Archive of Our Own

Today, was the day, I first said
“I belong.”
Here in the ghost region
All alone upon the shore
This changing line between land and sea
Between a cease-fire and a war

 

His steps are oddly light and silent as he walks, as if the floor is made up of sponges. The light is off too. It is so bright that it hurts his eyes where it hits the puddles of water left from the rain. Draco looks around himself; he wants to look down at his feet to find out what causes the lack of noise but somehow looking down isn’t one of the options available to him, no matter how hard he tries.

He finds himself walking along an avenue, the trees on the left and right seem unreal. He is unable to slow down or look at them closer. It is almost as if he has no control over where he is going or what is happening to him, just as this thought comes to him, his feet suddenly stop and the square in front of him comes unexpectedly into focus as if someone had held a magnifying glass to it.

Even though he should look ahead, it seems that this is where he is supposed to go. Still, Draco takes his time looking at the trees. Finally it becomes clear why they seem so odd. The trees are people – or at least something like that. Where they come from the earth, they look like trees but from the waist upward they turn into people who look blissfully content and wave their arms in the breeze. The image makes Draco’s skin crawl. How did those people end up like that?

The skin on the back of his neck prickles, like he is being watched. Draco turns around slowly. A dark shape slowly drifts along the avenue towards him. The bright light around him flickers for a second and it is as if a shadow passes across the clouds. If Draco hadn’t still been looking at the strange tree people he would have missed it. For that short moment when the shadow touches them, they change. Their faces become those of people suffering in agony, their mouths wide open. The beautiful sound of leaves moving on a breeze turns into an eerie mindless wail, while their graceful dance turns into that of creatures writhing in pain. Something tells him that this is real, not the pleasantness he has seen before.

Fear grips his heart and Draco looks at the square in front of him again. It is still bathed in sunlight and bustling with small upright dots that go about their business. From behind him, Draco hears the sound of footsteps. Before he can even think about it, he is already barrelling down the wide stretches of grass in front of him, which appeared out of nowhere. Whoever is following him cannot be up to anything good, they never are. The footsteps turn into the clattering sound of hoofs on cobblestone and how that is even possible while Draco is still running down a green hill is beyond his comprehension.

He quickly looks behind himself as he runs and there just out of arms reach is a dark-masked rider on a horse reaching for him and shouting for Draco to come with him. But Draco only runs faster. He casts another look over his shoulder and suddenly the rider is held in place by fast-growing vines that shoot out of the ground faster than he can cut them down. Draco doesn’t look back a third time.

The darkness lifts the minute Draco steps onto the square. Although it is crowded, Draco can only hear the shuffle of feet and the sound of cloth moving against cloth. There are no voices although everyone seems to be talking constantly.

A fish wearing a dinner jacket and a top hat walks up to him. He puts on his monocle and eyes Draco from top to toe and finally Draco can see that he is wearing nothing but his dark green satin pyjama bottoms and that his feet are covered in grass stains. The fish looks at him disdainfully and begins to speak, but all that comes out of his mouth is a stream of small round spheres, like soap bubbles, that slowly drift into the air.

Draco follows their trail with his eyes even though the fish is now gesturing angrily at him as if he should understand what he is saying. A line of bubbles rises from every single person on the square and they all join each other hanging over the space like a giant rainbow coloured upside down bubble bath. The fish pokes Draco in the ribs and it actually hurts.

“Hey, that hurt,” he shouts but all that comes out of his mouth are the same bubbles he can see rising upward all around him. The fish crowds him, and Draco stumbles backwards into someone else. An angry giant blackbird carrying an umbrella pushes him back towards the fish. Under the bird’s umbrella Draco can see bubbles bump into each other and then float upwards when it becomes too crowded for them under the umbrella, as the tirade that is no doubt flowing from the bird’s beak steadily adds to them.

He knows they are causing a commotion. His breeding kicks in and he tries to calm the angry creatures around him down, but every calming motion seems to only aggravate them further and all his apologetic words vanish unheard in yet another stream of bubbles. Draco feels scared again as more of them crowd around him and as if that wasn’t bad enough the air begins to grow cold.

The light fades away and just as before when the growing darkness touches the creatures around him they begin to change. The fish becomes a shark and the blackbird a vulture, their demeanour even more menacing than before. The sound of hoofs on the pale stone of the square is loud in the sudden quiet and Draco doesn’t have to turn around to know that his enemy is back. The black horse snorts and cold shivers run down Draco’s bare arms and back as the temperature keeps dropping.

Draco flees, pushing the creatures in front of him aside. The bubbles brush against him and when they burst he can hear bird noises and weird gulping sounds. He shouts for help and almost loses his hearing as the bubble that forms in front of his mouth bursts in his face, disorienting him.

The darkness sweeps down, and Draco whimpers when he becomes aware of the horrors the creatures around him have turned into. His breath comes out in great panting gasps, fogging in front of his face as he runs. The darkness has caught up with him and is overtaking him easily now. The bubbles above him ring out like bells as they slowly freeze over and collide with each other. The ones that burst against him while he still tries to get away are filled with snarls and growls and make him wish he had never set foot on the large square.

He feels as if he has been running forever when he reaches the fountain that he knows marks the centre of the square. The rider has easily kept pace, his horse lazily approaching as Draco stands with his back to the still merrily bubbling fountain. He looks up hoping for some means of escape, but Draco knows he can’t run anymore, he is too exhausted.

Above him the sky has turned black and the light from the fountain reflects in the thousands of hovering spheres that clink and ring, making them look like stars. The rider leans down off the horse and reaches for Draco. If he didn’t know better Draco could have sworn the rider was offering him his hand. There is no time to think about this as suddenly all the spheres above him drop to the floor, shattering into thousands of sharp pieces, showering him in shards that bite into his skin and make him stumble backwards. The noise is so intense that even covering his ears isn’t helping.

The dark rider is writhing on the floor, the noise and the shards just as painful to him as they are to Draco. Again he reaches for Draco, but Draco is so scared he takes another step back. His foot bumps against the rim of the fountain and he can feel himself falling. Expecting to hit water he is surprised when he keeps falling, the darkness suddenly all around him, swallowing him completely. The wind rushing by and the agonised whimpers of the rider growing ever quieter are the only indicators that he is still falling. And he just keeps falling, falling forever, into darkness.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

Cold air was creeping into the room through an open window, making him shiver. Draco wished he hadn’t neglected to bring a blanket or at least a coat. He had been so desperate to get away that he had all but managed to stumble up the stairs to the observatory, without falling and bruising his shins and knees. If he tried he could still hear them downstairs, searching through the Manor, tearing down paintings, brushing the books off the shelves, trying to find something, anything to validate their hatred.

People like the Malfoys weren’t allowed privacy or time to mourn, they were not offered consideration, because there was no one who cared. Again and again the Aurors came, tearing apart his home in their search for proof that wasn’t to be found. And Draco was sick of it all.

He covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the sounds. Knowing that there were strangers in his home, invading it without a sense of propriety or thought for the people whose home they were destroying brought Draco back to an even darker time in his life. Perhaps he did deserve it all.

It didn’t matter what Potter — no, Harry — said. Draco would never be forgiven. Not for what he had done, not for his parentage, and not for “getting away with it all”, as The Prophet had phrased it. It was so easy to believe Harry when he had talked to Draco about the equality of the new world, about friendship and about leading by example. Harry had approached him and asked for Draco’s help to make the best of the chance they had. And Draco had believed him, because he had wanted to. When reality intruded like it was now three floors under his feet, it was sobering to the point where all the hope and faith Harry had inspired vanished like a puff of smoke.

Call me Harry, he had said. Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry! It was still hard and part of Draco worried that he would never get used to it. Close to a decade of “Potter, Granger and Weasel” weren’t as easy to erase as one might think. Harry… It took an effort every time and Draco found that now and then he was slipping, which of course was all Potter’s fault for still getting under his skin, the way he had always done. The fact that Draco had come to genuinely like the prat wasn’t exactly helping either, if anything, it made things more complicated.

Draco stood up and began to pace. What was the point of it, of anything? There was nothing to hold onto, nothing that could redeem him. If he couldn’t even find something about himself that was worth saving, how could he expect the world to find it?

The observatory didn’t help to calm him, like it usually did. That alone made Draco even angrier than the self-righteous attitude of the Aurors downstairs. Thank Merlin Harry wasn’t one of them. Draco wouldn’t have been able to make an effort at friendship if he had been. Potter had quit the Aurors several months ago. He had never told Draco why and Draco found he didn’t quite dare ask either. This friendship they had was so very odd. At times it felt like a single word would be able to break it. And Draco didn’t even know whether he wanted it to last. This constant sense of unease was starting to wear him down. But then there were times, when Harry said something or did something so unexpected and wonderful that Draco forgot about everything else. Some small thing, said without thought that somehow made feeling torn and insecure all worth it.

Draco should go back downstairs and see to his mother. The Aurors wouldn’t find anything, Draco and his father had made sure of that, before he had been sent to Azkaban. Father and son having found a common interest for the first time in a long time in keeping Narcissa safe. Before Draco could make up his mind, a barn owl swooped in through the open window and perched on the back of his recently vacated chair beneath the telescope.

She ruffled her feathers and stared at him. Draco found her intent gaze to be quite unsettling, even though he knew that this was Harry’s owl, Sophia, and unlike her disconcerting demeanour suggested, she didn’t actually bite.

Draco carefully untied the ribbon from around her leg and petted her. Sophia’s sharp talons cut into the thick leather of the chair so she wouldn’t lose her balance, while she pressed her head against the palm of his hand and made him scratch her feathers.

There were no owl treats in the observatory but he had a hidden stash of biscuits in one of the desk drawers and maybe those were just as much to Sophia’s liking. He rummaged through the drawer and came up with a slim ginger biscuit in hand. Draco was just about to feed it to the owl, when several things happened at once.

Downstairs someone opened a door and the draught caused the open window to slam shut so fiercely that the air was suddenly filled with shards of flying glass. Sophia shrieked and took to the air, clawing at Draco’s head and face in her desperate attempt to get away. Draco raised his hands to protect himself from her frightened fluttering and dropped both the missive and the biscuit. Sophia then alighted on his shoulder, her talons digging in painfully, causing him to lose his balance. Draco was back-pedalling wildly, trying to regain his footing. He was unable to see where he was going because Sophia’s wings were still thrashing around, obscuring his vision.

He crashed into one of the walls so hard that he broke through the dark wooden panelling, getting about half of his left side stuck in the space, without being able to turn or free himself. He tried pushing and pulling but to no avail. Sophia had flown over to the telescope and was looking at him curiously.

Draco grabbed for his wand with his free hand only to realise that it must have fallen out of his pocket and out of reach. And yes, there on the floor just a few feet away, lay his Hawthorne wand. The very wand which Harry had returned to him the first time they had been out for a pint. They had drawn up a ridiculously romantic plan on how to improve the world and even though Draco knew it was bound to fail, the hopeful look in Harry’s eyes and his earnestness in trying to convince Draco to believe in him had made it impossible to say ‘no’. And how could he, if one of the first things the man had said had been “I’m tired of the war. I’m tired of fighting.” Draco felt the same way, he just wanted it to stop, all of it.

It was supposed to be Draco’s turn to send a note to schedule their next meeting. He really needed to get unstuck from this wall and try to find the letter he had dropped. If Harry was writing to him and already breaking the rules of their fragile friendship he had better find out what it was about. Draco had had an idea of where they should go, but wasn’t sure whether the venue would be considered strange. Going ice-skating on an enchanted pond could definitely not be described as toeing the line, as the association was decidedly romantic.

Draco was stuck. Pulling didn’t seem to get him anywhere, though. Neither did pushing and squirming only caused his skin to chafe. Draco stopped struggling for the moment and tried to come up with a plan on how to extricate himself from the wall’s clutches. If he could only get his wand, he might be able to free himself. He stretched and tugged again, hearing the sound of tearing fabric but seemed to be stuck more firmly than ever.

“Well, fuck!” he forced out, his lungs constricted from the position his struggling had manoeuvred him into. The sound of footsteps could be heard on the steps below. Clanging and clattering upwards, the metal steps ringing under the heavy boots, which took his mother out of the equation. The Aurors must be coming to check out where the noise had come from.

Draco tried to put his hip into it and pushed against the wall panelling. What followed was only heralded by an ominous sounding crack. He could feel himself falling, backwards, into the wall, almost as if he was pulled. With too little room to manoeuvre let alone keep his balance in any way, he stumbled and fell. Draco’s back connected painfully with the sharp edge of something that he couldn’t see in the dark.

Around him dust and rubble tumbled down and just before one of the larger boulders knocked him unconscious, he heard the Aurors rush into the observatory.

***

There was a disgusting sort of taste in his mouth. If he had to describe it, Draco would have gone for “furry”. He licked his lips and swallowed convulsively trying to get rid of it. Someone was poking his chest, but it was too dark to see who or what it was.

“Mother?” he asked, assuming he had been found by the Aurors and was now in his room with the curtains drawn. Draco decided that he must really be out of it, because his bed had never felt this uncomfortable.

He tried to sit up to look around properly, but the minute he did, blinding pain stabbed through his skull. He groaned and reached for his forehead as if that would cause the pain to go away. His fingers came away warm and wet and weirdly sticky. When Draco opened his eyes again, he could see something glistening on his fingertips in the dim light, something else he could finally make out was Sophia sitting on his chest and clawing and biting at him in distress.

He tried to get up again and the pain, even though expected, made him pause for a moment. Draco couldn’t breathe, something aside from Sophia was on his chest and constricting his lungs. Bright spots began to dance in front of his eyes as the thing shifted, making breathing even more difficult. Draco shuffled around under what could only be a heavy beam. It eventually came loose and tumbled to the side.

Draco gasped for air and almost wept with joy at the taste of sweet dusty oxygen on his tongue. There was a commotion outside and Draco began calling for help. His hands were grasping in the dark, trying to find his wand, to no avail.

“I don’t know where he went. She said he’d be here.”

“This is strange, the entire floor is covered in glass shards. Maybe he was trying to hide something and the spell backfired.” said another voice, joining the first.

Draco had no idea why they couldn’t hear him. He turned his head towards the noise, shouting ever more frantically, but whoever was now in the observatory either was stone deaf or simply couldn’t hear him. For a single moment, Draco considered that he might be dead and that was why they couldn’t hear him. Sophia chose that moment to bite his nose and Draco decided that if he could hurt like he did right then, he was most definitely not dead. When Draco’s eyes stopped watering, he could make out light falling into the space through the jagged edges of the wall panelling he had fallen through.

One of the men looked straight at him, or so it seemed, but made no move to investigate what had broken the wall.

“There’s nothing here. We should get back to the Ministry and report in.”

“Alright.”

Draco could hear the Aurors’ footsteps slowly fading away. By now he was more aware of himself and his surroundings and a bit of creative shuffling and squirming allowed him to sit upright and lean against the wall. Draco closed his eyes while he caught his breath. The evidence suggested that he had a concussion and needed medical attention, but for that to happen he had to get out of here. Wherever here was.

Sophia’s anxious fluttering of her wings made him open his eyes again and look around himself. He was in a small attic room, half of the ceiling had collapsed, most likely when he had barrelled into one of the rotten beams, which had then graciously enough, knocked him out for his efforts. It was hard to see by the light from the observatory, because every tiny movement would cause a cloud of dust to rise and obscure everything. Draco could make out a desk and some shelves on the other side of the room, which stood beneath a filthy window, its glass too caked with dust due to years of neglect to let in any light at all. How strange was it that nobody had even known of this room’s existence?

It took him three tries to get up on shaky feet and step over to the desk. To his disappointment, it was entirely empty but for a thick layer of dusk. All the drawers were locked and without his wand there was no chance to get a look inside. The shelves on the left and right carried several ancient tomes, the gold lettering on their sleeves also caked in the thick residue that seemed to cover everything in this place, making their titles illegible.

Draco reached up to the glass above him and managed to clean a small circle of it. Outside, he could see the stars. Night must have fallen while he was unconscious. He had to get back downstairs, his mother would be worried. After one last look at the crates and books, he turned away.

It took him longer to cross the room and descend the stairs than he anticipated, but he had to stop every now and then because his legs threatened to give out. Sophia had alighted on his shoulder again as if she owned it. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he sank down and leant against the banister.

***

He must have fallen asleep there, because that was where his mother had found him, berating him for being so careless and asking what had happened to get him into this state. Draco tried to tell her, he really did, but something stopped him, his mouth offering other explanations whenever he tried to tell the truth.

Eventually his mother sent him to his room, what a trip to the past that was, being twenty-five and sent to his room. The family doctor checked on him, ordering rest, after cleaning and healing his wound. As if Draco did anything else, but at least now he had an excuse to be a lazy lay-about.

It was only when Harry came to visit him three days later that Draco realised he had never sent Sophia back home; she was still perched on one of the bedposts in his room, returning every night almost as if to watch over him after she had stilled her hunger by catching mice in the Manor grounds.

“Draco?”

“I’m over here,” Draco said, from where he sat by the wide open windows, which let in the cool evening air. He turned slightly only to see Harry standing in the door to his room, framed by the golden glow of the light shining in from the corridor. Harry looked slightly shifty and seemed to ponder whether he should step into the room.

“Can I come in? Your mother said I would find you here.”

“Did she now?” Draco smirked. “Be my guest,” he added nodding towards the chair across from him, regretting the motion immediately as his head seemed to spin, which was particularly annoying, because Harry wouldn’t have been able to see the gesture in the dark anyway.

Harry carefully stepped into the room somehow avoiding all the things he could have run into, being both short-sighted and still not used to the lack of light. Draco would almost call the way he moved graceful, but that was a whole can of worms he wasn’t ready to open yet, because then he would also have to admit to the other parts of his newest friend that he found quite enticing. Harry carefully settled in the chair opposite of Draco, his face bathed in the light of the newly risen moon.

Draco was amazed by the details he could make out, when looking at Harry from his dark spot in the corner. The scar on his forehead had paled over the years, but the moon made it shine against the darker skin around it, despite the hair Harry had brushed over the scar to hide it. The colour of Harry’s eyes was hidden in the darkness but Draco could see his full dark lashes perfectly, the cold light of the moon making the contrast even sharper. It was only when his gaze settled on Harry’s full lips and they moved as he spoke that Draco was brought out of his silent appreciation.

“Pardon?”

“I asked why you’re sitting here in the dark. Never pictured you to be one to hide in the shadows.”

“Oh, the doctor said not to use magic and I like the cool evening air. The mosquitoes, however, not so much.” The lie fell easily from his lips. Because on top of sitting in the cool evening air, he also enjoyed being able to look outside at the stars, but telling revealing that to Harry felt much too intimate.

“Do you want me to?” Harry asked, indicating the window.

“No, it’s alright, but thank you. So, what brings you here? I didn’t think Mother would tell anyone that I was indisposed.”

“What’s wrong?” Harry sounded genuinely worried. Interesting.

“I got a concussion when part of a secret room in the observatory collapsed while I was in there.” Draco was almost as surprised as Harry when he revealed that piece of information; so far he hadn’t been able to mention anything related to that room to anyone. Something was definitely going on.

Harry’s hand had landed on Draco’s while he spoke, they became aware of it at the same time and Harry pulled it away as if he had been burnt.

“I hope you’ll feel better soon. I only came by to see where Sophia had got to, I got worried when she didn’t come home.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair and Draco felt guilty, because he hadn’t even once thought about what Sophia’s prolonged stay would do to Harry.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

Just then Sophia swooped back into the room, startling them both when she dropped a dead mouse on the coffee table between them and nudged it imperiously towards Draco.

“It seems she thinks you can’t take care of yourself,” Harry said and Draco could hear the smile in his voice. He leant forward to stroke her feathers fondly, but shrunk back when his fingers encountered Harry’s.

“Sorry,” Draco said, not sure what he was apologising for. His pulse had quickened and for a moment Draco worried that his heart might beat loud enough for Harry to hear. Silence began to stretch between them until it became strained. Draco eventually lost the fight with his body to not clear his throat, at the same time that Harry spoke up again.

“Anyway, I should get going.”

“Oh, alright.” Draco tried not to sound disappointed, despite how uncomfortable the moment had become. Part of him didn’t want Harry to leave.

“Sophia,” Harry called after he had got up and the bird settled onto his shoulder. “I’ll make sure to send her by with more fresh mice so you get well soon.”

“Very funny, Potter.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

With that Harry left the room, leaving Draco to his thoughts. It would have been nice if Harry had stayed a little longer. They had run out of words again like it seemed to happen more and more often recently. Something was definitely changing between them, but Draco couldn’t decide whether it was for better or worse.

Draco could feel something like compulsion drawing his thoughts back to the room he had discovered and the secrets it might hold. He really should get back to the observatory as soon as possible to find out what it was all about.

***

“Draco, darling, I’m just going to London to meet Mrs. Parkinson for tea. If you need anything just call one of the house elves, alright? I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Thank you, Mother. Send my regards to Mrs. Parkinson.”

He waited ten minutes to make sure that his mother had left the house before he threw back the blankets and got up. He had lain in wait, fully clothed for the last hour, hoping his mother would not postpone her weekly lunch date because of his condition. And true to form, she hadn’t.

It only took him a few minutes to get back to the observatory, armed with a conjured Muggle torch and his wand. The crack in the wall was still right there. He didn’t know why the Aurors couldn’t see it. Draco shone the torch on the crack, but the light didn’t seem to be able to penetrate the darkness. When he got closer and reached forward to shine the light into the secret room, the hair on the back of his hand slowly stood on end as if he had been exposed to an electrostatic charge.

Draco pushed the charmed torch through what couldn’t be anything other but a kind of ward and watched it flicker and die. There was no way around it; if he wanted to know what was going on, Draco had to enter the chamber himself. He closed his eyes, expecting resistance of some kind and stepped forward. All that he felt, however, was a short moment of pins and needles, which stopped abruptly the second he had fully crossed the threshold.

The room looked like he remembered, only now it was cast with an unearthly eerie glow seeping from one of the boxes stood between the books. The light revealed a storm lantern that Draco had missed the last time he was here and it was but the work of a moment for him to light it. The warm golden shimmer that shone forth immediately helped to make the room less creepy. It now merely looked old; homely, but not like it was full of dark secrets. Draco felt like an archaeologist excavating an important find. As he was soon to find out, he wasn’t wrong about that.

The single straight wall was half covered in bookshelves, but what Draco hadn’t been able to make out in the darkness earlier was that the rest of it was covered in maps and framed portraits as well as pressed and framed flowers. Someone had clearly loved this room very much, made it their home, their sanctuary; if only he could find out who it had been.

Some pictures were photographs, covered in glass, others were painted, thick ridges of oil brushstrokes on canvas. The glass in the frames and the canvas was covered in a thick layer of dust and it took several attempts of brushing his sleeves across them to reveal what lay beneath them. The first portrait he uncovered was that of a young man his own age. He was as pale as Draco, his hair short and straight but dark as were his eyes, which were far darker than Draco’s own. The man in the portrait didn’t smile or move at all; it seemed to be a Muggle painting, which was odd in itself.

All of the pictures were of the same man, sometimes in younger years, but it was most definitely him. The Malfoy lineage was obvious in the sharp angles of his features as well as the eyebrows and nose. His lips were plumper than Draco’s. The man wasn’t what one would call handsome, but Draco still found him intriguing. His eyes were intense and even though they weren’t imbued with magical life, they still captured Draco. It felt as if the man in the pictures was staring right into Draco’s soul, finding his darkest secrets and judging Draco because of them.

Draco could feel his heart racing and took a sudden step back. He collided with the chair, which in succession collided with the desk, which bumped into the bookshelf and made one of the smaller picture frames shake and tumble to the floor. The sound of breaking glass was loud in the small space.

He carefully bent down and turned the picture over. This one was obviously by the same painter who had done the portraits on the wall, but this time the man wasn’t alone. The man with the intense eyes sat in a high-backed armchair, which Draco could have sworn still stood in his father’s study. His legs were crossed and he held a walking stick in his hands leaning it against his knee. Another slightly older man with fair hair and bright eyes stood half hidden behind the chair, while his hands rested on the backrest, left and right of the younger man’s head. His dress was distinctly less elaborate and expensive than that of the man Draco assumed to be his ancestor and his features didn’t suggest any family resemblance whatsoever. Why one of his ancestors would choose to be portrayed with someone so obviously below their station, Draco couldn’t explain.

It was only when he removed the picture from the broken frame and turned it over that he saw the inscription on the back: “Pyxis Draconis Malfoy and a family friend in his study, 1836”. Draco’s hand covered his mouth in shock. He hadn’t known that there had been someone in his family who shared his name. Why hadn’t he known? Why was there no sign of this man, either in the portrait gallery or on their family tree? Why was there this strange room, hidden away and invisible to anyone but him?

There must be something, some clue as to what happened to Pyxis hidden in this room somewhere. Draco got up, careful not to step on the broken glass. He placed the picture reverently on the desk and went to inspect the book cases. He carefully brushed along the backs of the old tomes, most of them books on navigation and astronomy. Which would explain why this room was up in the observatory. None of them managed to shed light on Pyxis’ fate. Some of them had notes scribbled in the margins, which seemed to be written in some kind of code. Draco snapped the book he was currently holding shut and surveyed the entire collection in front of him and realised that there was a lot of work for him, right here, in his immediate future.

