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Integrating the Shadow	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2188 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Raincoast, and Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter List
- 1-Integrating the Shadow
- 1
”Bringing you the live and latest news is Lisa Turpin. Thank you for listening to the Wizarding World Wireless...”

The morning report shattered the last vestiges of the dream Harry had been enjoying. The images fled from his memory like shadows shrink under the glare of the sun.

Harry squinted up at the ceiling of his bedroom, eyes tracing the familiar path of the crack in the plaster that reminded him of a hippogriff. Gentle snores sounded beside his right ear and he smiled and turned to look at Draco while he slept.

”Early this morning an unnamed student was transferred from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to St. Mungo’s for the treatment of spell damage. The cause of injury is, as yet, unreported. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is expected to initiate a formal investigation while the student remains in critical condition.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut again as if to block out the auditory assault from the wireless. Even though the war was over, frequent reports of lingering Death Eater activity and remnants of curses set during the war going off like landmines were Harry’s daily bread and butter since he’d officially joined the ranks of the Aurors several months previously.

He pointed his wand at the alarm and turned the wireless off. He groaned, stretching his toes and rolling his shoulders back against his pillows. His eyes drooped. Maybe just five more minutes.

~x~

The next time he became aware, Draco’s voice was purring in his ear, “Wake up, Potter. You’re going to be late again,” while long silky fingers caressed his hipbone and the warmth from Draco’s body spooning up behind him made him feel as taut and ready to go as churned butter.

“Wha—” he said, and then a chill ran down his spine. Late again. “Fuck!” he swore as he swung his legs out of bed and pulled his body up into a sitting position. His hand grasped randomly at the bedside table, scrabbling for his glasses. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Harry demanded, his pulse racing.

He jumped out of bed and started searching through a pile of wrinkled clothing on the floor, trying to locate his maroon Auror robes. As he scrambled into them, he noticed Draco watching him from his side-lying position in the bed, a look of amused disdain plastered on his face.

Harry strapped his hidden wand sleeve to his right arm and then slipped the robes over his head, brushing them desperately with his hands in a vain attempt at smoothing the wrinkles.

“I did,” Draco’s voice drawled lazily. “And that clock is fast,” he added, pointing at Harry’s bedside table.

Harry looked over to the clock. “What?” He looked back to see Draco smirking at him.

“I set the clock ahead last night so we wouldn’t have to go through this routine today,” Draco explained, and pointed his wand at Harry’s robes.

Harry shuddered as his skin was left stinging from the cleaning spell Draco aimed at his robes. Apparently Draco had felt his body needed a steam cleaning as well.

Harry glared at him, softening as Draco patted the bed in front of his hips, inviting Harry to join him. He climbed onto the bed, pushing Draco back against the pillows. He straddled Draco’s thighs trapped beneath the sheet and leaned forward, holding himself above Draco on his hands.

“I’ve told you before to warn me before you do that cleaning spell,” he said huskily. He was sure Draco knew just how much the spell stimulated him, which was why he used it to tease. “How much time do I have?”

He lost himself in Draco’s hungry eyes, feeling that he could fall into them and never rise again. A shudder ran through him as Draco lifted his hips, pressing a prominent erection against Harry’s bum.

“An hour,” Draco answered in a soft whisper.

A moan escaped Harry’s lips and he leaned forward to silence Draco for the next hour, but Draco cut the kiss short, holding Harry back by his shoulders.

“What?” Harry asked, the anticipation of a quick shag building inside, taking the place of all rational thought.

“Don’t be late for dinner at the Manor tonight,” Draco said, a warning tone just under the surface of lust.

Harry sat back, grinding into Draco’s cock with his backside. “Yeah, what will you do to me if I am late?”

Draco narrowed his eyes and gripped Harry’s hips with his hands, stilling him. “I won’t do this if you’re late, Auror Potter.”

Harry shifted until he’d worked Draco’s sheet off, slinking back down Draco’s long lean legs and pressing his nose into the hinge of Draco’s thigh, inhaling deeply. He waited until Draco’s hips began to rise, his cock desperate for contact with Harry’s mouth, and then looked up to offer his retort.

“You knew when we got together that my job makes me late sometimes.”

Draco groaned, and put a finger in Harry’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. Harry laved the finger with his tongue, rolling it and sucking, scraping the ball lightly with his teeth.

“Potter,” Draco said, hissing. “There is a difference between being late for a legitimate reason and blaming your chronic lateness on your job. Now shut up and put that mouth to some better use.”

Harry chuckled, releasing Draco’s finger, and happily complied.

He ended up being ten minutes late for work.

~x~

Harry followed Headmistress McGonagall up the circular stairs to her office at Hogwarts along with his partner, Thomas Savage, and his boss, Gawain Robards. Nostalgia rushed over him as the staircase shifted into position and they entered the Head’s office.

The office had been draped in McGonagall’s style. The tables that had held Dumbledore’s fine silver instruments were fewer in number than Harry remembered, and were draped in thick green tartan scarves and furnished with small table lamps. The portraits of former Headmasters still adorned the walls apparently snoozing, except for the portrait of Severus Snape, which held a place of honour alongside the gilded frame of Dumbledore immediately behind McGonagall’s desk. The eyes of Snape’s portrait glowered cold and black as he watched the proceedings interestedly.

“Please sit,” McGonagall instructed, gesturing to three high-backed wooden chairs standing before her desk.

She took her seat and opened a tin of biscuits, pushing them towards the seated men.

“Minerva,” Gawain Robards said, his thick voice rumbling. “What precisely are we dealing with? Apparently the Wizarding Wireless had a reporter stationed at St. Mungo’s this morning and now my office is teeming with owls.”

Harry felt his skin prickle as McGonagall made eye contact with him briefly.

“I don’t know what it was that put Mr. Creevey into the state he’s in. Professor Granger-Weasley is the current head of Gryffindor house. She discovered him sprawled across a table in the Gryffindor common room during her rounds last night, and when we were unable to revive him we had him transferred to St. Mungo’s.”

She looked up as Hermione and Ron came into the room.

“Sorry we’re late, Professor,” Hermione said, and briskly conjured two more chairs next to Harry for herself and Ron.

Robards turned a sternly-lined face to Hermione. “Who was the last person to speak to the boy?”

“I’m really not sure,” Hermione said. “He had a detention with Professor Smith, the Muggle Studies teacher, at 8:00 last night. As far as I know he was assigned lines and was dismissed at 9:00. I found him after midnight.”

Harry was growing impatient. He hated it when Robards came along during investigations. He only did when the spotlight was on the department, but Harry felt that his presence noticeably slowed the process down.

“Shall I take a look at the place he was found, sir?” he asked, wanting to get on with it. “Perhaps Savage can question Smith about the detention he served last night.”

Robards raised his bushy grey-flecked eyebrows and nodded his head at Harry and Savage. “Right, right. Well get on with it then,” he said flicking his hand as if brushing off a fly.

McGonagall cleared her throat. “May I suggest that Professor Weasley and Granger-Weasley escort Auror Potter to Gryffindor tower? I will accompany you and Auror Savage to speak to Professor Smith.”

As Harry walked with Ron and Hermione along the familiar paths of Hogwarts Castle, he couldn’t help but feel left out and a little sad to see that his friends had made the school their home and that they had each other in such an easy open way, while Harry had still not admitted to them not only that he was involved in a relationship with Draco Malfoy, but also that he was gay.

“So wait,” Harry said, sweeping his melancholy thoughts from his mind. “Who’s the new Muggle Studies teacher?”

Ron cuffed Harry’s shoulder while slinging an arm around Hermione’s back. “Zacharias Smith, little pain in my arse. You remember him don’t you? Hufflepuff coward from the DA?”

Harry pulled a face. “I didn’t realise he was knowledgeable about Muggles.”

Hermione chuckled a bit and smiled at Harry. “He’s not. He was desperate for a job and was lucky to have scraped an O.W.L. in the subject. McGonagall wouldn’t have hired him had there been another applicant. He’s in my office just about every night asking me to help with his lesson plans.”

“Tosser,” Ron said under his breath.

They arrived at the portrait of the fat lady and Hermione gave the password, her voice reluctant: “Chudley Cannons.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron, hearing him stifle a snort of laughter.

“She lost a bet,” Ron said with a wink.

Harry followed his friends through the portrait hole, feeling out of sync with the world. He performed the functions of his job mechanically, scanning the desk Dennis Creevey had collapsed on with a residual magic sensor wand and questioning the few students that had not yet gone to breakfast in the Great Hall. In the end, nothing suspicious turned up.

“Can you stay for lunch, Harry?” Hermione asked. “We haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron said. “I could use some conversation that doesn’t revolve around Hermione’s after-hours pursuits of counselling house-elves with Post-War Stress.”

Harry grinned, looking up at his friends from where he was running the sensor wand in front of the fireplace. “So—” he said, chuckling, “this is what has become of spew?”

Hermione put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips, though Harry could tell she was amused. “How many times do I have to say it? It’s S.P.E.W. not spew, and yes. Winky especially has been devastated since Dobby passed away and she’s the only house-elf left at Hogwarts that is a free elf. I’m trying to show her how her circumstances could be used to her advantage if she would only try, but the poor thing is truly suffering. It makes me sick to know that house-elves have no one but themselves to turn to when they are ill.”

Harry swallowed hard. He wasn’t dealing too well with things now that the war was over either, and he felt suddenly foolish for laughing at Winky’s plight. “Yeah, I see what you mean,” he said bracingly.

“Potter,” came the rasping voice of Savage from the portrait hole. “There’s been another attack. Same symptoms. Being seen at St. Mungo’s right now. Grab your gear and let’s move out.”

Harry stood up, stamping the pins and needles from his legs on the hearth stones. “I’ll take a rain check on lunch,” he said, and quickly summoned his equipment, placing it in his briefcase.

He hurried after Savage, focusing his mind on the task at hand. Perhaps there was dark wizard involvement in what had happened to Dennis Creevey. It was much easier to focus on criminal cases than to look inward at the damage the war had left on him. He’d deal with his own issues later.

~x~

Harry followed Robards and Savage along the fourth-floor corridor of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The sign over the Healers’ station read Spell Damage in great block letters. Harry pulled out a quotation quill, and set it to take a record of their interview with the Healer.

They were ushered into a room where Dennis Creevey lay eerily quiet, while the air around his bed thrummed with monitoring spells and a green nourishment potion stood on the side table.

The door opened behind them, making them step back to make room for a levitating gurney laden with the prone figure of Oliver Wood. The Healers guided him to a bed across from the one occupied by Dennis.

Harry’s pulse quickened with fear as he saw the catatonic state his former Quidditch captain was in. Oliver was dressed in his Puddlemere robes, though the Healers had split them open down the front to access his chest and arms.

He listened intently, monitoring the note-taking quill for accuracy as the Healers explained to Robards and Savage that Oliver had been seen going into the changing room half an hour previously and then was found by his team when he failed to turn up for morning practice.

Drool slid down Oliver’s chin and his eyes were open but unfocused. Harry looked from him to Dennis, noticing the similarities of their conditions. Whoever was doing this had a purpose, he was certain of it, and it was sealed in his mind that the condition his friends were in was not the result of any accident.

~x~

Harry climbed out of the fireplace of Malfoy Manor five minutes past six that evening. He was still dressed in his Auror robes, and a shower of ash fell out of the fireplace with him, coating Narcissa’s rose-colored silk armchair with a layer of soot.

“For heaven’s sake, Potter,” Draco said airily. “Why don’t you bring the Floo in with you?” He banished the soot and ashes with a flick of his wand, tidying Harry and his robes up with his favourite cleaning spell.

Harry felt his cheeks glow from the scouring effects.

“Sorry, I’m late, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry muttered, throwing a glowering look Draco’s way.

Narcissa rose from her chair and gestured to the table on the other side of the room, laden with a selection of pasta dishes.

“I thought we’d have Italian tonight, Mr. Potter,” she said, her gait easy and graceful. She strolled casually towards the table, allowing Harry and Draco to follow, her peach-coloured robes billowing in silken flares as she moved.

“I thought you understood that supper was to begin at six o’clock,” Draco said quietly to Harry, gripping his elbow as they took their seats.

“I said I was sorry,” Harry said with a shrug. “We’re swamped at work.”

Lucius Malfoy entered the room then, his walking stick rapping sharply against the stone floor with his steps, falling silent when he reached the carpet.

Harry’s eyes fell on the silver band around his right ankle: the binding spell that kept Lucius on house arrest and controlled the level of magic he was allowed to perform.

“I heard about the Quidditch player on the Wireless,” he drawled.”It is quite unfortunate.”

