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Alteration (Corruption 3)	By : Beren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 5641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

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Alteration (Corruption 3) - Chapter 3/5

Alteration (Corruption
3) - Chapter 3/5

Harry watched his queen smashing Ron's knight to a pulp with a small grin of pleasure;
the harmless violence of the chess game appealed to both his dark side and his
simple human competitiveness. He was never going to beat Ron, of that he was one
hundred percent sure, but it was fun throwing caution to the wind and enjoying
the destruction. He had not been feeling well after taking Snape's latest concoction
around lunch time, and Ron's visit had been a welcome distraction.
"Harry," Ron
complained good-naturedly, "are you actually thinking at all? You do know
that I'm going to take your queen now, don't you."

Harry just grinned and
sat back in his chair, he really couldn't care less, and he was enjoying himself.
By indulging his destructive tendencies he had managed to lessen the churning
in his stomach, which was a bonus to the joy of just playing at being normal.
There had still been a slight awkwardness when Ron had first arrived with his
chess set in hand, but that had dissipated quickly and Harry was very glad to
have his friend back. It had been two days since the first visit and yesterday
he'd had visits from Hermione and Ron as a couple and then Neville on his own,
and today just his best friend.

Yesterday Hermione had
come up with the idea of adding a fake window into the room and so now his place
of residence was bathed in natural light during the day, although dimmer than
it would have been outside. Harry's eyes were still sensitive to bright sunlight,
but they had worked out the logistics of only letting a certain light level
in. It was a nice view out over the lake, of course, by now it was almost completely
dark, what with it being late afternoon, Winter and Scotland, but it still added
a nice illusion of space to the room.

Watching Ron reach out
and move a rook to take Harry's queen, he found himself admiring the long line
of freckled wrist that poked out of his friend's ratty old maroon jumper as
Ron stretched to reach the pieces. So fragile and yet so full of life, small
bones which could be snapped like twigs, but that fitted together to form such
a capable structure. Each movement of muscle and sinew, tendon and skin held
him fascinated as Ron placed his rook on the same square as the queen. Battle
was joined and yet Harry found himself watching the retreating hand rather than
the melee of destruction.

"Mate," Ron's
voice broke through his reverie, "you in there?"

Harry blinked and looked
up at his best friend's slightly worried expression.

"Your move,"
Ron prompted as Harry just sat there.

With a smile, he leant
forward in his seat and picked up the nearest chess piece and moved it into
battle range of one of his friend's pawns, towards his side of the board. That
caused Ron to frown at the board and look at it very carefully; obviously trying
to work out what Harry was up to. So far it had been a matter of battle at every
opportunity, and the seemingly needless sacrifice of his piece had Ron confused;
of course the oblivious red head could have no idea that Harry had chosen the
move for no other reason than to see his friend stretch across the board once
more.

He smiled as that pale
wrist appeared from the jumper sleeve again; he could feel the beat of life
running through his friend and he let the sound reverberate through him. Such
intoxicating humanity, calling to him with its rhythmic thudding; so easy to
reach out and take and he closed his eyes, revelling in the sound.

"Harry?" Ron
called him from his drifting once again.

When he opened his eyes
he moved instantly, his hand reaching out to snag Ron's exposed wrist. His friend
had frozen mid move and even Quidditch Keeper reflexes were not enough to save
him from Harry's grab.

"What are you doing,
Mate?" Ron was trying to sound calm, but the tremor in his voice made Harry's
smile widen.

"It won't hurt, Ron,"
Harry said, staring straight into his friend's eyes, "I promise."

Ron's stare became slightly
glassy as Harry held his gaze and his friend did not try and resist as he lifted
the pale, freckled wrist towards his mouth. It took only moments for his fangs
to descend as the frightened pounding of Ron's heart sang to him. His friend
made no move to get away, his glazed eyes following what Harry was doing, but
his expression remaining fixed and almost blank. Only when Harry bit slowly
into the soft yielding flesh and warm, sweet blood flowed into his mouth did
Ron react, and the moan that came out of his friend's mouth was not one of pain.
The trickle of raw magic that Harry was sending into Ron with the bite caused
his companion to slump forward, barely allowing his friend to hold himself up
on the edge of the table as Ron shuddered with pleasure. One of the reasons
vampires could be even more dangerous to wizards than they were to Muggles was
because their innate control of magic was so seductive to magical beings.

