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Ashborn	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 36149 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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Chapter Five--Call the Charge

            The white raven came back the next day.

            Harry made sure to keep his head down, as if he didn't notice it, when he stepped into the small, grassy courtyard where Bellatrix took him to exercise. He did his usual running, his cycling motions, and his stretches. All the while, he watched from the corner of his eye for the raven to give some sign. He didn't think Bellatrix would be content simply to look at him and not the surroundings for long.

            But the raven did nothing until Bellatrix glanced up and noticed it. Then she jerked her wand up with a mutter that briefly twisted her face into something like the horrible, grinning mask Harry was used to seeing in his nightmares about Sirius. He took an involuntary step back, closer to the bird.

            The raven hopped towards him as if it would step onto his shoulder.

            Bellatrix shrieked and let fly a spell that made Harry wince and duck, although he did think briefly about standing still so that it would scorch him and he could claim he'd acted in self-defense. The curse had too much magic for that, though, and the raven also screeched and lifted above it, the wide wings cutting the air in ghostly swathes.

            As it flew, two things fell at Harry's feet: a single pure white feather and a folded scrap of parchment. He snatched both up and then turned and frowned at Bellatrix, whose face was rippling as she struggled to comprehend the fact that she had almost hurt him.

            "I did not," she said, and then stopped, as though even the obvious lack of blood on his body couldn't completely redeem her action.

            Because Harry agreed, he let his frown go. "But you almost did," he said, and turned as if he would march out of the courtyard. When he looked again from the corner of his eye, the raven was completely gone, he couldn't be sure where.

            "It dropped something," Bellatrix said, remembering her true loyalty faster than Harry had wanted her to. "Let me see it."

            Harry rolled his eyes, sighed resignedly, and passed over the feather. "I think you did wound the raven," he said, tucking the note into a pocket so deep that Bellatrix could run her wand all over his body looking for something touched by magical creatures and never find it. Harry had spent an instructive hour altering his clothes the other evening, after it occurred to him that his conversation with Malfoy meant he'd probably be carrying more secrets around.

            "Good," Bellatrix said, absently, and then stared into his eyes. "You swear this is all?"

            Harry shrugged and nodded. "The raven didn't mean to stick around and see what would happen after you hit it," he said, which was true but mainly a distraction.

            As he had suspected it would, that made Bellatrix strut and talk about the commendation she would receive from Snape. Harry kept himself from touching the note as they walked into the fortress, but he wanted to. He was privately impressed by his unknown allies' foresight and discretion; they had known that he'd need something to hand to Bellatrix in lieu of the message. Or else the raven had been smart enough to figure that out for itself and detach a feather.

            He wasn't sure which one would comfort him more, actually, and he tried to keep from thinking about it too much until he was alone and could examine the note. That happened when Bellatrix thought she heard someone in the corridor and charged out to confront them. Harry hastily unfolded the parchment and read it with his hand cupped around it, so that Bellatrix wouldn't see it right away even if she came back inside.

            You are the one who can restore our old alliances. Open your mind tonight when you dream.

            That was all. Harry stared at it, then turned it over in case there was anything written on the back, and whispered a few charms that should reveal invisible writing. Nothing. He crumpled it up and tucked it under his pillow, frowning, as Bellatrix swept back in.

            "Someone deviated from the path," she announced, as though that should mean something to Harry. "My Lord Commander will not be pleased."

            Harry made vague encouraging noises that should let her think he was more interested in the internal affairs of the Ashborn than he really was, and wondered. What does opening my mind in my dreams mean? Is that like clearing my mind?

            If so, then any rebellion I might start is fucked. He was no better at Occlumency after three years on the run than he had ever been.

            He wondered if he dared trust Malfoy with the letter, and then grimaced. He had to, because if there were any clues there that he might miss, if Malfoy knew what the obscure references meant, then Harry had to take advantage of his knowledge. His "allies" would probably back away if they tried to get into Harry's dreams and found the way blocked.

            And, strange as it seems, he's the only one I trust to tell me if this is too dangerous to try.

            Bellatrix talked on and on about the glories of the Ashborn, and Harry paid little attention. Under normal circumstances, he might have thought it was useful information, but Bellatrix thought only what Snape told her to think. And underneath that was her scary, twisted loyalty, which Harry reckoned Snape had built on the remains of her loyalty to Voldemort. No, it was for the best if he concerned himself with his own affairs first, and left Bellatrix to get on with things.

            I'll go to Malfoy as soon as I can.