Harry’s stomach squirmed and it was hard for him to tell whether it was because he was hungry, or because spending time in proximity with Lucius Malfoy made him nervous. Hermione had reminded him of Dobby earlier that day and here was Dobby’s former abusive master, play-acting for the Ministry as a nice guy who’d made some poor choices. Harry didn’t buy it a bit, but he knew Draco was close to his family and needed Harry to accept him exactly for who he was.

He watched Lucius look at Draco for a few moments before turning his steely grey eyes on Harry.

“Draco tells us that you are asking him to move into your house, Mr. Potter, but that you are not yet ready to admit to the world that you are—” he took a forkful of salad and chewed it carefully, swallowing, “—involved with my son.”

Harry’s mouth went dry and he felt like he’d just been hit with a Disillusionment Charm. He swallowed and turned to Draco, who was distinctly not looking at him.

“Draco, can I talk to you privately?” he asked, trying to keep his emotions under wraps.

Draco set his napkin down beside his plate and turned flashing grey eyes on Harry. “Mother, father,” he said with a brief nod at Narcissa and Lucius. He rose and left the room.

Harry ignored the older Malfoys and followed.

Once the door to the drawing room was shut behind him, Harry turned to meet Draco, his emotions swelling beneath the surface of his skin.

“Well, it’s not like it isn’t true,” Draco hissed from the shadowed hall. He turned and walked down the hall to the conservatory.

Harry followed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, temper rising. “That you can just go ahead and tell your parents everything that’s going on between us even after I’ve told you I’m not ready for people to know?”

Draco turned and strode past Harry again, bumping into him as he slammed the door behind them.

“That’s right,” he spat. “You are the most self-centred prat I know. It’s all about what you want, what you’re ready for. Do you not realize that I am making sacrifices for you already? That perhaps I need to be able to talk to somebody about how frustrated I am with you since you refuse to talk to me yourself? And seeing how the only people you have allowed me to tell about our ‘relationship’ are my parents, you bet your arse I’ll be talking to them!”

Harry scoffed. How dare Draco turn this on him? He was the one who was breaking confidences. “I’m self-centred?” Harry flung accusingly. “You dictate where I will be and when, how I dress, when I wake up, and just about every other thing there is so that it benefits you! How can you even suggest this is my fault?”

Draco threw his hands up. “When did I say that, Potter? Are you even trying to participate in the same conversation as me?”

Harry’s blood flooded his body with that adrenaline rush that only Draco was ever able to incite in him. It was painful and pleasurable all at once and gave him a heady sensation, as if he’d drunk half a glass too much of elf-made wine.

He wet his lips, staring at Draco’s flushed face only feet from him. The rosy pallor in Draco’s pale cheeks reminded Harry of just how rosy his face got when he was aroused. He was feeling as if time had temporarily slowed and his focus was drawn to a bead of sweat clinging to the bottom of a lock of Draco’s hair, right above his temple. He was riled up.

“What?” Harry asked, coming back to the conversation.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly my point,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Potter, I need you to come out... to your friends at the very least. I will no longer be your dirty little secret.”

Harry felt his stomach bottom out with dread. He knew Draco was right, justified even, in what he was demanding, but the very idea of the response he was likely to receive made him ill. He didn’t want to become the centre of attention all over again, and especially not because of his sexual orientation.

Years of living with the Dursleys and having “abnormal” pounded into his skull over just being who he was built up inside him a thick layer of denial. It was only an accident that Draco had glimpsed the truth, and only a miracle that they had ended up giving it a go together.

The age-old panic sensation began to overtake him as he contemplated coming out. He felt instantly wet under his robes, as if his pores had opened all at once, and his heart hammered a rhythm against his ribs that no drummer could match.

“I need to sit down,” Harry managed to say as his vision began to darken around the edges.

Draco’s demeanour turned from insistent to concerned, and he guided Harry to the sofa and sat beside him.

Draco’s instructions floated down from above. “Put your head down and take some deep breaths.”

Harry obeyed, slowing his breathing with all the deliberation he could muster.

He began to relax as the warmth from Draco’s thigh brushed his leg, and he leaned into the sensation of Draco’s hand and arm rubbing the tension out of his back.

They sat quietly side by side, and Harry felt his body come back under his control. It felt so good to be able to sit with someone like this and just be. He bit his lower lip. He knew Draco wasn’t asking too much from him. If he were in Draco’s position, he probably wouldn’t tolerate having himself for a lover.

“You’re right,” Harry said finally, feeling a touch relieved at being able to say something to Draco that would not upset him. “I just need to think this out. Plan it, you know?”

“Hrm,” Draco hummed, continuing to run his long fingers up and down Harry’s spine. “All right,” he said, his voice low and silky.

Harry could tell there was more Draco wanted to say, but he didn’t feel up to pushing the issue right then.

“Should we go back to—” Harry began, gesturing helplessly towards the door leading to the older Malfoys.

Draco stilled his hand and Harry found himself with a lap full of lean limbs, being pushed back against the sofa cushions. He closed his eyes and smiled into the kiss covering his mouth.

~x~

Late that night, under the cover of darkness and Draco’s elf-spun cotton sheets, in the room that had once belonged to Sirius, Harry and Draco were wrapped together in a slick embrace. Harry pressed his hot sweating forehead against the cool of Draco’s cheek, nuzzling his face into the crook of Draco’s neck and losing himself in Draco’s scent as his heart slowed its frenzied pace.

Eyes closed, Harry’s mind wandered over the past events that had brought him to where he was now.

He had known all his life he was different. The differences between himself and his only living family had been strikingly apparent, and his aunt and uncle seldom missed an opportunity to remind him that he was an abomination. Harry had tried as a child to become what they wanted him to be, to mould himself into their brand of normality, but he just never fitted.

While he had been at Hogwarts, he’d worked hard to break free from the chains of his childhood, but they had been forged strong and, try as he might, he could not prevent himself from getting caught up in them again every summer when he was forced to coexist with the Dursleys.

Harry had felt great affection for two girls while at school, even to the extent that he thought he could gladly accept a future bonded with Ginny. And then the end of the war came, and with it all his delusions were shattered.

She had followed him to his four-poster in Gryffindor tower, hidden from prying eyes beneath his invisibility cloak, and he’d been fine while they were kissing but, when the time came to perform, he’d realised the level of revulsion he felt for the softness of her body, and the overwhelming sweetness of her scent was off-putting. He’d been forced to accept the abnormality he had struggled so long and hard to ignore: he was gay. Fortunately Ginny chalked the failed experiment up to fatigue and trauma, but Harry knew the bond they had shared had forever fractured, and denial would no longer carry him through life.

And so he’d found himself fresh out of Auror training, having earned his certificate after concentrating all of his resources on passing, needing to celebrate. He’d needed to get shagged.

He had found a Muggle pub in London that catered for gay men, and had blended in as best he could. He’d had a bit more to drink than he was normally comfortable with in order to let his guard down so he would be more approachable, and then Malfoy had turned up. Harry couldn’t recall what they had argued about, but they were told by the barman to either leave or sit down and drink together. The man had said they had more chemistry sparking between them than he had ever seen in his pub. They had ended up retreating to a table together and returning to Grimmauld Place for some drunken fumbling.

As the days had passed, he and Draco had met on a regular basis with the understanding that their messing around was purely physical and being done for stress relief, until the day came when they realised they were in an exclusive relationship.

Surprisingly, Draco proved to be much more interested in securing Harry’s promise of faithfulness than Harry had expected. He’d never even thought about seeing anybody else. It didn’t seem necessary to waste his thought processes on looking elsewhere when he was entirely satisfied with what he’d found with Draco. But Draco needed him to make it official and to tell his parents.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were people with whom Harry would rather acknowledge each other’s rights to breathe the same air and to leave it at that, but if he wanted to keep Draco, he had to open his life to Draco’s family as well. Now Draco was demanding that Harry do the same. That he tell his loved ones about their relationship and open himself up to abuse once more at the hands of people who would never truly know him: the wizarding public.

The very thought made his stomach churn again and he hummed, trying to calm his anxieties and fall asleep. Draco’s hand brushed his face, a gentle touch that let him know he was not alone. He opened his eyes and pulled away from where he was using Draco’s shoulder as a pillow to look down at the man who had opened him up in a way he’d never believed possible. Draco was asleep, but apparently still aware enough to know when Harry needed reassurance.

His left wrist grew warm in three pulses. His emergency charm was going off and he was needed at the Auror headquarters despite the hour. He rolled out of bed as gently and soundlessly as possible and slipped into the robes Draco had pressed for him before they had turned in for the night.

He thought briefly about waking Draco to let him know where he was going, but the band thrummed hot against his wrist three times more and he knew he was needed immediately. He left the room to use the kitchen fire to Floo to the Ministry, figuring he’d send Draco an owl closer to morning.

~x~

When the lift arrived at level two of the Ministry of Magic, Harry slipped through the doors at a run before they were fully opened and arrived in the doorway of Gawain Robards’ office just as Savage had got down on his knees before the fire in order to firecall Harry to see what was keeping him.

“Sorry,” Harry stammered. “What’s happened?”

Savage’s eyes narrowed and he rocked back on his heels, shaking his tangled mane of grey hair out of his eyes. “We’re needed in Azkaban. There’s a prisoner that’s likely fallen to the same curse as Wood and Creevey,” he said in his raspy voice that made Harry wonder if he hadn’t sustained damage to his lungs at some point in his long career as an Auror.

Harry looked to Robards as he shuffled some forms on his desk with an irritated scowl, still dressed in a nightshirt and cap with a maroon silk dressing gown tossed on haphazardly.

“Out of bed at this time of night for a Death Eater,” he muttered under his breath. “Could’ve waited until a decent hour—” He looked up to meet Harry’s eyes. “Potter, you and Savage will need to transfer Gregory Goyle to St. Mungo’s. He is in the same state as the others, but you must follow protocol and bind him during transport. I expect you to then return to Azkaban and conduct an investigation. I want to know who is cursing these people, how they’re doing it, why they’re doing it, and what we need to do to put a stop to it. I will be here waiting for your report. Dismissed.”

Harry nodded and Savage climbed to his feet. He stood a head taller than Harry, making Harry’s heart speed up when he moved too quickly as he was apt to do. Harry always felt like he needed to be on his guard around Savage, which made the fact they were partners difficult. Savage preferred to work alone and was constantly trying the nerves of his superiors by frightening new recruits. Harry, however, was determined to complete his first year without complaint or incident and then to apply for a transfer.

He followed Savage to the lift as they headed for level six. The only way into Azkaban was by Portkey and they needed to secure one from the Department for Magical Transportation. As images of what he was about to encounter filled his mind, all thoughts of sending a message to Draco fled under the gloom cast by Azkaban.

~x~

The Dementors no longer served as guards for the wizard prison, but they had left their imprints all over the solitary fortress. No colour was shown in Azkaban. Even if you were to deliberately wear robes of bright cheery yellow, once you set foot upon the island where Azkaban stood, the very air would sap the sunshine right out and your robes would ever after have a tinge of grey clinging to them.

Catching his balance as his feet met the flagstones in the courtyard outside the prison, Harry released his grip on the ripped trainer that had been their Portkey. He felt as if he had stepped into a black and white memory in Dumbledore’s Pensieve.

He looked to see Savage drop the trainer in a bin by the door and signal their arrival to the staff. The staff now consisted of members of the different departments of the MLE, working on a rotating schedule so as not to fall into the despair the place evoked. Harry was not looking forward to his rotation there, but was fortunate enough to have missed the previous one by a month when he joined the Aurors.

The large wrought-iron doors creaked open to admit them, exposing a hole of darkness in the side of the building, like a gaping wound black with blood. As Harry approached the entrance he saw, to his relief, a young member of staff lighting the torches on the walls with his wand with blue flames, to provide enough illumination for Harry and Savage to pass and not wake the prisoners.

Savage strode noiselessly through the dark passage leading towards the high security cells where captured Death Eaters, deemed unfit for reconditioning, were kept.

Goyle had initially been tried by the Wizengamot for the attempted use of the killing curse during the war based on Harry, Ron and Hermione’s testimonies, but had been allowed on house arrest like Lucius Malfoy, in the hopes that Voldemort’s absence would bring about a positive change in his former followers. Alas, Goyle was captured again in a sting operation while he was trying to resurrect the Death Eater regime under a new banner. He was now imprisoned with a life sentence at the age of twenty-one.

Harry hardly felt sorry for him. He had never spoken to Draco about his former goons or the lot they had fallen to. He wondered if he should withhold the details of this night’s work to avoid bringing the conversation up. Draco was very particular about wanting to disassociate himself from his past, to rise up and redeem his family’s name and status, but the ugly scars he wore from his days as a Death Eater were kept covered up, as if by hiding them he could deny their existence.

Savage came to a stop before the door to a cell with a small square window set into it. Harry watched him peer through the window lit by the eerie blue glow from the torches. His profile in this light made Harry think of a large feral cat with prey in sight. He turned gleaming black eyes towards Harry.