Harry had taken two delicious
swallows when reality suddenly flicked back on in his head. He shied back instantly,
tipping over his chair and sending chess pieces flying off the board as horror
at what he was doing coursed through him. Ron looked up at him with a dazed
expression and Harry backed away in pure terror of what he had done. He could
taste his best friend's blood in his mouth, he could feel the essence of Ron
on his lips; he was horrified and disgusted with himself.

Yet the vampire wanted
more, Harry could sense the instincts clawing at his self control and he continued
to back away, shaking with the effort to leave his friend alone. How could he
have hurt Ron; his best friend and the closest thing he had to a brother in
the whole world? Nothing could excuse what he had just done, nothing. He was
a despicable thing and he had betrayed a sacred trust.

He did not stop backing
away until he hit the wall and then he slowly sank to the floor, breathing in
short gasps as panic took away all rational though. Wrapping his arms around
himself he curled into the smallest shape he could, head buried, and face hidden
in shame. He had bitten Ron and he deserved anything he had coming. Dumbledore
should just abandon him to the Ministry, he was a dark creature, and nothing
was safe from him.

The recriminations flowed
round and round his head, spiralling up and down, feeding his hatred of what
he was. Loosing track of time and his surroundings his mind folded in on itself
as instinct warred with horror for dominance. Ron would hate him, he had just
killed the friendship that had held him together through so many things, and
it was all his fault. They should lock him in Azkaban and throw away the key.

"Mr Potter,"
Snape's cool tones made it past his defences, but he could not seem to react.

If he did not move he could
not hurt anyone else he cared about.

"Is he alright?"
Ron's concerned voice almost made an impression, but Harry decided it was wishful
thinking.

"I believe, Mr Weasley,"
Snape replied evenly, "that Mr Potter is very far from alright. I believe
you were instructed to leave."

"No bloody way,"
was Ron's emphatic response.

Now Harry knew he was hallucinating;
he had hurt Ron, Ron must be long gone by now. A hand reached past his protective
barrier of arms, and fingers fixed on his chin; he did not resist as he head
was lifted. Blearily he stared straight ahead; aware of Snape looking at him
critically, but with all his strength aimed at his internal struggle there was
nothing left to let him interact.

"What's wrong with
his eyes?" the figment of his imagination that was Ron, asked anxiously.

The snort from Snape indicated
that he was unimpressed with the question.

"The pale yellow of
the whites and the red streaks in the irises indicate vampire malnutrition,"
the Potions master explained none-the-less; "quite simply, Mr Weasley,
Mr Potter is starving."

Harry would have been surprised
if he had had the energy left to manage it.

"But I thought he
was getting blood when he needed it," imaginary Ron sounded outraged.

"He was," Snape
replied coolly, "obviously it was not enough."

The Potions master moved
Harry's chin from one side to the other; Harry kept his eyes on the man in front
of him.

"Mr Potter,"
Snape said firmly, "do you understand me?"

Harry could not let himself
react, if he let himself move he might do something else terrible and he could
never allow that. All he could do was blink slowly and let his gaze stay on
the dark eyes of the Potions master.

"Severus," the
headmaster's voice entered the conversation, but Harry did not look away from
his centre of attention, "can you ascertain the reason for Harry's predicament?"

"I cannot be certain,
Headmaster," Snape replied evenly, "but I would conjecture that Mr
Potter requires a live donor: precious little is actually known about vampires
and their habits and this reaction could be normal or it may be the combination
of creatures within him. In public vampires have been observed to drink blood
like a human being would drink wine, but it does not appear to be sufficient
to feed Mr Potter."

Harry found himself wanting
to laugh at the rational conversation going on; he was evil, didn't they understand
that? He had attacked his best friend; they should be preparing to lock him
up forever, not talking about why.

"That would appear
to complicate matters," Dumbledore said calmly.

"I'll do it,"
imaginary Ron was being so supportive that for a moment Harry almost let himself
hope that he was real.

"Mr Weasley,"
Snape said acidly, "do you have any concept of what you are volunteering
for?"

