Archive of Our Own ^beta

No. No. No.

Draco couldn’t do it.

“The Dark Lord is looking forward to accepting you into his ranks.”

Only, when the fuck did he ever ask to be in his ranks? His mother wasn’t a Death Eater. Why the hell did he have to be one? His father and aunt were Death Eaters, so why the fuck did the Dark Lord need another one? Hadn’t their family given enough for him? First their house, their money, their status and now this?

No.

No. No. No.

“He has a mission for you, something that only you can achieve.”

Yeah, that didn’t bode well. The Dark Lord didn’t assign missions, he told people what to do and promised pain if they couldn’t do it. His aunt must think he was stupid or naïve to not question it further.

“Think of our position, Draco. We’d be the first to initiate the youth. None of the other children will have been offered the Mark. Think of it. Think of what we can accomplish. He’ll reward us beyond our wildest dreams.”

Azkaban must have fucked up his aunt more than they thought. Delusions ran rampant in her mind if she thought for one moment that the Dark Lord was going to reward them. Mission aside, who was to say that the Dark Lord was feeling generous? As far as he was aware, they were being punished. The Dark Lord was angry for everything that had gone down in the Department of Mysteries. His father had been caught, and it was no coincidence that it wasn’t until then that their home was invaded and turned into some kind of headquarters.

No.

Whatever the Dark Lord wanted from him it wasn’t good. It was a punishment and Draco was sick and tired of having to face the repercussions of things that his father did. His entire life he was judged for things his father did.

‘That’s the boy. You know who his father is, don’t you?’

‘A Malfoy, he’ll be just like his father.’

‘Stay clear of him. You heard what his father did to Jenkins in the Muggle Division?’

‘You know what his father is, who is to say that he isn’t one as well?’

His father, his father, his father.

Draco was so fucking sick of everything boiling down to his father. He was more than a Malfoy. He was more than Lucius Malfoy’s son. Draco was not going to let his father’s choices define who he was. Draco wanted to make his own mistakes—and has—wanted people to dislike him for what he’s done not for what his father did. Draco didn’t want to walk into a room and see scoffs or glares for things he didn’t fucking do.

If someone were to hate him, then it should be earned, it should be justified and most of the time it wasn’t. Draco wasn’t the kindest person and there were a lot of times when he definitely said or did things that he shouldn’t, but none of it justified the hatred that was directed at him for what his father did.

“When he summons you, I’ll be here. This is a good thing, Draco. Accept this as the gift that it truly is.”

No.

No.

Draco wasn’t going to do it. He didn’t care what the repercussions would be, for once it would be for something he did. Not his father—no, him.

There wasn’t much time. Draco didn’t bother to check the time, couldn’t afford to let it spike his anxiety further. With a wave of his second wand—an untraceable wand given to him by his mother—he summoned all of the galleons he had stashed over the years. Every monthly allowance, Christmas and birthday allowance, he had saved it knowing that there might be a time when he’d need it.

Now was that time.

He shrunk all of his clothes and shoes that he could, but abandoned his school supplies knowing that he didn’t have the time to weed through it. There were mementos scattered through his room that he didn’t want to part with but knew that it wasn’t necessary to bring with him. He grabbed his emergency stock of potions that he brewed himself in the off chance that he might need it.

There was only one thing left to do, and he wasn’t sure it was going to work.

“Dobby!”

The sound of a small crack preceded the appearance of an exceedingly distrustful house elf. Dobby looked around the room, eyes narrowed and ears flat to his head.

“Sir is alone.”

Draco didn’t understand the significance of that, but he didn’t have the time to think about it. He dropped to his knees until they were eye level.

“I need your help.”

Dobby took a small step backward. “Sir is needing Dobby’s help? Dobby is no longer an elf for the Malfoy family. Dobby isn’t needing to help mean Sir with nothing.”

Draco winced. His father hadn’t been kind to Dobby at all. Draco tended to avoid the house elves entirely but saying nothing in the face of injustice made him equally as guilty. He hadn’t stepped in when his father’s temper got the best of him, he didn’t say anything when Dobby was punished. His silence made him complicit, and he didn’t blame Dobby one bit for not wanting to help.

“I know that, and I’m not demanding that you do. I’m asking you to help me and you can say no. I won’t be angry with you.”

Dobby looked to the ground; forehead wrinkled as his fingers fidgeted with his uniform. “What is Sir seeking?”

“I need you to take me to Harry Potter.”

Draco hated the idea, wanted to go to anyone else but wasn’t sure that he could. Pansy’s family were supporters of the Dark Lord’s movement even if they didn’t have the Mark themselves. Theodore, Greg and Vincent were not options, their families were Death Eaters and would sooner turn him over than lift a hand to help him once they found out why he was there. Blaise was a wild card. They weren’t exactly friends, but they were close acquaintances, except they didn’t openly choose a side either way and if Draco wasn’t careful it could be the wrong side. 

Dobby took another step back and another and another as he shook his head rapidly, ears flapping with the movement.

“No. Dobby won’t be tricked. Mean Sir will not get to Harry Potter through Dobby.”

Draco blinked rapidly. That hadn’t crossed his mind at all. Is that what Potter would think too? That it was some ruse to get to him and turn him over to the Dark Lord?

“This isn’t a trick,” Draco said, voice coming out in a rush when he realized how much time had passed. “The Dark Lord is downstairs as we speak—” a small squeak as Dobby inched further away from him. “And he’s going to ask me to become a Death Eater. I don’t want to, Dobby. I don’t want to be one of them.”

The narrowed eyes were back, and it was filled with so much suspicion that it hurt. Draco knew that it was unfair to feel slighted by it, but he couldn’t help it. It did hurt because he knew that Dobby wouldn’t be the only one to be suspicious of him. That everyone around him would doubt his true intentions.

“Please,” Draco begged, eyes stinging. “It doesn’t have to be his residence; it doesn’t even have to be near him. Just take me anywhere that isn’t here, and I’ll figure out a way to contact him.”

Dobby looked at him, eyes still filled with suspicion but only now there was a frown on his face too.

“Dobby doesn’t know what to think.”

Draco’s eyes closed when he could hear Bellatrix’s voice coming closer and her heeled footsteps reverberated around the empty hallway outside.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to help me,” Draco said, meaning it. It had been a last-ditch effort anyway. He wished he had learned to Apparate before now. His father had told him that he would be taught during the summer but that had been before.

“When they kill me, please don’t let my body stay here.”

Draco had heard the whispers, knew that the Dark Lord liked to keep the dead bodies and use them to create Inferi for protection. Not that anyone knew what exactly the Dark Lord was protecting, and no one had the guts to ask.

Dobby’s eyes widened and his ears drooped. “Sir? Kill?”

“I won’t let them force me into this,” Draco said, shaking his head as he wiped his eyes. He knew that the locking charm on his door wouldn’t keep his aunt out for long and could feel that she was already breaking it. “Go, please. You aren’t safe here and should they see you—”

“Draco! Open this door now and I won’t punish you.”

Punish.

What was with the Black and Malfoy family that they thought it was okay to punish those whenever they deemed it okay? Maybe death was a blessing in disguise.

“Go,” Draco hissed, standing up and dusting off his robes for what would be the last time. “Go, Dobby.”

“Mean Sir does not command Dobby.”

Draco would have replied, maybe said something scathing but he could feel the spells slowly disappearing. He didn’t have time to argue with Dobby.

“Maybe in another life we could have been friends,” Draco said, partially distracted. “One where I had the courage to stand up for you.”

“Friends?”

Draco shoved Dobby behind his vanity right as the door opened and he was hit with a Cruciatus Curse.

Pain. Familiar pain, but pain nonetheless. It didn’t last long, it never did. His father used to say that his brain needed to remain intact for an heir. Small miracles.

“Get up,” Bellatrix hissed. “You think your childish antics will delay the inevitable? This is an honor Draco, and your disrespect will not be tolerated.”

Honor. That’s all it boiled down to, wasn’t it? The honor of being a Malfoy, the honor of being a child of a Death Eater, and the honor to become one.

Well, they could take their honor and shove it up their arses.

Draco barely managed to stand up when he was forcefully dragged out of the room. He refused to look behind him, didn’t want to draw attention to Dobby—who he hoped had been smart enough to leave.

