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Harry growled in frustration when Katie Bell told him she had no recollection of who passed her the necklace. He didn’t blame her for the memory lapse, but it didn’t help him narrow down the list of suspects, either.
Gritting his teeth as she returned to her fawning friends, he caught a flash of platinum blond hair ducking out of the Great Hall and crowed to himself in triumph. Turning tail and running as soon as he laid eyes on the formerly cursed girl standing healthy and hale spoke of a man with a guilty conscience.
Dashing after Draco and ignoring the frantic calls behind him, Harry pulled out his cloak and map and set off after the git. He’d get answers today. The bastard had been shifty all year, and the term was almost over. He didn’t have time to play nice anymore.
Harry paused outside of the second-floor girl’s bathroom and steeled himself for whatever he might find behind the door. An ambush, maybe? It was unlikely Malfoy reopened the Chamber since he wasn’t a Parselmouth; not that it would matter if he did, as the only creature that could aid him was long dead. Still, he was a Slytherin through and through and it wouldn’t do to walk into a trap.
He secured his cloak and map and pulled out his wand before slipping inside the bathroom. Once inside he cast a silencing spell over the door. Yet none of his mental pep talks could have prepared him for the sight of Malfoy bowed over a sink, sobbing violently. His hair hung limp and his bony shoulders shook with the force of the cries, ripped from deep within his core. With a guttural snarl, he ripped off his jumper and gripped the edge of the basin until his knuckles popped from the strain.
“Let me help you, Draco,” Myrtle pleaded outside of Harry’s line of sight. “You can talk to me.”
Shaking his head with a gasp, he hiccuped through his tears. “No, there’s nothing you can do, Myrtle. No one can save me. He said he’ll...kill me. Kill my family. There’s no hope now. It’s impossible. I’m going to die, I know I am.”
“Oh, Draco,” Myrtle sniffled.
Ice settled in Harry’s gut when he realized who Malfoy meant. There couldn’t be anyone else capable of reducing the proud scion of pureblood elitism to this shocking display of emotion. Shame coursed hot up his throat as he watched him break. Instead of assuming the worst and stalking him, he should have shown compassion and offered to help.
Merlin, he was a prick.
It was obvious to anyone who paid attention that Draco was suffering. His diminished appetite was evident as his clothes became looser throughout the year until they hung off his emaciated frame, and the bruising under his eyes seemed more akin to a matching set of black eyes, rather than lack of sleep. If he’d seen such signs on literally anyone else, Harry would’ve jumped in to save them, but because it was Malfoy, he left him to drown.
What did that say about him? Was he no better than the one responsible for Malfoy’s anguish? That was a sobering comparison and one Harry truly didn’t want to dwell on.
The screech of the tap yanked him out of his head as Draco splashed water on his face and tried to calm his breathing. Turning the faucet off, he whispered a drying spell, finally glancing up and discovering Harry in the mirror. Whirling around with a curse, Draco raised his wand with a trembling hand and clenched his jaw.
“What are you doing here, Potter?”
Stamping down the conflicting emotions churning within him, Harry purposefully pocketed his wand and took a careful step forward. Draco’s eyes widened when he raised his hands in a gesture of peace.
“Potter...what? Have you gone mad?” Draco demanded, voice cracking in surprise.
That is a distinct possibility, Harry mused, even as he shook his head.
“No, Malfoy, I haven’t gone round the twist.” He took another step and Draco’s shoulders tensed, expecting a brawl to break out between them like last year on the Quidditch pitch.
“Then what in Salazar’s name are you doing?” he hissed, his grip on his wand tightening to keep it steady as his heart lodged in his throat. What the fuck was Potter playing at?
Releasing a long breath, Harry straightened his spine and slowly closed the distance between them.
“I’m doing something I should have done a long time ago,” he answered, extending a hand.
Draco gaped at him in astonishment, his arm falling to his side in shock.
“We were young and stupid when we declared each other enemies. But we’re older now and we both know there are bigger things to worry about than petty school feuds,” Harry said simply. “You need someone in your corner and I’m offering to be that person.”
Draco bristled at the imagined slight in his words, but Harry shook his head in annoyance and cut him off.
“I’m not saying you’re incapable. Merlin, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met and just as stubborn as me. You don’t need me to fight your daily battles, but this is bigger than you. Shit, Malfoy, it’s bigger than me!”
Draco blinked as the other teen raked a hand through his messy hair to center himself. Harry's throat clicked loudly in the deafening silence when he swallowed the lump threatening to unravel the threads of his composure as he fell into mesmerizing silver pools.
