco gave him a long look, eyes glazed. 'You're depressing,' he said finally.

'Sorry?' Harry offered.

'Stop that,' Draco ordered. 'Anyway, you're right. I think. Thanks for that.'

'You're welcome. But only because you showed me the Magical Ways of the Shrivelled Figs.'

'Shrivelfig, you twit.'

'See, there you go with the insults again. You can't be nice for even ten seconds.'

'I'm being nice,' Draco protested. 'I showed you the Magical Ways of the Shrivelled Figs, didn't I?'

'How do you think magic would feel—if it had feelings, mind you—and you called it names? Would you call magic a twit?'

'It wasn't an insult. It was a… pet name. I sneer because I care, Potter.'

Harry snorted. 'Sure you do.'

'I do!' Draco said indignantly. 'What the fuck am I doing here, in the middle of this gods-forsaken wasteland, if I don't care about you and your bloody insane crusade? I care! I am the epitome of caring.'

'Bullshit. You're here because I made you come here. You don't care. You don't even like me.'

'Well,' Draco said, pausing, 'that's not entirely true.'

: : :

Ron had intended to go back to Africa as soon as Hermione was cleared at St Mungo's. He didn't like the idea of Harry being alone, and especially not with Draco Malfoy. It wasn't that he was worried about what Malfoy what might do—he had, in fact, been quite useful so far—but that if and when the going got rough, really rough, Malfoy would do something stupid and nearly die, and then Harry would do something even more stupid like save him and get hurt or killed in the process. Ron wanted to be there, at Harry's back. It was what best friends were for, after all.

He was just leaving his cubicle when, from behind, Robards accosted him. 'Weasley!'

Ron winced and turned around. 'What?'

Robards peered into the cubicle, then suspiciously at Ron. 'Where's Potter?'

'Off-duty,' Ron told him. 'Injured, remember?'

'He was supposed to be back on duty two days ago by my count.'

Ron shrugged. 'Complications with the curse, or something. Should be fine in another couple of days.' Robards didn't look at all convinced, so Ron continued with, 'I could Floo him, if you like. I just figured you'd want to make sure he was solid before letting him back into the field; you know how he'll push himself too far before he's made a full recovery.'

That seemed to do the trick. Robards frowned; it was something Harry had done in the past. 'All right, Weasley. Just make sure he's one-hundred percent before you let him back in here. And in the meantime,' he added before Ron could escape, shoving a file at him, 'start looking into this.'

He left Ron standing there with the file, and while Ron had every intention of tossing it onto his desk for tomorrow and going to check on Hermione, the little dark-grey tab on the label stilled him. It wasn't a colour you saw often on a file in MLE. It was the colour that marked the Department of Mysteries.

Unspeakables usually kept their problems to themselves. What they worked with was so top-secret they couldn't risk outsiders getting involved unless absolutely necessary—which, by their definition, meant nothing short of murder.

Ron flipped open the file and began to read.

: : :

I'm still here because

I've got nothing else to do

You're an asshole but

I'm getting used to you³

: : :

'Was that a come on?'

'If it was,' Draco said, the edge of his mouth forming a sharp valley in his cheek, 'would you say no?'

'No, but if it's not a come on, it wouldn't matter if I said yes, would it?'

There was a pause as Draco's eyes stared into nothing, unfocused. 'You've lost me,' he admitted finally, frowning.

'I've lost me, too,' Harry said, furrowing his brow. 'Shit. Pass me yours, will you? I'm out.'

Draco sat up a bit, exhaling, and handed Harry the remainder of his joint. 'I've turned you into an addict,' he said, amused. 'Lucky for you, black lungs are easily remedied with magic.'

'I love magic,' Harry agreed, and took a long drag. 'Feels good.'

'Better than sex?'

'Very much better than sex.' Harry paused, considering. 'Was probably just bad sex, though, so don't take my word for it.'

'I still can't believe you are complaining about sex, of all things.' Draco tilted his head back, eyes wide-open, mirroring tiny, white, pin-prick constellations. 'Guess it is a bit of a bother, though. Bother. Bother bother bother,' he said, and chuckled quietly. 'Are we out? You smoked it all, didn't you?' Draco scoffed at him. 'Selfish bastard.'

'There's plenty more over there.'

'But it isn't cut,' Draco whined. 'Or dried. And it's in the jungle. There could be lions and tigers and, oh my, cockroaches the size of Hippogriffs in there.'

'I don't think Africa has tigers. Or Hippogriff-sized cockroa— What are you doing?'

Draco had suddenly shoved his hand deep into Harry's jeans pocket, digging furiously. It tickled a little. 'Wand,' Draco said by way of explanation. 'Light. We need light. There are Things in the Dark,' he continued a bit hysterically. 'I can hear them breathing. And they're going to eat us if we don't do something. We need—yes, ha ha! Light!'

With a blinding flash, Draco had found Harry's wand and cast a hasty Lumos, washing them both in a pale, blueish glow. Only about three feet around their persons was visible in the pitch black.

'Ow,' remarked Harry slightly belatedly, blinking furiously. 'You do have your own wand, remember.'

'We're Doomed,' Draco declared dramatically, ignoring him. He waved Harry's wand for emphasis. 'Doomed, Potter. We're going to be eaten by Things in the Dark, and when Granger returns she will find our bones and write a novel about our epic adventure of tragedy. "And there they lay," she'll write, "their pitiful, gnawed remains, stripped right down to the bone by the Hippogriffian Cockroaches of the Congo, not a single scrap left for the vultures that circled on high. Alas! Here ended the Journey of Truth and Justice, in which Evil prevailed because our Heroes were too inebriated to fight back against the Mandibles of Doom that came upon them in the Night."'

'Mandibles of Doom?'

'Hey, it could happen.'

Draco extinguished Harry's wand and dropped onto his back again, his shoulder cuffing Harry, who might have cared if he weren't quite so lethargic, or something. Without anything to occupy their hands, their arms had fallen between them and their fingers were touching, sometimes entwining, though Harry only noticed when they came apart by accident.