            Bellatrix finally ran down what felt like mid-morning, and Harry adopted a serious expression and sat up. "I should go to the library," he said. "And can you go and fetch Lord Malfoy for me?"

            Bellatrix blinked. "Why?" she asked at last, sounding triumphant that she had come up with the word. She probably should feel that way, Harry decided with pity, given how short a leash Snape kept her on.

            "Because I want to learn more about the Ashborn," Harry told her earnestly. "And there are history books in the library. I can compare them with other groups and learn all about them. And I can learn how much better Lord Snape made you than all the others."

            Bellatrix lifted her head and seemed to inhale. At least, she seemed as if she would float right off the ground. "Then you shall learn," she said, and motioned impatiently for Harry to stand up and follow her, as though she thought he was losing out by not knowing right now. Harry followed meekly, holding his breath. It had been too simple. She would probably stop at Snape's lab on the way and tell him about Harry's genius plan, and Snape would forbid him to go anywhere near the library.

            But that didn't happen. Instead, Bellatrix dumped him among the unorganized books and then went to fetch Malfoy. Harry tried to browse the histories to make his lies truth in case any of the other Ashborn came in and found him there, but his throat and muscles were all too tight.

            I have to know. This could be the most important thing I'll ever do here, the only chance I have at a normal life.

            Then Harry paused and snorted. A normal life? By whose standards? He had promised never to escape and never to raise his wand against the Ashborn except in self-defense, as well as not stirring up rebellion. No matter what he did here, he didn't think normal really factored into it. And the life he had lived so far, the life of war and running and betrayal and fighting Voldemort, was behind him now, no matter what he decided.

            He'd learned to laugh at himself in the war, and it had proven a useful skill. It proved useful again now, as he wandered among the books and picked a few for reading later. When Malfoy arrived, Harry was able to turn around and smile almost normally.

            Until he saw the state of Malfoy's face, at least. He looked as if he would faint, or possibly collapse of heat stroke. Harry rushed forwards to draw a chair out from the table, and to cast a Cooling Charm. "What happened?" he asked.

*

            If Draco had been content to conduct his amusements in such a way that they did not trouble Severus, Severus could easily have forgiven him. But instead, Draco was abstracted and frowning at dinner that night, and then he brushed Severus off when Severus issued a clear invitation back to their shared rooms. He was so casual about it that he did not seem to notice he did it. He was trotting down the corridor towards his meditation rooms before Severus could react.

            He did react, of course, and he did not raise his voice. The Ashborn owed allegiance to him, but in some cases it was a coiling, fanatical thing, and they might attack Draco at his shout before he could stop them. "Come back here, Draco."

            Draco stopped, no doubt feeling the bite of Severus's displeasure through his Mark. That had been a consequence, and a regrettable one, of Marking Draco first. But he had asked so sweetly, and with such a trembling eagerness in his voice, that Severus had not been able to resist, and had altered the Dark Mark before he had fully studied the spells that made it serve their former Lord. When he had enchanted Bellatrix and the rest, he had studied longer and been more careful.

            "Yes, Severus?" Draco turned around. He had his head half-lowered, his voice soft in a way that Severus did not like any more than he had liked the way Draco ignored him. It said that Draco resented the attention he had to pay to Severus, and as Severus had never asked for much from him, he resented, in turn, the implication.

            "I wish you to come to me tonight," Severus said. It was not his way to ask so bluntly; most of the time, it was Draco who did the asking. But this was a different situation than normal. He did not know what preoccupied Draco, and he did not care. He knew only what he wanted.

            Draco clenched his teeth as though on a retort, and bowed his head further. "Of course, Severus," he murmured. "If you wish to make space for me in your bed, then I'll be happy to do so."

            He was not happy to do so. Every bristling line of his body said that. But if he was ill, Severus would have noted it, and if something had happened to distress Draco, one of the Ashborn would have reported it to him. So Severus took Draco's arm in a strong grip and pulled him along to their rooms.

            There was no fire lit when they arrived, as Severus did not believe in wasting fuel when no one was there, but he waved his wand and created a large one in seconds. He turned to Draco, who ordinarily would have started stripping by now, or at least be watching him with large eyes, all but trembling in his eagerness. Instead, Draco had his hands locked on the edges of his robe collar and his eyes locked on the fire.

            "Tell me what is wrong."

            Draco jumped when he said that, and turned to face him. He shook his head. "I've been thinking about the book I was translating," he said. "Ancient pure-blood culture was so different from anything I expected that I'm not sure we could adapt it to a group like the Ashborn."