“Look, I’ve lost enough people to that bastard. I can’t...I can’t lose anymore, goddamn it.” Forcing himself to maintain eye contact with Draco through the sting of salt water, Harry confessed, “Not even you. Maybe...especially you.”
They stared at each other as the weight of his words settled around them, increasing the tension to suffocating levels. Draco’s eyes flitted across his rival's face, searching for a hint of a lie, before settling on his lips. Harry’s breath hitched and his heart slammed against his ribs as the reason for his odd statement dawned with overwhelming clarity.
All these years his pulse quickened or his lungs clenched whenever Malfoy’s attention fell on him he had stupidly attributed to hatred. Now he realized it was another feeling entirely. As he stood so close to the one who drove him up the blasted wall with his quick wit and sharp tongue, Harry finally recognized the pull as desire. An attraction buried so deep under layers of confusion and centuries-long House rivalry that he’d never have dug it out without such a raw moment between them to yank his head out of his arse.
Without his friends or Malfoy’s goons waiting in the wings for one of them to throw the first jinx, they could safely put aside their public personas, freeing Harry and Draco to bare their souls.
And Harry appreciated the bloke who never grovelled at his feet; whose sarcasm and confidence were both attractive and sorely missed. Here, locked in a staring contest he didn’t dare break, he could finally be honest with himself about his feelings for the Slytherin Prince.
“Please, Draco,” he whispered, relishing the man’s hushed gasp with the use of his given name. Licking his lips as he hesitantly moved closer, Harry pleaded, “It doesn’t have to be this way. Let me help you. You don’t have to do anything he’s demanded of you, Dark Mark be damned.”
Draco dropped his gaze and his cheeks flamed when Harry’s eyes flicked to his left arm.
“I didn’t...fuck.” Clenching his fists, Draco forced the words through his teeth with difficulty. “It wasn’t by choice. The options were: take the Mark to make up for Father’s mistakes or let Greyback have my mother.”
Harry recoiled, his stomach twisting in revulsion. “Bloody hell."
He nodded curtly in acknowledgment, though he couldn’t meet Harry’s gaze. What if this encounter was nothing more than a figment of his imagination? A hallucination brought about by despair? He couldn’t bear to look up and find none of it was real.
Sensing Draco’s anxiety Harry cupped his cheek and gently lifted his face. Guilt washed over him anew to see tears shimmering in once-proud eyes.
“I’m so sorry he forced you to make that choice," Harry murmured, "but I understand completely why you did. I would have done the same in your shoes. You were protecting your mum, Draco; that’s commendable.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered as tracks streaked along his gaunt features. “He’s going to kill me and my parents for failing my task. It’s intentionally impossible. He means for me to die, to punish my father before he destroys us; to show his followers what he will do to any who disappoint him.”
Harry’s chest tightened uncomfortably. He was right. Whatever mission Voldemort wanted Draco to complete weighed heavily on him. Hell, he was half-dead already.
“What task, Draco?” Harry asked, wiping away the salt trails before they could dry on his delicate skin.
“You’ll hate me,” Draco mumbled. “It’s the one thing I doubt even you can forgive.”
Pressing their foreheads together, he said, “If this was something you wanted, we wouldn’t be here right now. You can tell me. I won’t hate you for whatever Voldemort is using as a sick form of punishment.”
Clutching the front of Harry’s shirt to remain upright as he trembled in fear, Draco’s mouth dipped to his ear. “I’m to kill Dumbledore.”
Harry’s arms instinctively wrapped around Draco when his knees buckled under the weight of the admission. The greatest wizard since Merlin? The only one to defeat Voldemort? Draco hadn’t lied. Voldemort gave him a choice that wasn’t a choice, which led to being Marked and then tasked him with a suicide mission to guarantee he didn’t walk away. So much for loyalty to the pureblood elite who supported him.
What a twisted bastard.
“No,” he growled. “You don’t have to do this. I can help you. Dumbledore can help you and your parents. Just say the word.”
“Why?” Draco sighed into his neck. “Why are you doing this?”
Harry decided that of all times they would benefit from brutal honesty it was now. Lifting Draco’s head from his shoulder so he could see his face, Harry’s free hand skittered feather-light along his arm.
“Can’t you feel it? Like lightning beneath your skin every time you look at me? Because I do, even though I didn’t understand what it meant until it was just you and me.”
Brushing his lips across Draco’s in a barely-there caress, Harry breathed, “I don’t care about our past or the Mark. We have time to hash it out once you defect and allow my side to protect you. Right now, my priority is your safety and you’re running out of time. Please, Draco, say yes.”