If he had been Pyxis, he reasoned, his personal belongings would be locked in the desk. Draco sat down in the high-backed heavy wooden desk chair and eyed the table in front of him. He took out his wand and cast several unlocking spells, but none of them seemed to work. Eventually he grew so frustrated that he took a dagger from one of the shelves and tried to pry open the top drawer. The knife dug into the wood, leaving deep gouges, but didn’t seem to make much headway with getting it open.

“Fuck!” Draco yelled after the knife slipped, its blade biting into his thumb. He threw the dagger clear across the room and could hear it clatter into some dark corner. “Shit!” he hissed and stuck the finger into his mouth.

It really hurt. He knew he was lucky that he hadn’t cut any tendons, but with his luck recently, he probably had infected himself with some rare disease. He had had enough of research and adventures for one day and viciously kicked against the desk. A sharp pain shot through his foot, causing him to heavily lean onto the desktop trying to keep his balance, while he desperately hoped that he hadn’t just broken his toe.

The same bookshelf that the picture of Pyxis and his friend had come from was shaking again and one of the boxes shifted forward ever so slightly. For but a moment, it just hung there and then toppled to the ground. As Draco bent down to retrieve it, he heard a distinct clicking sound coming from the desk. He turned around slowly and there as if to mock him was the top drawer, protruding slightly, obviously open. Draco used several curses that would make his mother scold him for days on end, before investigating further.

A slim leather-bound journal lay in the very centre of the drawer. There was a string of leather tied around it in an intricate knot seemingly held together by an ancient quill. Draco poked it with his wand, expecting more traps or bad luck, but the book just lay there. Still slightly wary, Draco pulled his sleeve over his hand and carefully lifted the diary from its hiding place. The moment the diary had been removed, the drawer snapped shut with a bang and Draco was glad he had taken precautions.

He tried to find a clear patch of floor somewhere that wasn’t covered in debris or glass and took the book, the box, the painting and the lantern with him. Draco didn’t trust the desk or the desk chair for that matter. He sat down cross-legged, placing both the lantern and the painting on top of the box. He untied the string and set the quill down on top of the painting, before opening the soft cover. The writing was exquisite, sure steady strokes filled page after page.

February 1834, Wiltshire

My name is Pyxis Draconis Malfoy. I’m the younger of two brothers. I was born on the 9th of June in the year of our Lord 1816, during the summer that wasn’t. I don’t know how I survived through the cold and famine. Death was reaping lives like people hadn’t seen for hundreds of years and sometimes I feel like part of that dark shadow of that desperation everyone must have felt is still following me. I spent most of my younger years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, performing well throughout and excelling at both the OWLs and the NEWTs. I went on to further my education with studies on navigation and astronomy and have been in contact with several cartographers from all over the word via owl and letter since.

“Oh no”, Draco groaned, “not another David Copperfield.” But then, maybe not all was lost, he decided to give the second page a chance, because he wasn’t quite ready to believe that his ancestor and namesake was as incredibly dull as the first page seemed to imply.

But none of that seems to matter. I have been writing letters the Muggle way. I know both Father and Brutus would disapprove if they knew, but how else am supposed to get the literature and the maps I so sorely need? It is both exciting and frightening. I have arranged to meet a Muggle cartographer in London in a fortnight. His name is Victor Delaney and so far I have found our discourses to be the most stimulating.
Time cannot pass swiftly enough. I have sent the missive with Galileo, who is to deposit it on his doorstep, like an inconsiderate mailman. I am ashamed at treating him this way, but I don’t know how else to send the letters without Father finding out about it. I have instructed Hetty to collect any letters sent for me before Father or Mother can get their hands on them. She was my nursemaid when I was little and so far she hasn’t refused any of my orders. I am still fearful that my family will find out, but my thirst for knowledge and the company of like-minded people know no bounds.
I shall write again when I have news.

Draco was just about to turn to the next page, but was interrupted when the charm he had set up to detect his mother’s return began to chime. Shit! She couldn’t be back already. He used the quill and the picture as a bookmark and haphazardly tied the leather string together. Taking the lantern, the box and the book, he quickly made his way out of the small chamber and then down the stairs.

He had just hidden his treasure and extinguished the lantern, his Muggle torch probably lying forgotten in the observatory, when there was a gentle knock on his door.

“Who is it?” he called, knowing full well who was on the other side of the door.

“It’s your mother.”

“Please, come in.”

The door swung open quietly and his mother stepped inside. She sat down on the edge of his bed and took his hand. Her face while still looking slightly concerned also seemed determined.

“I wanted to let you know that I’m back from London and that I’ve decided it’s time for you to get dressed and join me for tea.”

“Mother…”

“No ‘buts’, Draco. You have stayed in your room long enough. I’ll allow you to take it slow for a few more days, but you need to get involved in the family business again. Running away from it won’t make it go away.” She squeezed his hand once and then stood up again, the sound of her skirts oddly loud in the room as she walked towards the door. She turned around once more. “I only have your best interests at heart, Draco.”

“I know, Mother, I know.” He sighed. “I’ll be right down.”

Narcissa smiled and closed the door. Draco didn’t like what she was implying. Sure, he could take care of the family’s finances and multiple projects, he had done so before, and would until his father was released from Azkaban. What she also meant however was that it was time for him to settle down. Draco could still hear her say that at his age she had already been married and given birth to him. Her rebukes always seemed gentle on the surface, but beneath lay a hint of steel that even the Dark Lord had not been able to break. That layer of steel was love, love for her family, love for her offspring and this love was what had turned the tide of war.

Love was supposed to be this gentle fragile thing, but his mother knew to wield it like a blade and as much as he appreciated it being wielded in his defence, it still terrified him sometimes. He was twenty-six years old and as far from settling down as he had ever been, and he was still scared of his mother.

He would have to tread carefully to hide this new secret – the existence of Pyxis – from her, because in the end, she tended to find out everything anyway, but he was not ready to share Pyxis with her or anyone.

Draco cleaned himself up, finally properly healing the cut on his thumb. The skin itched for a moment and probably would for the rest of the day, but it would have to do. Another charm took care of the hair that his mirror had just revealed to be atrocious – his mother hopefully having attributed it to be bed-hair. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, casting a longing glance towards where he had hidden the diary and then firmly closed the door behind him.

***

It was several days later Draco was sitting in his father’s study that for the duration of Lucius’ stay in Azkaban had become his own. The large and heavy desk was covered in books Draco had brought from the room in the observatory. Among them lay the now seemingly small diary, Pyxis’ quill that Draco had taken to using to make notes on what he learned from the books and the portrait of Pyxis and his friend.

The heavy book in the centre of the table was a volume on the Malfoy family history, only one of Malfoy blood would be able to open it and find anything other than blank pages. Draco was trying to find out what had happened to Pyxis, but so far had had no luck whatsoever. It was almost as if Pyxis was just a figment of his imagination, as if he had never existed. Draco was beginning to doubt his own sanity. The several dozen letters written by someone called DaVinci addressed to someone called Copernicus didn’t help to clear up the matter in any way.

Draco flipped through the pages of the tome, trying to find the year Pyxis claimed to have been born in and found several heavily charred and blackened pages starting in 1815 and leading up to 1846, over thirty years of family history simply missing. He doubted that it was a coincidence.

He went back to the diary, Pyxis’ own words seemingly the only proof of his existence. The books Draco had brought down weren’t any help, he had learnt a lot about navigation about what precautions to take and about the ridiculous amount of prejudices and superiority complexes present among 19th century explorers, but hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of the random seeming notes written in the margins on some pages. Maybe the diary would be able to shed some light onto them.

February 1834, Wiltshire

I have just returned from London. I had never been in Muggle London before and it was enchanting. Victor took me to lunch at his Gentlemen’s Club. We spoke of matters of little importance while we ate and it was only when we retired to the smoking room that he addressed the topics of our discourses.
I have never met anyone quite like him. Victor is filled with a passion that, if it were found in any other person, would be considered to border on madness. But the way he spoke of his craft, the way his hands moved to underline an argument he felt strongly about, worked to draw me in. He is utterly fascinating. We discussed the importance of detailed maps for ships, maps that included realistic distances as well as reefs and other dangers that might lurk beneath the waves. I don’t know how we came to speak of it, but he asked me about my name and why I was named after the Mariner’s compass and I found myself blushing as I explained. I have never really thought about this and I can’t explain why I even told him.
Victor then took out a small sketching pad, explaining how he always keeps it on his person, should he have an idea for a painting and need to get the rough outlines down as quickly as possible. While our shared love for cartography and navigation has brought us together, he is in fact, as he showed me when I asked to see his sketching pad, an artist.

“Master Draco, there is being a Floo call for you.”

The house elf’s voice startled Draco and made him drop the diary, which fell to the floor with a loud clatter. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain his focus.

“Pardon, Holly, what did you say?”

“Holly is saying that Master Draco is receiving a Floo call,” she paused and began pulling slightly at her own ears, “now. The caller is being insistent.”

“It’s alright, Holly, I’ll take care of it.”

Draco was glad when the house elf vanished. He didn’t like being interrupted when he did research and there was just something about Pyxis and the way he wrote that completely captured Draco’s attention. He found it harder and harder to not let himself be dragged into the life of a man who had died so many years ago.

He pulled himself together and set his robes straight before walking to the only fireplace currently connected to the Floo. There in the green flame hung Harry’s disembodied head, looking rather annoyed and impatient. Draco tried to remember what he might have done to cause that but came up empty.

“Harry?”

“Yes, me! Listen, while I can understand your desire to be fashionably late, I don’t think letting me wait for two hours is reasonable. If you didn’t want to meet me for lunch, you could have said something.”

Draco stared at him disbelievingly.

“Lunch…? I don’t… When did we set up to meet for lunch?”

“I sent Sophia with a letter, remember? I mean, considering you basically took her hostage I figured you’d at least read the note I sent.”

“There wasn’t…” Comprehension dawned on Draco; he must have dropped the letter when the window had broken. He had forgotten all about it after finding out about the chamber. He seemed to have forgotten about a lot of things since then.

“Fuck!” he uttered.

“Well, either way, I don’t have time to wait any longer. I’ve got to get back to work. Send me an owl or whatever when you’ve made up your mind.”

“Harry, wait,” Draco called, but it was too late, Harry’s head had already vanished from the fire and he was speaking to empty air. Draco still remembered how curious he had been about the letter, when Sophia had arrived. How could he have forgotten all about it?

Instead of colouring the air with a few more choice swear words, Draco let his anger catapult him forward and up the stairs into the observatory. The glass had been cleared up by now and the window fixed. He looked around trying to find the note that he had most likely dropped somewhere in this room and when looking didn’t help, he actually crouched down to look under the furniture.

He caught a glance of a sliver of pale paper under his writing desk. Draco had to kneel down on the floor in his expensive designer trousers and cursed his bad luck while he fished for the missive. When he finally freed it, he saw that it was only a couple of scrawled lines.

Hey Draco,
I really enjoyed spending time with you at the match and was wondering whether you were free for lunch on Thursday next week. I’ll book a table at the Leaky. If I don’t hear from you I expect you at half one.

- Harry

Well fuck! No wonder Harry had been angry with him. Draco made his way back to the study, all the while clutching the letter in his hand, trying not to crush it in his irritation. If he had been in Harry’s place, he wouldn’t even have bothered with the Floo call, he probably would have sent a howler right away. The behaviour Harry seemed to think Draco exhibited was incredibly rude and that was the last thing Draco wanted Harry to associate with him. Because while he would never admit to this out loud, he respected him and the least Draco expected of himself especially after how Harry had saved his life was to always treat the other man with respect.

Draco was standing in his study, none the wiser on how to fix this situation. He wanted Harry to be his friend, but at the same time he found it incredibly hard to come up with an explanation or an apology that wouldn’t sound completely half-arsed.

It wasn’t even like he had no other friends, or felt obligated to be Harry’s, but things had gone really well and despite his reservations, Draco found that he quite enjoyed Harry’s company. His eyes fell on the diary and he wondered what Pyxis would have done. It was tempting just to immerse himself in his ancestor’s life a little longer and escape his own worries. Surely it wouldn’t hurt. A quick spell took care of the mess he had made of the desk and then Draco was on the way to his room the diary safely cradled under his arm.

***

Draco sat propped up against the headrest of his bed, sipping the tea he had had Holly deliver and chewing on one of his favourite ginger biscuits. Crumbs be damned. The diary lay on his crossed legs and it wasn’t long before the tea grew cold and the biscuit lay forgotten on the dusty wooden box that Draco had place on his nightstand.

Most of the sketches seemed to be of things found in nature, of leaves, of flowers in their stages of growth and of exotic birds that he told me he had seen at the aviary in the London Zoo. I couldn’t hold back my excitement then and even now the thought makes me blush to the roots of my hair. I begged him to take me one day to see them. Father had never taken us there when we were younger, because it was Muggle and beneath us. We have our own peafowl on the premises and they should be excitement enough.
He laughed and I thought at first that he was mocking me. I must admit that despite all his charm, I found myself gathering up my things, planning to retreat with my dignity in shreds. I glanced at him then and saw that he was laughing with delight and not mirth as I had anticipated.
He took the pad back from me and again I misunderstood, thinking he was about to leave himself. It was only when he said that he would be delighted to take me there next time that I realised my mistake. I hadn’t even noticed that his hand was flying over the paper while I had looked away, but it couldn’t have been more than five minutes before he passed it back over to me. I have never been so startled in my life. There on the paper was a perfect likeness of me. Me of all people. Why would someone like him, who had only just met me and who despite being a Muggle was so far ahead of me both in studies and talent, waste that very talent on sketching me?
I have no answer as to why he did it. He tore the page from his sketching pad and handed it to me with an easy smile. Shortly thereafter I excused myself, knowing that before long my absence would otherwise be discovered.
I sit here now, unable to look at the image of my own blushing form, head bent and generally awkward. I can’t explain why he would have chosen to capture that very moment of my embarrassment, but at the same time I can’t seem to make myself throw the sketch away. I will keep it with his letters, I think, until I make up my mind.

Night had fallen outside. A storm was brewing and the wind was pushing clouds heavy with rain towards the Manor. The cold air coming in through the open window woke Draco, who had fallen asleep with his head on his chest. His shirt was sticking wetly to his chest where he must have drooled on it and Draco quickly vanished the stain before someone could catch him out. There were many things Malfoys didn’t do and drooling in their sleep was definitely one of them.

Draco tenderly reached for his neck, trying to massage the crick out of it. He turned his head left and right to loosen the muscles and on his second turn he saw the eerie light again that he had last seen in the room adjoining the observatory. The glow came from the box on his nightstand. Draco retrieved it carefully. The box was heavier than it looked but for once seemed to be one of the few of Pyxis possessions that wasn’t locked or charmed. The lid opened easily and there, wrapped in thick layers of dark velvet, lay a conch shell that appeared to be suffused with a blue-tinted almost aquatic glow. This close the glow wasn’t eerie, it was rather mesmerising and without conscious thought Draco found himself reaching for the shell, taking it out of its container and running his fingers along the jagged outside to then slide them along the smooth inside.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, fascinated by an object so simple, but eventually his body protested. He began to shiver when the wind picked up, driving the raindrops straight into his room, causing the temperature to drop drastically. Draco reverently placed the shell on his nightstand again and then went to close the window and change into his pyjamas, before returning to bed.

Draco fell asleep with his eyes still fixed on the shell.

***

The writing on the page was hurried, sloppy even, nothing like Pyxis’ usual neat handwriting and Draco had trouble making out some of the words.

August 1834, Wiltshire

I told him. Merlin help me, I told Victor about magic. He wouldn’t believe me of course. Why would he? We were walking through a grove at the time and when I conjured one of the flowers he had stopped to sketch earlier and presented him with it, he called me an illusionist and said that he had thought me above the use of such childish trickery. I didn’t know what to reply to that. I had taken such a risk to reveal myself in front of him and he thought I wasn’t in earnest. He had walked on, the tense line of his shoulders telling me of his displeasure and I didn’t know what to do. I knew that if I let him walk away, I would never see him again. The thought of losing him spurred me on and I rushed to his side. He scolded me again for making mischief but when I tried to apologise, he waved it off. Victor told me that I didn’t need something as silly as tricks to make myself interesting. We had stopped by then and before I knew what was happening, I found myself backed into a tree. Victor’s hands were in my face, gesticulating wildly as he shouted at me and above me a flock of birds took flight in fear. I still can’t recall what he even said, but he was so angry that I got scared. When I looked at him, standing over me I saw that a ray of sun had caught in his hair, suffusing it with a golden glow and making it seem like he was wearing a halo. I couldn’t stop my shaking hands from reaching up and touching it and when he didn’t pull away but only fell silent I carded the golden strands through my fingers.
I still don’t know what made me reach for his face. Even now I can feel his stubble covered chin under my shaking fingers as if I had never let go. Before I knew what was happening, I was kissing him. Kissing a man. Kissing Victor. My heart was racing and my hands clammy and I didn’t know whether I was doing it right, because he wasn’t kissing me back. I couldn’t seem to stop placing clumsy desperate little kisses all along his cheeks and jaw line and then on his lips again.
His hand was suddenly on my chest, pressing me so hard into the tree that I could feel the bark through my thick coat. I felt so ashamed right then at this second rejection, that I couldn’t meet his eyes. At the time I thought what a folly it had been on my part that I had assumed he was like me, wrong like me.
When I tried to pry his hand off my chest, he only pushed tighter and I couldn’t seem to find enough leverage to free myself. The forest was eerily quiet around us and for a moment I thought that he would hit or kill me for the slight I had dealt him. As my worry grew I couldn’t stop myself from gazing up at him and what I saw in his eyes was even more confusing than the roughness of his treatment. He didn’t seem angry at all, merely surprised. It was then that his hand on my chest turned into a fist, grabbing hold of my coat and yanking me towards him with such force that we almost lost our footing. Victor hugged me so tightly that I thought my ribs would break, but I still felt like he was too far away.
I can’t say how long it lasted, but suddenly he was kissing me. Even now I find myself blushing and my heart racing at how he made me feel. I have never felt like that in my entire life.
He said he would send me another set of coordinates to figure out for our next meeting and I desperately hope that he holds true.

Draco had picked up on the vibes between Pyxis and Victor and had wondered how long it would take Pyxis to admit to himself why he was so interested. From what he had read he had assumed that the attraction was mutual, but Draco was glad to have been proven right. He reread the last paragraphs and suddenly a lot of other things came together.

“Eureka!”

Draco’s fist punched the air in victory and he only felt slightly weird for doing it while nobody could see him do it. That was what those notes were, coordinates. He should have made the connection sooner, especially since Pyxis had been studying to become a navigator. How fitting for a cartographer to send coordinates that only a navigator would understand. Draco definitely approved of their methods.

He jumped in his chair when the door to his study suddenly flew open, slamming against the wall and revealing an incredibly pissed off looking Harry Potter.

“What…?” Draco barely managed to get out.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding!”

“Harry, but how…? What are you doing here?”

“What am I… you’re kidding right? You didn’t just forget that you asked me to see you for lunch to celebrate my quitting the Auror department?”

“Uhm…was that today?” Draco was mortified. This was the second time he had simply forgotten Harry. What must he think of Draco.

Harry sighed and rubbed his hands across his face, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Why do I even bother?”

“What was that?” Draco asked, hoping he had misunderstood.

“Nothing, although I’m starting to wonder whether you simply really don’t like me and that’s why you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“Oh rubbish, Potter! You and your ego simply enjoy when I have to come and apologise, that’s why you always choose to meet at such inopportune times and then keep meeting time and place a secret.”

“You’re lucky that I don’t take offence as easily as you do. As it happens, my owl spends more time with you than I do. And as far as I know she’s not trying to be friends with you.”

“As far as you know,” Draco said grinning, because he sensed the worst of Harry’s anger had already evaporated. Harry tried to look shocked, but the grin that burst through his scowl only made him look slightly deranged if still amused by it. “I am you know, sorry. I don’t know how it happened, but I could have sworn it wasn’t until next week.”

Harry nodded as if to say it was okay.

“So, what are we going to do about this?”

“I don’t know, Potter,” Draco drawled stretching out the “Potter” nervous and trying for playfulness but probably failing utterly. “I could grovel a bit and then we could reschedule?”

“You got that wrong, we’re not rescheduling, Malfoy. You’re coming with me right now!”

“But it’s pouring outside and I’m not dressed properly,” Draco said, feeling slightly affronted.

“Do I look like I care? You owe me.”

Harry had definitely got that right, but Draco decided to try his luck anyway.

“Can I at least…?”

“No!”

“Seriously, you can’t expect me to leave the house without at least my shoes on.”

“I guess you’re right,” Harry conceded. “You’ve got five minutes and if you aren’t back here by then, I’m coming to get you and no matter how dressed or undressed you are by then, that’s the state I’ll be taking you out in.”

“Will you at least tell me where we are going so I know what shoes to wear?”

“Four minutes.”

Draco ran to his room, throwing on a different shirt and struggling into a fresh pair of trousers in record time. His hair stood on end but a quick spell took care of that and by the time he was bending over to tie the laces on his shoes Harry was already standing in his doorway.

“That your coat?” he asked, grabbing one from the hook by the door.

Panicked Draco turned around but for once luck was on his side and the coat Harry had chosen was the same one he would have picked. Instead of throwing a tantrum like a child, he admitted defeat and simply nodded.

“Right, let’s go.”

“Still not telling me where we’re going?”

“Nope.” Harry smiled and then helped Draco into his coat and some emotion Draco refused to look at more closely curled in his stomach. “Now let’s get to the border of your wards so I can Apparate us.”

***

“My feet hurt, I’m hungry and this place smells weird. Why did you bring me here, Harry, and how long until I can go back home?”

“You’re such a drama queen. This is supposed to be fun.”

“I don’t know how much more of this so called fun I can take. We’ve been here for hours.”

“Forty-five minutes.”

Draco ignored him.

“Can’t we go somewhere else, I thought we were going out for lunch,” Draco complained, feeling annoyed with himself and Harry. With Harry for taking him somewhere he didn’t want to go and with himself for being unable to enjoy something Harry had obviously put thought into. The guilt didn’t lessen at Harry’s crestfallen expression when he replied.

“I just thought you might like it… It could’ve been an adventure, since you said you found a secret room…I thought we could’ve… Well, never mind.”

Draco felt guilty for not having fun. It was as if something was luring him back home, as if any time spent away from there was wasted and useless. Even though this seemed odd, considering how much Draco had looked forward to spending time with Harry, he couldn’t explain why he so desperately wanted to leave. He should simply be honest with Harry, they were supposed to be friends and you told your friends things like that.

“If you really want to go back…” Harry sighed. “I just thought it would be fun to go to a flea market.” He shuffled his feet and looked anywhere but at Draco. He hadn’t meant to disappoint Harry, but from what he could see, he already had and on top of it he had made Harry uncomfortable. Some impulse made him take Harry’s hands in his and squeeze them reassuringly, causing Harry to look up at Draco in surprise.

“Listen, Harry, I’m sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot today. I really appreciate that you took me out, even though I stood you up a second time. You’re right, if you’d stood me up, I might not have bothered to seek you out and I’m grateful that you did. Why don’t we go and find a café for now and then come back here a bit later and then maybe you can show me what you love about this place so much, alright?”

Harry nodded in response his lips creased in a small insecure smile. Draco held his hands for a moment longer before letting go and leading the way off the large square that housed the flea market. He could hear Harry’s footsteps behind him, but didn’t quite dare to turn around unable to bear the look of disappointment he imagined still on Harry’s face.

They found a small table by the window in a café overlooking the square. Draco had declared that it was his turn to buy Harry a drink. When he came back, balancing a piece of chocolate cake on a platter and two mugs of coffee, it had begun to rain outside. The square suddenly looked dark and dreadful and Draco felt even worse for Harry, who stared somewhat forlornly into his mug.

Draco wracked his brain on how to cheer him up and went for the simplest approach possible.

“So, I hear this cake is not for the faint of heart. It’s apparently made just like the Aztecs would have enjoyed it, lots of cocoa, lots of chilli and a wee bit of honey. They say it divides the boys from the men.” Draco made a large gesture and was relieved to see Harry’s lips quirk in a small smile.

“Do you accept the challenge?” he asked and fished two forks from his coat pocket and fanned them out like a magician, offering them to Harry. “Then choose your weapon.”

“I don’t know, Draco.” Harry sighed.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco said, waggling his eyebrows.

“You wish!”

The all too familiar challenge and its riposte lightened the mood considerably. Harry and Draco crossed their forks like blades, and then both dug in simultaneously. Draco ended up being the one who couldn’t finish his half of the cake, because the chilli was too hot for him and he could feel his mouth go numb. Harry only mocked him gently for it claiming the rest of Draco’s half as his price and demolished it with gusto.

The dark clouds overhead had moved on and even though it was still raining, it didn’t feel quite so glum. The sombre mood from earlier had dissipated while they ate and they ended up indulging in a spot of people watching, Draco making up ridiculous stories about the passers-by to make Harry laugh.

Outside on the square the less experienced merchants were still running back and forth trying to cover up their merchandise and cursing when one of the market stalls’ roofs collapsed under the weight of the water.

“It doesn’t seem like it’ll stop raining any time soon, maybe we should go back,” Harry said breaking the silence.

“No, I promised I’d let you show me why this,” Draco said decisively and gestured encompassing everything around them, “Muggle experience is fun and Malfoys are known for keeping their word.”