"He already bit me
once," Ron replied with a note of annoyance in his voice, "if Harry
needs more then I want to help him."

It occurred to Harry then
that Snape must be a figment of his imagination as well, because he was talking
to imaginary Ron; which probably meant this whole conversation was part of his
insane hallucination. Why this had not occurred to him before he really didn't
know, but he had obviously totally lost the plot.

"Mr Potter appears
to need to feed once every three to four days," Snape pointed out, "one
donor would not be enough. To be safe there would need to be four."

"At least I could
help him now," imaginary Ron sounded stubborn; Harry would have liked him
to be real.

"Would it be safe
for Ron to assist, Severus?" Dumbledore asked in his usual tone.

Harry didn't think Snape
liked the idea from the expression on his face, but then this was all in his
head so he thought he should really be more sure of his facts.

"Mr Potter is in shock
and he is starving," the Potions master replied; "it is impossible
to be sure of anything at this time."

"I still want to help,"
imaginary Ron said firmly.

Letting his eyes drift,
Harry decided that imaginary Ron really did appear to be exactly like the real
Ron; he even had blood on his wrist that Harry's sharp nose could smell. Snape
was looking at Ron as well and the potions master finally drew his wand.

"He appears to have
entered a catatonic state," Snape said unhappily, "blood may wake
him, or it may not, either way you will have to help him initially. I will reopen
the wounds on your wrist; you tip his head back slightly and allow them to bleed
into his mouth."

Imaginary Ron appeared
very nervous at this, but he nodded anyway and knelt down when Snape indicated
he should do so. Harry found the wrist that was offered in front of his face
completely fascinating, but he could do nothing to reach out for it. His fangs
were still descended and they ached at what he could see and smell; he really
was starving. A whispered spell and the two red wounds became wet with fresh,
coppery-smelling blood and yet there was a barrier of his own making between
him and it. His mind was a cruel place to offer him such obviously unreal images.

It was funny, he had never
expected an hallucination to be so solid; Snape was touching him and then Ron
was touching him as well and there was no way they actually existed. Together
they lifted his chin and then Ron brought his bleeding wrist to Harry's lips,
allowing the blood to drip into his mouth. The taste and the sense of Ron exploded
in his mouth and in his brain and he felt his whole body convulse. In that moment
he knew it was real and in that moment he knew what his best friend was willing
to do for him; as even his last tentative grip on reality fled and his consciousness
dissolved into feeding he was filled with such love and gratitude for his friend
that he wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs.

====

Harry opened his eyes as he felt the mattress dip and he noted that it was dark.
The whole room was a sequence of pitch black patches and objects lined in silver
as his eyes picked up the slightest traces of light and heat. He was lying on
his side next to the right edge of the bed and someone had just climbed in behind
him. Rolling over he found a familiar profile framed against the stars in the
fake window.

"Go back to sleep,"
Draco said quietly. "Snape told me what happened and I came as soon as
I could. You need to rest; I'll be here if you need me."

Memories of the afternoon
tried to make it into Harry's mind, but he was still too tired to think properly
and as Draco's arm snaked over him and pulled him close, Harry closed his eyes
and drifted back to sleep.

====

Warm fresh blood poured into his mouth and it was so delicious and the sensations
running through his body were so encompassing that he couldn't stop; didn't
even want to. He just drank and drank until he couldn't drink anymore and finally
sated he pulled back. Blood dribbled down his chin in a small stream and he
laughed his pleasure to the world before he looked down. It wasn't until he
saw the body in his arms that reality made it into his mindset and Ron's pale,
dead features etched themselves into his brain.

"Ron!" Harry
found himself sitting in bed staring wildly around.

A gentle hand touched his
shoulder and he whipped his gaze around to find Draco sitting up next to him.

"He's fine,"
his lover said calmly, "you didn't hurt him."

"I bit him,"
he whispered as if he almost didn't believe it.

Memories mixed with his
dream and for a few moments he could not separate them as the images flew around
his mind.

"Yes," Draco
agreed with him, while rubbing gently at the back of his neck, "but you
didn't hurt him. According to Snape you were starving; something about drinking
from a cup did not satisfy your hunger and Weasley was there when you finally
broke. You took only a little and then you shut yourself down. Weasley called
Dumbledore and then with Snape's help Weasley fed you. Do you remember?"