The offer was a balm for his soul. Draco hadn’t realized how much he wished Harry would come to his rescue until the possibility stretched before him. It seemed ludicrous to expect the Chosen One to give a damn about him, much less return his deeply buried affections. It was a childish dream that crossed his mind only in the safety of his subconscious, kept under lock and key behind impenetrable Occlumency shields. Yet, it didn’t seem quite so impossible as he drank the earnestness in the stubborn Gryffindor's gaze like a man dying of thirst.
Hope lit up his haggard features, reminding Harry how handsome Draco was when he wasn’t scared witless. It filled him with a strange sense of accomplishment, to be the one to ease his mind. Merlin only knew how long it had been since Draco had a moment's peace.
“Yes,” Draco agreed hoarsely as he dove in for a kiss. Unlike Harry’s rather chaste one, this was passion and heat and quickly found them shoved against a wall as Harry pressed their bodies flush.
“I thought I hated you,” he panted against Draco’s bobbing Adam’s apple, “but it turns out I really don’t, and I much prefer this to hexing you.”
“Merlin, Harry, so do I,” Draco said before resealing their lips in a desperate clash of teeth and tongues and hunger until he wrenched away with a gasp when his lungs begged for oxygen. “When I saw you in the mirror, I thought you came to kill me. I would’ve let you. A convenient loophole in the Dark Lord’s plan,” he said with a grim smile.
Harry caged him against the wall with a growl and glared at him. “Fuck, no, Draco. I wouldn’t...you drive me mental, but I hope I have more self-control than that,” he said, mouthing kisses along his jaw. “You’re so fucking arrogant, so bloody pompous, but fuck if I don’t love your posh accent and your damn smirk.”
Draco chuckled weakly as he tugged Harry’s hair, the answering groan of approval travelling straight to his cock. “I hate this bird’s nest atop your head unless my fingers are buried in it or the wind is whipping it when you fly.” He moaned when Harry nipped his earlobe. “It should be illegal to let you on a broom. No one should look that delicious in Quidditch leathers.”
“I could say the same for you,” Harry admitted with a grin. “It’s a miracle I ever caught the Snitch when you were in the air with me.”
Leaning back slightly, he drank in the sight of Draco flushed and panting and aching against his thigh. “God, you’re gorgeous, especially like this. Because of me, for me.”
Draco’s blush deepened, but he shot him a smug smirk and Harry’s heart skipped a few beats.
“Who else could it ever be?” he joked, but they both heard the ring of truth in the thinly veiled flippancy.
“How long?” Harry asked as his thumb rubbed mindless circles on the sliver of exposed skin above the waistband of Draco’s trousers.
His sharp features softened when he stroked Harry’s cheek. “Madam Malkins. I met a boy with wild hair and brilliant eyes and I was lost, but I didn’t realize what those traitorous feelings meant until fourth year.”
He quirked a brow in silent question, and Harry chuckled.
“For me, I think it was the Forbidden Forest in first year. I saw your humanity beneath your mask that night. Though,” Harry ducked his head in embarrassment, “I’m slower on the uptake and didn’t figure out why I couldn’t stop staring at you until it was almost too late. Forgive me?”
“Harry,” Draco murmured as he arched into Harry’s hand, chasing a firmer touch. “There’s nothing to forgive. You couldn’t have prevented this any more than I could have, but you’re here now and giving me more than I dared hope for.”
“Draco,” he huffed, “you should know by now that I gladly give my all to those I care about, and despite our history, I’ve always had a soft spot for you. If it’s within my power to grant, it’s yours. And guaranteeing you and your family protection is one of those things.”
Slipping his hands under Draco’s shirt, Harry tossed him a grin in all its lopsided glory. Draco’s lungs stilled in the face of his signature smile, the one the Golden Boy only bestowed on his friends, while large, calloused palms mapped his torso with something that could only be called reverence. Sweet Salazar, this man would kill him yet.
“Harry, Harry, please," he begged.
Swearing colourfully in frustration, Harry shook his head and removed his hands, leaving scorch marks on his skin. “No, baby. Not here. Fuck, I want you, but I’m not letting our first time happen in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.”
Draco allowed the unnerving truth of his statement to wilt his excitement.
“Fair enough," he sighed as he leaned his head against the brick. After a few moments spent collecting their composure, Draco asked, “So, first order of business, then?”
“Dumbledore,” Harry declared firmly, though Draco didn’t miss the disappointment flickering across his face with the abrupt shift of objective.
“Right,” he mumbled.
Reaching in his pocket, Harry pulled out a shimmery cloth that with a muttered engorgio revealed a cloak.
Barking a laugh with a shake of his head, Draco teased, “That explains so fucking much, Potter.”