“You mean, if and when it suits them,” Harry teased.

“Exactly!” Draco replied disillusioned enough with his family’s antics to agree, while still pretending to claim the higher ground.

“Come on then, let’s go now so you can still berate me.”

“And berate you I shall.” Draco winked and then blushed. He wanted to slap himself for his antics.

Just outside the small café but still protected from the rain, Draco waited for Harry to do something, anything to keep them dry. While he apparently had just agreed to a Muggle adventure – damn Pyxis and his excitement – he was most definitely going to be caught in the rain, no matter how bright and pleasing the sunlight made it look. Beside him, Harry had taken something from his pocket and was enlarging it while Draco watched.

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

“Potter, I’m aware that you were repeatedly dropped on the head when you were little, but I’m not wearing that!” Draco said, indicating the sou’wester Harry had produced. He wanted to indulge Harry, but there were definitely limits, wearing silly hats being one of them.

”Oh but you are, Malfoy. My outing, my rules,” Harry drawled imitating a much younger Draco. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you are willing to share the umbrella with me,” Harry said, offering his arm.

“There will be no sharing of umbrellas. You can give me yours and wear that atrocity yourself. You shall not endanger my umbrella virtue,” Draco replied, hand on his chest and looking mock offended.

Draco didn’t know whether they were actually fighting or still playing, the lines had never been established when they started this friendship or whatever it was and they were constantly shifting. He felt just as lost as Pyxis had. It was no use, his ancestor wouldn’t help him in this Draco realised and forced every thought, every memory of the diary and what he knew about the man to the back of this mind. If he had learnt one thing it was that it didn’t serve well to dwell on the past and forget to live.

It was exhausting to play by a set of rules that kept blurring and changing, he didn’t even know whether these were rules of friendship, of former enemy-ship or a budding relationship. Draco doubted that even Harry could tell. The only thing he knew was that neither of them seemed to be able to do terribly well without the other in their lives to challenge them.

“Umbrella virtue,” Harry said shaking his head and grinning.

“You heard me, you umbrella fiend.”

“Oops,” Harry exclaimed, sounding less than apologetic. Draco looked over to find out what had happened and saw the sou’wester floating in a nearby puddle. Still playing then.

“Oh, that’s cheating. The great Harry Potter has to resolve to blackmail and sleights of hand to get someone of distinction to take his arm. Maybe you should have stayed with the Aurors instead of going into curse-breaking, oh mighty hero,” Draco said, laughter bubbling just below the surface.

“Oh shush, you!” Harry said pleasantly, taking Draco’s hand and planting it firmly onto his arm, holding up the umbrella. “I think you’ve used up all of your ‘get out of jail free cards’ for today. So you’d better behave yourself.”

The smile Draco bestowed upon Harry after this was one of the few genuine smiles in a long time and with it the last of his play-acted protest died.

The raindrops were loud against the umbrella. It felt odd to bring the amount of water pouring down from the heavens into correlation with the bright sunlight seemingly coming out of nowhere. They both had to shade their eyes as they walked, because everything around them seemed to sparkle. Every single drop of water clinging to market stalls, trees and objects that hadn’t been sheltered on time was infused with sunlight and made Draco feel as if he was walking through liquid light.

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand on his arm to alert him to what they were about to do and as childish as it was, Draco couldn’t help the laughter that rose to the surface as Harry made him leap over several large puddles in a row. They didn’t manage to get clear across the last one and even though Draco’s shoes were now soaked through, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Despite all his reservations, he had definitely ended up having fun the Muggle way. Harry’s smile rivalled the sun in brilliance when Draco told him so.

Harry eventually closed the umbrella when the rain stopped. Draco didn’t know what to do with his hand so when Harry put it back onto his arm, Draco let him. They walked through the flea market, Draco letting Harry’s excitement for all the odds and ends on display carry him along. Draco ended up buying a delicate china figurine for his mother, which he knew was still missing in a set that stood on the mantelpiece on her favourite parlour. Harry bought a stack of cheesy romance novels that Draco mocked him for mercilessly until Harry admitted that they were for Hermione who claimed she read them as a palate cleanser after all the research she did. Draco could have commented on the fact that those were cheesy gay romance novels, but decided to let that one slide. When they grew hungry, Draco made Harry buy them crêpes with chocolate filling.

“Oh seriously, Potter, can’t you even eat properly?” Draco asked and before he knew what he was doing, Draco was brushing a drop of chocolate from the corner of Harry’s mouth and licking it off his own finger. Harry stared at him in shock or something else that Draco couldn’t quite put a name to.

“You had chocolate on your face,” he added lamely, unable for the life of him to explain his earlier impulse.

“Thank you,” Harry said, his voice coming out sounding strangled.

They both ate their crêpes unable to think of anything to say. The silence between them grew until it became awkward. Draco wracked his mind, trying to come up with something to fill it, but all he could think about was how soft Harry’s skin had felt under his finger.

“Well, we’d better…” Harry began to say and Draco only nodded, hoping that Harry was implying they go home. Neither of them seemed pleased with it, but they seemed to have run out of words again.

***

Draco could have very well Apparated back by himself, but for some reason Harry wanted to take him back and Draco didn’t mind, not really.

They stood on the Manor’s front step not quite knowing what to do or where to look. Harry hugged Draco awkwardly and kissed him on the cheek after Draco had promised they should celebrate Harry’s “retirement” properly by going out for dinner the week after and then turned and walked away. Just when he reached the end of the stairs, Harry turned around and gave a little wave, smiling up at Draco and that smile Draco knew instantly was his downfall.

Draco’s head was suddenly filled with images of himself rushing down those stairs, crowding Harry into the banister and burying his hands in that ridiculous hair. In his mind’s eye he would push those glasses Harry still wore on top of his head while Draco kissed him breathless. He wanted that more than anything, even Pyxis’ thrall on him paled in comparison.

Draco blinked to try and regain some control but couldn’t shake the images even though all he was looking at now was Harry’s retreating back. Draco wanted to call him back. The sheer, all consuming want for the man was threatening to burn him up from the inside. What he felt for Harry at that very moment was so far from friendship that no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t make it fit those blurry lines he had imagined earlier. The intensity and unexpectedness of it all drove Draco inside. He closed the door behind him and leant against it, revelling in the cool and solid feel of the thick wood at his back. His heart was racing as if he had just run a marathon and nothing seemed to be able to calm it down.

Draco wasn’t ready to deal with any of this. He had to get back to his room, back to less dangerous things, to things he could control.

***

Upon entering his room, Draco immediately noticed that something was off. It wasn’t like anything was missing, at least not at first. It was small things that were out of place. Someone had obviously searched his room and then meticulously tried to put everything back the way it was afterward. The conch shell still lay on the nightstand, but its opening was facing away from the bed. That wasn’t the only thing odd though; something else was missing entirely, Draco looked under the bed, maybe it had fallen down, when Harry had rushed him from the room earlier that day.

The diary wasn’t under the bed or hidden between his sheets, it wasn’t stuck between the bed and the mattress or the bed and the wall either. It was in fact nowhere to be found. He grew frantic in his search, but even taking his entire room apart, much less gentle than whoever had been there first didn’t yield any results.

Draco was distraught. The small leather-bound book was gone. Possibly taken by somebody who might destroy it or keep it to themselves. Just thinking about the dreadful days in front of him without having Pyxis’ life to escape to made tears prickle in the corners of his eyes.

He had somehow let himself become so involved in the life of his ancestor that he had seemingly forgotten how to live his own. Draco had stopped going out with friends, stopped attending meals with his mother, feigning the need to eat while working, when in fact he had tried to immerse himself in Pyxis’ life and craft.

Everything related to his family name had been tainted since the war. No, even earlier, since his father had chosen to get involved with one of the darkest wizard of their time. Even his mother’s gentle manner and her strength to keep their family together hadn’t helped to exonerate the wrongs his father had done, because she was ultimately a Black, a Malfoy only by marriage. She wasn’t tainted like Draco was. To find Pyxis, who shared his name, who shared so many things Draco was still struggling with and who was so pure at heart, had finally allowed him to think of himself as someone that might be redeemed if only given a chance.

Draco cursed himself for relying so heavily onto something as fragile as someone else’s record of their life to be happy. When he looked up he saw the shell on the nightstand. Its glow had begun to show in the fading light of day. It had belonged to Pyxis and represented at least some part of him that Draco could still access.

The shell had been a present from Victor who had sent it back to England from one of his travels and it had always brought him luck. When Pyxis had begun to struggle with his identity and his family’s rejection of everything he held dear, Victor had given it to him as a reminder that everything would eventually be alright.

When Draco’s tear stained hands touched the rough outer layer of the shell the glow brightened until Draco had to turn away because the light was hurting his eyes. The shell began to shake in his hands and turned hot making it painful to hold. Draco was terrified when he realised he couldn’t let go. The shell stuck to his palm and even opening his hand didn’t make it come loose. The pattern of the conch shell seemed to burn itself into the palm of his hand and he could hear himself scream in agony.

Somehow catapulted into motion, he found himself outside on his balcony, his arms stretched out in front of himself shaking them rapidly and letting the cool rain water soothe the ache in his hands. As soon as the rain touched the conch shell it fell to the floor and rolled clattering along the stone until it rested against the banister. Draco was almost too scared to look at his hands, because he feared what he might find. In the end uncertainty became worse than knowing and he turned them upwards into the rain, inspecting them closely.

Draco was confused. His hands weren’t hurt. The skin felt slightly tender to the touch, but was perfectly smooth and unbroken. How could he have been so wrong about had just happened, he wondered. He warily moved the fallen shell around with the tip of his shoe, but when nothing happened he leaned down and turned it over with his wand. The water that had accumulated inside from the rain came out in one big rush and soaked through his expensive leather shoes. Draco cursed and levitated the shell back into his room, setting it down on his small writing desk.

He lit a candle to see by and began examining the shell closely, driven by a kind of morbid fascination. How could something so innocent looking have made him feel so much pain? Draco checked the shell for curses but couldn’t find anything wrong with it. Every spell he tried came up empty; for all intents and purposes this was a completely ordinary conch shell, robbed of its inhabitant but otherwise whole. He sighed. Draco was in no mood to go into the library and read up on what had just happened, so he left the shell were he was, righted the chaos in his room with a flick of his wand and began to slowly change into his pyjama bottoms.

The entire day and its horrific ending had left him exhausted. It wasn’t even time for dinner yet, but Draco was too tired to even make his apologies to his mother. He sank down on his bed, barely awake enough to cover himself and immediately fell asleep, his last thoughts on the diary and what might have happened to it.

***

Warm morning sunlight tickled Draco’s face and he tried to move away, mumbling and only half awake. He blinked into the bright light and groaned before shading his eyes with his hand. He must have left the curtain and the window open the night before. Draco had been woken at some ridiculously early hour because the thick drapes hadn’t kept the room nice and dark like they were supposed to. It took a lot of groping and cursing until Draco found his wand. When he finally cast a Tempus it proved him right, it was just past seven in the morning, much too early for a person of his financially secure situation to be up and about.

Draco turned over, burrowing his head into the soft pillows, but sleep eluded him. It was probably kept away by the ruckus the birds were making outside, he thought grumpily. On any other day, if he had been less tired, he might have enjoyed their song, but today he knew that before his first cup of coffee nothing would delight him. What could those creatures possibly have to chatter away about so loudly anyway? Maybe they wouldn’t be as annoying if he closed the windows.

The floor was cold beneath his feet. Draco groggily walked over to the window, but just when he was about to close it, the wind brought the scent of freshly mown grass and just something that seemed to scream summer to him and he couldn’t help but smile. It was going to be a beautiful day and going back to bed suddenly felt like a sacrilege. Draco decided to take a shower and get dressed instead. When he was done, he had Holly serve him a large mug of coffee with three sugars and no milk. The tiny house elf somehow managed to look at his lack of manners with disdain without apparently having to iron her ears for it, as she watched Draco dip his croissant into his drink. Her expression didn’t change as he disappeared into the Manor without sitting down for a proper breakfast.

Draco was trying to find the diary. If his mother had taken it, because she was after all the most likely candidate to have gone through his things since the rest of the house didn’t look as if it had been searched, she must have hidden it somewhere. His assumption was based upon the fact that the every time the Aurors had searched his home, it had taken him forever to find all of his things again, most of the time, small valuable items tended to stay missing unless they had been charmed in a way that would make sure that if removed from the Manor they returned to their vault in Gringotts. Coming to think of it, maybe that was one of the reasons the Aurors returned so often, because they tried to figure out where in Circe’s name their loot had gone.

Draco knew he was being petty, but the Aurors hadn’t done him any favours since the war was over and while he had been a bully during his time at Hogwarts he found that he didn’t much enjoy being bullied himself in return. Draco grew frustrated as he cast a series of different spells that were supposed to help him locate the diary, but any spell that was intended towards the book itself seemed to die on him before it had even reached half of its potential.

Maybe the book was charmed in some way, unplottable, like some wizarding homes only in this case it was an object that simply couldn’t be found by magic or unless the person looking for it already knew where it was. But Draco didn’t know. He had hidden the book under his pillow right after he had stormed into his room to change and it should have been there when he returned. He thought about searching his mother’s rooms, but thinking about what would happen if she ever found out terrified him too much to go for that option just yet.

Draco had wandered into the gardens, trying to clear his mind to come up with a new and better idea on how to locate the missing book. Bees were busily buzzing around the garden, landing on flowers and making their thin stems bend under their weight. A bumblebee flew up to Draco and investigated his hair and face. Eventually it realised that he wasn’t a flower and settled for lapping the remains of dried sweet coffee from the rim of his mug. To say it flew away the same way it had come would have been a lie. If Draco had ever seen an overly caffeinated bumblebee, this was it. Letting his mind drift and enjoying the warm sun on his skin had the desired effect. He had beginning of an idea.

The bookmark Draco had left in the book should not be influenced by the spell, he reasoned, because he had made it himself and because Pyxis couldn’t have included something as simple as a bookmark in his original spell. He had no need to, because unlike someone who was reading about his life, Pyxis had been documenting it and there probably hadn’t been any point in him reading back on what he had written. With that in mind, Draco cast one of the spells he had used earlier again and this time it worked. The tug at the end of his wand was insistent and Draco followed it willingly, slightly worried it might lead him to his mother’s quarters, but quickly relieved when it took him to a different part of the Manor entirely.

“I should have known,” he uttered under his breath when his search ended in Pyxis’ room.

Already familiar with the procedure, Draco took the dagger that he had returned to the shelf and pricked his own finger, before attempting to open the drawer that had contained Pyxis’ journal the first time. The drawer came away easily and there in the middle, the knot tight and even the quill tucked neatly into the leather band lay the small book. Draco reached for it and clutched it to his chest. He held it close like one might an old friend. Almost as if he was trying to absorb its words and his ancestor’s life through touch alone.

No such thing happened and when Draco’s heartbeat had calmed down sufficiently he reverently set the book down onto the desk and then slumped into the chair in front of it. This right here was probably where Pyxis had sat when he had written those words that had become so dear to Draco. Maybe that was why the book had returned here, because this was where Pyxis felt safe and protected, where he felt like himself. Draco turned to the wall to look at the paintings. A few restoration spells had taken care of the thick patina of grime and dust and the portraits looked much like they must have the day after they had been finished.

Pyxis was staring down at him through serious dark eyes and for the first time in a long time, Draco felt like an intruder and not someone who had been allowed to seek refuge in this sanctuary. Pyxis had probably never wanted for someone to read the words he had written down to lighten his burden. Draco found that despite the guilt of reading something not intended for his eyes he couldn’t seem to stay away.

Draco carefully untied the string, put the quill aside and then made sure his bookmark was lodged into the journal a few pages further on. Should the book vanish again, he would at least be able to track it down again. He let Pyxis’ words wash over him and before long he was so caught up again that everything else, his guilt, his worry about where his friendship with Harry was headed and whether he would ever be in control of his own life again faded into the background and ceased to matter.

March 1841, Wiltshire

Father will not yield. I have tried to tell him that I am not finished with my studies that I am not ready for a commitment as big as marriage, but he told me that it was time. He says he has been lenient so far, because I have been so dedicated to my work. He says it is time that I do my duty to my family and honour them. He says that the time for flights of fancy for dreams and travelling is over. Father wants me to settle down and he has already chosen a bride for me. I am to meet her in a fortnight and unless I can come up with a better candidate or change her mind somehow, I am to be wed on the day after my 25th birthday.
I haven’t told Victor yet. I don’t even know how to explain that this is forced upon me, that I am made to do this. He doesn’t know of pureblood ways of life and I fear that he will not understand. I will end up disinherited and out on the streets if I refuse my father in this and still I hesitate. Victor’s name is the first thought in my head when I wake and the last before I go to sleep. However am I supposed to fit someone else, who is supposed to be my mate in life and beyond into this, when there is no room? When I don’t even know where he ends and I begin. I feel like I am betraying him, even though this has never been my choice nor would it ever be. If I only could, I would make him mine forever. He would be my choice.
I don’t know how to make Father see reason. I have run out of words to help me explain why this is wrong. I am starting to believe that he doesn’t want to understand and never did.
I’m at my wit’s end and the bleak future I now see stretching in front of me bears me down, like an old man is born down by his years. If sorrow were a quantifiable weight, I would walk bent, I would have walked with my body deformed and gnarly for most of my life, aged beyond my years.

Unexpectedly a piece of paper slid from between the pages and sailed slowly to the floor. Draco could tell there was something on it, but the picture had landed face down and he had to bend low to pick it up. When he saw what it showed, he could feel his face heat. It was the picture of a young man, who lay among the debris in what seemed to be an artist’s studio. The broken remains of an easel, brushes and paints were arranged all around him. He looked peaceful, as if he had just been overcome with exhaustions and decided to bed himself down on torn canvas and broken furniture. Draco couldn’t help following the lines of his relaxed body with his fingers, but he avoided touching where the artist had drawn the man’s flaccid penis, which in itself seemed uncommon because it had been drawn in such detail and touching it felt too intimate.

Looking more closely Draco realised that the man’s body was covered in love bites and scratches. Someone had taken possession of him, had claimed him as his own and the way he lay there clearly told the story of how much the man had welcomed it. Draco’s finger rested on one of the bite-marks just on the inside of the man’s knee, thinking about what it might feel like to be marked there. Draco shivered as he imagined how the man’s lover had kissed his way further along the inside of his thigh. He could feel his cheeks grow even warmer and knew that his neck was probably covered in large, ugly red splotches by now, still he couldn’t look away.

The man’s face was turned away and half-hidden in shadows, it was difficult to make out his features. This time there was no helpful notation on the back to allow Draco to identify who the man was, but he had his suspicions. He flipped several pages ahead, trying to find the place the picture had fallen from without any luck.

This time he barely made it out into the observatory, the diary shrunk and hastily stuffed into the pocket of his shirt, when he heard his mother call for him. She rushed over to his side and before he could stop her, her cool fingers where on his forehead and cheeks.

“Darling, what are you doing up here again? I was worried when you didn’t come down for lunch.”

“Lunch?” Draco asked, confused. It had only been early morning when he had come up here, how could he have lost track of time like that.

“Yes, lunch, which was two hours ago.”

There was definitely something wrong Draco decided. He couldn’t have taken over seven hours to find the diary and then read a few pages in it.

“Are you alright, Darling?” his mother asked, the back of her hand pressed gently against his forehead. “I hope you’re not coming down with something. All this exposure to the elements can’t be good for you. You know you have a somewhat fragile constitution.”

“Mother.” Draco suddenly embarrassed tried to shrug her hand away, but she only drew him into a hug, which she hadn’t done since the last night of the war.

“Mother, let me return the question, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m just worried about you. You seem so distracted lately, not like yourself.”

They had never really spoken about their feelings or their worries in their family and in this moment Draco felt overwhelmed. He wished he knew what to say, but the entire concept of sharing his feelings with his mother, unless it was for some kind of gain, was so alien to him, that he felt quite lost and if he hadn’t known better, he would have suspected someone of having polyjuiced themselves as her. Eventually his mother let go and Draco immediately missed the warmth of her embrace, despite of how uncomfortable it had made him.

“Don’t stay up here too long, Dear. Will I see you for tea?”

“Yes, Mother, I’ll be there, I promise.”

Draco looked towards where she had vanished long after she had gone. It was at least another twenty minutes until he made his way downstairs to his own room. His mother must have been the one who had searched his room, it was the only explanation. Draco was both relieved and confused. He didn’t know what to feel about this. He felt betrayed, because his mother obviously didn’t trust him enough to take care of himself, but then he also felt loved, because he knew how much it must have taken for her to overcome her reserve and act on her worries.

The house elves had already made his bed and when Draco sat down on the crisp smooth duvet, he felt a twinge of guilt. The diary lay beside him, just within arms reach, but for the first time he didn’t feel like picking it up and continuing reading. His own mind was so full of thoughts that it barely allowed room for such plebeian things as breathing or sitting upright.

Without a conscious thought he reached for the conch shell on his nightstand and began to restlessly turn it in his hands, running his fingers along the craggy edges. There were so many things he had to work out, so much he was unclear about himself that he didn’t quite know where to start. As the rough outer layer of the shell brushed against his skin he remembered Harry standing in front of him twisting his hands uncomfortably on a square somewhere in a Muggle city. Latching gladly onto the opportunity to let go of his inner turmoil where his family was concerned Draco thought about why the image of Harry in distress bothered him so.

Whatever that thing was between them, it wasn’t friendship that much had become painfully obvious. It was much too awkward for that and much too laden with hidden meanings and glances. Maybe it was a remainder of their school years and their rivalry, he couldn’t know for sure, but somehow that assumption felt wrong. There was something else, something that had stood between them for too long and neither of them seemed to be able to identify or talk about it. The proverbial elephant in the room that was what it was, but Draco had no idea how to fix it.

His eyes became unseeing, the shell continuing to spin in front of him. The way Harry had looked, so angry and upset, when he had fire called him about the missed lunch, how it seemed to have been so important to him that Draco enjoy himself at that Muggle place and then there was Draco’s desire to bury his hands in Harry’s hair and do unspeakable things to him. And that just wasn’t right. All of those things hinted at something more and that worried him. It wasn’t so much about being worthy or what the world would think, because they hadn’t done Draco any favours in recent times and he could very well do without their approval. What mattered was that they just couldn’t work out.

They were no Victor and Pyxis, who despite everything were so in tune with each other that it seemed like nothing could ever come between them, whereas Harry and Draco had always fought and tried to make their respective existences as difficult as possible. Now that even the fighting had stopped it just seemed awkward. Even fighting in jest over chocolate cake like they had in the café had felt different. Draco suddenly wondered what would have happened if Harry had claimed a kiss as his reward, after they had eaten the cake. Would he have tasted chocolate and chilli on his lips and tongue? Would he have tasted like Harry at all?

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts of Harry and chocolate cake. That way madness lay. His eyes fell on the shell in his hands, surprised it was still there and still in motion. There was something distinctly odd to it. How he kept forgetting it was around, how he hadn’t been able look away from the glow, which had vanished since the night before.

Draco was about to examine the shell closer once more, when Holly appeared in his room with a quiet “pop”.

“Mistress, is wanting to know why Master Draco aren’t attending tea like he promised,” she asked, pulling her ears and obviously uncomfortable.

“What do you mean? What time is it?”

Holly looked even more distressed at Draco’s tone and he felt a slight twinge of guilt.

“Tell Mother I’ll be right down,” he said instead of apologising and Holly appeared glad to be dismissed.

The torsion clock in the corner chimed brightly just after she had left and Draco realised that he was at least half an hour late.

“Shit!”

He dropped the shell onto the bed and was about to leave when something made him turn around again and look at it in horror. There, where he had touched it the night before, where he could have sworn it had burnt his skin, was a handprint. Draco didn’t need to hold his hand up to it to know that it was his. The impression was as red as blood and even in the dim light of an overcast afternoon sky, it looked still fresh. Draco looked at his own hand, scared of what he might see but again, the skin was rosy and healthy looking, not like the imprint on the shell suggested raw and torn.

Draco knew that he had about two minutes before his mother would come looking for him herself and he really didn’t want to explain something he didn’t even understand himself. As he rushed down the stairs to join her, he vowed to read up on the conch shell in Pyxis’ diary. It couldn’t be a coincidence that time got away from him again and again.