“There’s no movement, Potter,” his voice rasped.

Harry nodded and lit his wand tip, shining it towards the end of the hall. Footsteps approached. It was Roger Davies, who was working as a Healer-in-training on his rotation at Azkaban. He wore pale blue robes which glowed in the dim light from the torches. As he drew nearer, he removed a thick ring of heavy iron keys from his pocket.

“Auror Potter, and Savage, I take it?” he mumbled. His voice was quiet and subdued compared to how Harry had remembered him in school. He thought he was most likely nearing the end of his rotation at the prison based on the tinge of despair on his face.

He turned one of the keys in the lock on the door and it swung open with a groan like a dying cat.

Goyle lay prone on the flagstone floor, blood drying on the side of his face from a gash above his eyebrow. He appeared to have crumpled from a standing position and his breathing sounded horribly ragged and wet.

Davies turned him on his back using his wand. The disgust was apparent on his lacklustre face. Goyle’s nose appeared to be broken. His eyes rolled aimlessly in their sockets, unseeing and vacant, and spittle dripped from his chin in a foamy mess. He’d obviously been in this state for some time.

“When was he discovered?” Harry asked sharply, feeling upset that his sympathies were being roused for Goyle of all people. He didn’t like the idea of anybody being left to suffer when it could be helped, but he said nothing.

Davies ran his hand over his own face, scrubbing it as if to try to clear the gloom from his visage. “Um, it was about three hours ago. Boot was delivering his daily meal and noticed him lying here. With these Death Eaters, there is a strict policy about having an Auror present before we release the spells binding them, so I’ve been waiting for you to arrive before I performed my assessment.“

He half-heartedly ran his wand up and down Goyle’s crumpled figure, muttering Diagnostic Charms and poking an Episkey at his broken nose.

Harry scanned the narrow cell walls, searching for clues, while Savage immobilised Goyle and fastened him to a floating stretcher equipped with a renewable Portus Charm that enabled transfers directly to a secure ward in St. Mungo’s from Azkaban. He was about to call it a bust when his eyes fell on an empty bottle of butterbeer half exposed under the cot.

“What’s this?” Harry asked, retrieving the bottle with a summoning charm. “Does Azkaban provide butterbeer for prisoners?”

Davies’ eyebrows met in the middle as he scrubbed his face with his hand again. “Uh, no. Glass items are contraband. I wonder where Goyle managed to find it. The guards would have searched his cell prior to lights out. That most definitely should not be in here.”

Harry held the bottle up in front of his lit wand tip, looking through the dark glass for clues. He noticed the label was peeling at one corner and, along the seam made by the peeling, there was a white powdery substance clinging to the bottle.

He immediately put the bottle in a stasis bubble to protect it from further contamination, cursing himself for not doing so when he’d first found it.

Savage grunted at him with an unimpressed shrug. He then directed the floating stretcher out the door of the cell. Harry thanked Davies and let him know they would be back to question the guard that should have confiscated the bottle once they had safely delivered Goyle to the hospital.

He hurried after Savage, so as not to be left behind. He brought the bottle with him, determined to have the white substance identified while they were at the hospital. He gripped a corner of the stretcher when they reached the courtyard of Azkaban fortress, just in time to feel the familiar unpleasant drag behind his navel as they were magically folded into space.

They materialised in the Janus Thickey ward, and were met by a Healer dressed in the customary lime-green robes that were the St. Mungo’s uniform. Harry let Savage accompany Goyle and the Healer to the room where Dennis and Oliver were being looked after. He informed Savage that he was going to have the butterbeer bottle tested by the hospital’s resident potions master.

~x~

By the time Harry and Savage made it back to Auror headquarters, it was a quarter past seven in the evening, and Harry stopped short when he heard Draco’s drawling voice coming from Robards’ open office door.

Savage sloped past Harry to be the first to report in.

Harry was awash with conflicting emotions. He wondered if Draco was outing him to his boss as payback for Harry forgetting to check in that day but, as he watched them converse, it became clear that they were engaged in some sort of business.

Robards looked up at him where he stood in the doorway, worn down from having spent the day at Azkaban.

“Auror Potter, may I introduce you to Mr. Draco Malfoy?” Robards asked in a rather self-satisfied voice. “Mr. Malfoy has agreed to work with us as a consultant on the case. He is a rather celebrated curse-breaker for Gringotts bank.”

Harry nodded perfunctorily and concentrated on listening to the report Savage began to relay. He felt entirely out of sorts, sensing Draco’s eyes on him, and imagining his thoughts were full of accusations and insults as to Harry’s unreliability. More than once, Robards stopped Savage from his debriefing to confirm a detail with Harry only to find that Harry hadn’t been paying attention.

“Honestly, Potter,” Draco interjected. “One must wonder how you managed to make it through Auror training.”

To Harry’s consternation, Robards and Savage exchanged amused smirks as if Draco had happened upon an inside joke.

He felt his face grow hot. He assumed Draco hadn’t outed him, for surely he would be able to read the shock on Robards’ face if he had, but laughing at him with his colleagues was a low blow as well.

Just then a memo poked Harry in the back of the neck as it swooped in through the open office door. It changed its direction and Robards caught it and read it quickly, smoothing it out upon the desktop afterwards to let Savage read it.

Robards cleared the sleep from his eyes with a weary pinch of his fingers. “Mr. Malfoy, your services are needed now more than ever. We have another victim.”

Harry felt the colour drain from his face as he waited to hear the details of the latest victim. He stepped forward to read the letter after Draco had finished with it.

Gawain Robards,

Auror Office, Ministry of Magic,

Susan Bones, of the Department of Mysteries, has been found in a state of catatonia in the time room of the Ministry of Magic. She is being transferred to St. Mungo’s. Send Aurors to investigate; we have secured the room.

Croaker

Harry looked up to meet Robards’ tired blue eyes, and felt Draco’s foot knock against his boot as Robards was clearing his throat.

“Aurors Potter and Savage, please look into this disturbance and take Mr. Malfoy with you. I’d like to hear your ideas, Mr. Malfoy, once you’ve had a chance to look over the other cases as well. Dismissed.”

Savage turned and left the room, his shoulders hunched slightly, not from fatigue as much as if he were a hunter assuming a posture of hyper-alertness. Harry bit his lip and followed Draco’s retreating form as he followed Savage to the bowels of the Ministry.

~x~

Harry thought the day would never end. After finishing up with talking to the Healers at St. Mungo’s and taking down more notes than he normally did in a week, while Draco interrogated them for theories as to what curse could have caused such spell damage, he and Draco stood in the reception area of the hospital, waiting to use the fireplace to head home for the night. Savage stood nearby as well, making conversing with Draco impossible for Harry to manage.

“Right then, Potter,” Draco said in a clipped tone. “I will have my preliminary findings ready to present to Robards by tomorrow afternoon. Let him know.” He turned to walk towards the visitor’s entrance.

“Aren’t you going to Floo?” Harry asked, feeling foolish for not being able to find the words he needed to voice his crowded mind.

Draco’s eyes flicked to Savage and back to Harry. “I thought I’d Apparate. Good night.”

Harry watched his figure retreat, wondering whether he would be Apparating to Grimmauld Place or to Malfoy Manor.

Savage wheezed in his ear. “I don’t trust that one,” he said.

Harry turned and met the dark eyes of his partner. He recognised the expression in the prematurely aged face as one typical in the post-war wizarding world: loathing.

Harry stiffened as his anger flared. He didn’t like to tolerate feelings of ill will expressed towards those he counted as loved ones, but then, he hadn’t had the courage to publicly claim Draco as one of his own, so he couldn’t tell Savage to stuff it, at least not entirely.

“I trust him,” he said simply, and brushed past Savage dismissively to fetch a handful of Floo powder. He threw it in the fire and stepped in when the flames turned green.

When he came spinning out of the kitchen fireplace, he knew he needed to make things right with Draco.

He dusted his robes off and looked around, listening for Draco’s presence in the house, but nothing stirred.

Frustrated with himself, he decided that he would just tell Ron and Hermione right then, consequences be damned. After all, then he would be able to contact Draco and let him know that he cared enough to follow through on his promise.

He got onto his knees on the hearth and tossed some Floo powder into the fireplace. The flames licked his face in a warm tickle as grate after grate rushed before his eyes. His vision stopped spinning as Ron and Hermione’s private sitting room came into view.

The room was dark. He called their names and waited a moment, but they had apparently turned in for the night.

Harry let a sigh escape his lips and was just about to pull his head out of the fireplace when he noticed the sitting room was not vacant. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but they focused on a small movement in the far corner of the room.

“Hello?” Harry said quietly.

Squinting, he could just make out a house-elf slowly rocking back and forth, sitting on the edge of the sofa.

“Winky? Is that you?” Harry asked.

The elf turned her huge round brown eyes to meet Harry’s. She slowly slid off the cushion and onto her feet, swaying in the darkened room. “Is it Harry Potter in the fire?” she asked. “Winky wonders...” Her words trailed off and she hiccoughed and shuffled out of the room, weaving in a disorientated fashion.

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder miles away at home and pulled his head out of the fire, vision spinning. His knees screamed at him as he righted himself and rocked back on his heels. He looked up to find Draco, still dressed in his robes from earlier, looking down at him.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Draco said. The tone of his voice worried Harry. It sounded strained.

“I wanted to fix it,” Harry said, his words spilling out. “I tried to tell Ron and Hermione, but they weren’t there. Please—” he began, not quite knowing what he was trying to say.

He took Draco’s proffered hand and climbed to his feet. Draco’s cool grey stare reminded Harry suddenly of Dumbledore and Snape, how he had felt like his very thoughts were being x-rayed.

He bit his lip, trying to decipher Draco’s expression. “Um, do you want to talk about work or—”

Draco shook his head slowly, squeezing Harry’s hand.

“Bed then?” Harry asked, feeling a smirk play at his lips while Draco pulled him closer, his fingers searching out Harry’s skin, pulling his shirt up from under his open robes. Harry felt a shiver of anticipation rush through his body as the questing fingers splayed against his lower back, their tips peeking beneath the waistband of his trousers.

Harry’s breath left as Draco gripped his waist and Disapparated them to the bedroom.

They fell on the bed frantically, tugging at robes, pulling at shirttails, the need to for skin-to-skin contact nearly driving Harry spare.

Finally slotted together chest to chest, Harry trailed his hand down Draco’s back, excitement mounting at the feel of the goosebumps rising beneath his fingertips. He brushed Draco’s cheekbone with his lips, his glasses bumping against the pillow until they sat crookedly on the bridge of his nose. He ripped them off and tossed them to the foot of the bed, moving in to press his lips to Draco’s, seeking reassurance that he hadn’t entirely failed.

Draco returned his kiss, but Harry felt as if Draco’s lips were moving in order to appease him rather than in an effort to reach the same height Harry sought. He pulled back, propping himself on his elbow. His thigh was tucked between Draco’s legs and he could feel Draco’s arousal wane.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, nervously.

Draco shrugged and frowned as the light from the candles overhead flickered across his face, giving him a haunted look.

Harry worried his bottom lip with his teeth, anxiously waiting for Draco to speak.

Draco took a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning on his side facing away from Harry. “I’m tired. Let’s just sleep tonight.”

What was left of Harry’s arousal deflated at the words, leaving a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He picked up his wand from the bedside table and summoned his glasses, putting them away for the night. He watched Draco breathe, the sheet tucked tightly around him, and the silence between them felt solid. He extinguished the candles in the chandelier with a flick of his wand and rested his head against his pillow, gazing up at the darkness, feeling it press against him as if it were a wall cutting him off from Draco.

As he breathed, closing his eyes and hoping sleep would claim him quickly, the slightly sour scent of Draco’s unwashed hair filled him with a longing to make things right. He swore to himself that he would make every effort to face his fears as soon as possible.

~x~

His feet wouldn’t budge. It was as if the soles of his shoes had become part of the floor and his body was seized with panic. The smell was the worst: rotting meat, mothballs, the scent of age and decay along with lingering human excrement. Harry felt the bile in his gut rise up in his mouth. He knew what he was about to see, knew that what he was experiencing wasn’t real, yet it kept unfolding and he was powerless to stop it.

The stooped figure of Bathilda Bagshot moved weirdly out of the corner of his eye. He turned, and there he watched, trying to free his feet in vain, as the monstrous serpent came spilling out of her ruined neck, shedding the body of the old woman as easily as dropping a robe to the floor. As Nagini lunged at him, he squeezed his eyes shut and his stomach lurched as the floor beneath his feet disappeared and he was falling, a scream caught in his throat.

He gulped massively for air, eyes flying open and looking in all directions for stability. They came to rest at last on Draco’s care-worn face looking down at him. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, finally finding his voice. “It was...”

