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“Petrificus Totalus!”

Without warning, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry, who was instantly paralyzed. As though in slow motion, he toppled out of the luggage rack and fell, with an agonizing, floor-shaking crash, at Malfoy’s feet, the Invisibility Cloak trapped beneath him, his whole body revealed with his legs still curled absurdly into the cramped kneeling position. 

He couldn’t move a muscle; he could only gaze up at Malfoy, who smiled broadly.

“I thought so,” he said jubilantly. “I heard Goyle’s trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back. . . .” His eyes lingered for a moment upon Harry’s trainers. “You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I’ve got you here . . .”

And he stamped, hard, on Harry’s face. Harry felt his nose break; blood spurted everywhere. 

“That’s from my father.”

—

A look passed on Malfoy’s face, disrupting the smug look that Harry had thought was permanent. He stared at Harry for another moment, before shaking his head. Malfoy dragged the cloak out from under Harry’s immobilized body and threw it over him. 

“I don’t reckon they’ll find you till the train’s back in London,” he said quietly. “See you around, Potter . . . or not.” 

As Harry laid on the ground, blood dripping over his face unimpeded, all he could think was how much he despised Draco fucking Malfoy. His fucking gloating about being a goddamn Death Eater of all things. His stupid fucking haircut. His pompous attitude that knew no end.

And Harry’s face fucking hurt. Though it wasn’t quite his face anymore. It was like his whole body was catching on fire. Maybe his rage had finally manifested itself into some uncontrolled wandless magic without the flame. 

 He stared at his wand, just out of reach, performing Accio after Accio to no avail.

 Maybe Malfoy had cursed him. Because, of course, Malfoy would have mastered wandless magic before anyone else. They probably teach it at junior Death Eater training. He didn’t know what this curse could be. A fire-less burn hex? Was that a thing? Hermione would know.

The pain was beginning to subside a bit, leaving his body warm in its path, as it shifted to manifest singularly on the side of his ankle, before fizzling out completely.

Harry tried to shift to see what the curse had left, but he was still in the bind, nothing left to look at but the ceiling and the empty carriages. Forgotten, bleeding, and probably cursed all because Draco Malfoy was hiding something and Harry was determined to find out.

Luckily, the panic hadn’t had long to set in before Tonks found him.

He hadn’t thought about the silent curse at all again until his shower that night. Hermione had cleared the dried blood from his face at dinner, but magic never felt as clean as a real shower.

As he sat on the counter waiting for water to warm, he noticed a discoloration on his ankle. Holding it to the mirror, it looked like a tattoo of some kind. Black lines against his brown skin. Wings. Like those on snitch. Did Malfoy brand him with a fucking Quidditch reference?

He’d kill him if he could. The bastard.

Harry reached down and traced the outline of the pattern. The moment his finger tips touched the skin, it warmed and his whole body relaxed, like falling into the arms of a friend. Or a lover. Not that Harry would know much about the latter.

Harry removed his fingers and it faded, when he touched it again, the feeling came back anew,  like the first sunny day of spring warming his skin.

It wasn’t a curse. It was much worse. It was a soulmark. Harry quickly put his ankle back out of view, stripped, and jumped in the shower. 

He hadn’t heard about soulmarks growing up; they were something only wizards have. But once he got to Hogwarts? Hermione talked his ear off about them. Read him story after sappy story about people finding their soulmates in unusual circumstances. The joy of discovering the love of their life. The one who would go to ends of the earth for you, follow you into battle, into death.

What a fucking joke. Of course, the Universe had plans to fuck over every aspect of Harry’s life. Why would this be any different?

Draco Malfoy. His soulmate. Harry would rather die.

He didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t want opinions on it. He didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to pretend it didn’t exist.

If in the morning, right as he woke up, he felt that same comforting warmth emanating from his ankle up through spine, he didn’t care.

If in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he could feel Malfoy’s surge of smug pride as Snape displayed clear favoritism to the Slytherins, he ignored it. It wasn’t the first time he had had someone else was in his head. He didn’t like it any better.

At least it didn’t seem to happen again unless they were in class together. Malfoy never looked at him except to sneer, so at least, they were taking the same approach to the whole situation.

But then at night, Harry would feel the warmth when he touched the mark, even sometimes when he didn’t. By the end of a few weeks he got into the habit of long pants and high socks, of avoiding looking at it even in the shower.

And then two Seventh Years brushed in the Great Hall, followed by gasps and cheers, showcasing of soulmarks, hugs, and claps from all around the room. Pure joy as they embraced each other.

And Harry no longer felt like it was a joke. He felt like he had been robbed. Just one more thing he could never have.

 “That’s so adorable isn’t it?” Hermione cooed.

Harry made the mistake of glancing across the room to see what sneer Malfoy would no doubt be pulling. But that wasn’t what he saw. Instead, the grey eyes were already fixed on him. Their glances caught for half a moment before Malfoy glanced down at his plate, feigning disinterest.

The cheer of the room didn’t reach him. It felt cold, distant, an entire plane of existence entirely. And he doubted he was alone in that feeling.

That night, he tracked Malfoy’s name on the Marauder’s Map, watching him in the Slytherin Common Room with his friends. Pansy’s name next to his. Harry wondered if Malfoy’s head was in her lap, if she was caressing his hair as she had on the train. Harry wondered if he cared. If he was even supposed to.

He was about to resign himself to sleep when he noticed Malfoy leaving, tracking his name to an unoccupied classroom in the dungeons. Harry didn’t waste time.

He grabbed the map, his wand, and his invisibility cloak and snuck out of his dorm. Through a series of secret passageways, he reached the dungeons without a sign of another student.

He tried to sneak into the room, but Hogwarts was old with creaky doors and Malfoy had his wand out before Harry could speak a word. Luckily, Harry was prepared this time.

“ Petrificus -” Malfoy began.

“ Protego !” Harry shouted. Malfoy’s spell bounced off his shield as he took off his cloak. “Look, I’m just here to talk.”

“Bullshit,” Malfoy said and sent another hex his way, which Harry deflected easily. “What wisdom can Saint Potter depart on all of us?”

Harry pushed down another wave of anger threatening to boil over. “We need to talk about what happened on the train.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, his wand still poised to fire off another curse. “Should we rehash old memories? How about I break your jaw this time? Or have you come with your Mudblood and blood-traitor backup? I’m surprised you can even walk without -”

“It’s about the fact that we’re soulmates!” Harry yelled, cutting Malfoy’s tirade off.

Malfoy’s face immediately fell into something between disgust and fear, his eyes jumping to the door. He spelled it closed quickly, which Harry hoped was a good sign.

“Truce?” Harry asked, still keeping his wand in hand and at least two desks between them.

“A truce? You think you six years of fighting can be called off in a day? Opposite sides of the battlelines?” Harry shifted his weight and said nothing, because he hadn’t not thought that. “Of course you did. The Savior’s word is as good as gold.” Malfoy’s eyes found Harry’s then. “Don’t be naive enough to think this is all about you.”

“This?”

“The war.”

“Voldemort seems to think it is.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It’s about protecting magical bloodlines from blood-traitors and Mudbloods who seek to destroy the santictity of the Wizading World.” He looked Harry up and down. “You are an inconvenience. ”

Harry was trying very hard not to curse him. “So can we have a truce or not? Not forever or the war or whatever, but can we have a conversation and promise not to kill eachother?”

“Fine,” Malfoy said, devoting his attention to the potion in front of him. “You have fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen?”

“That’s how long this potion needs to brew so you better start talking.”

 “Right,” Harry ran his hands down the side of his robes, grasping at conversation starters. “So, we’re soulmates.”

“No,” Malfoy cut him off. “No, we are not.”

“Yes. When you broke my nose,” But Malfoy cut him off again.

“Many other people bumped into you on the train that day, Potter, I’m sure you’ll find one of your adoring fans is currently languishing in the shadows. Best go find them.”

“I actually remember the train pretty clearly, thanks, and I have an especially clear memory of what it felt like after you stomped my face into the carpet.”

Malfoy had the audacity to look pleased with the recollection of his actions, before seeming to remember the topic of conversation. “We cannot be soulmates.”

“You’re saying you don’t have one?”

“I’m saying that I am a Malfoy and you are Harry Potter. We cannot be soulmates.”

“So you have one then?” Harry cursed himself for how hopeful his words came out to be.

Malfoy let out a sigh. “I am the heir. I am a servant to the Dark Lord. I am marrying a Pureblood. Parkinson or Greengrass or someone of similar pedigree and I am going to raise those children as proud heirs to the Malfoy line.”

“That sounds really fucking depressing,” Harry said before he could stop himself. Not that he cared if he hurt Malfoy’s feelings.

“Poisoning the Malfoy line with the dirt you hang around with is worse.”

“So that’s it then? We’re going to ignore this?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said, taking care to keep his eyes on the ingredient he was chopping. “It is clearly a mistake.”

“Get fucked, Malfoy,” Harry said, surprising himself by the hurt in his voice. It was not as if he had wanted Malfoy to say yes.

“Oh, you’d rather do what?” Malfoy put down his chopping implements and stared at Harry. His gray gaze piercing through him. “Hold hands on the grounds? Go on dates in Hogesmeade? Make out in broom cupboards?” The disgust must have been clear on Harry’s face because Malfoy returned his gaze to his potion. “There universe made a mistake. I would prefer if we never spoke of it again.”

Harry made no move to contest his words, which was as good as agreement.

He watched as Malfoy read his instructions. Based on the ingredients, it was the one Slughorn had demonstrated in class that day. The one Harry had excelled at with the help of his textbook. It never occurred to Harry that Malfoy actually studied for his classes, though he supposed he must to pull off his air of unaffected perfection.

“So you’re a Death Eater now.” Harry said, because he doubted he would ever be able to talk one on one with Malfoy again.

“I thought we were on a truce,” Malfoy responded.

“A truce not to kill each other, not to ignore the war.” A pause. “So did you take the Mark then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Potter, I’m sixteen.” He stirred his potion, counting under his breath.

“I saw you at Madame Malkins, when she was stitching your left arm. You jumped away hard.”

“I was trying to get away from that Mudblood filth you hang around with.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk about the war, Saint Potter.” He sounded utterly bored with Harry’s presence.

“Fine. So we tell no one and then what? Ignore that we’re soulmates when we’re wand to wand on the battlefield?”

Malfoy put down his knife and leveled his full attention on Harry. “Let me make something very clear, Potter. I am not in this war because I don’t like you as a human being. I’m not following the Dark Lord because you didn’t want to be my friend when we were eleven. I am following Him because he is willing to do what it takes to protect magic and to keep the right people in power.”

His eyes were vicious as they stared down Harry across the room. “So yes, when every last Mudblood falls, I will not be shedding a tear. And when the Dark Lord drops your dead body onto the ground. Let it be known, that I will be smiling. And no little snitches’ wing is going to change that.” Malfoy’s wand began to buzz and he turned to his potion once again. “Time’s up, Potter.”

Harry left the room without another word. That night in bed, he stared at his ankle willing the snitch’s wing to take off in flight. He was foolish for thinking that he could get through to Malfoy, that there was a human being behind all that cruelty.

If Malfoy wasn’t going to let a soulmark stop his plans, then neither would Harry. He would find out what Malfoy was doing and he would stop him before someone gets hurt. And if he had to be the one to put Malfoy in Azkaban himself, he wouldn’t hesitate a moment. To take a page from Malfoy’s book, he might even be smiling.

-

Harry continued trailing Malfoy, watching his name move on the Marauder’s Map, hoping to catch him in the act of some nefarious plan. But mostly he stayed in the library or the Common Room. At the very least, he stayed out of Harry’s way.

As much as he could, anyhow. Their bond was getting stronger with time, just as the books Harry read had said. When they were in class together or even across the Great Hall, he could feel Malfoy’s emotions. 

At first, Harry thought it was Voldemort, somehow bleeding through. But it didn’t feel like Voldemort’s rages or gloats. It felt more anxious, more precarious as the term went on. As Malfoy kept his head down more and ate less and less at meals. He didn’t seem to sleeping, which affected Harry’s sleep, for some ungodly reason.

Harry had half a mind to confront Malfoy again, ask if he was okay, as comical as it seemed. But then he remembered their last conversation, his gloating as he described Harry’s death and he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

Let Malfoy work himself to death. Harry wasn’t concerned. He just wish he didn’t feel it. The terror that began to shake Harry’s hands in class. The second-hand detachment, as if the world wasn’t real, that it didn’t matter, nor did Harry’s place within it.

He found himself using some breathing tips Luna had taught him just to get through potions. He kept trying to separate Malfoy’s emotions from his own, but it all swirled together, like a storm brewing at sea about to bring down the ship.

And it was getting worse. The emotions and the proximity. Soon, he felt Malfoy no matter where he was in castle. He found himself touching the mark constantly, just to get a rush of comfort in the day. (Somehow it still came, despite the hatred between them). 