The real recollections
were fuzzy in his brain, but Harry nodded as he managed to bring back some idea
of what had happened. Ron had not run; he had attacked him and Ron had not run;
Harry did not understand.

"He wanted to help
me," he said, voicing his confusion, "but I attacked him. Why did
he want to help me?"

Draco shook his head and
rolled his eyes in exasperation, Harry really couldn't fathom that either. His
brain was not working too well and he was confused.

"He's your friend,
you idiot," his lover said gently, "he would follow you into fire
if you asked. You Gryffindors can be dense, but you're loyal to a fault. Harry,
just because you have been changed doesn't mean you deserve his loyalty even
less."

"But I attacked him,"
Harry insisted.

There were limits to any
friendship.

"You were starving,"
Draco replied pointedly. "Mark it up as a bump along the road to making
you fit for civilised society and don't think about it too hard; don't want
to over tax that brain of yours, it hasn't been used much in the past and it
might over heat."

It took Harry a moment
to realise he had been insulted.

"Hey," he protested,
indignation helping his thoughts to some semblance of normality, "I do
think things through."

"Could have fooled
me," Draco said with an arch of one elegant eyebrow.

Harry opened his mouth
to protest again, but then realised he was being misdirected and the guilt hit
him again.

"Everything is okay,"
Draco insisted seriously, "you stopped yourself doing any damage. You have
more control over your dark side than you give yourself credit for."

"If I have so much
control why did I attack him?" Harry countered.

His lover threw his arms
in the air with an exasperated sigh and climbed out of bed.

"Which bit of 'you
were starving' do you not understand you stupid Gryffindor?" Draco asked
in a very frustrated tone.

The Slytherin stood beside
the bed glaring at Harry and he could feel the annoyance coming off his lover
in waves. Part of him informed him that Draco was very attractive when he was
angry, which managed to distract him just a little from the guilt.

"He's really okay?"
he asked quietly.

"Fit as a fairy on
moon dust," his lover replied firmly. "Now, did you get enough yesterday,
or are you still hungry?"

Harry examined his feelings
at the question and he realised that the nagging feeling he was missing something,
which had been bothering him for days, was completely gone. He had not recognised
it for what it was before, but he was damn sure he would not misinterpret it
again.

"Not hungry,"
he replied with certainty.

"Good," Draco
said, his expression softening, "but let me know when you are again, because
I'm here."

Part of the conversation
between Snape and Ron came back to him at that point.

"Snape said there
would have to be four to be safe," Harry quoted as he sifted the information
out.

"Yes, well, I suspect
you'll be surprised how easily that one is solved," Draco said enigmatically,
"but for now, promise me you will tell me if you need anything."

There was a very stubborn
expression on his lover's face and Harry knew that he would get away with nothing
less than agreeing so he nodded. That, at least, seemed to satisfy the suddenly
bossy Slytherin. When Harry had gone from total domination to an equal partner
in this relationship he was not sure, but no matter how possessive he felt,
he realised that Draco seemed to have a similar stake in whatever was between
them now.

"Right, well, whatever
you did to stop yourself hurting Weasley, it was not good for you," Draco
continued efficiently, "breakfast first and then we can laze around for
the rest of the morning. Snape said he would make sure there were no interruptions
until at least lunch."

His lover turned and walked
towards where the table was usually set up for meals and Harry could not help
admiring the shapely behind in silk pyjamas. Draco seemed to think that he was
in charge this morning, but with his equilibrium rapidly returning, Harry didn't
think that he was going to let that stay for long. Okay so he was not hungry
in any supernatural sense, technically, but if they had all morning they had
plenty of time for breakfast and he rather fancied satisfying other urges. With
a grin he climbed gracefully off the bed and tried to decide to which surface
he was going to pin his lover.

====

Draco had to make an appearance at lunch in the Great Hall to avoid the awkward
questions that came with him apparently missing so many meals, so Harry was
left alone just before twelve. He had a nice long shower and then went back
to his reading and research, in a much better mood than the one in which he
had woken. Absorbing himself in the information in the books he managed to put
the remaining guilt to the back of his mind, so much so that he did not even
think about it until he heard a very familiar voice.