How could he describe it, Harry wondered. Horrifying. Immense. He wiggled his toes, focusing on the sensation of his bare feet against the soft cotton sheet, and the paralysing sensation receded, leaving his muscles aching. He felt his face grow warm, flooding with embarrassment and shame. He needed to get a grip on these night terrors.

But then he was being held. Draco had him wrapped in a tight embrace, his pointed chin tucked into Harry’s shoulder, calming Harry with reassuring brushes of his lips on Harry’s cheek.

His body was beginning to thaw. When he had awakened, he was covered in a slick sheet of clammy perspiration and as Draco held him, rocking him gently, Harry visualised himself as being coated in wax, his outer shell heating to the melting point and mixing between them in a pool of fevered slickness.

His breath slowed to where he felt he could speak without gasping. “I think I could do with a shower.”

Afterwards, Harry gazed into Draco’s sleepy grey eyes as they faced each other on a large fluffy pillow, inches apart. “I’m sorry I’m not very good about telling you what you mean to me.”

Harry watched Draco’s hard-to-read expression alter slightly by a curve to his lips. “Tosser,” Draco said in response, and Harry lost his train of thought as Draco hushed him with a kiss.

~x~

When he opened his eyes the next morning, staring up at the hippogriff in the ceiling plaster, Harry realised he was alone. His hand reached out, searching the mattress for signs of Draco, but the sheets were cold.

He drew his hand back and tucked it underneath his head, ears pricking for sounds that Draco was at least still in the house.

Harry groaned when the wireless sprang to life with the turning of the hour. He didn’t want to get up; the bed was comfortable and thoughts of owling in sick drifted through his mind. The door bounced off the wall and he nearly jumped out of his skin, his morning imaginings dissipating like smoke.

“Sorry,” Draco said sheepishly.

The smell of bacon and eggs wafted in with Draco, bringing with it an air of domesticity and comfort. Harry’s imagination was off again, picturing Draco repeating the gesture in a cosy little house reminiscent of Shell Cottage, where they were apart from the world and all its pressures.

“Where are you?” Draco’s voice popped Harry’s bubble.

He blinked, looking blurrily up into Draco’s face where he stood beside the bed, balancing a tray of breakfast in one hand and holding two mugs of tea in the other. The morning Prophet was tucked under his arm.

Harry shook his head and scooted back in bed, so he was seated propped against the tall carved headboard. He took the mugs from Draco’s hand and set them on the bedside table, picked up his glasses and pushed them onto his face.

“What’s the occasion?” Harry asked as Draco set the tray upon Harry’s lap and climbed onto the bed. He held the tray steady while Draco crawled up to sit beside him.

Draco leaned over Harry’s lap to grab a mug off the table and then pulled back, sipping it cupped in both hands. “No occasion,” he said with a shrug. “Just felt like a breakfast-in-bed kind of morning.”

Harry could sense something was troubling Draco. He picked up a piece of toast and bit into it, chewing and swallowing, aware of Draco’s eyes on him. “What?” he finally asked.

Draco’s eyebrow raised and he took another sip from his mug and swallowed before answering. “How are you feeling after last night?”

Harry closed his eyes, feeling his eyelids burn against weary eyeballs. He let his head rest against the headboard, supporting him. “I don’t know. I guess I’m feeling guilty.” He paused and then added, “and a bit mental. I’m going to tell Ron and Hermione about us today, I promise.” He opened his eyes again and turned to look at Draco who was looking back in concern.

“It isn’t worth it to me if you kill yourself worrying over it,” Draco said. He took Harry’s hand. “I mean it, Potter… Harry. Have you given any more thought about talking to a Healer about these nightmares?”

Harry felt his lips twist into a bemused smile. He moved his hand under Draco’s, feeling the softness of Draco’s palm like a balm over the roughness of his own skin. “Why, Malfoy?” he said, voice rising in a teasing lilt. “Could it be that you actually care about me?”

Draco scoffed playfully and blew his fringe out of his eyes. He picked up the Prophet from where it had fallen between them and shook it open with one hand, the other still stroking Harry’s fingers. “Of course not. The reason I ask is so I can get in a night of uninterrupted sleep for once.”

~x~

Harry Apparated outside the boundaries of Hogwarts in his lunch hour. His stomach was all tied up in knots as he sent his Patronus to Hagrid to come and unlock the gate.

A few minutes later, Harry knocked at the door to Hermione’s office on the first floor.

“Hello?” he said, pushing the door open.

Hermione was hunched over her desk scribbling furiously over a large square of parchment. Zacharias Smith leaned over her, looking at whatever she was scrawling, propping himself up with one arm on the back of her chair and wearing a self-satisfied smirk. He looked up as Harry entered the room.

“Hey, it’s Potter!” he said, grinning in what Harry was sure he intended to be a winning smile, but to him appeared more like he was wearing a mask of sorts. It made his Auror senses tingle.

“Smith,” he said dryly, looking pointedly at Hermione’s bowed head.

“I’ll be right with you, Harry,” she said in a rushed voice. “I’ve just got to—”

He watched her cock her head to the side and bite her lower lip, concentrating. She put a final dot on the parchment with a flourish of her quill and then rolled it up and handed it to Smith, who was forced to step back and away from her chair because of her elbows poking out at the sides as she rolled.

She got to her feet, smiling widely at Harry. She turned to Smith.

“Follow that and you shouldn’t have too many problems with your fifth-years. If you need any more clarifications, send me an owl at breakfast.”

A squeaky little voice piped up then from near Harry’s thigh.

“Begging your pardon, Pr-Professor, Ma’am, but Winky is rr-ready for her... umm—”

Harry looked down at the little elf in her dingy yellow dress. She appeared to have lost her words when she looked up at Harry, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“Elf, you ought to know better than to intrude upon a wizard’s conversation,” Smith said, his arrogance nearly palpable.

Harry could feel the tension rise as Hermione’s hackles were up.

Winky looked to Smith, trembling, her eyes impossibly wider. She disappeared with a loud crack.

“I cannot stand this any longer,” Hermione said shrilly. “Who do you think you are, telling her off like that?”

Smith’s mouth quirked in an amused grin. “Whatever,” he muttered. “It’s only a house-elf. See you around, Potter.”

He left the room and Harry watched Hermione’s face as her mouth opened and closed, reminding him of a fish.

She sat back in her chair and slammed the palm of her hand on her desk. “He’s simply impossible,” she said, exasperated.

Harry’s mind was a whirl. He wondered if he should try to come back later when Hermione was less busy, but the image of Draco’s disappointed face came to him and he gathered his courage.

He was being silly, he reassured himself, thinking his friends wouldn’t accept him for who he was, but the memories of how Ron had given up on him in the past resurfaced, making his stomach churn uncomfortably.

Hermione looked at him expectantly.

“Harry, are you all right?” she asked.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Harry was suddenly light-headed.

“What a day!” Ron’s voice boomed as he came bounding into the room. “Hey, Harry!”

Harry felt Ron’s hand come down on his shoulder like a blow with a brick.

What the hell was happening to him? He was cracking up. The pressure must be getting too great at work or something.

The next thing he knew, he was looking up at the high cavernous ceiling of Hermione’s office from the sofa in the corner. He blinked a few times, registering the worried freckled face above him through a blur.

“Harry, here are your glasses,” Hermione said, her blurred figure coming into his field of vision beside Ron.

He put them on his face and propped himself up on his elbows. “What happened?”

“Dunno, mate,” Ron said quietly. “You sort of went rigid and passed out. Feel all right now? What’s going on?”

Harry laid back down. He swallowed dryly. Here was his chance. He could just tell them. Lay it all out and deal with whatever would follow.

“Draco,” he managed, but then felt like he’d swallowed a ton-tongue toffee. “Water.”

Hermione handed him a glass of water as he pulled himself into a seated position. He took a long draught, then looked up at Ron.

Ron’s forehead was creased. “What about Malfoy?” he spat. “Has that smarmy git done something to you?”

“Don’t call him that,” Harry said quietly. He took another sip of water and handed the glass back to Hermione. “I need to tell you two something... I’m not good at this.”

Hermione took a seat in a nearby chair and Ron went over to stand beside her, a hand on her back.

Harry looked at his friends from beneath his fringe that desperately needed cutting, and felt as he had so much recently, as if they were part of a world he couldn’t enter—a world of normality and comfort.

He heard Draco’s dry voice echo in his head: What’s the worst that could happen? They could disown you and smear your name all over The Daily Prophet. Do you really think it will be that bad?

No. Ron and Hermione had stood by him through so many obstacles, the worst that could happen wouldn’t.

“I’m gay,” he said as simply as possible, and a massive weight felt like it had been lifted from his heart. He took a deep breath, allowing himself to relax a bit, feeling his lips turn up at the corners. This wasn’t so bad. And then he looked at them.

Ron and Hermione wore twin faces of shock. Hermione’s was tinged with concern as if she wondered if he was feeling all right in the head or if he’d suffered a concussion when he’d passed out earlier, and Ron’s face was caught as if part way through a Polyjuice transformation. It looked comically distorted, a mix between “you can’t be serious” and “Oh Merlin, you’ve seen me naked! Don’t look at me!”

He let an exasperated sigh pass his lips, swearing under his breath. “Fine,” he said, and got to his feet. “If you’re going to stand there, gaping at me like a couple of kids looking inside the cage of a circus freak show, I’ll show myself out, shall I?”

Hermione got to her feet. “No, wait, Harry,” she pleaded. “It’s just caught me by surprise. It’s fine. Sit back down; please?”

Ron’s eyes shifted rather rapidly from Hermione to Harry, to the door, and back again. “Er... I uh... yeah, all right,” he said.

“What?” Harry flung at him. “This, Ron, right here. This is why I don’t ever tell you anything. You don’t know. You’ll never get it!”

Ron’s eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. “Er... What about Ginny? Cho?” he asked, voice sounding hopeful. As if by reminding Harry of the two girls he’d snogged in his life he could take back the words he had just uttered and make everything well again.

“What about them?” Harry asked. His head throbbed and he rubbed at the scar on his forehead absently.

“It’s just, well—I thought you and Ginny would end up together.” Ron’s voice was strained, timid, unsure. It made Harry’s skin crawl, as he sensed Ron was tiptoeing on eggshells to avoid talking about who Harry actually was, so he wouldn’t have to accept that Harry was a freak of nature.

Harry moistened his lips. They felt dry and peeling beneath his tongue. He wished he hadn’t handed Hermione back the glass of water. He turned to her, noticing her eyes were watery and the look she wore was full of pity.

He steeled his resolve to do right by Draco for once. After all, Draco had put up with a lot of his shit and he knew he owed him this much. He spoke again calmly, addressing Ron. “No, Ron. Ginny and I won’t be ending up together. I—she knows there’s something not right with us.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, she knows you needed time to recover since you defeated You-Know-Who and saved the world and stuff, but this...” Ron’s expression changed as if he’d just thought of something else. “Why are you telling us about it now? I mean, why didn’t you say something before?”

Hermione’s eyes weren’t quite so bad now and she nodded. “What else do you want to tell us, Harry? I can’t pretend I’m not a little baffled, but I still love you and so does Ron.”

“As a friend,” Ron amended, earning himself an elbow in the stomach from Hermione.

Harry smiled despite himself and then frowned as he admitted the truth. “I’m seeing somebody and he has made it clear that if I want to continue our relationship, I need to be honest and, um, open with my friends. He says he doesn’t want to be my dirty little secret.”

Hermione mouthed Draco’s surname in a silent question and Harry nodded in return.

“So who is it?” Ron asked, hesitantly. Harry fixed his eyes on Ron’s, determinedly, and Ron’s eyes grew round. “Ah, no way!” Ron exclaimed. “Don’t even tell me it’s Malfoy!” He spat Draco’s name, so it was dripping with disdain.

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“Ron, hush,” Hermione said at once, giving his elbow a squeeze.

Ron looked pale and it pissed Harry off, but then he remembered Draco’s words and decided that Ron was taking it better than he had expected and not at all in the worst possible way Harry could have imagined.

Hermione’s face grew serious. “Harry, what does Malfoy expect of us, once you’ve told us about your relationship?”

Harry looked at her confused. “What do you mean?”

What did she mean, he wondered, thinking. He guessed that it meant Draco wanted to be part of his life just like he’d wanted Harry to participate in his family functions.

Hermione stared at him for a moment before answering. “Well, considering the history we all have, are you sure he isn’t…”

“What?” Harry asked pointedly. “Using me? Trying to make himself look better through association?”

She nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

Harry wasn’t sure quite how to answer her. He was certain Draco wanted him to open up to his friends so they wouldn’t have to hide any longer, but the Malfoys were Slytherins after all and former Death Eaters. Could Draco have an ulterior motive? Harry supposed he could.