Whenever Harry began to feel a bit of sympathy for the boy, he’d locked eyes with Malfoy, and Malfoy would sneer at him like he was no better than the dirt on his shoe. So Harry decided not to care about Malfoy and whatever storm of teenage angst he was going through. 

And then Katie Bell was cursed.

Harry was there when Katie touched the necklace. He heard her screams, saw her floating, her thrashing. Her terror. 

And he knew Malfoy was responsible. He had seen him at Bourgin & Burkes. He had heard him gloating to his friends. It just had to be him. It had to be.

McGonagall didn’t believe him. Ron and Hermione were embarrassed by him. Stopped responding when he talked about it. But Harry was confident, because he knew Malfoy was up to something. Proving himself to the Dark Lord or his little junior Death Eater friends. There was no else it could be.

He just needed proof. 

Tailing Malfoy was unsuccessful. As was trying to discuss it with Ron and Hermione. He once even stole Malfoy’s notebook from his bag, but all it had was a list of boring furniture charms. Unless renovating the Manor was a crime, Harry was out short. 

“Honestly, mate, give it up,” Ron said, watching Harry stare at the map on his bed.

“He’s a Death Eater! He tried to kill Katie Bell.”

The look of Ron’s face was one straight from Mrs. Weasely. “Even if that’s true, Dumbledore will take care of it.”

 “If he talks to me,” Harry grumbled but acquiesed, closing the map and falling back on his bed.

One of the reasons Harry kept so busy tracking Malfoy was that the moment he stopped, the moment he let himself breathe, it was like the ceilings had cracked and he taken out the final support and it was coming down on him now.

Voldemort was out there. He was trying to kill him and what was Harry doing? Essays? Trips to Hogsmeade? It all felt so pointless. He wasn’t safe here. No one was, if a girl could get imperio ’d in a pub. And no one was doing shit about it. Not McGonagal. Not Dumbeldore. Not Ron or Hermione either.

Harry didn’t know how much of his despair was his own or how much was borrowed from a boy in the dungeons. But when it got like this, Harry didn’t care. He just wanted it to end.

He touched the mark on the side of his ankle and felt the warmth, distant as it was. Just as he went to change for bed, he felt the warmth again, like a distant knocking. He reached down and knocked back.

When Malfoy missed the Quidditch game, Harry was suspicious, that was all. He wondered if the gnawing in his chest meant another curse was afoot. If the frantic feeling in his limbs was because Malfoy was looking to run, looking for an escape. 

But hours passed and the feelings didn’t go away. He was still a live wire, looking around every corner, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He woke in the middle of the night, which was nothing new, but his mind was racing and he couldn’t sit in bed any longer. He just couldn’t. As quietly as he could, Harry took the map and his cloak and ventured into the halls. 

He wasn’t searching for Malfoy, exactly, but after months of tracking him, his eyes found him immediately. The third floor corridor, by the windows. Harry set off the way.

Malfoy was alone when he saw him, laying on a windowsill. He hadn’t been close to him since that first week and he looked like worse than he’d ever seen him. Dark circles under his eyes, his skin grey and thinning. He was shaking his leg in a way he didn’t seem to even be aware of.

The anxiety was much worse here, next to him. Harry wondered if Malfoy could sense Harry’s emotions, but Harry didn’t even know what those are. Everything from Malfoy always seemed to crash upon him like a tidal wave.

Harry took off the cloak silently, standing across the hall from him. “You look like shit,” Harry said.

Immediately, Malfoy’s head whipped around, his wand was in his hand as he stared him down. Harry could feel the panic and anger swell up in equal measure. “Looking for a fight, Potter?”

“Looking for rest more like it,” Harry began to walk closer slowly. Malfoy tracked his movements, his knuckles white against his wand.

“Piss off then.”

“You weren’t at Quidditch today?” Harry leaned against the windowsill. “How much you pay Harper to take your place? I’m sure Father won’t be happy about that.”

“Like you would know what a father would think,” Malfoy sneered and looked away. His voice was bitter but he didn’t seem like he was about to curse him.

“I know you cursed Katie Bell.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “While I was in detention with McGonagal? Your intelligence never fails to surprise me, Potter. I bet you have your adoring fans turn in all your homework for you.”

Malfoy rested his face against the glass. If Harry focused, he could feel the distant cool against his own skin. “I know you weren’t sick today.”

“Stalking me, Potter? That’s a bit much, even for you.” His voice was as tired as Harry felt. Even as he said it, Harry felt something close to hope, though what for, Harry didn’t know. Maybe an opportunity to curse him.

“I can feel what you’re feeling, Malfoy. It’s part of this whole soulmark thing.”

Malfoy’s face whipped around, his eyes a bit wild before a cool mask settled over them. And then, in a second, all the anxiety and panic dropped off Harry’s bones, like a door had been shut.

“Apologies, I thought our relationship had to be… more developed for that to happen.” His voice trailed off.

Harry was still in shell shock from how empty his body felt. Months of battling wars just to get through the day, gone at the drop of a hat. Like falling off a cliff or all the air being sucked out of room. Pure exhaustion remained. “What’d you just do?”

“Occulmency, Potter. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“I…” He wanted to tell him not to. That it couldn’t be healthy to do that. To shoulder it all alone. Harry took a deep breath. It was weightless for the first time in months. And Harry remembered that Malfoy was a likely Death Eater piece-of-shit who had probably almost killed one of their classmates. “See you around, Malfoy.”

Malfoy gave him one last withering look and returned to his staring. When Harry got back to his dorm that night, he had his first restful sleep in months.

-

Hermione and Ron had completely given up on believing Malfoy was up to something, but Harry was not so easily deterred. However, not helping this was that Hermione and Rons barely spoke to each other if Lavender came around.

Harry liked Lavender fine. She was a bit much and quite love sick at times, but it was cute to see someone so infatuated with another person. It was nice to watch them cuddle and smile at each other and laugh. 

He didn’t realise he was staring at them, Lavender snuggled up close to Ron in the Common Room, until Hermione sighed. “They’re disgusting.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Harry replied. 

Hermione continued scribbling letters on her page. Lavender made a particular loud, “Won won,” and Hermione was grasping her quill so hard, Harry was afraid it might break.

“I doubt they’ll last Hermione, don’t worry.”

“I guess not.” Hermione kept working on her essay, stealing glances over at the two of them until eventually, she gave up the ruse of studying. “Do you think they’re soulmates?”

Harry scrunched up his nose. “Doubt it. That kind of love isn’t sustainable.”

“What do you think your soulmate is going to be like?” 

“I don’t know. Honestly, I haven’t given it much thought.”

“You haven’t given much thought to who you’re going to spend the rest of your life with?”

“Not to bring down the mood, but Voldemort has tried to kill me like every year of my life since I was eleven. I haven’t really imagined what my life will look like at all.”

Hermione dwelled on this for a moment, but was undeterred from her train of thought. “You should think about it. A lot of wizards and witches meet their soulmate at Hogwarts.” Harry nodded, hoping his silence meant the topic would be dropped but to no avail. “Who do you think yours will be?”

“Out of everyone at Hogwarts?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. Ginny, maybe,” Harry lied.

“Ginny?”

“Yeah, I mean her family is already like my family and she had a crush on me when we were kids. If it had to be anyone at Hogwarts, that would be the most, I don’t know, romantic? Narrative?”

“Yeah, I see that,” Hermione said. “You should ask her out.”

“Once the war’s over maybe.”

“Ugh why wait? Who knows how long this war will last. Didn’t your parents get together during the war?”

“Yeah, but they also died, so… Not exactly a roaring endorsement of young love.” Harry was finding this conversation more and more grating the longer it continued. He knew Hermione always cared about soulmarks and all that but since this year, Harry had decided he had given up on the concept. 

He looked over and saw Hermione looking more than a little put out. “Sorry,” Harry apologized. “I’ve just been stressed about this year and the war and…” Harry waved his hand around vaguely.

“Right, of course,” Hermione said and put a hand on his arm. “Maybe when we find our soulmates, everything will get a bit easier.”

Harry grimaced but didn’t say a thing, but his stalking of Malfoy continued. It was easier now that he couldn’t feel everything the bastard was.

Harry hunted down Malfoy in the bathroom. He didn’t hesitate when he saw that he was crying. He didn’t care that he was hyperventilating. He didn’t care when he heard Malfoy’s pleads between gasps that he was hopeless, that his life was being threatened.\

Good , Harry thought, it’s what he deserves.

He didn’t care at all, until he split open the other boys chest. 

Until he could feel the pain blossoming in his own body as the blood flooded the tiles. 

Until all he could see was Malfoy’s body, shuddering. Until all he could hear were Mrytle’s screams.

  Oh, God he thought what have I done? What have I done to Malfoy?

And then, please, let him live. Let him be okay.

Harry snuck into the Hospital Wing that night. He had been up tracking professors in and out until finally, Malfoy was alone. He knew he wasn’t asleep. He could feel it in his bones in the same way he could feel the itching at his skin as Malfoy’s cuts healed. He could feel the way his breathing was heavy, raggedy, and that his whole body felt as if it was about to fall away from its bones.

The Hospital Wing had large windows that let the moonlight in. It was supposedly good for healing, but Harry had been here enough to know it mostly just kept one up. He found Malfoy at the very back cot, curtains drawn tightly around his bed.

He barely looked over when Harry pulled them back, didn’t even seem to really see him when he took off the invisibility cloak.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “I didn’t know what it did.”

“So you’ve said.” Malfoy’s voice was dejected.  The pain continued all across Harry’s chest, he could its weight, the resignation of Malfoy’s own emotions to it. But Harry didn’t feel any anger coming from Malfoy. He couldn’t understand why.

“Will you… be okay?” He was staring at the bandages covering Malfoy’s bare chest, many of them stained brown at the edges with dried blood. It was hard to look at. Worse to know he was the reason it happened.

Malfoy didn’t look at him as he spoke. “They’ll heal but it’ll scar.”

Harry nodded. Looked at his hands. Back to Malfoy. “If it makes you feel better, I could feel your pain.”

Malfoy didn’t say anything. It didn’t seem to make him feel any bit of difference. “What are we going to do, Potter?”

“What?”

“About this,” he gestured lazily between them. “I thought I could ignore it. Tried to look up something to prevent it. Stop it. Nothing.”

“You could always kill me,” Harry suggested.

Malfoy let out a weak laugh. “I suspect I would have to get in line.”

“Yeah, probably.” And the silence returned, more friendly than last time. Harry stared at Malfoy’s weak figure, more pale than ever in the moonlight. It broke his heart.

Malfoy moved his arm, reaching out into the space between them. Harry wasn’t sure what he wanted, but then Malfoy looked over at him with eyes that didn’t have an ounce of hatred, despite everything, despite today, despite the last six years, and Harry took his hand.

Immediately, his skin was flooded with warmth, with the feeling that here, right here, was where he was meant to be that he should’ve never been anywhere else, that the world was safe. Judging by Malfoy’s long sigh, he felt it too.

“Have you told anyone?” Malfoy asked.

Harry shook his head. “It didn’t feel like something I wanted people to know.”

Malfoy nodded and moved his hand so that their fingers intertwined. His touch was light, weary, and Harry traced patterns on the back of his hand. It felt far more intimate than any kiss Harry had ever had.

“That’s for the best. If anyone were to know, if it were to get back to the Dark Lord, he would stop at nothing to use it against you.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“To be tortured in any manner, knowing you’d feel it, to use me as bait for you? I’d rather die.”

“Do you think the universe was right? Making us soulmates?”

Malfoy sighed, squeezed Harry’s hand. “I think it was being cruel.”

Harry let out a weak laugh. “You really think that low of me?” Which was rich considering he had cut him open not eight hours prior.

“No,” Malfoy voice cut across the night. “I think it was cruel giving us the taste of something we could never have.”

“We could… I don’t know… be in secret?” Harry’s voice was thin even to his own ears.

“You don’t want that,” Malfoy said. The implied you don’t want me was left unspoken but Harry heard it. He knew it was true. He knew that whatever this night was, it wasn’t love. It was guilt.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, knowing he was apologizing for more than the scars.

“I’ll be okay, Potter.” Politely, neither of them acknowledged the lie. They knew tonight was only the start, that worse was coming. They were quiet for several minutes, so long that Harry thought Malfoy had fallen asleep, before Malfoy spoke again. “I wish there wasn’t a war. I wish we could start again.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Me too.” It wasn’t long before Malfoy finally drifted off to sleep. Harry sat there for a while, trying to find a way out of this nightmare. But Malfoy was right, Harry didn’t want him. Not like this, not when there was a non zero chance they would kill each other on the battlefield.

Eventually, Harry disentagled his hand from Malfoy and took one last glance at the boy sleeping under moonlight and bandages. As he put his cloak back over him, he knew in his heart that they would never be this close again

He didn’t talk to Malfoy again after that. They’d pass each other in the halls or in classes, but they never spoke, beyond the cruelties Malfoy was known to do. Which Harry didn’t understand, how to make sense of the boy crying in the bathroom, the boy laying in a hospital bed, holding his hand, and this - the one who throws mudblood around like it’s nothing, who sneers and brags.

