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Honour Bound	By : Draeconin Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 42041 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter 1
- 2-Ch. 2
- 3-Ch. 3
- 4-Ch. 4
- 5-Ch. 5
- 6-Ch. 6
- 7-Ch. 7
- 8-Ch. 8
- 9-Ch. 9
- 10-Ch. 10
- 11-Ch. 11
- 12-Ch. 12
- 13-Ch. 13
- 14-Ch. 14
- 15-Ch. 15
- 16-Ch. 16
- 17-Ch. 17
- 18-Ch. 18
- 19-Ch. 19
- 20-Ch. 20
- 12
- 13
- 14
Honour Bound
by Draeconin

See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.

Chapter Thirteen

Snape pulled himself together. "And now on to other matters: I have performed quite a few tests and spells, and..."
"...it seems that you were not misinformed, after all. Insofar as I can determine, and as much as it pains me to say so, you are indeed the son of Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor."
Harry sighed. He had held out a last, miniscule hope that it might not be so. That hope was now extinguished.
"And relatives in this time?" Harry asked, bracing himself.
"James Potter, as you were already aware...and the Malfoys."
Harry stared at the man in horror, his body rigid.
"Harry, you're hurting my hand," Draco complained, quietly. When Harry didn't respond right away, he said it louder. "Harry - my hand!"
Harry turned to his fiance. "Draco...we're related!" he said, with fear in his eyes.
"I heard. But there are over a thousand years between us, so it can't be close," Draco replied in an exasperated tone. "Now will you please stop crushing my hand?" he exclaimed irritatedly.
Harry turned back to the potions master without replying, but he did loosen his grip. "How close?" he asked.
Professor Snape sneered at him. "Mister Potter, if you would kindly use the matter that supposedly resides within your skull?"
Harry finally realised that he had been panicking, and fought it back, then considered the question as logically as he could. A thousand years, twenty years to a generation...fifty generations? His cheeks burned as he realised that the Malfoys were probably as distant relatives to him as the Potters had been - little enough to almost dismiss it altogether. "Almost nonexistent, I'd think," he admitted sheepishly.
"Actually, second cousins, several times removed," the potions master corrected. "The relationship is closer than yours was to James Potter due to more intermarriage between the Malfoys and the other aristocracy than the Potters participated in, but it is still quite distant."
"So I should actually have been raised with you, by your mother and father," Harry said to the blond.
Draco shuddered. "Knowing how that turned out, I wouldn't wish it on - on Weasley!"
"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, "Ron's not that bad."
Draco smirked. "Isn't that what I just said?" he asked, glad of the chance for a diversion. Actually, with Harry being raised with him, having a companion, his childhood might have been a lot happier. But then Voldemort would never have been weakened, his father's character might have deteriorated far sooner than it had, and... So many things might have been different - and worse. It didn't bear thinking about. As bad as things now were in the wizarding world, at least now there was hope.
"If you're quite through wasting my time?" the professor drawled, before Harry could retort.
Harry glowered briefly at the man before remembering that, despite his attitude, the professor had done him a service. True, it had been for his own edification as well, but... "Thank you for the information, Professor," he said. "I'll likely need to be able to produce documentation of the results of your tests." To have spoken the question of whether such documentation had been made would have been an affront to the potions master, but it was implicit in the statement.
Snape rose to his feet, then gracefully gave a slight, stiff bow. "It will be available when you have need of it, Your Majesty," he said. The time was coming, he knew, when he'd kneel to this young man and pledge his allegiance, but that time was not yet now.
The mode of address startled Harry, but he quickly regained his aplomb. "Thank you, Professor," he said again.
Snape inclined his head in recognition of the gratitude offered, then dropped the loyal subject rôle, and once again donned the persona of the gritty potions professor. "And now," he growled, "I have papers to mark."
Harry and Draco heard the dismissal, again professed their gratitude, and departed.
As they were walking to their next class, although it was a bit early for it yet, Harry was pondering a question engendered by Snape's referring to him by his as-yet-unacknowledged title. "Draco..."
"Yes?"
"If I do wind up on the throne, what would your title be? I don't think I could keep a straight face if I had to listen to people calling you 'Queen Draco'." He had said that last with a sense of pure mischief.
Draco came to a dead stop, face blazing. "Potter?"
"Yes, Draco?" Harry asked, as innocently as he could.
"Run," Draco advised.
It was a good thing that Harry had the reflexes of a Seeker, or Draco might have caught him flatfooted. As it was, the blond was only feet behind him all the way to Transfigurations. By the time they got there, both young men were out of breath; Harry more so, because he'd been laughing the whole way, as well. But Draco was laughing, too, by the time they stopped outside the classroom.
