Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Harry had thought he had a problem with Draco Malfoy before the bathroom floor collapsed. At least then the problem had been simple. Malfoy was up to something. Harry knew it, Ron thought he was obsessed, Hermione thought there was not enough evidence, and every new unexplained thing that happened at Hogwarts made Harry more certain he was right. He had watched Malfoy at meals, followed him through corridors, checked the Marauder's Map when he disappeared and spent more time than he cared to count trying to work out where he went when the map could not show him.

It had been annoying, but it had made sense. A month after the bathroom floor gave way under both of them, Harry sat at breakfast with a piece of toast going cold in his hand and watched Malfoy lift a cup to his mouth. This did not make sense at all.

"Harry," Ron said.

Harry kept watching. Malfoy looked better than he had in the bathroom, which was not saying much. His hair was neat again. His robes sat properly. From halfway across the Great Hall, with Pansy Parkinson talking beside him and Blaise Zabini reaching across for the marmalade, he could almost have passed for the same Malfoy who had spent five years making Harry want to hit him. Almost. He was still too thin. Harry knew that now. He had known Malfoy had lost weight before the collapse because it had been obvious, but knowing it from across a room and knowing how narrow somebody felt when they fell asleep against you were apparently different things. Harry bit into the toast and discovered it had gone cold.

Ron tried again. "Harry."

He clicked his fingers in front of Harry's face.

Harry jerked his attention back to the Gryffindor table. "What?"

Ron stared at him. "I asked whether you wanted the last sausage."

Harry looked down. Ron's fork was already hovering over it. "Take it."

"Cheers." Ron speared it before Harry could change his mind, then glanced over Harry's shoulder. His expression changed. "Oh, for God's sake."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"Malfoy again."

Hermione lowered the Daily Prophet she had been reading. Her eyes moved from Ron to Harry and then, inevitably, towards the Slytherin table.

Harry put the toast down. "I wasn't doing anything."

Ron made a noise through a mouthful of sausage.

"I wasn't."

"You were staring at him," Hermione said.

Harry picked up his tea. "I was looking over there."

"At Malfoy," Ron said.

"He's sitting over there."

Ron swallowed. "So are about a hundred other people."

Harry took a drink because there was no useful answer to that. Across the Hall, Malfoy put his cup down. His sleeve pulled back slightly. There was a strip of clean white fabric tied around his left wrist. Harry stopped with the cup halfway back to the table. It was narrow, folded over itself and knotted neatly on the inside of Malfoy's arm. Too plain to be part of his robes. Not a bandage from Madam Pomfrey either. She wrapped injuries properly and usually in enough gauze to make them look worse than they were. Something about it bothered Harry.

He could not work out why.

"He's not doing anything," Hermione said quietly.

Harry looked at her. "I didn't say he was."

That made both of them go quiet. Harry realised too late what he had said.

Ron put his fork down. "Right. So why are you watching him?"

Harry looked back at Malfoy before he could stop himself. Malfoy had noticed. Grey eyes met Harry's across the Hall. There was no surprise in them. Malfoy had become very good over the last month at noticing when Harry looked at him. His gaze dropped briefly to Harry's hand around the teacup, then came back to his face. Harry did not look away. Malfoy's mouth tightened. He pulled his cuff down over the white strip around his wrist and turned back to Parkinson. Harry felt a small, unreasonable jolt in his stomach. What was he hiding now?

The thought arrived so automatically that Harry nearly laughed at himself. He knew what Malfoy was hiding.

Not all of it. That was the problem. He knew enough to understand that his old theory had been right and nowhere near right enough. Malfoy had been doing something all year. Katie Bell and Ron had nearly died because of it. There was a Dark Mark on Malfoy's arm. Voldemort had given him a task. Malfoy was terrified of failing it. Harry also knew that his own spell had missed Malfoy by inches in the bathroom and cut three long, ugly lines through the stone behind him. He had not known what Sectumsempra did when he used it. Looking at those marks afterwards, he had assumed it would have killed Malfoy if it had landed where Harry had aimed.

None of that explained why Harry had spent most of the last month checking that Malfoy was still turning up to lessons. He had not meant to start doing that. The first time had been the morning after the collapse. Harry had woken after barely three hours of sleep and opened the curtains around his bed before he was properly awake. Ron had still been snoring. Neville had been facedown in his pillow. The castle outside the window was only just beginning to turn grey.

Harry had reached for the Map because he wanted to know whether Malfoy had made it back to the Slytherin dormitory. That had been reasonable. Malfoy had been through a collapsing floor, lost his wand, hurt his hand and then fallen asleep sitting against a wall in an abandoned washroom. Harry had seen him after McGonagall dragged Harry away and Madam Pomfrey had cleaned the worst of the cuts on his face and arms.

The wand had bothered him. Malfoy had said it was probably destroyed, and Harry had told him he did not know that. Once McGonagall was occupied with Filch and the damage, Harry had gone back to the boys' bathroom. Flitwick had already made the broken edge of the floor safe enough to approach, but the room was still a wreck. Harry had climbed around a cracked basin and searched through wet stone and porcelain until he saw a sliver of pale wood trapped beneath part of the sink. It took several tries to work it free without bringing more rubble down. When the hawthorn wand finally came loose into his hand, the relief Harry felt was ridiculous enough that he immediately decided not to think about it.

He had carried it back to the abandoned washroom and found Malfoy asleep again, head resting against the stone, face slack with exhaustion. Harry had crouched down and touched his shoulder. He had meant to say Malfoy. Instead, without deciding to, he had said, "Draco." The name had come out quietly and Harry had thought about that at least once a day since.