Harry doesn’t know which is true, which is real. Maybe it all is, maybe none of it. Harry tried to tell himself it doesn’t matter, that he didn’t even want to date Malfoy, which was true, of course. He didn’t. Beyond that, he couldn’t. 

But then sometimes, Malfoy would let down his occulmency shields and Harry could feel him, his loneliness, his terror. Harry would touch his soulmark and Malfoy would touch back. The two of them knocking, half a castle apart.

But he still knew, deep in his gut that Malfoy was up to something, planning something, that he wasn’t just jittery because of exams, that there was a reason he was constantly looking over his shoulder, constantly checking his back. And Harry knew he had to stop him. It didn’t matter what the universe had deemed.

-

It had been a hell of a night. Harry had just returned from the cave with Dumbledore, from pouring a potion down his throat as he begged, this old man, begged him to stop his agony. Harry had never felt more like a kid.

And then the Dark Mark was over Hogwarts. And then he was on the Astronomy Tower and he was immoblized under the cloak, and Malfoy was there, wand raised against a defenceless Dumbledore - one of the greatest wizards of his age and a student. One of them looked terrified to be there and it wasn’t the one with the wand against his neck.

Malfoy explained his plans, how they’d gone awry, all the attempts to kill the headmaster.

Harry tried to summon up all his vindicated rage, but after the night he’d had, after taking one glance at Malfoy’s face, at hearing the tremble in his voice, the desperation, Harry couldn’t feel an ounce of the anger he’d expected.

But all that was going though his head was, “He’s just sixteen. He’s just sixteen. Oh god he’s so scared.” A dog backed into a corner, snarling and biting, and hoping to God, it wouldn’t be next.

Malfoy looked over in his direction, not directing at him, but near enough. Close enough for Harry to know that his presence was known. And then some words floated through his mind, a message from Malfoy. Leave.

Harry didn’t know if he could respond, but he tried his best to think. I can’t. He didn’t know if it ever reached him.

But he did get one more message, just as the Death Eaters burst through the door. I’m sorry . 

Malfoy didn’t return to Hogwarts after the night that Dumbledore was killed. Not that Harry was surprised. He couldn’t feel his emotions or even his vague presence.

But he could feel the pain. The cruciatus curse used against him, someplace far. A job not completed well enough, Harry supposed.

He knew he shouldn’t feel sorry for Malfoy and most of him didn’t. Most of him though he had gotten what he deserved, that he had made his bed and it was time to lie in it.

But some nights, just when the curse pain began to fade, all Harry could see was Malfoy’s shaking hands, the terror in his movements, and his words echoing against the Astronomy Tower’s walls. “He’ll kill me. He’ll kill my whole family!”

The next time he saw him was in a dream.

Malfoy was on his knees, head bowed in a study. “You were given a simple task, one your family relied on you for. I relied on you for. And you failed. You failed us.”

Harry thought it was Voldemort standing over him. It felt like a vision Voldemort may have, but less angry. But then Harry could see, it was Lucius and Harry knew, this was Draco’s vision.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Malfoy responded. And he did sound regretful, upset, on the verge of tears even. The repentant son, on his knees, begging for mercy.

Lucius’ hand whipped around and slapped Draco across the face, one of his rings catching on his jaw, making it bleed. Harry could feel the pain clear in his own skin as he watched Draco fall to the floor.

“On your knees,” Lucius barked and Draco, with heavy breathing, returned to the kneeling position. “Your mother and I, we gave you the world and all you have done is disappoint.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Draco repeated, eyes down.   

“Not sorry enough,” Harry’s gut twisted as Lucius raised his wand. “ Crucio .”

The blinding pain woke Harry up, his whole body in agony, torture at every end, until finally, mercy. His breathes deep as he tried to relax, to tell himself he wasn’t actually hurt. It didn’t help. Not when he knew someone else was.

As soon as his breath caught, the pain was back again, over his whole body. Seconds that stretched into hours. The pattern repeated, break, then pain, then just enough to catch his breath, before being plunged down again.

When finally it relented, Harry was not able to tell how much time had passed. He was just grateful it was over. In the darkness, he reached down to his ankle and let the relief spread across his skin.

I’m here , he was trying to say, you’re not alone .

And the response came in the dark. Knocking. An echo. I’m here. You’re not alone.

Harry tried not to think too hard about the boy on the other side.

Harry did not see Malfoy in his dreams often when he went on the horcrux hunt, but when he did, it was rarely pretty. Voldemort had moved in to Malfoy Manor and with him, a fear that never seemed to cease its haunt of Malfoy.

Even when Voldemort wasn’t there, everyone else was. Bellatrix. Fenrir Greyback. A perpetual circuit of Muggles and Muggleborns, their screams echoing on the halls. And Malfoy. Always Malfoy, in his bedroom, in the halls, meetings with Death Eaters and torturers, sometimes toturing people himself.

But unlike most of the people there, he always looked sunken, sickly, almost as scared at the victims in front of him. 

It was much of the same when Malfoy went back to Hogwarts. The Death Eaters were replaced with the Carrows, but it was cruelty all the same. 

Harry wondered if Malfoy could see him too, on the run, sleeping in tents, pouring over textbooks and spells, a locket in their hands. 

The first time he talked to Malfoy in his dreams, they had been in the woods for a month and Harry was on the verge of going insane. Ron had left that evening, screaming at them, frustrated with the endless search. Maybe it was the locket, maybe it was just how things went. 

When Harry fell asleep that evening, he could hear muffled Hermione’s tears in the room over.

They were at Hogwarts in the dream, under a tree by the Great Lake. Malfoy was reading, studying by the looks of it. He looked healthy, beautiful. Harry was glad this was what his subconscious had chosen for him.

“You’re staring,” Malfoy muttered, not looking up from his book.

Harry huffed and turned to look out at the lake. “It’s a beautiful day. I wish it was real.”

Malfoy turned to look at Harry. He expected some sort of quip but Malfoy just sighed. “Me too.”

“I hope you’re alright wherever you are.” Harry figured, if this was all some sort of fantasy, he didn’t care if he stared. Because Malfoy was beautiful, seemingly happy or at least content. No war hanging on his shoulders. And that was a sight to hold onto, even in his mind.

“I’m okay, Potter.” Malfoy was quiet for a moment. “Are you?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know. Ron left. Hermione’s a mess. And we still don’t know how to destroy these fucking horcruxes.”

“Horcruxes?” Malfoy tilted his head.

“Pieces of Voldemort’s soul, to sustain his immortality. We think he made seven. We’ve killed three - the journal your dad gave Ginny, Quirrel, and the Gaunt ring.”

“But to split your soul seven times…” Harry didn’t have to look over to know there was horror written all over Malfoy’s face. “How will we stop him?” The conversation was too dark for the brightness of the sun, the joy in the grass.

“We destroy the other four.”

“Do we know what they are?”

“You gonna go find them, Malfoy?” Harry teased. It felt easy to here. Where he knew Malfoy wouldn’t lash out. Where he was only in his mind.

Malfoy shrugged. “Maybe.”

Harry laughed. “Good luck. Not even Dumbledore could get to them.”

“Yeah, but Dumbledore didn’t have the Dark Lord living down the hall.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Harry watched as a cloud moved slowly across the light blue sky, perfectly serene. “We think they’re related to the founders. We have Slytherin’s locket. We suppose there most also be something of Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff.”

“Not Gryffindor?”

“No, of course not.”

“Of course. House rivalry remains even for the Dark Lord.”

Harry smiled up at him. “Now you got it.” And then, a miracle happened, Malfoy smiled back. It set Harry’s insides aflame. He didn’t think he’d ever seen such a genuine smile on the other boy, one that was not carved out of cruelty. “I wish this could be real,” Harry said softly.

“Sunny days do exist, Potter.”

“Not that,” Harry waved his hand dismissively. “You and I, I mean, out here together. Happy. Not trying to kill each other.”

Malfoy’s face met him with unabashed openness. “Do you think we could’ve been together? If the war never happened.”

“I don’t know,” Harry responded. “My whole life has been about the war, even before it ever truly started. I don’t know who’d I’d be without it.”

“Maybe you’ll find out,” Malfoy said. “After.”

Harry looked up at him, at the impossible boy, and smiled ruefully. “I doubt I’ll survive this war.”

“No, me either,” Malfoy said with a matching sad smile. “But regardless, you better win.”

“Now I know this isn’t real.”

“Why?” Malfoy tilted his head.

“Because the real Malfoy would never say that.”

Ron returned weeks later, the Sword of Gryffindor in his hand. A destroyed horcrux. Harry watched as he pulled Hermione close and they gasped, staring at their calves, at each other. Soulmarks formed in perfect symmetry.

Harry left them as they kissed and held each other and laughed, joy written in their every movement. It was not for him to witness.

He found Malfoy in his dreams that night. They were in his bedroom at the Manor. At least, he assumed that’s where they were. It certainly wasn’t Hogwarts.

Malfoy was laying on his bed, staring at the curtains that hung over it, cloaking the ceiling. Harry didn’t know why, but he got onto the bed next to Malfoy, let his gaze linger on the top of his bed curtains. Posh as ever.

Malfoy made no acknowledgement he was even there. They let the silence stretch over them.

“Ron and Hermione found out they were soulmates today,” Harry said, finally. “It was cute. Nothing like ours.”

Malfoy snorted. “I doubt there are very few soulmate stories like ours.”

“It was weird,” Harry continued. “They’ve touched loads of times, but it was only now that they appeared.”

“The stories say that the soulmarks don’t reveal themselves until the soulmates are ready.”

“How do you explain us then? It’s hard to say either of us were exactly ready for it.”

“No,” Malfoy agreed. “But maybe we needed it. I certainly did.”

“ You needed me ? You bragged about standing over my dead body.”

Malfoy didn’t seem particularly put off by the memory. If anything he seemed amused. “I needed hope.”

“Hope?”

“That I was loveable, redeemable. That even after the things I had done. The things I would do, that someone one day would love me. Maybe not in that first conversation, but in the months after, certainly.”

“Huh,” Harry replied. “I never quite thought about it like that.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. You hardly ever think,” Malfoy remarked.

 Harry smacked Malfoy’s arm with his hand. He knew it was a dream, but still, it felt solid. Real.

“Did you just hit me?” Malfoy laughed.

“Obviously.”

“How undignified,” Malfoy said and then reached over and did the very same to Harry.

Harry laughed, “You hypocrite.” He pulled out the pillow from below his head and began to hit Malfoy with it.

“Merlin, Potter,” Malfoy brought his arms up to protect his face. “You’re an idiot. Stop this. Stop.”

Malfoy giggled. He honest to God giggled as Harry hit him. Malfoy sat up, grabbed the pillow from his hand, and pushed Harry down on to the bed, his legs coming down on either side of Harry’s waist. 

“You are such a child,” Malfoy breathed, his blonde hair falling in front of his face, tickling Harry’s face.

“Can’t say you aren’t enjoying it.” Harry tried to buck up his hips and throw Malfoy off of him, but Malfoy only doubled down, planting his hands on either side of Harry’s face, both of them out of breath, breathing in each other’s air.

In Harry’s dream addled fantasy, he saw nothing but mirth in Malfoy’s grey eyes. He could feel Malfoy’s stare on him, taking in every inch of his hair, his cheeks, his lips. 

Malfoy reach out carefully, slowly, so that Harry could easily bat him off. Harry did no such thing. He let Malfoy’s long fingers fall against his tanned cheeks, let them trace the outline of his jaw, the edge of his lips. Harry felt his breathe hitch.

“Can I?” Malfoy whispered. Ever the gentlemen.

Harry nodded and Malfoy leaned down, pressing his lips against Harry’s own, lightly, lingering. He pulled back ever so slightly, taking in the look on Harry’s face, making sure it was alright. Harry didn’t want there to even be a question, he lifted his hand to the back of Malfoy’s neck and brought him back down to him. 

This time, there was no hesitation. They opened their mouths to each other, wet and hot. Pressing into each other, like they knew that their time was limited, like they would wake up and this wasn’t real. The thought only made Harry hungrier.

Malfoy moved from his lips to his jaw, his neck, leaving wet kisses where he went, sucking on the soft skin of Harry’s neck, driving him crazy, twisting beneath Malfoy, too much and not enough all in one.

Harry ran his hands under Malfoy’s shirt, pulling up on the edges. “I have…” Harry dragged his nails down Malfoy’s back, reveling in the little whine Malfoy let out as he did. “I have scars,” he breathed out. “On my chest.”

“I don’t care,” Harry breathed.

“You might,” Malfoy said but sat up and took off his shirt. He sat still as Harry dragged his gaze across his chest tracing all the scars with his eyes. He reached up tentatively and traced the largest one, the gash from his shoulder to his side.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered.