Draco grabbed his dark-haired soul mate, and pretended to maul him. Harry squealed with laughter as he allowed his love free reign, only pretending to try to defend himself.
"Ahem!"
Both young men froze, and turned to face the source of that voice. They knew they were probably in trouble, but laughter and mischief still sat just below the surface. Still, they straightened themselves up, and presented a proper Slytherin face. "Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall," Draco said, greeting the Transfigurations professor.
"I'm sorry; did we disturb a class?" Harry asked 'innocently'.
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Potter, you did; for which five points shall be deducted for each of you from Slytherin. Now, I suggest you find another venue for your raucous activities." With that she turned, re-entered the classroom, and closed the door firmly in their faces.
Harry looked at Draco, then grinned. "You know, we do need to go back to our rooms before class; we forgot our books and supplies!"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Only you, Harry, would go to class without everything needed," he drawled, teasingly.
"Here, now! I don't see anything in your hands, either!" Harry remonstrated, with a grin.
"And whose fault might that be?" Draco inquired aloofly.
Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. He started off in the direction of their rooms. "Well, come on, then, Queenie," he said, "let's retrieve our wayward books."
Draco gave him an open palm to the back of Harry's head, though not too roughly. "'Queenie'? Amusing, Potter. Actually, I think it would be 'Prince', or maybe 'Prince-Consort'."
Harry grinned at having again successfully teased his companion, while he briefly rubbed the spot that had been hit - just to let Draco know that he appreciated the blond's effort. "That makes sense," he admitted.
Since Monday next was the ball, Professor Dumbledore had decreed that fifth, sixth, and seventh years would be free on both Saturday and Sunday to go to Hogsmeade to prepare for it. Fourth years would have to make do with the Saturday only, and would leave the ball at ten. The ball would end at midnight. First, second, and third years would have parties in their common rooms. Harry rather thought he'd be able to get permission for both he and Draco to go every evening during the week as well, if he asked for the privilege, but decided not to test it. They already had many students envious of them for having a private suite of rooms. They were reacting only to rumour, but people had a bad habit of taking rumour as fact. In this case it was true that they had a private suite, but very few knew that as a fact. Still, it wouldn't do to incite further ill feeling by pushing for special privileges.
Wednesday, Draco presented a design to Harry. He'd looked up the crests of the House Slytherin and the House Gryffindor (which were different from the Hogwarts House crests of the same name), and had created a combined crest to represent Harry's parentage. With some discussion and a couple of minor revisions, they came to an agreement. This would be the design they'd take to the jewellers.
Finally, it was Saturday. Since it was going to take time to make, their first stop was the jewellers. The owner was quite startled to see what the design consisted of, and demanded proof before he would lay his reputation on the line by incorporating them into anything. After a short talk by floo with Professor Snape, in which the proof was presented (although not until the man had agreed to, and been subjected to a minor binding so he couldn't reveal the information), the jeweller finally consented. An old man himself, he had been taught the designs as an apprentice by his grandfather, but only as an exercise. He had never thought to be commissioned to use them himself, especially after Grindelwald had murdered the royal family. After some discussion, a price was agreed upon. And a hefty price it was, too: one thousand, eight hundred, thirty-seven galleons. But the magic that would be used to make the items, as well as that to be incorporated into them, was intricate, and the results would be worth it.
The last stop would be the clothiers, Gladrags, where they'd pick up the costumes they'd ordered by owl early in the week. (Draco also meant to order outerwear for the both of them with the new logo embroidered on the breast.) Other than that, there was no pressing business to attend to, so Harry and Draco wandered around town, stopping in at the magical item repair shop, Dervish and Banges, where they kept a few models of the newer broom designs on hand as well as broom maintenance supplies. They admired the sleek designs, and picked up a maintenance kit to share between them. It would do, since they weren't doing much flying right now.
A pet and familiar's store caught Harry's eye, and he bought a bag of deluxe owl treats. He'd been neglecting Hedwig terribly, and he wanted to try to make it up to her. Next was Honeyduke's, where Harry indulged his penchant for sweets, and finally impressed it upon Draco that he, too, was allowed to indulge. It was a good thing they both knew the shrinking spell.
Although sweets were tasty, they were nothing with which to fill an empty stomach, and since it was getting on towards noon, they headed for The Three Broomsticks for luncheon.
"Oi! Harry!" they were greeted, as they entered.