“Look. Right now all I care about is being honest with you two. Never mind what Draco’s motives are for me telling you about us. Just… Please don’t talk about it to anybody else. I need to plan how I’m going to tell the world.”

“Seriously?” Ron ejaculated. “You’re going to just up and tell everybody you’re messing around with Malfoy?”

Harry stood up abruptly, his wand was drawn before he was on his feet.

“No wait,” Ron said, “I didn’t mean to say it like that. This isn’t easy for me either.”

Stiffening, he didn’t feel like dealing with Ron any more. He aimed his wand tip at the floor. “I’ll show myself out.”

He turned to leave and spotted a bottle of butterbeer sitting on the table beside the chaise he had vacated.

“Was this your butterbeer?” he asked Hermione.

She looked at him, wonderingly. “No, Harry. Don’t change the subject. We’re not mad at you. Please don’t be angry with us.”

Harry shook his head, thinking of the butterbeer bottle he’d found in Azkaban. The testing on the powder he’d found on it would probably be done by now. “No, I’m not… I need to go to St. Mungo’s. It’s about work. I’ll see you later.”

He strode from the room. He felt torn. It was both a relief and a burden to have confided in his friends finally. He only hoped Ron would keep it between them and not talk to Ginny about it until after he had told her himself.

As he headed across the Hogwarts grounds, the end of winter/early spring chill making his cheeks rosy and his nose cold, he wondered—how had the butterbeer bottle got into Goyle’s cell? Would St. Mungo’s have the answer to the only clue they’d found so far? Would it be enough to break the case?

Thoughts firmly on work and feelings freshly tamed and bound, he turned at the gate and Disapparated with a faint pop.

~x~

Harry’s equilibrium was thrown as he passed the Healer station at the end of the Janus Thickey ward. Draco was talking to Savage and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic. When Harry had left Draco that morning, he had been asleep, his long blond eyelashes barely brushing his cheekbones as he dreamed. Harry hadn’t had the heart to wake him, after the previous night’s episode, so he’d set the alarm.

Draco looked as if he’d stepped off the cover of Witch Weekly. The way he was dressed in fine dark grey dress robes tailored to fit his lithe frame, clinging in all the right places, never failed to make Harry pause to admire the view.

Harry met Draco’s eye after Kingsley had turned his dark face to peer over Draco’s shoulder at Harry, and Draco followed the Minister’s gaze.

Fireworks exploded in Harry’s blood, turning his nervous system up with alacrity.

The only acknowledgement Draco gave that he understood Harry had done as promised and come out to his friends was a pointed eyebrow lift and a softening around his eyes. Harry returned his attention to the task at hand, from where his mind had wanted to mentally undress Draco and take him right there at the Healer station.

“Kingsley,” he said, and then catching himself, amended, “Minister, what’s happened?”

Just then he was turned forcefully from behind, and Arthur Weasley had a hand on each of Harry’s shoulders, worry creasing his lined face further than usual. “Percy, where is he?” he choked.

Harry steadied himself as he was practically supporting Mr. Weasley’s weight with his shoulders.

“He’s being seen at the end of the hall, Arthur,” Kingsley’s voice reverberated in its deep rolling tones.

Mr. Weasley immediately released Harry and rushed to the ward at the end of the hall, where the curse victims were being kept.

“Percy Weasley?” Harry asked, not quite ready to accept his investigation would hit so close to those he cared about. “I don’t understand.”

“What, Potter?” Savage demanded. “What is it?”

Harry stopped and thought back to everyone who had been cursed . “It’s been three days and we have five victims. They’re all around the same age, but they’re unrelated so far as I can tell and I just don’t understand how they’re being targeted and exposed to whatever is causing this…” He ended gesturing helplessly as he couldn’t come up with a better description for the state the victims were in.

After spending the next hour taking notes while Draco interrogated the Healers about the state of the victims, they finally returned to the Ministry to search Percy’s office for clues.

Draco reminded Harry of Dumbledore as he moved his hand around various spaces in the office, as if expecting to find dark magic hidden in the very air.

Harry crouched down by Percy’s desk chair, having spotted something white on the floor. “I think it’s flour,” he exclaimed, drawing Savage’s and Draco’s attention.

When Draco came around the desk for a closer look, he put his finger in the white substance and stuck it in his mouth.

“Powdered sugar,” he stated, shaking his head and pointing to a box of powdered doughnuts which sat beside a kettle against the opposite wall.

“I found something,” Savage’s gruff voice growled from where he was leaning into the fireplace. He rocked back on his heels and dusted off a small silver object on his robes, then held it up between his thumb and forefinger.

“What is it?” Draco asked, crisply. “Where did you find it?”

Savage leered at Draco from under his shaggy mop of hair. He turned to Harry. “I think I ought to submit it as evidence...” He sealed it in a stasis bubble with a flick of his wand. “I wouldn’t want it to be tampered with, after all.”

Harry could feel Draco’s anger building.

“Hand it over; I want to see it,” Harry said, holding his hand out. Savage handed it over, smirking.

Harry peered through the viscous bubble to see a silver ring. It was fashioned in intricate detail, probably goblin-made if he’d had to guess, of a serpent with emeralds for eyes, swallowing its own tail.

He felt Draco stiffen beside him as he saw what was in the bubble. Harry turned to Draco, noticing his face was schooled in an unreadable mask.

“Where did you find that?” Draco hissed at Savage. Harry could tell it was taking all his effort for Draco to not draw his wand.

“What?” Harry demanded. “What is it?”

Savage’s grin grew wider and he summoned the stasis bubble out of Harry’s hand. “Thought you might recognise that, Mr. Malfoy. I suggest we take this evidence up with Robards.”

He turned and left the room.

Harry looked at Draco. “Something you want to tell me?” he asked, nervously.

Draco licked his lips to wet them. “That ring belongs to my father,” he said under his breath. “The last time I saw it it was in the Malfoy vault at Gringotts. I put it there myself.” He kept his eyes focused forward, as if steeling himself for a fight, and, with a jerky nod, stepped into the hallway leaving Harry to follow.

He jogged to catch up. “I don’t understand,” he started, but Draco stopped abruptly and Harry found himself lost in a pair of cool grey eyes.

“Do you trust me?” Draco asked, a hint of apprehension in his undertone.

Harry swallowed and nodded.

Draco held out his hand to grip Harry’s tightly. “Then kiss me,” Draco said, a couple of stray blond hairs falling into his eyes.

Harry felt his heart in his throat. Every cell in his body screamed to answer Draco’s summons, to melt against him and stay that way forever, but he felt like eyes were on him. The eyes and ears of the ministry, ever present, constantly vigilant. He could feel Draco’s disappointment and, unable to stand it, pushed him back against the wall, knocking a gilded frame askew. He covered Draco’s lips with his, sealing his mouth from making any sharp retorts. It only took a moment and then Draco was kissing him back. Harry was lost in the heat of Draco’s mouth, tongues darting, meeting, petting. Draco’s arms encircled his back and he let the rest of the tension slip from his body, until it snapped back like a breaking elastic band when the portrait they had bumped cleared its throat.

Harry released Draco’s mouth reluctantly and pressed his forehead against Draco’s shoulder.

“Auror Potter,” the little man in the portrait sporting an exceptionally long neck squeaked. “Your presence is requested in Auror headquarters.”

He looked over at the painting. The man’s eyes were darting everywhere except at Harry and Draco; obviously he’d been made uncomfortable by their activity.

When they reached Robards’ office, Harry could hear Kingsley’s voice booming as Savage argued with him. Savage fell silent, drawing into himself when Harry and Draco entered the room.

“Auror Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” said Kingsley. “I’m glad you’re here. Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you can clear up a misunderstanding for me. Auror Savage claims that this ring he discovered as evidence,” he said gesturing to the stasis bubble which hovered an inch above Robards’ desktop, “belongs to your father. Care to tell me what it was doing in my Junior Undersecretary’s fireplace?”

Harry watched Kingsley’s expression grow curious as he waited for Draco to explain. He couldn’t stand it. The way Draco was being treated was as if he had been the one to commit the crimes himself.

“Hey, wait,” Harry said, “You don’t need to say it like that. Let’s hear what Malfoy has to say about it before attacking him.”

Robards tapped his wand on his desk for attention. “Auror Potter, I will ask you to keep your remarks to yourself. Mr. Malfoy. What do you have to say? I’d like to hear your thoughts on the case so far, as well as what defence you have for yourself.”

Harry could feel something sinister in the air, in the way Robards was addressing Draco and the way Savage was smirking off to the side. He noticed the man with the long neck who had seen them snogging had another portrait which hung discreetly in the corner of the office. He felt his face grow warm as the portrait pointedly did not look at him.

Draco sat in one of the chairs before Robards’ desk and took a folded parchment out of his robe pocket. He unfolded it and looked at it, then back up.

Kingsley sat in a chair beside him, leaving only Harry and Savage standing.

“Well, the first thing that I took note of, relating to this case, is the ages of the victims. Even if we include Percy Weasley in the mix, the age range is between 17 and 25. They are members of the same generation.” He stopped and tapped the parchment with his wand. Harry watched new words replace the old in Draco’s narrow script.

“Next,” Draco continued, looking at his notes. “The perpetrator is likely in a position of power to some degree…”

Harry watched Kingsley nod his understanding, his brightly coloured striped kufi hat bobbing on his dark head.

“He was able to penetrate Hogwarts, the changing room for Puddlemere United, Azkaban prison, the Department of Mysteries and the Minister’s own cabinet offices. The wide range of places suggests to me that his point in choosing these targets had less to do with who the victims are as individuals and more to do with sending us a message: that this person can reach anyone anywhere and therefore none of us are safe.”

Savage made a scoffing sound at which Draco whipped his head around to meet him. “Do you have something productive to add?” he asked angrily. “If you don’t, would you be so kind as to save your interruptions for when I am finished?”

“Oh, I have a few words to say, Mr. Malfoy,” Savage said, practically spitting Draco’s name.

Kingsley hummed in his deep rumble and then spoke. “Auror Savage. I advise you to keep your thoughts to yourself until after we have heard all of what Mr. Malfoy has to say.”

Draco tapped the parchment once more and the writing changed again. “Several questions remain that ought to be investigated immediately. What is the motive of the perpetrator? What does he hope to accomplish by incapacitating these individuals? Is he attempting an uprising? Is he a former Death Eater? What is this curse that he’s using and why can’t St. Mungo’s break it?” He stopped and then added, pointing to the stasis bubble: “And this ring. I put this ring into the Malfoy vault at Gringotts immediately following the war. How did the perpetrator get it out of my vault without setting off an alarm at the bank and why did he leave it here? My guess is that he hopes to implicate either my father or myself as persons of interest in the investigation.”

The office fell silent, but for a faint wheezing cough coming from the portrait in the corner.

Robards looked down his long nose at Draco. “Young man, what can you tell us about this ring? How long has it been in your family? Does it possess any magical properties? That sort of thing.”

Harry wanted to flee from this office, from the whole situation. It seemed utterly preposterous to him that Draco could be under fire right now from the very people he was helping. He wanted to have Draco move in with him and stay safe and nestled together until… Well, if Harry was honest with himself, they would probably kill each other within a week of being cooped up and separated from the wizarding world.

Harry had to force himself to pay attention at the matter at hand. What was Draco saying about the ring?

“The ring is an ouroboros, a serpent eating its own tail. It was a method of identification for those in support of the Dark Lord, before he started using the Dark Mark.” Draco’s voice was soft, surrendered, like he knew what he had to say about the ring would be incriminating.

Harry wanted him to stop talking, wanted to advise him to hire a solicitor or something, but his opportunity was cut when Robards dismissed Draco so he could speak to the team alone.

Harry met Draco’s eye as he stood up, and then he was gone and Savage was shouting.

“...should be immediately withdrawn from the case. Lucius Malfoy needs to be questioned as to his whereabouts and whatever alibi he has must be triple-checked. These Death Eater scum need to realise they must pay for their crimes!”

“Whoa there,” Harry interjected. “The last of the living Death Eaters have stood before the Wizengamot and received their punishments. What are you talking about by accusing Lucius Malfoy of this? Don’t we have him under surveillance at all times through the ankle band?”

Harry looked from Robards to Kingsley, hoping to get them to see reason.

“Auror Potter,” said Robards, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I feel that it would behoove you to submit yourself for psychological testing at St. Mungo’s. In fact, I am removing you from this case effective immediately. You may return when I have in my hand a clean bill of health signed by a licensed Healer.”

Harry’s whole body ran cold. “Excuse me?” he said, not quite believing what he was hearing. “On what grounds are you making this call?” He stood up, anger pulsating through his veins, chasing the icy sensation away with a roaring heat.

“Potter,” the voice of Kingsley broke through his tantrum. “I will speak to you when you are finished.”

Kingsley stood up and exited the room, moving slowly, gracefully in his colourful robes.