Draco, it seemed, was too high to notice anything besides the sound of his own voice; he had not stopped talking since the first drag, and his carefree ramble had become a sort of cushion for Harry's mind, which felt like it was floating somewhere above his head, slowly beginning to sink.

'I'm knackered,' Harry announced, peeling off his glasses and tossing them aside.

'If you fall asleep, I will be forced to draw funny things on your face to save myself from succumbing to boredom,' Draco warned.

'Bother,' said Harry. His night-vision had mostly returned and—since when had they got so close?—he could see Draco was looking at him again. 'You're insufferable, you know that?'

'Insufferable in a good way, or a bad way?'

'Is there a good way?'

'Well, if there was, which would I be?'

Harry thought hard. 'You used to be the bad kind,' he said after a while. 'I think you're the good kind now, though.'

'Yeah? What changed?'

Harry turned his head to look at him. 'I dunno. Does it matter?'

Draco shrugged. 'It might. Maybe I didn't change. Maybe you changed.'

'Maybe we both changed.'

'Maybe nobody changed,' Draco suggested. 'Maybe wewere just being stupid.'

Their fingers were entwined again. 'Maybe,' Harry agreed. 'We were a bit stupid.'

Draco looked up at the sky again and shifted a little closer. Harry wasn't sure if it was intentional, and at that moment, he didn't care. He felt Draco's thumb moving, idly tracing a small line up and down his palm.

'You're still a bit stupid,' Draco said after a moment. Then he smirked. 'I mean, come on, if Harry bloody Potter can't manage a decent sex life, what hope is there for the rest of us mere mortals?'

'Piss off,' Harry said, without much conviction. 'You make it sound like I could just walk into a pub and hold auditions for shags, or something.'

'Couldn't you?' Draco asked, with surprisingly genuine incredulity. 'Fuck, if I were you, I would.'

'Would you?'

'Probably not,' Draco admitted, his smirk softening. 'I could organise something for you when we get back, though, if you like. Assuming nothing eats us between now and then.'

'If I ever get that desperate, you'll be the first to know,' Harry promised him, rolling his eyes. In the absence of anything further to smoke, he could feel the high slipping away from him, faster and faster as the night wore on. Or, at least, he was suddenly intensely aware of Draco's form beside him, hand in his own, and wasn't sure exactly how it had happened.

'We could organise it for charity,' Draco continued, oblivious. Either he was still high, or too tired to tell the difference. His thumb was still tracing Harry's lifeline, moving in time with the slow rise and fall of his chest. 'Raise gold for widows and orphans.'

'Widows and orphans?'

'I'm sure there's bound to be some around. Big bloody war, and all.'

'Donations work,' Harry pointed out.

'You're no fun, has anyone ever told you that?' Draco demanded, turning his head to look at him. 'Come on, Potter. Widows and orphans!'

'You're not whoring me out for gold,' Harry told him. 'Not even for widows and orphans.'

'No fun,' Draco repeated, muttering, looking back up at the sky. 'Not daring at all. Horrible excuse for a Gryffindor.'

'I was almost in Slytherin,' Harry remarked absently.

Draco's thumb paused, resting lightly against his palm. He was looking at Harry again, his eyes wide, displaying a fascinating combination of desaturated blue and grey Harry had never seen before. 'Come again?'

'I was almost Sorted into Slytherin,' Harry repeated. 'I mean, the Hat was trying to convince me how good I'd do in Slytherin, and I wasn't having it.'

'Why the hell would it want to put you in Slytherin?'

'Said I had talent, and a thirst to prove myself, or some bollocks,' Harry said, shrugging. 'Anyway, I told it no. Not Slytherin. So it put me into Gryffindor.'

'You told it no?' Draco was staring at Harry like he'd never seen him before. 'What—why would you tell it no?'

'I didn't want to be in Slytherin.'

'Why not? You could have—we would have been bloody Housemates, d'you realise that?'

'Well, maybe I didn't want to be Housemates with you. And Hagrid and Ron'd told me all about how every witch or wizard who went bad was in Slytherin.'

Draco scowled. 'Well Weasley would, wouldn't he?'

'What's that supposed to mean? He was right, wasn't he?'

'I'll have you know there are plenty of supporters of the Dark Lord who were not in Slytherin,' Draco said; there was a sharp, unfriendly edge to his voice, now. 'And plenty of witches and wizards who werewho did not, in fact, turn out to be crazy terrorists. Look at Slughorn, for crying out loud. He's no Snape, sure, but not many potions masters can brew a batch of flawless Felix Felicis.'

'All right, fair enough. But I was eleven,' Harry continued defensively. 'How was I supposed to know? I'd been raised by Muggles.'

'I offered to help you,' Draco pointed out. His thumb was still stationary, and Harry found himself focusing unnecessarily on it, willing it to move; Draco was rigid against him now, and it was uncomfortable. 'You told me to piss off, as I recall.'

'You weren't exactly friendly about it.'

'Neither were you.'

'Neither of us were friendly,' Harry agreed. 'But I'm trying to be friendly now.'

Draco snorted. 'Ten years too late?'

'Better late than never?'

Draco sighed heavily, the rigid wall of his shoulder sagging against Harry's. His thumb did move then, as Draco rearranged his hand, lacing their fingers together, and gave a single, firm squeeze. 'Better,' he agreed. He closed his eyes, then smirked. 'I can't believe you were almost in fucking Slytherin. That would have been brilliant.'

'I don't regret it, telling the Hat no,' Harry felt obligated to point out, turning his gaze back to the sky. When Draco stiffened against him, Harry returned the pressure on his hand and continued, 'I do regret telling you to piss off, though.'

Draco relaxed, hesitantly at first, before effectively melting against Harry. It was almost uncomfortable, but not quite. He was silent for several long minutes, and Harry had just begun to think he'd fallen asleep when he spoke again.

'Thank you,' Draco said. His voice was soft and slow; he wasn't asleep, not yet, but he was more than halfway there. 'Truce?'