Seeing the Dark Lord was never a good experience. He was frequently forced to dine with the man and whatever Death Eaters were forced to attend as well. He was then forced to endure his presence when his aunt requested it. At least today would be the last time.

A grim silver lining.

“Draco,” the Dark Lord hissed, eyes already narrowed as they looked him over. “You are late.”

He doubted that. The Dark Lord liked to say that just to punish his Death Eaters. It didn’t matter what was said, how early they arrived, there was no avoiding punishment. Some leader he was. Some great commander the Death Eaters chose to follow.

Bloody morons.

Draco said nothing, not that the Dark Lord would have waited for him to speak up—preferred silent and obedient followers. Silent and obedient had never been descriptors for Draco and he wasn’t about to let it define him now. He braced himself for what he knew was—

Pain. This time stronger. Draco tried to remain quiet, didn’t want to give the Dark Lord the satisfaction, but the spell amplified because he was a sadist and Draco couldn’t withhold the scream if he wanted to. At some point he had fallen to the floor, his head hit the ground and his mind was fuzzy from that alone. He couldn’t think beyond the pain coursing through his body, jolting him as he jerked and seized. Every nerve was on fire as his muscles trembled and screamed.

The spell lasted too long.

Some people said that being under the Cruciatus Curse made them lose all sense of time, but not Draco. Every time it was used on him he was painfully aware of the time and how slowly it went by. As the Dark Lord amplified the spell again, and Draco’s screams echoed around the dining room, he realized that he had been caught.

The Dark Lord knew.

When the spell ended, it wasn’t a mercy, nor did he feel relieved. The absence of the spell was so sudden that his muscles jerked in response, hurting him further. He shakily rolled over and pushed himself off the floor, knees nearly buckling. He was panting with the effort to remain upright.

“You know why I have called you here,” the Dark Lord began, lips curling into a malicious smirk. “This is your family’s only chance at redeeming itself after the embarrassment committed by your father.”

Draco wasn’t going to deny that. It probably was their last chance. He imagined his father was rather glad to be in Azkaban and not here facing the Dark Lord’s wrath—the coward.

“I do,” Draco answered, knowing that the longer he remained silent the worse it would be for him. He didn’t want his death dragged out, refused to be a spectacle to the watching Death Eaters that made their presence known when he was under the Cruciatus Curse.

“Just as I know what you will choose.”

It was said confidently and with an ego that was so obviously fragile that he wondered how any respectable Pureblood could have ever fallen for it.

Draco stood up straighter when the Dark Lord began to toss his wand from one hand to the other.

“What will it be?” The Dark Lord asked, cruel smile on his face. “Redeem your father and join my ranks.”

There was no ‘or’ in there. The fragile ego striking again. The Dark Lord’s words were for show. The rest of the room would be under the belief that he was truly being offered a gift, that the choice had been his—but the Dark Lord’s face said otherwise. No. His face promised pain, it promised death. He wasn’t sure if the Dark Lord truly knew what Draco’s answer would be, guessed it from his defiance or if it didn’t matter what his answer was.

Maybe the Dark Lord was going to kill him either way.

If that were the case, then he wasn’t going to go quietly. He wasn’t going to go out of this world doing as his family wanted. No. Draco was going to go out his way. It was going to be his choice.

“I would rather die than ever join you in your delusions,” Draco said, seeing the wand move before he had even finished speaking.

The pain was back. Someone was screaming, probably him, but it sounded distant. Blood filled his mouth at some point, whether from a tooth or his tongue, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like before—where the Dark Lord had been aiming to hurt not maim. But now, now the Dark Lord was out for blood, and he knew that he wouldn’t survive. His mind would break before the rest of him would and that was the only mercy he’d get before the pain would take over completely. He tried to brace himself for that, but how do you do that? How do you prepare to lose your sanity? How do you—

Draco screamed, nails digging into his skin as he tried to get it to stop. The pain continued to increase, and he knew his breaking point was—

The spell stopped so suddenly that Draco cried out as his body jerked. He couldn’t move, his body lost all feeling and nothing registered outside of being numb. Garbled words filtered over to him, but he couldn’t make sense of anything, his mind was still screaming.

“—ot harm—”

“—bby won’t let—”

Draco screamed again when someone held onto him, the pain was jarring, and he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t handle it. Part of him wanted to give in just to get the pain to stop but he couldn’t do it. Refused to.

A loud sound would’ve had him jolting but his body refused to move—couldn’t—not even an inch without unbearable pain. A familiar sensation washed over him, but he couldn’t place it, not with how disoriented he felt. He screamed again when his body was moved, only the pain wouldn’t recede and he was openly sobbing, begging for it to end, for the Dark Lord to just kill him.

“Please. Kill me. Please.”

Someone was yelling, but he couldn’t place it, nor did he have the luxury of trying as wave after wave of pain shocked through his body. He managed to push through the pain enough to turn his head, allowing him to spit out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. Just that simple movement alone had him nearly vomiting. More garbled voices that he wished he could comprehend.

“—what the fuck—”

“How did he—”

“—an you help him?”

Something was pressed to his lips and before he could decide if moving away from it was worth the pain, liquid was forced down his throat. He coughed some of it out before his jaw was forced closed too. Whatever he swallowed had obviously been a potion, and by the after taste of rum he knew it was a powerful pain potion usually given to those with debilitating and reoccurring pain.

People were still talking around him but this time he tuned it out as he forced himself to take stock of his body. The numbness was still there which was to be expected, but the sheer volume of numb was concerning. Then again, he had never been on the receiving end of a Cruciatus Curse for so long or one as powerful before. His head was still fuzzy, and he wondered if that was from when he hit his head or if it was still from the spell.

Draco groaned as he opened his eyes. It was blurry for quite a long time as he tried to blink it away. He could still hear voices, but they were all speaking at once making it impossible to decipher anything. When his eyes finally cleared, he jumped—or would have if he could, causing pained whimpers to escape as his body screamed out—at the sight of excessively large eyes.

“Is Sir okay? Can Sir be hearing Dobby?”

“Dobby,” Draco croaked, lips curling slightly. “Sorry—so sorry—I’m sorry.”

Dobby’s ears drooped as long fingers brushed Draco’s hair aside. “Dobby is sorry. If Dobby had listened to Sir—”

“It’s okay,” Draco promised, fighting the urge to close his eyes and rest. He wasn’t sure where they were, but he could tell that it wasn’t anywhere near the Manor. He didn’t care where they were either as long as he was able to sleep. “Even if you hadn’t come back for me, it’s okay.”

Someone gasped but he couldn’t turn his head if he wanted to, knew that he really would throw up if he did.

When Dobby was gently pushed aside and someone else’s face was bent close to his, Draco let out a sob of relief.

Potter.

“Are you alright?” Potter asked, eyes wide but filled with concern. A concern that Draco was having a hard time understanding. “What happened to you?”

“I would like to know that as well.”

Draco frowned at the voice; it wasn’t familiar in a way that he’d recognize but there was something about it—

“Sirius, let him breathe before you interrogate him. The potion hasn’t started to take affect yet.”

That voice he did recognize—Lupin. Sirius? Dobby must have brought him to the Noble House of Black. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at that. Potter was one thing, but add in Black? Who despised the Malfoys and every other Dark Wizard out there.

Maybe he would have been better off not being saved.

“Dobby has told Sir what—”

“I want to hear it from Malfoy,” Sirius said, voice hard. “What happened?”

Draco would have answered the question, but his mouth was already opening to respond, and he scoffed. Veritaserum. They laced the potion with Veritaserum.

Smart for a bunch of Gryffindors.

“The Dark Lord wanted me to become a Death Eater.”

Potter’s face was still in front of him and that was the only reason he knew that the gasp he heard was from him. Green eyes were wide and that just showed how naïve Potter was. The Dark Lord didn’t care about age, ethics or morality. He’d recruit anyone, willing or not.

“I imagine your father would be so proud.” It was sneered at him even if Draco couldn’t see it.

“He might be if I hadn’t told the Dark Lord no.”

Potter’s mouth parted and his eyes widened further, looking over every bit of his face.

“Why?”