Two days after the collapse Harry had played Ravenclaw. He had half expected McGonagall or Flitwick to give him detention for helping tear apart an entire bathroom, and privately thought he probably deserved one, but they had apparently decided falling through the floor and spending hours trapped underneath it was punishment enough. Gryffindor had won. Ginny had thrown both arms around him in the common room afterwards, and a month earlier Harry might have spent the rest of the evening thinking about nothing else. Instead, halfway through the party, he had gone upstairs with the Map and sat on the edge of his bed until he found Malfoy's name in the Slytherin dormitory. Only then had he folded it away again. Harry had not thought very hard about that. 

"Harry?"

Hermione's voice brought him back to breakfast.

Harry blinked. "What?"

She was watching him more carefully now. "Are you all right?"

"Fine."

Ron snorted. Harry ignored him and picked up his toast again. The next time he checked the Map had been because Malfoy missed Charms. That was reasonable too. Malfoy had been missing lessons for months because he was disappearing into the Room of Requirement. Harry already knew that. If Malfoy was absent, it might mean he was working on whatever Voldemort had told him to do. So Harry checked. Then Malfoy missed dinner two nights later and Harry checked again.

Then Harry woke at half past two one morning after dreaming about stone grinding above his head and found himself reaching for the Map before he had even put his glasses on. Malfoy's dot was moving along the seventh floor. Harry watched it for nearly twenty minutes. He told himself he was waiting to see where Malfoy went. He already knew where Malfoy went. Eventually the dot moved away from the seventh floor, travelled down through the castle and disappeared into the Slytherin dormitories. Harry folded the Map, put it back under his pillow and went to sleep.

He had not thought very hard about why that made it easier. Now, sitting in the Great Hall a month later, he thought about it rather harder than he wanted to.

"You know he's a Death Eater," Ron said.

Harry's head came up. Ron looked uncomfortable as soon as the words were out. They had not talked much about what Harry had learned beneath the bathroom. Harry had told Ron and Hermione about the Mark and that he believed Voldemort had given Malfoy a task. He had made them promise not to take it to anyone else yet, which Hermione had agreed to only after a long argument. He had not told them about Malfoy crying out in his sleep. He had not told them how frightened he had sounded when he said his mother's name. He had definitely not told them that Malfoy had slept against Harry for nearly an hour while Harry sat with one arm around him.

Harry still did not know why that last part felt like something he ought to keep to himself.

"I know," he said.

Ron gestured vaguely with his fork. "And you were right. Completely right. So why are you still acting like you need to catch him?"

"I'm not trying to catch him."

Hermione folded the newspaper and set it beside her plate. "Then what are you trying to do?"

Harry looked at Malfoy again. He was laughing at something Zabini had said. Or doing a fair imitation of it. The smile did not reach his eyes and disappeared too quickly when Parkinson looked away. Harry remembered the dark under the bathroom. Malfoy had made light without a wand. Harry had been surprised. He could admit that, at least. The blue light had been weak and unsteady, but Harry had never seen anyone their age do wandless magic deliberately. Malfoy had caught him looking and gone immediately prickly about it. Later, Malfoy had fallen asleep. That was the memory Harry kept trying not to have.

There had been almost no room. Malfoy had slid down the wall beside him, tried to keep talking for another minute and then simply stopped. His head had tipped against Harry's shoulder. Harry's arm had been trapped awkwardly between them. He had moved it because his fingers were going numb and there had been nowhere for it to go except around Malfoy's back. Malfoy had not woken. Harry had sat very still. At first because he did not want to disturb him. Then because Malfoy's breathing had gone wrong.

Not stopped. Harry had accused him of that earlier and Malfoy had nearly bitten his head off. This had been different. Fast, shallow breaths. His fingers had caught in Harry's robes. His whole body had gone tense against Harry as though he was trying to get away from something in his sleep.

"Stop," Malfoy had whispered.

Harry had looked down. There was hardly enough blue light left to see his face.

"Stop."

Then, smaller, "Mum."

Harry had shaken him awake because a crack had sounded somewhere above them and because, for one horrible second, he had been frightened Malfoy was not going to wake at all. Harry did not like remembering how frightened.

"Harry."

He looked at Hermione. She was still waiting for an answer.

"I don't know," he said.

It was the truth, which apparently made it worse. Hermione's expression softened in a way Harry did not want to deal with.

Ron leaned closer. "You don't know why you're following Malfoy?"

"I'm not following him."

Ron stared at him.

Harry sighed. "Not all the time."

"Brilliant," Ron muttered.

Hermione ignored him. "Has something else happened?"

Harry shook his head. Nothing had happened. That was part of the problem. For a month, Malfoy had not spoken to him unless he had to. Once in Potions he had asked Harry to move his scales in a tone that suggested Harry had put them there specifically to offend him. In the corridor outside Defence Against the Dark Arts, they had nearly walked into each other and Malfoy had stepped aside without a word. Three days ago Harry had caught him looking across the library. Malfoy had immediately gone back to his book. That was all.

There had been no mention of the bathroom. No explanation. No accusation about Harry keeping quiet. No acknowledgement that Harry had returned his wand or that Malfoy had cried against his shoulder in the dark. Harry had started wondering if he had imagined the whole thing differently from the way it happened. That was ridiculous. He still had a tear in one of his shirts where he had ripped the strip of cloth to wrap Malfoy's hand. Harry's gaze dropped to the white band around Malfoy's wrist. For a second something almost connected. Malfoy stood. The thought disappeared.