'Yeah,' Harry said after a moment, leaning into the warmth again. 'Truce.'

: : :

Blaise stood by the stable doors, waiting. Watching. He could see, under the muted light of the moon, the four figures out on the racetrack. Only whispers of their voices reached his ears, and the echo of an agitated whinny, all drowned into nonsense by the incessant shuffling of horses and pegasi housed in the barn behind him.

They must know he was here, surely. Well, not right here, but present on the grounds. Rabastan had been floating around the party, after all. Blaise had watched him leave under the escort of one Carlotta Ouellet. Bellatrix and her husband hadn't shown their faces inside the Palazzo; they had been out here, waiting for Narcissa's habitual nightly visit, something Rabastan must have learned of through his father.

Well, great. Blaise knew he was a fairly capable wizard, but there wasn't much he could hope to do against that trio. Even with the help of Lupin—who was, no doubt, somewhere nearby, hiding in the grounds with his wolf-nose—there wouldn't be anything they could do, not if Bellatrix decided to take her sister then and there.

If she did, he never found out. Fire lanced up and down his left arm, the pain coming on so suddenly he heard himself gasp before he could bite back the noise. Cradling his arm against his stomach, he cast one last look at the circuit; the four figures still had not moved. If Narcissa was in any sort of immediate danger, she wasn't letting on.

He didn't have time to wait around either way. Gripping the mark through his robes and gritting his teeth, Blaise closed his eyes and turned quickly, Disapparating with a snap.

: : :

Silence. Darkness. The world was mute, monochrome, the landscape nothing but vague, oblique shades of grey. Only the Scent held colour, shining golden against the background, twisting and curling and stretching far-off and out of sight into the distance.

From the darkness, snarling shadows unfurled. Across countless cities, across two seas, across ruins, wilds, pyramids, desert and jungle, they followed it towards their freedom.

Harry awoke with a start.

The pink light of the African dawn was still stretching over the horizon like a cat, slowly bathing the camp in a dull, grey light. The air was cool, but Harry found he was rather warm. That possibly had something to do with the fact that Draco was still wedged against his side, their hands and fingers still tangled together.

Huh. Draco was usually up and about long before Harry had any hope of regaining consciousness. Was it that early, still? Harry felt like he'd slept a week. Another benefit of the Magical Way of the Shrivelled Figs, he supposed.

It occurred to Harry he had never yet seen Draco asleep. He was on his back, curled in slightly, head turned to the side, resting his forehead against Harry's shoulder. The sharp lines of his face were smoothed by the soft light, and to Harry he looked about five years younger. Only he really had grown into that absurdly pointy nose, and he would have been easily mistakable for a rather pretty girl if not for the definitive line of his jaw and cheekbones, each sharply curving, respectively, into a prominent chin and brow.

Harry felt the tightness in his jeans and resisted the urge to fidget. He didn't want to wake Draco up; not yet. But it had been a while—almost a year now, fuck—and his libido wasn't listening.

Harry closed his eyes, willing his body to calm down. He knew Draco was a looker—he'd noticed that sometime around sixth year, when he'd been spending more time than was healthy following the prick around. Four years' isolation had done nothing to diminish his looks, but Draco had never been an object of desire because everything Harry had known about him had been a turn off, always some combination of nasty, arrogant, cowardly and cruel.

But now, while Draco was definitely still arrogant and more than occasionally nasty, Harry had seen a lot more courage and a lot less cruelty.

Harry turned his gaze up to the warming sky and remembered the look on Draco's face when Harry had told him he'd almost been sorted into Slytherin, and smiled; Harry had never told anyone about that, aside from Dumbledore. Not even his friends. But then, last night he'd said a lot of things he'd never said to anyone.

Last night. Damn. Harry wasn't an idiot, and he wasn't always as oblivious as Hermione liked to believe. He knew when someone was hitting on him, and Draco had been flirting with him all night. Come to think about it, Draco had been flirting with him for a while now. And after the way Draco had acted the morning following that row, a memory Harry only had fragmented flashes of, Harry had sought out the assistance of a Pensieve. Ever since then, he realised... ever since Draco had had an idea of Harry's inclinations...

Harry realised that Draco was lonely; he had been lonely for four long years locked away in the Manor, and probably the entire year before. Harry could understand that. Harry had been lonely his entire life. He'd had Ron and Hermione through Hogwarts and onwards, but not in the way that they had each other.

But Blaise had been lonely, too, and Harry still wanted to punch him in the face every time he saw him.

Scowling, Harry rolled slowly to his right, unsure and somewhat unwilling to break the tangled connection of hands between them. He rested on his side and hesitated, leaning half-over Draco; the breeze was picking up, causing Draco's hair to flutter haphazardly around his face. Harry reached out with two fingers and slid the strands back across his cheek to tuck behind his ear.

At the touch, Draco grabbed his wrist and opened his eyes in one movement, the long line of his body tensing.

'Er,' said Harry. And then, a little more softly, 'Hey.'

Draco blinked at him. 'Hey,' he echoed warily. His eyes darted from side to side quickly before focusing back on Harry. He still had a death-grip on Harry's wrist. 'You know,' he drawled, voice still hoarse with sleep, 'it's generally considered proper etiquette to buy one dinner, first.'

Harry frowned. Draco let go of him and, released, Harry quickly sat up. Draco struggled up onto his elbows, and peered at the sky. 'Or in this case, breakfast. Bloody hell, what time do you call this?'

'Morning.' Bill's voice was like a foghorn, and Harry started, kicking up dust. 'You lot hungry?'

Ten feet away, Bill was sitting astride his horse, and over his lap was the carcass of something the size of a large dog, with two short, curved black horns and thick black stripes across its back. Harry staggered to his feet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and blinked furiously for a moment until he realised he'd misplaced his glasses.

'Hold still, you twit.' Harry blinked again, and forced himself not to shy away; Draco came sharply into focus as he slipped Harry's glasses over his eyes, fingertips not lingering any longer than necessary. 'I almost stood on them. And yes, Weasley. Starved. What is that?'