Looking about, Harry spotted the shouter. A wide grin threatened to split his face. "Seamus!" he yelled back, waving.
Draco held him back when he would have rushed over to the table at which the Irishman was sitting. "Etiquette, Harry!" he remonstrated. "You do not yell and make a spectacle of yourself in public places!"
Harry grimaced, but nodded, and composed himself. Then he took Draco's hand, and dragged him over to Seamus' table. "I am not going to put my nose in the air to my friends," he informed the blond quietly.
"I didn't ask you to," Draco replied, gritting his teeth, "but you needn't act like a street merchant, either!"
"Noted," Harry said absently. If they hadn't been in public, he would have given Draco a quick hug and kiss in apology. And then they were at the Irishman's table.
"Have room for two more, Seamus?" Harry asked. Since only Dean Thomas was sitting with the curly-haired young Irishman, there was plenty of room.
"There, and I'm not s'sure, me friend," Seamus replied teasingly, "that it would do me reputation good to be seen in public acting friendly wi' Slytherins!" He then gave a somewhat doubtfully amused Harry a broad wink, proving that he'd been drinking far more than was good for him. His strong accent was another giveaway, since it was much more mild when he was sober. "But there, I'm bein' rude, and I've no reputation to speak of, anyway! Sit!"
"Oh, you have a reputation, Seamus," Dean reassured him. "All bad."
Seamus shot his friend a hurt look.
Seamus leant towards Harry, but he was looking rather more at Dean. "That's me mate that said that," he said sadly, but rather more loudly than necessary. "Some friend." He sat back rather more heavily than he'd intended, and thumped the back of his head on the high wooden seat back. He then sat there, rubbing the spot with a rueful expression on his face. Harry and Dean laughed at the Irishman's antics, and Draco unbent enough to smirk amusedly.
"We'll just order our lunch and be right back," Harry told them. "Save the seats for us?"
Seamus looked at him, offended. "What kind o' friend d'ye take me for, Harry? O' course the seats're saved fer yeh - you," he said, indicating that Draco was included.
Harry laughed at his friend, shaking his head in bemusement. Draco walked away towards the bar, leaving Harry to follow behind. After they had ordered their meals, with only a small glass of red wine to drink (to help with digestion), they returned to the booth. Harry ushered Draco onto the bench seat, then sat beside him. Draco, looking at Seamus, was rather torn between amusement with Seamus' clowning, and disgust that someone would get drunk so early in the day.
"Well, we know what you've been doing all morning," Harry remarked to the Irishman.
Then Harry turned to Dean. "Why'd you let him get so drunk so early in the day, Dean? You're going to have to pour him into bed tonight!" he said, with a wide grin.
"He was mostly in this condition when I got here," Dean explained. "We had a fight last night, and the ruddy twit thought I was breaking up with him!"
Harry's eyebrows rose. "I knew you two were close, but...?"
"That's right," Dean replied apologetically, "you got re-Sorted just before we got together."
That question answered, Harry went on to the next. "So you fought?"
"An Irishman's biggest curse," Seamus put in, answering the unasked question, "a wanderin' eye."
Seamus turned quickly to the young man beside him. "But not wanderin' feet, me love!" the sandy-haired young man told Dean anxiously, putting an arm around Dean's neck.
Dean didn't reply to his boyfriend. Instead, he addressed the young men across from him and Seamus. "Let this be a lesson to you; never go to bed angry with each other," he said wryly, "even if it takes all ruddy night."
"Well, he'll last longer, now," Harry remarked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
A very confused Seamus and questioning Dean stared at him.
"Well, he's pickled, isn't he," Harry stated.
Just as the others were recoving from their bout of groaning at the bad joke, Seamus also shooting Harry a hurt look, Harry and Draco's lunch arrived. Harry had ordered fish and chips, with lemon instead of malt vinegar. Draco received a 'shrimp basket' (batter fried shrimp, and chips), also with lemon wedges. Seamus and Dean had already eaten, and were just waiting for the Irishman to sober up enough that he could leave without embarrassing himself, so they contented themselves with iced pumpkin juice. While Harry and Draco ate, the other two regaled Harry with tales of what had been going on with his former House-mates, as well as school gossip. They weren't quite rude enough to leave Draco out entirely, but it was close. Well, it was easy enough to do, since Draco wasn't putting much (as in 'any') effort into interacting with them.
"Ron's wanting to make friends again," Dean offered, tentatively.