“I know,” Malfoy said. And then, Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to it, and then another, up and down, across each scar on each chest.

Now he knew why his dream brought him this. This was penance. This was absolution. 

Eventually it became too much and Malfoy demanded Harry take off his own shirt, and then his trousers, and then their pants. Moving naked with each other, trusting, loving, all the things they could never be.

Harry knew they would never have this for real. So he took everything he could. He bathed in Malfoy’s touch. He worshipped him. He committed himself wholly and entirely to him. Even if it was just for the night. Even if it was just in his mind.

It was a week after that, sitting outside with Hermione and Ron, when the pain overtook him again. It was the cruciatus curse. There was no question as Harry collapsed on to the ground, shaking as he tried to keep himself from screaming.

His friends were at his side in an instant. 

“Harry, what’s wrong? What’s happening?” Hermione’s frantic voice reached his ears but Harry could not respond. Not until it stopped seconds later.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “I’m okay.”

“What was that?” Ron asked, his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Soulmate pain,” Harry said. “Cruciatus.” He barely got a word out before it started again, like being burned alive, like having his skin ripped off his body. It continued like that, a cycle, of short breaks before the pain was back on him. He was distantly aware of Hermione muttering calming words in his ear, but he barely heard it.

When it finally ended, he went slack against a tree, his friends eyeing him with caution. “Sorry,” he rasped.

“What the fuck was that?” Ron near yelled.

“I told you, soulmate pain.”

“You found your soulmate?” Hermione asked. “When?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry said, because it was true, because he didn’t want to lie to them. Because he didn’t know what was happening to Malfoy nor if he was supposed to care.

“Who is it, mate?” Ron asked. “Clearly they’re in danger. We can find them, go save them.”

“No,” Harry responded, too quickly. “Look, it just happens sometimes. I’m fine.”

“Your soulmate just gets tortured from time to time? This is no big deal for you?”

“You don’t have to tell us,” Hermione said. “But if we can help her, we want to.”

Harry looked at them, the earnest expression on their faces. “We can’t.” Harry said. “I’m sorry, but we can’t. I’d feel best if we could just drop it.”

Their faces seemed like they wanted to do anything else, but Harry must’ve looked truly exhausted. “Of course,” Ron said. “Get some rest.”

Harry nodded and walked back toward the tent. He hated lying to them, but there was nothing else they could do. They couldn’t do anything to help Malfoy, except maybe, finding the horcruxes.

It wasn’t the last time that happened. It happened every couple weeks or so. Hermione and Ron were concerned about it, which Harry couldn’t blame them for. He was concerned too. He hadn’t had any visions of Malfoy either. He didn’t know if it was his father or Voldemort or some other evil lurking in his home. He just wanted to see Malfoy again, to know if he was okay. 

And then the Snatchers came. And Harry got his wish.

–

The Easter Holidays were not fun for Draco. They hadn’t been for a long time, but nothing quite like this. Tortured screams at all hours. Nagini lurking in every corner. The Dark Lord was in his parent’s bedroom. The place he used to run to when he had a nightmare. When he wanted safety. 

Draco doubted there was a safe place left in the manor. 

He had taken to not speaking, to keeping his head down, to brewing potions, any potion he was asked. He tried not to think about what they were doing with them. He tried not to think at all.

He didn’t want to think when Greyback looked at him with hunger. He didn’t want to think when they brought him out to torture some muggleborn. Or when they had him fetch muggles from town, tie them up in the basements, waiting for the Dark Lord to have his fun. He didn’t want to think when the Dark Lord had his fun with him either.

He liked to torture Draco in front of his parents, for his parent’s failings, for his own failings. And he liked to make Draco’s parent’s thank him after, to kiss the Dark Lord’s boots. Draco wasn’t going to pretend the cruciatus wasn’t the worst of it, but at least that had an end. 

The second worst was the moment of relief when it all stopped and the Dark Lord reached down and cradled his face, ran his fingers over his arms, across his hair. Tender touches that only promised future violence. Draco could feel the Dark Lord’s cold touch in his skin for days.

At then, because he was a traitor against himself, he would think of Potter, out there somewhere, and he would send him a message. Please win. You need to end this war . He didn’t know if Potter got them. If Potter listened.

But sometimes, he would feel the warmth of comfort coming from his mark. A little hello, I’m with you , and Draco would have hope.

Draco knew, before any of the shouting, before Greyback dragged them across the marble floors, he knew that Harry Potter was here. He could feel his presence like a lighting rod.

His first thought, stupid naive thought, was He’s here. He’s come to save me . 

But then, his skin went cold with terror, Potter’s terror flowing through him, and Draco knew this was not a rescue mission. 

This was an execution.

Potter was sitting on his knees on the marble floor of the ballroom. Something was wrong with his face, but it was him. No doubt.  Greyback and his parents were shouting, frantic for glory, for forgiveness, but Draco was just staring. 

Oh, he thought, I’ve missed you .

Which was a ridiculous thought, not least of which because he and Potter were never close, nothing but enemies. Vile, nasty, hit first, ask questions later enemies. It twisted in Draco’s gut. Who he had been. Who he still was.

But Potter was sitting in front of him and Draco couldn’t help but want. His skin singing to reach out, to touch, to keep this boy safe. Safe from Draco, safe from his family.

But Draco couldn’t keep Potter safe, he couldn’t even save himself.

All eyes fell on Draco as his father called him over. His hands shaking. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?” Lucius asked.

Which was laughable because of course, it was. Of course. “I can’t— I can’t be sure.” 

“But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!” His father beckons closer. His eyes glimmer with the franticness of a rabid animal. “Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiven.”

He kneeled down in front of Potter, his face bruised, stung and bloated, but those eyes. He knew those eyes. 

Draco knew what the punishment would be if he lied. He knew what old hells awaited him. But still. It didn’t matter what happened to him. He needed Potter to win. 

“I don’t know,” Draco heard himself say. His father’s hands on his shoulders. He didn’t know if the terror he felt was his or Potter’s. 

He wished he could do better. Be better. He wished he could take Potter now and apparate to France or Brazil or somewhere far away where no one would ever touch them. 

Instead he stood there and he identified Weasley and Granger. And he watched as Bellatrix tortured Granger, as she screamed her lungs dry, as Bellatrix carved into her skin, as Granger, the smartest witch in their age, begged and begged and begged.

And then he was sent to cellar, to retrieve Griphook, to aide in the torture of his classmate, his peer. Draco could feel the blood on his hands, the kind that doesn’t wash off, the one you carry forever.

He saw Potter there. Locked eyes. He put all his energy into sending a message. Get out of here. Win the war . I’ll help how I can .

He thought he saw Potter give a minute nod, so he turned around and marched the Goblin back up the stairs, to the limp body of Granger breathing shallowly on the marble floor.

It was not long before Potter and Weasley came bursting into the room, throwing out spells. And Draco didn’t think.

He hid behind a chaise lounge and cast curses, aiming discreetly at Greyback who fell to his knees on the other side of the room. Then to his father, whose wand was pointed at Potter with venom on his lips.

“STOP OR SHE DIES!” Bellatrix screamed, her knife to Granger’s throat. “Draco, the wands.” 

Draco walked stiffly across the room, grabbing the wands out of Potter and Weasley’s hands. The look in Weasley’s eyes was pure murder.

“Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.” 

Draco shuddered at his aunt’s voice. He knew what atrocities Greyback incited. He’d seen it. 

Then, he heard a creaking, a grinding coming from the crystal chandelier above them. Draco didn’t have much to think before the whole thing came crashing down. Draco dashed to the side. Shards sliced him across his face, his arms.

A mass of red hair came running across the room and Draco stood up, turning to Potter and pushing the wands into his hands. Narcissa tried to get close to Draco, to drag him away, but Potter had his hands on his arms and was pulling Draco away to the other side of the room.

Dobby appeared in front of them, staring down a shrieking Bellatrix like he was twice her size. “You must not hurt Harry Potter.”

Draco wanted to laugh, but before he could, he felt his forehead splitting open. No, not his forehead. Potter’s. Potter’s nails dug into his arms and he let out a whispered, “He’s here,” before Dobby grabbed them and Disaperated them.

Their feet hit solid earth. The air was salt and wind. The pain in Potter’s head, and therefore Draco’s began to subside and Draco had hardly a thought in his head except We’re alive. We’re alive. We’re alive .

Draco fell to his knees. He didn’t know when Potter had let go of his arm, but he could still feel the places he had touched, singing.

It was a scream that broke him from his stupor. Potter’s scream.

“DOBBY!” Draco felt the grief break over him like a wave, one that threatened to drown. “HELP! HELP!”

Draco looked over at the elf. There was a knife portuding bloody from his chest. Bellatrix’s knife. Draco moved forward, placing a quiet hand on Potter’s shoulder as he held Dobby like a child. “Don’t die. Don’t die,” he was repeating slowly.

But Dobby’s eyes were glassy and Draco had seen enough death by now to know it was the end.

“Harry… Potter…” the elf croaked and Draco felt as Harry sunk over the body. Drowning. Drowning.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

Draco turned around to see Bill Weasley, his wand pointed angrily in his direction. Dean Thomas was behind him looking ready for a fight. Draco held his hands up in surrender. Draco hadn’t thought about what would happen if he got this far. He didn’t think he’d ever get this far.

“Dobby, Dobby,” Potter kept repeating to himself. 

“ Incarcerous ” Bill Weasley uttered and Draco fond ropes tied tightly around him, forcing him to the ground. “Watch him,” he said to Dean before kneeling in front of Potter.

“Malfoy,” Dean spat. He leaned in close to whisper to Draco. “I hope you know. We’re getting our revenge,” and kicked Draco hard in the stomach.

Either the pain or the sound finally got Potter to turn around. “No, don’t hurt him,” Harry said, the elf still in his arms. “He helped us escape.”

Dean Thomas looked at Draco with disgust. “Harry, I know what he is. This is all part of his plan.”

Potter put the elf down carefully on the grass before rising slowly, staring straight at Dean, unflinching. Draco had been on the other side of that stare. He knew it could bring kingdoms to their knees. “We’re not hurting him.” He turned to Bill. “Hermione?”

“She’s inside. Ron’s helping her.” 

Harry nodded. “Okay. I am going to dig this grave and then I am going to go inside and deal with everything. But not until I dig this grave. Understood?”

Dean nodded and went to head back inside. Fleur came out with two shovels and Potter took one before point his wand at Draco, untying him, and handing him the other shovel. Despite the shards of crystal still lodged in his arms and sides, he didn’t stop digging until they placed Dobby in the ground.

Predictably, no one was happy to seee Draco. Not even after Potter had explained what happened, which Weasley and Thomas seemed to think wasn’t even true. Not the fight, just that Draco had helped them.

Which was fair. Draco knew he wasn’t a good person. He knew what he looked like to them. One thrust of wands does not a hero make. 

The agreement they came to was that Potter would keep Draco’s wand and Draco would stay in a bedroom locked magically from the outside or otherwise under watchful eyes. 

As far as imprisonment goes, it wasn’t bad.

Potter led him to a guest room. They hadn’t spoken, really actually spoken in months. The room was small, barren, with a bed in the corner. Draco didn’t mind. 

“Thank you,” Draco said as Potter stood in the doorway. Potter gave him a confused look. “For protecting me from…” he waved his hands in the general direction of downstairs.

“Of course.” He didn’t move. He just kept staring at Draco as if there were answers hidden inside him. “Um, are you hurt?” Draco moved his side, still feeling the shards digging in, he saw Potter wince. “Dumb question. There’s a bathroom here, if you…”

Potter opened the door to a bathroom across the hall. Draco walked in and Potter followed, closing and locking the door behind him. Draco raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask any questions. 

He turned and saw his face in the mirror. “Merlin,” he whispered. There was a gash near his hairline and dried blood streaking down his face. 

“Here,” Draco turned to see Potter with a wet washcloth in his hand. Draco made to grab it, but instead, Potter walked forward and began to wipe down his face for him. Draco took a sharp inhale of breath but let him. 

It was terribly intimate. Potter’s face inches from his own. Not quite touching him. It took everything in Draco not to rock forward, not to collapse under Potter’s focused stare.

“Why’d you do it?” Potter asked as he scrubbed the blood from Draco’s cheek.

“You needed to leave.”

“How long have you been trying to switch sides?”

Draco shifted uncomfortably. “That wasn’t really the plan.”

Potter lowered the washcloth, staring unbreaking into Draco’s eyes. “So what was the plan?”

“Get you out,” Draco responded. “I didn’t think you would take me with you.”

Harry’s brow creased as he stared. “They would’ve tortured you.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe even killed you for helping me. Your whole family.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Draco reached out, raised his hand to lightly touch Potter’s wrist. “Because I need you to win.”

This must have satisfied Potter because he wet the washcloth and brought it back to Draco’s face.