            "Ah," Severus said, relieved. "I had thought it something important."

            Draco hunched as though Severus had stabbed him, and nodded. "No," he said. "It doesn't have to do with potions or the safety of the Ashborn." He began to strip, although he still did it differently than usual, keeping his eyes on the fire as though he could not bear the sight of Severus waiting for him.

            Severus reached out and caught his wrist, grinding on the delicate bones in it until Draco winced and paid attention to him. "If you do not come to my bed of your own free will," he said, "I do not wish you to come at all."

            Draco sighed, a sigh that seemed to warble along on frequencies and tones that Severus had never heard from him and did not know why Draco should voice now. "It's not that," he said. "Not exactly." He hesitated, then blurted, "Severus, what do you see the Ashborn being like five years from now?"

            "Five years." Severus considered the question, because there was weight behind it that he was unused to dealing with from Draco, and he knew it. But he did not know what the weight was, and that made it impossible for him to consider the question exactly as Draco would have him consider it. "I see several new potions perfected and in the outside world, under my name. I see our enemies using those potions, never knowing that they have me to depend on for the supply. If anyone ever moves against us, then I shall enjoy cutting it off and telling them the truth."

            Draco's smile was too brief for the joke. "And where do you see me?"

            "With several books translated, and with a child to raise, if your negotiation for a contract marriage with the old pure-blood lines goes well," Severus said. He thought he might see into the heart of Draco's discomfort then, and he shook his head. "Did you think I would forbid you my bed if you lay down with a woman for the sake of getting a child? Of course not. You have a pure-blood line to preserve. I do not." He had shared the story of his shameful heritage with Draco in the days immediately after fleeing to the Dark Lord. It was not a time that encouraged secrets taken to the grave, other than the great secret of why he had actually killed Dumbledore.

            And the secret of his love for Lily, which he had never surrendered to anyone who was still alive.

            "That's not it," Draco said again. "Not exactly." He faced Severus, and there was that old quivering eagerness in his eyes, though, since it was not directed towards him at the moment, Severus thought he had the right to be impatient with it. "I just--I want to have a grander vision. I want to do something else."

            "Establish this old pure-blood society?" Severus shrugged. "I will not forbid you contact with the pure-blood families who still follow the older ways, like the circle of them you have discovered. I will even spare you a guard of Ashborn to travel to and fro from them as you like."

            Draco ducked his head, so that his sleek fringe hid his eyes. It was a habit that Severus had disapproved of even when he was a child and doing it himself, and he opened his mouth to correct Draco, but Draco whispered, "What about the Ashborn? What will they be doing in five years?'

            "Going about their routines," Severus said. "As always. I shall not let my control over them slip."

            Draco's hands closed into fists inside his sleeves. This was it at last, Severus sensed, the source and origin of his new discomfort. He sat up and prepared to pay careful attention. Draco had always seemed supportive of his plans for the Ashborn. Severus was not sure why that would have changed, unless Draco had started yearning to command armies of his own--something their truce with Potter's faction would make impossible in any case.

            Or perhaps Potter has changed him.

            That thought did not please Severus at all. He would have to start keeping a stricter eye on Potter's movements. Perhaps he should follow his original plan, before it had occurred to him that Unbreakable Vows on Potter and taking him as a hostage would keep Potter's friends quiet as well, and simply keep him drugged with the Draught of Living Death. Then he would be out of the way as a temptation either for Draco or for someone who wanted a living figurehead to follow.

            "I want--something more," Draco said again. "And the Ashborn...wouldn't they be more interesting if they were something more, too? If they had their own desires and dreams and ambitions?" He raised his head and sought Severus's eyes, as if fearful of what he would find there.

            He should have been. Draco had learned his lessons better than this, or at least so Severus thought. It was long moments before he could unclench his teeth and speak with less than a scornful whip in his voice. "So you would have me resurrect the Death Eaters again? All wizards scrambling for some gain or edge or goal of their own? You would have me play host to murderers, to those who would not see the virtue of the Unbreakable Vows that I made, who might well push me to break them so that I would die? You desire my death?"

            Draco winced and said, "No. No, of course not, Severus!"

            "Then explain to me what you mean." Severus's voice was softer now than it had been, but that took some effort. He still had to work some of the sharpness out of it before Draco would stop cowering before him. "You have hinted at vague dissatisfaction, and the only thing you would ask of me is out of the question, which you must have known before you asked for it. Why would you ask for it?"