Reflexively, Draco growled - just a bit, and only just loud enough that Harry heard him, but it brought a small smirk to his lips, and made responding easier. Harry looked up from his meal. "I know," he said quietly, "but it's his move." He wanted to ask about Hermione, but since neither Dean nor Seamus mentioned her, he decided it was best to leave the subject lie.
After their meal, Harry and Draco relaxed and chit-chatted about nothing much at all with the other couple, while sipping on the limeades they'd ordered after eating, Draco's having a splash of grenadine added. An idea had been nibbling at the edges of Harry's mind, and finally he decided to act on it.
"Dean, could I have a word in private, please?" he asked, and then apologised to Seamus and Draco for the rudeness.
"I'll just be a minute, love," he whispered in Draco's ear. The blond looked at him questioningly, but only nodded. Harry knew he'd be interrogated, later.
Harry knew his face was as red as a beet as he faced the other boy in the alley behind the tavern. He almost decided to call it a bad job and give it up before he'd even begun, but for Draco's sake, he persevered. "You and Seamus," he began, "you, um... You...do things, right?"
Dean wasn't a cruel person, and he knew from Harry's embarrassment what he must be getting at, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity. "Sure, Harry. All the time," he replied.
"Could you, um, tell me how?" Harry asked.
Dean cocked his head at Harry, as though confused."How what?"
Harry frowned, a bit. "How you...do it," he said.
"Harry, we do all sorts of things! If Seamus hadn't got drunk, we'd be shopping; and surely you know how to do that?" Dean couldn't continue: he burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, Harry. You just looked so uncomfortable!" Under the threat of Harry's embarrassed glare, he quickly got himself under control, although he couldn't stop grinning.
"There's too much to talk about in the time we have. Why don't you stop in at Rotereit's Tome Emporium, and pick up a book on it?"
Well, Harry did have a very isolated childhood, so, "They write books about stuff like that? For people like us?"
There must have been something in Harry's tone, because Dean frowned a bit. "We're gay, Harry, not flawed."
If it had been physiologically possible, the former Gryffindor would have blushed even worse. "Sorry. The Muggle notions I grew up with still surface at times."
Mollified, Dean nodded. "Let's go back to our boyfriends," he suggested.
Harry almost corrected him; almost told him Draco was his fiance. But that was a bit of news they didn't plan to tell anyone for awhile.
When they left the Three Broomsticks, Harry suggested they look for books on etiquette and such, so he'd have an idea of what Draco was talking about when he was being tutored. Draco was all for the idea, since it would result in less work for him. Harry didn't mention the other books he'd be looking for.
Afterwards, Harry and Draco made their way to Gladrags. Harry noted Scrivenshaft's just beyond it. "D'you need quills, parchment, or anything while we're here?" Harry asked.
"Don't slur your words, Harry," Draco corrected automatically, before his cheeks tinted slightly. "Um, no, thank you. I have what I need at the moment," he said, a little sheepishly.
Harry gave him a grin. "Do you, now?" he said, insinuatingly.
Draco's cheeks tinted, but he ignored Harry's 'childish antics' and, head high, entered the clothiers.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o
When Harry woke up Sunday morning he was frowning, and furious. He turned to the sleeping blond beside him. Even as angry as he was, he was gentle when he shook Draco. "Draco. Wake up."
Draco could be a deep sleeper, something that had only started happening recently due to his finally feeling safe, but the urgency in Harry's voice must have registered even with his sleeping mind. "Harry? What's wrong?" he asked muzzily.
"I just had another night of conversation with Lilorienne," Harry revealed.
"That's nice," Draco replied. He then turned over and prepared to go back to sleep.
"Dumbledore lied to me!" Harry exclaimed.
Sighing, Draco rolled back over onto his back. "And why does this surprise you?" he asked, with an air of long-suffering patience.
Harry stared at his fiance, exasperated that the blond wasn't immediately as angry as he was over this. "It's not just that he lied, it's what he lied about!"
Draco raised one eyebrow at Harry, and waited for an explanation.
"He made up that damned prophecy!" Harry revealed.
Well, that did get Draco's attention. Harry's whole life had been defined by that bit of vague, mystical drivel. He felt himself starting to get angry on Harry's behalf, and forced control. "Are you sure?" he asked, his tone strained.
Now that Draco was responding appropriately, Harry found himself, all logic to the contrary, becoming more in control of his emotions. "Lilorienne is," he said, flatly. "It seems our good headmaster talks in his sleep when something is bothering him. He knows it and takes precautions, but that doesn't help against the building your room is a part of, does it?" Harry asked rhetorically, a somewhat malicious look on his face.
Draco frowned. "How did the subject come up?"