Harry watched him gather his books. Parkinson said something and Malfoy answered without looking at her. His left hand disappeared inside his sleeve.

"Don't," Hermione said.

Harry turned. "Don't what?"

"Whatever you're about to do."

"I'm going to class."

Ron looked at the doors Malfoy had just walked through and then back at Harry. "Of course you are."

Harry shoved the rest of the toast into his mouth, grabbed his bag and stood. He was going to class. It was not his fault Malfoy was going in the same direction. By lunchtime Harry had managed not to follow Malfoy anywhere. He counted this as progress.

He saw him in Transfiguration. Malfoy was there before Harry arrived, which produced a small easing in Harry's chest that he chose not to examine. In Defence Against the Dark Arts, Malfoy sat two rows ahead and spent most of the lesson rubbing his thumb over the edge of his left cuff. Harry noticed because Harry was apparently now the sort of person who noticed what Malfoy did with his sleeves. Afterwards Malfoy vanished into the crowd before Harry could decide whether he was going to do anything about it. He told himself he was relieved.

That evening, Harry lasted until half past nine before taking the Map out. Ron was playing chess with Seamus near the fire. Hermione had gone to the library and had made Harry promise, with an irritatingly direct look, that he would finish the essay for Flitwick before midnight. Harry had written the title and two sentences. The parchment lay abandoned on his bed.

He pulled the hangings closed, touched his wand to the map and whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Ink spread across the parchment. Harry found Malfoy almost at once. Seventh floor. Moving slowly. Harry stared at the dot. He knew where Malfoy was going. His stomach tightened anyway. He watched the dot stop outside the blank stretch of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. There it stayed. Harry counted to ten. Then twenty. The dot disappeared. Harry folded the Map. He had already reached the dormitory stairs before he admitted he was going after him. He did not bother with the Invisibility Cloak. Malfoy knew Harry followed him. Malfoy had known for months. After the bathroom, pretending otherwise felt particularly stupid.

The corridors were quiet. Harry took the stairs two at a time and reached the seventh floor breathing harder than he wanted to be. The tapestry came into view at the far end. Malfoy was not there. Of course he was not. Harry walked towards the blank wall. He knew how the Room worked. He knew Malfoy was inside. He also knew that every other time he had tried to get into whatever version of the Room Malfoy was using, the castle had refused to give him the door. Harry stopped opposite the wall. Nothing happened.

He paced once, thinking about Malfoy, the cabinet, the room he had been disappearing into for months. Nothing. Harry turned and walked back. On the third pass, a brass handle appeared in the stone. Harry stopped. He stared at it. The door had never appeared for him before. There was only one reason he could think of for it appearing now. Malfoy knew he was out here. The thought made Harry's pulse pick up. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and opened the door. The Room was enormous.

Harry had never seen this version of the Room before. Mountains of furniture, books, broken instruments, bottles and objects nobody had wanted anyone else to find stretched into dimness. He supposed this was where the castle put things people needed hidden badly enough. Narrow paths cut between piles of junk. Dust hung in the air. A light burned somewhere ahead. Harry closed the door behind him and followed the path. Malfoy was standing beside a large black cabinet. Harry recognised it immediately. Its twin had been in Borgin and Burkes. He had spent months thinking about that cabinet, and seeing it here should have felt like victory. It did not.

Malfoy's sleeves were rolled to his elbows. The clean white strip was visible around his left wrist. His wand lay on a crate beside him while he worked with both hands inside an open panel at the back of the cabinet. Harry stopped several feet away. Malfoy did not turn.

"You took your time, Potter."

Harry stared at the back of his head. "You knew I was following you."

Malfoy's shoulders moved slightly. "You have never been especially difficult to detect."

Harry looked at the door behind him, though it was hidden now by the piles around them. "You let me in."

That made Malfoy pause. Only for a second.

He reached for a narrow metal tool and bent back over the cabinet. "Do try not to become sentimental about a door."

Harry moved closer. "Why?"

"Why what?" Malfoy asked, still not looking at him.

"Why let me in?"

Malfoy tightened something inside the cabinet. "Perhaps I was tired of having you wear a trench into the corridor."

Harry's irritation rose quickly. It was familiar and almost welcome. "You could've shut me out."

"Apparently I did not."

"Malfoy."

Malfoy finally straightened and looked at him. There were shadows beneath his eyes again. Worse than at breakfast. Harry wondered whether he had eaten dinner. The thought annoyed him enough that his next words came out sharper than he intended.

"You need to stop."

Malfoy's face changed very little. "There it is."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"The part where you tell me what I need to do." Malfoy turned back to the cabinet. "I wondered how long you would manage without it."

Harry stepped around a broken table. "I'm serious."

"How alarming."

"People have already been hurt."

Malfoy's hands stopped. Harry saw it.

He went on before Malfoy could cover the reaction. "Katie. Ron. You know it could've been worse."

Malfoy picked up his wand from the crate. He did not point it at Harry, but his fingers closed tightly around it. "If you came here to repeat accusations you have already made, I assure you I remember them."

"I'm not accusing you."

Malfoy looked round then. "No?"

Harry hesitated. That was exactly what he would have been doing a month ago.

"No," he said.

Something uncertain passed across Malfoy's face and disappeared.

Harry looked at the cabinet. "I know what this is."

"Congratulations."

"Its twin's in Borgin and Burkes."

Malfoy's grip on his wand tightened.

Harry took another step. "That's how you're doing it, isn't it?"

"Doing what?"

"Whatever he told you to do."