'Gazelle.' Harry saw the look on Bill's face as his gaze moved between them, and silently cursed. He would have noticed, wouldn't he, having been up before either of them. Bill was as trustworthy and dependable as anyone Harry knew, but he was still Ron's brother. Those scars, however faint, were a constant reminder of what Draco had done, inadvertently or not. No matter how friendly Bill might be acting, Harry knew it was for his benefit alone. 'Malfoy, would you mind tending to the camp? I'll need Harry's help with this.'

He caught Harry's eye, and Harry nodded. Yeah, they needed a word.

: : :

'I hope you know what you're doing.'

Harry prodded the blooming fire with unnecessary ferocity. Bill was behind him, slashing at the gazelle with a large knife, Vanishing the inedible parts with his wand as he cleaned the carcass. Draco was out of earshot on the other side of the fire, taking down the wards Bill had erected the night before, and spelling the tent none of them had bothered to use back into the bag Hermione had left with them.

'Yeah, me too.'

'You do realise how this looks?' Bill asked at his back.

Harry sighed, dropped the stick and stood up, turning around to face him. 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' he demanded. 'I figured you, of all people—I mean, with Charlie—'

'You know that's not what I meant,' Bill interrupted shortly, giving him a look.

'Then what? Because it's him?' Harry asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. 'There isn't—nothing is going on,' he said, truthfully. 'Not yet. Maybe not at all. What does it matter, anyway?'

'Harry,' Bill said patiently, skinning the meat before flinging the hide away. 'Think about it. It's one thing for you to give him sanctuary, to cooperate with him in exchange for information, but to—' Bill sighed, dropping the knife and beginning to remove the dirt from the carcass with his wand before looking back up at Harry. 'I think you're letting him get too close, is all.'

Harry frowned. 'You think he's a spy.'

'Is it really that hard to believe?' Carcass cleaned, Bill attached it to the makeshift spit he'd Transfigured and hoisted it over the fire. 'And even if he's not—well, like you said. It's him.'

'You don't even know him!'

'I know enough,' Bill said fiercely. 'And I knew his father. And I know you. Purists like the Malfoys... they don't give a shit about anyone except themselves. They only tolerate other people they can use, and once they've got what they want,

they forget about you. Or worse.'

'He's not working for Voldemort,' Harry said, and felt a tiny twinge of gratification when Bill winced. 'And if you're worried about him using me otherwise, well, frankly, that's none of your damn business.'

Bill studied the fire for a moment before turning back to look at him. 'Harry, I'm really not trying to be a pillock about this. I'm just worried about you. We all are.'

Harry sighed and sat down, staring at the flames. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I know. But you need to trust me.'

'I do. We all do. That doesn't mean we can't worry.'

'He's not a spy,' Harry went on. 'He's just scared, I think. And tired of it.' He picked the stick back up and began peeling the thin bark away. 'At least, I mean—I don't—I just think he's not who we all thought he was.'

Bill raised both eyebrows. 'Yeah? Then who is he?'

Harry looked up at him and shrugged. 'I'll let you know when I figure that out.'

'At this rate, it's going to be lunch by the time we eat.'

Harry started as Draco appeared behind them, dropping Hermione's bag on the ground beside Harry. Bill gave him a long look before setting to work spelling the fire up, engorging the flames so the meat would cook faster.

Draco sat down next to Harry as Bill made his way around the fire methodically, prodding it with his wand. 'What crawled up his trousers and died?'

If Draco had heard any of their previous conversation, he didn't let on. Harry relaxed and shrugged. 'Dunno. Maybe the way of his shrivelled figs wasn't as magical as ours.'

Draco snorted quietly and brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Faint, slightly raised lines were still visible from the wounds the lion had inflicted upon him a few days before. The pink light of the rising sun and the orange light of the flames turned his hair a bright, soft gold that made Harry squint when he looked at him.

'Yes. About that,' Draco said finally, turning to look at him. He was backlit by the sun, his expression cast in shadow. 'How much do you remember, this time?'

Harry looked back at the fire. 'All of it.'

Draco followed his gaze to the flames, the light revealing his eyes; narrow and dark, not unfriendly, but cautious. 'And?'

'And,' Harry said, placing his arms behind him and leaning back, 'I think I'll worry about it later, if we manage to survive long enough for it to matter.'

'Are you always so optimistic?'

'Hermione's the optimist,' Harry said, looking at him. 'I always just assume that whatever it is, I've probably already survived worse.'

: : :

Hermione was fidgeting. Luna had, somehow, convinced her that this was a good idea. The right thing to do. After all, one thing to be said for Ginny was that she kept a level head in a crisis. How else would she have dated Harry for so long? The poor guy was a walking catastrophe waiting to happen.

Or something.

'Luna, really, thanks for everything, but I really ought to be going... I've got work in the morning, and I've made an appointment over lunch with a maternity Healer to discuss my options, and it's already late.'

'It's six o'clock,' Luna pointed out reasonably. 'Ginevra will be home in exactly sixteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Would you like another scone?'

Hermione glared at her. 'I have things to do, and I would like to turn in early. And that's just ridiculous. How could you possibly be that precise?'

'Practice is over at five-thirty,' Luna explained. 'Ginevra always spends exactly thirty minutes in the showers, and then exactly fifteen minutes going around the back to avoid Zacharias, and the other one minute and twenty-seven seconds—'

Apparating to some unknown, pre-arranged point to check a pre-designated spot, under a stone or inside a hollow tree trunk, and then Apparating back home. Every time Blaise came to see Ginny, they set up a new point to exchange messages, or whatever it was they exchanged. It was safer that way, to change the location every time. You couldn't be too careful.

Hermione had another scone and sipped her tea, which was just turning lukewarm. She was going to tell Ron... once Harry and Draco were back safe, once Ron was done with whatever assignment had sent him running off down the hall and into a lift headed for Level Ten.

She was going to tell him. When they all had time.