"Harry, are you busy?"

Shock and complete horror
were Harry's initial reaction as he turned and found Ron's head peering around
the inner entrance to his room. It was then and only then that he remembered
the instructions he had given to Jeremy to let his friends in if they called
unless he was busy with someone else. He had been so wrapped up in what he was
doing that he had never told the portrait any different.

"Um, no," Harry
managed to reply as his eyes darted desperately around the room, looking for
anyway out.

"Cool," Ron said,
seemingly not in the least bit phased by what had happened the previous day,
"because we wanted to talk to you."

Horror morphed into abject
terror as Harry realised that Ron had brought re-enforcements. As his three
friends trooped through the door he seriously considered making a dash for the
bathroom and locking himself in. All three appeared very determined about something
and although he had stood against Voldemort and his whole inner circle, Harry
suddenly felt outnumbered.

"Hello, Harry,"
Neville greeted pleasantly in his usual cheerful, if somewhat befuddled, manner.

Harry didn't even try and
reply; his voice was hiding somewhere, cowering in fear and he knew if he tried
to speak he would just squeak at his friends.

"Harry, Mate,"
Ron said after a few moments of silence, "why do you look like there's
a dragon behind us?"

"Ron," Hermione
said patiently, "I think perhaps Harry's a little," she paused to
pick the right word, "worried about what happened yesterday."

The tension had caused
Harry's entire chest to tighten up and he was breathing in short little gasps,
making his lungs feel like they were on fire. He tried very hard to calm down,
but he was petrified. The image that kept passing through his brain was Ron's
dead face from his dream.

"That's what we're
here to talk about," Ron said brightly, which really did not help Harry
at all.

"What Ron's trying
to say," Neville decided to step in, "is that we're volunteering.
Ron says that Professor Snape reckons you need four donors, and there are only
three of us, but we're willing to give it a go, if it's alright with you."

Harry just stared. He sat
in his chair, forgotten book in hand and stared. He wasn't quite sure he had
heard that correctly. The idea would just not stick in his head; he'd mentally
grasp at it and it would slip out of his reach. Neville had definitely said
something about donors, but the dream image of Ron kept putting itself in the
way of all his other thought processes.

"Harry," Hermione
asked gently, moving forward from where she was standing in a line with the
other two, "are you feeling alright."

He blinked at her. This
was Hermione, calm, rational, practical Hermione, she could not possibly be
part of what he thought he might have heard, could she?

"I," Harry said,
in his opinion, rather pathetically.

The mental image of Ron's
dead face overlaid itself on Hermione's and he had to look away.

"Look, Harry,"
Ron's voice broke through the waking nightmare, "you're not blaming yourself
for what happened are you? It's not your fault, and it wasn't as if you hurt
me or anything. It was rather good to tell you the truth."

There was the sound of
a hand slapping an arm and Harry managed to look up to find Hermione had just
hit Ron.

"What?" his best
friend asked hotly. "It's true; he might as well know it. He'll only sit
there thinking we're sacrificing ourselves for him, and tell us not to be noble,
when I, for a start, think it might actually be a bonus."

Ron really had no concept
of the word subtle and for once Harry was so glad of it.

"Ron, did it occur
to you that you might embarrass Harry?" Hermione asked pointedly, and the
simple, friendly dispute contrasted so completely with the dark thoughts moving
through Harry's mind that it broke him out of his fear.

His friends really were
standing in front of him arguing because Ron had just confessed that he enjoyed
being bitten. It was one of those laugh or cry moments that seemed to make up
Harry's life these days, and the rather disbelieving giggle escaped him before
he could stop it. He had never been prone to giggling and this sounded rather
ridiculous coming out of his mouth, but he had no choice. All three of his friends
looked at him as if he was mad, which was a distinct possibility the way he
was feeling.

"Harry?" Hermione
asked with a worried little frown.

"Do any of you know
how dangerous I am," he asked quietly, the giggle dying, "what I could
have done to Ron yesterday?"

"But you didn't, Mate,"
Ron said firmly, "and that's what counts."

"Let us help you,
Harry," Neville said earnestly.

"We talked about it
very carefully, Harry," Hermione assured him, "we know the risks.
We looked everything up, and we're sure about this."