Draco closed his eyes tightly. “I don’t want to be a Death Eater. I don’t want to follow them. I don’t want it. None of it. I never have.”

There was a silence that followed, and it was welcoming. If it could continue then he’d might be able to fall asleep and he needed that, wasn’t sure that his body could continue as it was.

“Why call for Dobby?” Potter asked and his voice had him moving slightly in surprise as he groaned pitifully.

“He was the only way out of there without being traced.”

He could have used the Floo but there were enchantments in place tracking everyone in and out of there. There were emergency Portkeys that the Ministry couldn’t trace but that didn’t mean the Dark Lord couldn’t trace them.

“What would you have done if he said no?”

Draco frowned, blinking his eyes open. It hadn’t been Potter who asked, but it was Potter’s eyes that were still in front of him. How long was Potter going to remain crouched in front of Draco?

“He did say no,” Draco said, confused. Hadn’t Dobby filled them in? “Dobby was worried that it was a ploy to get to Potter.”

“And is it?”

Draco’s lips twisted. “Would the Dark Lord have used the Cruciatus Curse on me if I were to be his spy?” Potter sucked in a harsh breath. “No, of course I’m not here in a ploy to get Potter. I’m not sacrificing my life for anyone let alone the Dark Lord or Potter—no offense.”

“None taken.”

“Cruciatus Curse?” Lupin asked, frown audible even if Draco couldn’t see it.

“You don’t tell the Dark Lord no.”

“But you did,” Black said, tone filled with something that Draco couldn’t place. “If Dobby said no, then that means you went to him knowing what was going to happen.”

Potter’s eyes narrowed before they widened in understanding. “You were prepared to die.”

Draco said nothing, what was the point? But it didn’t matter because Dobby spoke for him.

“Sir asked Dobby to take his body away once he was killed.”

Potter’s eyes closed briefly before they opened again, determination shining through. “Why me? Why did you want to come to me?”

There was a lot of unsaid things in his voice. The, ‘we don’t even like each other’ being the prominent one.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Draco said, voice cracking. “I had hoped that your bleeding heart wouldn’t be able to turn me away.”

Okay, he hadn’t meant to say that, but the stupid Veritaserum was to blame.

Black snorted but it was the soft huff from Potter that Draco focused on. The distrust in green eyes had lessened and there was something in there that he wished he could decipher.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Draco admitted, wishing that the Veritaserum would burn out of his system. “I just need to last until Hogwarts starts. If I can’t stay then I’ll find somewhere to go, I have enough on me to hopefully get me to September.”

“You can stay,” Potter blurted as Lupin spluttered.

“He can, can he?”

“Remus, look at him! He can’t even walk.”

“Harry is right,” Black said, voice quiet in a way that didn’t seem to suit him. His mother had told him many stories of Black and none of them matched who he was in person. Had Azkaban changed him that much? Or was it something else? “We can’t let him leave like this.”

“Sirius—”

“I see Regulus in him,” Sirius hissed. “Don’t you? Sixteen Moony! He’s sixteen! The same age that my baby brother was when he became one of them! I’ve wondered what his life could have been like if he had said no! If he had found someone to help him. I won’t turn him away, I can’t.”

Draco’s eyes filled with tears. He had known about Regulus, his mother told him those stories too. How Regulus Black used to follow his brother everywhere, how inseparable they were until Hogwarts and duty got in the way. He didn’t have siblings, so he couldn’t relate but his heart ached for Black. He couldn’t imagine watching a sibling give their life away for the Dark Lord only to lose that life.

“Can we trust him? Can you honestly look me in the eyes and say that you can trust him? Look where we are, Sirius. This isn’t a cottage hidden away, we are in the headquarters for the Order.”

“What more can I do?” Draco asked, trying to lift his head but the pain was too much. A gentle hand softly lowered his head back down as a whisper to keep still reached his ears. “What more do I have to give up to prove to you that I mean no harm? Your fucking Veritaserum is still in my body, I’ve gone through hell to get here, and I can’t even move. I don’t know what you want from me, Professor Lupin.”

Lupin made a sound; it was pained but Draco didn’t have the energy to do anything more than stare into Potter’s eyes. They were a bit wet, and it should have disgusted him to know how susceptible Potter was to his own emotions, but it was partially endearing knowing that there were people in the world as kind as Potter, however naïve it was.

“Professor,” Black snickered, and just like that the mood had shifted to something lighter as Lupin agreed to allow him to stay.

“I can pay,” Draco offered. “My father will disown me when he gets out of Azkaban, but until then I should have access to my vaults.”

It would be risky to go to Gringotts, and by the time he would be healed enough to do so, his mother could have restricted his access. He wasn’t sure that she would, but with Bellatrix whispering things in her ear, she just might. A pang filled him when he thought of his mother, but he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it. His mother made her own choices, and she chose to stay there. She chose to marry a Death Eater knowing what it entailed and how the future could be shaped from it. She chose it.

But Draco didn’t.

Draco’s choices might backfire and affect her more than him, but he couldn’t allow himself to feel guilty over it. His mother wouldn’t have approved of what he had done, nor would she have offered to help him escape. Why should he feel guilty when she would have willingly allowed him to become marked? She would have sent him down regardless of knowing his stance on it or not. She would have sent him to his death just as his father would.

They made their choices, and it was about time that Draco made his own.

“No,” Potter said at the same time Black did. Maybe they all had bleeding hearts, must be a Gryffindor thing—hopefully it wasn’t contagious.

“You are a guest here,” Black said, kneeling next to Harry and allowing him to look into kind eyes that were filled with so much empathy that it had Draco’s eyes filling and he hoped they wouldn’t fall. “I have more than enough money in my own vaults, and should you ever need more, I’m sure Harry wouldn’t mind helping out.”

Potter glared at Black before elbowing him and Draco could tell by the way Black smirked that he was missing something—something big.

“Thank you,” Draco said, raising a shaky hand a few inches but he couldn’t get it to move further. He whined as he tried but Potter gently pushed his hand back down, telling him to quit moving.

“How are we going to explain his presence to the Order?” Lupin asked, kneeling next to Black. It was an amusing sight to see all three of them on the ground by him. They definitely all had bleeding hearts.

“Do we need to?” Potter asked, biting his lip. “The fact that he said no to Voldemort should be good enough.”

“It’s not,” Lupin said, echoing Draco’s own thoughts. None of the Order would want him there, especially Dumbledore.

“What about his memory?” Black asked, eyes apologetic. “What if we view what happened through his memory? Visual proof could win him their favor over verbal, it forces them to see it through his eyes and emotions, not allowing them the chance to dissociate.”

Lupin’s head tilted in consideration, but Potter’s head was shaking, and his mouth was parted angrily.

“He shouldn’t have to, Veritaserum is—”

“Take it,” Draco whispered, unwilling to listen to them argue about something that wasn’t up to them in the first place. It was his memory and his alone.

“Malfoy—”

Draco tried to shake his head and he mostly managed it but had to stop when his whole world titled and he had to fight off a wave of nausea.

“View it, destroy it, save it. I don’t care what you do with it.”

And he didn’t. Letting them view what happened to him wasn’t any different than hearing about it. They had already forced Veritaserum on him, there wasn’t anything left for them to take but the memory. And as Black said, it would force them to see what had happened to him. He wanted them to, wanted them to have to open their close-minded tiny brains and see that the world wasn’t black and white, that there were shades of grey filtered in. Draco wasn’t a good person, but he also wasn’t the Dark Lord or his followers. They would be forced to realize that there weren’t just Light and Dark Wizards that it was far more complicated than their weird secret group wanted to make it seem.

A wand was held to his temple, and he let his mind fill with the memory and grimaced as it was taken from him and placed into a vial.

“I have a pensive in the kitchen, hold on.”

“Why the kitchen?” Draco couldn’t help but ask as Black fled the room. Such a strange place to put something so important.

Lupin cleared his throat, lips twitching as he said, “It was his mothers, an heirloom of sorts so naturally, Sirius has been using it as a mug.”

He wanted to laugh; he really did but he didn’t think he’d be able to so he settled for a soft snort. That level of petty was admirable.

When Black returned, the pensive freshly cleaned, Draco watched as Lupin poured the memory into it.