Ginny came home exactly sixteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, though Hermione couldn't be too sure about the seconds because she kept getting distracted by the thunderous sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

She came into the sitting room looking exhausted, her long red hair dark, still wet from a recent shower. She collapsed on the sofa across from Hermione with closed eyes and sighed heavily. Luna placed a fresh cup of tea in her waiting hands.

'Thanks,' Ginny said, opening her eyes. She saw Hermione sitting across from her, paled, and sat up so quickly she sent tea sloshing onto the floor. 'What is it?'

'Nothing,' Hermione said quickly, offering a weak smile. Ginny visibly relaxed; unexpected visits in these times, Hermione realised belatedly, often signalled the worst. 'Sorry. I didn't plan on staying. But Luna—'

'Hermione's been having a very interesting day,' Luna said brightly, standing to leave. She offered Hermione a rather stern, unblinking stare. 'Very interesting. I'll go and start dinner while you fill each other in.'

They both watched her go, Hermione in exasperation and Ginny with a mild smirk. 'She's rather forward,' Ginny apologised. 'Says life's too short for small talk. Anyway, what's up?'

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. Ginny was giving her that same direct stare that Luna had when she'd first come over. The girl was spending way too much time with her unblinking flatmate.

'Hermione,' Ginny prodded. 'Out with it.'

Hermione told her.

Ginny just looked at her; her mouth formed a funny shape, as if unsure whether to smile or scowl. Finally she looked at the floor and let out a long, slow breath before looking back up.

'That's so funny,' Ginny said, a rueful smirk playing at her lips, 'I was just about to tell you the same thing.'

: : :

Draco felt the edge of the reserve long before they saw it.

Not that there was any distinguishable boundary. It was just more jungle inside of more jungle lost in a world of jungles, but Draco could feel it coming. Any wizard worth his salt could have felt that a mile away.

Bill seemed to have noticed it, too. He glanced at Harry, who dismounted swiftly at his look, pulling out his wand; Bill followed suit, patting his restless horse briskly on the neck. Draco snorted softly and pawed the ground with his front hooves, then they crept forward, Draco in the lead, head down and ears back, nostrils flaring. Bill had been right—the magic here was so thick it was suffocating; it was like trying to walk through pudding. Hot, oily, sizzling pudding.

Draco paused at the threshold, tail swishing nervously. It was likely that the magical field was simply caused by the decades-old wards put in place to protect the reserve—to keep the magical animals in, and to keep Muggles out—but walking headlong into it probably wasn't a good idea.

Harry kept walking purposefully ahead, and Draco almost didn't catch him in time.

'What the hell!'

Draco winced, and then realised he had in fact tackled Harry while he was a horse, and would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation if the jungle before them hadn't been causing his horse-brain to reel and urge him to bolt.

Changing back quickly, he pushed away from Harry. 'Can't you feel that, Potter?'

'Feel what?'

Draco stared at him, then cursed at his own stupidity. Of course he couldn't feel it. Half-blood.

'Never mind,' Draco said, and turned to Bill. 'This is your department, Weasley.'

'I don't know about that,' Bill said uneasily. 'This entire thing is a department all in itself. I'll see what I can do.'

'What—' Harry started.

'Shut up, Potter,' Draco responded automatically. At Harry's mutinous expression, he indicated Bill with a nod. 'He needs to concentrate.'

Bill had his wand out, and began drawing complicated symbols in mid-air with it. They would glow briefly blue in the light before disappearing, so quickly that it took Draco a moment to recognise the specific runes.

After a few minutes, when the last of the runes had faded, Bill glanced at the two of them. 'It seems safe enough to go in,' he said. 'But we should take our time, and check at regular intervals. You know how to do the Aperies charm?'

They both nodded. Bill, satisfied, nodded in return. 'Ministry procedure is to check at least every fifty feet, but with the three of us, let's make it every three metres.' They nodded again, and Harry made to move forward, but Bill halted him with a firm hand on his arm. 'I mean it, Harry. If the charm detects anything—anything at all, no matter how small—you let me know. We've lost Cursebreakers three decades your senior because they overlooked a tiny detail.'

Harry shrugged his arm free. 'Yeah, all right. I'm not an idiot.'

'That remains to be seen,' Draco muttered softly, moving past them.

'I heard that.'

They progressed on foot, it being both safer and easier to check for anything nasty along the way. Bill had removed the tack from his horse and left the animal loose at the border; inside, the magic would make it too nervous to be of any use. Draco understood as soon as they

were over the threshold; the magic emanating from the jungle around them made it feel, if possible, even hotter. The sun overhead was completely obscured by the tall canopy. The undergrowth was fortunately sparse aside from protruding roots and a thick layer of moss, moist from the humidity.

They made good progress, as far as Draco could tell, despite the frequent pauses in which to cast the Aperies charm to check for any unfriendly wards or spells in their way. Aside from the very potent Muggle-repelling charms and the boundary wards, the only magic they had come across was that occurring purely as an effect of the life-force of so many magical animals in an enclosed space.

A sudden trill of activity broke the eerie silence of the jungle. Draco flattened himself against a nearby tree and Harry hit the ground, crouching on all fours. The noise overhead was deafening, a hurricane of yelps and hoots and whistles, and it took Draco a moment to realise Bill was still standing in the open, laughing at them.

'Just clabberts,' Bill shouted over the noise, grinning.

Wincing at the racket, Harry struggled to his feet. Draco carefully disentangled himself from the tree, brushing himself off. Looking up, he could just make out a blur of green and rustling leaves—one of the creatures paused to ogle down at them, and saw the mottled green skin of the monkey-like animal, a dull white pustule on the top of its head.

'Clabberts,' Harry repeated, once the pack of monkeys had moved on, taking the noise with them. 'Brilliant. Anything else you want to tell us about before they give us a heart attack?'

'Are you kidding?' Bill said, still grinning like an idiot. 'There's literally dozens of magical species in this country alone, let alone this continent. Don't worry, though,' he said at the look of alarm on Harry's face, 'most of them are relatively harmless. And there's not likely to be many non-magical animals in here, aside from insects; the magic makes them nervous.'