***

September 1842, Wiltshire

It has been over a year since I last spoke to Victor. I managed to talk Aurora into going to see him in his studio in London for our wedding portrait. We came to see him together only once, after that we had separate sittings, waiting for him to finish sketching us. He refused to talk to me outside of how to hold my hand or how to turn my head. He sometimes slightly wistfully mentioned the advantages of bachelorhood and I found myself distressed by his coldness.
It felt as if my Victor had completely vanished or never existed in the first place. The ache of how much I miss him, miss his smile, his touch, his lips on mine has somewhat dulled over the months and yet I find myself writing letters to him, some of which I keep and some of which I send. He never replies.
I know he is disappointed in me. He has cast me out of his life for being weak, for betraying him, for not being able to stand up to Father.
The last time I saw him was during my last sitting for the portrait. He has painted me so often by now and even in this very moment I am looking at the paintings I have hidden away in this room, my sanctuary, where no one can find me. He sees me like nobody else, sees into me and I feel like he has painted my soul. It is a terrifying thought. But I’m drifting away from what I intended to write, thinking about him these days drives me to distraction, I dwell on the past, keep it in my heart like precious treasure. It feels like Victor was the only thing real in my life, I walk through it now, as if in a dream, the only reality memories of him.
He made me sit still for over an hour, shouting abuse at me whenever I so much as tried to loosen a muscle that was beginning to ache. I was hurt and angry and when he came back for the last time to grab my chin and adjust it, calling me an imbecile, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I grabbed his arm and tore it from my chin, then I pushed him away, not strong enough to make him fall, he has always been the stronger of the two of us. I saw something in his eyes then that scared me.
I wasn’t surprised when he threw himself at me. The chair broke under our combined weight and we fought like savages. I clawed at him, kicking and biting, taking revenge for all he had put me through. His voice had become a snarl as he held me down, trying to get me to submit to him and eventually I did. It has been over a year and I can still feel him on me and in me. I can still feel how he touched me after all that frantic need turned into a gentleness I had never known him to be capable of. Afterwards we drifted off into sleep. Victor felt like a furnace beside me and for the first time in months, my duty, my bride and my future were the last thing on my mind. In that moment Victor had become my whole world.
When I woke late at night, he was gone. I put on my clothes, making sure I didn’t look too dishevelled. I let myself out and Apparated back to the Manor.
A few weeks later, the day after my wedding, I received a parcel, it contained the portrait, which is even now hanging over the mantelpiece on our wing of the house. There was no letter or explanation, but there was an envelope with my name written on it in there. The sketches it contained were of me, covered in paint, sleeping on the floor of his studio, looking debauched and claimed. My first instinct was to throw them away, they were evidence and dangerous. I found that I couldn’t. I have hidden them up here in this room, among my belongings and even as I hid them, then, I knew that I would never want to touch or be touched by any other human being.
I don’t know whether I will ever see Victor again. I desperately long to, especially now that Aurora is lying ill with fever. The doctors don’t know how to help her and Father has forbidden us to send out for specialists. Father claims she is not worth it. I believe he thinks my wife is barren, because she has yet to bear me an heir.
Aurora has been a friend to me in this trying time and I feel guilty about not being the husband she so obviously deserves. She knows I cannot love her, but she doesn’t know why.
When I went to see her a few hours ago, she was pale and delirious and I fear it won’t be long now, before she leaves me forever.

Draco had to put the diary away. There was so much pain in Pyxis words and not for the first time Draco realised that he should be glad to live in the times that he did. He had envied Pyxis his seemingly happy and carefree life at first. But seeing how restricted his life had become and how much Pyxis suffered under his father’s rule which sacrificed his sons happiness, Draco began to pity him. Draco could identify with Pyxis, seeking his father’s approval while somehow trying to stay his own person. Pyxis had been braver than Draco and hadn’t allowed his family’s doctrines to pollute his mind.

Sometimes Draco wished that he had been able to have such insights when it had mattered, when the groundwork for his later life had been laid, but much like Pyxis it took him getting out of Hogwarts to realise how empty those ideologies truly were. Being a pureblood didn’t do you any favours these days, it didn’t give you opportunities or chances. In Draco’s case he was frowned upon for his involvement in the war, for getting off to light and in fairness also for how he had bullied other children at school. He could see all this now and all it left him with was a sense of disappointment, of being promised great things and then having them snatched away and hung so far out of reach that they couldn’t even qualify as the proverbial carrot.

One of the reasons Draco had never really tried to find work was because while he realised those things about his past and had learnt from most of them, other people weren’t as forgiving or even willing to allow the possibility that he actually had changed. Being judged on your own merit was harder when you already had as much red in your ledger as Draco did. His friendship with Harry hadn’t changed that at all. These days, the only reason for him being treated if not with respect at least not with contempt was the fact that even after having to pay reparations, the Malfoy family still was one of the richest in the wizarding world. Draco still preferred the faked politeness over what he would have to endure otherwise.

The diary lay beside Draco and he sighed, before picking it up again. He had intended to read up on the shell and got so caught up in it yet again that he had completely forgotten what it had been he was looking for in the first place. Draco didn’t need to read on to know what happened to Aurora. When he had tried to find evidence of Pyxis in their family tree, he had found none there was only Brutus and his wife, no mention of Aurora either. Draco assumed it was because she had died before having provided an heir.

Something must have happened to make his family remove Pyxis so completely from their lives that only this diary which Pyxis himself had hidden away as well as the other belongings in his room remained behind. Where history was concerned, Pyxis had never existed. Draco had his suspicions as to why his ancestors had refused to acknowledge their son and had removed him as punishment.

The diary contained only one entry talking about the shell if he recalled correctly. Draco eyed it warily in between flipping back through the pages. The red of blood was still there and despite everything Draco hadn’t been able to resist touching it only to find that what glistened with blood felt exactly like the shell had every time beforehand.

It took him longer than anticipated to find the passage. His mother had berated him in her subtle understated manner for being late for tea earlier and had made him promise to come down for dinner as well to make up for it. He had actually set an alarm to make sure he wasn’t late again.

July 1837, Wiltshire

I haven’t seen him in months. Victor has received a large contract and has been hired to document the flora and fauna on a chain of islands in the West Indies. He sends me letters whenever he can and sometimes sketches of the rich life around him. I am happy for him, or as happy as I can be. I miss him terribly and every day I have to stop myself from going to see him. I would have to explain how I got there and how I found him and he still doesn’t believe me when I tell him I’m a wizard. Whenever I speak of magic, his eyes turn sad and I cannot bear to watch him so disappointed in me. When I am with him, I feel like I don’t need it and I don’t miss it.
The last time I saw him before he left, Brutus almost caught us. Victor knows that we have to be careful and he indulges me. He keeps telling me that what we are doing isn’t wrong, that it is the world that is at fault. Sometimes I believe him and in those moments, I can finally let go.
Today I received a parcel and it was only by chance that Father didn’t catch me with it. Inside the parcel was a so-called conch shell, a thing of true beauty. It is orange on the outside and feels rough to the touch. Every twirl of the shell is adorned with spikes that make it appear as if it is wearing a row of crowns. The inside of the shell is smooth, pale pink and cool to the touch and it is so big that I need both my hands to hold it. Victor wrote that he received it as a gift and that it has brought him nothing but good fortune.
When I hold the shell’s opening to my ear I don’t hear the ocean like I expected but the beating of a heart in tune with mine. I don’t know how this is possible, but part of me believes that it is Victor’s heart I hear beating. I can’t wait to see him again. Whereas time seemed to crawl before it now seems to fly whenever I hold this constant reminder to my ear.

Draco thoughtfully held the shell to his ear, not expecting to hear anything but the amplified noise of his surroundings. He almost dropped it, when – just like Pyxis had described – he heard a steady heartbeat. Draco held the shell at arm’s length studying it closely, noticing that the handprint had disappeared and then held it to his ear again. The heartbeat grew steadily louder. It felt as if with every sound something was pumped through Draco as if there was some kind of circulation, secondary to his own. With every pulse he was overwhelmed with a feeling of longing and of love. It wasn’t as simple as desire or lust, Draco realised as wave after wave of feeling washed over him, this love was something so essential so pure and powerful it felt as if it was there only for him. He closed his eyes for only a moment wishing that he was capable of such emotions of loving and being loved like that, for himself with all his faults, for his soul and not for some ridiculous misguided notion of what he ought to be or was pretending to be.

The insistent hum of his wand tore him out of his reverie. Draco blinked and looked around himself. Something must have happened again, because during the minute he had closed his eyes the sun had jumped across the sky and was now setting and painting the walls of his bedroom in golds and reds. It was a sight to behold that Draco had no time to appreciate. He quickly went to his ensuite to splash cold water into his face to dislodge the lingering feeling of fatigue that had suddenly overcome him. There was still time until he had to meet his mother, but he had decided to appease her by showing up a bit earlier.

Draco still couldn’t quite shake the feeling of something profound just having happened, as he slowly descended the stairs. Somehow what he had felt and what Pyxis had described had to be significant. He didn’t know how it was all connected or even whose heartbeat he had listened to, but Draco felt like he should. It had felt all too familiar and if he could somehow find out whose it was and if what he had experienced was as real as Pyxis account suggested, then perhaps his own future wouldn’t be as bleak as it seemed these days.

He had reached the ground floor and the lush carpet muffled his steps as he approached the dining room, he was just about to open the door when he heard hushed voices conversing inside. Draco put his ear against the door trying to hear what was going on inside, not feeling the slightest twinge of guilt over eavesdropping on his mother in their own home.

“Remember what you promised. You can’t stop now.”

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea, Mrs Malfoy, isn’t there something else I could do to help?”

Draco immediately recognised Harry’s voice. But what did he mean, he was helping? Draco didn’t even know that Harry had met his mother after the war and here they were talking about promises and helping and. Oh God, they were talking about him, weren’t they? Why else would Harry be friends with him, would insist that Draco go out and spend time with him. He was nothing but a charity case to Harry and his mother had bullied him into it, was bullying him into it at this very moment on the other side of that very door. Draco took a step back, eyes staring into nothingness as the reality of his situation hit home. He had never been this humiliated in his entire life.

Dinner was a stilted strained affair after what Draco had overheard. He couldn’t come right out and talk about his suspicions in front of his mother, because despite everything his manners kicked in and reminded him how rude it would be to disturb dinner with conversation on anything of substance. Harry had gone by the time Draco had finally got up the courage to enter the dining room, having to suppress the urge to knock. Whatever his mother and Harry had been talking about or were planning, Draco wasn’t supposed to know about it and it stung that neither trusted him enough to speak to him directly.

Draco had excused himself from the table shortly after desert, claiming he was too fatigued. His mother had only nodded, casting him an unfathomable look before wishing him good night.

Later that night, Draco lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and watching the shadows of the trees dance across it like twisted morris dancers. Not announcing the spring, but a darker time and suddenly Draco was afraid. Without conscious thought he grabbed the shell and pressed it to his heart, like a frightened child might a beloved toy. Something compelled him to move the shell up to his ear and hold it against it. He fell asleep like that, embraced by a feeling of love and belonging, the shell still at his ear.

***

Several weeks had passed and Draco was running out of excuses to refuse to go and see Harry. Draco was avoiding him, because it still hurt to know that none of what Harry had shown him, had been real. Whatever was between him and Harry was some construct his mother and Harry had thought up for whatever reason. It didn’t matter how much he loved and trusted his mother, he couldn’t trust her in this.

Draco spent most of his days in his room, absorbed in Pyxis diary or with his ear pressed to the shell. He didn’t care that time got away from him, that he couldn’t remember what he had done for hours at a time, all he cared about was getting away from having to think about his own life and where he was headed.

The only reprieve from the pressure put on him by his mother, her constant demands of him spending time with her, was the time he spent listening to the heartbeat from within the shell. It was the last thing he listened to before falling asleep every night and it was the first thing he thought of in the mornings. And even if he did take time out of his day, that people said he was supposed to spend on running the family’s finances to read about Pyxis or just sit by his window and hold the shell to his ear. They were wrong. The love he felt embrace him whenever the cold mother of pearl touched his cheek as he held the shell close was worth so much more, worth more than the people in his life, worth more than sleep or food. If he could have, Draco would have spent all his time absorbed in that feeling of belonging.

Today was not that day. His mother, after having found out that he had been avoiding Harry and hidden away in his room instead of doing as she called it “his duty to his family”, had bullied him into agreeing to meet Harry. Even thinking about being forced to spend time with Harry because he owed Draco’s mother a debt was so humiliating and Draco resented it so much that sometimes he fell back on old habits and called Harry “Potter” when he thought about him. Even thinking about him now, Draco could feel the old sneer of distain mar his features. If only they would leave him alone.

He was fully dressed and sitting in a high-backed chair by the window when Holly announced that he had a visitor. Instead of allowing Harry into his room like he had the last few times, Draco grabbed his coat and made his way downstairs brushing by Harry without shaking his hand or waiting for him.

“Are you coming?” he called over his shoulder with barely a backward glance, thinking that this farce couldn’t be over soon enough.

Harry rushed after him, trying and failing to keep up without having to run. Having long legs sometimes really was an advantage, Draco thought. He looked up at the perpetually dark sky that looked like it was about to rain, as he walked even faster. They could have Flooed to wherever it was they were going he realised, but they had almost reached the border of the Manor grounds and Apparition was by far the more elegant way to travel.

“Where to?” he asked, sounding less than pleased. Draco could have sworn he saw Harry’s face fall at the tone of his voice, but he must have imagined it, it wasn’t like Harry was doing this for the fun of it.

“I’ve booked a seat at my favourite restaurant. It’s a Muggle restaurant, so we’ll have to walk part of the way.”

“So where is it?”

“Let me just…” Harry stepped closer reaching for Draco and Draco took a step back trying to stay out of his reach. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Draco lied.

“I’m going to Apparate us there. The walk isn’t very far, but you need to know exactly where you’re going. Trust me?”

And wasn’t that just the most hilarious thing. Of course Draco didn’t trust Harry, how could he after what he had overheard?

“Sure.” The lie fell smoothly from his lips.

“Great.” Harry seemed to relax and then held out his hands for Draco to take. They were warm and dry against his skin. He felt foolish standing there, holding hands like a child.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered under his breath too quiet for Harry to hear. He had to remind himself of the upsides to this. If he went to dinner with Harry it would get his mother off his back for at least a week and if they went now, he could get back home before night fell and then there would still be plenty of time to read and do other things that he longed to do. Even now being separated from the shell and the diary by only several hundred metres, he felt the loss.

Harry squeezed Draco’s hands once reassuringly and Draco still tried to decide what to make of that when he felt the familiar lurch and disorientation of side-along Apparition.

The walk from the Apparition point to the small Sicilian restaurant was shorter than Draco had anticipated. He didn’t quite know what was up with Harry always choosing Muggle locations. They could very well have gone to the Leaky or somewhere in Diagon Alley instead. Maybe it was because Harry didn’t quite enjoy the public’s attention as much as Draco had always thought he did, it most definitely couldn’t be that he did it for Draco’s sake, because both of them would easily be recognised and for Draco despite all his money being recognised tended to cause trouble.

The restaurant was small with only a dozen low tables situated in a cosy room. It was nothing like Draco had expected and far more welcoming than he could have anticipated. At the door they were greeted by the owner who shook first Harry’s and then Draco’s hand and showed them to their table. Harry took Draco’s coat and hung it on a series of small hooks that served as the restaurant’s cloak room. By the time he had returned, the owner had lit the candle in the centre of the table and placed a bottle of water and two glasses in front of their places. Before long a basket of home-made bread and an assortment of oils and vinegars appeared before them. Looking for a menu turned out to be futile. At Draco’s confused look Harry smiled and then gestured for him to follow.

The menu was written on the wall behind the bar. There were only eight dishes listed under the headers of fish, meat and vegetarian each. Draco approved. A small menu usually meant food that was high quality and authentic instead of trying to be fancy. It didn’t take them long to choose what they wanted to order. Harry went with a more traditional tomato sauce and ricotta dish, whereas Draco couldn’t resist the special with beetroot.

Once they had returned to their table, it was an effort not to toy with the napkin and the silence between them grew strained.

“So…” Draco said after a while, when Harry just stared into his glass of water, making no attempts at conversation. “How is the curse breaking going?”

“It’s going well, thank you. How about you, how is your life as Manager of the Malfoy estate going?” Harry asked making air quotation marks when inventing a name for what Draco supposedly did with his time.

The evening was going to be dreadful, Draco just knew it. They would exchange platitudes until they ran out and then there would be nothing but silence again. Since Harry wasn’t even attempting to make proper conversation it would be up to Draco to make his own entertainment. Draco tried not to scowl. All he wanted was to go back home, maybe he could find a way to make the evening end prematurely.

“It’s going well; after all it’s something I’ve been groomed to do and eventually take over my entire life. It’s not like what happened when you dropped out of the Auror corps. There was quite a stir at the time. You never told me why you did it.” Draco knew he was breaking some unwritten rule by inquiring about this, but he was still angry and hurt and nothing would come of sticking to rules that only he seemed to have been following anyway.

“I, well…” Harry was stalling, he seemed nervous. Draco thought bitterly that most of that was probably due to the fact that he didn’t know how to keep his promise to Draco’s mother without Draco’s cooperation. Finally Harry went on. “I didn’t like the direction they were taking us in. I felt that they were too harsh in their resolution to stamp out any and all kinds of dark magic, because what it all boiled down to was them looking for an excuse to bully the people who they thought got off too lightly in the trials. I didn’t want to support that. So, when Bill told me they were thinking of branching out I jumped at the opportunity.”

“Destroyed any interesting curses lately?”

“I’m not sure interesting is the right word, I could tell you about a flesh-eating virus but that doesn’t really seem like proper dinner conversation.”

“Manners, Harry? I’m impressed.”

“Prat.”

“Takes one to know one!” The banter still came easy to them and added something surreal to the situation.

Draco found he was actually enjoying himself despite his earlier prediction. He jumped when Harry’s knee bumped into his under the table. Draco suddenly couldn’t breathe, when had Harry come so close? From one moment to the next the atmosphere between them had become charged and too intense. Draco was expecting it, but when Harry reached for him and held his arm by his wrist he couldn’t suppress a surprised gasp.

“Draco…” he whispered.

Draco swallowed convulsively. It felt like Harry’s fingers were burning his skin where they touched him. This was bad, very bad, he decided. He tried to pull his hand from Harry’s grip, but it was stronger than it looked and after an embarrassing bit of wrestling Draco gave up.

“Am I going to get my arm back?” he asked, sounding as unsteady as he felt.

Harry’s grip tightened momentarily as if Draco hadn’t spoken at all. Instead of an answer, Harry began to run his fingertips and then his nails across Draco’s wrist and even Draco could feel his own pulse flutter under those ministrations and took in a shuddering breath.

Before long, Harry spoke, holding Draco’s gaze with his own.

“I’m worried about you. Are you alright? You look exhausted.”

Great, Draco thought, that was it with the pleasantries for the night. He recalled standing in front of the mirror earlier and casting a glamour to hide the dark shadows under his eyes. Either the glamour had worn off or it hadn’t been strong enough. This whole thing had been a bad idea from the start and Draco wished he could just leave without having to explain himself.

“Of course I’m alright,” he burst out only to deflate instantly “I’m just tired.” He ran his hand through his hair not caring whether it got dishevelled.

“I know. You’ve been tired for a long time. Are you not getting enough sleep? I-I sometimes can’t sleep, I have nightmares that he…” Harry looked away, his eyes suddenly sad.

“No, I sleep just fine. I don’t know why.” He squeezed Harry’s hand once wanting to give comfort despite his earlier resolution. “There just doesn’t seem to be enough time to do anything, even rest.”

“Then, do you think… would you prefer to go home?” Harry asked sounding resigned. “You—… I mean, we could do this another time if you prefer.”

There was his out, his cue, but instead of agreeing Draco shook his head. He reclaimed his hand, his skin still tingling as if Harry’s hand still rested there. He felt unsure of himself and as if something was constraining his chest and heart. Draco tried to shrug it off and decided to make a joke of it.

“Merlin, will you lighten up a bit, it’s not like this is a date or something.”

Harry suddenly looked crestfallen. He couldn’t possibly be that good an actor, whatever double agenda or hidden intentions were at work here, Draco didn’t seem to be the only one with misconceptions.

“Oh,” Draco said quietly but was saved from the embarrassing situation when their food arrived.

While Harry refused to meet his eye, Draco watched him intently.

***

“God, you are hopeless!” Draco exclaimed after having watched Harry chase his pasta around his plate with a fork for the last two minutes, getting tomato sauce everywhere and making a mess of his shirt. He pointed his wand at Harry under the table and cleaned the stains from the fabric without a second thought and then reached for Harry’s plate with his own fork.

“Here, look,” he said and went to show Harry how to effectively twirl the fork in the noodles and wind them around it without making a mess and ending up with a bite sized amount of pasta on the fork.

“See? Now you try it,” he added and carefully shook the pasta free off his fork, leaving a small circular nest of noodles on the corner of Harry’s plate.

Harry looked slightly dumbstruck but then managed to get the noodles on his fork at the second attempt. He looked so delighted with his success that Draco had to hide his smile behind his napkin as he pretended to wipe some beetroot juice from his lips.

Their dinner conversation returned to every day matters, they spent time talking about Quidditch and Merlin help him the weather. It felt like they were both trying too hard to not make the rest of the evening awkward.

They forewent desert, which was probably a shame, but Draco didn’t want to prolong the evening unnecessarily. The light mood from earlier had completely dissipated and even when his moans of delight over the perfect Espresso made Harry laugh but still didn’t bring his smile back Draco longed to go home even more.

Harry ended up paying, because Draco had forgotten to bring any Muggle currency. He was even more embarrassed about his earlier comment about this being a date and Harry paying for dinner than he had been at the time. As Harry walked him back to the Apparition spot they both kept a careful distance to not accidentally bump into each other.

Something profound had changed tonight and it wasn’t for the better. Draco doubted that their friendship, even a faked one was salvageable after this. He would probably never see Harry again. That is unless his mother made Harry take Draco out again. Draco had almost forgotten, had allowed his own longing to cloud his judgement. He turned away, gazing along the dark and lonely street ahead, trying to hide his sneer of distaste. The bleak cold stretch of road in front of him seemed to foreshadow what life had in store for him from here on in.

Draco would have never thought that he would ever resent his mother. But at this very moment as he walked beside the man he might at least be slightly interested in, but who was only there out of a sense of obligation, Draco wished that he could have stayed oblivious of all the facts a little while longer.

It was unlikely that Harry would take him home this time, Draco knew. There was nothing he could do and more likely than not, he would only ever see Harry from a distance again after they parted ways tonight.

“So…” Draco cleared his throat, this being a word he had been using an awful lot around Harry in recent times. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” Draco didn’t even know why he was still talking.

Harry nodded and Draco turned away. He would be damned if he was the one left behind.

“Wait.”

There was a hand on his shoulder and despite his reservations and worries, Draco allowed himself to be turned around. Harry’s hand on him, even through several layers of clothing felt like a brand of ownership and for once he couldn’t bring himself to mind. It was the last time after all.

“What is i—… hmpf” Draco managed before Harry’s mouth on his cut him off. Harry’s lips slid against his in a warm caress, but Draco was too stunned to respond before those lips disappeared again. Something was very wrong here, he decided, because being kissed by Harry didn’t feel new like it should have, it felt familiar and welcoming. Harry held him tight as if he was afraid Draco would just disappear. He pressed his cheek against Draco’s and whispered desperately into Draco’s ear the words coming out so quickly they tumbled across each other, hitting Draco’s neck in puffs of warm air.

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t let you leave like that. I don’t even know whether you want this, want me, but I had to try. Please, before you say anything, please think about it. And if you do, if you want this or if you don’t, send me an owl.”

Before he knew it the arms around him had disappeared and there was no sign of Harry. For a moment Draco wondered whether he had hallucinated the entire episode. His fingers reached for his lips which still tingled slightly and were still wet from Harry’s.

In the end it was Draco, who was standing alone in the dark on a street corner as the first raindrops began to fall. Draco gathered his thoughts and concentrated on his destination. With a single loud crack, he vanished

***

Draco had been too confused to pick up the diary or do anything but stare out of the window of his room and try to make up his mind on what to do about Harry on whether he was in earnest or whether giving Draco what he wanted was in some way a desperate last attempt to keep his promise to Draco’s mother. Draco didn’t have an answer to these questions. The diary felt tempting and heavy in his hands, but it didn’t feel right to read in it with Draco’s own mind so clouded in worry.

There weren’t many pages left in Pyxis diary and Draco eventually forewent sleep in favour of reading them. As he read, his heart began to race. The writing was haphazard and shaky, some of the words had become barely legible and by the time he reached the last page he had tears in his eyes as he could feel his heart breaking for his ancestor.

December 1844, Wiltshire

He killed him. My brother killed my dear, dear Victor. I have sat here in this room, which has become both my sanctuary and prison, staring into nothingness, wishing the reaper which had been so greedy during my first year on earth, would come and take me. Take me with him, so I might see my Victor again. We had planned to run away together, to take the money we had both put aside to start a new life, somewhere where nobody knew us. Some exciting and far off place like Italy or maybe China.
I knew that my family wouldn’t approve if they found out, but we had always been so careful, I didn’t think they knew. Then this morning, I woke when I heard shots fired on the Manor grounds. At first I wasn’t sure what they meant, but when I ran out to the balcony and saw my brother look up at me with an expression so full of hatred that it frightened me, I somehow knew that he hadn’t been out shooting pheasants like he is wont to do. Brutus enjoys killing things, he always has.
I found myself rushing downstairs, where my father shook my brother’s hand, both of them looking at me, like I was a blood traitor, like I had brought shame on the family name. My brother looked at me, but spoke to my father when he said the family honour had been restored. He was wiping his hands on a piece of cloth and it was only when he brought it up to wipe at the dew on his face that I saw it was covered in blood.
I have never run so fast in my life, following my brother’s footsteps through the wet grass. The fog swallowed me up and for a moment I thought I wasn’t walking the paths of this earth. When I beheld the still form of my beautiful Victor, lying there on the ground, fallen to the side and his face turned away from me, I fell to the ground beside him, cradling his head to my chest, not caring that the blood from his chest wound was seeping into my clothing. Nothing but the winding roads of a nightmare could have brought me to this place. I forgot all about propriety about being found out, when his eyes flew open and he looked at me. I leant down, answering the silent plea I could see in his eyes and kissed him. His lips were warm and wet and it was only when I came away and touched my lips with my fingers that I saw that his and mine were now covered in blood.
I shook him once more, hoping to startle some reaction from him, but I realised that he had died, had died while I kissed him.
I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m still sitting in my room, praying to the gods that they won’t find me here. I have hidden his body away and they will never find him. All I want to do is lie down in the dark beside him for a moment longer, pretend that he is asleep and just waiting for the morning light to turn around and wake me with one of his sweet kisses.
I have sent out my application to join John Franklin’s expedition and I am confident that my credentials and education are good enough to qualify me for this mission. Before today’s events I had been reluctant to leave England, but now, nothing holds me back. This was supposed to have been our adventure, our chance at freedom. Part of me wishes that I could still care about seeing my life’s dream, my vocation become a reality, but there is only this emptiness inside me, this darkness. Nothing might be able to fill it, not even the darkness of the eternal arctic night.

