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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Honour Bound
by Draeconin

See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.

Chapter Seven

Harry was cursing and pacing as Hermione drifted into consciousness, in the infirmary. When he noticed, Harry lunged towards the bed, only to be brought to an abrupt halt by an imperious voice.
"You will wait, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, with cold power.
"Is she going to be alright?" Harry asked, worriedly. He might still be upset with her, but that did not obviate the years of friendship behind them.
"For the hundredth time, yes."
"Oh, sit down, Potter. Flitting around like a pixie isn't going to do anyone any good," Draco said impatiently, from his seat on a nearby hospital bed.
Harry glared at him, but sat down next to him.
"Relax, 'dear'; you'll live longer."
"Sarcasm doesn't become you, 'Draco'. And relaxing could very well kill me, if the wrong sort were around," Harry retorted.
"Stop bickering, you two. This is an infirmary, and your noise is not conducive to healing," Madam Pomfrey said, scoldingly.
"They sound like an old married couple, don't they?" she commented to Hermione, as she turned to the bushy-haired girl once again.
Hermione grinned faintly at the mediwitch. "Newlyweds," she whispered hoarsely.
Both young men's faces pinkened, but not completely in embarrassment, as Poppy raised an eyebrow in askance. But she didn't push the issue when an explanation wasn't forthcoming.
"When can I talk-" Harry was interrupted as Draco backhanded his ribs, glaring at him. "When can we talk to her?" Harry said, amending his words, and sending an irritated glance at the blonde.
"Tomorrow," the mediwitch said, with finality.
"Look, Madam Pomfrey; this involves a quite powerful, and personal, matter of magic," Harry argued, "which did not go as it was explained to us."
"I've already examined the two of you as you requested, Mr. Potter," Poppy replied, "and there is nothing wrong with either of you. It can wait."
"I appreciate your viewpoint, Madam," Draco interjected, before Harry could further irritate the mediwitch, "but you may have heard of the slave bond on me?"
At Poppy's impatient nod, he continued. "The magic involved was supposed to transmute it into a heart bond. Miss Granger had kindly consented to conduct the ceremony, which is why she is here, now. She collapsed afterwards."
"So has been said before, Mr. Malfoy, and I still have heard nothing to make me change my mind. Miss Granger needs time to recuperate before talking to anyone. And I believe the headmaster, and your House Heads, will have questions for the three of you, as well."
"Head of House," Harry muttered.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Head of House," Harry repeated, a little louder, his cheeks tinting. "I rather got re-Sorted into Slytherin."
Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened slightly at this, registering her surprise, but what she said, was "Did Miss Granger get re-Sorted, as well?"
"No," Harry replied, face flushing completely at having just made a fool of himself.
"Then it is still 'Heads' of House, isn't it?"
Harry didn't reply to the rhetorical question.
Draco didn't look at him, but he was smirking at Harry's predicament.
"Well? Why are you hanging about? Off with you!" Madam Pomfrey ordered.
Scowling, feeling like a chastised five-year-old and resenting it, Harry rose from the bed. "Coming?" he asked Draco.
The blonde's smirk grew as he, also, got to his feet, amused with Harry's attempt to regain control of the situation, if only in part. "And where, may I ask, are we going?"
Harry answered as they made their way to the infirmary door. "We haven't a choice, do we? Dumbledore's office. He has yet to find lodgings for us. And maybe he can tell us what happened, since he's tied into the ruddy castle."

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o
"I'm afraid I can't help you, Harry," Professor Dumbledore told him, after being told of everything that had happened, and being asked his opinion.
"Can't, won't, or don't know?" Harry asked, flatly.
"I beg your pardon?" the old man asked, trying to intimidate the young man with his reputation.
It didn't work. "I asked you if you can't tell me, won't tell me, or if you don't know," Harry replied, expanding on his question.
"I hate to nose in, Harry," Draco said, not looking sorry in the slightest, "but may I remind you that there are two of us involved, here? I'd appreciate it if your language reflected that."