'They're not the only ones,' Draco muttered, mostly to himself. Harry and Bill, apparently not hearing him, pressed on; glancing up swiftly at the dappled canopy in prayer, Draco followed them.

: : :

From what Harry understood of Bill's scanning spells, the reserve didn't seem very big. They could easily track across it in as little as a couple of hours. Harry was willing to bet that if Voldemort had hidden something here, it would be right at the centre. Using the Four-Point spell, they headed deeper inward.

Along the way, Harry saw more magical creatures than he had over five years' worth of classes at Hogwarts; a small posse of Nifflers, dashing through the undergrowth, pausing to nibble at the buckle on Bill's boots; off in the distance by a watering hole they spied an Erumpent, one of the massive, rhinoceros-like creatures that boasted an enormous, explosive horn; the canopy above them occasionally sported an assortment of Fwoopers, neon-coloured, parrot-like birds that sang beautiful songs that, if you listened long enough, would drive you mad; a flock of Diricawls, which surprised Harry, who, having grown up as a Muggle, had thought the dodo was a non-magical creature and extinct. Bill explained that, actually, Diricawls were most definitely magical and could vanish in a puff of feathers at will and reappear elsewhere.

The most impressive creature they saw, however, stopped Harry in his tracks.

'Oh, wow,' said Draco, following his gaze up.

Perched regally in a high tree in front of them was the largest phoenix Harry had ever seen. It looked down on them curiously with fiery, orange eyes, cocking its head, its long, golden crest sweeping down its back.

'It's bigger than Fawkes,' Harry felt compelled to point out. And it was, almost twice his size.

'That's because it's a female,' Bill said. He was lowering his pack to the ground slowly and disentangling a small, portable camera from inside. Harry looked at him quizzically and Bill whispered, 'Try not to startle her—do you have any idea how rare female phoenixes are?'

He managed to get a couple of shots before the phoenix, growing bored, spread her wings and drifted away, a flaming kite amongst the bright green trees.

'We need to be careful,' Bill said as he put the camera away and they headed on. 'Magical jungles are very similar to non-magical ones; the most dangerous stuff tends to come out at night.'

Harry didn't think anything could possibly be more dangerous than anything else he'd seen in his life so far. 'Like what?'

'In this area, there's tons,' Bill admitted. 'But there's the top three: Tebos, Lethifolds, and Nundu.'

'Nundu?' Harry knew he'd heard the term before.

'Giant leopards.' It was Draco, this time, who explained. 'They spread pestilence. Their breath is toxic—and like normal leopards, they're nocturnal.'

'How giant are we talking?'

'Nothing's confirmed,' Bill said. 'Generally speaking, at least five times the size of a normal leopard's what I've heard, but the only Nundu ever to be subdued was about the size of the Great Hall.' Harry blinked at him. 'Took over a hundred qualified wizards, too.'

'Well, at least we'll see it coming,' Harry said faintly.

'Dunno about that, either,' Bill said. 'They're stealthy bastards, despite their size. I've only seen one once since I started this job, and it infected an entire village with a deadly plague just by passing by while the wind was blowing. Killed over thirty Muggles. And that was a young one.'

'Killed them all?' Harry asked, horrified. 'Wasn't there anything you could have—'

'Antidotes require part of the poison,' Bill reminded him. 'Without hunting down a Nundu... we'd have lost more wizards than Muggles if we'd tried.'

The light filtering down through the trees had been growing steadily dimmer, the thick canopy making it even darker and casting deep, menacing shadows throughout the jungle around them. Bill had warned them against using artificial light unless absolutely necessary, lest they attract unwanted attention, but soon they would have no choice.

Harry felt like he was being flanked. Draco was keeping pace just behind him to his right, and Bill respectively on his left. It was unnerving, because Harry knew Draco was paying more attention to him than to the jungle around them, and he knew Bill was paying more attention to Draco likewise, in case he was Up To Something. This made it very difficult for Harry to concentrate on the jungle, which he knew he had to do, otherwise they might be murdered by invisible warthogs or gigantic leopards.

Harry promptly forgot about all of this when he next looked up, and he didn't even realise he'd stopped until Draco walked into him.

'Ow, damn it all,' Draco said, then followed his gaze and shut up.

It was the biggest tree Harry had ever seen. Standing so close to its base, he felt like he was standing in the shadow of a large building. The tree's trunk had to be at least the width of a large house, and about five storeys tall, with branches unlike any Harry had seen before.

'That's a big one,' Bill said, stopping beside them.

'What the hell is it?' Draco asked in an awestruck voice.

Bill pulled a face; he'd been less friendly towards Draco since that morning, and had avoided talking to him directly on their entire journey through the reserve. When Harry gave him a look, though, he sighed and said, 'Baobab tree—tree of life, Muggles call them, or the upside-down tree. Oldest non-magical living things in the world.'

'That's incredible,' Harry said.

'It's bloody massive.' Draco, still staring up at the tree in undisguised wonder, had started making his way around to the far side, eyes travelling over the building-sized trunk.

'It's a bit weird, though,' Bill continued after a few moments. 'They usually grow in clumps, not on their own like this.'

'You know what else is a bit weird,' Harry said, staring at his wand where it lay flat on his palm. When Bill looked at him, he showed it to him. 'We're dead centre.'

'Weasley!' Draco's voice called from the other side of the tree; with a look at one another, they made their way to him, finding him standing stationary, eyes still cast upward.

'What is it?'

Draco, eyes unmoving, pointed. Harry and Bill followed his gaze.

It was a moment before Bill said, 'Well, fuck.'

: : :

In the now near-complete darkness of the forest, the blue light of their Lumoses was blinding. The long claw marks gouged in the trunk of the tree were further elongated by the shadows they created; the entrance to the hollow trunk looked like a massive, black wound.

Harry went in first, with Bill at his heels. Draco didn't actually start climbing up towards the hollow until they'd both clambered inside. The entrance wasn't high off the ground—maybe ten feet—and the bark was rough and splintery around the edges, as if it had been used as an abnormally large scratching post.