            Draco's face was white to the lips, and he licked them, quickly, ineffectually. Severus sneered at him. He had not thought that the mere promise of his anger was enough to reduce Draco to such whimpering cowardice, but apparently it was. If Potter was corrupting Draco, he had not done so by teaching him Gryffindor ideals of courage.

            "I didn't know that you would respond like this," Draco said. "It's a discussion we never had before. I honestly didn't know, Severus, and I'm sorry if I angered you." He turned away, looking down. "Would you prefer that I go?"

            Severus almost agreed. He was in no mood for fucking when he was like this, and Draco could use the time alone to think about what he had done.

            But time alone had produced this defiance. That, Severus did not want to see and taste more of. His hand reached out of what seemed its own free will, and he caught Draco and pulled him closer.

            "No," he whispered into Draco's mouth, opening in a gasp beneath his. "I would rather that you stay, and show me the depth of your regret." His hand moved down Draco's body and found his cock, straining, eager, ready. Draco could never hide the desires of his body, no matter how he tried. "Are you ready to give me that obedience, at least?"

            Draco closed his eyes, and did.

            It was different from the way he had shown his obedience before. Severus knew that; he was neither stupid nor prone to ignoring the reality that was in front of him. But it was enough like what he was used to that he did not push Draco from the bed until it was done, and they were both aching and covered with the ineffective spatter from Draco's cock. Draco slid to the floor, boneless, and lay there with his head lowered, his shoulders shaking as if he would weep.

            Severus turned away. He found such weakness disgusting. "Go," he said.

            Draco seized his robe and left. Severus lay there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how close an eye he should keep on Potter, and only later realized that he had sent Draco away from their shared rooms, something he had never done before. These rooms were neutral ground, their reason for being to give them both a place where they would be comfortable.

            But Draco should not have accepted his dismissal the way he had. If he had protested, then Severus would have listened.

            He would simply not accept the ridiculous way that Draco wanted to go about changing the future of the Ashborn.

            Severus grunted and closed his eyes. He would worry about it in the morning, if it was still a problem by then. He could hope that Draco, who leaped on and off his preoccupations and interests like a flea from a dog's back, would have forgotten about this and be thinking about some new way to distill the Draught of Living Death.

            No, perhaps I cannot hope for that, after all. That would be useful, and he is not.

*

            "He raped you, then."

            Draco jolted. He had told the whole sorry story of the night before to Potter, and then sat in silence after that, staring at the tumbling ranks of the library books and wondering if he should have confessed anything to his worst enemy, let alone something that could hurt him so badly. He turned around now, shaking his head, but Potter was on his feet, pacing back and forth, and didn't seem to notice.

            "He raped you," Potter repeated, and spun back around, his face brilliant with a fury that reminded Draco of lightning. "I'm going to figure out a way to kill him. There must be a hole, somewhere, in the Unbreakable Vow. Not even Snape can think of everything."

            "He didn't rape me," Draco said quietly. He did want Potter's help against Severus, to make sure that Severus could never humiliate him that way again and to prove that he was valuable, but he could not have it if they started off with false conceptions. "I came willingly to his bed."

            "If you had, you wouldn't have that expression on your face right now," Potter retorted, and took a few swift steps towards him, resting his hands on the back of Draco's chair. His expression was tender, fierce. "Don't you see...this is a sign that he has commands implanted in your brain, after all. Why else would you feel so awful about it but believe that you went willingly?"

            "Oh, fuck off," Draco snapped, sitting up and sending Potter's hands flying. It was a relief to find that he could be angry at someone besides Severus, especially because he hadn't been certain that was true at first. "Yeah, he's a bastard, but I could have left. I went, in the end, because I liked the idea that he might find me important enough to fuck. That's the way I matter to him, and I want to increase it."

            Potter stared at him. Draco stared back. "I told you," he said. "This is the way I am. What Severus thinks and does affects everyone here. I'm going to make sure it affects me in good ways. You're fine to play the hero and to pretend that you're above it all, but I don't have that luxury."

            Potter looked as though he was struggling with that. Draco folded his arms and waited, breathing hard. Part of him was close to a panic at the thought that he was sending away his only ally against Severus and the mess that the Ashborn had become, but the rest of him was cold and tense as humming steel. He wouldn't subject himself to the same trap he was just now escaping, again. He wouldn't become so desperate for Potter's approval that he worked against himself to get it.

            Strange, he did think, that working against myself with Severus involves telling the truth, but working against myself with Potter is lying.

*

            You always did jump to conclusions too fast, Harry.