Malfoy went still. Harry had not said Voldemort's name. He had learned that much underground. The fact that he had learned it bothered him in a way he could not explain.

Malfoy looked down at the cabinet. "You should leave."

"No."

"That was not a request."

Harry almost laughed. "You let me in."

Malfoy's eyes flashed. "A decision I am beginning to regret."

Harry moved around the cabinet until there was nothing large between them. "Then tell me why."

"I have nothing to tell you."

"You do."

"Your inability to accept a sentence does not make it untrue."

Harry felt his temper stir. "I know he's making you do this."

Malfoy's face lost colour. Harry stopped. There it was again. The same reaction he had seen beneath the bathroom when the weak blue light had trembled against the wall.

"Don't," Malfoy said.

His voice was low.

Harry lowered his own without meaning to. "I didn't say his name."

"How considerate of you."

The words had almost no bite.

Harry looked at the cabinet, then at Malfoy. "You don't have to finish it."

Malfoy gave a short laugh. It sounded wrong.

"You don't," Harry said. "You could stop now."

Malfoy put his wand down very carefully. Harry had the sudden feeling that he had made a mistake.

"Stop," Malfoy repeated.

"Yes."

Malfoy looked at him. "And then what?"

Harry had thought about this. Too much, probably.

"We tell Dumbledore."

Malfoy's mouth twisted.

"He can protect you," Harry said. "And your mum. Your dad's already in Azkaban."

The change in Malfoy was immediate. He crossed the space between them and shoved both hands into Harry's chest hard enough to send him staggering into a stack of old chairs. Wood knocked together behind him. "Do not talk about my mother."

Harry straightened. "I'm trying to help."

Malfoy shoved him again.

"I did not ask for your help."

Harry caught his balance. "No. You just let me into the one place you've spent all year keeping me out of."

Malfoy's jaw tightened. Harry saw the hit land and pushed because he always pushed when he thought he was right.

"You wanted me here."

"Do not flatter yourself."

"Then make me leave."

For a second Harry thought Malfoy might reach for his wand. Instead he pushed Harry again. Harry stepped back. Malfoy followed.

"You think because you spent a few hours underneath a bathroom with me you understand anything?" Malfoy's voice had started to rise. "You think because I was tired enough to fall asleep and stupid enough to talk in it that you are now entitled to march in here and tell me how easily this can all be fixed?"

"I didn't say it was easy."

"You said stop."

Harry's back hit a tall wardrobe. Malfoy shoved him again anyway. The wardrobe rattled against the pile behind it. Harry could have stopped him. Malfoy was not stronger than he was, not now. Harry could have caught his wrists or pushed back or drawn his wand.

He did none of those things. Malfoy shoved him once more.

"Dumbledore cannot simply wave his wand and make this disappear."

"I know that."

"No, you don't."

Malfoy's face was flushed now. His eyes looked too bright.

Harry kept his hands at his sides. "Then tell me."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I can't."

"That's convenient."

Malfoy recoiled as though Harry had struck him. Harry regretted it at once.

"Fine," Malfoy said. His voice had gone thin. "Yes. Very convenient. I have arranged the entire thing for my own amusement. Perhaps when this is over I'll ask the Dark Lord for a certificate."

Harry's stomach dropped.

"I didn't mean that."

"You rarely seem to mean much of what comes out of your mouth."

The insult should have sounded like Malfoy. It did not. His breathing was too fast. Harry remembered the dark. Malfoy's fingers caught in his robes. Stop. Mum.

"Malfoy."

"Don't."

"Your mum is part of this."

Malfoy's hands hit his chest again.

"I said don't talk about her."

Harry's shoulders struck the wardrobe. There was nowhere else to go now. Malfoy stayed directly in front of him.

"He'll hurt her if you fail," Harry said.

Malfoy's face twisted. Harry knew he was right.

"And your dad."

"Shut up."

"That's why you're doing it."

"Shut up."

Harry reached for Malfoy's wrists when he pushed again, not to restrain him, only to stop the next impact from knocking both of them into the furniture. Malfoy tore one hand free.

"What exactly do you expect me to do, Potter?"

Harry let go of the other wrist.

"I told you. We can go to Dumbledore."

"We."

Malfoy laughed again, and this time the sound broke in the middle. Harry's chest tightened.

"Yes, we."

"You don't get to say that."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't." Malfoy pressed the heel of one hand hard against Harry's chest. "You get to be Harry Potter. You get to walk into a room and tell everyone the truth and somehow expect that to be enough. You get to think people will come when you call for them."

Harry stared at him. Malfoy's voice cracked. He looked furious about it.

"You think I haven't thought about running?" Malfoy demanded. "You think I haven't thought about simply refusing? About going to Dumbledore, or Snape, or anyone else you would like to put on your little list of sensible solutions?"

"Then why haven't you?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shoved him again, but it was weaker this time. "Because it isn't only me."

Harry swallowed. "I know."

"No." Malfoy's eyes were wet now. "You know words. You know my mother exists. You know my father is in Azkaban. You know there is a Mark on my arm and you think that gives you the rest. It doesn't."

Harry could feel Malfoy's hand shaking where it still rested against his chest.

"Then give me the rest."

Malfoy stared at him. For one second Harry thought he might. Then his face closed.

"I can't."

Harry's frustration flared again. "You keep saying that."

"Because it remains true."

"And I'm supposed to just stand here while you do whatever he wants?"

"What would you prefer?"

"I want you to stop trying to get people into this school."

Malfoy's eyes widened slightly. Harry looked at the cabinet. That was confirmation enough.

"That's what this does, isn't it?" Harry asked. "It lets someone through from Borgin and Burkes."