"You still have lousy timing, Draco," Harry growled.
Albus had been watching their interactions ever since they'd entered his office. "I must say that the two of you don't act as though you've been heart bonded," he commented.
He instantly had their attention. "What do you mean?" Draco demanded.
"A heart bond involves the emotions; love, to be exact. You're not acting the part, are you?"
"Why should I? I'm not in love with Potter!" Draco declared, but he felt a strong twinge in his chest, as he said it.
Harry felt a childish impulse to echo Draco's sentiments, but refrained; not least in part because he wasn't sure if he'd be lying, or not.
"And your slave bond?" Dumbledore asked, gently.
"As far as I can tell, it's gone," Draco said, triumphantly.
The headmaster drew his wand. "A few tests?" he said, asking permission.
Harry nodded. Draco shrugged.
A quarter-hour later, he sat back down, putting his wand away. "It's a soul bond," he said, bluntly. "But such a one as I've not seen before." He looked up just as both young men were about to start asking questions. "Tell me everything that happened once you arrived at the Room of Requirement."
After they had done so, he asked a few more questions to clarify a few things, then "Were the feathers and mugwort still on the slab afterward?"
"I don't remember," Harry said, concentrating. "Draco?"
The blonde shook his head. "I didn't have much of a chance to look around, before Granger fainted," he said. "Events became rather confused, after that."
"And neither of you can place the language of the spell?"
Again, they shook their heads, negatively. "I speak French, am very familiar with Latin, and have a passing knowledge of several other languages used in magic, and otherwise," Draco said, expanding on his response, "at least enough to recognise them when I hear them. But what language Granger was spouting...?" He shrugged, indicating his lack of understanding.
"But it was her voice?"
"What are you getting at, Professor?" Harry asked, growing impatient with all the questions, and with getting no answers of his own.
"Nothing, Mr. Potter. I'm just trying to ascertain the facts, and narrow down the possibilities."
Harry subsided. "Yes, it was definitely her voice, and she didn't sound as though she were being controlled," he said, trying to anticipate the next question.
Dumbledore nodded at him, but he said "I think you'll find, Mr. Potter, that what Miss Granger remembers happening will not be what actually happened - if she remembers anything at all. Do you remember what the feathers looked like?"
"Yes, but-"
"When Miss Granger recovers, the three of you might want to spend some time in the library, identifying both them, and the language Miss Granger was speaking."
Harry was frustrated, angry, and suspicious that the old man was once again keeping secrets that affected him. In fact he was almost certain that was the case. He could feel his magic leaking, and tightened his control. But he could impart one piece of information, anyway. "One of the feathers was that of a phoenix," he said, hoping that with that piece of information, Dumbledore would be more forthcoming with what he knew, or suspected.
Dumbledore's reaction was to lean forward. It was only the smallest fraction of an inch, but even that much reaction meant the information was important. "You're sure of that?" Upon Harry's nod, Albus consciously relaxed back into his chair. "Very interesting," he remarked, but he refused to divulge anything more.
That the old man had earlier suggested a course of action that might answer his questions, was all that kept Harry from taking Draco and leaving Hogwarts altogether. 'Wait. Did I just think that? Take Draco and leave Hogwarts?' During their weeks as slave and master, Harry had got used to the idea of having to take care of the blonde, along with the frustration of not being able to justify trying to further a relationship with him so long as he was a slave, but the emotional overtones of this last thought was more as though they belonged together, rather than that they had to be together, for whatever reason. He looked surreptitiously at Draco, trying to gauge what had changed.
Draco met Harry's eyes, and blushed; then become terribly confused about that reaction.
"And now, I think, I should show you to your new quarters!" the headmaster said, cheerily changing the subject.
'If he thinks I'm going to forget about this that easily, he's sadly mistaken,' Harry thought. Still, they did need to find new quarters. Harry did think that Dumbledore was being just a bit optimistic, though, if the rooms in question had the deciding vote on who stayed in them.