“Do you mind if we—”

“Go ahead.”

What did it matter if they saw? If the rest of the Order was to view it, then so could they. He didn’t care who saw it. He wasn’t embarrassed by what happened nor was he ashamed of the way he had succumbed to the pain. Anyone else would have. He was proud that he stood up for himself, was proud that he had lasted as long as he had, and he’d do it again. Draco would do it all over again if it meant that he didn’t have to take the Dark Mark.

It took him a minute to realize that they had entered the pensive, he had been lost in his own thoughts. With their absence, Draco tried to roll a bit in an attempt to see what he was laying on, but his muscles seized and he closed his eyes tightly.

Something was wrong.

He had been on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse many times and it hadn’t left him in such a state before. Sure, similar aches and pains and even the numbness but nothing to the degree that it was now.

“Sir shouldn’t move.”

Draco jerked, biting his lip to stop the scream that wanted to come out as his body spasmed with his movement.

“Dobby,” Draco panted, eyes closing. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“Dobby is sorry. Dobby should have announced his presence.”

“No, it’s alright.”

When he opened his eyes it was to see concern blinking right back at him from too large eyes.

“Is Sir alright?”

“I don’t think so,” Draco admitted, cursing the Veritaserum straight to hell. “I’m in a lot of pain.”

Dobby’s ears drooped as he began to fidget with his uniform again, mouth parting but before he could say anything the pensive spit out Black, Lupin and Potter.

Potter looked shaken but so did Black. Lupin swore before he rushed to rickety old set of shelves filled with vials.

“I should have realized how serious it was. I can’t believe I only gave you a pain potion. Your muscles are breaking down and I wouldn’t be surprised if you have long lasting nerve damage. It’s a miracle your mind is still functioning after being under the Cruciatus Curse for so long.”

“How long?” Draco asked, fear taking root in the pit of his stomach. He normally always knew, but toward the end he hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything, he had been far too out of it.

Potter and Black traded looks. “The clock on the mantle showed over twenty minutes.”

Draco’s breath grew shaky as he tried to regulate it. Twenty minutes? He had heard horror stories of those placed under the spell for five minutes.

“Am I ever going to be able to move again?” Draco asked, panic rising. “Everything is numb, and I can’t—”

“Shh,” Potter shushed him softly as he knelt in front of him again. “We’re going to figure it out.”

“I’ll Floo for Pomfrey.”

“Is that wise? Shouldn’t we take him to St Mungo’s?”

“Let’s see what she says before we go that route. I don’t want to turn the hospital into a spectacle and that is exactly what will happen if the Death Eaters find out he’s there.”

“But is that likely?” Potter asked, head over his shoulder, so Draco couldn’t make out his expression.

“I’m a traitor,” Draco said, as Black left the room. When Potter turned his head to peer at him, there was righteous anger in shining green eyes and it was amusing to see. “They would be more than happy to get rid of me. I imagine the Dark Lord was horrified that I managed to escape.”

“He was angry alright,” Potter mumbled, rubbing his scar and it took an embarrassingly long moment to realize just what Potter was implying. They were somehow linked. His eyes widened and he for the first time in his life he felt sorry for Potter.

Lupin forced an array of potions down his throat as Black came back in with Madam Pomfrey at his heels.

“Oh dear,” she whispered as diagnostic spells surrounded his body. “Nerve damage, a lot of it.”

Draco’s eyes closed, and he wished that he could clench his fists without pain flaring up. “How bad?”

“Not good,” she hedged, before reading through all of the potions Lupin had given him. She pulled out several more potions from a medical bag. “I can heal a lot of it, but some of the damage done to your motor nerves is irreversible, I’m sorry.”

Draco’s eyes filled with tears again, but this time they fell. “Do you know if I’ll be able to walk or move?”

Pomfrey gently placed a hand to his forehead. “I will do my best. I can’t say for certain what will happen, but I’ll try. I’m going to give you a sedative while I work, it’s not designed to completely put you to sleep but don’t worry if it does.”

Don’t worry. Everything about the situation had him worried. He wanted to lash out, but it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even his own fault. He could blame his decision to leave, but that wasn’t right. It was the Dark Lord’s fault, and he wasn’t going to wallow in self-pity on the what ifs when it wouldn’t do any good.

He took the sedative quietly, not saying a word as the potion took affect and his eyes drooped. After that he couldn’t make out much but garbled words and strong emotions.

“—hould be okay, but the damage—”

“—onfident that he can walk—”

“Spells? What of his Magic?”

“—oo early to tell.”

“—eed of physical therapy—”

“—ven be able to return to Hogw—”

When Draco came to, it was to the knowledge that he had been moved. He was in a dim lit room, and he could tell by the soft surface that he was on a bed. There was a whispered conversation happening by the door on the other side of the room, but he didn’t feel like doing much of anything except for falling back asleep.

There was still a numbness to his body, but it wasn’t as severe, nor was the pain. Part of him wanted to move, to test out what he could or couldn’t do but he didn’t have the mental capacity to try. He was so exhausted.

“They are going to put up a fight unless he agrees to join the Order,” Lupin whispered. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say I agree, I’m just being realistic.” 

Join the Order? Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to do that. He had just left the Dark Lord and their fight, why did he have to join another one? Why did he have to get involved at all? Why couldn’t he just exist? Why did he have to risk his life for those that wouldn’t lift a pinkie for him?

Would he even be able to? Draco wasn’t sure that his body could even move, how would he fight?

“He shouldn’t have to,” Potter argued hotly, voice rising from the whisper it had been. “They won’t even let me fully join, how is it okay to force Malfoy to join.”

“They can’t,” Black said with a finality that Draco desperately wanted to believe in. “—and they won’t—I won’t let them.”

Warmth filled Draco at Black’s words and his tone. He wasn’t sure what had happened for Black to want to campaign for him, but he wasn’t going to question it. Going to Potter had been the only solution Draco could think of. He had hoped that Potter wouldn’t turn him away, but this? All of this was more than he could have ever imagined, and he wasn’t sure how to pay them all back. They were doing more for him than they needed to.

“By now the Order is aware of what has happened, I couldn’t ask Poppy to lie or withhold anything.”

“Will I be okay?”

It was amusing watching all three of them jump at the sound of his voice. Potter rushed to his side, and that was even more amusing. He wasn’t sure what to think of the drastic shift in their relationship. Animosity had been replaced with something else, something he couldn’t place. It wasn’t quite a friendship, but it was something.

“Madam Pomfrey left behind a list of instructions,” Potter said, gesturing to the nightstand by the bed that was filled with vials. “You are to take a sip of all of these every six hours for the next month.”

Month?

Draco braced himself as he slowly sat up. He winced, and even let out a gasp of pain but he was able to do it. Everything was screaming at him to not, but he needed to know if it was possible.

“Easy now,” Black scolded, coming to stand next to Potter. “Take it easy. With a lot rest, medicine and physical therapy, Poppy thinks you will have a normal life.”

The wording had his throat closing. “But?”

Black’s eyes closed. “There is a lot of nerve damage that she couldn’t repair. You will find that there will be tremors constantly, and if you push yourself too hard possibly even seizures. There will be numbness that might come and go, and some things might have lost feeling altogether, but we won’t know that until it comes time for you to start walking around.”

Draco’s breaths were shaky as he forced himself to remain calm. It was terrifying. He hated that he had taken every moment that he had walked normally, laughed easily and was pain free for granted.

“When is that?”

“Not for another few days,” Lupin said, voice kind in a way that Draco wished he wouldn’t. It was so much easier to swallow down his emotions when someone was cruel to him. He didn’t know what to do with all of their kindness, he wasn’t used to it.

They left not too long after that, well, Black and Lupin did, Potter hovered behind awkwardly.

“Spit it out,” Draco drawled, lips twitching when he was on the receiving end of a glare. He would never tire of getting underneath Potter’s skin.

“I just—” Potter took a deep breath. “I know that we don’t get along. Frankly, I’ve never liked you and I know it’s mutual. But I want you to know that I’m putting in the effort if you will. We’re going to be sharing a lot of space together and with everything that happened, I don’t think you need us fighting on top of it.”