The hollow inside looked bigger than Harry's flat and dipped downward, easily dropping back to ground level; probably deeper, judging by the moist feel of the earth. It smelled, oddly enough, like a barn. It was warm and mostly dry, the ground deeply layered in a collection of soft, dry leaves and bark.

There were also the skeletal remains of what looked like large herd animals, bones scraped clean, the larger ones broken open and sucked clean of marrow.

'Merlin's pants, it's a nest,' Bill breathed, looking caught between terror and fascination.

'A nest,' Draco repeated, deadpan. 'Well, this is a lovely holiday

you've taken me on, Potter, but I'm knackered and in dire need of a bath, so whenever you're ready to go—'

'Shh,' Harry admonished. 'Bill, it's got to be here. It's got to be. This is perfect.'

'Perfect?' Draco echoed from somewhere in the darkness behind them. 'If by "perfect" you mean "death trap" then, yes, you'd have a point.'

'Death trap is right,' Bill agreed, his expression suddenly serious. 'We can't linger here. When this thing comes back—'

'Death trap is sort of his style, if you've forgotten,' Harry reminded them bitterly. 'Bill, please, at least take a look.'

Bill held his gaze for a moment, and then sighed the sigh of the defeated. 'All right, all right. Just—be ready to get the hell out of here in a hurry.'

He began drawing complicated signs in the air with his wand, the runes blazing blue before disappearing. Harry crouched down and began to dig in Hermione's bag, looking for anything they might need. He decided not to take the cloak—he couldn't see why he'd need it, and the risk of losing it here was too great. After rooting through a small library's worth of books his fingers closed on the hilt of something cold and firm; pulling his hand out, he extracted a short, slightly curved sword that he'd never seen before.

'Give it here,' Draco said from somewhere over his shoulder. Harry turned and looked questioningly up at him, into the light of his wand. 'It's Zabini's. He gave it to me at the Palazzo. Well, lent it to me. And sort of forgot to take it back.'

'Do you even know how to use it?' Harry asked dubiously.

Draco gave him a look. 'Of course I know how to use it, you complete tit,' he said as Harry handed it over. 'The pointy end goes in the thing you want to kill.'

Harry rolled his eyes and set back to searching the bag. 'The sarcasm is literally pouring off you in waves.'

'Hope you know how to swim, then.' Draco peered over his shoulder as he rummaged. 'Good lord, she's packed everything, hasn't she? Oh, take those,' he said, pointing. His arm, resting over Harry's shoulder, followed the line of Harry's own, lying there warm and casual. It made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck bristle. 'No, those, the bottles.'

'What are they?' Harry asked, pulling the tiny phials out and inspecting them; each was corked and labelled in minute handwriting.

'Pre-made potions,' Draco explained, speaking slowly as if Harry were thick. 'Twit,' he added, not unkindly. 'Blood-replenishing, Polyjuice, Dittany salve, ready-made antidote serum...'

'Thinks of everything, she does,' Harry said, impressed, as Draco pocketed the potions and stepped away. Another brief search produced nothing else of use, so he closed the bag and stood up. 'I swear, I would have died years ago if not for her.'

'And the truth comes out,' Draco drawled, leaning back against the inside of the trunk. 'Maybe she's really the Chosen One, and you're just the sorry sidekick—'

As he spoke, Bill finished casting his spell; the roots beneath Draco's feet opened, a hole appearing and sucking him into the darkness below.

'Malfoy!'

Bill, looking horrified, appeared at Harry's side, peering over the edge of the small tunnel that had appeared. It looked a lot like the passage beneath the Whomping Willow. Distantly, they heard small shuffling sounds, quickly followed by an indignant, 'Ow. Fuck. I hate you, Harry Potter.'

Bill looked at Harry and raised his eyebrows. Harry grinned and called out, 'All right there, Malfoy?'

'Fuck you,' came the reply.

'Was that a yes or a no?' Bill asked, trying to hide a smile.

'Sounds fine to me,' Harry said, giving into a grin. He stood up and pocketed his wand, and then said, 'Bill, look, I think you should stay here.'

'What?' Bill looked aghast. 'Harry—'

'If that thing comes home we're going to need a head's up to get out of here in one piece,' Harry interrupted. 'You can set up wards outside, and let us know if—'

Bill seized him by the arm and pulled him aside, away from the mouth of the tunnel and out of Draco's earshot.

'Listen, Harry,' he hissed, keeping his voice low, 'I know you don't think Malfoy's playing you, but if he is—no, dammit, hear me out—if he is—well, honestly, this is where I'd double-cross you, if I were him. Once you get whatever the hell it is you've come here for, well—no, just, look. I know you can take care of yourself, Harry. But there is such a thing as being too trustworthy. I just want you to be careful.'

'Of course I'll be careful,' Harry hissed back, agitated, glancing at the tunnel entrance. 'I'll worry about Malfoy,' he said, turning back to Bill, 'you just worry about that damn cat coming back.'

: : :

The tunnel was steep, but short. Harry half-tumbled out of it onto a rough stone floor. A moment later something gripped his shoulder and he nearly turned to punch it, until his brain caught up with his reflexes and reminded him that monsters generally didn't help you to your feet before biting your head off.

'Thanks,' he muttered, dusting himself off, and looked around.

The chamber was huge, or at least gave that impression. It was hard to tell, as it was quite dark and the room was full of what appeared to be hundreds of fat, stone pillars that rose from the floor to the low ceiling. They all had an artless look to them, as if they had been erected hastily with spellwork and the architect had been in too much of a rush to finish, leaving the floor and pillars unpolished and rough. The only clue that the space was man-made at all was the sheer number of them and the fact that they were all perfectly spaced, about ten feet apart, in every direction. It looked like a dark, ancient forest—even the air smelled old, musty and cool, making the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up uncomfortably.

He glanced at Draco, who took one quick look around and said, 'Well, this doesn't look foreboding at all.'