Harry threw Robards a dark look, ignoring Savage, and stalked out of the room. He knew that psychological testing was required at random intervals during an Auror’s career, and that because of his part in the war and his childhood torments, he probably would benefit from being treated by a Healer, but the way Robards dismissed him, rubbed him up entirely the wrong way.

He entered the lift and hit the number one.

When he reached the Minister’s office, Kingsley had left the door wide open and was playing with a memo paper aeroplane, making it zoom around his office performing stunts with casual flicks of his wand.

“Harry,” he said, finally smiling. “Come on in. Have a frog.” He tossed a chocolate frog in its wrapper across the desk so Harry could pick it up.

He sat down, ignoring the frog. "Why, Kingsley? Why do I need psychological testing at this point in the investigation? Why are they taking me off the case?"

Kingsley paused briefly, rubbing his large dark hands together on his desk. "Harry," he rumbled, sending feelings of comfort through Harry. He needed Kingsley to take on the role of father figure in his life. He needed someone who cared about what was happening to him.

"Can you honestly tell me that you haven't been suffering from what you had to go through during the war? I cannot tell you how many members of my staff I've personally referred to the mind Healers at St. Mungo's and many of them had never even caught a glimpse of Lord Voldemort, nor taken personal part in the war at Hogwarts."

Harry felt his barriers coming down. He needed this…needed to talk about how he was failing to cope.

"You're right," he said, the words making his throat feel raw. "I've not been doing well. I'm having nightmares, and, well, I've just not been all there all the time." He hastened to add, "but I don't think taking me off this case is going to help that, nor do I think that it affects my job performance. I have no problem going to see a mind Healer, but just let me finish this case."

Kingsley's eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Does your passion for this case exist for personal reasons?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Partly," he admitted. "I'm..."

He found he couldn't continue. His vision began to blur around the edges as if darkness was falling in on him, and he felt the prickle of sweat beading up on his brow.

"You need to see a Healer, Harry," Kingsley's voice rang through his ears, penetrating the fog he was in.

Harry nodded blandly as the sensation began to let up and he felt like he could catch his breath once more. "I’ll be in touch.”

~x~

Harry didn't go immediately to St. Mungo's. It was Friday evening, the day of the week he and Draco had established as a routine of dining at Malfoy Manor with Lucius and Narcissa.

He wasn't sure the dinner would still be happening, as he hadn't found where Draco had gone when he'd been dismissed from Robards' office.

He Apparated to Malfoy Manor after walking through a narrow mass of winding streets in a Muggle neighbourhood in London. He stared up at the wrought-iron gates, remembering the first time he'd seen them and shivering with the thought.

The gate twisted into a grimacing face and demanded to know Harry's business, but opened at his voice.

His footfalls crunched on the gravel path up to the Manor. He pulled his robes closer to his body, feeling the chill of the air seep through the fabric as it blew in a soft wind. The large front doors came into view and Draco was sitting on the steps, waiting for him.

The doubt fled his body and relief rushed through him at the sight of Draco holding out a hand to welcome him.

"Hey," Draco said as he approached. "You look like you're freezing, come inside."

Harry took his hand and pulled him to standing. They stood a moment quietly, Draco on a step above and Harry on the ground, facing each other, connected by clasped hands.

He looked up into Draco's open expression, feeling a flood of emotions surge through his body. How could he have thought keeping his relationship with Draco a secret was a good idea? He saw now that his fear of drawing more negative attention to himself had created a rift between them, one that he had the choice to either repair right now, or cleanly break off. He read in Draco's face an invitation, spelled in a smirk.

He nodded quietly, feeling his fringe lift as a burst of cool air whipped past, making the hedgerows rustle.

Draco led him through the front doors.

There was no sign of Lucius and Narcissa, and Harry found himself greatly relieved to not have to deal with them.

He followed Draco's path through the drawing room, and down a back corridor lined with portraits of Malfoys long deceased. They reached a door near the end of the hall and Draco beckoned to Harry to follow him inside.

Harry looked around at the high ceiling, which was curved into a dome above their heads and encircled by small leaded glass windows which refracted light in small rainbows patterned across the thick rich ornamental rug that covered the majority of the floor. At the back of the spacious room was a large bed with a heavy oak headboard carved with figures of small dragons in flight around its edge. The duvet was a pristine white, as were the pillows that lay on top. The rest of the room was furnished with a wide sideboard and a wardrobe with its door ajar, through which Harry could see a mass of robes and garments stuffed inside.

Draco stopped beside the wardrobe and turned to face Harry. There was a trace of the old Malfoy snobbery about his face, but Harry could see he was failing at putting on the mask he showed the world when he felt uncomfortable. Harry now found it endearing.

"So this is your room," Harry said, gesturing to the room at large, his eyes fixed on Draco. He joined Draco by the wardrobe, standing immediately before him, backing him against the wardrobe's open door. He cupped Draco's cheek with one hand, moving their bodies even closer together, until he could feel the heat rippling off Draco's body through their layers of clothing.

"I promised I'd show it to you when you told your friends about us," Draco said softly. "But you're not looking at it."

Harry shook his head, eyes fixed on Draco's face, his eyes, his lips, thin, yet Harry knew they were as soft as rose petals. "I like what I see," he breathed, and pulled Draco's face down to meet his lips.

The temperature in the room seemed to rise and Harry found he couldn't keep the pressure building within him inside any longer. With a long exhale ending in a moan, he slipped his hands beneath the folds of Draco's robes and caressed the silken pale skin of Draco's chest, rubbing a thumb over a nipple standing on end.

Draco shuddered against him, lips trembling. Harry felt hands gripping his arse, pulling him closer until they were rocking together, barely able to stand.

Harry's ability to see was hampered when Draco knocked his glasses off lifting Harry's robe over his head, but Harry didn't care.

Pushing and pulling, they worked their way free of garments, rutting together against the wardrobe door, which bounced on its hinges.

"Bed?" Harry gasped into Draco's mouth.

They walked backwards, stumbling over their robes piled on the floor and kicking their shoes off connected by need and focused on maintaining their devouring snog.

Harry felt the bed frame bump against his calves just in time to know it was there to catch him as Draco pushed him backwards and dropped to his knees.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise as he sank into the duvet, and then fell shut as he felt Draco's hot mouth tease his erection through the thin cotton of his underpants. His cock strained uncomfortably against the elastic waistband, but he was offered relief when Draco pulled the elastic down under his balls, and exposed his throbbing need to the cool air of the room.

Harry's stomach tightened with pleasure as his cock was engulfed in Draco's hot and wet mouth, sliding in and out between his soft lips stretched into an O around the girth.

He opened his eyes again, looking down at the dishevelled white-blond hair, bouncing on top of Draco's bobbing head, baby-fine and glorious. He put his hand on the back of Draco's head, gripping his hair and holding back the impulse to control Draco’s movements. His mouth went slack and his sight focused on one of the shimmering rainbows cast from the windows overhead, dancing on the duvet to Draco's beat.

"Unnnhhh..." Harry moaned. "Draco..."

He felt the pressure from deep inside him rising ever closer, scaling the heights of pleasure in a familiar climb, and then his cock throbbed, hot in the absence of Draco's suction.

He looked down, releasing Draco's hair, spotting the predatory gleam in Draco's eyes as they met.

He melted backwards again, sinking into the comfort of Draco's firm mattress, and moved his legs according to Draco's lead as his pants were stripped. He let his legs fall open, knees to the sides, closing his eyes while a flush stole across his face, allowing Draco full access to his body.

He felt the talented tongue that could kill him with a harsh word dragging back and forth across his hole, dipping just inside the rim in occasional jabs.

Harry felt he had left his body, so high was his pleasure. He murmured Draco's name as he was slowly opened up. There was no more world, no more rules, no place for embarrassment in this limbo in which he found himself. It was only himself and Draco tangled together until they were a part of each other.

Harry's cock dripped thick pearls of luminescent white against his stomach as Draco's tongue drilled ever deeper into Harry's core. His hand found his cock, a natural progression, smearing the spilled semen over his pulsing slit and dragging his fingers up and down his aching shaft, rocking back against Draco's face until he was sure Draco would need a Bubble-Head Charm to keep his breath.

The thought of Draco giving him a rim job through a bubble made Harry’s chest rise and fall in eruptions of laughter, further dragging the sensation of pleasure to another height. He felt the vibration of Draco's indignant hum run through his spine, making every nerve fibre of his body tingle, alive.

And then Harry's hand was batted away and Draco stood up at the edge of the bed, looking down upon his wantonness.

"Do you even know how fuckable you look spread out for me, Potter?" he drawled, his accent on Harry's surname a reminder of Draco's lust for power from their early days.

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the danger-laden words, playful and solemn at once. He moved his body back, climbing up to the pillows crab-like while Draco slipped out of his pants and climbed on the duvet, advancing like a predator.

There was so much Harry wanted to say, to tell Draco what it meant to him that they could come together like this, but words were never his strong point. He shared himself with Draco by making room for his advancing figure, eyes trained on the thick erection bobbing between his thighs as if it were a serpent preparing to strike.

"So good," Harry moaned, as Draco pushed Harry’s legs up, holding them in place so Harry was bent in half and working his way through the vee of Harry's legs to slot their cocks together in a sticky grind. Harry lifted his head, straining his neck, whimpering as Draco leaned in to kiss him, releasing his legs so they fell open at the hips.

Harry tasted his own musk on Draco's tongue, driving him into a frenzy of need: the need to be taken, slammed in their mutual search for peace and perfection.

Harry moaned loudly into Draco's mouth, drinking Draco's desire in long draughts while Draco's cock shifted so it rubbed against the shallow cleft between Harry's legs, passing over his quivering hole with sure strokes and prods.

It was as if he'd fallen into a dream state, where every movement happened in slow motion, like they were moving underwater and every sensation brought to surface was experienced through a veil of pleasure, punctuated with ecstasy.

Harry let out a long low groan as he was finally breached. He shuddered under Draco’s weight as Draco pushed all the way in, his breaths coming in ragged huffs against the side of Harry’s face. Harry closed his eyes and let the sensations take control, sparking like fireworks behind his eyelids with every nudge against his prostate.

His breathing was constricted by his position, and he felt himself growing lightheaded. “Draco,” he bleated feebly.

His head spun dizzily as Draco pulled out and flipped him onto his face, where he landed with a mouthful of feathers from a tear in the pillow. He spat them out, sputtering as Draco’s voice erupted in a fit of laughter above him.

He turned, looking over his shoulder at Draco, catching his eye. He spat a few more feathers out and wiggled his hips, rising onto his knees, pushing the pillow off the bed so he could press his face against the smooth sheet and listen while Draco’s laughter was replaced by a lustful growl.

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on opening himself up, relaxing his muscles so his hole would invite Draco, winking at him its desire to be filled.

Draco’s fingers bruised Harry’s hips, gripping them hard, thumbs kneading the globes of his arse, and Harry knew his face must be as red as a beetroot, but as long as Draco continued teasing him open with the head of his cock, Harry couldn’t care less.

He loved the sensation of being taken by Draco: he felt treasured, kept, precious. Harry was finally coming to terms with the idea of people knowing who he really was, as well as accepting himself the way he was.

The bed smelt of Draco. He felt like Draco was wrapped up all around him, behind him, in front of him, pushing his way inside, making Harry gasp and give himself even further to Draco.

Folded together, Harry felt complete and fearless, spurred even higher in his rise of passion by the idea they were doing it in Draco’s parents’ house, the potential for being discovered fuelling the fire burning between them.

Sweat dripped into his eye, stinging the white while the thick scent of arousal rose from their coupling bodies, sending Harry’s heart racing as he chased his orgasm to the sound of Draco’s balls slapping his own.

He was nearly at the highest point when Draco’s body curled into him and around him from above, teeth sinking into Harry’s neck to muffle the shuddering groan he loosed, and lights popped behind Harry’s eyelids, pushing him over the edge. His cock tightened and he pumped his release into Draco’s fist, trembling on shaking arms beneath Draco’s weight.

Draco’s breath puffed hot and sweet against his cheek before he pulled back, leaving Harry feeling stretched and sore. Draco flopped himself onto his back against the pillow, looking up at Harry’s face while he found his breath.

“Come here, Harry,” Draco whispered, and Harry straightened his legs and dropped to his stomach, allowing Draco to pull him into a spooning position. He felt a soft kiss against his temple, succumbing to the pull of fatigue.

~x~

The following morning, Harry sat across from Draco at the dining table, trying to keep the flush from spreading up his neck to his cheeks. He sensed Lucius' eyes on him and adjusted the collar of his robes as surreptitiously as possible in an attempt to keep the marks on his neck covered.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when the sound of a gong thundered through the spacious room, making the brass plates vibrate against the polished wood.