            That was Hermione's voice in his head, and Harry nodded and grimaced in acknowledgment. All right, so he had gone too far in assuming that Snape had raped Malfoy. It had been stupid, and he would apologize.

            But seriously, Malfoy must have no idea what his face looked like, what his voice sounded like when he told the story. He had turned away as if in a horror, and Harry had held himself back because he wanted to hear the rest of it, but what he had desired the most at that moment was ripping Snape apart with his bare hands.

            "Fine," he said at last. "Sorry. I--shouldn't have thought that, or at least shouldn't have let you see that I thought it."

            Malfoy relaxed back in his chair, his eyes glinting oddly. "So you can be taught, as far as lies go," he said.

            Harry shrugged. "I'm still not very good at them. Most of the time," he amended, thinking of the way he had managed to fool Snape the other day. He took the message the white raven had brought out of his pocket and took the other seat across from Malfoy. "I received this today. I don't know what it means. If it's talking about Occlumency, we're in deep shit, because I can't do it."

            Malfoy read it, his brow creasing. Then he shook his head. "Occlumency is closing your mind to outside invasion," he said. "This talks about opening your mind. Inviting someone in." He eyed Harry over the top of the note. "That ought to be playing to your strengths."

            Harry snorted, but didn't take the bait. He was still a bit shaken from their argument, both the intensity of his own fury and the fact that he'd got that upset over Malfoy of all people. "Fine. But how do I do it? Just going to bed thinking of them, whoever they are, won't do it."

            Malfoy sighed. "The ones who are sending the bird are centaurs. Would it help to think of them?"

            "I don't know," Harry said, conquering, hard, the temptation to throw something. "That's what I'm asking you."

            Malfoy made a small, frustrated sound. "It's nothing special, Potter. That's why they sent no instructions, they just assumed that you'd know how to do it. All you have to do is think of centaurs, or magical creatures in general, strongly as you're falling asleep. That's the way to invite them inside."

            Harry shook his head. "Does that work with any magical creatures?"

            "It should, yes." Malfoy continued to look at him as though he was insisting on discussing whether the ground existed.

            "Then why did it never work with the Dementors?" Harry asked grimly. "I know for sure that plenty of people were thinking of them when they surrounded the school in third year, and they had nightmares, but I never heard anyone had invited them into their minds."

*



            Draco blinked, impressed. That was another feat of reasoning that he hadn't thought a Potter would be able to come up with.

            "Because centaurs are beings," he said. "Dementors are--too mindless, too absorbed in themselves, to enter someone's mind that way." He found himself a little helpless to explain further than that, especially with Potter giving him such a skeptical look. Had the git really never learned this? "It's the basis of the beast-being distinction, Potter, although that's got more than a bit obscure over the years. Beings are the ones who can speak to you across the distance if you want it badly enough. Most wizards don't. Beasts are the ones who are either too narcissistic or too low in intelligence to do that."

            Potter smiled grimly. "All right. How can I tell a mere dream about centaurs from actually speaking to them?"

            "I'd assume based on what they tell you," Draco said, and settled back in his chair. This was easy, easier than he'd expected, to recover from a conflict with Potter and a moment when he'd shown himself weak. It surely wouldn't have been so easy with Severus. "If they say nonsensical things, then no, you haven't really invited them into your mind. If they say things that matter and pertain to the situation, then yes, you've communicated with them."

            Potter let out a slow breath. His eyes no longer saw Draco, or at least Draco didn't think they did. "So--this sounds an awful lot like prophetic dreams, or at least significant ones," he muttered. "That must be where a lot of the legends of the Seers came from."

            "Probably," Draco said. "But even more, we just haven't been taught to communicate with magical creatures that way, Potter. It's the sort of thing that appears in fairy stories and everyone knows vaguely is supposed to work. But we consider ourselves superior to them, so we don't practice it. I wouldn't be surprised if you had to try more than once," he added, because Potter was staring at him. What, does he imagine that we would do nothing but communicate with other beings if we had the chance? "You'll have your own ingrained prejudices to work against."

            "If this is all true," Potter breathed, "why didn't you reach out to them for allies against Snape?"

            "What, when they want to work against the Ashborn, or probably do?" Draco shook his head. "Why would I?"

            Potter nodded a moment later as if he understood, but Draco wasn't sure that he did. He moved on to another subject. "If they ask me to do something against the Ashborn, should I explain about the Vows?"