They were joined at the foot of the spiral staircase by Professor Snape, then were led to a relatively unused portion of the fourth floor, stopping before a bas relief of a fleur de lis. Harry felt a small frown on his face. He had a sense that this place wasn't for them - not yet. But it was only a feeling, so he didn't say anything.
"Put your hand in the middle of the fleur de lis, Harry," Dumbledore urged, with a confident smile.
Harry did so. The symbol glowed, but nothing else happened. He looked at the professors. Dumbledore had a small, puzzled frown on his face. Snape was smirking.
"I told you he wasn't royalty, Albus," Snape gloated.
"If he weren't, the fleur de lis wouldn't have acknowledged him," Albus refuted.
"Well, it didn't let him in, did it?" Snape sneered.
"Not yet," Harry said softly.
"What was that, boy?" Snape demanded. Harry didn't reply.
"Harry?" Draco said, in a bid for attention.
It was successful. "Just a feeling I got," he replied, his hand absently seeking out the blonde's. Draco allowed it.
"Taking advantage of your slave, Potter?" Snape jibed.
"I'm not his slave," Draco responded sharply, to Snape's surprise. "Not since this afternoon, anyway."
"And how did you manage that?" the potions master asked, sharply.
"Transformation ritual in the Room of Requirement," the blonde answered, shortly.
"What sort of transformation ritual?"
"I don't see how that's any of your business, Severus," Draco replied.
"What is your interest, Professor?" Dumbledore asked with deceptively mild curiosity, finally taking a part in the conversation.
"Potter!" the greasy-haired man snapped. "I want to know what the hell he's done to my student!"
"Oh, this is just going to be wonderful," Harry moaned. "Sorted into a House where even the Head hates me!"
"That's right, Professor," Draco chimed in. "Or had you forgotten that Harry is a Slytherin as well?"
A slight tint to the potion master's cheeks said he had, but otherwise he ignored the jibe.
Dumbledore had been studying Harry during most of this. "The Hat allowed you to take and use the Sword of Gryffindor; shall we see if that suite will accept you?" he finally asked, the twinkle in his eyes restored, as his long legs started off down the hall.
With little other choice, the other three followed; but as they passed a narrow, dark passageway, Harry came to an abrupt halt. "This one's closer, sir," he said, then a look of consternation crossed his face at his temerity, especially in the face of the fact that he hadn't a clue what he was talking about.
"What are you pulling, Potter?" Snape hissed.
Draco looked confused; Dumbledore intrigued.
"Lead the way, Mr. Potter," the headmaster suggested.
Harry gave a mental shrug, then following his instincts, turned into the narrow passage, and led the way until it ended at a fountain of a huge king cobra spitting water into a basin. It reared up five feet, its head as wide as two fists, its somewhat stylised hood spread two feet wide, and the rest of its body wound around the basin the water was falling into. There was a door to each side, but Harry faced the fountain, and the snake. He gave a shallow bow, then spoke to it in parseltongue. "Greetings, O king of snakes. Is it permitted that I should enter?"
The water stopped flowing, the snake regarded him, and then, as though it weren't made of stone, bowed deeply. "You are recognized, Master, O Heir of Slytherin and Gryffindor." It then resumed its former stance, but the wall moved, sliding towards Harry for half a metre, then tilting inward as any normal door would. The fact that it had to be more than two tonne of stone slab made that an impressive achievement, however.
Harry stood there, shocked by the statue's words.
Draco shivered, shaking off the almost erotic effect of the sounds he'd heard. ('Almost', my arse!) "Parseltongue? What did you say to make it open?"
"I... I just asked if I were permitted," Harry said, still shaken.
"So what's got you so shaken, Harry?" the blonde asked.
"These are the rooms of Salazar Slytherin," Dumbledore replied, with a frown. "Only the heir and those with him or her are allowed entrance."
Wide-eyed, Draco looked at his bonded with different eyes. "You're Slytherin's heir?"
Harry slowly turned to look at him. "And Gryffindor's, if that snake's to be believed," he said.
