Chapter Text
The Healer that Ron had sent for, had been another Gryffindor: Hermione Granger, who had come on board the moment she’d been able to.
“You should leave as soon as possible. I don’t know what exactly it was that Harry did, but Lucius Malfoy and his accomplices are actively looking for your ship in every nook and cranny of this island. Aurors are casting detection spells everywhere, spells so strong that the ship’s Disillusionment Charms will eventually have to give way, especially given the state Harry’s in.” Granger’s eyes were serious while she addressed Weasley. “You know how the two are bound.”
Weasley nodded, serious.
“Good,” Granger said, apparently taking that as a promise. “And now get out of here, the both of you, so I can start doing my job.”
Weasley moved out of the room immediately, but Draco couldn’t, feeling rooted to the spot, watching Harry, who was either sleeping or unconscious - it was hard to tell by now - and so pale that Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He was glad Granger had finally been able to make it to the ship, because - after their initial conversation when they’d gotten back to the ship - Harry had slowly been getting worse.
And Draco was worried.
“You too, Draco.” Granger’s voice was softer than he had expected. And she’d used his first name. Since when was that something they did? “He’ll be fine,” she added with a small, but reassuring smile.
So, Draco forcefully tore himself away. And left.
***
At first Draco had wanted to find refuge in doing some admin, but as soon as he saw the desk, he knew it would be useless: he wouldn’t be able to concentrate enough to think, let alone make calculations. It was all completely impossible.
So, Draco went on deck instead, hoping to find Luna or someone else willing to talk to him, perhaps take his mind off of things a bit.
Instead of Luna, he found a rather large group of people standing around Weasley, who was shrugging. “We all knew the ship only answers to Harry,” Weasley said.
“So, you’re not able to move her out,” Finnigan concluded.
“No, apparently not, but once Hermione has patched Harry up, we’ll leave. The Disillusionment Charm will hold,” Weasley said, certainty to his voice.
Draco hoped, with everybody else no doubt, that Weasley was right.
***
It wasn’t much later that they arrived: the Aurors. The Auror Force in the UK had only been in existence for about 50 years now, and even less than that in this part of the world, but they had a fierce reputation already nevertheless. And somehow Lucius Malfoy had gotten them to do his bidding.
The Aurors were casting at the bay the ship was in unrelentingly. Draco could already see the Disillusionment Charm faltering now and then, just a bit, as if it was blinking.
“I think it’s time to leave, don’t you?” Draco hadn’t found Luna, but she had apparently found him. She was watching him with pale eyes and an airy smile.
“Well, Harry can’t sail the ship yet, but Granger will be able to heal him quickly, no doubt.” It was something Draco really needed to say, something he had to believe. “So then we can leave.”
Luna observed him for a moment, making Draco quite uncomfortable. Then she smiled. “You should sail her.”
Draco huffed an almost suffocating cough. “No, I shouldn’t.”
Luna considered him again though, still smiling and completely unperturbed. “His desk lets you work there, why wouldn’t the helm?”
“His desk?” Draco sputtered, incredulous. “I can use it, because I actually live in the captain’s quarters, Lovegood. That’s hardly the same as sailing a ship.”
Luna shrugged. “I don’t think they’re that different, really. At least, the ship doesn’t seem to think so.”
Draco just watched her for a beat, not knowing what to answer.
***
When Draco finally decided to approach the helm, Weasley was talking to Finnigan while keeping an eye on the Aurors at the same time. The Aurors were still going at it, seemingly certain there must be something here.
And, of course, Draco didn’t think Luna was right. But, well, the Aurors were here, getting closer to breaking the Charm every minute. So, Draco just thought he ought to try. He needed to attempt to sail the ship, just on the off chance that it would work. Because it was quite imperative they’d leave. Soon.
So, Draco walked up to the helm, getting to the wheel without anyone noticing.
And he felt it the moment he reached out: the tingle running through his body when he touched the wood the wheel was made of. So - hoping that it meant something, that Luna was actually right - he concentrated, letting his magic reach out to the ship almost intuitively.
He didn’t have to reach out for long, the ship answering almost straight away. And when Draco thought it - they needed to leave, needed to sink underwater and make it out of here - the ship’s magic answered without hesitation.