Malfoy's face went blank. Too blank. Harry felt sick.

"Who?"

"Leave."

"Who are you bringing in?"

"Leave, Potter."

"Death Eaters?"

Malfoy shoved him again. Harry barely moved.

"What do you expect me to do?" Malfoy shouted.

His voice carried through the huge Room and came back faintly from somewhere among the piles. Harry stared at him. Malfoy hit his chest again with both hands.

"What do you expect me to do, Potter? Die?"

"No."

The answer came at once. Malfoy looked at him as though he had said something stupid.

"No," Harry repeated. "I don't."

"Then fine."

Malfoy's mouth twisted. Tears had spilled now and he seemed not to notice them.

"Finish me now and be done with it."

Harry went cold.

"What?"

"You've spent all year wanting to catch me." Malfoy pushed him once more. "Here I am."

"I don't want to kill you."

"You seemed perfectly willing a month ago."

The bathroom came back in one sharp picture. Malfoy twisting aside. Harry's spell missing him by inches. Three long cuts opening in the stone behind his shoulder. Harry had spent a month trying not to think about what would have happened if Malfoy had been half a step slower. What he remembered most clearly now, though, was not the duel. It was stone and darkness and Malfoy asleep against him. Harry caught Malfoy's hands when they came at him again.

"I don't want you dead."

Malfoy struggled once against his grip.

"Let go."

Harry did. Malfoy's hands dropped. For several seconds neither of them moved. Then Malfoy tried to shove him again. There was almost no force in it. His palm stayed against Harry's chest.

His face crumpled. Harry watched him turn his head sharply, as though he could hide it from a distance of six inches.

"Malfoy."

"Don't."

Harry did not know what he was being told not to do. Look at him, perhaps. Say anything. Be there. Malfoy's forehead hit Harry's shoulder. Not hard. It simply came down and stayed there.

Harry froze.

He could feel Malfoy breathing against the side of his neck. Too fast. One of Malfoy's hands had curled into the front of Harry's robes without Harry seeing it happen.

Harry had no idea what he was supposed to do. His arms moved anyway. One went around Malfoy's back. The other settled awkwardly between his shoulder blades. Malfoy went rigid.

Harry nearly pulled away. Then the fingers twisted in his robes tightened. Harry stayed where he was. The Room seemed suddenly very quiet.

Malfoy did not cry loudly. Harry thought that might have been easier. His shoulders shook once, then again. He kept his face pressed against Harry as though he was furious with himself for needing somewhere to put it. Harry held him. There was nothing clever to say. Harry tried to think of something and failed. Everything that came to mind sounded useless. It will be all right. He did not know that. Dumbledore can fix it. Malfoy had already made his opinion of that clear. I'm sorry.

Harry was not even sure which thing he would be apologising for. So he said nothing. After a while Malfoy's breathing began to slow. Harry became aware of things he had not been trying to notice. Malfoy's hair brushed his cheek whenever either of them moved. It smelled clean. There was something else under it, something Harry could not name, faint and probably expensive. His body felt lighter than it should have against Harry's, all shoulder and narrow waist under the school robes. Harry remembered the bathroom again.

The same weight against him in the dark. The same hair near his face. The same strange awareness of another person's breathing. Harry's pulse sped up. He told himself it was because Malfoy was crying against him in the Room of Requirement after admitting Voldemort would kill him if he failed. That was enough reason for anyone's heart to beat faster. Then he realised Malfoy's heart was going just as fast. He could feel it through both their robes. Harry swallowed. This was different from underground. He did not know how. It simply was.

Malfoy's hand loosened in the front of Harry's robes but did not let go. His other hand, which had been hanging uselessly at his side, came up slowly and rested against Harry's arm. The white fabric around his wrist brushed Harry's hand. Harry looked down. Up close, the cloth was not white at all. Not properly. There was a faint grey line near one edge that had not washed out. Something clicked. Harry stared at it. His shirt.

He had ripped a strip from the bottom of his shirt in the dark because Malfoy's palm was bleeding. It had been filthy by the time they got out. Harry had assumed Malfoy would throw it away as soon as he found a proper bandage. Instead he had washed it. And he was still wearing it. Harry's stomach did something odd. Malfoy moved. Harry looked up too quickly.

Malfoy had lifted his head. His face was blotchy around the eyes and his lashes were wet. Harry had never seen him look less like Draco Malfoy. There was no sneer ready. No expression arranged for whoever might be watching. They were very close. Harry noticed that before anything else.

Malfoy's hand was still holding the front of his robes. Harry's arm was still around his back. Neither of them moved away. Grey eyes dropped from Harry's eyes to his mouth. Harry stopped breathing. Malfoy looked back up. For a second Harry thought he had imagined it. Then Malfoy leaned towards him. Only a little. Harry did the rest. Their mouths met. It lasted perhaps two seconds.

Harry had enough time to register that Malfoy's lips were warm and that he had no idea what he was doing before Malfoy pulled back. Harry's hand had somehow found Malfoy's. He did not remember reaching for it. Their fingers were joined between them. Malfoy stared at Harry.

His eyes looked darker now, the grey swallowed by his pupils. The shock in his face began changing almost at once. Harry recognised the return of anger because he had seen Malfoy use it to cover nearly everything else.

"What was that?" Malfoy asked.

Harry's face went hot. "I don't know."

"Useful."

There was very little force behind the word. Harry started to let go of his hand. Malfoy's fingers tightened. Harry stopped. Malfoy looked down at their hands as though he had only just realised what he was doing. He did not release him.