Harry held it out to him with a broad grin. “Well, you get to wear it this time. I reckon it wouldn’t be wise for people to see us walking to the Headmaster’s office together. You might have to crouch a bit to hide your feet, but it will do the job.”
“You trust me not to run when I’m out of sight?” Draco asked.
Shrugging lightly, he quipped, “Call me an optimist, but yes, I trust you.”
With a soft smile, Harry cupped his face and continued, “This is your chance to escape. Hopefully, Dumbledore can save your parents, too, but I won’t lie and say you aren’t my primary concern.”
Draco swallowed hard with the admission, a shy flush staining his cheeks with his frankness.
Shaking out the shimmering fabric with a smile, Harry held it open in invitation. “Now come on. Let’s get going. The sooner the better, yeah?”
“Yes,” Draco agreed.
Pushing off the wall, he willingly offered his back to the man he’d spent their school years tormenting, allowing him to lay the cloak over his shoulders. His breath hitched when Harry’s fingertips skirted his collarbones in the faintest caress. Maneuvering around him, Harry reached up and flipped the large hood over his head, stepping back with a critical eye to ensure he was hidden. Nodding in satisfaction, he beckoned Draco to follow him.
“Remember to crouch a bit and stick close to me, alright?” Draco promptly slouched to cover his shoes, and Harry grinned. Checking the hall for people, Harry led them from the bathroom toward the Headmaster’s office, but they were quickly waylaid.
“Harry!”
They both suppressed a groan as Hermione appeared looking mildly panicked with Ron pulling up the rear.
“Where have you been? We’ve searched everywhere for you, but we couldn’t find the map —”
“Guys!” Harry interrupted impatiently. “I’m fine. I just needed some time to think.”
Hermione nibbled her lip worriedly, sharing a pleading glance with Ron that immediately set Harry’s teeth on edge.
“You would tell us if —”
“Yes, Mione,” he replied curtly, a twinge of regret twisting under his ribs as his friends winced at his tone. Sighing heavily, Harry shoved his glasses up and rubbed his eyes wearily.
“I’m sorry if I sound cross, I’m just tired from Dumbledore’s lessons. I know you both care and I appreciate it, but sometimes I need to breathe.”
“ ‘Course, mate,” Ron replied, a little too cheerily, but he counted the relieved smile on Harry’s face as a win.
Harry cleared his throat and said, “Look, I have a meeting with Dumbledore right now. I’ll catch you in the common room afterward.”
They nodded and offered him fleeting smiles as they turned to leave, but they hadn’t gone far before Harry snapped his fingers.
“Hermione, wait! I had an idea, but I need your help.”
Spinning on her heel, she raced back and launched into his arms with a laugh. “Oh my god, Harry James Potter! Why am I friends with you, you insufferable prat?”
“Because I’m the Chosen One, and you’re the brains behind the trademark scar,” Harry snickered as Ron rejoined them with a snort.
She smacked his chest with a playful roll of her eyes as he set her down. “Don’t forget it, either. Now, what do you need?”
He pulled a couple of Galleons from his pockets and double-checked the hallway as he lowered his voice. “I need you to link these two together for private communication. Dumbledore mentioned needing a better way to stay in contact.”
Her eyes shone with excitement. “Like Sirius’s mirror?”
Harry flinched, and she instantly became contrite, but he waved away her apology. Studying the coins as she considered the options, she finally nodded in satisfaction.
“Right, I think I know how to link them. Can you hold them for me while I work?”
Holding them as requested, the small group watched with bated breath as the witch carefully layered the spells. Draco’s eyes widened under the cloak as she activated them with a Protean Charm, then added a flagrante spell, and finally sealed an intricate communication charm into the metal without even breaking a sweat.
The elegance of her magic filled Draco with shame. He knew as well as anyone Granger was brilliant, but aside from watching her cast in class, he’d never paid attention to how deftly she wielded it. It further proved everything his parents taught him to believe was nothing but lies. Granger might be Muggleborn, but her magic was innate, just like his, and not in the least bit tainted.
Humming in approval when she finished, Hermione said, “Okay, let’s test it out real quick. Send me a message, Harry.”
He tapped a coin with his wand and brought it to his lips to whisper a short phrase. She grinned when “Mione, you’re the best” circled the edge of the second Galleon. Repeating the process on the other coin, her reply of “Thank you, I concur” garnered a round of chuckles from the trio when it flashed on the first coin.
She pressed the enchanted coins in his hands and shooed him toward Dumbledore’s office.
Waving goodbye to his friends, Harry waited until they were far enough from the other Gryffindors to whisper, “Still with me?”
Grateful the cloak hid his pleased smile at being remembered, Draco murmured, “You’ll have to try harder to get rid of me.”