-

Harry wasn’t sure what he wanted with Malfoy, just that he knew he couldn’t throw him out to the dogs. He knew Malfoy had risked his life, his family’s lives to help him, expecting no escape. And Harry couldn’t brush that aside.

So when Malfoy asked for potion supplies, Harry allowed it. He figured that if Malfoy really wanted to do any of them harm, all it would take was one press to his Dark Mark and Voldemort would be here in an instant.

Harry sat in Malfoy’s room as he brewed the potion that night. Ostensibly to keep watch on him and prevent any nefarious plans Malfoy may attempt. In reality though, he was too drained to want to be around anyone and he knew Malfoy wouldn’t try to talk to him.

He spent most of the evening laying flat on the wooden floor of the room. It wasn’t a big room, just a twin bed and a closet really, but it was a nice break from the weeks in the tent. 

Occasionally he would watch as Malfoy brewed, his long fingers curled around the knife. Pianist fingers. Harry wondered if Malfoy could play piano. Probably. It was likely a part of his Pureblood curriculum in between ballroom dancing and Latin.

His face was pure concentration. His long hair falling over his sunken eyes. He looked worse than when he had last saw him, almost sickly. Not that Harry was in any state to judge. He knew what he looked like after months on the run. Still, Malfoy wasn’t terribly unattractive. Somehow that Pureblood inbreeding had managed to sculpt beauty from marble.

Malfoy wasn’t using any kind of instructions, but he was mouthing ingredient names to himself as he worked. His hands moved with a practiced air, though Harry didn’t miss the slight tremor that now accompanied his left hand. Malfoy didn’t seem to notice it.

“What are you brewing?” Harry asked after an hour or so of silence.

“Post-cruciatus curse for Granger. It’s best taken within twenty four hours to prevent long term effects.”

“I thought you hated Hermione.”

“On the list of people I hate, Potter, Granger does not even make the top fifty.” His voice was as snooty as ever, even as reserved as it was at the late hour. “Besides, no one deserved what happened to her.”

Harry nodded and let Malfoy work the rest of the way in silence.

Harry didn’t know when he had nodded off to sleep, but when he awoke, the only light in the room came from the moonlight streaming through the cracked window.

Malfoy’s hand was on his arm, shaking him lightly awake. When Harry opened his eyes, the touch was gone. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I fell asleep.” Harry rubbed at his eyes and then began feeling around for his glasses. When he put them on, he saw Malfoy’s grey eyes staring down at him.

“The potion’s ready for Granger,” he said, pushing a stopped bottle in Harry’s direction.

“Why don’t you give it to her?”

“I’m not sure Weasley wouldn’t pour it down the drain.”

Harry smiled lightly at that. “You’re right, I’ll deliver it then.” Harry sat up and yawned, watching as Malfoy began to clean up the potions materials. “You’ll be alright for the night? You need anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Malfoy replied, his eyes not meeting Harry’s.

“Alright,” Harry nodded, taking Malfoy’s wand with him. “Goodnight,” he said as he closed the door and cast a locking charm.

Harry padded down the hall to where Ron and Hermione were staying. Predictably, Ron answered when he knocked on the door. “Hey,” Harry spoke quietly. “I’ve got this potion for Hermione. It’s supposed to help with the after effects.”

“Right,” Ron said and opened the door slightly to let Harry in. Hermione was sat on the floor surrounded by books. “Since when did you know how to brew that?”

“I didn’t. Malfoy did.”

“You let Malfoy brew a potion?” Ron’s arms were crossed over his chest. He looked at the potion in Harry’s hand suspiciously.

“I watched him do it. Besides if he wanted to harm us, he would’ve called He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by now.” The name felt ridiculous in Harry’s mouth but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“It’s fine, Ron,“ Hermione said, looking up at Harry. “Tell Malfoy I said thanks.”

“‘Course.” Harry looked around the room, two glasses of water by the bedside, two piles of clothes on the floor. An ache coarse through his chest. “Do you two need anything?”

“We’re good, mate, thanks.”

Harry nodded and left the room. He found his own room, its big bed made for two. The room was dark and Harry didn’t bother to turn on the light. He fell into bed, alone.

Harry woke up screaming. That wasn’t surprising. He already knew to put a silencing charm on his bed before he slept so as to not wake the others.

It was several minutes, as Harry tried to catch his breath, before he felt the door inside him close. The one that meant that Malfoy had been feeling the same thing too. That Malfoy shut him out. Did Harry wake him up? Could he feel his terror as his own?

Harry knew he wasn’t going to sleep anymore that night, so he walked out the backdoor and sat in the cold grass and listened to the sea. He reached down and touched his soulmark. It wasn’t long before he felt the knocking, the warmth, from a few meters away.

The next day, Harry woke up determined to talk to Griphook. He needed to break into Gringotts. First though, he went to Malfoy’s room and unlocked the door. 

“Hey,” Harry said, in the doorway. Malfoy was on his bed, on top of the blankets, looking as if he was meditating. Harry didn’t know if wizards even did that or not.

Malfoy sat up. “Good morning. I have something to show you.”

Harry nodded and closed the door behind him. Malfoy sat on the ground in the middle of the room. He took off one of his rings, silver with dark emeralds, twisted the top, and let out a small golden trinket spill out onto the scratched, wooden floors. “May I have my wand?”

Harry handed it over. Malfoy performed an unshrinking charm and wanded the wand back. “You have a shrunken cup in your ring?” Harry asked, looking at the golden cup on the floor.

“A cup? That’s what you think that is?” Malfoy looked up at him accusingly. Harry just shrugged. “It is a miracle you are not dead, Potter.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t spent my ample amounts of free time studying cups of the world.”

“Potter, this is Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup.”

“What?” Harry reached down to touch it, but Malfoy reached out quickly and grabbed his arm.

“It’s also a horcrux, so best handle with care.”

“A horcrux? You know about those?”

Malfoy looked somewhere between confused and annoyed. “Potter, we’re connected in the soul. I’ve been talking to you in your dreams for months. Yes, I know about those.”

“Wait, you were actually there? I thought…” Harry sat down, resting his head against the wall. He could feel Malfoy staring at his side.

“You thought what? It was just your subconscious?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, which sounded a bit weak now. And then something else occurred to him. “Wait, every dream?”

“Not every night, but anytime you saw me. That was me.”

“Even -” But Harry was smart enough to cut himself off before he finished that statement. Malfoy’s blush was answer enough. “Jesus Christ.”

“Quite,” Malfoy said. “Anyway, I knew you were looking for horcruxes, likely those related to the founders. I knew the cup was in the Black families possession so either my mother or my aunt.”

“So you broke into Gringotts? How’d you even manage that?”

“Asked to see my family vaults and a bit of imperio . It wasn’t terribly difficult.” Malfoy was looking at him like he was an idiot, but Harry could see right through it. 

“That’s amazing,” Harry said honestly. Malfoy ducked his head in a way Harry was trying not to find endearing. 

“Yes, well…” Malfoy trailed off, fiddling with the ends of his shirt. Harry was in awe that this boy, the one who had sworn on his downfall had risked it all to help him, barely knowing him.

Well, maybe knowing him a little.

“So, I don’t know what your plans are with Griphook, but if you had a death wish and we’re trying to break into Bellatrix’s vaults. I wanted to advise against it.”

Harry gave a Malfoy a half-smile. “How come it’s a death wish if I do it but not terribly difficult when you do it?”

“Because, I’m not an idiot.” Malfoy raised a teasing eyebrow which definitely didn’t start something in Harry, being under Malfoy’s gaze. “Also, I’m the Black heir.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the Black heir.” Malfoy tilted his head in confusion. “Sirius is my godfather.”

“Yes, I did hear that, though it doesn’t make an ounce of sense to me. Regardless, my mother is a Black and Aunt Bella never had kids, so I’m their heir and therefore it is perfectly acceptable for me to see the vaults.”

“You really call her Aunt Bella?”

“She is my aunt,” Malfoy muttered. He looked up at Harry with that look that just said You are an idiot and I’m fool for being here with you that Harry was really beginning to love. “That’s what you got from all that?” Harry just shrugged, smiling, which only led Malfoy to scoff again. 

“Well, that makes life a lot easier,” Harry said. Malfoy didn’t respond; instead he reached over and grabbed his wand, shrinking the cup and levitating it back into the ring, avoiding Harry’s eyes the whole time.

Harry nudged Malfoy with his foot. “Hey.”

Malfoy looked up sharply. “What?”

“Thank you.” 

Malfoy held his gaze and for a moment, nothing in their past mattered. They were not enemies. They were not the people who cursed each other out of fear. They were two boys trying their best to end this bloody war. And Harry begin to believe that maybe that universe hadn’t made a mistake in brining them together.

Malfoy nodded and broke eye contact. “Just win the war, Potter.”

“I guess I should tell Ron and Hermione about this. They’ll be happy.”

“Do they know about the marks?” Malfoy’s voice was neutral.

“No,” Harry said and then laughed to himself. “Ron will have a fit when he finds out.”

“Yeah. I doubt that will be welcome information.” Malfoy was looking off at the blank walls of the room.

Harry nudged him again, waiting until he had Malfoy’s eyes on him to speak. “You know I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Okay, I do, but not enough to let them stop us.”

“Is there an us?” Malfoy asked, his gaze taking in every inch of Harry. Harry tried his best not to squirm, to let Malfoy see him, all of him.

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly, “I think there is.”

Malfoy turned to look back at the walls. There was a painting of a house hanging up, French by the look of it. Fleur’s family home, maybe. It looked safe, like a world far away from this one.

Slowly, deliberately, Malfoy’s hand fell into the space between them, palm up. Harry reached over the space between them and took his hand, letting Malfoy’s cold finger close around his own. 

They hadn’t held hands since that night in the Hospital Wing but this didn’t feel like that at all. This felt like they had hope.

-

“We have to go.” Harry was sitting in Hermione and Ron’s bedroom. Olivander had just gave him the news that his wand was irreparable. There was no other reason to stay. “We don’t want to endanger Bill and Fleur.”

“I was thinking, Harry,” Hermione said. “What if there’s another horcrux in Bellatrix’s vault? What if that is why she was freaking out so much over the sword? Because she thought we had been there.”

“I’m already ahead of you,” Harry said. “But I think we need to leave before we go any further. The less people that know of Malfoy’s defection, the better.”

“But couldn’t Griphook be a help if we need to break into Gringotts?”

“I have it handled.”

“Mate, what’s going on?’ Ron asked.

“I promise to explain everything, but I want to leave.“ He had seen the way the other residents of the house looked at Malfoy, their faces when his name was mentioned. It didn’t seem like a safe place for him to be.

“Are you sure -” Ron began, but Hermione put her hand on his arm, silencing him. 

“If that’s what’s best,” Hermione said.

“It is,” Harry answered. They were packed before midday. Good lucks and thank yous were issued and then they were standing in the front garden of Shell Cottage saying goodbye to comforts and privacy.

“I can’t believe we’re bringing Malfoy with us,” Ron grumbled as they readied themselves for apparition.

Malfoy didn’t say a thing, but Harry glared at Ron on his behalf. “Alright, Hermione, where are we going?”

“Clyde Muirshiel. It’s in Scotland.”

They landed on the grounds of the forest. It looked much like the forests they had been in before - cold, windy, and wet. Hermione and Ron began to set up the tent while Malfoy was shaking the dirt from his clothes.

“Are you good?” Harry asked, standing close to Malfoy.

“I can handle a little apparition, Potter.” Malfoy looked around the damp forest with vague displeasure. “Home sweet home.”

Harry bumped their shoulders together. “You get used to it.”

“A dreadful thought,” Malfoy remarked without bite.

“Come on, let’s get settled in.”

The tent was the same as he remembered it, mostly empty with the exception of old furniture. Hermione was busying herself with setting up the kitchen with food they took from Bill and Fleur.

“I don’t want to hear any snotty comments, Malfoy,” Ron shouted from the bedroom.

“So,” Harry said. “The bathroom is through there and we have cots in the room over there if you want to set down your stuff.”

“My stuff?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow. It was only then that Harry remembered Malfoy hadn’t a thing on his person besides the clothes on his back.

“Okay,” Ron came into the main room. “Can we discuss the -” but then stopped himself, looking at Malfoy suspiciously. “Does he know?”

“You think I would bring him along with us if he didn’t?”

“I don’t know,” Ron shrugged, sitting in one of the chairs. “You were always a bit obsessed with the git.”

“That is not true,” Harry squeaked. He could practically feel Malfoy’s smirk as he stood next to him.

“Yes, it is Harry,” Hermione said, walking into the room and sitting down near Ron. They intertwined their hands. “You wouldn’t shut up about him last year.”

“It was an investigation!” Harry defended. “He was literally a Death Eater.”

“It was bloody annoying, is what it was,” Ron grumbled.

“Potter’s stalking aside,” Malfoy interrupted smoothly, “I do have something to show you. Potter, my wand?”