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" Malfoy asked.

Harry looked at him. "What?"

"You heard me."

Harry's embarrassment vanished under irritation. "No."

Malfoy's mouth tightened. "No?"

"I wasn't feeling sorry for you."

"How reassuring."

"I mean it."

Malfoy looked at the floor. Harry could see the red high on his cheekbones now. He was still holding Harry's hand. Harry's heart thudded once, hard enough to hurt. The first kiss had happened before he thought about it. This time he thought. Not especially well. But enough. He stepped closer. Malfoy's head came up. Harry waited. There was space for Malfoy to move away. Not much, but enough.

He stayed where he was. Harry leaned in and kissed him again. For one heartbeat Malfoy did nothing. Then he kissed Harry back. Hard.

Harry's shoulders struck the wardrobe behind him for the second time that evening, but there was no shove in it now. Malfoy's free hand caught at the side of Harry's robes. Harry tightened his hand around Malfoy's and kissed him again because apparently that was something he could do now. Malfoy made a small sound against his mouth. Harry's brain stopped being useful.

The kiss was not neat. Their noses knocked once. Harry's glasses shifted. Malfoy caught Harry's lower lip between his for a second and Harry forgot where his other hand was until he realised it had moved higher on Malfoy's back. Nothing about it felt like pity. That, at least, Harry was sure of.

Malfoy pulled away first. They were both breathing too hard. Harry's glasses had gone crooked again and he pushed them up with his free hand while Malfoy stared at him. "That," Harry said, because his brain had supplied nothing better, "wasn't pity."

For one startled second Malfoy looked as though he might laugh. He did not. "You are appalling at reassurance," he said, but there was less force in it than Harry expected.

Harry looked down and realised they were still holding hands. "You're still holding mine."

Malfoy dropped Harry's hand immediately, colour rising higher across his cheekbones. Harry almost smiled. The look Malfoy gave him stopped it before it properly formed, not because there was much threat in it, but because there was not. Harry looked away first and found the cabinet standing only a few feet from them. Reality returned with it.

Harry looked at the open panel and remembered why he had come. "Right," he said. "We need to go to Dumbledore."

Malfoy closed his eyes.

Harry frowned. "What?"

Malfoy opened his eyes again. "Nothing."

Harry watched him. "You think I'm being stupid."

"I think you are already deciding what to do next and I haven't finished talking."

That sounded more like Malfoy. Harry was oddly relieved by it.

He stepped away from the wardrobe. "I'm serious. Now I know what the cabinet does, he needs to know. We can stop anyone coming through it."

Malfoy moved in front of him.

"No."

Harry stared. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean exactly that."

"Malfoy, Death Eaters are going to come into Hogwarts."

"Not tonight."

Harry's stomach tightened. "How do you know?"

Malfoy looked at the cabinet.

"Because it isn't ready."

Harry followed his gaze. "Then we destroy it now."

Malfoy's head snapped round. "No."

Harry reached for his wand. Malfoy caught his wrist. Not hard. That stopped Harry more effectively than another shove would have.

"Listen to me," Malfoy said.

"I have been listening to you."

"Poorly."

"You're telling me to leave a way into Hogwarts open for Death Eaters."

"I am telling you not to destroy something you do not understand."

Harry pulled his wrist free. "Then explain it."

Malfoy looked away.

Harry's temper flared. "There you go again."

"I cannot tell you everything."

"Why not?"

"Because the more you know, the more likely you are to do exactly what you are doing now."

"Trying to stop people getting killed?"

"Charging at the first obvious solution because standing still for thirty seconds causes you physical pain."

Harry glared at him. Malfoy rubbed both hands over his face. He suddenly looked exhausted again.

"Potter," he said, quieter, "if the cabinet disappears tonight, what happens?"

"No Death Eaters get into the castle."

"And what happens to me?"

Harry opened his mouth. Malfoy waited. Harry closed it.

"Exactly."

"Dumbledore can protect you."

"Perhaps."

"And your parents."

Malfoy's expression went flat. Harry knew better than to push that exact point again.

"So what?" Harry asked. "We just leave it and hope you think of something?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment. Harry saw the decision happen without understanding it.

"You trust me."

Harry actually laughed. Malfoy's face tightened.

"Sorry," Harry said, although he was not particularly sorry. "You want me to what?"

"Trust me."

"You spent five years making that as difficult as possible."

"I am aware."

"You won't tell me what you're doing."

"Not all of it."

"You nearly killed two people."

Pain crossed Malfoy's face. Harry wished he could take the words back, but they were true.

"I know," Malfoy said.

The quietness of it removed the rest of Harry's anger. Malfoy looked at the cabinet.

"I made mistakes because I was frightened and because I thought I had no time. I am not asking you to pretend they did not happen."

Harry waited.

"Then what are you asking?"

Malfoy turned back to him. "For you to trust that I know more about the position I am in than you do."

Harry frowned. "That's not much to go on."

"It is more than you had a month ago."

Harry could not argue with that.

Malfoy took a breath. "If you tell Dumbledore tonight, everything changes. If you destroy the cabinet, everything changes. If I suddenly stop doing what I have been ordered to do, everything changes."

"Good."

"Not necessarily."

Harry's frustration returned. "You keep saying things like that and then refusing to explain them."

"Because I cannot explain some of them without making them useless."

Harry stared at him. Malfoy looked very tired and very serious.

"There are people watching me," he said. "There are people watching you. There are people watching Dumbledore. If any of us begins behaving differently, they will know something has changed."