Harry pursed his lips around a grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When they reached the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office, Harry gave the password and hesitated when the wall opened so Draco could slide around him. As the wall closed, leaving them on the curved stairwell glowing with soft torchlight, Draco removed the cloak and passed it silently to the man behind him. Instead of taking the offering, Harry wrapped his hand around Draco’s with a pensive expression. Squeezing Harry’s fingers briefly as he pressed the silky fabric into his palm, Draco hastened up the stairs, blood pounding in his ears.
Harry met him on the landing and gallantly held open the door, and Draco refrained from kissing the handsome idiot through sheer willpower. Stepping into the impressive abode, Draco gawked at the portraits of prior Head professors and magical artefacts displayed among the books and rich decor.
Dumbledore seemed unsurprised by their appearance as he magnanimously invited them to sit. Harry wasted no time dancing around pleasantries as he barrelled into an explanation for their visit. The Headmaster listened intently, his eyes sweeping between them during the tale. Once Harry finished speaking, the older wizard poured him a glass of water and levitated it over.
“Thank you,” Harry murmured, drinking deeply. Dumbledore nodded and gestured to the pitcher in question to Draco, who mutely declined.
“I must confess, Mr. Malfoy, I'd begun to lose hope that you would come to me.”
Draco’s mouth fell open. “You knew?” Dumbledore nodded again as the boys sputtered. “How?”
“I cannot share the particulars,” he hedged, “but I know your heart was not in the task granted you, or I would already be dead. You’re too intelligent and your magic too strong to not get the job done, if you truly desired my demise.”
A shock wave of Harry’s magic shook the chamber, startling the wizards present and the observing portraits. He glared at Dumbledore with fire in his eyes as he rose to his feet, his power crackling and charging the room with an uneasy aura.
“Are you saying you allowed one of your students, a minor, to go through literal hell instead of offering aid sooner?”
The portraits tittered amongst themselves at his insubordination, but Harry silenced them with a mere flick of his wrist; his furious gaze trained on the man rapidly losing the last vestiges of his respect.
Raising a placating hand, Dumbledore replied, “Draco had to want to change sides.”
The sound of Harry slamming his fist on the desk reverberated like a thunderclap.
“He didn’t even know he had the option when we spoke earlier! Maybe if you gave him a choice and offered some fucking hope, he might’ve taken it sooner. But we’ll never know now, will we, sir?”
Draco slumped in his chair, astounded by Dumbledore’s admission and apparent disinterest in what became of him. If not for Harry’s impressive display and utter disregard for authority while defending him, he feared the man would’ve left him to the mercy of the wolves. His extremities unexpectedly went numb as paralyzing fear coursed through him, imagining all the ways Greyback would ensure he suffered before eviscerating him.
A strangled whimper reached Harry’s ears, and he spun with a gasp, dropping to his knees in front of Draco as he struggled to breathe.
“Draco, listen to my voice. You need to breathe.”
Anxiety thrummed in Harry’s veins as Draco’s grey eyes remained unfocused, the pupils mere pinpricks as he fought imaginary demons. All too familiar with panic attacks, Harry took one of his limp hands and pressed it over his heart.
“Hey, breathe with me. In and out, in and out,” Harry encouraged on a loop as the other man mimicked him in stilted, wheezing pants. “That’s it, baby. Keep breathing for me. In and out, you’re doing great.”
Slowly the darkness receded from his vision, and Draco made out Harry’s concerned expression.
“Harry,” he sighed, his muscles uncoiling as oxygen flooded his system.
“You gave me a fright,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
Shaking his head adamantly, Harry squeezed the hand still resting on his chest. “Don’t apologize. I get them, too. Are you feeling better?”
Draco nodded as intense eyes examined him before Harry exhaled in relief and levitated a glass of water toward him. Raising the glass in thanks, Draco wet his dry mouth and sank into the supple leather.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Harry reluctantly released Draco’s hand as he reclaimed his seat.
“There is another option available to us,” he said, fixing Harry with a meaningful look.
“No, absolutely not!” Harry roared, leaping to his feet again. “Voldemort coerced Draco into taking the Mark while underage and will not play a part in this war! My life is the only one that should be on the line.”
“Harry,” Draco protested weakly. He didn’t deserve the effort the stubborn Gryffindor was going through for his sorry hide.
Turning to face him, Harry grit his teeth. “No, Draco. I’ve been in danger since I was a baby. This is not new for me.”
“My boy, we could use —”
“Forgive me, sir,” Harry snarled at the older wizard, “but that is precisely why I’m rejecting your proposal. Draco has been used enough for a lifetime, damn it. I won’t let anyone else take advantage of him. Not even you. I made a promise to protect him and I bloody well mean to keep it.”