            Draco arched an eyebrow. "I can hardly see that you'll have any choice, and truly, there's no reason they shouldn't have that information. Most of the wizarding world will have it; they'd need the reassurance that the Ashborn won't move against them. And the centaurs would expect you to rebel against your confinement otherwise."

            Potter grunted, his gaze fixed on the far wall. "Fuck," he said at last. "I wish that Snape hadn't been so thorough."

            Draco studied his profile, and gave in to curiosity. "All of Severus's Vows--the Vows he made, I mean--were to protect other people. Your people," he added, when Potter gave him a sharp stare. He probably thought Severus had never protected anyone in his life. Draco wanted to explain to him about what had happened when he and Severus first came to the Death Eaters after Dumbledore's death, but there were some things still too private to talk about, no matter how much of an ally Potter was.

            "Yes," Potter said. "Of course. I wouldn't have given myself up as a hostage if it wouldn't have ended the war, and I needed some assurance that Snape would keep his word."

            Draco let the apparent belief that Severus was incapable of honor pass by. After all, he didn't think he knew what Severus was capable of and what he wasn't anymore. "And all the Vows you made were directed at keeping you in place."

            Potter shrugged. "A fat lot of good it would do him if his hostage escaped or was useless because he killed his followers or got himself killed."

            "But that's the difference," Draco said. "You sacrificed yourself for others. You didn't demand in the Vows you had him swear that he treat you well."

            Potter blinked, as if he recognized the fact for the first time but thought it an unremarkable one. "Well, and so?" he asked at last. "Like I said, I knew that he would probably do it, because killing me would have led to war, and it was obvious the Ashborn didn't want that."

            "Don't you care about your life at all?" Draco asked. "I don't want a suicidal ally, or one who would agree to--I don't know, die if that was what the magical creatures wanted in exchange for freeing the Ashborn. We don't need you to make a sacrifice for us."

            Potter gave him a peculiar smile. "You have no idea how badly I want to live," he said quietly. "There were circumstances during the war when I probably could have killed Vol--sorry, Feasting-on-Corpses by walking into his camp and giving myself up to be tortured while someone else sneaked in and did the appropriate things to lower his protections." Still avoiding details, Draco thought. There was something there, something Potter had done to defeat the Dark Lord that he didn't want any of them to know about. Perhaps he thought it would make them murder him for revenge, and with Bellatrix, that could be a real concern, if Severus ever lost control of her. "But I didn't do that. I was too selfish. I found other ways to fight him instead, and here I am, still alive." He held out his hands. "Dum spiro, spero."

            "I know what that means," Draco said haughtily.

            Potter nodded. "I thought you did," he said, with no inflection in his voice. "But I thought you would probably be surprised to know I did."

            "Why did you agree to come here and give up your life and hope for freedom if you want it so badly?" Draco asked.

            "This is still life," Potter said, tossing him a surprised glance. "Not the one I'd hoped for, no. But still...there's work to do here. I feared going mad because of boredom more than anything else. I don't think I will now." He turned back to the scrap of parchment the centaurs had sent him. "And so thinking of them when I fall asleep is all I need to do?"

            "It should be," Draco said. "We're magical, you know, and that means something. It's different for us than Muggles. They could think about centaurs all they wanted, and they would never receive contact."

            Potter shrugged. "Sure. But like I said, I've never done this before, and I've had problems with mental arts like it in the past."

            "And trouble mentally in general, I'm sure," Draco muttered, before he could stop himself.

            Potter only gave him a tolerant smile and stood to pass him. On the way, he hesitated, then reached out and gripped his shoulder.

            "If you need to talk about something," he said, "or just discuss the ways that Snape's a bastard, then come and find me."

            "I told you, he didn't rape me. It's fine." Draco folded his arms and inched backwards from the hand that Potter was holding out to him, which wavered and dropped.

            "But you should have seen your face," Potter said, apparently in answer to his statement, and walked out. Draco saw the shadow that was Bellatrix waiting at the door. She followed Potter with a silent glide.

            Draco sat in the library for a long time.

*

            All right. We'll try this.

            The snake was on its way with more letters for Ron and Hermione. Harry had reassured Ron that he missed them, too, and that he wasn't going to forget them, and he'd told Hermione flatly not to research wand cores or anything else about wands that might stretch the limits of an Unbreakable Vow. He'd made it, and he was going to hold to it.

            It was deep night, and he was tired, so tired he could feel the ghosts of sleep drifting around him and pressing down on his eyelids.

            This might work.

            He snorted and lay back, folding the sheets over him. Even if it didn't, he was as close to committed as he could get, now.