Typical Hermione, research
a subject into the ground and go with her heart anyway. Only in this case she
could not know everything, because no one did, not even Harry.

"We went to Madame
Pomfrey," Neville explained further, "and she checked us all out.
We're all perfectly healthy and this won't hurt us."

"But," Harry
said looking at their sincere faces.

"No buts, Harry,"
Ron said firmly. "You can't push us away and we will help you even if we
just have to sit here until you lose control again. You're our friend, and you're
the best mate a bloke could ever have; for once you're going to let us tell
you what to do."

He opened his mouth again
to protest again.

"Harry James Potter,"
Hermione said sternly, "give in, you aren't going to win this one."

They had moved closer over
the conversation and now Neville moved up to join them. It was a Gryffindor
wall, but rather than needing to climb it and escape, Harry suddenly felt strangely
safe, as if they were his own personal fortress.

"Okay," he said
in little more than a whisper.

The smiles on his friends'
faces were so happy that they took his breath away and he suddenly found himself
at the centre of a four way hug. Strangely the dark magic inside him, which
usually reacted to such contact, was almost silent, and he relaxed into the
arms of his friends.

====

Only that lunchtime he had seen them all as they pledged their allegiance to
him, offering their blood as well as their friendship, and now here he was calling
them back, sure that they would hate his for what he had to tell them. Their
gift to him had overwhelmed him and he had spent all day thinking. If they were
willing to give him so much then he could do no less for them, and he knew he
owed them the truth. He could not stop pacing as he waited for them to arrive.
He had asked Jeremy to give him a quick warning before letting them in and he
was on his twentieth lap of the room when the portrait finally announced that
his friends were outside.

"Thanks," he
said quickly.

They trailed in one after
another, all buzzing with curiosity.

"Hi Harry," Ron
greeted immediately, "anything wrong, Mate?"

"Um, not exactly,"
Harry said slowly, "but there are some things I think you need to know,
and I wanted to tell you in person rather than you finding out second hand.
Let's sit down."

His three friends made
there way over to the table that Harry had decided was best for this meeting
and took places on three sides. Harry walked over to the fourth chair, but found
that he was too nervous to sit down.

"Whatever it is, Harry,"
Neville said warmly, "we'll understand."

Biting his lip, Harry wished
fervently that he could be sure of that. It was not that he did not trust his
friends; it was that he knew them very well and Ron tended to over react, Hermione
often over analysed, and Neville was far too easily shocked. He had no idea
how they would take the information he had to give them.

"Well, you all know
that I have certain, unusual needs," he began hesitantly as he tried to
decide which explanation he had worked out to use, "it's not just the blood."

All three looked at him
supportively, willing him to go on.

"You may also have
noticed that I'm a little touchy when it comes to Draco Malfoy," he continued
slowly, searching their faces to see if any of them would guess what he was
driving.

"You've only bitten
my head off twice, Harry," Ron said lightly in an attempt to break the
tension.

It didn't work too well
and Harry began to pace beside the table.

"Well there's a reason
for that as well," he said, plucking up his courage for what was coming
next; "I'm rather possessive and he's my fourth donor."

Ron looked at if his eyes
might pop out, and Harry knew there was worse to come.

"And I'm sleeping
with him," he said bluntly, at a loss how else to put it.

Total silence greeted this
announcement. He came to a halt, looking at them, afraid that one or all of
them would storm out in disgust.

"The incubus?"
Hermione asked eventually in her usual analytical manner.

"Sort of," Harry
admitted quietly, feeling as if the spell might break any moment and his friends
would we heading for the door, "but its more than that. He's not what he
seems, he had as little choice in this as I did."

"But, Harry,"
Ron said in a surprisingly calm voice, "he has the Dark Mark; the Prophet
reported it and he's under house arrest here because of it. He chose You Know
Who."

It would have been so easy
to tell them the lies that he, Draco and Snape had worked out for the Ministry
and the press, to pretend that it was far less complicated than it was, but
Harry did not want to lie to his friends.

"He didn't have much
choice," he said, fighting down the emotions that threatened to wipe out
his control and send him running for the bathroom. "He took the mark willingly,
he told me as much, but it was that or face Voldemort's wrath. What he didn't
realise at the time was that Voldemort wanted more than another Death Eater."