May 1845, Greenland

Tomorrow we are finally to set out for our great adventure. Everyone is excited and even the captain is less strict and more talkative than he usually is. The pull of the wide open sea, seems to have taken hold of everyone but me. Everyone else is out celebrating, I can hear them stumbling about and I already know the captain will be much less cheerful in the morning than he is now.
I sit here in my quarters, maps strewn across the table and write by candlelight. I had to leave most of my belongings behind. I hope I have hidden them away well enough that neither Father nor Brutus will ever find them. The crew think me superstitious because I brought the conch shell that Victor has given me. It feels like the only thing still connecting me to him, but when I just held it to my ear, I realised that the heartbeat I had always heard during lonely nights, has at last fallen silent.

Much later that night, Draco picked up that very same shell. He couldn’t stay away any longer. The evening with Harry and finding out about Pyxis’ fate were too much to bear. He grabbed the shell, deliberately choosing its soothing influence over the dreariness and devastation of real life.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

His heart beats loud in his ears as he runs. The floor breezes by, in contrast the walls seem to be crawling by. He knows he has to run faster to catch up with his guide, before what is chasing him catches up. Draco can hear panting breaths behind him and the sound of heavy footfall.

“Please, wait for me,” he calls ahead feeling that familiar brush of bubbles rise past his lips and cheek as they get left behind and hover in the air. Seconds later he can hear his own words resonate around the narrow space as they collide with his pursuer and burst.

The corridor he runs along is bright and clean. The walls are creamy white tinged slightly pink and luminescent with some undefinable light. Windows are interspersed at even intervals and as he runs past Draco can make out the vast stretch of the square, the field and the avenue beyond. Everything here seems to vibrate with a quiet hum. Draco doesn’t know what it is or where it comes from, but it makes him tired and his steps become heavier.

The ground seems to be clasping at his feet now, slowing him down as if gravity is constantly increasing. His steps slow down until he cannot move anymore. Draco tries to take a step forward, but while he is able to pick up his feet, if he tries to move into any direction he runs into invisible walls. His heart is racing and he can feel panic rising in his chest.

He knows he shouldn’t turn around, because when you turn around they catch you. Behind him the steps following fall silent. Draco doesn’t know what the one hunting him is waiting for. The person behind him takes one step closer and the lights infusing the walls begin to flicker. Out of the corner of his eyes Draco sees the dank cold walls of a dungeon. They are covered in algae and he can make out rivulets of water running down, pooling at the bottom and collecting in puddles on the floor.

Draco has come to stop beside a window and while it has been daylight only a moment ago the square beyond is now cast into darkness, lit by dozens of street lanterns, their glow green and cool. Draco can’t make out the people on the square, but he knows they have turned into something horrible, something scary.

Another step and the person is now close enough to touch. Draco still doesn’t turn around, but he can feel their breath on his neck. He wants to scream, but suddenly finds himself paralysed. If he closes his eyes and wishes away the dark presence at his back then maybe, just maybe he can wake up.

Draco.

It is barely a whisper coming from somewhere undefinable but growing steadily in volume. It is answered by a voice sweet as honey and Draco can’t help but find he agrees with it.

He’s mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine… the chant becomes an echo that fills the air around Draco.

“Yes,” he breathes and suddenly he can move again. Bright light bursts in front of his eyes and he finds himself in the same pale corridor as before. He starts running before his eyes have grown accustomed to the light. But while this stumbling run isn’t very quick it carries him away from whoever is chasing him.

Draco knows that as long as he follows the light and manages to keep up with it, he will be safe. The darkness will be unable to catch up with him. The corridor becomes brighter in front of him and Draco runs after it. A being of pure light must be what is guiding his way and he vows that this time he won’t let himself fall behind.

A shout of rage and sorrow echoes along the corridor from behind him and Draco picks up his pace. Heavy steps pound along the floor and just like Draco’s they sound wet, as if they are running through water. There seems to be more of it with every step, but Draco can’t see anything but the soft glowing walls and floor.

Something is very wrong here, he realises. Maybe what he had seen earlier that glimpse he had got, just for a moment is in fact reality. What if the dark presence chasing him is instead trying to save him from walking towards his own doom? Draco stops short, leaning against a windowsill trying to collect his thoughts. It can’t be, can it?

Before he can make up his mind, he feels water trickling by his feet. It is invisible. In the distance ahead of him where the glow had vanished to, he can hear a roaring sound, like something large and powerful is headed his way. The trickle of water keeps increasing and even though he can’t see it, Draco can still feel it wash over his feet.

His pursuer is getting closer again and this time Draco turns around. He doesn’t look exactly the same, but Draco still recognises the black knight that had lunged for him before he fell into the fountain. Just like then, the man lunges for him, reaching out and crying his name. Before he can reach Draco, a wall of invisible water barrels down the corridor, the noise drowning out everything and carrying Draco and the black knight away.

Draco is terrified as water he can’t even see keeps jostling him around and pulling him under, trying to force its way into his lungs. He tries to grab for the black knight to find something, anything to hold on to as they are swept away. Just for a moment their fingers touch.

Suddenly Draco finds himself standing in the middle of a river on a large flat stone. The sunlight is bright and warm on his skin and he has to blink against the bright sparkling light reflected on the water all around him. He sets the bucket filled with clear river water down between his feet and brushes across his brow wearily. The forest around him is lush green and a small rainbow spans the water where the sunlight hits it and the waterfall becomes a river again. Dragonflies hover and flit over the water’s surface like tiny fairies and Draco swears he can hear them laugh as they breeze by him.

On his right and left, where the water is shallow, stand people. They stand on stones that are just as smooth as his own, more like large river pebbles and all of them carry or hold large buckets of water. They turn as one pouring the buckets into empty crates that are stacked just behind them and when Draco turns around he finds a similar crate behind himself.

“Go on,” the woman to his right calls. She looks familiar. “Stop being lazy, we need to get this done.” She sounds far too cheerful for Draco’s liking. Besides water in crates, how is that supposed to work?

Draco stares at his bucket and then the crate behind him, doubtful that this will work. He hesitates a moment longer and when he looks up everyone else is gazing at him intently. There they stand, a row of people with their buckets half-raised their faces turned towards him and Draco realises that he knows every single one of them.

“If we don’t meet our daily goal because of you, he’ll kill you, you know?” Pansy says. Before lifting her bucket and pouring its contents into the crate behind her in complete unison with the others. Draco still doesn’t move and feels compelled to ask.

“Who?”

“Oh him,” Pansy says pointing behind Draco.

He can hear a dark chuckle that sounds all too familiar but slightly off and slowly turns around. His eyes fall on Harry, bathed in white light and dressed in a pale robe like some kind of messiah.

“You know I still despise you, don’t you?” he says pleasantly as if they are talking about the weather and claps Draco on the shoulder. “Now get to work before I break your hand,” he adds with a smile. Draco swallows convulsively, trying to combine this bizarre version of Harry with the one that had kissed him and whispered desperate words into his ear. It is impossible.

He picks up his bucket with shaking hands and fills it with cool sparkling water. He waits for the others to turn and then follows, pouring the water into the crate behind him. As expected the water seeps out at the sides and through the bottom and nothing stays behind. After repeating the motion over and over again with the same result, Draco decides that this must be some kind of hell dimension.

The sunshine and the pleasant surroundings seem cold and lifeless now as he keeps working in the heat, continuing with his Sisyphean labour.

“That’s it, just like that.”

Harry stands much too close and Draco shrinks away from his touch as Harry’s hand lands on his lower back where his shirt has ridden up. Harry’s hands are sweaty and cold against Draco’s skin.

“Yes, you’re doing so well bent over like that.”

Harry’s hand runs up and down Draco’s lower back whenever he stands and his backside whenever he bends down. Harry’s skin feels scaly and wrong. Draco seems to be caught in the constant down and upward motion of filling his bucket, lifting it and turning. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries, he can’t dislodge Harry’s hand.

Draco wants to cry, wants to get away from this. What little trust and faith he had in Harry is slowly worn away like the sand on the shore during the high tide. A humming sound to his right finally draws his attention. He looks for it while still caught in the fluid motion and after a moment he finally sees where the noise is coming from. One of the small dragonflies has flown up to him and is hovering just out of reach. A tiny figure sits astride it brandishing a rapier and wearing a black cape looking entirely ridiculous in its seriousness.

Harry doesn’t seem to notice and keeps praising Draco and touching him in ways that make Draco feel filthy and used.

“Hey you, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Draco manages to force out.

“You seem to be his new favourite play thing. I wouldn’t be happy about that if I were you. His playthings never survive for long and they usually don’t go out in bliss.”

Draco is really scared now. Harry’s hands are roaming his torso, now and then squeezing a nipple but ever more obvious in their directions. Surely he wouldn’t, this is still Harry. But then Harry pushes his knee between Draco’s legs from behind and rubs his erection against the cleft of Draco’s clothed arse.

“That doesn’t look like it’s a lot of fun,” the dragonfly rider remarks and hovers beside Draco’s head. “Are you sure you want to stay?”

“I—…no… help me, please,” Draco forces out. The words barely audible and taking all of his strength to voice.

“Alright. Grab my beast’s tail and wish upon a star.”

But I can’t stop moving. I can’t even reach. Draco thinks fiercely, hoping the man will understand him somehow.

“Are you willing to sacrifice yourself to me?”

Draco whimpers in distress as Harry’s fingers find the crack of his arse and slowly delve deeper. “Please stop,” he hears himself beg, but Harry only chuckles darkly and continues as if Draco hadn’t spoken. The rider and his winged steed fly closer again and Draco can feel Harry’s finger brushing across his arsehole. Nothing can be as bad as this, as being trapped in this false reality with a Harry that seems to have no problems with consent issues. Draco has no choice but to put himself at the small man’s mercy.

“Yes,” he whispers and as soon as he has, the dragonfly comes closer and the small man on its back pierces the back of Draco’s hand with his rapier. A large drop of blood wells where the skin is broken. It runs down his hand as he moves to empty the bucket, having trouble reaching around Harry who is now standing behind him and gripping his hips from both sides getting into position.

“Now, hold on!” the little man shouts and Draco can feel the paralysis leaving him just as he bends down with his bucket again. His hand shoots out and grabs hold of the tiny insect and he is yanked forward with such force that he loses his footing. The small creature drags him along and up for a few metres before the tiny man stabs his hand again and Draco drops like a stone.

“Safe journey,” the small fighter calls cheerfully.

He can see Harry his face a mask of rage as he shakes his fists at Draco and the small man riding the dragonfly who as far as Draco can tell blows Harry a raspberry. The others are still going about their business but Pansy is looking at Draco whenever he gets in her line of sight.

The water is ice cold and as hard as rock when he finally hits it. He struggles to rise to the surface but something pulls him down steadily. Above him Harry rages on and it looks like he is reaching for him only he has altogether too many arms now and his body is elongating and changing. Draco wishes the black knight was here and just as he does the water around him vanishes.

Draco is back in the dark and dank tunnel. He is standing in front of rusty wrought iron door. The lock is the only thing that looks like it hasn’t aged a day since it was forged. Draco tries to open it in vain, whatever he does, it won’t budge. He looks around himself and in front of him he sees a shallow puddle. At the bottom he can make out a heavy iron ring and a set of keys.

Behind him he can hear Harry’s enraged voice again. He has to hurry. When Draco reaches for the key he doesn’t even have time to mouth a curse before he is pulled under the surface. Nothing in this strange world ever seems to be easy. At least he can breathe properly this time.

His fingers wrap around the rough material of the iron ring and it takes all of his strength to lift the keys and drag them up to the surface. Harry’s howls of rage have vanished by the time he gets back. The black knight stands by the puddle as Draco pulls himself out. The puddle now stretches across the entire width of the tunnel and Draco knows that the only way the knight will get across is by swimming through it, much like he had done.

Something makes him turn around, it is not of his own volition, because he would much rather have waited for the knight to come and find him. The key slides easily into the lock.

“No!” the black knight shouts behind him. “Don’t do it.”

But Draco can’t seem to stop, he turns the key and the lock springs open with a loud crack. The key and the lock come apart in his hands, as if the rust from the door had infected them. The door itself begins to melt away and as Draco looks over his shoulder he can see that in the meantime the puddle has grown to the size of an ocean and he can barely make out the small lone dark clad figure on its distant shore.

In front of him is the foot of a winding staircase, but before Draco can place his foot on it and begin to ascend the ground beneath him suddenly gives way, turning into something akin to quicksand. The change happens faster than Draco can react to and he is already halfway submerged by the time he realises what is going on.

He shouts and tries desperately to free himself, but it is no use. Draco gets steadily pulled downward. The last thing he sees before his head vanishes into the floor is the dark knight’s form, desperately waving and shouting and then throwing himself into the waves.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

“Where are you going?” Ron asked.

“Loo,” Harry called in reply and stumbled towards his destination. The floor seemed to be ridiculously uneven and Harry had a hard time not stumbling, let alone walking in a straight line.

It felt like an immense accomplishment when Harry reached the gents and was finally able to piss. The urine was loud as it hit the porcelain. He was so relieved that it took him a while to figure out why he had suddenly begun listening in on the conversation going on in one of the toilet stalls. Hearing what those people seemed to have planned for someone they didn’t like very much was sobering.

Harry zipped up when he was done and washed his hands. He had to tell Ron, tell him something important, something about some poor fucker who was going to regret having come out of the war unscathed.

It wasn’t until Harry was halfway across the room that the men’s intent sunk in. They had talked about drugging someone, about abducting him and humiliating him. The words “fuck him raw until he bleeds and then make him beg” suddenly appeared in the front of his mind and made him feel sick to his stomach. He had to hold on to the back of someone’s chair and take a couple of deep breaths before he could move on.

He needed to get to Ron. They might be off duty but this was not something they could just let happen, no matter who it was. According to what he had overheard, the man had already been drugged and it was only a matter of time before the men would abduct their victim.

“Excuse me, Gorgeous, did you lose something?” a familiar voice asked pleasantly.

Harry looked up and was too shocked for words for a moment when he realised who the speaker was. He had never before found himself on the other side of the man’s smile, only ever his sneer and snide remarks.

“Malfoy?” he choked out.

“The one and only. So, did you find what you were looking for, or where you checking out my arse?”

Harry blushed to the roots of his hair, unable to shake the sense of how unreal this felt. Malfoy wasn’t supposed to be nice to him, wasn’t supposed to try to put him at ease and most of all he wasn’t supposed to be flirting with Harry.

“What? Kneazle got your tongue?” he asked again, looking slightly disappointed. “Was so hoping you’d buy me a drink, the last guy to buy me one was really very very ugly, but what’s a girl to do.”

Harry had a hard time aligning the man in front of him with the boy he had known from school.

“Uhm.”

“That means yes, doesn’t it?” Malfoy said and motioned to the bartender to bring them new drinks. Harry felt like he should remember something, but somehow having drinks with Malfoy seemed to have taken precedence and he didn’t even know how that happened.

“There you go,” Malfoy said and pushed some kind of weird and pink drink into his hands and then clinked his glass noisily against Harry’s before taking a huge gulp. “Cheers.”

“I’ll put it on your tab then, Mr. Potter, shall I?” The bartender said, raising an eyebrow at the display in front of him and Harry found himself nodding dumbfounded before he took a sip of his own ridiculously sweet cocktail.

“Ugh, what’s this?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s the same one I was having before, only this one tastes a lot sweeter than the one I had earlier.” Malfoy seemed oddly thoughtful. Harry tried to put his finger on what was so odd about this situation, but the drunk fog that clouded his mind made it impossible.

Malfoy gestured to the empty barstool beside him and urged Harry with gestures to take a seat. The chairs were so close together that their thighs touched. Malfoy’s leg was warm against Harry’s and all of his senses were suddenly on high alert as he felt Malfoy rub his thigh alongside Harry’s own. Malfoy still talked, his demeanour giving nothing away. It seemed as if he didn’t even know he was doing it, but if anything it made Harry uncomfortable. Or so he told himself.

He had never spent much thought on whether he might be bi or maybe even gay. Ginny and he were supposed to get back together at some point. It had been years and Harry still felt guilty about not talking it out with her. She was seriously casually seeing Dean and Harry found that he didn’t mind in the slightest. But he had never asked himself why he had got over her so easily. None of the women he had dated since had left a lasting impression.

The way he felt now, like he would have to excuse himself to the loo before long to avoid embarrassment was unlike anything he had felt before. It was only a thigh pressing against his own, for Merlin’s sake. Oh, and a hand on his knee. Harry couldn’t make himself pull away and found that he was leaning closer to Malfoy instead. What the hell had been in that drink?

“You haven’t heard a word of what I said, Potter, have you?” Malfoy asked smirking, time and alcohol turning that once enraging expression into something incredibly sexy.

“No,” Harry gasped, before covering Malfoy’s hand with own. Malfoy’s eyebrows rose in surprise for just a moment before he casually let his hand trail along the inside of Harry’s thigh, back to talking about whatever the hell they had been talking about earlier.

The band that had set up earlier had just begun to play and the volume was such that Malfoy had to lean in to try and make himself understood. Harry still didn’t hear a word of what he said, too busy shivering and cataloguing how every single feather-light touch and every puff of breath against his skin made him feel.

“Oi, Harry!” Ron shouted over the din, clapping Harry on the back, startling him enough that he almost fell off the chair and only Ron’s quick reflexes saved him from falling on his arse. “Easy there. I thought you’d got lost on the way back. I see the big bad wolf got you instead.”

Ron gave Malfoy a dirty look and tried to push Harry towards the booth their friends still occupied. The crestfallen look that momentarily clouded Malfoy’s beautiful features – and when they had ceased being pointy and gitty and turned into beautiful was more than Harry knew – made Harry change his mind.

“No. I’m staying, I still haven’t finished my drink.”

“You actually want to drink something the Ferret gave you?” Ron asked, shaking his head.

“Yes and in all fairness, I paid for the drinks.”

“Don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face, okay, mate?” Ron shot Harry a pitying look. “Ferret,” he added nodding towards Malfoy. Ron clapped Harry on the back once more before strolling away into the crowd in search of his own entertainment.

“Thanks,” Malfoy said when Harry turned back to him.

“For what?”

“For – you know – not abandoning me.”

Harry waved it off and stepped closer to Malfoy once more, invading his personal space as he reached for his drink. Whatever was going on here, it bore investigating. When Harry tried to get back to his chair he found that Malfoy had wound both of his arms around Harry’s shoulder and was gazing into his eyes. Harry had never felt so out of his element than when pinned by the steely gaze of those grey eyes. He swallowed and broke eye-contact, but not freeing himself from Malfoy’s embrace.

The palms of Harry’s hands felt sweaty where they rested against Malfoy’s hips and how they had ended up there was more than Harry knew. Malfoy leant in closer, nuzzling Harry’s jaw.

“You really are a knight in shiny armour, aren’t you?”

For once Harry didn’t mind the comparison. He found that there weren’t many things he minded right now, the only thing springing to mind that he wasn’t close enough to one Draco Malfoy. Harry ran his hands up and down Malfoy’s sides and revelled at how the man began to tremble under his touch. Malfoy’s thighs bracketing Harry’s hips were spreading heat where they touched Harry’s body and when he pulled back slightly to look into Malfoy’s face, he found the other man biting his lip when Harry’s hand brushed along the inside and top of his thigh.

That sight, of Malfoy squirming under his touch and biting his lip to keep from making a sound proved to be Harry’s undoing. If he hadn’t been as drunk as he was and if he had thought about it, he might have realised that something was up, as it was it didn’t even cross his mind. His gut told him that something was off, but he noted it down to anticipation and continued anyway.

Harry pulled Malfoy to him, his lips finding Malfoy’s and hungrily devouring them. Malfoy in turn wrapped his arms even more firmly around Harry’s neck and gave as good as he got. The kiss wasn’t perfect, it was filthy and more tongues and teeth than lips and if Harry hadn’t felt Malfoy’s erection pressing against his own, he might have been embarrassed, as it was, the realisation only made him moan into the kiss. He pulled Malfoy as close as he could, his hands on Malfoy’s arse, both of them gasping at the beautiful friction this movement created.

This slide of denim against whatever expensive material Malfoy was surely wearing drove Harry to distraction. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing against Malfoy, hyperaware of the fact that he was basically dry-humping Draco Malfoy out in plain sight for everyone to see. A throat clearing noise and then a rain of ice cubes both down his and from the look on his face also down the back of Malfoy’s shirt brought them out of their lust-hazed stupor.

“Mind taking it somewhere else, gentlemen?” the bartender asked.

“S-sorry,” Harry stuttered, scared to look at Malfoy who was still wrapped around Harry and shaking. It turned out while Malfoy was shaking with cold and possibly anger, he was mostly also shaking with laughter, which didn’t stop him from running his foot up the back of Harry’s thigh, causing his hips to snap forward involuntarily. The look in Malfoy’s eyes was full of heat and dark promise and Harry had trouble keeping in a moan. Fuck it, he thought.

“Now!” the bartender thundered, startling Harry so much this time that he did end up on his arse. It took longer than seemed normal for Harry to get up and he blamed the alcohol and the slippery floor as well as Malfoy’s unhelpful attempts to give him a hand.

Eventually they made it outside. The cold air hit them unexpectedly causing Harry to wrap his cloak more firmly around himself. Malfoy was behaving strangely. While the cold seemed to have had a sobering effect on Harry, Malfoy had turned into something akin to a human kitten and was rubbing himself all over Harry, as if he was scent-marking him.

“You smell so good, Potter, want you to take me home.”

Harry was just about to reply when he could hear the backdoor to the pub slam open and a bunch of people emerge into the street.

“I saw him leave, he must have gone this way.” one of them called.

Harry was suddenly frightened. Were they talking about him? Had Malfoy set him up? Just then Malfoy encircled him with his arms and began kissing his neck. Malfoy seemed so out of it that Harry suddenly doubted he was involved at all. Still, better safe than sorry, he decided and pulled Malfoy into a corner where the darkness would hide them both easily.

“Come on, we have to hurry, we can’t let that little Death Eater scum get away!” one of the men called and Harry suddenly felt cold. They were talking about Malfoy, they were going to drug him and abduct him and Merlin, they had intended to rape him. Harry was so caught up in his realisation that it took him a moment to notice that Malfoy was rubbing himself against Harry’s thigh. A sharp pain on the skin of his neck told Harry that Malfoy had just given him a hickey.

Oh God, they had probably already drugged Malfoy and this behaviour was induced by it. Disgusted with himself for taking advantage he tried to push Malfoy away, but Malfoy was insistent and wouldn’t let go. The steps of the men looking for Malfoy came closer and Harry could hear their harsh breathing. Harry decided that their best chance to get out of this was to stay undiscovered, since they were still well within the anti-apparition wards of the pub. A precaution the owner had taken after being robbed four times in a row. To that end Harry slung an arm around Malfoy and rubbed his back soothingly. He buried his other hand in Malfoy’s hair and Merlin were those strands soft, before pulling him upward so Malfoy was looking directly at him. His pupils were blown so wide that Harry could make them out even in the dim light of the corner they were hiding in.

Harry was still too drunk to stop himself from placing a fond kiss on Malfoy’s lips before he pulled him even closer and whispered into his ear.

“We have to be really quiet now, Malfoy. Do you think you can do that?”

Malfoy nodded eagerly before a look of such mischief crossed his features that Harry couldn’t help but worry at what was to come.

“It all depends on how quiet you can be, doesn’t it?” Malfoy said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Malfoy, no,” Harry tried to say, but the men were too close for him to say anything else and he was forced to bite down hard on his own hand when Malfoy shoved his hand into Harry’s trousers, easily finding his still painfully hard cock.

“Very, very quiet,” Malfoy breathed into the skin just below Harry’s ear and just for a moment Harry could feel his eyes drifting shut as pleasure rushed through him. No! He couldn’t do this. Harry struggled with Malfoy until Malfoy smacked Harry’s hand away so loudly that the men who had just stepped into the yellow circle of light of a nearby streetlamp turned their way as one man.

“Did you hear that?”

“He must be close.”

Harry bit Malfoy’s shoulder to hide his whimper and his sharp gasping breaths as Malfoy began to roughly pull him off. By some miracle Harry managed to stay completely quiet as his orgasm barrelled through him. Malfoy looked smug as he pulled his hand out of Harry’s pants and licked Harry’s come off his fingers. Harry couldn’t stay still any longer. He pulled Malfoy into a desperate kiss, barely managing to contain his moans as he tasted himself on Malfoy’s tongue.