Ron watched with distrust as Harry handed Malfoy his wand. Malfoy sat on the floor, and twisted open his ring, letting the shrunken golden cup fall to the ground. With a swish of the wand, the cup grew to its full size on the tent floor.

“Is that…” Hermione stood in awe as Ron reached forward to touch it. Malfoy’s hand shot out to stop Ron’s hand.

“Merlin, you and Potter both. No thoughts between the two of you.” He let go of Ron’s arm and looked at Hermione. “Yes, it’s Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup. Most likely a horcrux which is why it is imperative that neither of you touch it.” With these last words, he shot a glare at Ron.

“We were wearing Slytherin’s Locket for months and we were fine,” Ron muttered.

“No, we weren’t, Ronald,” Hermione said and turned his attention back to Malfoy. “How’d you get this?”

“Nipped into Aunt Bellatrix’s vaults.”

She turned to Harry. “This was why you didn’t want to stay around the rest of them? Because we already had it.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. 

“Wow,” Hermione breathed out, going back to staring at the cup. “How’d you find out about the horcruxes?”

Malfoy shot Harry a brief look but answered, “I grew up around Dark Magic, Granger. When I heard about the ritual of how he came back, I looked into things.”

“Maybe you aren’t a useless prick after all,” Ron said after Hermione fell silent. 

 “Thank you, Weasley. I wish I could say the same to you,” Malfoy smirked.

 “You little -” Ron began, but Hermione pulled him back into his chair.

“He’s just trying to wind you up, Ron. Don’t bother.”

“So, are we going to do something about this or just stare at it all day?” Malfoy asked. “I assume you have some method of destruction for these.”

“Yes,” Hermione said and reached into her bag, pulling out the sword. 

“Merlin’s tits, is that the actual sword of Gryffindor?”

“Yes, it is,” Ron said, not even bothering to hide his brag. He levitated the cup from the ground. “Let’s go destroy this, shall we?”

Harry watched from a distance as Ron set down the cup in the middle of a clearing. Hermione stood close next to him. Malfoy was off to the side a bit.

“Do we think this one will put a fight?”

“What happened last time?” Malfoy asked.

“It taunted Ron. Showed him visions of me and Hermione kissing, telling him we hate him.”

Malfoy gagged. “That’s vile.”

Destroying the horcrux was not difficult. It didn’t taunt Ron the way the locket had. It only let out a horrible scream before relaxing into a mutilated form of a goblet. There was an only a moment of peace before the burning in Harry’s forehead began.

“Fuck, fuck,” Harry doubled over in pain. His forward felt like it was splitting open in agony and rage. He could feel Malfoy’s hands on his back. “He’s angry. He can feel it. He knows.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Malfoy gritted out.

“It’s Harry. He’s connected in the mind with You-Know-Who,” Ron said, sword still in hand.

The pain stopped and Harry fell back onto the ground. “He’s what?” Malfoy asked, his hands no longer on him, but breathing just as heavily.

“When I survived the killing curse. We’ve been connected ever since,” Harry said between breaths.

Malfoy’s eyes were all over his face, studying him like a piece of a puzzle he couldn’t quite make fit.

“Mate, mate, you alright?” Ron was back to them, the sword and the destroyed cup in his hand.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.”

“He knows were hunting the horcruxes,” Hermione explained.

“Which means he’s protecting every one,” Malfoy said to himself. “And going back to see which ones are still in place.” He looked up at Hermione. “Do we have a timeline for all this?”

“No,” Hermione answered. “As fast as we can.”

“He’s going to attack Hogwarts,” Draco seemed to be thinking outloud. “Not immediately, but he needs to make sure they’re all in place and so eventually, he will have to go back.”

“And you think there are horcruxes at Hogwarts?”

“I know there are,” Draco answered. “Because I found Ravenclaw’s Lost Diadem.”

 -

“How sure are you that we can trust his word?” The three of them were sitting around the kitchen table while Malfoy went to scout out potion ingredients nearby.

Malfoy had explained that he had seen the diadem in Sixth Year when he was repairing the cupboard. When he figured out that Voldemort was using horcruxes, he went back and retrieved. After some diagnostic spells, he determined it to be real and hid it in the castle. Behind the fifth floor tapestry, apparently.

“He doesn’t have any reason to lie,” Hermione said. “He could reveal us at any moment, but he hasn’t. Instead, he helped us escape. He gave us a horcrux for Christ’s sake.”

“Still,” Ron said. “He was a right prick in school. More than a prick. A bully and a bigot and seemed to be pretty ready to pray on our downfall.”

“I don’t know.” Harry looked at where Hermione and Ron’s arms were pressed against each other. Ever since they found out they were soulmates, they seemed ot always be touching. Harry didn’t even know if they had realized it. “Maybe the stakes got too high.”

“Has he said anything to you about it Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “Just that he wants the war to be over. That he wants us to win.”

The tent flap opened and the three of them fell silent as Malfoy walked in. Malfoy, sensing his interruption, eyed the three of them but ducked into the bedroom.

“I suppose we just have to trust him,” Hermione said, finally. Ron groaned loudly in protest. “I’m not saying we have to like him, but war makes strange bedfellows and all that.”

Harry silently agreed. Bedfellows, indeed .

“I think Ron and I are going to play a game of Exploding Snap, would you like to play?” Hermione asked.

“Nah, I’m good,” Harry said. “I think I’m just going to rest.” He often felt like he was intruding on them these days. Instead, he opened the flap of the bedroom and collapsed on his bunk.

Malfoy was sitting on the bed opposite him. “Am I good to take this bed?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said. He turned over to lay on his side, staring at Malfoy sitting on the bed in a white button down and long black trousers. “That’s what you’re sleeping in?”

“I don’t have any other clothes,” Malfoy said, somehow managing to sound snooty in his admission.

Harry sat up and pulled out a jumper from below his bed and tossed it at Malfoy. Malfoy caught it and then flickered his eyes to the doorway, where the sounds of Hermione and Ron’s game could be heard.

Sensing his apprehension, Harry cast a silencing charm around them and layed back down, facing up to give Malfoy what little privacy he could manage. “Your wand responds well to me,” Harry mused, turning back to face Malfoy.

The sweater hung off Malfoy’s frame and was a bit short in the arms, but Harry couldn’t deny that it looked good. 

Malfoy eyed his wand in Harry’s hand, but dragged his eyes back up to Harry’s face. “It’s not unheard of among soulmates,” Malfoy answered quietly.

Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off Malfoy. In his clothes. Like he was his. It made Harry’s whole body heat up with something primal, territorial. One look and everyone could see, mine, mine, mine .

“The jumper looks good on you,” Harry said trying to keep his voice level.

Malfoy just cocked an eyebrow in response. “You’re not subtle, Potter. Don’t even try.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry feigned innocence.

“What was it you once said to me when you accosted me in a hallway, I can feel what you’re feeling. It’s a part of this whole soulmate thing .” Harry could feel his whole face burning. “Ever so eloquent, Potter.”

“I thought you shut that off.”

“I shut it off from my end,” Malfoy replied. “Your emotions are as nagging as ever.”

“What? That’s not fair!” Harry sat up so he was eye level with Malfoy “I wanna feel what you’re feeling.”

Malfoy held his gaze, a challenge in his eyes, and then all of a sudden Harry was flooded with emotions - loneliness, anxiety, desire, and hope, a flurry of them all attacking him from all sides. He took in a deep breath and steadied himself on the edge of the bed. Staring at the few feet of ground that separated them.

“Woah,” he breathed out. “How do you manage this?”

“It gets easier with time,” Malfoy said. “And it’s normally not so… intense.”

“No?” Harry asked, finally getting enough of a hold of himself to look at Malfoy again. 

“We’re not normally so close,” Malfoy replied, his face open. And Harry could feel a rush again of hope, of desire.

“I…” but words seemed to fail him, so instead he reached out a hand, which Malfoy took. “Oh, wow.” He could feel the places they were touching, in him and in Malfoy, like a warmth flooding his whole chest. “I see why Hermione and Ron are always touching now.”

“Are they?” Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

“Not like that, asshole,” Harry said with a laugh, one he could feel light up in Malfoy’s skin. “We all live in a tent together. It doesn’t exactly allow for much privacy.”

“That’s too bad,” Malfoy said, a smirk on his lips. He leaned forward, only inches from Harry, his breath hot on Harry’s lips. “And here I thought we were alone.”

Harry couldn’t stand it any longer, not when he could feel how much Malfoy wanted it too. He closed the distance between them, bringing his hands up to the back of Malfoy’s neck, pulling him forward, until Malfoy was practically in his lap. Trailing wet kisses down his cheek, his neck. Just as he had done in his dreams. His skin sang in every place he touched, like there was nothing in between the two of them, as if they were one.

A loud shout from the other side of the tent, broke them apart. Hermione was claiming victory. “We should probably go to bed,” Harry whispered into Malfoy’s neck in between heavy breathing.

“Probably,” Malfoy said and stood up, the collar of Harry’s sweater displaced on his neck. He leaned in for one more quick kiss. “Goodnight, Potter,” he whispered in his ear and fell back into his own bed, his back turned away from Harry.

-

“We need to get back to Hogwarts.” Granger said the next morning. Draco sat on the floor in the living room. He didn’t quite understand his place here, how to interact with any of them. So much of him still expected the Dark Lord to show up at his door. To whisk him away.

“If Malfoy says there’s a horcrux there, it is imperative that we get there before the Dark Lord does.”

Potter sat down next to him, a sandwich in his hand, eating over his lap. He sent a message to Potter’s mind - part Legillmancy, part soulmate bond - Heathen .

Potter shot him a mischevious look and took a massive messy bite of his sandwich. Draco rolled his eyes.

“So how can we get back there?” Weasley asked. “Hogsmeade?”

“Probably our best bet,” Potter said.

“We still have the problem of getting into the castle itself. There are Death Eaters crawling everywhere. I know Potter has that cloak of his but that can hardly fit all four of us.”

“We can take a secret passage way,” Weasley said. “Assuming they’re all still in use.”

“All?” Draco asked, but no one seemed to feel like explaining that. “Even if we can get in to the castle, you all will need to hide.”

“And you won’t?” Potter asked.

“I’m a marked Death Eater, Potter. They won’t mess with me.”

“And if they ask where you’ve been?”

“The Dark Lord’s orders.”

“How do we know information about your defection hasn’t reached Hogwarts?” Granger asked.

Draco had been wondering this too, but he was fairly confident it wouldn’t be a problem. “The Carrows aren’t high ranking enough to have heard of it. The last thing the Dark Lord would want was news of my defection, especially if there is a chance I’m being held hostage or if I can be coaxed back.”

“You think they’d accept you back?” Weasley asked.

“It’s likely,” Draco responded. He knew where he stood in the order of things. 

Weasley scoffed. “So you’re really risking nothing being here?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I’m risking significant torture. Maybe they wouldn’t kill me, Pureblood is too precious, but maim me? Most definitely. Or Dark Lord would kill my parents. They’re not producing any more heirs so what’s their purpose. Maybe even make me kill them.” He leaned forward to meet Weasley’s challenging gaze. “Never forget, Weasley, I’ve lived with the whole lot of them. The stakes have painted very clearly for me. Often with examples.”

Weasley shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms over his chest.

Granger glanced between them before speaking. “So, we’ve established that Malfoy may be able to move more freely, but the rest of us need a way to enter.”

“Couldn’t we just enter and use the map to stay undetected?” Potter proposed.

“The map?” Draco asked. In response, Potter gestured for Granger’s bag. She tossed it to him and Potter reached in and pulled out a sheet of folded parchment. 

With Draco’s wand in his hand, he spoke, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” and the whole thing unfolded itself, filling with ink detailing the floor plan of the castle.

As Draco leaned further and saw footsteps travelling across, labelled with names - Pansy, Blaise, and Theo were in the Slytherin Common Room. Professor Snape was in the Headmaster’s quarters. Even Filch was on there, patrolling the sixth floor.

“You made this?” Draco asked.

“Found it,” Potter responded. “My father and his friends made it. For pranking.”

“Then Fred and George had it for a while, passed it down to Harry,” Weasley added.

“Fucking Gryffindos,” Draco muttered. “So this is how you assholes never got caught for anything?”

“And it’s how we’re not going to be caught when we get to the castle.”

They decided to wait another day or two to plan out the most effective routes in and out of the castle, when to grab the diadem, how best to destroy it. Draco was mostly useless during all of this. But he wanted to be there for some ill-conceived notion of comraidrie that had infected him. Fucking Gryffindors.

The only conversation Draco could contribute to at all was the list of Horcruxes. “So we have,” Draco started, opening his mouth for the first time in hours, “The Diary, destroyed by Basilik fang, the locket and the cup destroyed by sword, the ring destroyed by Dumbledore, the diadem which is at Hogwarts, and Qurriel. How’d you kill him?”

The room went silent and all eyes landed on Potter. He sighed a bit before he spoke, as if embarrassed. “When we were in First Year, I touched his face and he sort of burned up.”