“How mature of you,” Draco said, a weak attempt at a sneer failing miserably. “I don’t have the energy to fight with you, Potter, nor do I want to. I just want to, well, exist. I don’t want to have to do anything more than heal for the time being. 

Potter nodded before he turned to leave too. He paused, one hand on the door. “For what it’s worth, I think you were incredibly brave and I’m kind of proud of you.”

Draco’s breath hitched, but Potter was already gone, the door shutting with a small click behind him.

Proud.

Potter was proud of him? Draco didn’t know what to do with that. He had never had anyone be proud of him before, at least not to his face. He wasn’t sure what his parents felt, because they never verbalized it.

Proud.

Well, Potter wasn’t special because Draco was damn proud of himself too.

And he knew that he always would be.

Raised voices, angry tones and harsh words were thrown around as Draco carefully made his way down the stairs. He winced a few times, but it was already an improvement from last week. Sometimes he could even make it to the kitchen without help.

Help, usually being Potter, who seemed to take it upon himself to be Draco’s source of guidance. He wasn’t sure what Potter got out of it or if it was truly out of the goodness of his heart, but Draco wasn’t going to turn it down. He hated that he needed help at all, but the last thing he wanted to do was be stuck somewhere all because he pushed Potter away with angry words.

Once had been enough.

Potter had been hovering as they had finished dinner and wanted to help him back upstairs and one too many biting insults had left him in the room alone with only regret and silence. Draco had only made it halfway before he fell to his knees, desperately holding the rail. Lupin had been the one to find him and also scold him for his actions as he helped him back to his room.

If there was anyone that knew about accepting help, it would be Lupin. Draco had been embarrassed and ashamed, but it hadn’t stopped him from apologizing to Potter who was still a bleeding heart who had accepted it far too easily. It was getting easier and easier to allow Potter to help him, even if he wished that he didn’t need the help at all.

Draco had been told to wait in his room while a small group of the Order were set to arrive shortly, but they were going to discuss him, and he had every right to be there for it. Potter had fought for his right to be there too, and while touched, Draco didn’t know what to do with his kindness.

Potter was bright. An exceedingly large light that Draco didn’t think he was allowed to touch, not when his entire life had been darkness. He didn’t want to burn out Potter’s light just by being in close proximity to him. ‘Not your decision to make.’ Potter had told him once when Draco said that they shouldn’t be friends. He had wanted to point out that it kind of was his decision but in the end he said nothing.

Sometimes, it was easier to let Potter win. The old Draco would have been horrified at the very notion. Perhaps that was growth? Maybe he was maturing after all.

“—u serious? Remus, tell me you aren’t buying into this?”

“Malfoy? You want us to believe that Malfoy of all people defected?”

Draco scoffed silently. Defected. They say it as if he was already a Death Eater. They say it as if he didn’t have a mind of his own and could form his own conclusions.

“He was under Veritaserum, what he said is true.”

“I don’t care!” That sounded like Weasley, he always did have a short temper. “He knows potions, he probably nerfed it somehow.”

“Are you implying that there is something wrong with my potions, Mister Weasley?”

Draco’s breath caught in his throat at the sound of Severus’ voice. His father always swore that Severus was on their side, that he was to be trusted and therefore was vouched for repeatedly, only for him to be a traitor. The irony of it all.

Severus was a spy.

He had to hold on to the rail to remain upright, and for once it wasn’t because of his body and instead due to shock. Oh, how he wished he could be there the day that his father realizes that he had been duped. But part of him, a much bigger part was hurting. If Severus was a spy, did that mean none of it was real? Had Severus not even wanted to be his godfather? Did he even like Draco?

“Uh—I—erm, no sir, of course not.”

“Not to mention, we saw his memories,” Potter said, tone icy in a way that was usually directed at Draco when they were younger. “You’ve heard what Madam Pomfrey said. Everything is exactly as Malfoy said it was.”

“Yeah but—”

“But nothing, Ron,” Potter said, impatience audible. “Why are you pushing so hard for this?”

“Because it’s Malfoy! He’s a git who thinks he’s better than everyone else. He’s exactly like his father and now all of a sudden he switches sides? I’m not buying it.”

“It’s a good thing your opinion doesn’t matter then, does it?”

Draco’s mouth parted in shock and by the silence that followed, it was clear that several others were the same way.

“Harry—”

“No, Ron! You weren’t there. You didn’t see him. He’s still in pain and is never going to fully recover and instead of getting your head out of your arse for one minute and actually looking at the memory, you’d realize how immature you are being.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Yes, it is, Hermione,” Potter argued, tone dangerously low. “Aren’t you always preaching knowledge above all else? Well, the knowledge is right there in the pensive and if you’re too stubborn to watch it then remain ignorant for all I care, but don’t expect me to sit around and listen to it.”

More silence as several conversations broke out that made it harder for him to listen in on. There were far more people in the kitchen than he realized. Had he misjudged the time? Or had the meeting started early?

“Silence!”

Draco startled at the sound of Dumbledore. Instead of clutching the railing, he chose to sit on the step instead. There was no point going further if he was going to have to retreat when the meeting was over, and he wasn’t the quickest walker anymore.

“We will view the memory in groups and judge for ourselves.”

An uncomfortable feeling took root in the pit of his stomach at that. He had said that he didn’t care who saw it, but he was having second thoughts. All of them were so quick to judge him, even if it was warranted, and now they were going to see the worst moment of his life. What would they think? Would they find it funny? Would they think it justified that he went through that?

Tears prickled his eyes and he wished he could say it was out of anger.

Time went by slowly, far too slowly and he had to shift positions a few times or else his arse would’ve gone numb. He wasn’t sure how many groups went in, but he could hear snippets of conversations filter through.

“Blimey, never would’ve thought—”

“—orrible. Did you see his face? Where did his nose go—”

“—an’t believe no one stopped it. A teenager! And they just—”

When the last group exited the pensive, the conversations picked back up and just became a bunch incomprehensible noise. His heart was beating quickly, and his pulse was racing as he waited for them to come to a conclusion.

“Do you see?” Black said, loudly as the rest of the room went quiet. “Do you see now why we took him in?”

“Of course,” a woman rushed to agree. “I think any parent would agree. What that boy has gone through is horrible.”

“But does it justify staying at our headquarters?”

“Headquarters?” Black snarled. “It’s my house.”

“You cannot deny the implications, Sirius,” Dumbledore said slowly. “The memory and the Veritaserum are sound, but that doesn’t mean they won’t come for him.”

“What are you saying?” the same woman asked, horrified. “Are you suggesting that we kick him out? Throw him to the wolves—sorry Remus—and let the Death Eaters find him?”

“Molly, I am suggesting no such thing—” Draco gasped. That was Weasley’s mother. “I must stress caution. Perhaps an alternative location is in order to house him.”

Alternative location? Draco didn’t want an alternative location. He wanted to remain in Grimmauld Place. Even if it was old and decrepit, even if Black’s mother’s portrait was a delusional hag that didn’t know an ounce of decorum. Even if Lupin didn’t know how to make a cup of tea to save his life. Even if Potter was too kind and his eyes were too pretty. Even if Black liked to make jokes that were not funny.

“No,” Black and Potter said at the same time. He refused to be touched by that.

“Sirius, be reasonable—”

“I said no,” Black said slowly, far too slowly to not be an insult. “The Order is here because I allow it to be, not the other way around. Do not think for one moment than you can dictate who is allowed inside of my home.”

Draco held his breath. He didn’t know many people that stood up to Dumbledore outside of his father. The fact that Black would do that for him had his heart clenching and his eyes stinging again. He was so bloody sick of his emotions getting the best of him—he liked to believe it was a side effect of all of the potions he was taking.

“Sirius.” Draco wasn’t sure how Dumbledore was able to put so much disappointment in one word, but it had him wincing. “The Order—”

“Can find another headquarters,” Black finished. “Molly, you’ve hinted repeatedly that your home would be better suited, why don’t I take you up on the offer.”

Mrs Weasley spluttered. “I—yes—I—never—to say—”

“Are you sure this is the stance you want to take, Sirius?”

Silence. And not a good one.

“Get out. Now.”