Draco’s heart fluttered in response to his bold declaration, forcing him to grip the chair to keep from launching himself into Harry’s arms for a heady snog.
A hint of a smile flashed underneath Dumbledore’s beard before he tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Very well. I shall make arrangements for a safe house immediately.” Rising from his desk, he said, “If you require anything from your dorm, Mr. Malfoy, send for it now because you will be leaving shortly.”
A disbelieving puff of air escaped him as the Headmaster ventured deeper into his rooms. Draco was certain the wily old man would’ve forced him to return to the Dark Lord, trapped into spying for the Light, if not for Harry decrying the plan. How people saw the wizard as a paragon of virtue, Draco would never understand. Yet, he couldn’t deny he was his ticket to freedom, so he’d take what he could get and be grateful.
Once Dumbledore disappeared, Harry called for Dobby and requested he bring anything Draco needed without being seen. Moments later, everything of import was shrunk down and shoved in his messenger bag.
Shuffling his feet nervously, Harry pulled one of the enchanted Galleons from his pocket and tucked it in Draco’s palm, chuckling softly at his wide-eyed shock.
“But, I thought...you said these were for Dumbledore?”
“I lied,” he replied with a dismissive shrug.
“That is positively Slytherin,” Draco smirked.
“I was almost sorted into Slytherin, actually. That’s not all that surprising,” Harry shot back with an impish grin.
Draco studied the enigmatic man next to him and realized there was so much about him he didn’t know despite their years of school, but he desperately wanted to.
Snippets of the past six years danced across Draco’s mind: detentions, hallway duels, Quidditch matches, Tri-Wizard tournament tasks, the Inquisitorial Squad hunting down the DA. Harry had long been the center of his world. Whether rage or pride fueled Draco’s actions, he always gave as good as he got, refusing to back down from a challenge issued by emerald eyes. The reality of walking away, of not knowing how Harry was faring daily, left him decidedly off-kilter.
Tightening his hold on the coin, Draco swallowed hard. For all that Harry circled him, he had genuine friends in Granger and Weasley. And while Draco was jealous of their bond, he was immensely grateful that whatever the future held for Harry, he wouldn’t face it alone. With Granger’s brilliance and Ron’s loyalty to curb Harry’s rashness, he would win the coming war.
“Harry,” he said, breaking the extended silence, “before I go, let me apologize.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to stop him. “No, I need to say this. I don’t know when I’ll see you again and I can’t bear the thought of you not hearing it. I’m sorry for every thoughtless word or insult said to you or your friends. For drawing out a moment of wounded pride at eleven and turning it into a bitter feud that caused us both pain. I’m sorry for so many things I can’t even list them all.”
Draco smiled wryly as sad eyes bored into him. “But there is one thing I’m not sorry for and that is, oddly enough, that your rejection of me led you to Granger and Weasley. I know I owe them apologies, as well, but they’ll have to wait. For now, it’s enough to know that though I won’t be around, they will guard your back.”
The sorrow in Harry’s gaze gave way to astonishment before melting into searing want as he read the sincerity painted across Draco's face.
“Draco,” he replied, voice husky and low, sending shivers down his spine. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I didn’t take your hand all those years ago, that I didn’t help you with this mess sooner. For wasting so much fucking time —”
Slender fingers rested against his mouth, halting his torrent of words.
“No, Harry,” he whispered as he laid their foreheads together. “We still have time. You’ll defeat him and we’ll have all the time in the world. But you have to promise to stay alive.”
A choked whine slipped past Draco's lips without permission when Harry cupped his face.
“I promise,” Harry swore. “But you must promise me, no matter what you hear, no matter how long it takes, that you will stay safe. I can’t fight a war if I’m worried about you.”
“I swear it,” Draco vowed, sealing it with a gentle kiss as their silent tears mingled.
“You’ll wait for me?” Harry whispered in the corner of his mouth.
Clinging desperately to the man he'd gained, only to lose in the same night, Draco bit back a sob. “Of course, I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to. I just got you, Harry, I’m not giving you up now.”
Harry yanked the trembling blond into a fierce hug and marvelled at how well they fit. They were two halves of a whole.
Merlin, he was going to miss Draco’s cocky attitude and witty rejoinders. But keeping him away from Voldemort and Greyback was paramount and overrode Harry’s selfish desire to see him every day.
“Alright, boys,” Dumbledore said, startling them from their embrace. “Tonight, Mr. Malfoy, you’ll go to a temporary safe house while we finalize arrangements for a permanent one. We should have everything sorted by tomorrow.”