            The dreams that enfolded him seemed thicker than usual. He floated through what seemed to be stone corridors, though those could simply be reflections of the Ashborn fortress he was living in. At one point he thought he was standing in a wide white room with walls made of bone. When he reached out to touch them, they vanished and became the trees of the Forest of Dean, where he and Ron and Hermione had lived for a time while hunting one of the Horcruxes.

            "Harry Potter."

            Or they might be the trees of the Forbidden Forest, Harry conceded to himself as he turned around. He had never been all that great at telling forests apart.

            Behind him stood a white centaur with a constantly swishing, straw-blond tail and a pale face. On one of his shoulders sat the white raven, which bobbed its head in greeting and then ignored Harry. The centaur studied Harry closely, looking for who-knew-what kinds of signs, then pawed the ground once and nodded.

            "You are permitted to approach," he said.

            Harry took a hesitant step nearer. Then he came in closer, and closer, and only halted when the centaur held up a hand. By that point, he was close enough that he had to tilt his head back to look the centaur in the eye. His eyes were dark, reminding Harry of the raven.

            "We want to know what you know about the covenant," the centaur said.

            Harry blinked. "I don't know anything about it."

            "But you used a spell that comes from it." The centaur began to circle to the side, keeping a careful eye on Harry. Harry turned, hearing the rustle of leaves and grass beneath his feet as he did. This is bloody realistic, is what it is. "You must have encountered a book that mentioned it, and using that spell is earnest of wanting to renew the covenant."

            "I used a book about magical creatures," Harry said. "That spell was one invented by a wizard who wanted to communicate with you lot. Newt Scamander?"

            The white centaur paused, one hoof uplifted, and stared at something over Harry's head. "He would not come here," he whispered. "But he could be invoked by the light of Saturn. Where does the ringed brother stand?" He cocked his head up. Harry followed his gaze, but if he was looking for stars, they were invisible to him behind the clouds.

            Harry nodded in resignation. Until that point, the centaur had asked direct questions, but sooner or later they all got mysterious and started in with the stars and planets. Trying to ask them for help during the war had been useless.

            He waited for the dream to fade, because the white centaur didn't seem interested in him anymore and Harry didn't have the will to keep the dream alive. But the centaur turned back to him a minute later. His face was set in a strong frown. Harry tried to shuffle unobtrusively backwards. He didn't know if he could use magic here, and the centaur could smash his face in with a punch.

            "You must bring the other one with you," the centaur said. "The one who knows about the covenant."

            "I don't know what you mean," Harry said, and his irritation was bleeding through his attempt to be polite. "I only just found out that I could communicate with you in dreams. I've never heard of the covenant, and if I don't know what you mean, then I can't help you."

            He wasn't really expecting that to work--after all, it never had when they wanted the centaurs' help on the Horcrux hunt--but the centaur jolted as though someone had stung him on the forehead, and then leaned forwards, peering into Harry's eyes. Harry gritted his teeth and didn't shy backwards the way he wanted to, although the temptation was heavy.

            The raven spread its wings and lifted into the sky. The centaur nodded. "You are not the one who knows that truth," he said, as if that satisfied him and should satisfy Harry. "Tell the one who knows to call us into his dreams, and then we will achieve what we wish to." He whirled around and cantered into the forest.

            Harry took a step after him, but the white raven was suddenly hovering in front of him, staring into his eyes. Harry frowned at it. He was a little more confident about his ability to handle the bird if it attacked him. "What do you lot want?" he asked. "I was just reaching out because I wanted to communicate with someone, anyone, to ease my boredom, but you're taking it more seriously than I imagined."

            The raven gave a soft caw and settled on his shoulder for a moment, drawing a strand of Harry's hair through its beak to nibble on. Harry relaxed, staring at it. Then the raven bit him sharply on the ear, and he found himself sitting up with his chest and his head both hurting.

            He reached up cautiously and felt the edge of his ear, but there was no blood there, and no bite.

            He did lie awake until dawn, though, trying to reason his way through the riddle the centaur had tossed him. Only when the dawn came and Bellatrix knocked on his door to wake him up did he realize that a covenant sounded a lot like the old, interconnected pure-blood culture that Malfoy had tried to explain to him.

            Harry sighed, rubbed sleep-dust out of his eyes, and called something absent in response to Bellatrix's demand that he get up. Malfoy hadn't said anything about magical creatures being part of the alliances among the old pure-blood families, but Harry was sure that he'd done research on it, or would know what Harry meant if he asked. He'd known about the ability to communicate with centaurs in dreams, after all, when Harry had assumed it would take raiding the library for books at the very least.