He was not the only one unseated by the sound. Lucius slammed his hand upon the tabletop and barked, “Wimbly!”

A small house-elf wearing a flowery pillowcase appeared with a loud crack standing at Lucius’ elbow.

“Wimbly is sorry, Master,” the elf said, trembling. “There is Aurors at the gate and they is trying to come in without permission.”

Harry saw the little colour in Lucius’ face disappear. He felt like bolting. What would he tell the Aurors about his presence? He had promised Draco to announce their involvement formally and that they would face the repercussions together but, as the reality of coming out banged on the door, Harry’s courage flagged.

Lucius and Draco rose at the same time as Savage entered the dining room with three house-elves hanging off his person, trying to hold him back. He was accompanied by Robards and another Auror named Proudfoot.

"Mr. Malfoy, will you call off your elves at once?" Robards demanded, his voice ringing sharply off the stone walls.

Lucius Malfoy's hand trembled slightly as he wiped his mouth with his napkin and cleared his throat. "Release him," he told the elves.

Harry wanted the floor to swallow him up at that moment, because Savage's eyes had picked him out and his lips stretched into a leering grin.

Robards seemed to notice Harry at the same time, for he blustered, "Potter, I've told you you are off the case! Why aren't you at St. Mungo's? How dare you disobey a direct order!"

Harry got to his feet when Draco answered, “Mr. Potter is here at my invitation, unlike you Aurors who feel you have the right to break into other people’s residences without notice. What can we do for you?”

Robards appeared to be biting back his words as his mouth was working furiously. Finally, taking control, he slapped a roll of parchment on the table and turned it so Lucius could read it. “Mr. Malfoy, Senior. I must ask you to accompany us to the Ministry of Magic for questioning. You are the lead suspect in an investigation.”

“Preposterous!” Draco shouted at the Aurors. “My father has been under house arrest since his trial after the war, as you should be well aware considering it is the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that monitors him through that!” he spat, pointing with deliberate force at the band around Lucius’ ankle which was visible from beneath the hem of his dressing gown.

Harry watched Proudfoot’s wand slide into his hand, as sly and silent as the man himself. He pulled out his own wand and pointed it at the Aurors.

“Watch it,” he warned, keeping his eyes upon Proudfoot’s mask of stoic indifference, knowing it was his secret weapon, for others to draw the attention away from him while he struck before anybody realized he was there.

Robards turned to look at Harry, his face grave. “Potter, I suggest you put your wand away and stand down or I will have Savage escort you to St. Mungo’s!”

Harry’s heart thundered in his ears and he felt his face grow red when Draco’s hand stilled him with a gentle push on his arm. He lowered his wand, not taking his eyes off Proudfoot. He would show them how fast his draw was under pressure if they tried anything foolish.

The room was quiet until Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat. “Well,” he said dryly. “Shall we conduct ourselves in the Library? I cannot leave the Manor without written consent from the Minister for Magic, after all.”

“There’s the rub,” Savage hissed, turning his head at an awkward angle and reminding Harry even more of a predator. “Shacklebolt’s been cursed. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

The look of indifference upon Lucius’ face did nothing to quell the unease building inside Harry.

“What’s this?” he demanded.

“Potter,” Draco muttered under his breath. “Really, you ought to go to St. Mungo’s; get away from this lot and have a look at what’s happening with Shacklebolt.”

Harry caught himself on an intake of breath and forced himself into submission. “Right,” he answered so only Draco could hear.

Robards scrubbed his hand over his face, exhaustion apparent in his expression. “Potter, I am warning you, for the last time—”

“I’ll go!” Harry interjected. He stepped away from the table and allowed one of the nearby house-elves to hand him his cloak.

He noticed Wimbly’s eyes growing wide as she looked with deliberation to where Lucius Malfoy was being led away by Savage and back to Harry, shivering as she noticed Harry watching her. His mind immediately returned to Winky and how Hermione was treating her for Post-War Stress. He figured he’d pay Hermione a visit after he looked in on Kingsley. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t going to go to St. Mungo’s as requested by his superior.

Draco reassured him with a casual lift of his eyebrow, before turning his attention to Narcissa Malfoy’s questions for Robards.

~x~

Harry’s mind spun as his boots crunched in the gravel drive on his walk back to the gate. Heavy clouds were building in the darkening sky. His travelling cloak caught the wind, threatening to throw off his balance by flapping like a large bat. He looked out over the red-streaked horizon as images of Kingsley, of Winky and Wimbly, of Ron and Hermione, of the lolling tongue in Dennis Creevey’s mouth while his vacant eyes wandered, all flashed through his thoughts.

He tamed his cloak, wrapping it tightly about his person, and concentrated on the Apparition point for St. Mungo’s. He stepped over the boundary of Malfoy Manor, the sound of the wind ceasing as he turned and was gone.

Harry realised he hadn’t thought the visit to St. Mungo’s through well enough, when the Welcome Witch stopped him at the front desk, informing him that he was expected and would he please turn over his wand and sign himself in.

A quick Confundus Charm later, and Harry ducked behind her desk, disappearing from sight beneath his invisibility cloak. He watched the witch shake her head, tilting it side to side, returning her attention to a dog-eared copy of Witch Weekly, featuring Oliver Wood on the cover in his Puddlemere robes, his friendly grin flashing at the camera.

Harry moved quietly and quickly through the hospital until he reached the fourth floor. When he stepped out of the lift behind a man and woman holding flowers, they were stopped by a pair of uniformed security wizards and instructed to come back another time.

Harry slinked past them along the wall, smacking his hip sharply against the counter of the Healer station, which jutted out awkwardly. He bit his bottom lip to keep the shout of pain from giving him away, but was surprised to notice the Healer station was deserted.

He continued down the hall, peering in the window in the door of the room containing the curse victims, but all was still. A commotion was happening in a room farther down and, as he watched, a Healer was sent sprawling, a lime-green blur hurtling out of the room reserved for Kingsley and crumpling at the bottom of the opposite wall.

Kingsley’s voice thundered towards him: “Get off me! Who’s there?” It was followed by the sound of scuffling shoes.

Harry found himself at the door of the room a moment later, still covered by his cloak, but his wand was out and ready.

A pair of Healers wrestled with Kingsley, who they were apparently trying and failing to bind to his bed. Only the whites of his eyes were visible in his dark face, which was contorted in a menacing grimace. Harry’s stunning spell hit Kingsley in the chest as Kingsley’s muscular arm pushed one of the Healers off him with surprising strength, sending him crashing into the wall and falling in a heap on the floor.

Kingsley’s eyelids closed, but he didn’t fall back.

The other Healer shouted “Bind him, quick!” not looking to see where the spell had come from, but scrabbling across the floor for a wand which had rolled under a chair.

“Incarcerous!” the Healer shouted, and thick ropes flew out of his retrieved wand and wrapped around Kingsley just as his eyes opened again, still vacant. He roared.

Harry realised, with horror, that the irises of Kingsley’s eyes were completely hidden beneath what looked like cataracts, giving him the appearance of having his eyes rolled up in the back of his head.

He was just about ready to reveal himself to the Healer when a blast of green light shot passed his shoulder, ruffling the cloak, and the Healer toppled over.

He quickly ducked behind Kingsley’s bed to keep out of range of any more curses, his pulse loud in his ears.

He swallowed hard when Kingsley’s voice rumbled above him, full of terrible authority. “Have you located Harry Potter?”

His body screamed with pinched nerves, as he forced himself to remain still in his squatting position.

From above he heard the answering grunt from Goyle, and Oliver Wood’s thick Scottish accent declared: “It’s time to regroup. Diffindo!”

Kingsley tore the bonds from his body as Oliver’s Severing Charm freed him. He jumped off the bed with surprising agility and picked up the wand the dead Healer had dropped.

Harry held his breath as the three stopped as one and turned their unseeing eyes towards the window.

“Malfoy Manor,” Kingsley murmured, and the voices of Oliver and Goyle repeated it in monotone.

Without another word they turned and left the room.

Harry struggled to make sense of what he’d just witnessed, and then the terrible realisation came to him—Draco was at the Manor. He gripped his wand tightly in his hand and rose. He knew the Healer on the floor at the foot of Kingsley’s bed was dead, but the other two that Kingsley had flung into the corner and across the hall mightn’t be. He forced his fear back down, looking wildly around. There was no telling if the other three cursed people had also risen and were still in the hospital.

Harry wondered how he was going to get back to Draco in time to save him, when the answer came to him in a flash. “Kreacher!” he called desperately, relieved when his aged house-elf appeared before him with a loud crack.

Kreacher’s bull frog voice croaked, “Kreacher is here, Master Harry. Kreacher has been looking for his master, but wondered why he couldn’t find him.”

Harry ran his hand through his sweaty hair. “Look, Kreacher. I need you to take me to Malfoy Manor, immediately, and then come back here and send word to the Ministry to help these Healers. Can you do that?”

Kreacher’s eyes widened, raising his hairless eyebrows. “Kreacher can,” Kreacher said quietly. “But Kreacher needs to tell his Master that he is needed at Hogwarts.”

Harry started. “What?” he said with a surprised hiss.

“Kreacher was sent to find his Master by the Mud—, I mean by the Granger girl. Tricky things is happening at Hogwarts School and the Muggle Studies professor, Smith, is behind it.”

Harry thought quickly, trying to figure out the best course of action. He heard a clamouring sound coming from the hall followed by the authority-filled voice of Percy Weasley: “We need to find Harry Potter. He’s somewhere in this hospital. Search everywhere!”

He wondered why the curse victims were after him. He figured the Malfoys would be safe enough in defending themselves from the people headed their way since the Aurors were still present in their home, but the rest of St. Mungo’s wasn’t going to be as fortunate, and he needed to find out what was going on with Smith at Hogwarts.

“All right, Kreacher,” he said, shutting the door with a flick of his wand and sealing it with a spell. “Take me to Hogwarts, and then I want you to notify the Ministry of Magic that St. Mungo’s is in danger. Tell them the curse victims are not acting on their own, but that they need to be restrained, then go to Malfoy Manor and bring Draco Malfoy to me. Can you do that?”

Kreacher bowed, “Of course, Master Harry.”

Harry took Kreacher’s hand and felt himself close up like a telescope folding in on itself as the elf Disapparated them.

~x~

The next thing he knew, Harry fell against the hard stone floor of Hogwarts kitchen with a crash, and Kreacher Disapparated once more.

“Elf magic,” Harry said aloud, watching as the Hogwarts elves gathered around him to see that he was all right. “Where can I find Winky?”

A little elf with huge bat-like ears, which flapped as she nodded her head, answered, “It’s the great Harry Potter! Winky is not herself, Harry Potter, sir. She is being in the Transfiguration teacher’s office, but it isn’t helping,” she said, eyebrows furrowed in concern and lower lip trembling. “Mimsy can take you to see her straight away, if you is wanting her to.”

Harry pushed open Hermione’s office door a few minutes later. Ron stood by the desk, his wand trained on the seated figure of Zacharias Smith, who was bound to Hermione’s chair with ropes.

“Aww, look,” Smith said, his face tired looking and prematurely lined.

“What is going on?” Harry asked Ron.

“This git,” Ron said through clenched teeth, “has been sending Winky to do his dirty work for him under the Imperius Curse. Hermione’s trying to bring her round right now.” He gestured to the back of the office where Hermione’s couch stood. Winky was sitting on the edge of the cushions rocking back and forth and mumbling to herself.

Hermione looked up at Harry with eyes brimming with tears. “It’s true, Harry. I was working with Winky using Dumbledore’s old Pensieve to try and break through to find out what has been troubling her, and we found her suppressed memories of Smith using the Imperius Curse on her and then of her carrying out the cursing of all those people. And since it’s elf magic that binds them, I don’t know how to break it.”

Harry’s wand was out and pointed at Smith too as Smith leered up at him with a wry grin. “How’s the boyfriend, precious Potter?”

Harry blanched, pulse speeding up. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

Smith’s eyes were unfocused, entirely ignoring the wand tips pointing at him. His manner rubbed Harry up the wrong way. Smith shuddered a moment and then the leer was back on his face. “I’m speaking of the Evening Prophet. You’re headlining a special edition, Hero boy.”

“Why, you miserable bastard!” Ron shouted. Harry caught his arm with a quick grip, realisation dawning on him.

“No, Ron. He’s been Imperiused; watch.”

Harry put his wand down and watched as Smith’s mask fell again, his expression miserable as he fought the curse binding him, and then he lost the little control he’d had and slid back into the easy sleazebag demeanour.

“Yeah, Weasley read it. Didn’t you, Weasley?” he said, licking his lips and reciting, “Draco Malfoy, Top Suspect in the Recent Slew of Curses, Romantically Linked to the Chosen One! Is Harry Potter Another Victim or an Accomplice? Personally, I think it’s a catchy title.”