Clearing his throat in embarrassment, Draco said, “Thank you, sir. What about my parents?”
“I will reach out to them with an offer of protection, but they must accept it. To extract them abruptly would increase the danger to you,” he explained.
Draco slumped in resignation. He knew his father would refuse—his fear of the Dark Lord outweighed his common sense—and his mother was an unknown.
“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry murmured.
“Don’t be,” he replied with a wan smile. “You kept your word to me. My parents are their own people and I can’t force them to leave. It’s...a hard truth, but a truth all the same.”
“Harry, I must ask you to leave now. I can’t reveal Draco’s location to anyone if we’re to keep him safe from Voldemort,” Dumbledore said.
Sighing heavily, he nodded in understanding before pressing a lingering kiss to Draco’s cheek. “Take care of yourself. I’ll find you when it’s over,” Harry whispered.
“You better,” Draco choked, blinking away a fresh onslaught of tears.
With a sad smile and a parting squeeze of his hand, Harry hustled out of the office without a backward glance.
“He has potential, I will admit,” Phineas Black’s unsilenced portrait said.
For whatever reason, the half-arsed endorsement of the man he cared about from one of his distant relatives broke Draco’s composure.
“Oh, dear,” the former Headmaster muttered as the once-proud scion of House Malfoy crumpled to the floor and wept.
Harry tumbled out of the Pensieve with a scream, clutching the desk and gasping through his earth-shattering sobs.
His entire life was a lie. The past year on the run destroying Horcruxes and slowly starving in a cramped tent hadn’t led to the end of Voldemort alone. While he’d always been willing to lay down his life without a thought, knowing that Dumbledore groomed him for death gutted him.
But it was so much worse now. He made a promise—a promise he never intended to break because it would break the man to whom he’d made it.
It was the promise Harry clung to in the Forest of Dean, in Gringotts, and the Ministry. The promise that kept him going when he felt like giving up during the interminable months wearing that damned locket. The promise that encouraged his magic to burn Nagini’s venom from his body while visions of blond hair and bright smiles filled his mind in delirium.
“I hope you’re happy,” Harry spat to Dumbledore’s portrait.
For once the other paintings remained quiet as the man who’d been a key component in Dumbledore’s machinations grappled with the role his mentor forced him into.
“My boy —”
“I was never a boy,” he growled. “You made sure of that when you sent me to live with the Dursleys and tested my compliance at Hogwarts. You guaranteed it the night I forced poison down your throat—on your orders, no less. You turned me into an unquestioning soldier and sent me off to war knowing I would never see Draco or my friends again. You’re no better than Tom, robbing me of the people I love and denying me the chance to tell them.”
Harry chuckled bitterly. “Anything for the greater good, am I right?”
Tears streaked across the portrait’s cheeks, but Harry shoved off the desk and turned his back to him. Disappearing under his cloak, he fled the office, hands scrabbling for purchase along the smooth stone walls as his vision blurred on the stairs, but he refused to break down near Dumbledore again.
He should find Hermione and Ron and say goodbye, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away if he did. No, it was better this way. They would miss him, but Harry would be another casualty of war this way, instead of a sacrificial lamb.
But Draco...Oh, gods, Draco.
Casting a quick silencing spell around himself, Harry sank behind a pile of rubble and sobbed. Only hours ago he’d renewed his promise to survive the battle and smother him in celebratory kisses, which Draco eagerly vowed to return. It had been the glimmer of hope spurring him to win throughout the fight, but it snuffed out like a candle when he stumbled out of the Pensieve.
Pulling his Galleon from his pocket, he sucked in a few ragged breaths so the enchantment could understand him before whispering his final promise. A promise he wanted to say in person, and now never would. But he wasn’t about to leave it unsaid, either.
I love you
Shoving the coin in his pocket without waiting for a response, Harry gathered the remnants of his courage and stole out of the castle to the Forbidden Forest where destiny awaited. Tugging the snitch bequeathed to him by the wizard who trained him to die, he raised it with a trembling hand to his lips. He plucked the hidden Resurrection Stone from inside and turned it thrice to say goodbye to those he’d already lost.
Guilt slammed into him when he saw Remus and Tonks alongside his parents and Sirius, hastily stammering out an apology that he wouldn’t be around for Teddy. With gentle smiles, they reassured him their son would be fine. There were plenty who would care for him in their place. While it was true, it didn’t hurt less to know he wouldn’t see his godson grow up. To know the dreams of him and Draco spending holidays with the Lupins or teaching Teddy to fly while Remus laughed in the background would never become reality.
“It’s time, Harry,” Lily gently prompted.
He nodded mutely and turned to Sirius. “Does it hurt?”