He paused, knowing that
they had to know this to understand, but feeling strangely like a betrayer for
telling anyone something so personal about Draco.

"He wanted a bedmate,"
Harry continued eventually, "and Draco refused him. That was why he wasn't
allowed back to school, Voldemort locked him up until he agreed. I was supposed
to be Voldemort's revenge; wake up as a dark creature, do unspeakable things
to Draco and then kill him. He looked after me when I first woke up, before
the magic changed me, and then I just took him when I woke up a second time.
I told his mum to take him and leave when I went after Voldemort, but he came
back for me, I still don't understand why. There's something between us that
I can't explain; he should hate me, but he doesn't."

Ron was definitely having
trouble with the whole idea, Harry could tell, but he also knew that his friend
was trying. There was a deep crease in his best friend's forehead as Ron sorted
through his thoughts.

"So all the time he
was a Death Eater he was locked up?" Neville asked for clarification.

Harry nodded.

"And he didn't really
choose to join Voldemort," his friend continued to rationalise calmly,
"he was pushed into it, it was expected of him."

Of all three Harry knew
Neville understood family pressures the best; after all he was very much expected
to be certain things by his grandmother.

"So he's innocent,"
Neville concluded calmly.

Harry could have cried
at his friend's simple logic: Ron looked at Neville as if he had grown another
head. The frown slowly cleared, however, and then Ron looked back at Harry.
His best friend was not yet ready to speak, but the disbelief was gone from
Ron's gaze.

"That's why we're
going to lie to the Ministry," Harry said eventually and glanced around
at all three again. "The truth of it is that I thought the same as you
until I woke up after Voldemort took me, but that's not what we're telling the
Ministry, or they will try and make an example of Draco because his father is
dead."

All three were true Gryffindors
and they understood the sentiment of what was right rather than what was to
the letter of the law.

"He did have the Dark
Mark," Harry said evenly, "but it's not the same anymore."

"But I thought the
Dark Mark was impervious to known magic," Hermione said straight away,
"it only fades with time."

"Not my magic,"
Harry said quietly.

That made even Hermione's
eyes open slightly in shock.

"Harry, are you saying
you changed Malfoy's Dark Mark?" Ron asked a little incredulously.

Wordlessly Harry nodded.

"Why? How?" Hermione
was ever the inquisitive one.

"Because he's mine,"
Harry snapped before he could stop himself. "He never belonged to him,"
he finished in a softer tone.

That rather bluntly put
all his cards on the table, but he couldn't do anything about it. When it came
to Draco he was very much of one mind.

"We're going to tell
the Ministry it was always a fake," he explained slowly, "one that
Dumbledore created. We're going to pretend that Draco and I have been together
secretly since before the end of sixth year and that Dumbledore created the
fake mark to prevent Draco having to join Voldemort properly. That way the Ministry
will have nothing on him, they'll have to drop all charges. I just needed you
to know the truth."

He looked them each in
the eyes once.

"If they tried to
send him to Azkaban, I don't know what I'd do," he said quietly.

Staring down at the floor
he reigned in the darker thoughts this simple idea caused to stir inside him
and he didn't look up until a hand covered his own where he was holding the
back of the chair. He ran his eyes up Hermione's arm from where her fingers
were covering his, then down her other arm to where she was holding Ron's hand
and on to where Ron was holding Neville's; Harry suspected that if Neville had
been able to reach he would have found his other hand covered.

"We're with you, Harry,"
Hermione said firmly, "whatever we can do we will."

"You and the Ferret
seems mental to me, Mate," Ron said calmly, "but you know what I'm
like, give me a few weeks and it'll be like it was always this way; takes a
while to get these things into my thick skull."

Harry managed a small smile
at that, at least Ron recognised his strengths and weaknesses.

"As long as he doesn't
hex me I'll be fine," Neville said with a little grin.

"Thank you,"
Harry said his voice thick with emotion.

The tableau held for a
good few seconds before Ron finally frowned again.

"Harry," he said,
his voice full of curiosity rather than anything else, "how long have you
preferred blokes?"

Harry just looked at him
blankly.

End of Chapter 3
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Alteration (Corruption 3)