Chapter Text
“This is a joke, right. Tell me this is a joke. Look me in my eyes and say ‘Draco, this has all been a terribly thought out and not particularly funny joke, and I do apologize on behalf of the Queen, the ministry, and wizards everywhere.”
The mediwitch carried on as though he had not spoken. “We expect the effects to last for approximately two weeks-”
“ Two weeks?”
“Though it may wear off sooner. You are of course excused from duty during that time. I advise you both to stay indoors and isolated for the duration of effects. This is for your own safety, as well as those around you. Typically we would confiscate wands, but the commander has informed me that would have no impact in this situation. Is that correct?”
Harry nodded silently. He sat perched on the edge of the exam table, the hard metal corner biting into his leg. No, that wasn’t right. He was in the center. Draco was sat on the corner, their thighs pressed together. He could feel the warmth seeping through the fabric of his training uniform, a comforting pressure on his left leg. And an echo, an ephemeral heat on his right.
“Is there,” he paused, closing his eyes briefly. “Is there a way to stop the feelings.”
“There is not, Mr. Potter. The bond will strengthen over the next week, after which it will begin to fade. Due to your acrimonious history with Mr. Malfoy, it is already stronger at the outset than one would typically expect from an artifact of this nature.” She paused, looked at them each in turn. “Please be careful during this time. This is a difficult experience, both physically and mentally.”
“Two weeks. Two weeks and then I’m free of this, yes?” Draco’s back was straight, his fingers tapping against his knee.
“It is an estimate, Mr. Malfoy. I will send owls for updates, and we will be able to give a more precise time frame as the spell progresses. You are both free to go. The ministry can arrange a safehouse, though I expect you will be more comfortable at one of your homes.”
“I have roommates,” said Harry quietly.
“Not your home, then. I suggest you do not return home at all during this time if you share it with another person. Mr. Malfoy, do you live alone?”
“I have a cat.”
“That will be fine. Mr. Potter, the ministry will arrange communications for your effects. Neither of you are to send any direct communications except with members of the medical team.”
“My mother-”
“Your mother will be informed, Mr. Malfoy.” Her tone softened. “This will be difficult. Be careful with yourselves. The spell will make certain demands of you to force a bond. I suggest that you comply as best as you are able. We do not know what teeth this casting has.”
There was surprisingly little paperwork to do despite the nature of the accident (“we’ll worry about that when you’re back,” said a visibly rattled ministry official), but they were left waiting on a hard, uncomfortable bench while the director and the mediwitch argued about how best to send them home. Floo was impossible with two people, and Draco could not go ahead to modify his wards. In the end they pulled a specialist from the security division and sent her ahead to modify the household wards to allow only Draco and Harry through. She returned a short time later and announced it was complete, to Draco’s obvious annoyance and muttered claims that the wizard who had established the wards originally would be hearing from him.
They apparated through together, Harry’s hand on Draco’s forearm. Like a bride, he thought grimly, heading home.
His first impression was that of light. Bright, floor to ceiling windows were bracketed by breezy white curtains, with a few houseplants hanging in front of the glass. The windows overlooked a park, and there was a plush armchair nestled up against the wall with a book still sitting on the cushion. The rest of the room was equally unexpected, with rugs scattered across hardwood floors, a squashy sofa, and a pass through in the wall that showed a small, neat kitchen with blue cabinets and white walls.
“I wasn’t expecting guests,” muttered Draco, reaching for an empty glass on the coffee table. The motion pulled his arm out of Harry’s grasp and Harry flinched, reaching back out. Draco looked at him, eyes narrowing. “You feel it that fast?”
“Yes.”
“Let me try something.” Not waiting for a response, Draco pulled his arm away again. “Wait for a moment.” Harry stood in the living room, trying to focus on the rugs, or the grain of the hardwood, or the color of the painting above the mantle. He felt the pain building in his templesand a nagging itch in his fingertips as they twitched in Draco’s direction.
“Couldn’t we have done this in the medical wing? This is not pleasant.”
“It’s worse than it was there. You could handle a few minutes there.”
“I can handle a few minutes here. I really don’t want to, though.” He felt his knees trembling and sat hard on the wooden floor, his breathing starting to labor. “Come on.”
“Just a moment more. I’ve seen you hold up until literal torture, you can handle a few minutes of an angry bonding spell.”
Harry swallowed and clasped his hands together to stop them from reaching out to Draco. “It’s different. That was just pain.” He looked up, eyes very green in the bright light. “What are you feeling?”
“It tingles, like my hands have gone to sleep and are just waking up. Like my brain is fuzzy from staying up too late.”
“Lucky,” muttered Harry, focusing his gaze back on his trembling hands. “Can you- please-”
Draco reached down and put a hand on his shoulder. The shaking subsided slowly. “That’s much worse than it was an hour ago.”
“How are those things legal?”
“They’re not, anymore. No one’s set up an arranged marriage like that in a thousand years. It’s barbaric. What does it feel like to you?”