“There in that corner, I can see him.”

The harsh shout brought Harry back to reality. He grabbed Malfoy’s hand and made a run for it. He kept turning back, firing stunners at their pursuers as he ran to slow them down. One of them bounced of the walls of a nearby building and it illuminated the figure in the lead of the group. It was Auror Robards. Harry was almost too stunned to keep running. It was only the tingly feeling of them tumbling through the wards that gave him the mental kick he needed to Disapparate with Malfoy in tow.

***

They stumbled to the floor of Harry’s flat and he immediately raised the wards Hermione had helped him built just after the war. No tracking spell would be able to penetrate them. It had originally been created to keep out fans that had become too insistent but in this case it would help deflect even Auror-strength tracking spells.

Malfoy lay on the floor half on top of Harry, his head lolling left and right and Harry began to worry for his safety. What if the drug had even more side effects? If only he knew what they had given him.

“Sleepy now. Take me to bed, Harry,” Malfoy demanded.

His own name was like a slap to the face and everything they had done, everything he had allowed Malfoy to do to him came rushing back to him on one giant avalanche of guilt.

“No, Malfoy, we’ve got to take you to St Mungo’s!”

“No, we don’t, ‘s just sex. Bed now.”

Malfoy nuzzled his face into Harry’s neck and Harry realised belatedly that unless he wanted to sleep here on the floor, half buried under Malfoy for the rest of the night, he had to get him to bed or possibly the sofa.

“Alright, but you’ve got to help me, you’re heavy.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Stop being childish, Potter and shag me already.”

Malfoy’s hands were wandering again as Harry tried to lift him up and half drag half carry him up the stairs. His right arm was wrapped around Malfoy’s waist trying to keep him upright, while his left clung to the banister, heaving them both up step by step. Malfoy all the while was trying to stuff his hands into the back of Harry’s trousers. When that didn’t work, he went for squeezing and massaging Harry’s buttocks through the denim, making strange cooing noises. Harry stopped when they were only halfway up the stairs and pushed Malfoy against the wall, catching his hands and pressing them against the wall carpeting beside his head.

“Malfoy, stop it!” he hissed. Harry felt angry and aroused at the same time. Looking at Malfoy his lips red and plump from their earlier snogging and his eyes blown wide by lust and what most likely was the drug still coursing through his system didn’t make the feelings abate in the slightest. Malfoy was leaning forward as far as Harry’s hold on his wrists would allow and tried to kiss Harry only succeeding in brushing Harry’s nose with his own as Harry pulled away.

“Don’t be a spoilsport now.”

“I mean, it, stop it right now. I will not shag you. You can sleep in my bed, since you keep insisting that’s where you want to go, but under no circumstances will I shag you. Can you get that into that thick head of yours?”

Malfoy pouted. He actually pouted at Harry, looking even more crestfallen than he had in the pub when Ron had tried to call Harry away. He knew he would regret it, but Harry let go of Malfoy’s wrists. Instead he cupped Malfoy’s face, holding him in place and stroking his jaw on both sides with his thumbs.

“I’m sorry, but I mean it. Not tonight, maybe tomorrow morning, when we’re sober, if you… if you still want to…” Harry’s voice trailed off. He didn’t know what else to say and he felt guilty enough as it was.

Malfoy nodded but then, as if to make a point he stole a quick kiss from Harry, before letting himself be led up the stairs, helping with every step.

Once in his bedroom, Harry helped Malfoy lie down on the bed, took off his shoes and coat and then helped him move upwards until Harry could cover him with the blanket. Malfoy fell asleep mere moments after his head had hit the pillow. Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and allowed himself to look at Malfoy’s sleeping form. His face was relaxed, his mouth slightly open and the creases between his eyebrows that made him look slightly worried had smoothed in sleep. He looked so vulnerable that Harry could feel his heart tighten in his chest. However anyone could have wanted to harm this man how he ever had wanted to now seemed unfathomable to him.

It was late, but there was one more thing for Harry to do, before he could inflate his uncomfortable Muggle mattress and go to sleep himself. As unpleasant as that would be, he was not going to leave Malfoy alone for the remainder of the night in case there were complications.

Sophia didn’t seem too pleased when Harry called for her. She had been out hunting and delivering a letter was probably the last thing she wanted to do. The letter Harry was sending had been written months ago, when he had first started to doubt whether the Auror corps was the right place for him. All that was left to do was for him to date and sign it and that was but the work of a moment.

As he watched Sophia get swallowed up by the darkness, Harry wondered whether he had made the right decision. The next morning would see that letter on the table of his superior and no matter what the consequences, Harry would not withdraw his resignation. Thinking about the undiluted hatred on his colleagues face as he chased Malfoy and him down that alley drove home just how much the Aurors had changed, since such people as Tonks and Moody weren’t part of them anymore. Some of them had become crusaders for Death Eater retribution in their spare time, it seemed and Harry wanted no part in it.

When he returned to his room, Harry could hear Malfoy snore softly and had to hide a smile. The Malfoy he remembered would never admit to snoring or Merlin forbid drooling, which a closer inspection had just shown Malfoy was also doing. Harry very much doubted that had changed over the years, but decided he might keep it in mind to tease him with in the morning.

Harry had no idea what the morning would be like, if Malfoy would be hung-over or what he would be like at all. Harry found, as he drained two large glasses of water in his ensuite that he didn’t know very much about this Malfoy at all.

Harry changed into his pyjamas, inflated the vile mattress with a flick of his wand and placed it beside his own bed. Before he lay down, he cast one last look at Malfoy and had to hide a snort when he saw that Malfoy was now spread out on his bed, much like a starfish. It seemed he was used to sleeping alone.

The mattress made weird noises as he lay down, but once he stopped moving, the only sound in the room was Malfoy’s steady breathing. He tried not to toss and turn while he lay awake, waiting for sleep to claim him, because every tiny movement caused the rubber underside of the mattress to screech along the floor. It took a long time until Harry eventually fell asleep.

Harry woke once, warm sunlight tickling his face through the open curtains. It was only when he tried reaching for his wand to close them, that he realised he wasn’t alone anymore. Malfoy seemed to have either fallen out of bed or deliberately gone looking for him. Either way, he was now wrapped tightly around Harry’s back, breathing warmly against his neck, while his arm was possessively slung around Harry’s waist. Nothing in the world could have made Harry get up, not even the sunlight or the imminent threat of Malfoy waking up.

He moved slowly, reaching out and summoned his wand into his outstretched hand. Behind him Malfoy snuffled quietly and then mumbled something unintelligible before burrowing his face deeper between Harry’s neck and the pillow. Harry let his breath escape slowly and finally managed to close the curtains. He could feel his heart racing when he covered Malfoy’s hand on his stomach with his own and felt Malfoy move even closer.

This time it only took a few minutes before Harry drifted off again, encased in a cocoon of warmth and feeling utterly at peace with the world.

***

“Potter!” It sounded like an insult.

“Hm?” Harry turned around in the semi dark room and looked up at Malfoy who was leaning on his elbows and looking down at him with a less than attractive sneer.

“Several things: One, why am I on the floor at what seems to be your house. Two why am I at your place of residence and Three, where the hell are my clothes.”

“Uhm,” Harry said stupidly, not having realised that the man that had been pressed to his back for most of the night was in fact stark naked. “I have no idea.”

“What do you mean, you have no idea,” Malfoy exploded. “You must‘ve brought me here, how can you not know? I can’t believe you got so plastered last night that you don’t recall what happened.”

“Do you have to shout like that?” Harry asked, seeing the morning shag he had been promised vanish into the distant future, if it even still was on the table at all.

“I’d like to see you keep calm when naked in a strange bed or whatever this is, in a stranger’s house.”

“Oh please, it’s not like we haven’t known each other for seven years, Malfoy.”

“Yeah, right. The stalking. I definitely can’t say that I know you, Potter, and seeing how this conversation has been going I’m not really interested in getting to know you either.”

Harry sighed. This was going nowhere. He was too tired and his back ached after sleeping on the uncomfortable inflatable mattress to add a fight with Malfoy to his daily tortures. He slowly got up, embarrassed by the noises the mattress was still making and eerily aware of Malfoy’s eyes on him. Harry felt exposed even though he was wearing one of Dudley’s old T-shirts bearing the logo of a band Harry had never listened to himself, but which had been worn soft through constant use and was one of the most comfortable one he owned, as well as his pyjama bottoms.

Harry padded into the bathroom, drained another glass of tab water and then returned, handing Malfoy his bathrobe.

“There, why don’t you put that on while I make us some coffee and then we can search for your clothes and fight some more, if that’s alright with you,” Harry said without waiting for an answer. He scratched his belly as he made his way down the stairs and allowed himself a wide and luxurious yawn that he presumed Malfoy would have scolded him for as well.

Making coffee didn’t really need much thought, his hands knew what they were doing and it gave Harry time to think about what to do. He usually just charged into things, much like last night when he had quit his job or even earlier when he had gone for Malfoy’s flirtatious behaviour. Malfoy didn’t seem to remember anything, which asked for delicacy on Harry’s part. He couldn’t very well accuse Malfoy of molesting him while in a drug induced haze he didn’t even remember. Harry immediately felt a pang of guilt as he remembered how he had taken advantage of Malfoy. The fact that Malfoy had slept on the floor with Harry and had been completely nude did make Harry look like the guilty party.

Harry didn’t want for Malfoy to think of him as some deviant. Not because he would exploit it in any way, but mostly because the short time they had spent together last night had hinted at something else hidden underneath that mask he presented to the world at all times and Harry couldn’t wait to find out what it was. The fact that Malfoy was a very good kisser was definitely attractive as well.

Two steaming mugs stood on the table. Harry dropped two spoons of sugar into his, putting a carton of milk and leaving the sugar bowl, because he didn’t know how Malfoy took his coffee these days. He was just about to go looking for Malfoy, fearing the man had snuck out in secret, when he heard a loud screech from upstairs.

“Potter!” Malfoy called.

Harry rushed to the foot of the stairs and looked up the sight of Malfoy in his bathrobe stealing his breath away. Malfoy had to repeat what he had said, because the first time round Harry’s brain had been busy appreciating the apparition in front of him rather than listening to the content of its complaints.

“Merlin, but aren’t you thick! I said that I wasn’t coming downstairs unless you’d give me shoes or slippers of some kind. The floor everywhere is sticky and frankly, I don’t even want to know what makes me stick to the floor. All I want is distance between my bare skin and it.” Malfoy said making air quotation marks around the word “it”.

Instead of jumping at the opportunity to fight or mock, Harry looked around himself and grabbed his favourite pair of slippers from where they stood by the front door and then chucked them up the stairs, missing Malfoy by mere inches. He went back to the kitchen, annoyed with Malfoy despite himself. The floor in his home was not sticky, thank you very much, perhaps it was a bit dusty but nothing at all like what Malfoy had implied.

Why couldn’t Malfoy be at least a tiny bit more amendable, Harry wondered. Last night had hinted at something beneath the snark, but it seemed that only booze and drugs brought that side out and wasn’t that a whole can of worms Harry wasn’t even close to addressing yet. How did one tell their unwanted houseguest something like that if he was already contrary about such random and unimportant things as general hygiene in your own home? Harry worried that if he didn’t tell Malfoy about last night and what had almost happened to him, Malfoy wouldn’t take the necessary precautions. And what if not being aware of the risks endangered him even more? What if Harry wasn’t there to protect him, thinking about what might have happened was unbearable.

“Fuck!” Harry shouted and hit his fist on the table so hard it hurt. The pain filled him with grim sense of satisfaction. If only there was another way, if he could somehow convince Malfoy of the need to be careful. Perhaps if Harry spent more time with him…

“Easy there, Potter, I thought we weren’t going to fight? Whatever has that poor kitchen table done to you?”

“Fuck you!”

“I see they were all out of manners when they threw you together,” Malfoy said and slumped down at the table. However the prat managed to make even that motion look graceful was beyond Harry.

“So,” Malfoy added, stretching the ‘o’ until the sound became annoying, before pointing at the mugs on the table. “Which caffeinated beverage is mine?”

“I didn’t know whether you took sugar or milk,” Harry said and pushed one mug over to Malfoy who helped himself to a spoonful of sugar. The sound he made when he took his first sip was positively filthy.

“At last, something you’re good at, Potter.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied sarcastically.

Malfoy only grinned at him over the rim of his mug.

“You’re enjoying this far too much. I’m starting to think all there is to you is an overdose of snark and attitude.”

“Well, being this perfect all the time isn’t easy.”

Harry couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. This simple short sound somehow managed to release most of the pent up tension in the air between them, leaving behind two calm if tired individuals instead of two antagonists.

“Seriously though, Potter, while this coffee is making me partially reconsider my opinion of you I’d still like to know why I have a crick in my neck from sleeping naked on the floor in your home.”

Harry blushed and tried to hide it by turning his face away. Suddenly inspiration struck.

“I wish I knew…”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that last night must have been quite the night, because I can’t remember anything past hanging out at the Leaky with Ron, going to the Loo and then nothing.” Harry was surprised how easy the lie slipped from his lips, feeling slightly uneasy, he went on. “So, I’m really sorry, I actually have no idea. We must’ve gone home together or something.”

“Do you really think Weasley would have let that happen?”

“I don’t know, I guess we must have made a pretty convincing argument. I’m only glad we didn’t splinch anything when we came here. I’m surprised by how not awkward this feels.”

Malfoy smiled and Harry was glad to notice that he hadn’t been wrong with his assumption.

“On the topic of awkward, Potter. Do you suppose we could go and find my clothes before long? As comfortable as your bathrobe is, I’d rather not go home wearing only that.”

“You’d be a right Arthur Dent then, wouldn’t you?”

“A what?”

“Never mind,” Harry said, drained his mug and got up. “Come on then Cinderella, let’s find your shoe and your knickers and your dress, eh?”

Harry ran out of the room, laughing loudly as Malfoy chased after him, throwing Harry’s slippers after him, as he ran. It seemed that no floor was sticky enough to warrant foregoing just revenge.

Later after they had found all of Malfoy’s clothes and had shared a phial of hangover potion they sat in Harry’s living room and for the first time that Harry could remember they actually talked. They were trading the occasional barb of course, but it seemed to be in a much kinder spirit, more to amuse and gently mock rather than to insult and upset. Harry found that much to his surprise he was actually enjoying himself.

It was acting on an impulse that Harry couldn’t even explain afterwards that Harry returned Malfoy’s wand which he had kept for years. Malfoy had looked at it in wonder as he spun it between his fingers. It looked to Harry as if he had just reunited Malfoy with a long lost friend. The moment was broken, when a ministry owl arrived, delivering the response that Harry should have been expecting but had completely forgotten about. He was being summoned.

Harry was sad to see Malfoy go, but he had no choice. At the door Harry stopped him.

“Draco,” he called, his hand resting on the other man’s shoulder trying desperately to forget how it had felt at the pub the night before. “I had a great time today.”

Malfoy turned around and looked at him in shock at hearing his first name from Harry.

“Me too, Harry,” Malfoy said, trying out the probably unfamiliar feeling name in return.

“Would it… Do you want to meet at the Leaky again later? I promise not to get too plastered to remember, but I’d really like to continue this conversation,” Harry said, feeling like he was going out on a limb. If Draco said no, there was no way that Harry would be able to protect him without Draco becoming suspicious. It was strange that as it was, Draco had swallowed Harry’s lies about the night before so easily.

“Alright, but you’re buying.” Draco winked and with that he turned around, stepped past the wards and Disapparated.

***

Harry was worried about the man all throughout the meeting with his superior at work, wondering whether he should have checked Draco for tracking spells or placed one of his own. The thing that finally put his mind at rest was literally running into Robards in the corridor. If the Auror was at the ministry there seemed little chance that something could happen to Draco, Harry had always thought that whatever he did Robards was likely to be the ringleader.

When Harry returned to Grimmauld Place later that day he couldn’t find it in himself to regret that in the end his boss had accepted his letter of resignation. He remembered that Bill had mentioned something about expanding into private curse breaking and asking Harry whether he was interested. It only took five minutes to write up a short note and send it off with Sophia. Not that Harry really needed to work, his parents had definitely left him enough money that he could get by without much hassle, but he liked to keep busy.

Harry showered and changed, getting ready for dinner with Draco, trying to convince himself that this was by no means a date, but rather a friendly get-together. It was an important reminder, especially in the light of Harry’s churning guilt. Somehow everything had become tainted and no matter how much he tried to push it away and chalk it up to drunkenness, he had lied to Draco that very morning and was left with nagging doubts. That fact alone made it impossible for them to ever be anything other than friends, no matter how much Harry wanted it to be different.

***

Spending time with Draco quickly became something Harry enjoyed. The man had become so insinuated in his life that every morning when Harry was trying to get his hair to behave and inevitably failed, he imagined Draco’s voice and snide comments. It should have been mortifying but it grounded him and usually meant that he would start his day with a smile.

They had met up at the pub several times, drinking one pint after another and planning as Draco had dubbed it “a world where Kneazles and Crups live peacefully beside each other”. Sometimes Harry wondered whether Draco was mocking him for his unwavering faith in the good that was hidden somewhere in each human being. Little did he know that to Harry Draco was the one that had convinced him to believe that people could be redeemed. Granted, Voldemort hadn’t been like that. He had been offered redemption and had turned it down.

Harry was just getting ready to meet Draco for a Quidditch match that they had both meant to attend anyway and found they already had purchased tickets to see, when an unfamiliar owl pecked against the window. Harry let it inside and retrieved the letter tied to its leg. The owl gave one disdainful look at Sophia’s water dish and owl treats and left without helping itself to either.

Harry tore into the letter when he saw that it bore the Malfoy family crest a wide smile on his face that only faltered when he saw that the note inside was written in an unfamiliar hand.

Dear Mr. Potter,

I would very much appreciate it, if you would call on me at Malfoy Manor at your soonest convenience.

Sincerely, Narcissa Malfoy

This was unexpected. Harry hadn’t talked to Mrs. Malfoy since the war had ended. They had run into each other after both Lucius’ and Draco’s trials, but aside from that it wasn’t really like they moved in the same social circles even though Harry now spent a lot more time with Draco. Coming to think of it, most of that time was spent on Harry’s home turf rather than somewhere Draco would feel comfortable. He decided not to dwell further on that, suspecting it was hinting at a truth Harry wasn’t yet ready to face.

He folded the missive carefully and weighed it down with an empty mug before grabbing his coat and making his way out of the door. He was late.

Harry tried not to think about why Draco’s mother had written to him. It seemed out of character for her to invite him over, even though she must know by now that Harry and Draco had become friends. Still, he was slightly wary about her intentions seeing how he still owed her a life debt and she didn’t seem like the kind of person that would simply forget about something like that.

***

Over the next several weeks Harry forgot about the letter. Spending time with Draco was both exhilarating and exhausting. Harry had convinced himself that if things worked out the way he hoped he would never have to tell Draco how close of a call it had been that night. The guilt was eating away at Harry but he reasoned that he had to find the right moment to tell Draco and if that moment never came, Harry wasn’t to blame for it.

Harry and Draco seemed to dance around each other. Yes, there was a sort of combined interest in meeting again. They had fun when they were together, but what they had defied rules or definition and some days it drove Harry up the wall. This uncertainty of where he stood. He knew what he wanted, but he had no idea whether Draco even saw him like that, or whether he was just spending time with Harry to pass the time waiting for the perfect pure-blood witch to come along.

Patience wasn’t one of his stronger suits. Harry tended to barge into situations before he knew exactly what was going on. He had got more than his fair share of serious talking-tos, when he had still worked for the Ministry, some even threatening suspension but it hadn’t changed a thing. He could still hear Hermione in her sing-song voice when she was doing something that wasn’t happening fast enough for him, as she went “patience is a virtue”. “Virtue my arse,” he had mumbled, to him it seemed more like a super power.

The thing that held him back was fear, plain and simple. It outweighed his need for getting an answer to his question, but Harry already knew that it wouldn’t for much longer, since he could feel the need to come clean grow with every passing day.

Harry was still worried about Mrs. Malfoy’s agenda, but he couldn’t put off refusing her summons forever. Which is how he found himself with some trepidation standing shivering and worried outside Malfoy Manor, waiting for the wards to be lowered so he might approach.

One of the house-elves let Harry in and then brought him to a parlour decorated in pastels. The house elf had looked at Harry with distaste as if daring him to touch anything. Pureblood owned house elves really were not to be trifled with. It told Harry to wait. Harry was already used to similar behaviour from Draco, although that mostly involved being the first to show up and then be left contemplating the exact definition of “fashionably late”. It was probably bordering on obsessive how much thought Harry had already been forced to put into that topic. He looked around himself trying to keep occupied.

The mantelpiece was lined with delicate china figurines and maybe to spite the elf, Harry stepped up to them and was just about to pick one up, when the sound of the door opening behind him made him jump. Only the tight reign he had on himself stopped him from babbling out something as embarrassing as “I wasn’t touching anything, I swear.”

“Ah, Mr. Potter, so glad you could come.”

Mrs. Malfoy crossed the room gracefully and offered her hand to Harry. He shook it, not quite knowing what was expected of him. Meeting up with Draco usually involved overly emphasized slapping on the back and handshaking at the same time and he doubted that Draco’s mother would appreciate such a display. Between the option of kissing the air above the back of her hand or shaking it, the latter seemed to be the most suitable for the occasion.

“Sorry it took me so long, things have been very busy.” Harry felt uncomfortable and when Mrs. Malfoy only nodded in response, he felt compelled to ask. “May I ask why you wanted to see me?”

“Of course, Mr. Potter. Before I reveal the details I’d like you to acknowledge that you owe me a life debt.”

So he had been right. Harry nodded.

“I’m afraid I need you to say it out loud.”

“I acknowledge that I owe you a life debt,” Harry enunciated clearly. From his previous experience with the Malfoys Harry knew that he had probably just signed a contract of some kind and while the claim was perfectly valid he was more than slightly anxious of what Mrs. Malfoy would ask of him.

“Thank you. Will you take a seat?”

Harry sat on the edge of the armchair Mrs. Malfoy had indicated and looked at her expectantly. He only hoped he would be able to fulfil her demand, something told him that while he most likely wouldn’t like what she was about to ask of him. Harry doubted that Mrs. Malfoy was likely to negotiate on the matter.

“Among other things, what I will ask of you concerns my son.”

Shit! She knows, Harry thought. Draco must have remembered the night after all and somehow his mother had found out about it. Was she blaming Harry? If she did, she was going to kill him. In the end it didn’t matter whether it was Molly Weasley or Narcissa Malfoy wielding the power of motherly love, it was always a force to be reckoned with.

He tried to get his frantically beating heart under control by taking a couple of deep breaths and folding his hands reminiscent in that of a prayer, he knew his knuckles were turning white with the pressure he was applying, but he didn’t dare look to check whether Mrs. Malfoy had noticed his terror. Harry almost missed what Mrs. Malfoy said next.

“I believe there is a dark object at the Manor and I want you to get rid of it, Mr. Potter.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, not expecting that in the least.

“Yes, I am convinced that it is in my son’s possession. I want you to find it and destroy it. This most likely means that you’ll have to spend more time with him. However, he cannot know about this. I cannot make that clear enough. If I have to, I will demand you vouch-safe your silence by entering into an unbreakable vow, for now, however, I will accept your word for it.”

Harry felt gobsmacked. Adding this to his mounting guilt of still not having come clean to Draco made their becoming friends or whatever it was that they were headed toward even harder. Harry knew that he was already lying to himself where Draco was concerned. The little time he had spent with the man and most of all the still vivid memories of that night told him that the last thing he wanted from Draco was friendship.

“Mr. Potter, do you accept my terms to repay your life debt to me?”

Harry nodded mutely and then croaked out an affirmative before Mrs. Malfoy could remind him of the proper procedure. When she finally offered him tea, he politely declined. Harry had a lot to think about and he would much rather start right now than make polite conversation over tea and biscuits.

***

Harry came home to a note from Draco asking him to meet for lunch to celebrate his quitting the Aurors. Harry fretted over how to reply and decided he needed to sleep over it, before he came to a decision.

He lay awake for a long time that night, torn over what to do. There was no point in denying that Draco had been behaving a bit oddly lately, always tired and forgetful. Then there was the fact that Draco had told him about a secret room he had found at the Manor. In Harry’s book that couldn’t mean anything good. Harry could feel his stomach clench in worry as the additional fear of Draco being under the influence of dark magic was added to the misguided attempts at Death Eater retribution Harry was trying to protect him from.

Harry’s skin was covered in cold sweat and the sheets clung to it. Every time he turned over they didn’t slide but stick to him, entangling his limbs, like his fears had suddenly crawled into his bed and decided to become overly handsy.

How was he supposed to do this? How could he possibly keep even more secrets from Draco and not destroy the careful trust that was building between them?

Harry didn’t know and by the time the sun rose behind a thick cover of grey cloud that turned the sky into something akin to the stony lid of a tomb threatening to crush him, Harry hadn’t found a solution. All he knew was that it was already too late for him. He craved Draco and his company, had done so ever since he found out how perfectly they fit together and he realised that whatever torture his mind could come up with to stop him, Harry still wouldn’t be able to stay away.

For now he decided to just keep going as if nothing had changed. He would pay more attention to what Draco said and did and try to do a bit of reconnaissance on the side and if that helped Draco to stay safe, that was just an added bonus.