Draco’s eyes widened as the door opened and several people filed out, some of them pausing to stare at him or an occasional glare. He looked away when the last person to leave was Dumbledore. He didn’t want to see his expression, didn’t even want to look at him.

When Potter’s head poked out and caught sight of him, Draco grimaced and tried to hurry upstairs but had only made it up two stairs before his wrist was caught.

“I should have known you’d sneak down.”

“It was about me,” Draco unnecessarily pointed out. “I have every right to be there as you do.”

“I know,” Potter whispered, guiding him down the stairs, placing a hand on his waist when Draco’s knee gave out. “Which is why I’m not going to scold you.”

“Small miracles,” Draco drawled, hating that his lips were curving without his permission.

“I can’t make any promises for—”

“What are you doing down here?” Black demanded, hands on his hips. “You should be stretching right about now.”

Draco rolled his eyes, letting Potter guide him into the nearest empty seat. Luckily, it was next to Lupin who began to question him on how he was feeling. They were all worry-warts.

“I am well enough to sit at the table.”

As he looked around the room it was to see the entire Weasley family staring at him in varying degrees of either awe, pity, sympathy and even contempt. Well, at least it kept things interesting. There was a woman with bright pink hair that he had never seen before, but looked vaguely familiar, a woman with long blond hair that also looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it. And then there was Severus.

Draco took a shaky breath, not meeting his eyes. He wasn’t sure what to expect or how his godfather would treat him.

“Move,” Potter said, shoving Black out of the seat on Draco’s other side that had just been taken. “Go sit somewhere else.”

Black scoffed. “It’s my damn kitchen, Harry.”

“Malfoy might need help.”

“I do know how to help him,” Black said, amusement taking over as he sat on Remus’ other side instead.

“I can manage on my own,” Draco sniffed, ignoring three incredulous looks directed at him. “Alright, then I know when to ask for help, okay?”

Potter’s face twisted in doubt, and it was not appreciated at all.

Silence settled after that, and it was very uncomfortable. He was keenly aware that everyone in the room was staring at him, and he didn’t like it.

“I’m not going to bite,” Draco drawled when he couldn’t take the silence anymore. Someone snickered but he couldn’t tell which twin it was.

“Of course not, dear,” Mrs Weasley said, tone far too gentle. “We’ll start on dinner any minute. Are you hungry? You look a bit peaky.”

Draco blinked rapidly, unused to so much kindness. “I’m a bit hungry, Black starves me.”

Both Mrs Weasley and Black gasped before Black was ranting about disrespectful teenagers and how they over exaggerate everything.

“Now you’ve done it,” Potter whispered in amusement. “They’ll be fighting to feed you.”

Oh no.

“Potter skipped breakfast and lunch today.”

Potter scowled when Mrs Weasley started in on Potter and complaining about how thin he was looking.

“If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me,” Draco threatened, smirk falling a bit when Potter grinned at him.

“I don’t mind.”

Draco looked away, hating that he was flustered. Damn Potter and his stupid words. He was grateful that there were other conversations he could listen in on as he pointedly ignored Potter.

Granger was in a discussion with Lupin on the coursework for their sixth year and it had his stomach churning.

“I won’t be able to return, will I?” Draco whispered to Potter, tuning out whatever Lupin said in response to her. “To Hogwarts.”

Potter frowned; eyes filled with sympathy. “You heard Madam Pomfrey, if your physical therapy goes well then you should be able to return mid-year.”

Mid-year.

“A joke,” Draco grumbled. “Everyone will be ahead of me.”

“No, they won’t,” Lupin said, the nosy sod, drawing the attention of several other people in the room. “Sirius and I will make sure that we get all of your schoolbooks and we’ll Floo daily to get your assignments. I’ve already petitioned the Ministry to allow you to be partially home schooled, and with Poppy’s reports they already approved of it.”

Draco flushed. “You don’t have to go to the trouble—”

“Kid, you’re the furthest thing from trouble,” Black called over his shoulder. “You got Harry to quit moping.”

“I wasn’t moping!”

“Yes, you were,” Lupin argued, hiding a grin behind his mug.

“Why was he moping?”

“I wasn’t moping!”

Draco laughed, unable to stop himself from sliding into Potter, who let him stay.

“Harry, dear, it’s not good to bottle your emotions,” Mrs Weasley said, placing her hands on her hips.

That had the whole table laughing and Draco was amazed at all of the warmth and noise. The Manor was always silent, rarely filled with warmth of any kind. The stark difference made his head hurt and his heart lurch.

The rest of the dinner continued in a similar theme. Draco tried not to stare but it was hard. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Was that how actual families behaved?

“It can be overwhelming,” Potter whispered in his ear. “I was the same way.”

That, had him curious enough that he turned his head slightly, nose bumping into Potter’s cheek. They stared at each other, eyes wide before both of their faces went red and Draco turned away so quickly it hurt.

What was that?

Feeling eyes on him, he looked up to see the Weasley twins smirking at them. Oh no. They were trouble. Draco wanted no part of whatever scheme they were cooking up.

When dinner was done and everything had been cleaned up, Draco tried to hide a yawn, but nothing got past Potter who stood up, holding out his hand to help him up.

“If it’s alright with you, Draco, I would like a word before you retire for the evening.”

Draco froze, heart beating rapidly as he stared at the table. Severus wanted to talk to him, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to talk back.

“It’s up to you,” Potter breathed into his ear. “Say the word and I’ll tell him to piss off.”

Despite the laugh that bubbled up, Draco knew that Potter meant it—would tell him off in a heartbeat.

“I would like Potter to stay with me,” Draco said, finding the tiniest bit of courage that he could muster. He didn’t have to look to know that Severus was scowling, and probably hurt, but Draco couldn’t afford to think about that. Not when there was a chance that their entire relationship had been faked for his position as a spy. It was self-preservation that wouldn’t allow him to look at Severus the entire way back to his room.

Draco took all of his potions before he got as comfy as he could on his bed, knowing that getting up later would be a bitch and he didn’t want the discomfort it brought. Potter was on the other side of his bed, sitting awkwardly but allowing them a semblance of privacy even if it was false.

“Can you look at me?”

Draco’s eyes filled as he shook his head, eyes on his hands.

“Have I done something to upset you?”

His head snapped up to peer into black unreadable eyes. “Did I ever mean anything to you?”

Severus’ head jerked back. “Draco, what are you—”

“You’re a spy,” Draco whispered, wishing he could snort at the way Severus’ eyes widened. Honestly, all of the adults thought they were so brilliant but with the slightest bit of knowledge all of their secrets unraveled. “How much of it was real? Did you even like me? I know I’m cruel, a mess and not good company, but I thought—I hoped—”

Severus’ eyes closed briefly before placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders. The touch hurt a bit with how sensitive his skin was, but he wasn’t going to say anything, not when those eyes he had been so worried about were filled with concern.

“Draco, the moment you were placed into my arms I knew that I would do everything in my power to protect you. I feared for your future and worried you would make the same mistakes as I did, but I never once pretended to like you. I have loved you as my own since you were born.”

Draco sobbed, ignoring the way his body screamed at him when he threw his arms around Severus’ neck.

“I was so scared,” Draco babbled, tears clouding his vision. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to be his, I didn’t want to be a Death Eater.”

Severus shushed him gently and it had him sobbing harder. When was the last time he had been hugged? When was the last time someone held him that wasn’t out of necessity?

“I’m so proud of you,” Severus whispered, a hand running through his hair. “It took undeniable courage to do what you did, and you did it so flawlessly. You stood against the Dark Lord defiant and determined. Draco, I admire you and could only ever be proud.”

Draco took several deep shuddering breaths as he tried to get himself under control. He knew he was an ugly crier, that his cheeks went splotchy, and his eyes grew puffy. Just when the tears had stopped, Severus gently wiped his eyes, and it started it all over anew.

“I will research your condition,” Severus promised. “If I find any potions that I think might help I will consult Poppy before sending it to you.”

“Thank you,” Draco croaked, summoning a tissue as he refused to wipe his face on his robes like a heathen. “You don’t have to.”

“No,” Severus agreed with a small smile. “But I want to, and I will also visit you frequently when the school year starts to answer any questions you might have. I won’t allow you to fall behind.”