"Shite! You really don't do things by halves, do you, Potter? Royalty, and heir of two of the founders?"
"You don't know the half of it," Harry muttered. Parseltongue was a complicated language. It didn't have a lot of different sounds, so a lot was communicated by intonation. But what the snake said couldn't be possible; the founders had died centuries ago, and he knew who his parents were. But what the snake had said... He was their child - Salazar Slytherin's child, out of Godric Gryffindor. He'd have to have a long talk with the snake later, when he could be alone to ask the questions.
Draco moved to enter the door, but a hiss from the stone snake made him hesitate. The next thing he knew, Harry had grabbed his arm, and pulled him back. "He said you were dead, if I didn't bring you in, and introduce you."
The pale young man paled even further. "Then do it, Potter," Draco said, nervously.
"This is Draco Malfoy. He is bonded to me, and will live with me," Harry told the statue. "The old one is the headmaster of this school, Professor Dumbledore, and the greasy one is my potions master, and the Head of Slytherin House, Professor Snape."
"You have a fine mate, if a bit rude to assume entrance without permission. He should provide you with much happiness - and perhaps an egg or two?" the statue replied. "But the other two... They do not smell right. I do not trust them."
"I'm not sure I trust them either, but as far as I am aware, they mean me no harm. They are not to be harmed unless they prove untrustworthy."
"They will not be allowed free entrance; only when you allow them entry," the guardian decided.
"That is acceptable," Harry replied. 'Draco provide me with children?' Harry was thinking to himself. 'Not bloody likely, even if our relationship gets that far.' In actuality, that comment from the snake had him feeling better. Such nonsense made its other comments so much less likely. He'd never heard of a mentally incapacitated guardian, but there was always a first for everything. As long as it did its job...
"Well? What did it say, Potter?" Draco asked, impatiently.
Harry looked at them. He knew for a fact that Snape and Dumbledore wouldn't like what the snake said, and was trying to find a way to put a nicer veneer on it. "Because he's bonded to me, the guardian will allow Draco free entrance, but will only allow anyone else in if I invite them personally." That was close enough to the truth. The two men might not like it - and from their expressions, they didn't - but they couldn't take it personally.
"I don't believe that would be wise, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore replied. "If you were to have one of your visions, and no one could gain entrance to assist you..."
"Draco can get help, if needed," Harry replied.
"I think you should instruct the guardian to let us in, as needed," the headmaster said, more bluntly.
"What do you think I was saying, sir?" Harry tried his hardest not to put any inflection into that question. He didn't want to lie, only mislead.
The old man looked at him shrewdly. "I wouldn't know, Mr. Potter. I don't speak parseltongue."
"I assure you sir, that I in no way gave instructions to bar anyone from these rooms." That would change, of course, as soon as he had time.
During this exchange, Draco had wandered into the suite, but not without staring warily at the snake statue guardian, and giving it as wide berth as he could as he passed it, and was now looking around. "Not bad, Harry," he commented. "The house elves must have been cleaning, here. Not a speck of dust. Everything is so old they're antiques, but quality furnishings, nevertheless." Draco quite approved of antiques, provided they were of value. And remembering what he'd learned from his mother, most of these items were quite definitely of value.
Harry decided that a show of hospitality was called for. "Would you gentlemen care to take a look around? I find that I'm more than a tad curious, myself."
The short hall gave upon a walk that skirted a sunken living room. Wooden, open fret-work panels hid most of the walk from those in the room. Three wide, semi-circular risers led the way in from three sides, the fourth being enchanted to show a woodland scene. (Later, they would deduce that it showed an actual spot in the Forbidden Forest.) Into one corner was set a fireplace. Although not alight, the grate was laid with kindling and split billets in preparation for such an eventuality. On either side of it, a larger-than-life brass cobra stood guard. A nearby cupboard showed more wood to feed a fire, as Draco was just finding out as he leant over to investigate. Harry caught his breath at sight of the material stretched tightly over the blonde's arse.
"Enjoying the decòre, Potter?" Snape sneered.