Draco just stared blankly at him. “You killed a teacher with your bare hands when you were eleven?”

“Life of the Chosen One,”

“So what? Your presence killed him?”

“Something like that. Probably my mother’s protection charm.”

“That makes so little sense to me but I am just going to trust you on it,” Draco said because he really did not have time to wrap his mind around whatever that meant. “So if living things can be horcruxes, even people what do we think the seventh one is?”

“Nagini,” Weasley said. “You know, his giant snake.”

“I’m familiar,” Draco said, repressing a shiver. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He’d seen it eat people whole. It couldn’t be anything but the Dark Lord’s soul incarnate.

The conversation moved on to how they planned to kill it, how to get the snake alone, but Draco’s mind kept getting caught on one fact, turning it around in his mind like a false coin.

If Quirrel could be a horcrux, a living person, whose to say he was the only one? The Dark Lord certainly killed enough people.

Potter’s visions. His blood needed for the Dark Lord’s resurrection. The pain they felt when they touched. The death of Potter’s mother. Her “protection charm.”

Harry Potter was a Horcrux. Harry Potter had to die.

Draco turned to the table for a hint of this knowledge on anyone else’s faces. They were determined, battle-hardened but determined. They talked about winning. They talked about after. There was no indication that anyone knew that for Potter at least, there would not be an after.

He didn’t say anything at the table. It didn’t seem like the right time. Not when there was so much hope. Besides, there was little good the knowledge would do, especially if he turned out to be wrong.

As always, Draco turned to a lesson he had learned many times at the Manor. Better to say nothing at all.

-

Draco awoke to a surge of fear falling through him, his heart racing out of his chest. He sat up and reached for his wand under his pillow, before remembering Potter had taken it from him.

Potter. 

In the bed across from him, he was tossing and turning, throwing the sheets off his feet and seemingly screaming beneath a silencing charm.

Draco got of bed and cross into Potter’s space, feeling the other boy’s dread and terror on his skin. He reached out, grabbing Potter’s arms, holding him down.

Potter woke up immediately, shoving Draco violently to the ground, his wand raised against his throat, like a wild animal backed against a corner.

“Shhh, shhh,” Draco held up his hands, trying to project calm across them. “It’s just me. It was just a dream. You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Potter seemed to come back to himself with Draco’s words. He let the wand clamor to the ground and he hung his head. “Sorry,” he whispered through deep breaths.

“It’s okay,” Draco said, “You didn’t hurt me.” Slowly, telegraphing each movement, he moved to kneel in front of Potter and placed his hands on his thighs. “Look at me, Potter.”

Potter lifted his head, those piercing green eyes giving Draco the kind of attention that only comes in the middle of the night. 

“Hey,” Draco smiled. “There you are.”

Draco’s voice seemed to have some effect on Potter because he smiled back weakly and leaned forward pressing his forehead against Draco’s. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“No apologizing before dawn, Potter,” Draco teased. “It’s unbecoming.”

“I think there is very little about me that is becoming.”

“Maybe, but that’s just because I haven’t had the time to sink my claws in yet. We’ll make a gentleman of you yet.”

Draco could feel Potter calming as he spoke. “As long as there is no ballroom dancing.”

“Oh, Potter,” Draco said, “It’s all ballroom dancing.”

Potter laughed, that beautiful bright sound in a world of dark. “God save me.”

“Plebian,” Draco teased and kissed his forehead, drowning himself in the tenderness the late hour allowed. “Go to bed. It’s late.”

“Okay,” Harry yawned and reached forward, holding his hand to Draco’s cheek like he was holding water and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Draco whispered and stood from his bed. When he turned around he saw Granger’s sharp eyes watching him. He gave a nod in acknowledgement and then turned to walk out of the room, all the way out of the tent and into the night air. 

It didn’t take long for Granger to follow. She sat down on the forest floor beside him. They were quiet, staring into the dark fog. Draco breathed slow, steeling himself for the conversation that was bound to follow.

Eventually, Granger spoke. “A few weeks ago, Potter collapsed on the ground. His soulmate was tortured. Crucio .“ Granger spoke the whole thing unflicnhing. Draco admired her resolve. “That was you?”

“Yes,” Draco answered. 

“Why?” Granger didn’t look at him as they asked. “Did they suspect you were switching sides?”

“No, I wouldn’t be alive if they did.”

“Did they know you were soulmates?”

Draco shook his head. “No one knows, except for you now, I suppose.”

“Then why torture you?”

Draco picked at the grass by his feet, plucking off its growth, and letting it fall. “Because I was a disappointment. Because I was weak. Because I was there. Take your pick.”

“Is that why you switched sides?”

“No,” Draco said. His voice firm in the cold night air. 

“Then why?”

“Because I need Harry to win. This,” he gestured vaguely to their circumstances, “cannot be our lives.”

Granger paused, absorbing the information with an academic’s determination.

“How long have you two known?” 

“Beginning of Sixth Year.”

Granger let out a long breath. “I never knew Harry to be good at keeping secrets, especially not one of this proportion.”

“We weren’t together in school,” Draco added. “It wasn’t much to hide.”

“But you’re together now?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “I suppose we are but we haven’t really had a lot of time to think about it.”

“He, well, he looked happy,” Granger said and Draco couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips.

“I’m glad.”

“I’m not sure if I like you,” Granger said.

“That’s fine,” Draco answered, because he knew what kind of man he was, what kind of boy he had been.

“But Harry likes you, trusts you, clearly.” 

Draco nodded. “I trust him.”

“Did he tell you about the Horcruxes?”

“Yes,” Draco answered because there was no use lying. “Even I am not clever enough to figure that one out.”

“Clever enough to find two of them though.”

Draco shrugged. “That’s just connections and luck.”

“You risked your life multiple times, not even knowing if you’d ever see the credit. That’s brave.”

Draco pulled a face. “Ugh how Gryffindorish.”

Granger smiled. “I better go in and get some sleep.” She stood up and then paused, looking down at Malfoy. “And thank you, by the way, for helping with the Horcruxes and for saving us in the Manor.”

Draco couldn’t quite meet her eye. “Of course,” he said. Draco stayed out there until the sun began to rise.

-

Apparating to Hogsmeade was not hard. It was almost concerningly easy. Draco didn’t like it one bit. 

Which was why he wasn’t surprised when he saw the Death Eater patrol standing near Hog’s Head, as if waiting for him.

“If it ain’t the Malfoy heir, word on the street is that you’ve gotten cold feet.”

Draco scoffed. “What crap have you been listening to?” He pulled up every ounce of Pureblood breeding into his pose. “I’ve been on a special mission for the Dark Lord. Not that you’d be high ranking enough to know.”

“You really expect us to believe that?”

“What? You want me to prove it? To you?” Draco laughed. He tried to sense where Potter was based on his emotions he wasn’t far but he was getting farther. He hoped he wasn’t there to see this part of him, not that he didn’t already know. 

Someone called from far away. Another Death Eater. “Hey, look what we found!” For a moment, Draco’s heart jumped out of his chest thinking they were going to pull Potter out of the air. 

He saw a smile form on the other’s man face. “Yeah. We want you to prove it.”

Another Death Eater came up to them, his arm clenched around a young boy, a first year. A second year at most. He was crying, sobbing, pleading. 

This was much worse than Potter. At least Potter could fight his way out.

“Found this guy trying to take the Hogwarts Express back home. Little guy didn’t know it only comes on holidays.” They whole group laughed and Draco smiled. He knew how to act in these groups. How to float. Even if he knew he’d be purging his stomach later at the memory.

“So you want me to teach him a lesson?” Draco sauntered forward, all confidence. He had practice with this. It was all a performance. Legillmancy and a lifetime of acting all in one. “I’ll do it gladly.” He turned to the Death Eater on his right. “Your wand?”

The Death Eater tilted his head but handed over his wand. Draco bent down to be on the first years level. He summoned up his most cruel smile, fighting back the nausea that threatened to boil over. “We’re going to have fun, me and you.”

Draco never had the stomach for torture. But he’d seen it enough. He knew the part to play. 

He knew he couldn’t manage a Crucio . Not now. Not ever, if he was honest. He’d always been too weak. Too cowardly. But there were other spells. Spells that could hurt. Spells you didn’t have to mean.

He cast a simple fire charm, one that lit a circle around the boy, caught on to the bottom of his robes. “Mudblood scum,” Draco spat, as the kid screamed. He knew those screams would haunt him, just as all the others had. 

Draco turned to the other Death Eaters smiling at the boy. “May I go or do I have to continue to entertain your games?”

“Yeah,” the man said, “you can go.”

Draco nodded and handed the wand back to the man. As he turned away, he uttered one last spell, turning the flames cold as he left. He only hoped the other men would show such mercy.

He walked up the path to the castle uninterrupted. He had walked this same route many times, but it had never felt quite as sickening. It was the middle of the night and he had no idea where Potter went, only that he wasn’t as close as he once had been. Hopefully he was in the castle. Hopefully, it was all worth it.

He made it back to the castle easily. He didn’t where else to go, whether to seek out Potter or not. He determined it was safest to go back to the Slytherin dorms. Potter had the map. He’d find him when he was able.

The minute he walked into the Slytherin common room, all eyes fell on him. He ignored them, holding his head up like a prince taking his throne.

“Ohmygod, Draco,” arms flew around his middle and he knew that voice anywhere. Pansy. “God where have you been?”

Draco held Pansy close to her. “Special task,” he whispered. “I can’t talk about it but I’m okay. I’m alright.” 

She only hugged him harder. “Good.”

It had only been a few weeks since he had seen Pansy but it felt like a lifetime. She finally let go of him and caressed his cheek. “We’ll make it through.”

He raised his hand to her wrist. “We will.”

“Come on,” Pansy said. “Let’s go back to your room.”

No one questioned them as they walked through the Common Room, but their suggestive gazes followed them. When they reached Draco’s room, it was blissfully empty. Pansy cast a silencing charm and then sat cross-legged on Draco’s bed. 

“So spill.”

“I told you Pansy, I can’t say.”

“No, not that,” Pansy waved her hand in the air. “I meant about this.” She leaned forward and pulled at the jumper. Harry’s jumper. “Where’d you get this number? It’s atrocious, in a cute way.”

“Oh,” Draco looked down. He hadn’t realized he was still wearing it. He could feel the blush creeping on his cheeks. This was going to be a long conversation.

Eventually, Draco managed to wish Pansy off to bed, slip out of the Common Room, and find the Diadem’s hiding place. A small part of him had been terrified someone had taken it or damaged it in the days he was away, but he pulled back the tapestry, walked down the cramped hallway and shoved aside a loose brick.

There it was - blue gemstones glittering in the dusty hiding place. Just as he was about to reach for it, the tapestry pulled back, shining dim light into the narrow space.

Draco turned around quick, his hand resting on the loose brick. He didn’t have a wand but that didn’t mean he couldn’t defend himself. 

“Calm down, it’s just me,” a voice said and then Potter was pulling off his cloak, revealing himself.

“Prick,” Draco muttered. “You guys got here safe?” He turned back to the diadem to hide the obvious concern on his face.

“Yeah. We found a passage way that led to the castle and then we’ve been holding up in the Room of Requirement. Longbottom’s turned into a bit of a safecamp.”

“Good. I was wondering where all the Muggleborns had gone too.”

Potter walked forward and kneeled down next to Draco, so close their shoulders were touching. “It’s still there then?”

“Yeah,” Draco responded. “How do wanna be rid of it?”

“Fiendfyre?” Potter suggested.

“Potter, I do not trust my own skills to contain that spell, let alone yours.”

“Hey! I’m good at magic.”

“Talk to me when you learn a spell that isn’t expelliarmus.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “I guess that leaves Basilik’s Venom.”

“What happened to the Sword of Gryffindor?”

“Gave it to Longbottom. I told him whatever happens tomorrow, he has to kill Nagini.”

“You gave him the sword before we killed the last Horcrux?”

“Relax, we have the venom.”

“And enlighten me, where do we have that?”

“The Chamber of Secrets.”

“Merlin, are you joking? No of course you’re not.” 

Potter, the bastard, seemed to find it quiet amusing, because he would find constant certain death amusing. He smiled and leaned over and kissed Draco quickly, greedily. “You’re adorable,” he said which left Draco stuttering. “I’ll be back. Head to the Room of Requirement.”

If Draco walked through the halls with a blush on his cheeks, that was his business.

The Room of Requirement had been transformed into a makeshift camp, cots and books strewn across the floor, games of Exploding Snap and laughter which stood in stark contrast to the cold, hurried mood of the hall. 

He barely took two steps into the room before the laughter drops out. It seemed as if every eye was on him. He could see the younger kids backing away into corners, hiding behind the Sixth and Seventh Years.

“The fuck is Malfoy doing here?” he heard a whisper. He tried to hold his head high as he descended the stairs. 

He didn’t get more than one step on the main floor when he felt a wand to his neck. Ginerva Weasley had appeared out of his right and Draco could tell

“You have five seconds to give me a good reason not to kill you where you stand.”