Harry thought of Snape. Of Bellatrix Lestrange. Of the man who had stood in the graveyard and called Harry's name like it belonged to him.

"Who knows?"

Malfoy shook his head. Harry swore under his breath.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes. It's infuriating."

Something in Malfoy's face eased. Only slightly.

Harry looked at the cabinet again. "So what do you want me to do?"

"What you have been doing."

Harry blinked. "Following you?"

Malfoy gave him a look.

"Not quite so enthusiastically."

Harry folded his arms. "You knew I was following you tonight."

"I wanted you to."

The admission landed harder than Harry expected.

"Why?"

Malfoy's gaze moved away.

"Because I needed to know whether you would come in."

Harry stared at him.

"You could've asked."

"Yes, Potter. I was going to approach you in the Great Hall and ask whether you fancied a private conversation about treason."

Harry ignored the sarcasm. "You wanted to tell me this."

"Some of it."

"Why me?"

Malfoy was quiet. Harry waited. This time he did not fill the silence. Malfoy's fingers went to the clean strip of cloth around his wrist. He rubbed his thumb over it once. Harry looked down. His shirt. Malfoy saw him recognise it. His hand dropped immediately. Neither of them said anything for several seconds.

Then Malfoy said, "Because you already know enough to be dangerous."

Harry nearly rolled his eyes. "That's the reason?"

"Would you prefer a compliment?"

"No."

"Good."

Harry looked at him. Malfoy looked back. There was something else there. Harry could tell that much, but unlike Hermione he had never been good at pulling ten meanings out of somebody's expression. Malfoy looked tired. Nervous. A little embarrassed. That was enough information to be getting on with. Harry stepped closer. Malfoy did not move.

"I don't trust you," Harry said.

Malfoy's mouth tightened.

"Not completely."

"How generous."

"But I'll try."

That stopped him. Harry saw it plainly. Malfoy's eyes dropped for a second, then returned to Harry's face.

"That will have to do."

"For now."

"Naturally."

Harry looked at the cabinet. "And what exactly am I supposed to do while I'm trying?"

Malfoy moved beside it and closed the rear panel before answering. "Play your part."

Harry frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means you carry on as you are. You watch me if you must. You remain suspicious of me in front of your friends. You do not suddenly decide to become pleasant to me in corridors."

"I wasn't planning to."

Malfoy gave a small nod, as though that at least was one problem dealt with.

Harry shifted his weight. "And you?"

Malfoy's eyes moved to the cabinet. "I keep doing what I am expected to do."

Harry did not like that answer and made no effort to hide it. Malfoy watched him for a moment. "Not everything is what it looks like, Potter."

"And this wins the war how?" Harry asked.

Malfoy's face became serious again.

"It may not."

Harry's stomach tightened.

"Then why?"

"Because if the people on his side believe they know where everyone stands, they make decisions based on it."

"And if they don't?"

"Then we lose whatever advantage we have before we know whether it was useful."

Harry thought about that. It was not enough information. He hated that. It also made a kind of sense.

"Does Dumbledore know?" Harry asked. Malfoy's expression changed. It was hardly anything, but Harry had spent a month watching him and it was enough. Harry stared at him. "He does."

"I did not say that."

"You didn't have to." Harry's mind was already racing ahead. Dumbledore had known about Malfoy, maybe not everything, but something. Snape had said he had made an Unbreakable Vow, though Harry still did not know what Snape had actually promised. Dumbledore had repeatedly refused to listen when Harry accused Malfoy, or had seemed to refuse. Harry suddenly had several more questions than he had when he entered the Room.

"Potter." Harry looked up. Malfoy was watching him with a wary expression. "Don't."

"What?"

"Whatever it is you've just decided to do."

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair. "You can't tell me Dumbledore knows something and expect me not to ask him."

"I can and I am."

"Why?"

Malfoy's gaze held his. "Because you asked me what your part was. This is it."

Harry looked at him for a long moment.

"I hate this plan."

"You do not know the plan."

"That's why I hate it."

Malfoy almost smiled. Harry saw it this time. The sight did something unpleasantly pleasant to his stomach. He stepped forward before he thought too much about that. Malfoy's eyes dropped to his mouth again. That was becoming easier to recognise. Harry leaned in. Malfoy's hand came up and stopped him. Not by pushing his chest. His fingers settled gently against the side of Harry's neck. Harry stopped at once. For a second he thought he had got it wrong. Then Malfoy's thumb moved once under Harry's ear and he drew Harry closer instead.

Their foreheads touched. Harry's breath caught. Malfoy's eyes were closed. This was somehow worse than kissing. Harry could feel the warmth of his hand at his neck. Their noses nearly touched. Malfoy's breathing was steady now, but Harry's had gone wrong again.

"What?" Harry asked quietly.

Malfoy opened his eyes. Up this close, Harry could see the tiredness in them.

"If this goes badly," Malfoy said, "you are not to decide it means you should have ignored me tonight."

Harry frowned. "That's a strange thing to say."

"I know."

"Why would I think that?"

Malfoy's mouth pulled slightly at one corner, but there was no humour in it.

"Because you have an extraordinary appetite for blaming yourself for things that are not entirely your fault."

Harry stiffened. "You don't know anything about that."

"No," Malfoy said. "Of course not."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but Malfoy's hand remained warm against his neck and the argument did not quite arrive.

"What are you trying to say?"

Malfoy looked away even though there was nowhere for his gaze to go without breaking the contact between them.

"Before the bathroom," Malfoy said slowly, "I knew how this ended."

Harry's stomach dropped. "How?"

Malfoy swallowed. "Badly."