"A very inviting view," Harry agreed, even though his cheeks were tinting. A smirk graced his face as the potion master's countenance went dark with anger.
Draco laughed. "A Slytherin through and through, wouldn't you say, Professor?"
Snape's expression didn't alter, but he said "So it would seem." He wasn't inclined that way himself, but he had nothing against homosexuality. He just didn't like the idea of Potter, of all people, 'pawing at' his favourite student.
Harry wasn't sure how to react to that exchange, so he remained silent. He wondered if Draco was aware that it had been his backside that had been being discussed, just previous. He rather thought it likely, though. Draco wasn't dense.
A quick tour showed a bedroom, with a bed half again as wide and over a foot longer than the Dursley's king-sized bed, and a separate toilet and bath, the bath being approximately the same size as the prefect's bath. But there was no shower; the concept hadn't yet been discovered when these rooms were last occupied. There was a study and a library, however. And considering how slyly the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets had been hidden, Harry had a suspicion that there might be at least one hidden room, here.
All of the sudden, he was tired of it all. He was hungry, and needed a break. "What time is it?"
Draco cast 'Tempus'. "Half six."
"Good. I'm half famished."
Draco looked at him queerly, trying to decide whether or not Harry was trying to be witty. He decided not.
Harry asked Dumbledore, while they were on their way to the Great Hall, where he should sit.
Dumbledore walked silently for a few paces, then said "Your being re-Sorted is going to cause all sorts of havoc, Mr. Potter. I suppose-"
"If Snape hadn't walked in... For that matter, if you hadn't tried one of your mind games on me, then none of this would have happened," Harry said with quiet bitterness.
"Mind games, Mr. Potter?" Albus queried, a slight edge in his voice.
"Oh, please, Headmaster; are you going to pretend that you weren't trying to make me nervous by letting me cool my heels in your office so long? You're always very punctual, unless you're trying to make a point."
Albus' cheeks tinted just the slightest bit, but his voice held nothing but a bit of wounded dignity as he said "I haven't a clue about what you're speaking of, Mr. Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes, catching Draco's eyes in the process. Both young men grinned, slightly.
"Regardless, there's still the problem of seating arrangements, sir," Harry said.
"You may sit with your old House-mates tonight. I'll announce your change of House after supper."
"Could you do it tomorrow at breakfast, sir? I'd rather tell my friends myself, rather than spring this on them."
Dumbledore gave him a rather condescending look, then said "Breakfast and dinner are rather haphazardly attended, but I suppose I can make the announcement tomorrow, supper."
Harry grit his teeth to prevent himself from reacting to the condescension. After all, Dumbledore had granted his request. But it grated, all the same.
Supper was French Onion soup served with toasted baguette slices, roast mutton with mint sauce, baked carrots, broccoli, bread rolls with fresh creamery butter, and the usual choice of tea or pumpkin juice (coffee was considered too strong for sub-adults, save at breakfast).
Harry was sitting with Ron and his other House-mates, Draco just across the table from him. Madam Pomfrey had decided to keep Hermione overnight, but wasn't giving out any information other than she was now alright. If the mediwitch knew what had caused Hermione's collapse, she was keeping that information behind tight-locked lips. Ron immediately missed her presence, and had assumed she'd got stuck into some book or another, in the library. Harry, foolishly, disabused him of that notion.
"She's in the infirmary," Harry told him.
"What?" Ron exclaimed, jumping up from the table.
Harry caught his sleeve. "She's alright, mate; just a bit of backlash from a spell. She'll be right as rain; Pomfrey just wants to make sure she rests, so she's keeping her the night."
"She's alright?" He'd heard Harry just fine, but he needed reassurance.
Harry gave it to him. "Pomfrey says so, yes,"
"I've got to go see her," Ron said, needing to see with his own two eyes.
"You're going to miss a supper like this?" Harry said in a teasing voice. It was a good acting job. He was far more tense and nervous than he was letting on.
Meanwhile, Draco just sat there, taking a nibble of baguette, then a spoonful of soup, and watching Harry with a slightly amused expression on his face.