Pushing his worries as far from his mind as possible, Harry gave up on sleep. He showered, drained his morning cup of coffee and made his way to Bill’s workshop where he was currently charged with removing curses from dark artefacts making them safe for storage or in some cases human use.

Work that day was exhausting and Harry was so distracted that Bill took him to the side, asking him if everything was alright after Harry had almost taken out his own eyes while trying to break the curse on a magical quill.

When Harry tried to tell him that he was worried because of the arrangement he had agreed to with Mrs. Malfoy he found that he couldn’t utter a single word that wasn’t gibberish. Mrs. Malfoy must have put a spell on him while he was at the Manor. The rooms there were probably rigged to make sure promises made to the Malfoy family were kept.

Bill sent him home where all Harry could do was stew on the injustice of it all. Hadn’t he done enough? Somehow nothing he did ever seemed to be enough. If his life had been a proper fairytale like so many people suggested, killing the evil wizard should have been enough. The world afterwards should have turned into a kind of paradise, full of pleasant people and for him, the hero of the story there should have been a significant other to live with happily ever after.

As it happened, the world hadn’t really changed all that much, wars changed people and only the generation that followed those who had survived the war, but weren’t marked by its horrors would be able to rebuild properly and start with a clean slate. Harry himself was nothing but a relic. What he hated most though was that some people thought it was alright to do unspeakable evil in his name. It didn’t matter to them that the people at whose trials Harry had spoken had been pardoned for a reason, they believed that somehow those people had escaped justice and needed to be punished for Harry’s sacrifices.

Some days, human beings scared Harry. He had been full of resentment for people like Draco, when he was younger. But a single curse, thoughtlessly cast in a Hogwarts bathroom had changed him, had changed everything. Finding that kind of darkness within himself had made him question everything that he thought he understood about the world and its workings. In the end he had realised that unless he mastered that darkness, he was no better than Voldemort.

These days he had it tightly under control. As much as he had wanted to hurt Robards for what he had planned to do to Draco, Harry was tired of fighting. Nothing he had done seemed to amount to anything, but one more grave containing a body, unloved and unmourned.

Harry tried to banish those dark thoughts to no avail. He had to come up with a plan.

***

Mrs. Malfoy sent several requests for progress reports apparently expecting results over night. Harry had felt increasingly uncomfortable with the arrangement Mrs. Malfoy had forced him into. While he had mostly got over the way that Draco had been returned to his life and had ceased to worry about something like that happening again, since Draco barely left the house anymore, spying on him and lying to him became more and more difficult with every passing day. It was especially trying since Harry had so far been unable to discover any evidence on what the dark object that Draco’s mother insisted existed could possibly be.

Harry himself was becoming increasingly concerned with Draco’s moods and how often he forgot things they had agreed on. Taking him out to a Muggle flea market had been a terrible miscalculation on Harry’s part, for most of their time spent there, Harry felt that Draco would have much rather been somewhere else. It had been disappointing.

He was still hoping to somehow get back that funny if slightly desperate thing they had had that night at the pub but most days it seemed as if that Draco had either never existed or was slowly fading away.

Harry sat behind the desk in Lucius’ Malfoy’s study. Mrs. Malfoy claimed that it was where her son spent most of his time and she was keeping him occupied downstairs so Harry could search the room.

The books in front of him were all very old, their pages crackling when he turned them. All of them were on navigation and how that could relate to what was obviously happening to Draco, Harry didn’t know. Another book that Harry was eying thoughtfully was the Malfoy family history. Mrs. Malfoy had opened it for him, because it had turned out to be illegible if opened by someone not Malfoy by birth or marriage.

Harry had tried to find out more about the secret room Draco had claimed to have found, but when he mentioned it, Draco had pretended not to know what he was talking about. When they had been at the flea market Draco had eyed globes and maps, he didn’t even seem to be aware of it at the time. And now there were these books and a bunch of rolled up maps. Harry didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe the family history would shed some light on it.

He cast a spell that Hermione had taught him during their excessive study sessions for their make-up exams for their final year at Hogwarts. The spell enabled the caster to see which pages had already been read. The pages would pulse gently in a pale glow if they had been read before. Harry had modified it slightly and would now be able to see the pages Draco had opened.

The family history’s pages flipped over until they reached the beginning of the
19th century. Harry read all the pages the spell indicated had recently been read by Draco, but they didn’t give anything away. For some reason Draco had read up on about fifty years of Malfoy family history during which nothing had happened. Mrs. Malfoy had told Harry that there was no way anyone could have tempered with the records. The book wrote itself as members of the family were born, got married, had children and eventually died. If someone was awarded a medal by an official magical institution that information would also appear within the book. Mrs. Malfoy had explained that no amount of magical tampering or spells would be able to destroy the book, unlike with family tapestries, if someone was born a Malfoy, even as a bastard child, one would appear within the family chronic.

An item such as that seemed very dangerous especially considering the family’s activities during and before the war. Mrs. Malfoy really must be desperate in her worry for her son, if she willingly let Harry have a look at these chronicles. To make sure Harry wasn’t wrong in his assumptions he went through the book until he found more recent times. Among other things were listed the loss of the Malfoy family’s house-elf dobby who had been freed by the gift of clothes and a few lines after that, the sentencing of Lucius Malfoy to two consecutive life sentences at Azkaban. These two events weren’t anywhere near in relevance to the family history, but they proved Mrs. Malfoy’s statement.

Harry stared at the page and the neat writing emotionlessly proclaiming Lucius’ Malfoy’s faith. Despite everything the man had done, that kind of ruling still seemed harsh to Harry. He began to wonder how it affected Draco and his mother. As much as he himself despised Lucius Malfoy for his choices and his attitude problem, Harry was sure of one thing, the man loved his family and had ended up sacrificing everything for them.

The yellow paper crackled as Harry flipped back to the pages Draco had perused one last time. He skimmed what they contained, mostly lists of awards for bravery and accuracy in spell-casting and strangely enough gunmanship. There were a few infant deaths as were to be expected, but nothing else seemed out of order. With a sigh Harry closed the book. There was nothing here.

He slumped back in the comfortable chair and stared at the high ceiling above him. Harry had run out of ideas. At this point he was only glad that Mrs. Malfoy had chosen to search Draco’s room herself and not asked Harry to do it. He felt guilty enough about going behind Draco’s back all the time as it was, without adding invasion of privacy to the list of things he berated himself about. Mrs. Malfoy had claimed that she had found nothing out of the ordinary except for an old conch shell that Draco seemed to have acquired somewhere. She had checked it for spells and curses and replaced it when she hadn’t been able to find anything. It seemed to have been a completely normal shell. Harry would have liked to investigate it himself, but he trusted her judgement. At any rate it fit in neatly with Draco’s sudden naval obsession.

Harry carded his hand through his already messy hair in frustration. He was still no step closer to solving this and consequently also from settling his life debt. Mrs. Malfoy had asked for him to call on her again after today and Harry really wasn’t looking forward to it. He had no leads and frankly was running out of ideas of where to look. Short of stalking Draco under his invisibility cloak, there was not much more he could do and he really didn’t want to. The last time he had done it, it had ended in disaster for both of them.

***

Work kept Harry occupied for the next few days and he didn’t get a chance to talk to Mrs. Malfoy. When he finally found the time to visit her, it was shortly before dinner time and she seemed less than pleased to receive him. Considering what he was about to tell her, he didn’t expect anything else. She must have sensed his reluctance to continue even in his letters to her.

Harry found himself ushered unceremoniously into the dining room at the Manor. Mrs. Malfoy didn’t invite him to take a seat or even offer refreshments; it was obvious then that his visit was not only an inconvenience but also not going to be endured for long. He decided to come straight to the point.

“Mrs. Malfoy, I’m truly sorry, but I don’t know what else to do. I haven’t found any indication of a dark object within Draco’s possession and him reading those books just seems to be a genuine interest in navigation and cartography. Maybe he’s just bored or has trouble sleeping.”

“Mr. Potter, I know my son, there is something wrong with him. Don’t you sense it too?”

Harry shrugged in reply, but he had to admit to himself that not much of the snarky prat he remembered from school and from the morning after the incident at the pub had survived the change that had slowly come over Draco.

“He does seem tired and forgetful,” Harry offered.

“Exactly and he’s moody. But I know that he sleeps through the night and doesn’t have nightmares. He won’t talk to me about it and I probably shouldn’t say this, but I think what my son might need is a friend. Someone to talk to about the war and about what bothers him.”

“I’m not sure I’m the best person for that, Mrs. Malfoy. I don’t think he likes me very much. On top of which I’m not comfortable constantly lying to him. How can I do what you ask of me, when it means I have to lie to him?”

“Now, now, Mr. Potter, don’t be overly dramatic. Remember what you promised. You can’t stop now.”

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea, Mrs Malfoy, isn’t there something else I could do to help?”

“Mr. Potter, I’m sorry, but I fear that’s impossible. When you agreed to help me, you entered into an unbreakable contract. The nature of this contract means that you can only repay your life debt to me by helping my son. I don’t know what the consequences will be, should you not succeed, but I’d rather not find out, both in my son’s interest as well as yours.”

Harry wanted to reply, but Mrs. Malfoy cut him off with a motion of her hand.

“This is not up for discussion. I suggest you find some way to get closer to him, even if that means applying more extreme measures. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting my son to join me for dinner any minute now and I’d rather he not see you here.” She accompanied him to the door and then added, “What I want you to do is to protect him.”

Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that last statement, what did she think he had been doing all this time?

Harry felt chastised when Holly accompanied him to the border of the Malfoy estate, where he could Apparate. He had run out of ideas and he couldn’t even ask his friends to help him. In other words, Harry was utterly screwed.

***

Harry had revisited his opinion on how badly off he was fairly often, he had kept adding expletives to describes just how much things weren’t going his way but had eventually given up, because just when he thought he was finally getting some results, something else would happen and he would be back at step one. Nothing he came up with seemed to work and to make matters worse, Draco seemed to be pulling away from him.

Cancelling on short notice was nothing new to Harry, but by now two weeks had passed since Harry had spoken to Draco’s mother and he hadn’t seen the man himself even once in that span of time. Something was definitely going on, because no matter how reasonable his excuses sounded, even Harry had picked up on the fact that Draco seemed to be avoiding him.

Despite his initial reluctance Harry had started to observe Draco from underneath his invisibility cloak. He only risked watching Draco at night when he would be hidden from sight, should the invisibility cloak slip.

Draco seemed to spend most of his time reading a leather bound note book or gazing thoughtfully at the large shell Draco’s mother had described to Harry. None of those items seemed particularly dangerous. If only Harry could come up with a solution to his problem. He knew he was grasping at straws when he went to the library and read up on the kind of shell Draco kept staring at. Hours spent in a dusty room full of old tomes brought him no closer to discovering what was going on.

That evening when he came home, too exhausted to even make dinner and settling on a slice of stale bread with cheese instead, two owls waited for him. Both of them carried letters bearing the Malfoy crest. Harry opened the first one, another request for a status report from Mrs. Malfoy. Putting that letter down in favour of opening the second one, his frustration only grew when he realised that it was yet another note by Draco cancelling on him for their dinner date the next day.

Harry had run out of options. He wrote a letter to Mrs. Malfoy explaining that Draco refused to see him and that he had no means of keeping his word if he didn’t have access to the Malfoy heir. After sending Sophia off with the missive, Harry felt dirty, like he had betrayed some kind of trust by betraying Draco to his own mother. But it wasn’t like Draco was giving him much choice.

Looking at what their friendship had become, Harry knew it was probably beyond saving anyway. This twisted weird thing, where they weren’t able to trust each other, couldn’t be good for either of them. Harry had entered into it under false pretences, he wasn’t kidding himself anymore. He wanted Draco, plain and simple. What at first had been pure want and physical attraction had turned into something else. Harry realised that he had begun to care for Draco in a way that he probably shouldn’t. He was still to scared to name it himself, but he knew what other people called it.

Harry was genuinely worried about Draco, because the few times he had caught glimpses of him in the last two weeks, Draco had looked haggard. If only Harry could figure out what was wrong with him then maybe he could fix things. Not for the first time Harry wished that his silence about the matter wasn’t part of the contract he had entered into. He knew that if he could just be honest with Draco, he wouldn’t feel so disgusted about himself. Every time he had seen Draco, except for that first time in the pub, he had lied to him.

Harry stood by the sink, staring forlornly into the filthy dishwater. He knew plenty of spells that would do the job for him, but most days he found doing chores had something calming and helped him to clear his mind. As ridiculous as this sounded to even himself, tonight it only made him sad, perhaps because he knew, that no amount of scrubbing would wash the filth of his lies away.

That night, like so many before, Harry dreamt about what it would have been like to meet Draco under normal circumstances and when he woke the next day seemed even more bleak than it had the night before.

***

This had been a terrible idea, Harry decided. He had known that Draco agreeing to see him was probably due to Mrs. Malfoy putting her foot down. Harry idly wondered how she had done it without giving anything away.

The dinner conversation had been awkward and uncomfortable. Especially since for just a moment Harry had allowed himself to believe that what he and Draco were going on that evening was an actual date.

Harry had chosen his favourite Sicilian restaurant to put himself at ease while trying to get more information out of Draco. It was only when Draco flat-out stated that this wasn’t a date that Harry had realised just how much he had wanted it to be. He had blushed and the rest of the evening had been so awkward that for the first time Draco didn’t seem to be the only person that actually wanted to go home early. But what choice did Harry have.

There were many things Harry wished he could have done differently in his relationship with Draco, not the least of all that he had come clean about the night at the pub. It all seemed too late now, the two of them walking towards the Apparition point while the awkward silence between them was becoming an almost tangible object.

When they reached their destination, Draco thanked him awkwardly for dinner and began to turn away.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Those five little words finally pushed Harry into action. If he didn’t try to fix things now, to do something, anything to make Draco see, he wouldn’t get another chance.

“Wait,” Harry called, unable to hear his own voice over the beating of his own heart.

Harry’s limbs felt as if they were made of lead as he reached for Draco and turned him around to face Harry. Draco tried to speak, but Harry wasn’t paying attention anymore. His hands were shaking so badly he tightened his grip on Draco and pulled him as close as he could. Harry pushed his lips against Draco’s pouring all of his desperation and longing into it, hoping despite everything for a response.

When it didn’t come, Harry couldn’t bear looking Draco in the eye. He held him even tighter than before and pressed his cheek against Draco’s. Harry was speaking rapidly into the skin of Draco’s neck to get the words out, before he lost his nerve.

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t let you leave like that. I don’t even know whether you want this, want me, but I had to try. Please, before you say anything, please think about it. And if you do, if you want this or if you don’t, send me an owl.”

Harry was terrified when he finished, he pulled away from Draco, unable to look at him or even watch his reaction while Harry’s very soul felt so exposed.

In the end he chose the cowardly way out and Disapparated before Draco could respond in any way. Harry stood in front of Grimmauld Place, clutching the rusty banister with clammy sweaty hands waiting for the tremors to subside.

What had got into him? Harry had most likely ruined everything. If Draco refused to see him now, how could Harry keep him safe or even keep his word to Mrs. Malfoy? After all Harry didn’t even know whether Draco saw him as anything more than a friend if even that.

Eventually it began to rain and Harry had no other choice than to seek shelter if he didn’t want to let himself get soaked through. The hallway in his own home had never seemed so gloomy and for the first time in a long time, Harry felt reluctant to enter. His eyes fell on the shimmering outline of the invisibility cloak, where it hung beside his other coats on the coat stand.

Despite what he had said to Draco earlier, Harry found his hands wrapped around the cool smooth fabric before he could even make a conscious thought about it. He had to see Draco even if that meant yet another invasion of Draco’s privacy. With only a slight twinge of guilt, Harry grabbed the cloak and his keys. He Apparated to Wiltshire and walked across the Manor grounds to where he knew Draco’s rooms were located.

Once he had climbed up to the balcony and found a corner that would shelter him from the rain, Harry settled in for a long night, like he had for so many nights before.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

The steps are smooth beneath his feet and Draco worries that if he doesn’t step carefully he will slip. Something is calling him, pulling, pushing him forward. Up and up and up. He doesn’t know how he ended up here, climbing this seemingly never ending winding staircase. The steps are broad and not very high. It is easy to climb them. Draco feels a strange sense of curiosity as to what awaits him when he reaches the top.

He is not alone on these stairs. There are humanoid shapes walking down and past him, Draco is the only one heading up. These shapes seem like the outlines of human beings, they have no features to identify them, but their general shape is male. Draco looks at them as they pass him and decides the look a little bit like him. Each shape looks as if it has been cut into this reality through a stencil. The stars and nebulae that swirl in them make them seem like gateways to another universe.

The air around him shimmers and weaves as if he is walking through water. If Draco moves his hands it seems to ripple and he can follow the waves until they reach the mother of pearl coloured walls and flow back to him, amplified but immaterial as they pass through him on their return. There is no sound, but the noise of his feet hitting the stairs. Draco knows he should probably be worried, but the warm light fills him with a sense of calm unlike anything he has felt before.

The stairs grow slightly narrower and the number of shapes walking past him increases steadily. Draco wants to stop and inspect them further, but his own feet carry him upwards just as steadily as the shape’s feet carry them down the stairs. Draco reaches out and instead of taking a step around him as he had almost expected, he watches his own hand pass clean through the shape. It doesn’t feel like anything he can describe. The moment is swift and over too quickly, but Draco feels as if he has heard an echo of his own voice, from when he was much younger.

I wish Harry Potter was my friend.

Is what he hears when the next shape – much closer this time – simply passes through him as if he didn’t exist. The number of shapes is increasing ever more and the stairs are getting so narrow that they now constantly brush by him or pass through him and Draco suddenly finds his mind overwhelmed with emotions.

Why can’t I play Quidditch too?

He doesn’t deserve it, any of it.

Merlin, I hate him.

Father, no!

Sectumsempra!

At the last one, Draco feels himself cringe as the pain that had come from being cursed burns through him once more. He fearfully reaches for his chest, almost expecting to find his wounds reopened, but there is nothing there. He remembers the devastation and fear, remembers what it was like to live in a house so tainted by the Dark Lord’s presence that even years later, Draco sometimes still has trouble calling it home and meaning it. That last sensation was so strong that it blocks out many of the shapes that pass through him, what they invoke seems like a mere echo compared to the intensity of the one that came before them.

Draco wishes he could speed up his steps, that somehow he could run through these shapes and reach the landing so it would stop. He even craves the presence that had been chasing him. The black knight that seems intent on pulling him back getting him to turn the other way. Deep down Draco knows that this time he won’t come, this time, Draco is in this all by himself.

The memories, some of actual events some of longings he never even admitted to himself make Draco bend over as if he is being dealt physical blows. His feet carry him ever onward, their pace slow and steady, while the rest of him is bent and broken

We have to be really quiet now, Malfoy. Do you think you can do that?

It all depends on how quiet you can be, doesn’t it?

Draco doesn’t know whether this is a memory or one of those moments he always hoped to experience. There have been many of those intermingled between the ones he has been able to identify as actual memories. This one feels different though, hazy and dangerous. Draco knows that it involves Harry, it feels like a memory, but it is not a familiar one. This never happened.

Understanding comes like a punch to the gut and suddenly Draco remembers it all, the things his subconscious has been trying to tell him for what must have been months now. The drink that tasted off, Harry showing up and suddenly seeming like the most attractive human being in the universe, as if he had been a walking love potion. Draco blushes as he remembers throwing himself at Harry and he also remembers the men chasing them. Why hadn’t Harry ever told him?

The steps have become so narrow, that Draco’s shoulders are scraping along the walls with each step. There are no more memories coming his way, there haven’t been any since he remembered.

Draco can now see a door in front of him. It is suffused with the same kind of light that shimmers through the walls and the floor. He looks down one last time, as his feet come to rest in front of it, expecting to see something other than all those steps he climbed, but there is nothing. All the shapes have moved along and his dark hunter doesn’t seem to be following him anymore.

The door in front of him opens soundlessly when he pushes his hand against it. It opens into a perfectly circular room. The walls are interspersed with alcoves that look like windows, only instead of glass they are covered in pale pink slates that shine with the bright light that is falling in from the outside. The entire room seems to glow with an inner light and pulses to the beat of a heart that is not Draco’s own.

His steps are feather light, as he makes his way into the centre. The force that called him here is still not releasing him, calling him forward. The middle of the room is taken up by a giant basin, in the middle of it is a small marble island. Distances seem strange and different, while the windows on all sides seem to be within easy reach of a few steps, the fountain adorning the marble island in the middle of the artificial pond is so far away that Draco suspects he would drown if he tried to swim there.

He stops at the rim of the basin. Similar steps to the ones he climbed earlier lead into the water. For the first time, Draco hesitates. He wants to step forward, to immerse himself in the water, but something is holding him back, some instinct that he can’t explain. Pearly laughter unexpectedly reaches his ears and Draco looks around himself to find its source. The pond’s surface is now broken by tiny waves and Draco can see something darting along under the surface. A head breaks through the surface too far out for Draco to make it out clearly and the pull on him increases a hundredfold. Before Draco can stop himself, he takes another step forward, mere inches separating him from the edge of the water.

The head vanishes beneath the water again only to re-emerge much closer this time. It is a beautiful woman. Her white dress clings to her, where the fabric is weighed down with water and at the same time swirls and almost dances around her feet where it is still submerged. She walks up the stairs and stops about a metre from where Draco is standing.

Come to me, my child. I know what you seek. It’s on the island in the middle of my lake and I can take you there.

Her voice is melodious and strangely compelling where it materialises in his mind. Draco believes her. Still he hesitates as if waiting for some confirmation. The woman smiles at him benignly and offers him her hand to take. The skin exposed as the fabric slides up is paler than even Draco’s skin.

My name is Ligeia, she says. You can trust me. He’s waiting for you, the one you’ve been longing for, the one you consider your soul mate. You only have to come with me, so I can take you to him.

Draco swallows and nods. His doubts are slowly ebbing away. This is what it has all been about. He still doesn’t know who is waiting for him on the island, but he has got his suspicions. Draco fixes the smiling face of the man he loves into his mind and takes a step forward.

Before he can reach Ligeia’s hand, his foot hovering precariously above the water’s surface, the door flies open and smacks against the wall. Draco stumbles backwards and lands on his arse. The thing that crawls through the door is dark and slimy. Where its feet connect with the floor it leaves black sticky looking splotches and whenever they disconnect they make little smacking noises as if they have suckers attached to them.

The creature heads straight for Draco who whimpers in fear and crawls backwards.

Don’t go with her, the creature seems to call, but Draco can’t be sure, since it doesn’t even have a visible mouth. You’ve got to trust me Draco, she’s dangerous.

Draco is still steadily moving backwards on hands and arse along the rim of the pond, trying desperately to get more distance between himself and that thing.

Stay away from me, is the first thing he manages to think that doesn’t revolve around disgust, terror and the still strong compulsion to go to Ligeia. The creature’s scent is breathtaking. The smell of rot and mould is so strong that Draco feels himself gag and the corners of his vision blacken.

Quickly, my child, come with me, I can protect you.

Shaking with terror, Draco crawls to the edge of the water and the moment he touches it, the entire pond lights up and Ligeia lunges for him, pulling him into the water with her, at the same time that a tentacle like arm closes over empty air, where Draco’s ankle had been only a moment ago.

The creature screams with frustration, but grows ever smaller as Ligeia pulls Draco further into the water. It is not long before he loses the ground beneath his feet and she pulls him under. He can’t breathe, unlike before. Her grip is like iron on his arm and when he begins to struggle to free himself, as his lungs begin to burn, she only smiles at him, pulling him down further.

“My name is Ligeia”, she repeats and her voice is now so loud that it shakes his entire being. “And I am the last siren.”

I don’t understand, he thinks and can only watch in horror as her smile grows ever wider, revealing sharp pointy teeth, before she goes on. “I’m the last siren that you see, before you die.”

No, he shouts, struggling more than before, but not for long, since that one shout has taken the last bit of precious air with it, as it rises to the surface in a series of small silvery bubbles.

Draco feels his vision grow fuzzy. This doesn’t feel like a dream anymore, this feels real and he begins to understand that he is actually dying. He is too weak to keep fighting at this point. Draco wants to cry and maybe he is, but the water swallows up his tears like it did his scream. His vision slowly grows dark and his eyes drift shut. His single regret that he never told Harry.

When Draco’s eyes open for what he knows is the last time, he finds himself face to face with the creature. It is still inhumanly shaped, but now it has something equalling a face. Bright green eyes bore into his and he must be hallucinating or simply desperate, because they look a little bit like Harry’s. There is also a mouth, but that doesn’t bear thinking about, not with the spongy weird texture that makes up the rest of the beast. Despite everything, Draco feels repulsed by it. Ligeia appears to be unaware of the creature’s presence.

Do you trust me?

Draco doesn’t really know, is too out of it to be sure, but he tries to nod, tries to think Yes with every fibre of his being. It takes all of his restraint to not fight, to not shrink away as the creature comes closer, attaching its lips to his and suddenly he can breathe again. There is air in his lungs. The creature is still kissing him, breathing life into him and its mouth also feels just like Harry’s.

The creature wraps itself around Draco’s body, slowly becoming human in its form and Draco recognises his black knight in it. The man presses his forehead against Draco’s.

I need you to trust me. I need you to fight her, to come with me, he tells Draco and Draco knows that it is true but he also knows that he is not strong. Ligeia has power over his mind and body that he cannot resist.