His godfather shook his head with a faint smile. “Easier than falling asleep.”
Straightening his spine with Gryffindor steel, Harry dropped the cloak and ignored the heat searing his thigh as he walked to greet Death.
It was finally over.
Twelve hours ago Harry marched to his end and then had a lovely chat with his grandfather, Fleamont. Given the chance to return to the land of the living or step into the light and be free of life’s burdens, he took the first option without a second thought. As Draco’s name echoed on the breeze in the meadow they sat in, Fleamont gave Harry his blessing with a hug before sending him back through the veil.
Despite the bone-weary exhaustion making him feel decades older, it had been worth it. Glancing around the Great Hall, Harry took stock of how many of them survived the night. Though the casualties on their side had not been many, they’d lost good, brave people who could never be replaced.
But as he chatted with Kingsley about the Auror’s next steps, Harry couldn’t get his mind off the person he most wanted to see. Once the captured Death Eaters were shipped to Azkaban, he planned to eat a proper meal, sleep for a solid twenty-four hours, and then fetch him.
A strange hum vibrating along his core caught his attention right before the doors to the hall burst open with a surge of chaotic magic. Harry twirled, wand in hand to face the new threat, but he dropped his arm, mouth agape when he saw Draco in the entryway. He’d filled out during their separation, gaining weight and muscle, and grown into his jawline. The healthy flush on his cheeks reminded Harry of berries and clotted cream, and he desperately wanted to know if he would taste it on his lips.
Despite the dishevelled state of Draco’s lustrous hair and the panic in his eyes, he was blindingly beautiful. While Harry, in an ironic role reversal, looked like a prisoner of war as opposed to a hero with his malnourished frame and tattered clothes.
“Harry,” he breathed.
The sound of his voice was all it took to snap Harry out of his stupor and send him running. Uncaring of the tears streaking through the dirt and blood on his face or the wands directed at the blond in the doorway, he launched himself into Draco’s arms with a cry of joy.
“You’re alive, you’re alive. Thank fuck, you’re alive,” Draco murmured thickly.
“I’m alive, baby. I had a promise to keep,” Harry soothed through his sniffles.
Tightening his hold, Draco whispered, “I feared the worst when I got your message. It sounded like goodbye.” His voice cracked and Harry’s heart twinged with regret.
“It was. There was a moment, Draco...it was fucking close. I wanted you to know.”
Draco shivered and buried his face against his neck, dampening Harry’s shirt with salt water at the terrifying admission of a near-death experience. He knew there had been a few such moments over the past year since Harry was always especially chatty those nights, needing Draco to distract him from the reality of war. But he had a feeling there was more to this story, though he didn’t doubt Harry would share it when he was ready.
“Not very gentlemanly of you to tell a man you love him and not allow him the courtesy to say the same.”
Goosebumps erupted along Harry’s skin as hope sang in his blood, but Draco’s powerful grip prevented him from leaning back to see his face.
Pressing a soft kiss to Harry's throat, Draco whispered, “I love you, too, and I have my own promises to keep, you know?” His lips curled into a wicked smirk when Harry’s breath hitched. “Take me home, love. It’s my turn to take care of you,” he purred.
With a spin and a crack the couple disappeared, leaving a hall of cheering students and stunned adults in their wake. Neville and Hermione high-fived, Dean slipped Seamus a handful of Sickles, and Luna giggled as the Weasley twins squished her in an exuberant hug. Ron blinked at his friends, wondering if they’d all gone mad, while Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Honestly, Ron, did you not see this coming?” He shook his head dumbly and they all groaned at his obliviousness.
“I’ve been calling it since fourth year,” George said.
“Maybe for Draco, but Harry was a late bloomer,” Fred interjected.
Seamus wheezed between cackles. “Aye, they’ll be bloomin’ for a while, but I'm bettin' they’re more like to be early instead of late after a year apart!”
Ron grimaced while the rest collapsed on the ground in stitches, their dirty jokes barely discernible through their maniacal laughter. Turning to the adults watching in fond amusement, Ron sighed heavily. This was why they fought a war, he reminded himself. To rid the world of evil and let everyone have their happily ever after.
“Damn it, mate. Did you have to fall for bloody Malfoy, though?” he grumbled. Pointing to his mum, he said crossly, “I’m not using his first name. Ever.”
The assembled Order members fixed him with varying expressions of vexation as Molly patted him on the back. “Of course, dear.”
Once Ron wandered off, muttering to himself, Molly grinned at Minerva. “Well, Christmas will certainly be interesting.”
“To say the least!” Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Minerva conjured a quill and parchment. “Anyone care to wager?”