Draco hugged him again, whispering his gratitude over and over again. He felt years lighter and when Severus left, the dread he had carried disappeared. He wasn’t entirely alone; he still had some part of his family.

“You already know I’m proud of you,” Potter said, eyes finding his after Severus shut the door behind him. “But I’ll say it again.”

Draco smiled softly as he laid down under the covers. “I’m proud of myself too.”

“Good,” Potter said, moving as if to leave but Draco caught his wrist.

“Stay?” Draco asked, flushing, but so was Potter so it was alright. “At least until I fall asleep?”

“Okay,” Potter agreed, getting under the covers too. It was awkward and part of him wished he hadn’t spoken up at all, but he didn’t want to be alone.

His curiosity got the better of him as he asked, “Will your friends come around?”

“I imagine so,” Potter said, shrugging as he settled into a comfier spot. “We argue at times but always manage to come together again.”

Draco wondered what that was like. Pansy was his friend, sort of. Vincent and Greg were closer to him, but he wasn’t sure he could count on their friendship either. Close friendships were hard to maintain the older they got. Not when the whispers of the Dark Lord had started long before his actual return. It wasn’t smart to align himself with anyone unless he knew they had the same beliefs as him, add in them all being Slytherins it was stupid to speak up at all.

“Ron is stubborn,” Potter continued, unaware of Draco’s unease. “He has a hard time changing his mind even when new information is provided, which annoys Hermione. I like to think that you should be able to change your mind whenever you want. People should change their minds when they are made aware of new information. Otherwise you just stay ignorant.”

“How wise of you.”

“I’ve been reading a lot of Remus’ self-help books that he leaves around.”

Draco chuckled but it soon turned into a full-on laugh as he had to hold on to Potter to stop him from rolling.

“I like when you laugh.”

The admission was whispered, head turned away from Draco, but it still had his breath catching.

“I never heard you laugh before you got here,” Potter continued, a finger pushing aside Draco’s hair that had fallen on his shoulder. “I like it.”

Draco wanted to bury his face and hide forever, but he couldn’t, not with the way that Potter was looking at him.

“Your laugh isn’t terrible,” Draco admitted, lips twitching at how hard Potter laughed in reply.

“A high compliment, I’m sure.”

“About time you understand me.”

Potter was grinning and it was unfairly charming. It was no wonder a lot of the students were smitten with him.

“I like your smile,” Draco blurted, unable to regret it when Potter’s grin deepened.

“I like yours too.”

It was juvenile and silly, but it was also freeing and it had his stomach fluttering rapidly. He wasn’t sure what they were doing, but he knew that he didn’t want it to stop.

“Will you write me?” Draco asked, finding courage he didn’t think he had. “Or will you forget about me as you find yourself on another adventure at school?”

One of Potter’s fingers moved across his cheek gently. “You are entirely unforgettable. Of course I will write you, and I’ll Floo you too. I’ll use Snape’s Floo if I have to.”

That image alone would amuse him for weeks to come.

The medicine began to kick in and it had his eyes fluttering but not before he felt a kiss pressed to his cheek. And in the morning, when he woke up, it was to see that Potter was still there, flat on his back, mouth slightly parted.

Draco knew that he should get up, start his morning routine and take his potions, but he chose to move closer to Potter, resting his head on his chest and allowed sleep to take him once again.

“I don’t get it,” Draco frowned at his text book. Remus had transfigured a spare pillow into a contraption that allowed Draco to sit for longer periods of time. “I mastered summoning spells in our fourth year, so why are conjuring spells giving me a hard time?”

“Just because they are in the same family tree doesn’t mean it’s the same branch,” Sirius said, looking up from his own book on Transfiguration. Most of the time it was Sirius who was his main teacher, with occasional input from Remus.

“How?” Draco asked, throwing his hands up in the air, wincing as pain shot up his arm. The pain never went away, not completely. There were some days when it was manageable and other days he couldn’t get out of bed, but either way there was always one constant and that was pain—pain that he had to live with as it settled into him like a second set of skin. “They are so similar; how could they not be from the same branch?”

“A river and a stream are both water, but neither are classified as an ocean,”

“Wow, that was actually wise, Sirius. Have you been reading Remus’ self-help books like Harry does?”

“Harry reads my books?” Remus yelled from the kitchen, probably making another batch of horrible tea.

“I can be wise,” Sirius sniffed, eyes going back to his book. “Just because no one ever takes the time to notice doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

Draco rolled his eyes. His cousin was so dramatic that he wondered how Remus put up with it. Then again, Harry could be rather dramatic, and Draco put up with him. Only there was a big difference between the four of them. For one, Remus and Sirius were a couple and well—

“I think you are over thinking it,” Remus said as he entered the room, holding a tray of tea that Draco would not be drinking. “Summoning is pulling from something that is already there, and conjuring is pulling something that wasn’t there before.”

“What’s the difference? Technically, summoning is also pulling something that wasn’t there before.”

Sirius moved his head back and forth in consideration. “Sort of. Say I am thirsty, so I summon a glass of water that I know or suspect is inside the house. If nothing shows up then I know that I need to conjure one.”

“But from where?” Draco asked, quill already moving as he took notes. McGonagall was a decent teacher, a bit too strict and impatient, but he much preferred Sirius as his teacher. Sirius was able to teach him things at a much faster pace than McGonagall and he had to wonder if that was because she had a class of twenty whereas Sirius only had one. “If there’s no water in the house, where are you conjuring it from?”

“Where do you think?” Sirius held up a hand when Draco groaned. “I don’t mean that snidely. I’m genuinely asking you. If you had to conjure something where there was nothing, how would you think it is done?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to ask you this whole time!”

“I know that, but you haven’t actually considered it yourself. I know you, Draco, have been teaching you for five months. You are frustrated and only focusing on that. At least try before you give up.”

Draco wanted to flop dramatically but knew that his back was telling him absolutely not, not today at least. His pain level for the day was too high, he already knew he’d need help up the stairs.

“There’s water in the plumbing,” he said, biting his lip. “But I still feel like that’s summoning and not conjuring.”

“And if there was no plumbing? No water in the house at all?”

Ugh. Why did some forms of Transfiguration have to hurt his brain to think about? Why couldn’t it just be simple?

“I don’t know, moisture? Remus’ ugly plants have water in them.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that—”

“That’s actually a good answer,” Sirius said with a little nod. “You can’t summon something that doesn’t exist, but you can conjure something until it does exist and then it’s summoning.”

Draco sighed, wishing he could slam his hands against something. Why did everything dramatic have to hurt?

“If I take the moisture out of the plant and turn into water, wouldn’t it still count as summoning it out of the plant? I’m not understanding the distinction.”

“It’s just semantics at this point,” Remus said, amusement curling his lips. “You really are thinking too hard about it. Conjuring is used for when summoning failed. If you have to pull it from somewhere that it wasn’t or even change it in some shape or form, then it’s not summoning, because summoning is the act of pulling from somewhere that it already exists unchanged.”

Draco’s lips pursed. “If I summon a pillow but there’s none in the house I would have to conjure one from bits and pieces around the house until I have enough to create one.”

“There you go,” Sirius said, raising his book back up to cover his face. It was only then that Draco realized it wasn’t just a Transfiguration book, it was a book on how to teach your child advanced Transfiguration. Sirius was reading a parenting book.

That wasn’t all that Sirius did. There had been countless times where Draco had caught Sirius staying up well into the night taking notes and scribbling down lesson plans for the following day. Sirius took his teaching role seriously, and Draco refused to bury his gratitude away. No one had ever done anything like that for him before, and he hoped that Sirius knew how much it meant to him.

“I know I don’t say it enough,” Draco began, looking away from two sets of curious eyes. “But thank you for teaching me. You didn’t have to, but you did, and you’ve gone out of your way to do it.”

“I enjoy teaching you,” Sirius said, smiling softly. “I was an Auror before Azkaban and I thought that was something I would always do. Not being able to hurt but I realized that I don’t want that life anyway. The Ministry is a joke, they refuse to lift a finger to stop Voldemort. Why would I want to be part of that? But teaching, that’s a whole new world. I can pass on what I know and will continue learn onto the next generation. I enjoy your company, Draco.”