            Whether I want him to or not, Malfoy is going to be part of this.

*

            "What are you translating today, Draco?"

            Draco started and looked up at Severus as if he hadn't expected to find him in the library. Severus did not know why not. He was trying to take more of an interest in Draco's doings, since he had revealed the other evening--wittingly or not--that Potter was beginning to corrupt him. Severus slid into a seat on the other side of the wide library table and waited for Draco to respond.

            Draco swallowed and moved one hand restlessly over the page in front of him, as though he would cover the words. Severus had already glanced at them and made out the runes for "animal," "wonder," and "covenant." Probably a way to breed magical creatures such as Crups, he thought dismissively. He would not begrudge Draco pets who might be companions to him, as long as they did not get into the labs. He would probably have to forbid Kneazles, who had clever paws and wondering minds and a tendency to wander in where they were not wanted.

            "A--new book," Draco said. "Something not written by someone in the Black family, this time. I thought it was time that I traveled beyond my family line." He looked down, flushing as if he knew how inadequate the response was.

            Severus waited, but Draco said nothing more. Severus kept the irritation behind his teeth. This was the sort of thing that Albus would have urged him to have, a "connection" with a lover. It was the sort of thing that love poetry praised so highly, that Gryffindors spoke of with trembling voices and tears in their eyes.

            It was useless. A skill that had no basis in reality, that could not make potions change color or acquire new properties. Severus did not know why he had tried, not when Draco refused to respond.

            "What is it about?" Severus asked at last. This exercise was worse than grinding hen's teeth, especially given how much it bored him.

            Draco looked as if he would squirm himself to death in the chair from sheer embarrassment. Perhaps he understood the waste of Severus's time without Severus having to explain it to him, Severus thought in some approval. It would not be the first time Draco had demonstrated finer sensibilities, beyond the common. "Magical creatures," he stammered at last. "I don't know much more than that yet. I only just began."

            Severus waited. It seemed to him that Draco should have more than that to say to the man who had saved his life, who had become his lover, who had placed the first Mark on his arm and freed him from the domination the Dark Lord might have exerted even in death.

            But Draco simply sat there, stubbornly avoiding his eyes, and in the end Severus did not have the patience to endure the boy's temper tantrum. He rose to his feet and nodded as one equal to another, although he doubted Draco recognized the implied courtesy.

            "When you wish to tell me, I will be here," he said, and turned to depart the room with a swirl of his robes.

*

            Draco took a silent, shrill breath and pushed his forehead into his hands. The Mark on his arm stung and hissed back at him, the way it did whenever Severus felt anger directed at him.

            But for the first time since the Dark Lord had died, Draco was not lashing himself into a frenzy at the thought of what Severus might do to him if he was displeased. He was not enormously worried about what might happen if his lover turned his back on him, in fact, though he had been before. He had only as much power and influence with the Ashborn as Severus wanted to give him. Discard him, and Severus removed the hope of a life Draco had with one stroke.

            Draco's hand closed on the page of the book he was studying, and he had to make a conscious effort to smooth it flat again.

            Now...

            This book talked more about the ancient pure-blood society Draco was also painfully learning about, and in details that Argellus Black's book hadn't revealed.

            Magical creatures had been among the alliances that tied wizards close together, and there had been debts given to them and honors received from them that Draco had never heard of before. He knew most modern wizards, including his parents, would have been scornful at the idea. Magical creatures were sources of Potions ingredients, dangerous beasts to be avoided, or occasional helpful adjuncts in events like the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Their ancestors had once held other attitudes, of course, but they knew better.

            Our ancestors also held powers that we don't anymore, and were capable of feats we haven't seen the equal of since. I think I know now why those powers disappeared.

            He had knowledge Severus didn't. Knowledge was power, along with sleeping in someone's bed and pleasing the already powerful. He could--perhaps, if he had the chance, if he seized the chance--make a life for himself outside Severus's orbit.

            Consequently, when Potter came to him with the proposition that both of them should visit the centaurs in their dreams, Draco was ready to listen.

*

            Emma: Thank you so much! Yes, the story does develop the relationship between Draco and Harry first, but it comes around to the threesome eventually.

            AlterEquis: Thank you!

            unneeded: Draco would almost rather that Harry left him alone at the moment, but he knows that the pain he's experiencing is part of that growth.
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Ashborn