They started to move.
“How did you …?” Weasley asked on a perplexed smile, looking Draco’s way now, and for some reason the competitive part of Draco preened a little.
“I don’t really know. I just-,” Draco cut himself short, not a clue what to say next, as he was quite puzzled himself, unsure what exactly he had done. Because if it really was as simple as reaching out to the ship to get it to move, why hadn’t Ron-?
So eventually Draco just settled on adding: “What are our bearings?”
“Doesn’t really matter. Out of here, I’d say,” Weasley said, shock still slightly colouring his tone, while they slowly started to sink under water.
Draco was too baffled to notice he didn’t even get wet.
***
Draco didn’t know how long he’d been here, at the helm of Harry’s ship. The water was dark, but it always was this deep down, and all Draco knew was that he was taking the ship as far away from the island - from his father and his spite - as possible.
“You look good like this.” Draco’s head whipped to the side, to where Harry was now standing. He was smiling at him and it was soft and fond.
“You should be in bed,” Draco commented.
Harry kept smiling. “Hermione thought I could pay you a visit.” Draco sent him a disbelieving glance. “Okay, after I had nagged her about it for the better part of the last few hours. I think she’d actually started to regret healing me,” Harry elaborated, still smiling, voice warm.
Harry’s eyes were warm too. “You know you can go to sleep now. The ship sails itself once you’ve put her to work,” he said.
“Of course I knew,” Draco answered, scoffing. He hadn’t known, of course, but now Harry said it, it made sense. Harry himself didn’t usually stay at the helm for long either. “I just wasn’t that tired.” Draco didn’t want to tell Harry that going to sleep would have been out of the question anyway, what with Harry hurt and all. Besides, Draco was quite sure Hermione wouldn’t have appreciated it either.
Harry now considered him, eyes so soft that Draco couldn’t look away. Then he stepped closer, lifting a tentative hand to brush some non-existent hair out of Draco’s face. “You can sail her,” he said as if he’d only now fully realised.
“So it appears,” Draco answered with slight amusement, not wanting to add more weight to the situation.
Harry kept silent though, watching him for a moment, his eyes betraying a heat that Draco found much too appealing.
“Hermione wasn’t surprised you of all people could,” Harry then continued. “She told me that if a ship of this magical magnitude answers to anyone other than her captain, it could only be someone with a very strong emotional bond to that captain. She said that my parents-,” Harry stopped, swallowing and Draco cupped his cheek, wordlessly caressing it with his thumb. “They could probably both sail her too,” Harry finished.
Draco decided not to think about the implications of those words, of what that meant for how the ship interpreted their relationship. Because he thought he would most likely explode with happiness if he did.
“I’m glad it’s you,” Harry finished. Which came dangerously close to making Draco explode with happiness anyway.
So, it was a good thing that that was when Harry leant in, effectively shutting both Draco and Draco’s thoughts up by kissing him. The kiss was tentative, but quickly picked up in confidence when Draco kissed Harry back, opening to him without any resistance.
It left Draco dazed and dizzy, made him lean forward when Harry pulled back, almost causing Draco to lose his balance. “Come back to bed,” Harry said on something that was mostly a warm plea. Draco nodded, only feeling how tired he was when he started to walk.
They fell asleep together, naked for the first time and the bed finally large enough, since their bodies were completely intertwined.
***
“So, your father planned this whole thing?” Harry now asked. They were still in bed, not actually wanting to get up, postponing the inevitable.
“Apparently.” Draco still had trouble believing that Harry hadn’t fallen for it, for his father’s lies.
“From the beginning?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Draco started to answer. He’d obviously been thinking about this. “I think at first he still thought I’d give in, that I would come back in time for the wedding. As you’ve probably gathered he’s used to people obeying him without question.”
Draco heard how quiet his voice had gone, saw how Harry watched him. “So, I think he only came up with this plan after he’d heard I’d escaped Flint’s prison cell together with a masked pirate.”
“So Lestrange knew we were going to attack his ship and he let us? To make sure he could send a tracking spell your way?” Harry asked, slightly incredulous.