Harry smiled despite himself. 'It looks a lot like the Chamber of Secrets, actually.'

'Oh, well, that's charming,' Draco said, giving him a look of mock relief. 'After you, Hero.'

'Don't call me that,' Harry told him, without much conviction. He took a deep breath, doubled the grip on his wand, and started forward. 'Lumos.'

The spell hardly helped, only casting a small diameter of blue light around them. Whatever stone the cavern was carved from, it reflected the feeble light in a million tiny, fragmented pin-pricks of greenish-blue. It reminded Harry of underwater light, calling to mind being in the lake at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament . The ground was damp, their feet leaving depressions in the thick layer of wet dust. Well, at least their footsteps were silent. Harry cast the Four-Point spell to make sure they knew where they were heading, and a few revealing charms, looking for booby traps. Finding none, he picked up his pace.

Draco was following behind him, wand also drawn, constantly darting glances about himself. Harry wondered if maybe he should have left him with Bill. Not because he was worried Draco might stab him in the back and make a run for it, but he might get in the way. But Draco had proved he could be useful over the past several days, hadn't he?

Well, he'd at least given them enough reasons to believe he was trustworthy. To an extent, anyway. Hell, it had been Ron who suggested giving him back his wand. But that was because Draco had just saved his backside—and Hermione's. Twice, now. It was certainly lucky Draco had paid attention in Herbology… Harry had never really noticed how Draco did in classes, aside from when he was tormenting Harry or his friends. Maybe that was why he and Hermione were getting on so well. Forced to spend time in her company, he'd found they had something in common.

Unless, of course, it was all just an act.

Harry pushed away the thought. No, if Draco wanted to hurt them, to betray them, he would have done it by now. Hell, he could have let Hermione die twice now and played it off as an accident. He could have left Ron alone with that lion, run away as a horse, and looked innocent. Cowardly, but innocent.

Unless Draco had something more important he needed from them, from Harry, and all of that—the uncharacteristic friendliness, the gratitude, the selfless acts, even the flirting—had all been just to get his wand back, and to get Harry to let his guard down.

No, stop being paranoid, Harry thought forcibly. He glanced back at Draco, who looked nervous but determined, and raised an eyebrow when he saw Harry looking. Harry looked forward again, shaking his head. No, Harry thought, nobody could be that good an actor.

Well, except for Snape.

Snape. Harry gritted his teeth. He'd never thought there would be anyone he wanted to kill more than Voldemort, but he had been wrong. He didn't just want to kill Snape, he wanted to hurt him. He wanted to make that bastard suffer.

Wasn't it weird, though, that Snape hadn't killed Draco when he pulled out of Voldemort's service? He'd even helped him escape—told him where to go, and who to go to for help. And he had been right about every step. Harry had helped Draco, and Draco was now in Harry's inner circle, about to help Harry recover one of Voldemort's most valuable possessions.

Could they have modified that memory Draco had shown to Harry and Lupin? The memory Dumbledore had got from Slughorn had been obviously tampered with, so Harry hadn't thought about it before, but Snape was the most talented Legilimens currently known. More talented than Voldemort, even. And if Snape had helped Draco…

It makes sense, a little voice in the back of his mind told him. Snape helped Malfoy modify the memory he showed you. This whole time, saving your friends, feeding you information, revealing a Horcrux… you trust him now, don't you? You don't even realise it, but you do. And when the time comes, when you realise you shouldn't, well, then it will be too late.

Harry's brow furrowed and he rubbed at his forehead, his head suddenly feeling hot and clouded despite the coolness of the cave.

Really, think about it, the voice continued. A little convenient, isn't it, that Malfoy and Ron got separated when you weren't looking, and then he selflessly saved Ron from a lion. That he then runs the lion right to Hermione, then turns around and saves her, too? And not a day later, happens to know the properties of a supposedly extinct species of poisonous flora, and manages to save her again? Yeah, that sounds like Malfoy. Not only save her, but convince her to go home—with your best friend, no less—leaving you both alone.

But Bill, thought Harry desperately. I've got Bill—

Bill, well, Bill's just a complication, a complication that's already been solved, since Bill isn't here now. Bill knows what Malfoy's up to, but you wouldn't listen to him, either. And as soon as you get to the Horcrux, Malfoy will have exactly what he needs to get himself back into the good graces of Voldemort—if this isn't already Voldemort's plan. Voldemort does have a history of making elaborate schemes to catch you, doesn't he? He might even already be here, waiting for you, behind the next pillar you pass, for all you know…

No, Harry thought wildly, no, if Voldemort was here, I'd know it, I'd feel him, my scar—

Voldemort knows about the connection, the voice reminded him. He could mask his presence, you know he could. Do you really think Malfoy would have come this far, put this much at stake, risked his own life, for you? Your cause?

Harry became aware that Draco had stopped walking. He turned around, and saw that Draco had stopped about ten feet prior, wincing, rubbing at his head. 'What is it?'

'I—I don't know,' Draco said, massaging his temples. He was staring, unfocused, at the floor. 'Something's... something feels off. I don't—I can't put my finger on it.'

Here it comes, the voice in Harry's head warned, any minute now, you turn your back, and it'll be the last thing you ever do…

Harry's forehead erupted suddenly in a blinding flash of pain, and he staggered, clutching his head in one hand, his wand in the other. Draco, startled by the cry of pain, looked up—right into the point of Harry's wand.

'Potter,' Draco said uncertainly, raising both hands defensively, wand still clutched in his left, 'what—'

'Shut up,' Harry hissed, blinking away the spots in his vision, wand still pointed at Draco's chest. 'You can quit the act, Malfoy.'

: : :

Replies to reviews found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/38854-replies-discussion-for-the-faith-series-bad-faith-and-ongoing/

Notes:

If anyone's confused about the flashback, the 24th of June is the day Voldemort killed Cedric in the graveyard.

Credits:

¹Hurt - "Rapture", ² Ani DiFranco - "Falling is Like This", ³ DiFranco again, "Used to You"
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Bad Faith