Draco suppressed an urge to roll his eyes. He doubted the girl had the nerve. “I’m here on the request of Potter.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Ginerva growled.

“Then pray tell, how else would I have gotten in here?”

She seemed to process this for a moment, but before she could make a response, Granger came bounding down the stairs in the opposite corner. “What’s going on here?” Her voice demanded authority and all eyes in the room were watching the show down.

“I found Malfoy here waltzing in like he owned the place,” Ginerva spat, not taking her eyes off of Draco.

“Yeah, he’s with us,” Granger said. “He’s not a threat.”

“Tell that to everyone else in the room,” she gestured vaguely to the cowered room. “You weren’t here. You haven’t seen what he’s done.”

“Ginny,” Weasley’s voice came standing next to his girlfriend. “He’s with us. Stand down.”

Ginerva began to lower her wand but kept her eyes firmly on him. “I don’t like him being here. Neither does anyone else.”

“Noted,” Draco said, pulling up all his posh breeding in that one word.

“We will keep him in our rooms,” Granger said. “We trust him, but I understand why others may not. You will just have to trust us.”

This seemed to be enough because Ginerva nodded and let Draco pass. But Draco didn’t think for a second that he was truly safe outside the company of anyone but the Golden Trio.

Granger and Weasley led him to a door in the back corner. It seemed to be a series of private rooms - some were bathrooms, some makeshift hospital beds, and then one door at the end that led to a series of bedrooms.

-

Harry didn’t return until late. He had destroyed the diadem and then all hell broke loose. The Death Eaters came. The castle was in chaos. Walls collapsed. Students sobbing everywhere. Dead bodies lined up in the Great Hall. Snape. Fred. Tonks.

It was only once Voldemort has issued his message - for Harry to meet him in the forest tomorrow - that the fighting ceased and Harry could find his friends, could find Malfoy.

“Draco,” Harry said, standing stock still in doorway. Malfoy was on his feet immediately, hands reaching out. 

Malfoy shot him a look as they clasped their hands together. “Since when do we use our first names?”

“Please,” Harry said, and maybe it was the defeat in his voice or maybe Draco could feel it through the bond because he was on his feet in seconds, standing in front of Harry, his hands on his arms. 

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, searching his face for answers.

Harry pulled Draco close, letting his head fall on Draco’s shoulder, soaking in his scent, his warmth. “I’m a Horcrux,” he said eventually. His voice felt like lead in the silent room.

Draco was quiet for a long time, holding Harry, bringing him close to his chest. “I know.”

Harry pulled back to look in Draco’s face. “What do you mean you know?”

“I suspected after you could see the Dark Lord’s memories. Then it all made sense, the parseltongue, the scar pain, you surviving the spell. I figured if Nagini could be a Horcrux, so could you.” Draco ran a hand through his hair. “But I wanted to be wrong. Merlin, did I want to be wrong.”

Harry went back into his embrace. “You’re too smart for all of us.”

“Don’t let Granger here you say that.”

“You know what this means though? That I have to die?”

Draco nodded, his voice quiet. “I know.”

Harry let out a shuddering breath. It had never mattered before now, his death. It was always near, always threatened come the end of the school year. He was the Boy Who Lived. His life was always founded on shaky ground.

But now. Now he had something to leave behind. Someone who was willing to live for him. 

Pathetically, the first words out of his mouth were, “We’ll never grow old together.”

Draco held him tighter. Harry felt like he was the only thing holding him together. “I know,” Draco whispered.  

They had never talked about a future. They had never talked about anything. There was never any time.

“I’m not ready,” Harry said. He could feel his tears wetting the fabric of Draco’s jumper.

“No one ever is.”

“How are you so calm?” Harry asked.

“Oh, I’m fucking terrified,” Draco replied. “But we can’t both fall apart right now.”

Harry leaned back and saw the silent tears rolling down Draco’s cheeks. He brushed them away with his thumb, kissed the skin they once graced and then kissed Draco.

It was wet and messy and full of all the promises they could never give each other. Harry’s hands went under Draco’s shirt and soon it was stripped off. He trailed his hands over Draco’s warm chest, feeling his own skin alight with the sensation. The scars he made slashing across Draco’s chest. He leaned in and kissed each one.

They fucked that night, in between sobs and whispers of unfulfilled promises. Each bit of pleasure sparking crossed them made bittersweet with the knowledge that this was all they had. It was awkward and fumbling and vulnerable and perfect. 

They were made for each other. But they were not made for long.

As they laid across each other, their eyes soaking in every bit of skin, of mind, of soul they had, Harry leaned in and whispered, “I love you.”

He didn’t expect a reply. He didn’t think Draco was the type, but it came quickly. “I love you too,” he said between kisses. “Always.”

Harry felt himself sink down into sleep but in one last effort, he whispered back. “Always.”

-

When Harry woke, Draco was sleeping. He looked so beautiful when he slept, peaceful, aristocratic. He was still far too pale and skinny, the war was not over yet. But his hands didn’t shake anymore. He no longer constantly looked over his shoulder.

Harry reached out and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind his hair. He was wearing the jumper Harry had given him. It looked nice on him. It reminded Harry that they were two halves of a whole. That they had spent years of rivalry and fighting to get to now, to give themselves completely to each other.

He knew there was no way it could’ve been different. That they had hated each other too thoroughly to ever change their allegiances before now. But God, did Harry want to kick his former self. They could have had so much more time.

Instead they had now. They had a couple days on the run and one night together.

Strangely, Harry didn’t feel anything about his soon coming death. Maybe he had cried it all out last night. Or maybe he had been expecting to die for so long, it didn’t feel any different now that it was coming.

Draco stirred next to him and Harry took immense pleasure in watching him wake up. Draco squeezed his eyes shut as he stretched his long limbs, then blinking stared up at Harry, registering who he was, and smiled.

Draco’s smile, what a rare sight to see. Harry wanted to bottle it up, take it with him everywhere for the rest of his life.

Though, he supposed, that wasn’t long now.

“Good morning,” Draco said after a yawn.

“Good morning,” Harry smiled. “I love you.”

Draco scrunched up his nose. He was like a cat, adorable and annoyed and elegant and maybe a little deadly. “Gross.”

“Shut up. Say it back.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I love you too. Happy?”

“Very,” Harry said in a low voice and leaned in to kiss him. He brought his hands to Draco’s neck, devouring every part he could. Draco just hummed, a happy little noise. 

Harry collapsed on top of Draco, the other boy holding him close. They stayed like that for a long while. Breathing together, living together, on borrowed time.

It was Harry who broke the silence. “I hope you know you can find someone else after me. I want you to be happy.”

Draco leaned in and kissed his neck. “I won’t,” he whispered. “There’s no one else.”

Harry wanted to deny it, to demand that Draco find someone new, someone to take care of him. But another part of him was selfishly happy. Greedy for Draco to be just his.

They had never taken any vows, but until death do us part felt apt.

“What do you think it’ll be like?” Harry asked.

“Death? I don’t know. Blank, probably.”

“Do you think we’ll see each other again, like in an afterlife?”

Draco’s nails were running patterns down Harry’s back. “Sure, Harry.”

Harry knew he was lying. “No, really. Do you?”

Draco shrugged under him. “The idea of an afterlife scares me. You and I both have seen first hand what a quest for immortality does to someone. I fear what I may become there.”

“So you think this is it? This is all we have?”

Draco moved to sit up and Harry moved off him until they were sitting cross legged on the bed. He moved close and put his hands on either side of Harry’s neck. “I think our lives are one big fucking tragedy, but I’m so grateful to have spent even a moment with you.”

And they kissed. And kissed. And kissed. Until Hermione’s voice came from the other side of the door, calling to them that the Death Eaters had woken from their camps and it was almost time.

Almost time for Harry to die.

 -

Draco watched Harry walk across the bridge to the Forbidden Forest. He wanted to walk with him, but he knew he couldn’t, that this was a journey Harry had to take alone.

He didn’t lie earlier. He didn’t believe in an afterlife, but as he watched Harry walk away from him, he so selfishly wished he did, just so he could have some hope this wasn’t the end.

He hadn’t told Harry, what he himself knew. That when Harry died, he didn’t consider himself long for this world. He had heard stories of what was like to lose a soulmate. How unbearable it was. How it was like a piece of you had been ripped away, that your soul went empty and your mind echoed in itself. 

He didn’t wish to live a lifetime of that.

The battle was on pause. The Death Eaters were in retreat. Still, Draco didn’t stray far from Hermione’s and Ron’s side. He was still worried about revenge, from either side. Not that he didn’t think he deserved it. He just wasn’t ready quite yet.

Everyone was moving slowly around the castle, if they weren’t tending to the wounded. Everyone kept their wands on them. Most people lied on windowsills or in the corridors, ready for battle again, but still taking a breath.

Granger and Weasley were with him when he felt it. His whole body go numb and empty. Like one half of him being ripped at the seams. Like his whole chest had dropped out of him. 

He took a sharp intake of breath. “He’s gone,” he whispered, immediately grabbing the attention of his companions.

“You’re sure?” Granger asked.

“What?” Weasley looked between them, but Malfoy kept his eyes on Granger.

Draco couldn’t do anything but nod. How was he supposed to live with this for even a moment, let alone a lifetime. It was like a loneliness he hadn’t felt since he was a child. The kind he knew would seep into his bones. And there was nowhere to seek comfort.

“What? How do you know that?” Weasley was standing up now, as if to challenge, but Draco could hardly see him. 

Granger reached out and put a hand on his arm, steadying him. “Ron. He can tell.” Her eyes were boring into him, pleading with him to understand. 

It took a moment but then, “Oh, Merlin, no. There’s no way.” His confusion bled to anger. “Are you fucking with us?”

“Ron, please, now is not the time.” Something in her voice got through to him because all the charge drained out of him and he let himself be pulled back to her side.

“Right, sorry,” he muttered and then, taking a deep breath, “fuck. He’s really gone.”

Granger leaned into Weasley and they both began to shed tears. But Draco couldn’t. He couldn’t accept it. The whole world fell away. He couldn’t feel a thing.

He stood and walked away from their moment, their undying devotion to each other. The kind he knew he could not express for himself. He walked aimlessly around the hallways until he found one completely empty, the window and part of the wall blown out from some curse.

The wind blew sharply, but Draco could barely feel it. He walked forward, leaning to look out at the depths. They were on the fifth floor. There was no ledge. Nothing held him in. Just him and the wind and a sure fire plummeting crash. 

He really did contemplate it. Taking a step. Flying.

But then he looked out and saw the Death Eater’s camp across the lake. And he knew that this wouldn’t end with Harry Potter. And if he had a death wish, he might as well make it worth something.

And as he walked back, determined to at least make his death worthwhile, he felt it. The pinprick of light, of feeling in his chest. Like that first moment he touched Harry, floating and confusion and relief that maybe there was a way out. If only he could find it.

He latched on to that emotion and he ran.

He found Granger and Weasley in the same spot they had been, silently sobbing on each other’s shoulders.

“He’s alive,” he said in between gasping breaths. The feeling was gaining speed, like an ocean wave about to collapse on you, with no way out but to dive under and submit yourself to it. “He’s alive.”

“You said he was dead,” Weasley said at the same time that Granger said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Draco said. “He was dead. I know that. But he’s back. I don’t know how. But I know it’s true. I know it.” He was looking straight at Granger imploring her to believe him and she must have seen his desperation, because he saw the moment he convinced her.

“Well then,” she said leaning away from Weasley and wiping her tears, “let’s prepare for a battle.” 

Fifteen minutes later, people were running through the hall, calling people into the courtyard, ready for a fight. Draco hid behind a column, knowing he had a target on his back from all sides. 

The Dark Lord came into the courtyard, his arms extended, his face distorted into a demented idea of a smile. Behind him, Hagrid stood with Harry cradled in his arms, looking like a child against his hulking figure.

Draco concentrated and could feel Harry’s breathing, his magic flowing through him. Despite his limp appearance, Draco just repeated to himself he’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

The Dark Lord made his speech, his supporters laughed and jeered. From Draco’s hiding sport, he could see the crowd, his parents. Alive at least. If the Dark Lord took out any physical punishments on them, Draco couldn’t see it. Small mercies at least.

Longbottom gave a speech. Harry fell from Hagrid’s arm. There were curses and screaming, spells bouncing off each other in the air. Running. Deaths. The battle was back on.

Draco almost didn’t believe it when the dust settled. When it was clear the Dark Lord was dead. Hopefully for ever this time. It didn’t set in until the Death Eaters began retreating, wizards disapparting, giants and werewolves running for the hills.

And in the aftermath of it all, standing in the courtyard, was Harry. Bruised, bloody, but undeniably his . 

Draco didn’t hesitate. He ran forward, embracing Harry as he had the same very morning, holding on to him as if he was the only thing keeping him together. But the embrace was different this time. This time it was filled with hope.