Harry turned to Ron in time to see his ears turn red. He shrugged back at Harry. “I don’t know where they got their scoop, mate,” he said. “But you know how ruthless Skeeter is.”

Harry took a deep breath and flicked his wand back at Smith. “Finite Incantatem.”

Smith instantly slumped against his bindings, his chin resting limply on his chest. Harry realised that he must have been fighting the curse for a very long time for his strength to be entirely sapped.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said decisively. “What matters now is cleaning up the mess. We have rogue curse victims attacking people looking for me. Kingsley’s already killed a Healer. I’ve got to find out who is pulling the strings.”

The door burst open then, bouncing off the stone wall, and Draco rushed in. “What’s going on?” he asked quickly, spotting Smith and then looking to Harry and Ron. Hermione was rubbing Winky’s back while the elf hiccoughed and sipped a bottle of butterbeer. “Harry, are you all right? Your elf grabbed me just as Shacklebolt broke down the drawing room door.”

Harry quickly explained the situation.

“Is that the elf?” Draco asked when Harry had finished. “The one that cast the curses?”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“It wasn’t Winky’s fault,” said Hermione defensively.

Draco ignored this. “Keep that elf here. Don’t let her out of your sight. You might want to stun her, actually.” He turned to Harry. “Look, Potter. I said it before: whoever is doing this is in a position of power. He’s got a grudge against you and me. I bet we’ll have more luck finding him at the Ministry than anywhere else.”

“How do you figure he’s out to get you too?” Harry asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “The ring, Potter. Can you get me access to the ring? If I can have time to examine it, I may be able to figure out who our perpetrator is. We’ll have to come back for the elf afterwards, because I don’t think I’ll be able to break whatever the curse is without her.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. He turned to Ron. “You got Hogwarts covered, mate?”

“Yeah, of course,” Ron said, folding his arms. “Hermione’s got the Floo hooked up, if you want to get to the Ministry quickly.”

Harry nodded and jerked his head towards the stately fireplace. Draco threw Floo powder into the flames and disappeared into them.

“Thanks,” Harry said to Ron and Hermione, following immediately afterwards.

Harry's feet hit the stone-tiled floor of the Atrium hard as he came spinning out of one of the fireplaces. He heard the soles of Draco’s shoes clacking angrily, rushing towards the lifts. The security guards at the wand check-in were absent, Harry noticed as he followed Draco at a run.

Inside Robards' office, it was apparent the Aurors had not returned from their visit to Malfoy Manor earlier in the day.

"Where is everybody?" Draco asked, confused. "Shouldn't there be a night guard or at least a Hit-Wizard or two on duty?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Something is not right."

Harry opened the evidence locker kept under Robards' desk with a flick of his wand and removed the ring, still floating in a stasis bubble. He directed it to Draco who caught it, holding it in his hand. Harry watched him squish the gel-like substance protecting the ring.

Harry started when he heard the lift doors open again and voices sound at the end of the hall. His eyes met Draco's and then he sprang into action, whipping his invisibility cloak out from its pouch he had built into his robes; he flung it over Draco and himself, backing them into the far corner of the room.

Savage entered, holding a bloody rag to his nose, looking like he was wearing a mask as his face was swollen and bruised black. He was followed by Robards, who half-carried a limping Proudfoot.

"It's just as I told you!" Savage bellowed angrily. He rummaged through Robards' desk drawer and removed the first aid potions kit. "Lucius Malfoy! How else do you explain how the curse victims ended up at his house? St. Mungo's has reported the death of a Healer in Shacklebolt's room and two more injuries."

Robards helped Proudfoot sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk and then took the potion kit out of Savage's gesturing hand. He removed a bottle and passed it back to Savage.

"Rub some dittany on that nose. It should staunch the bleeding," he growled, "and then I want to see this ring up close. Malfoy insisted he had nothing to do with it, but can’t explain how the ring ended up in Percy Weasley’s office. If he is the one responsible for these crimes, I need to know how he got around our protective enchantments."

Harry inhaled sharply, growing wide-eyed at the sound that escaped as Draco had elbowed him in the stomach. Draco was looking from Harry pointedly to Savage and back, evidently trying to get Harry to see something.

Harry watched Savage pretend to pour the dittany on his face, while his right hand flicked his wand tip out of his sleeve and a Disillusionment Charm fell off his face.

Proudfoot groaned as Robards dabbed a cut over his eyebrow with a thick green paste.

Robards motions were jerky and his voice irritated as he complained to the other two. "You weren't there when Draco Malfoy disappeared right out from under our wands," he told Savage. "I will stake my title on guessing Lucius has been using his son as a gofer to do his dirty work. Even going so far as to get him in our office. A double agent! That's what he is!"

Savage grunted his approval of Robards' assessment.

Proudfoot swatted Robards' hand away from his face and took the paste himself. "I have yet to see any proof of wrongdoing from any of the Malfoys," he said slowly. "You want to be careful not to collect your winnings before the snitch is caught."

Harry's esteem for Proudfoot went up a notch.

Savage stumbled back away from the desk, wand pointed at Proudfoot. "It's gone!" he exclaimed.

Robards turned his head, eyeing the wand tip with caution.

"The ring," Savage spat, pointing down at the open evidence locker.

Robards lifted his hands up, trying to diffuse Savage's anger. "Now, take it easy," he said, eyes squinting with curiosity.

Proudfoot put his chin forward, a challenge on his face. "Are you suggesting I have something to do with it?" he asked calmly. "I have to wonder why you are so passionate about that ring."

Harry gasped as Draco whipped the cloak off, wand trained on Savage, holding the ring in its bubble like a taunt.

Proudfoot’s eyes flicked up at Harry, to Draco and back to Savage’s wand-tip.

“I have a feeling the ring may tell us why,” Draco said coldly.

Harry pointed his wand at Savage too. “Drop your wand,” he said, throwing all the authority he could muster behind his words.

Robards began blustering. “Potter! Malfoy! What is the meaning of this?”

“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, as Savage lifted his wand to Disapparate. He caught the wand, while Draco followed Savage as he tried to flee.

Savage stumbled backwards, a cornered animal as Draco advanced on him. “You!” he screamed angrily. “You’re behind this curse. You’re holding the ring and have obviously been tampering with the evidence with the help of your boyfriend, Potter!”

He turned desperate eyes to Robards, who seemed to halt at his accusations, considering them.

“Liar,” Harry spat. “We have Zacharias Smith and the house-elf Winky, who you’ve used as your pawns. They are being kept safe at Hogwarts. Auror Robards,” he said, addressing his boss. “Trust me. We will prove it all, but we need to arrest Savage.”

Proudfoot whipped his wand out and threw up a shield charm, knocking Harry backwards with its force just as a dagger caught in it and fell to the floor with a clatter, and Savage crumpled to the floor from the force of Draco’s Stunning Spell.

Robards climbed to his feet, having been pushed out of harm’s way by Proudfoot. “Never in all my years...” he blustered. “Right. Auror Potter, you are temporarily reinstated. Partner with Proudfoot and transport Mr. Savage to Azkaban to await trial. Mr. Malfoy, you will follow me to St. Mungo’s and bring that ring.”

Harry’s eyes caught Draco’s and held briefly before they turned to go their separate ways.

~x~

By the time Savage was booked in a cell in Azkaban and Harry and Proudfoot made it to St. Mungo’s, the uproar had died down and all six curse victims were back in a comatose state, this time tied to their beds with restraints.

Harry and Proudfoot made their way up to the fourth floor and were directed to the potions master’s laboratory. Proudfoot waited at the door and Harry stepped inside. He had to cover his nose and mouth with his sleeve to keep the thick smell that hung in the air like a greasy vapour out of his system. When he reached the back of the room where Draco sat on a tall stool beside a wizard in midnight-blue robes, pouring a phial of smoking potion into a cauldron, Harry’s glasses were streaked with the stuff.

"Yes," Draco said, observing the smoke rise up from the cauldron in purple spirals. "The ring was used for the curse and Savage's imprint on the ring has overridden mine and my father’s. Do you see?" He pointed to some effect in the smoke that the potions master must have understood.

"Without question," the little old man wheezed, turning to acknowledge Harry. "Mr. Potter!" He hopped down from his stool and hobbled over to Harry, peering up at him through round glasses that were so thick they magnified his watery wrinkled eyes several times over.

Draco looked over at Harry and smiled, sending a leaping sensation through Harry's blood. "It will work!" he exclaimed, delighted.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, coughing wetly. "How can you stand to breathe in here? I swear this stuff is like breathing oil."

Draco shook his head, and exchanged a chuckle with the older man.

"Young man," the old man said. "Did you not see the sign on the door? This room requires its occupants to wear an Impervious Charm.”

He flicked his wand at Harry, leaving him clean and dry under the charm.

Harry felt his cheeks grow warm, but Draco winked at him slyly and he understood he wasn't being laughed at in a malicious manner at all.

"All right," Harry said, running his fringe back out of his eyes. "So, you can break the curse? Is that what you're saying with your smoke rings and such?"

The little potions master nodded his head, smiling widely. "Yes, Mr. Potter. The curse victims will be restored to their previous state of mind. I will notify the Ministry at once."

He bustled out of the room and Harry moved to stand beside Draco, where he was preserving the results from the testing. He slipped a hand onto Draco's thigh where he perched on his high stool. "Did you hear about the Evening Prophet tonight?" Harry tried to keep his voice casual and non-affected, but he was sure the fear and uncertainty hiding under the surface was peeking through.

Draco nodded quickly. "I did. Although I must admit that your methods for outing yourself were not exactly what I had in mind."

Harry scoffed, smacking Draco’s arse lightly. “Prat! You know I didn’t do that myself. It was Rita Skeeter.”

Draco smirked. He finished his work with a stabilisation spell over the top of the work surface, and hopped off the stool.

Harry felt like he was under Draco’s spell then, standing as closely as they were. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and rest his head on Draco’s shoulder right then, feeling himself wrapped in Draco’s arms, safe, but there was a hesitation in the air between them.

“I expect we’ll need to meet with Robards again for a debriefing, and then I’ll need to assist the Healers in bringing round the victims. Are you feeling all right, Harry? Look at me.”

Harry looked back up, wondering when he had looked away in the first place. Draco’s grey eyes were filled with concern.

“I want you to talk to a Healer before we go home. Please?”

Harry nodded. He was tired, and now that it seemed the case was settled, all of the stresses he’d been pushing aside felt like they were flooding his system at once, making him feel heavy and ill. He let his eyes fall closed as Draco descended upon him, giving him a quick kiss. "Let's go," Draco murmured against Harry's lips.

~x~

Three months later:

Harry held Draco’s hand heading up the path on Grimmauld Square. He waved at the family of Muggles bustling out of number 11, receiving smiles of welcome in return.

They opened the front door of number 12 and were met with the sounds of music and laughter. Draco squeezed Harry’s hand. “Everybody is here,” he said excitedly. “I hope you like it.”

Harry grinned and then Hermione’s shriek filled his ears as she nearly bowled him over, rushing into him with a hug and nearly suffocating him in her bushy paint-speckled hair. “Harry!”

“Hey, Hermione,” he said, returning her hug. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“Come and see,” she said, pulling him by the hand down the front hall.

He dragged his feet, looking for Draco, who answered him with a shrug and a smile. The house looked entirely different. The dark wooden trim had been stained a lighter colour to showcase the accents of the entrance hall and the old heavy wallpaper was torn down, replaced with a simple coat of white paint, which made the hall look and feel a million years younger and opened the spaces, dissolving the shadows that had long haunted it.

Luna stood on a ladder at the base of the stairs, painting a chain of yellow flowers adorned with the faces of herself, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Harry and Draco all along the wall going up to the first landing.

“Hello, Harry,” she said, greeting him with a grin. “You look sharp! Did the Healers manage to cure your wrackspurt infestation?”

“Um, yeah, Luna,” Harry said. “That’s right.”

Harry followed Hermione through a tour of his house, revamped entirely and cleaned and, as he and Draco passed the rooms on each floor, more and more of his friends were there to show their support and to lend their hands in the remodelling effort.

That night, under the covers in Sirius’ old room, he lay with Draco, wrapped together face to face and sharing a pillow.

“It’s brilliant,” he said. “Really. Thank you.”

Draco’s hand slipped down to cup Harry’s arse. “It’s been three months,” he said, voice thick with desire. “I know I’ve seen you every day, but I really missed having you here like this.”

“Me too,” Harry agreed. He looked at Draco crookedly for a moment. “You’re here to stay? To live?” he asked, still not quite believing how things had fallen into place.

“Potter,” Draco said, a hint of danger in his tone. “You’re stuck with me. Now, come over here and remind me why I’ve been dreaming about your tongue for three months.”

Harry smiled and wiped the smirk off Draco’s face by doing exactly what he’d asked.
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Integrating the Shadow