I can’t, Draco thinks in defeat. She’s too strong for me.

I know, comes the sad reply.

Then help me! God damn it!

That’s what I’m trying to do. Fight her!

How, I can’t even move, her grip is like a vice.

Silver.

It is the last thing he hears before Ligeia pulls him into the dark waters that dims even her light. It takes a moment before he understands what the knight meant. His ring is made of silver, the one adorned with the Malfoy crest. The ring he is wearing even in his dreams, because over time it has become part of him.

Draco begins to struggle against her grip and he can hear the pearly laughter again. He waits to make sure she is not looking at him before pressing the Malfoy crest against the back of her hand as hard as he can. The laughter immediately turns into a shriek of anguish and suddenly her hold on him is gone. Draco begins to kick and strike out to make his way back to the surface, the knight’s presence reassuringly close. He can feel Ligeia’s grip slither off his ankle, as the knight grabs his hand and begins to haul Draco out of the water.

Ligeia’s head breaks through the surface only seconds after they have reached the safety of the shore. Her face is a mask of anger, her hair dishevelled and the beautiful tiara adorning it askew. Her hands outstretched like claws, she reaches for them as she ascends the stairs. Draco lies there panting, beside the man who saved him. He has got no strength left and still she is advancing. Something tells him that she can’t leave the water, but then the lake begins to swell and slowly, but surely the water begins to crawl towards Draco and his saviour.

“We’ve got to go, Draco,” he shouts and grabs Draco’s hand, dragging him towards one of the windows. It hurts as they jump through it. Outside it is dark, completely opposite of what the inside of the room would have made Draco believe. The sheer drop seems to take forever and Draco begins to thrash around in terror, while the knight tries to keep his hold on him. Ligeia is still coming after them. Her arms have turned into wings and her body into that of a bird. She dives after them and Draco knows they are not going to make it.

There is a sudden stabbing pain in his side—

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

Draco woke up.

“Ow, what the fuck?” he asked nobody in particular. He tried to turn away to find out what had been hurting him, only to find he couldn’t move. A heavy arm was slung around his middle and a warm weight pressed into him from behind. This was strange. Draco couldn’t recall taking anyone home with him in ages, let alone allowing them to sleep in his bed.

Whoever was lying behind him mumbled something in his sleep and snuggled closer, mouthing a few lazy kisses into Draco’s neck that made him shiver pleasantly and momentarily forget that he had no idea who it was. The soft breathing against the back of his neck slowly evened out and Draco could feel sleep reach for him with its soft tendrils.

The something digging into his side however made it impossible. Draco shifted and tried to reach for it, causing the person behind him to tighten its grip around Draco’s middle. It took a bit of manoeuvring on Draco’s part, but he eventually managed to remove the thing he had lain on. It turned out to be a shard of what could only be the broken conch shell. What in Merlin’s name?

This was getting stranger by the minute. Draco must have somehow fallen asleep on the shell and broken it. Which in itself didn’t make any sense whatsoever, because the shell was so hard that the odds of him getting bruises and possibly breaking a rib while lying on it seemed much higher than the shell breaking under his weight. Though none of that explained where the arm around his waist came from. Draco was a bit scared of what he would find if he turned around.

He started turning slowly, his eyes tracing the well muscled arm that was now stretched out over his own bare chest. Draco lay on his back staring at the ceiling above him. At least it was a relatively young and male looking arm he reasoned, that was good, wasn’t it? The body pressed firmly to his side was like a furnace and Draco was suddenly glad that they had somehow managed to kick the sheets out of bed while they were sleeping.

Collecting his courage took longer than he had anticipated, but when he finally turned around to look at the man in bed beside him, nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the mop of dark tousled hair on the pillow. Draco could feel his own eyes widen in shock as he took in the still mostly dressed sleeping form that was still wearing shoes. He sat up scrambling to lean back against the headboard. The man’s hand ending up in Draco’s lap. Half of the man was missing, hidden under a shimmering piece of fabric that seemed to suggest Draco had been sleeping beside a man that was missing everything between his buttocks and his shoes.

“Harry?” Draco whispered hoarsely, unable to believe what his eyes told him.

The reply was mumbled into the pillows and was the only reaction Draco got. He hesitated for a moment his hand hovering over Harry’s shoulder, as if afraid that he was only a figment of his imagination and would vanish if he touched him. The warmth radiating from Harry’s clad shoulder finally convinced Draco that he was indeed real. Draco shook him gently, but Harry only mumbled something else and burrowed deeper into the pillows while moving closer to Draco at the same time.

Harry now lay on this stomach and had somehow managed to reattach his left arm around Draco’s middle. It was both reassuring and terrifying to feel that solid pressure there, especially after the disturbing dream he had had.

Draco gasped out loud as it all came back to him. The dark presence pursuing him and a pale light calling him forwards, he recalled almost drowning. And then he recalled the memories of a night he had forgotten.

It was like a fog had cleared. Draco remembered everything. He was too overwhelmed to speak for a moment when it all came together. He looked down at Harry again and finally realised why the black knight in the dream had seemed so familiar.

“What—… Harry? What’s going on?”

Had Harry somehow managed to get into Draco’s dreams? Surely it couldn’t be. But then Harry himself had also been in the dream. The image of a river seemingly made of liquid sunshine sprang to mind and Draco pushed Harry’s arms off of him in disgust as he remembered what had happened there.

“Get your filthy hands off me,” he snarled and tried to push Harry out of his bed. The images of the Harry from his dreams were somehow merging with images of the night at a pub where Harry’s hands ran all over him. Draco remembered Harry’s hands in his hair, he remembered the desperate kiss from the night before and still all he could feel right now was complete and utter revulsion.

The invisibility cloak slipped to the floor shortly followed by Harry who hit it with a thud and finally woke up.

“Ow, damn it, Draco, what was that for?”

“What was it—…? The audacity. May I point your attention to the fact, Potter, that you are in my room and that I woke up with you in my bed and your grubby paws all over myself?”

“Uh.”

“Again with the eloquence. What are you doing here?”

“I, uh—.” Harry carded his hand through his hair and suddenly looked incredibly shifty.

Draco shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. Was Harry behind why he felt so tired lately? Had he been doing something to Draco in his sleep? Draco’s wand was in his hand and trained at Harry within the blink of an eye.

“Explain yourself right now, before I hex you into tomorrow.”

“I was here because I was—…” Harry gasped and pressed his hands to his middle as if he was experiencing severe pain. “She really wasn’t kidding when—” Harry bent double his breathing becoming ragged. Draco watched him cough and dry-retch. Harry’s fingers came away from his lips glistening with something. Was that blood? Draco was too confused and scared to react. Eventually the coughing subsided and Harry, looking white as a sheet, sat up, pulling his knees close.

“You just have to trust me, Draco, I can’t explain.”

“Why should I trust you, after what you did to me at the pub that night?” Draco asked feeling guilty, because despite everything Draco had wanted it all at the time and he still wanted it. But how could he trust Harry? If that dragonfly hadn’t come along, Harry would have taken him against his will in that dream, unless…Harry had never been himself in his dream not until the very end. Perhaps… but that didn’t really matter. What stung more than anything was that Harry had lied to him.

“So you remember? God, I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you, but I didn’t know what you would do. I want you—“ Harry said, before Draco interrupted him.

“Get out, just get the fuck away from me!” he shouted.

“Draco, I’m sorry.”

“Get out now,” Draco repeated, advancing on the still cowering Harry with his wand drawn. Harry scrambled towards the door, feeling for the handle behind his back. He seemed genuinely scared.

“Draco, please, just listen.”

Draco pressed the wand into the skin just below Harry’s chin. He knew he was most likely leaving bruises, but he didn’t care. Harry had lied to him, had deceived him for months. Had made him believe that he was Draco’s friend and now he had the audacity to beg?

“I don’t care what you have to say, Potter,” he spat. “You’ve had your chance. Now leave before I forget myself. As little as I care about the consequences of severely harming you right now even if it means Azkaban for me, I just know you’re not worth it, you filthy liar!”

The door finally opened and Harry fell out onto the corridor, colliding with the wall on the other side. Draco could see the pain in Harry’s eyes as his head hit the solid rock, but he didn’t care.

“Holly?” he called and the house elf materialised beside him immediately. “Show Potter to the door please.”

“Yes, Master Draco.”

***

Raindrops pelted against the glass, the noise building the perfect backdrop for Draco’s mood. He sat on his bed, his face buried in his hands. The day felt off and wrong somehow, the kind of day where the sun rose behind such a thick cover of clouds that it constantly looked as if night was just about to fall. The kind of day one would prefer to spend inside, under the covers wrapped around someone warm and watching the rain slide down the windows, while waiting out the storm.

Something was missing. Draco wished he had the shell to put to his ear to calm himself down, but the shards he had collected from his bed had been beyond saving. The diary lay on his nightstand untouched. Draco’s mind was in turmoil, he didn’t know what to think or what to do about Harry. Reading about Pyxis now that he knew how his life had ended wasn’t going to help him escape his own troubles any longer.

It was hunger that drove Draco to leave his room and go downstairs in search of food. The table in the dining room was set for three two of which were already seated. Draco was about to turn around again and leave, when he saw whom his mother had chosen for company.

“What’s he doing here?” Draco asked, pointing angrily at the person sitting beside his mother.

“Good morning to you too, Draco. Mr. Potter is here as my guest so before you go on, I suggest you rethink your behaviour.”

Thusly admonished by his mother in front of the last person he wanted to see right now Draco slumped down in his seat. Holly appeared at his elbow and began piling eggs and toast onto his plate before pouring him a cup of coffee. Draco sneered as he took up his fork, ignoring everyone at the table and stabbing his eggs viciously as if it was their fault.

The conversation was stilted and Draco decided to ignore it completely. The first time he actually looked up from his plate or mug in twenty minutes was when his mother addressed him directly for what must have been at least the third time.

“Draco, are you even listening to me?” his mother asked, sounding exasperated.

“Yes, Mother.”

“As I said before, I’m going to retire to my rooms. I expect you to entertain my guest, while I’m away.”

“Mother.”

“No, Draco.” She walked up to him and gently rested her hand on his shoulder, she bent down and kissed his cheek, before whispering in his ear. “I’m asking you to listen to what he has to say. Alright?”

Draco nodded mutely. It was not like he had any choice in the matter. His mother’s skirts rustled as she made her way out of the room. Silence weighed heavily on them after she left. Neither Harry nor Draco seemed to be willing to break it. Draco stubbornly stared into his mug, preferring to watch the coffee grow cold to looking at Harry. When Harry finally spoke it was almost too quiet to hear.

“I’m sorry.”

Draco waited whether he would say more, but Harry had fallen silent again, all his courage seemingly spent on those few words.

“So you keep saying,” he eventually replied still avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“Draco.”

“What?”

“Do you always have to be that way?” Harry ran his fingers through his already dishevelled hair in a gesture of frustration.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit. You know exactly what I mean. Every time I try to apologise for anything you have to behave like a complete prick.”

Draco only huffed in response. If anyone had behaved like a prick, it was Harry.

“You lied to me.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?” There were so many things Draco wanted to say to Harry, so many accusations so much hurt and disappointment he wanted to give back, but that single word was all that came out.

“I—…it’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“I’m not perfect, okay? You of all people should know, Harry said, his eyes flickering to Draco’s chest. “Merlin, you’re so infuriating sometimes. You drive me crazy, do you know that?”

Harry had jumped up and was now pacing the room in agitation. “I didn’t know what to do after I found out what they had planned for you, alright? I panicked and then when you didn’t remember anything I thought that maybe it was better, that it didn’t matter that I wanted… that I hoped…” Harry wrung his hands and Draco’s resolve melted a little in the face of Harry’s distress.

“Then why did you pretend to be my friend, when you so obviously didn’t do it of your own free will? I’m not some pathetic loner or charity case you can parade around your friends to quiet your guilty conscience, Potter.”

“It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t pretending…” Harry sat down again, rubbing his hands across his face and then staring at the floor. “I wasn’t pretending,” he repeated.

“Stop fucking lying to me! I bloody well heard you speak to my mother. I know that she made you spend time with me.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Harry said stubbornly.

“Then what were you doing?”

“I was trying to keep you safe, you stupid prick. What do you think I was doing? I was trying fucking everything to make sure you wouldn’t come to any harm. I haven’t slept a full night in months, so tell me again that I was pretending.”

“But…” Draco shrank back when Harry advanced on him, overcome with sudden anger. He placed his hands on the armrests of Draco’s chair effectively trapping him. In all the time Draco had known Harry, he would never have described him as menacing but at this moment, with Harry looming over him, that was exactly what he seemed to be and Draco found he was scared of him.

“Do you think it was fun? Do you think I enjoyed this?”

Draco shivered under Harry’s intense gaze, his mind unable to form words.

“I didn’t want to be your friend, Draco. For once in my life, there was something else that I wanted just for myself, for a while I even thought I could get it, because things were going so well, but then someone decided to collect on a debt I owed and everything went to hell. Did you know that I owed your mother a life debt, Draco?”

Draco shook his head. He thought he knew what Harry was talking about, but surely it couldn’t be right.

Harry took a step back as if he regretted his sudden outburst. His voice was quiet but firm when he spoke again.

“I wasn’t pretending to be your friend, Draco. I genuinely liked spending time with you and for a bit there I thought you might feel the same. Now I know I was mistaken, it’s quite obvious that you don’t like me. I had hoped… but that doesn’t matter now. You’re okay, that’s the important thing and my debt has been repaid.” He paused. I’d better go.”

Harry was already halfway across the room, when Draco finally came out of his stupor.

“Harry, wait.”

“What?”

“What were you hoping for?” Draco asked. He had to know, he couldn’t just let Harry walk away. Especially if what he said was true and it seemed like whatever had restrained him from telling the truth in Draco’s room had been lifted, as Harry had been speaking freely all this time. If the only reason he had lied to Draco was because he had wanted to keep him safe, that changed a lot.

“It doesn’t matter.” Harry looked forlorn where he stood by the door, his hand already outstretched towards the handle.

Draco got up and crossed the distance between them. He didn’t quite dare to touch Harry, so he held his gaze instead.

“What if it matters to me?”

Harry swallowed and looked away, his body speaking clearly of his wish to be anywhere but here. That more than anything convinced Draco to take the one step forward that brought him close enough to touch. He reached up embracing Harry’s neck with his hand. Draco’s thumb traced gentle lines across Harry’s cheek while he spoke.

“You kissed me, last night, before you said goodbye. Why?”

Harry looked away, not leaning into but also not withdrawing from Draco’s touch. All the fight had gone out of him, his entire posture one of defeat.

“Because…”

“Tell me, Harry.”

“Because I wanted to. I’ve wanted to for a long time and I thought it would be my last chance.” Harry closed his eyes.

Draco’s left hand joined his right, gently cradling Harry’s face between his palms. He pressed his forehead against Harry’s before he spoke again.

“Tell me about the debt.”

“I’m not sure—“

“Harry,” Draco’s voice was gentle but firm. “I need you to tell me.”

So Harry did. He told him everything, about how he hadn’t even known for sure that he was attracted to men before Draco had begun flirting with him, how he had been overcome with guilt when he had realised that Draco had been drugged. He told him about how scared he had been and how devastated both, when Draco hadn’t remembered. His ulterior motive for seeking Draco out at first had been to keep him safe, how could Draco hold that against him? Harry told him about how happy he had been with Draco until the moment Draco’s mother had summoned him. He told Draco about the research he had done about dark objects, how he had tried to figure out what the dark object was and how hard it had been having to keep lying to Draco about his intentions.

“It was the shell. The shell was enchanted and when you activated it, the creature tied to it began to feed of your life’s and magical energy. As far as I can tell there was an addictive element to it, something that made you come back for more. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry I deceived you and I’m sorry I invaded your privacy last night, but it was the only way to completely sever the connection.”

Draco tried to consolidate the new information he had just received with what he had thought to be the truth. He didn’t know whether he was ready to forgive Harry, but he could at least accept that Harry had not acted out of malice, but rather out of kindness. Draco made a conscious effort to push his worries away.

His forehead still rested against Harry’s and their position was quickly becoming uncomfortable, but Draco couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“What if I wanted you to do it again?”

“Do what?”

Draco blushed but went on nonetheless. “What if I wanted you to kiss me again?”

“I—“ Harry swallowed and finally moved away enough to meet Draco’s gaze. “Please don’t be messing with me”

Draco shook his head and Harry’s came up to cradle Draco’s face in return.

“If you wanted me to, I would.”

Draco’s reply was entirely non-verbal as he nudged Harry’s nose out of the way and pressed his lips against Harry’s. The caresses were simple and careful at first, as if both of them were still afraid the other would pull away if they were too forward. Harry’s arms were loosely wrapped around Draco’s middle, while Draco’s hands were by now buried in Harry’s hair. Draco must have pulled too hard, because suddenly Harry gasped into the kiss.

When their tongues met, the kiss turned from tender to heated within moments. Harry’s hands were digging painfully into Draco’s hips, sure to leave bruises, but he didn’t seem to care. Draco had slung his arms around Harry’s neck, licking into his mouth and savouring the flavour of coffee and strawberry jam as he kissed him. Draco found himself humming and smiling into the kiss, the only tension left in him coming from where the kiss was obviously headed.

They eventually broke apart for air. Harry’s warm breath ghosted over Draco’s lips, mingling with his own. Draco’s hand was between them, on Harry’s chest. His forefinger and middle finger rested on Harry’s pulse point. The heartbeat underneath Draco’s fingers fluttered and it took him a moment before he noticed. He knew that heartbeat, had fallen asleep listening to it for many nights and finally he had found it. He took a step back without breaking Harry’s embrace and stared at his face in wonder as if seeing him for the first time.

“It’s beating in perfect time.” Draco looked down at his fingers on Harry’s exposed neck. “Perfectly in time with my own.”

***

It was much later during the day. Night was falling outside and the rain still hadn’t let up. Harry and Draco were sitting in his room and a fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace. Draco had enlarged his favourite armchair until it became a loveseat that easily had enough space for the both of them. Harry’s head lay in Draco’s lap and Draco was absentmindedly running his fingers through Harry’s hair.

Harry’s eyes were closed while Draco was staring into the flames, eyes unseeing. As comfortable and perfect as all of it seemed. Something was still bothering Draco. Harry had remarked on the strange weather they were having earlier and Draco although supposedly free of the influence of the shell was still feeling drained and exhausted.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

“How did you know it was the shell?”

Harry had the grace to blush at the question before answering. “I watched you.”

“Pervert.”

“Oi! You’re incorrigible. Do you want me to tell you or not?” asked Harry, after smacking Draco’s hip.

“Go on.”

“I had run out of options, I even read the books you had read to find out what was going on. So I snuck onto the Manor grounds under my cloak and hid on your balcony.”

“Hoping to catch me wanking, weren’t you.”

Harry blushed even more and Draco chuckled while he continued to card his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry sighed in contentment.

“You’re just like a big kitten, aren’t you?”

“Am not,” Harry said, but ruined it by yawning and stretching exaggeratedly.

Harry seemed to sense that Draco’s mind still wasn’t at ease, because he reached up and caressed Draco’s cheek.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I just… How did you know that it was the shell and not the diary? I don’t feel that different either. Are you sure it’s over?”

Harry sat up then and looked at Draco inquiringly.

“What do you mean? Wasn’t that your diary?”

“No.”

“Show it to me.”

“No.”

“Then why did you mention it?” Harry asked his voice urgent.

“I— I don’t know.” Draco had no idea what was going on, a moment ago he had been convinced that he wanted Harry to see the diary.

Harry was kneeling on the chair beside him, cupping Draco’s face in his hands and holding his gaze.

“A minute ago, you wanted to talk about it with me. What changed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hmm, if you can’t talk about it, can you show me where you keep it?”

Draco tried and was surprised that he could as his forefinger pointed unerringly at his nightstand. Harry got up and grabbed the old leather-bound volume and carried it back to the love seat. He quickly began flipping through the pages.

“Are you sure this is the diary you’ve been reading?”

“Yes.”

“Draco, this diary is empty, there is nothing written in here.”

“Let me see that,” Draco said and reached for the diary. He breathed more freely when Pyxis’ familiar hand covered every single page in front of him. For a moment he had been worried. Draco suddenly became aware of a hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

“What happened, did I fall asleep?”

“No, but whatever happened to you last night, the diary is part of it. I just had to shake you for a full two minutes before you even knew I was here.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Just how it’s not possible for you to read a diary that’s full of blank pages?”

“It’s not, look!” Draco said, indicating the first page. He began to read a few lines and felt increasingly worried, when Harry looked at him as if he was out of his mind.

“Are you saying there are actual words on those pages?”

“Of course I am. Who reads an empty journal?”

Harry took a calming breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, before speaking again.

“Whose journal is that supposed to be anyway?”

“One of my ancestors’. His name was Pyxis Draconis Malfoy. He was born in 1816. The family thought he had dishonoured them, which is why any record of him in the family chronic was destroyed.”

“I’ve read the family chronic too, Draco. Your mother showed it to me. The book cannot be damaged by Muggle or magical means. There are no pages missing.”

“But I saw them, they were charred, every page for about forty years from 1816 onwards…” Draco felt like he was going around the bend. What in Merlin’s name was going on?

“Maybe the pages are just enchanted so only Malfoys can read them.” Draco added, not quite believing his own words. Why hadn’t the diary been available to his mother then, when she had searched his room? I didn’t make any sense.

“You don’t really believe that,” Harry said and gently took Draco’s hand in his. “I read about Pyxis in the chronic, Draco, he died as a toddler. The house elf who was supposed to look after him hadn’t paid attention or something and he drowned in the pond. The house elf was executed for her carelessness.”

“But there is no pond on the grounds.”

“Not anymore. I asked your mother for the blue prints. Pyxis father had them fill up the pond and build a small memorial garden where it stood. I believe there’s a statue of a small boy with a globe and a sextant standing in the middle of it. Pyxis had always wanted to become a navigator.”

“That’s not… that can’t be true,” Draco said. “I’ve been reading about his life, reading about the man he met and that got him shunned by his family, when they found out about it. He was just a wonderful human being—“ Draco fell silent.

“I’m so sorry, Draco. I think the diary was the means the siren used to draw you in, in the first place. When I asked you about the diary earlier you couldn’t answer me, I think you’re still under its thrall.”

“Do you mean we’ve got to destroy it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure that’s even possible. If what you say is true, it’s probably protected against anything we can come up with.”

Draco tried not to show how upset he was, but Harry seemed to sense it anyway. Harry pulled him close, rubbing slow soothing circles into Draco’s back and then kissed the crown of his head.

“You’re shaking,” Harry whispered. “It’s alright, we’ll get through this. I’ve still got some of the powder I brought along that helped me get rid of the conch shell.”

Draco turned in the embrace and kissed Harry full on the mouth.

“I don’t care anymore. I just want this to be over. Let’s do it!”

“Alright.”

They got up and walked over to the fire. Or at least Draco tried to; it felt like he was trying to move through molasses. Harry put a hand to his elbow and suddenly Draco could move freely again. The sooner they got this over with the better.

“So I’ll throw the powder into the flames and you’ll throw the book in after.”

“Okay.”

“On three.”

Harry counted to three, holding Draco’s gaze with his own, before shouting “now” and throwing the powder into the flames, which suddenly burnt in a sickening greenish yellow hue. It took all of Draco’s strength to bring the journal close to the flames and then a smack from his left hand onto his right for him to let go, because his fingers wouldn’t obey him.

The moment the flames touched the journal, Draco stumbled back as if he had been dealt a physical blow, before he crumbled to the floor. Harry was beside him in an instant, calling his name and gently shaking him. The room was spinning around Draco and he felt like he was about to vomit. He turned onto his side and before he knew what he was doing, he was crawling back towards the flames, reaching for the journal. Harry held him fast, his arms like a vice around Draco’s middle.

Draco thrashed mindlessly in Harry’s grip, he wailed and cried as he watched the flames consume the account of his ancestor’s life. An ancestor that had never really existed he tried to remind himself, but it was no use. Again and again Draco tried to get loose to reach for the book and save it as if he was possessed and a tiny part of Draco’s conscience agreed. That was probably exactly the right description.

And then it was finally over. The flames rose high one last time and then all that was left of the diary was a pile of ashes in the fireplace. Draco felt as if a veil had been lifted. Sensation rushed back to him seemingly intensified a thousand-fold. The hard wooden floor beneath him digging into his legs, the smell of wet earth and rain from outside and the warmth of Harry at his back being the most predominant ones.

“I think we did it,” Draco said, his voice still hoarse from the earlier screaming as he looked outside. The storm had simply disappeared as if by magic and now the warm rays of the evening sun as it was just about to set fell in through the window, lighting his room with its warm golden glow.

***

They had showered and cleaned themselves up, separately, thank you very much and Harry was now sitting in the love seat again, dressed only in a towel that was doing nothing to hide his burgeoning erection. Draco stood in the doorway to his ensuite and watched Harry watch him.

“You’re about as subtle as a bag of hammers, Potter,” Draco drawled stepping closer. If he was honest with himself, he quite liked how his statement had made Harry blush to the roots of his hair, fidgeting and looking anywhere but at Draco. As Draco settled into his lap, pushed Harry’s glasses on top his head and kissed him he thought that subtlety was overrated anyway.

- Fin-