“I don’t know. That could have been a coincidence. At first they wouldn’t have known I’d stayed on your ship to begin with, not for sure, but when I didn’t return, they must have hoped I had. They would be certain I was working with you, if I ever came for the hands of the compass though, so they might have planned to hit me with that spell if I came to retrieve them.”
Draco paused for a moment, after which he started to explain what he thought had happened: “But then Lestrange got lucky, saw me on your ship, guessed what I was doing there and seized his opportunity to cast the spell immediately, still hoping I’d come for the compass next, I presume.”
“And they planted the parts of the compass at the Malfoy estate for you to find,” Harry finished.
“Yes, I-. I thought I was just exceptionally fortunate that I got them so easily,” Draco said, pointedly not watching Harry but the ceiling instead. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have missed his father’s dirty fingerprints all over the way he had procured those parts?
“Father probably even instructed Waddy to take me to his study the moment I showed up,” Draco continued wryly.
“So when they tried to stop us, at the estate, they weren’t actually trying to stop us. They were just going through the motions,” Harry added.
Draco nodded, miserably, but valiantly trying not to show. “Hurting you was probably a bonus. They didn’t want to kill you. Yet. Father used a Diffindo to attack you, not a real curse. And I didn’t even wonder-.”
Draco was stopped short by Harry’s touch, a caress to his shoulder, then his chest, soft and tender. “Don’t,” was the only thing he said.
“I suppose father realised he was never going to get his hands on all othe pieces of the compass, and then, when he understood I might be on the masked pirates’ ship, he took the opportunity to-.” Draco’s voice had taken on the bitter quality that it often did when talking about his father.
And Harry noticed. He watched Draco, intently. “You really don’t get along with your father,” he observed, as if he’d just realised how true that actually was.
Draco smiled, rueful and bitter. No, he didn’t get along with his father, having understood for a while now that being terrorised into submission had preciously little to do with actual respect.
He just really hadn’t known how to act upon that knowledge though. Not until Pansy and their almost marriage, that was.
“How accurate,” Draco just said wryly.
Harry kept watching him, his gaze somewhere between soft and concerned somehow. “Why?” he asked. It was such an astoundingly simple question.
Draco shrugged. “We just don’t.” And he really had wanted to keep it at that, but somehow Harry kept looking at him, earnestly, and Draco spilled: “Father-. Well, he always has his own motives, as you’ve probably noticed by now. And he’s usually not amused if other people don’t play along.” It wasn’t much of an explanation, but it was more than Draco had wanted to tell.
“Yeah,” Harry paused, then added quietly: “I saw you, you know. When he found us on the island, when we’d found the treasure. You looked-, terrified.”
“Oh,” was all Draco could say. That had been the moment that Harry had shielded him from Lucius. “It’s an automatic response,” he then added, dryly, knowing exactly what he meant, but still kind of hoping Harry wouldn’t pick up on it.
Which was obviously idle hope. Harry pondered him for just a moment, then simply clarified. “So, you mean he hurt you? When you didn’t see eye to eye, he hurt you?” Harry’s voice trembled and Draco could only think of how weak he himself had been. He was eighteen years old now, all grown-up, but still his father obviously held this power over him.
Harry must think him a right coward. Or, worse still, he would pity him. Perhaps all this was a bad idea. They could never be-.
Draco sat up, suddenly, turning away from Harry.
“Draco.” It was when Draco realised his mistake, because he wasn’t wearing his shirt. For the first time since they’d been in close quarters, he had taken off his shirt and now he had turned, so Harry would see his back.
And Draco knew exactly what Harry saw there.
“Did he do this?” Harry’s voice was trembling even more. And before Draco could do anything about it, Harry was touching him, feather-light, his fingers tracing the four small scars on Draco’s back that Lucius' Diffindo had left there. Draco still vividly remembered what each and every one of them stood for,every stupidity that had gained them.
Next Draco nodded, shrugging through his shame, there was no use denying it now.
A silence stretched and it was heavy, stifling, making it difficult to breathe, impossible to move. Until, eventually, Harry said: “I just hope, for his sake, that I’ll never lay eyes on that man again.”
It sounded genuine and darkly fierce. And it patently wasn’t what Draco had expected. Draco turned.
And Harry kissed him, urgent but sweet and so all-envelopingly intense that Draco wasn’t able to think about anything at all anymore.