Harry paused, hunched his shoulders slightly inward. “It’s hard to describe. It hurts.”
Draco sighed. “Fine. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea, come along if you like.” And he strode off toward the kitchen. Harry scrambled to his feet and jogged after him, reaching out a hand to press against his back.
“You can’t -”
“I can’t what.”
“You can’t just take off like that. We need to stay in contact.”
“No, Potter.” Draco spun around, his eyes narrowing. “You need to stay in contact. By your own admission, I have somewhat more leeway. Now, I will put up with the bounds of this ridiculous curse because I suspect that I will lose my job if I do not, but do not think that I intend to let this control my life. Now, I am in desperate need of a cup of tea. I will even make you one as well as you are an unwitting guest in my home. Is that acceptable to you?”
Harry stared at him for a long moment. “You never change, do you.”
“Don’t intend to. Tea?”
“Two sugars, please.”
They sat in silence across the small kitchen table, ignoring each other to the best of their ability despite their ankles pressed together under the table. The tea was long gone, and the packet of sugary sweet biscuits was half empty.
Draco had gotten up at one point to use the restroom and come back to find Harry sitting on the floor, his back to the wall and his face pressed against his bent legs. He was clutching his shins tight, taking deep breaths as he waited. “Can you please,” a breath in, out, “touch me.” In, out. “Please.”
They had resettled at the table with some difficulty, Draco pushing the biscuits across muttering about blood sugar. At some point a small white cat had shown up, perching itself primly on the unused chair. Harry was petting it idly when Draco spoke.
“This is not sustainable.”
“No argument.”
“I cannot spend the next two weeks in constant contact with another person.”
“I think I’m going to throw up on your rug if you stop contact again, so you might want to reconsider that for the sake of your furnishings.”
“We hate each other.”
“Sure.”
Draco’s eyebrows raised. “What do you mean, sure. We’ve hated each other since we were children.”
Harry shrugged, still petting the cat. “As much as I’d like to be somewhere else right now, I would have put up with the cruciatus specifically to throw up all over your rug when I was a teenager. This is a professional inconvenience.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m not.”
Draco raised a pale blond eyebrow. “Are you telling me that when I do this,” he shifted his leg away, watching Harry’s tan face go immediately pale, “that it feels like the cruciatus.”
Harry leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. He did not move, just breathed deeply. “Not yet. It ramps up.”
“How are you this calm about it.”
“What are my other options?”
“Screaming? Cursing? Forcing the connection back?”
Harry’s breaths got deeper, his voice more labored. “We’re here for two weeks. This will probably get worse, for me if not also for you. I am fuck in your house, tethered to you. I would rather have this conversation now than when you realize exactly what this is doing to me and would you please just put your leg back, I will beg if I have to.”
Draco watched him for a few seconds more, watched Harry’s eyes close and a sheen of sweat bead up on his forehead, before he shifted his leg the few inches to the left.
“You have changed.”
Harry smiled weakly. “Ten years will do that to you. Plus they made me do a lot of therapy before I joined the aurors. Apparently I had a bad childhood.”
“Is this your entire plan? Be polite and hope that I don’t use it against you?”
“More of a plan than I’ve usually had in my life, if I’m being quite honest with myself. It got me this far. Hey, d’you have anything besides biscuits? I forgot how hungry that makes you.”
Draco surprised Harry by calling out for curry on a muggle phone and they sat at the kitchen table eating paneer with plastic forks. Harry found it surprisingly domestic, down to batting Cloud, which turned out to be the white cat’s name, away from the samosas. The rest of the evening was uneventful, aside from a brief argument about how to handle the bathroom. After a few experiments they discovered that the spell had some built in mercy and Harry was able to enter and use the bathroom alone, as long as he focused very hard on staying inside the apartment and did not let the thought of climbing out of the window to escape cross his mind. Harry himself could escape the worst of the symptoms by sitting outside the door while Draco went in, though it still left him shaking.
“You had better hope that doesn’t get worse, because I’m not holding your hand while I urinate.”
“Wouldn’t let you if you tried,” breathed out Harry, one hand pressed against Draco’s calf through the thin fabric of his trousers.
As the evening drew on, Draco settled himself in the armchair by the window and picked up the spine-creased book from the arm.
“Where am I sitting?”
“Wherever you like. Couch is over there,” Draco gestured magnanimously across the room. “It’s very comfortable. Make yourself at home.”
“You’re a prick. Give me that cushion, at least.” Harry settled himself on the ground, back pressed against the side of the armchair. He had to contort his arm to touch Draco’s leg, and had to shift again a few minutes later at risk of his arm falling asleep from the awkward position. After a few readjustments he felt Draco’s hand on the top of his head. “Stop moving, you’re making it hard to read.”
Harry settled, watching the park below. A group of teenagers was walking through, and an old man was throwing bread to the ducks at a small, reed-fringed pond. He watched the sun slowly sink over the horizon, the sky going pink then blue, then black, focusing on anything except the slender fingers absently shifting through his curls.