Harry's hands tightened at his sides. "That's not funny."

"I wasn't joking."

Harry wanted to pull back enough to see his whole face. Malfoy's hand at his neck kept him there, not forcefully, but enough that Harry understood he was being asked to stay. So he stayed.

Malfoy took another breath. "The people who knew what I had been asked to do were waiting to see whether I succeeded. Or waiting to see me fail. There was not much difference by then."

Harry thought about what he actually knew. Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban. Snape had spoken of an Unbreakable Vow. Draco had called for his mum in the dark and sounded younger than Harry had ever heard him. Harry did not know what threats had been made or exactly what Voldemort had promised would happen if Malfoy failed. He only knew Malfoy believed them.

"Then you followed me into that bathroom," Malfoy said.

"I was already following you."

Malfoy's mouth tightened very slightly. "Yes. I had noticed."

His fingers shifted against the back of Harry's neck. "You knew enough to ruin everything for me," he continued. "You could have told McGonagall. You could have told Dumbledore that night. You could have left my wand under half a ton of stone and considered it justice."

"I wasn't going to do that."

"I know." The words were quiet. Harry looked at him. Malfoy's eyes had gone bright again, but he did not look away this time. "That's rather the point."

Harry did not understand immediately. Malfoy seemed to see that and gave a small, frustrated breath. "You came back, Potter."

Harry remembered climbing over the broken sinks after Madam Pomfrey had cleaned him up, searching the debris until he found the hawthorn wand. He remembered the abandoned washroom afterwards and Malfoy asleep against the wall when Harry returned. "I said I'd get your wand."

"Exactly."

Harry frowned. "I don't get it."

"I know you don't." That should have been insulting. It was not. Malfoy's thumb moved once more at Harry's neck.

"If this does not go the way I hope it does," he said, choosing the words with visible care, "then at least it is not only them who knew."

Harry's throat tightened. Malfoy looked down between them.

"Someone else knew what it was costing me."

Harry did not move. Malfoy's voice dropped further.

"And did not leave."

For a second Harry could not think of anything to say.

Then he said, because it was the only thing that felt true, "I'm still not leaving."

Malfoy's eyes shut. His forehead pressed a little more firmly to Harry's. When he spoke, the words were nearly lost between them.

"I know."

Harry lifted one hand and closed it carefully around Malfoy's wrist. The clean strip of his old shirt sat beneath his fingers. Malfoy did not pull away.

"So trust me now," he said.

Harry looked at him. He still wanted details. He wanted Dumbledore. He wanted to smash the cabinet, lock Malfoy somewhere safe and solve the entire thing before breakfast. None of those options had disappeared. Neither had the Mark beneath Malfoy's sleeve. Harry tightened his fingers around his wrist.

"I'll try."

Malfoy nodded once. Harry expected him to step back. He did not. Neither did Harry. They stayed like that for another few seconds, foreheads together, neither of them saying anything. Then Malfoy finally let his hand fall from Harry's neck. The loss of contact was immediate and stupidly noticeable. Harry stepped back. Malfoy pulled his sleeve down over the strip of cloth.

"You should go," he said.

Harry looked at the cabinet. "You're staying?"

"For a while."

Harry did not like that either. Malfoy lifted one shoulder, looking more tired than challenging.

Harry sighed. "Fine."

The corner of Malfoy's mouth moved as though he was trying not to react. Harry pointed at him. "Don't make me change my mind."

The almost-smile disappeared. Harry turned towards the path through the piles.

"Potter."

He looked back. Malfoy stood beside the cabinet with one hand resting on its dark wood. He looked tired. Frightened, if Harry was being honest. But he also looked steadier than he had when Harry came in.

"Tomorrow," Malfoy said, "you should probably glare at me at breakfast."

Harry stared at him. "I've been doing that for years."

"Then don't stop now."

Harry rolled his eyes and walked away before Malfoy could see him smile. The door appeared at the end of the path. Harry put his hand on the handle and looked back once more. A hand settled lightly on his shoulder. Harry turned. Malfoy had followed him without Harry hearing him come. He stood close enough that Harry could see the faint redness still around his eyes and the place where his hair had fallen out of its usual neat line. Harry's gaze dropped to his mouth before he could stop it.

"Draco," Harry said, and the name felt different now that Malfoy was awake to hear it. "I should go."

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment. Then he closed the small gap between them and kissed Harry.

There was no rush in it this time. Harry had enough warning to breathe in, enough time to feel Malfoy's hand move from his shoulder to the side of his neck before their mouths met. The kiss was soft and slow, nothing like being driven into a wardrobe or trying to work out whether the other person wanted the same thing. Harry's eyes closed. He lifted one hand and rested it carefully at Malfoy's waist, and for several quiet seconds neither of them seemed in any hurry to move.

When Malfoy drew back, he did not go far. Harry opened his eyes and found him still there, close enough that the question came out more softly than he meant it to. "What was that for?"

Malfoy considered him. The answer took long enough that Harry wondered if he would get one at all. "Courage."

Harry smiled. "For me or you?"

This time Malfoy smiled back. It was small and tired and real. He did not answer. He simply turned and walked back along the narrow path towards the cabinet, leaving Harry by the door. Harry watched until the piles of hidden things swallowed him from view. He still did not know the whole plan, and he still did not know whether trusting Malfoy was sensible. Hermione would probably say it was not. Ron would say something much less polite. A month ago Harry had wanted proof. Now he had it, and proof was no longer the point.

He wanted Malfoy alive at the end of this. Harry opened the door and stepped into the corridor. For tonight, that was enough.

the end…