Ron looked torn, but in the end, he grabbed a few bread rolls, tore them in half, buttered them, stuffed them with meat, drizzled a bit of mint sauce over them, and made to take off with his makeshift sandwiches.
"Um... Ron?" Harry ventured. "There's something rather important I have to tell everyone tonight, so after you've seen 'Mione, could you come right back to the commons?" Ron looked at him as if Harry were losing his mind. "It really can't wait, and you can go back right afterward," Harry said, trying to be convincing.
"Can't you tell me now?" Ron demanded.
Harry was looking a bit uncomfortable. "Not here, no."
Ron sat back down. "I don't think Herm would take it well if I took off just minutes after arriving," he said, in explanation, "but this had best be damned important, Harry," he added with a glare.
Harry looked at his own supper, then sighed. He'd have to try to get something from the kitchens, later. "Let's go."
"What?"
"You don't want to keep 'Mione waiting, and I'm not going to talk here, so let's go," Harry said, impatiently.
Harry noticed Draco's questioning look, and shook his head. He needed to do this alone.
Ron looked annoyed, but Harry had just about had enough. Too many things had happened too quickly, and he had yet to have a chance to sit down and process any of it. He really didn't need Ron's attitude on top of it all, right now. He was too immersed in his own emotions to notice that his own attitudes weren't at their best. He stood, and walked towards the huge double doors of the Great Hall. After few paces, he noticed he was all alone. Looking back, he saw Ron still sitting there, seemingly lost in thought. "Well? Are you coming?" he asked the redhead.
Ron seemed to jerk to life at that, and his quick movements told of his strong annoyance as he rose to his feet and started to follow Harry. Harry didn't wait any longer than to see that Ron was following, before he turned back towards the doors, and made his way out. Once out in the corridors, Harry made his way up to the third floor landing. There, he figured, there was less chance of late supper arrivals interrupting them.
"Well? What's so bloody important, then?" Ron snapped.
Harry looked at him. "I have some bad news," he said, trying to remember that this was still his best friend.
Ron paled. "It's Herm, isn't it? What's wrong with her?"
Ron's evident worry and caring softened Harry's attitude. "No, Ron; I didn't lie to you. 'Mione's just fine. It's about me."
"You're not dying, are you?" Ron asked, now worried about Harry.
"No, but you might wish I were," Harry said.
Ron's face screwed up with puzzled anger. "Don't be sodding ridiculous, Harry!"
"That meeting with Dumbledore this morning?" Harry said, to open up the subject. At Ron's nod of remembrance of that news, he continued. "Dumbledore left me cooling my heels, and I wound up talking to the Sorting Hat when I got bored. I got re-Sorted, Ron."
Ron stared at his best friend, then snorted, and started chuckling. "Right, mate. Nobody gets re-Sorted, Harry. It's just not done!"
"Ron; stop. Think for a minute to whom you're talking. If something weird is going to happen to someone, to whom does it usually happen?"
Ron considered. "Yeah, alright," he conceded. "But you're no Hufflepuff; so it put you in Ravenclaw?" he asked, hopefully.
Harry slowly shook his head. "I should have been Sorted there to begin with, but I wanted so badly to stay with my new friend, and I'd heard such terrible things about Slytherin..."
"It Sorted you into Slytherin," Ron said, with a dangerous calm. Then his hand came up, and he gave Harry a little push to the chest. "It Sorted you into Slytherin?" His other hand came up, and he shoved Harry a little harder. Harry was trying to tell him that he'd argued against it, and even Dumbledore didn't want him to go there, but Ron's blood was pounding his eardrums, and he wasn't really paying attention, anyway. "You're a bloody Slytherin?" he shouted, with another strong shove.
Unfortunately, neither young man had been paying much attention to where they were, at the head of the stairs, and Ron's final shove sent Harry reeling, then tumbling down the stairs; Ron's grab for Harry's robe slipped off the material, as he tried to stop what was happening.

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

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Honour Bound