Draco flushed, looking down at his hands, eyes unseeing. “I enjoy your company too. Both of you.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, tone mischievous in a way that never boded well for Draco. “Not nearly as much as you enjoy Harry’s company.”

Draco’s face grew warmer, and he clenched his fists tightly, ignoring the new wave of pain that it brought. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Mhm,” Remus said, slowly and tone far too mused to be fair. “Just as Harry enjoys your company as well.”

Draco’s head snapped up. “Did Harry say that?”

Sirius laughed himself silly and Draco was tempted to take back every nice thought he ever had about the man. Clearly, Azkaban had turned him as barmy as Bellatrix.

“Did I say what?”

Draco inhaled sharply, head swerving toward the fireplace. He hadn’t realized how much time had slipped by. Harry liked to Floo him daily, and it would be a lie to say he didn’t enjoy it.

With a little help from Remus, Draco managed to pull himself and the contraption to the fireplace, so that he could sit for a while comfortably.

“How was your day?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I’m not answering you until you answer my question.”

“I liked it better when you were naïve and gullible.”

“I was never—”

“Yes, you were.”

“Remus, was I ever—”

“Don’t involve me in your domestic arguments.”

They both flushed, eyes looking away. It was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the giant squid in the room the more they grew closer. The first time Harry had used his first name, Draco nearly had a come apart.

“I’ll say it, Harry, you were always naïve and gullible.”

“Hey!” Harry cried, indignation palpable. “You’re supposed to be on my side Sirius!

When Sirius barked out a loud laugh that was contagious and Harry started laughing, Draco couldn’t help the quiet, “I miss you,” from escaping.

Part of him regretted it, especially when Sirius and Remus made a dramatic show of leaving in an effort to give them privacy. They were just the worst.

“I miss you too,” Harry said, before scowling at someone fake gagging in the background on his side of the Floo call. “Has Sirius been teaching you anything good? I wish I could join you.”

“We’ve been going over Conjuring Spells all day.”

“Conjuring?” Harry’s brows rose. “That’s N.E.W.T level stuff, McGonagall said we aren’t learning that until next year.”

“Sirius said I’m advanced for my age.”

Harry smiled softly. “I agree.”

Unwilling to let himself sigh sappily, Draco said, “Tell me about Granger and Weasley. Is she still jealous over Brown? That relationship can’t last much longer.”

Harry laughed loudly as someone in the background complained loudly. Uh oh. Hopefully Brown wasn’t in the room.

“I think they are on a break of some kind?”

“Oh, like Thomas and the other Weasley? They are always on a break it seems.”

Draco lived for all the information and gossip they traded. It wasn’t the same thing as being in Hogwarts, but it allowed him a piece of it, and it made him feel like he wasn’t missing out on anything.

“No, I think Ginny and Dean are back together for good this time. He was showing me this fancy ring he got her. I think it’s supposed to be like a promise ring, but Draco, I think it’s cursed. It was spitting at me.”

Spitting? Draco laughed hard, clutching his sides. “Sounds like a fake ring. I wouldn’t put it past the Weasley twins to sell it to him either.”

“Huh,” Harry hummed. “You know, Dean did have a conversation with Fred during our last Hogsmeade trip when he was scoping out the place for a new retail shop.”

Hogsmeade. A pang of longing filled Draco. Hogsmeade was one his favorite things about Hogwarts. The village was pretty to look at and it was always a sense of comfort as he walked the roads and shopped in the stores.

“If they expand to Hogsmeade I think Filch will drop dead of horror. His list of banned items is primarily all products from their shop.”

“Definitely,” Harry laughed, the sound free and filled with warmth. “But I think it would be a good investment. It would guarantee a steady stream of business every weekend.”

Draco settled further into his contraption and let his eyes close as he listened to Harry detail his entire day.

“I wish you were here. You’d hate Slughorn, he’s so creepy. He looks at me like I’m something to collect.”

“Snape is still being weirdly nice to me. Well, nice isn’t exactly correct but compared to how it was before it is nice.”

“I saw this owl earlier and it was so grumpy that it reminded me of you. The damn thing bit me too.”

“Quidditch just isn’t the same without you. None of the other Seekers put up a fight. The games are too easy.”

“Ron choked on a chicken leg today and I thought Hermione was going to murder him. Ginny thought it was funny, but Madam Pomfrey didn’t.”

“I ran into Luna earlier and get this, she told me to listen to all Flying Heliopaths that come my way. What do you suppose a Heliopath is and why does it fly? I tried to get more information out of her, but it’s like pulling teeth—”

Harry was his favorite part of the day, he tried to express that to him, but it came out mumbled and his eyes slipped closed before he knew no more.

Nervous. Draco was nervous. He had spent the better part of the morning with Remus at the Ministry as they had a Healer on staff to evaluate him. They cleared him for only three days a week. That was all that he was allowed to be in Hogwarts. He was also given the permission to show up less if needed. Draco had been adamant that there be no punishment on days that he couldn’t get out of bed. If he continued to improve he could be reevaluated, but Draco was content with three days. He would Floo into Severus’ office every morning and Floo home every evening.

Home.

The first time he said that Sirius cried, and Remus hugged him. They really were emotional Gryffindors, and it was getting embarrassing to be around. Remus was worried about allowing him to go but was appeased when Draco promised that he would use his contraption if needed and he’d get help from Harry whenever possible.

The sound of chatter the closer Draco got to the classroom had him sweating nervously. He hadn’t told Harry about the evaluation, didn’t want to get his hopes up if it nothing came of it, but was looking forward to surprising him.

When Draco pushed open the door, no one noticed. Defense Against the Dark Arts was well underway. The entire class was gathered in a large circle as they watched Harry and Finnigan, who were in the centre of the circle, testing whatever spells Snape had taught them. 

“Well done, Mister Potter,” Severus said when Harry had successfully disarmed Finnigan. “However, try to use Expelliarmus less it’s become rather predictable for you. When dueling, avoid any and all typical spells that you would normally use. Because if you aren’t careful your opponent will use it against you.”

Harry shrugged sheepishly and Draco was so gone for him. He had tried to deny for months, refused to entertain Sirius or Remus whenever it was brought up, but he couldn’t keep denying it when he was faced with seeing Harry in person again.

“Does anyone else want a go at Potter?” Severus asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. Draco knew from Harry’s stories that none of the students ever wanted to partner with him outside of Ron and Hermione because they knew they would lose.

“I do!”

The whole class turned as one to see him, but Draco only had eyes for Harry, who was frozen to the spot as Draco pushed his way through bodies, not caring that he shoved a few of them—it was their own fault.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, hands resting right underneath Draco’s elbows, pulling him closer until they were inches apart.

“I’ve been cleared for partial days,” Draco said, smiling at the wide-eyed awed expression. “Three days a week as long as I’m up for it.”

Harry was vibrating with either too much energy or happiness, but it was contagious. Draco found that he was able to laugh more freely around Harry and didn’t try to contain it now. He laughed as Harry slowly turned them in a circle, careful to not put too much pressure on Draco’s body, and that was when he knew that he was in love.

Desperately, hopelessly and definitely embarrassingly in love.

All nerves gone, Draco cupped Harry’s cheeks as he whispered, “I might be a little in love with you.”

“Oh, good,” Harry began, nuzzling into one of Draco’s palms before grinning widely. “Because I’m so in love with you, Draco.”

Draco was pulled into a searing kiss—barely registering the way the class erupted in cheers—lips moving slowly as arms wrapped around his waist, pushing their bodies together until they were so entangled that Draco never wanted to separate.

They kissed until it was their smiles that were pressed together as Harry rubbed his nose against Draco’s before pressing a kiss to it.

“I do believe that kissing your opponent is an unusual duelling tactic, Mister Malfoy.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco winked over his shoulder. “I think we both won. A draw if you will.”

They definitely did both win.

 Draco knew that his life would be difficult going forward, future unknown. He wasn’t sure that there would ever be a solution for his condition, and he wasn’t going to hold his breath and wait around for one when he could still have a life now. Yeah, it might be filled with pain, and it would never go away, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from doing what he wanted within his own limitations.

And he knew that Harry would be right there with him, supporting him every step of the way.

Always.

-Fin