***
Lucius Malfoy had left the island: just short of eight months after his arrival he’d left as unannounced as he had come. All it had taken was for Harry to write him one small piece of parchment: It has been destroyed., which, of course, was true enough. The sword of Godric Gryffindor, the sword with the red rubies that Draco had seen Harry carry, had done that job just fine.
So, Riddle’s Horcrux was gone, dissolved in an angry, wailing cry. And Draco’s father had left the island, his goal utterly defeated. Okay, Lucius hadn’t exactly left without a fight, having tried to implicate Harry, telling everybody who the masked pirate captain was. But there hadn’t been any actual evidence and without that nobody had believed him, or cared enough to investigate any further.
Harry was an esteemed member of society here, just like his parents had been, and apparently Lucius’ pockets hadn’t been deep enough to put the Aurors on another wild goose chase. They hadn’t found anything worthwhile last time either, after all.
So eventually Lucius Malfoy had left and Narcissa had left with him, but not before writing Harry a short note of her own: Is Draco safe? Is he with you?
They’d found it at Harry’s house - the mansion that his parents had left him - when they'd gotten there. When everything had been over. When the ship had finally taken them home.
And Draco had answered her – certain she would know who it was from even without him signing it. He’d written her just one word, because he couldn’t be sure who else would see: Yes.
His mother’s reply had found him about a week later, a real letter this time, in which, amongst other things, she conveyed that Pansy had indeed gotten engaged to Theodore Nott.
It was a fact that Harry had been completely unsurprised by when Draco had mentioned it. “Wasn’t that why you didn’t marry her in the first place?” he’d asked. “Because I heard Blaise actually told Ginny that. And he’d gotten it from Pansy herself.”
Draco had just smiled. Blaise had always been the biggest gossip of them all - even though he could be very discrete where it counted - hence it made sense that Blaise would have told people. “So, Blaise has seen Ginevra recently?” Draco had just asked, not addressing the other topic, because he was very curious about this one.
Harry had nodded. “They met up when Blaise was here for your non-wedding. And Ginny is actually going to visit him in London next month.”
Draco had felt his smile broaden, noticing that now Harry was with him he could even be genuinely happy for Ginevra Weasley.
Next he had just continued to read Narcissa’s letter. She’d even included a newspaper clipping, featuring Pansy and Theo’s engagement, accompanied by a small photograph that showed the two of them sharing an overjoyed kiss on repeat. And Draco felt delighted. His and Pansy’s plan had succeeded, but, even so, his mother didn’t seem angry, still appeared to be willing to contact him on a regular basis.
Because Narcissa’s letter had been attached to an unassuming, tawny barn owl, that she instructed Draco to hold onto until he’d have the time to reply, as this particular owl was hers and hers alone and would only release its parchment to her when there was no one else around. It was how she’d corresponded with Regulus after he’d started to have his doubts about Riddle, when anyone else finding their letters could have come with great risk.
It was with the help of that owl that Draco and his mother had been writing back and forth for months now.
As a matter of fact it was what Draco had done this morning, writing his mother a letter, a cheerful one of course, because, annoyingly enough, he didn’t seem to be able to write anything else these days. And his mother had probably already guessed as to why that was, too, even though he hadn’t explicitly told her.
It probably made her happy as well.
“What are you brooding in here for?” Harry had come looking for him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to start your own party again.” Harry cocked his head, indicating the bottles that Draco had set down beside him. His tone was humorous, but held an undercurrent of genuine worry. They both knew Draco had gone to the cellar to get some more wine, the best wines he could find, but they also both knew that there was a whole group of what were mainly Gryffindors waiting for them upstairs.
Draco smiled and he found it was genuine. “No, I recall saying I’d try to stay next time there was a gathering of your friends,” he answered, the lightness he’d aimed for easy to convey.
Harry smiled softly: “They’re your friends too.”
“Perhaps.” It sounded more quiet than Draco’d wanted.
Harry’s smile broadened, but didn’t lose any of its softness. “Definitely,” he said, snaking one hand behind Draco’s neck and the other around his waist. “Don’t worry.”