"I was telling her about my life, and the prophecy. And then she told me about the 'prophecy'," Harry growled.
Draco nodded thoughtfully. "So what do you want to do about it?" he asked.
Harry opened his mouth, then paused to think. "Nothing, right now. As much as I'd like to shove it in his face, he's had time - years - to plan for the contingency of me finding out. We need to think - to plan. But I'll continue to act the 'Golden Boy', and train until I have a plan in place."
Draco's eyebrows rose. "Well, maybe you are Slytherin after all," he remarked, with a smirk.
Harry raised an eyebrow of his own. "Yes, the ex-Gryffindor can be trained," he remarked, dryly.
Draco actually giggled, then belatedly tried to pretend he'd done nothing of the sort by turning it into a snicker.
Harry donned a smirk. "Too late, love. Who knew you had such a cute giggle?"
"Malfoys do not giggle, Potter," Draco said haughtily. His furiously blushing face said he knew otherwise, and that he knew he'd been caught out, as well.
Harry just grinned at him, then leant in and kissed the pale neck. He gave it a small lick before pulling back.
Draco caught his breath. "Harry," he said slowly, "don't you dare start something you don't intend to finish."
Harry looked at him for a count of two - then jumped out of bed. "As you wish!" he said cheerfully, and sauntered into the toilet, leaving a quite scandalised Draco in his wake. "Harald Myrddin...whatever your name is - get your arse back here!" he shouted.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o
"What's his problem?" Crabbe asked Harry, indicating a glowering, sulking Draco.
"None of your bleeding business, Vincent!" Draco snapped.
"He's just a bit frustrated," Harry replied to the question, with an easy grin.
Over the weeks, Harry had become friendly with a few of the Slytherins; Vincent, Gregory, Blaise, Pansy, a couple of seventh-years, and a few fourth and fifth years. He didn't go so far as to trust them, but he considered them friendly acquaintances, anyway. Of them all, he was more inclined to trust Draco's 'bully boys' than any of the others, but even with them he remained alert. He knew their fathers were Death Eaters, and their loyalties would likely lie more with their families than with him. But there were indications that they weren't happy with that state of affairs.
"Oh? Over what?" Vince asked.
Draco kicked Harry's shin, causing him to wince. "Ah... I don't think I should say," Harry replied, rubbing the sore spot, and glaring at his boyfriend.
"Oh. Couldn't get it up," the large Slytherin remarked calmly.
"Exactly, Vince," Draco said triumphantly, with a malicious smirk.
"Too bad he disappointed you, Potter," Greg said matter-of-factly.
Draco's jaw dropped, and Harry started snickering.
Draco started taking long, slow, deep breaths. From watching this performance with others, and before this year from personal experience, Harry knew Draco wasn't trying to calm himself; he was just expanding his lungs so he could yell louder and longer. And some of that yelling was likely to be hexes.
"Vince, Greg, you know the signs. I suggest you run," Harry said quietly.
The large Slytherins looked at the blond. "But we're not finished eating yet," Vince protested. But he was already preparing to do just that, as was Greg. The other Slytherins within earshot had been listening with great amusement but, wisely, had not participated in the conversation, preferring to make whispered comments between themselves. At Greg's pronouncement of sympathy, however, several of them had burst out laughing, most others at least smirking or grinning.
Only Pansy, of those within earshot, looked the least offended on Draco's behalf. But when she put her head on the blond's shoulder and said "He doesn't deserve you, Draco," the first hex was hers. Her hair became a huge, rigid ball of split ends.
"Never touch me again, Parkinson," he hissed, before turning his attention back to Vince and Greg. But by that time they were halfway to the doors of the Great Hall, and rapidly closing the distance.
"That wasn't nice, dear," Harry said, but Draco could see that Harry was barely suppressing his laughter.
"It's your fault, Harry," Draco accused.
Harry smirked.
Draco was getting irritated by that smirk. It didn't belong on Harry's face. But damn, it was sexy!
"I'll make it up to you tonight, all right?" Harry promised, then he leant over, and gave Draco a chaste peck on the lips.
Draco wasn't having it. He grabbed Harry's head, and gave him a very forceful, steamy kiss before letting him go. "You had best, Harry," he growled. It troubled him a little that Harry looked as though he'd won the prize at the country fair.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

A/N: We all act one way with the general public, another way with our parents, yet another way with our friends, and still yet another way with the one we love. We act differently, depending on who we're with. So if you're all those people, which one is your true character, and which ones are out of character?

And a big thank-you to my betas, Keikokin, and Phoenix.

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Honour Bound