Then Harry leant in, his kiss gentle, but entirely insistent and all of a sudden nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Draco’s hands were on Harry’s hips within seconds, the kiss quickly escalating into something else entirely, fuelled by a mutual need too strong to ignore.
Which meant Draco was positively panting when he finally found his voice again. “We’re not-, we’re not being particularly good hosts.”
Harry caressed Draco’s cheek in answer, a quick, fleeting touch that said it all anyway, after which Harry kissed him again, apparently not quite able to stop himself, his kiss just as hungry as Draco felt.
When Harry pulled back once more, only a little, he was smiling. “I’m already a bad pirate. I think I can definitely handle being a bad host, especially if it means-, if it means this,” he answered, low and breathy, finding Draco’s lips again urgently.
Draco found his breeding would only allow for so much restraint, as he felt himself give into the touch too easily, his skin burning hot already. Merlin, he wanted-.
Fortunately Harry completely agreed.
***
It was later that same evening - when they were back in the ballroom, back with Harry’s friends - that Draco couldn’t help but feel some pride, because Harry was dancing. And he was doing well enough: not treading on anyone’s toes and making all the necessary turns exactly when they were meant to be made. Even Ginevra, standing to the side for the moment, was looking at him as if she didn’t quite believe it.
And Draco realised he had done that, he’d taught Harry. At Hogwarts. Last winter. When everything he and Harry now shared, had felt so far out of reach that back then he hadn’t even dared to let his mask drop, that he hadn’t dared show Harry his face.
“So, like what you see?” Harry teased - his eyes holding a mischievous glint that Draco had come to love - when they were turning around each other precisely on time.
“You know I do,” Draco answered watching Harry, his voice kind of hungry and soft at the same time.
“Well, I learnt from the best,” Harry said next.
Oh, so Harry had been talking about the dancing. Draco found he had some difficulty catching on. And, wait-. “What do you mean? You learnt from the best?” Had someone else-? Had Harry-?
Harry watched him intently for a moment. He actually hadn’t done that for some time now and Draco immediately felt like he was being scrutinised all over again.
“You didn’t think that French accent of yours had me fooled, did you?” Harry said on an amused smile.
And again Draco’s brain didn’t seem to process for some time. He thought he’d been so careful that evening at the Yule Ball, that one stolen moment when he’d been allowed to teach Harry.
A moment he thought he’d only been allowed, because Harry hadn’t known who he was.
Draco slowly started to realise what Harry’s words meant though, the truth of it seeping in. “So you knew it was me?”
“Of course I did,” Harry’s smile was gentle. “But you thought-. Was that why you ran off before midnight, why you wouldn’t let me see your face?”
Draco could only nod, suddenly rooted to the spot. Harry softly nudged him to the side. Which was probably for the best, because Draco’s minor meltdown was most definitely best had off the dance floor.
Harry nodded too, mostly to himself it seemed. And when he spoke again his voice was warm. “Right, so now I’m sure that sometimes you forget how long we’ve already known each other. I would have recognised you anywhere, you idiot, mask or no mask.”
“So, you let me teach you, even though you knew it was me?” Draco was still struggling rather hard to wrap his head around this, his mind so adamant that what he was hearing couldn’t be true that it was almost impossible to understand.
“Draco,” Harry watched him with intent again, although this time he wasn’t trying to see the truth in Draco’s eyes, but attempting to let his gaze convey his own truth instead, “I let you teach me, because it was you.”
And even though Draco had sort of understood that this was where their conversation had been heading, it still felt like his brain short-circuited for a minute. Definitely a full minute. In which Draco was quite incapable of speech. Or movement. Or anything else.
And Harry kept watching him, his gaze soft and gentle all the while.
When Draco found all of his faculties again, the only thing he felt he could do was to pull Harry in, still standing to the side of the dance floor. Where he kissed Harry, urgent and sweet and utterly good.
And Draco didn’t know why exactly they were kissing, whether it was to make up for all the time they apparently had missed out on. Or just because he loved Harry so much it hurt and he could actually kiss him now. But it really didn’t matter.
Because the only thing that mattered was that Harry kissed him back. That they were together because they both wanted to be and that it felt right in a way that nothing else ever had.
The only thing that mattered was that they had dropped their masks, in every sense of the word, and that neither of them had ran off. That they had stayed. Together.