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Ministry of Magic
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
2008
---

Head Auror Harry Potter set down his quill at last, rubbing an ink-stained hand through his messy hair. He cracked his knuckles and dried the fresh ink with a wordless spell. He placed the parchment on top of the towering stack already perched precariously beside his outbox. As soon as the final sheaf of parchment fell, the entire stack shrank and settled itself into the waiting tab folder. Harry signed it off and dropped it into his outbox, where it would be sent directly to the Minister's office. 

A knock sounded at the door and his secretary peeked in. 

"He's here, sir." 

"Thanks, Dean. You don't need to call me sir-" Harry began to remind him, but Dean Thomas had already flashed a cheeky smile and ducked back out into the corridor. He returned barely a moment later, and allowed the wizard following him to enter Harry's office. 

"Mr Malfoy, a pleasure." Harry stood, putting on the most professional tone he could muster. 

"Hardly." Lucius Malfoy drawled unpleasantly. "I'm here about Draco." 

"I know."

"So you know that I am demanding his sentence be extended?" 

"Yes. In fact, I believe the entire department and most of the Wizengamot knows, Mr Malfoy. However-"

"There will be no 'however', Mr Potter." 

"Head Auror Potter, actually," Harry interrupted, simply to watch Lucius' face twitch. 

"As I was saying, Mr Potter," Lucius pushed on. "Draco simply is not ready to be released yet." 

"It's been ten years, Mr Malfoy. And as you well know, the only reason you are not in Azkaban is because your son had the misfortune of being processed first. It would be unbecoming of a wizard such as yourself to be so thoroughly unaffected by your son's ordeal. One might even go so far as to assume you worry more for your own freedom than justice for your son." 

Lucius glared, and Harry was taken with the urge to yawn widely, to show how unaffected he was. But he knew Lucius well enough to know that the pompous old git would take it as a sign of weakness and parade Harry's sleep deprivation as a sign that Harry was unfit for office. 

Harry had only been Head Auror for four years; Robards had retired early, as his daughter was expecting her first child, and had named Harry as his successor. Harry had taken the post reluctantly, but really he loved his job. Tedious though the paperwork may be, the rest of the job was rewarding. 

"Mr Potter-" 

"Head Auror Potter, if you don't mind. It's rather petty, isn't it, refusing to use a man's title out of spite?" 

"You haven't used my title; I am still Lord Malfoy." 

"Ah that's one little detail! I regret to inform you that despite having your trial postponed after your son's incarceration, your title hasn't been 'Lord' for quite some time. Convicted criminals have no titles, Mr Malfoy." 

"How dare-!"

"And once your son is released, being of age, he will take the lordship anyway. Isn't that nice? Good for him." Harry paused, as if for consideration. "Well, if he still wants to take the title, that is."

"Mr Potter, you-"

"Be wary what you say, Mr Malfoy. The walls have ears." 

Fuming, Lucius stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Harry sighed and slid into his chair. He slouched down for a minute before pushing himself back up and into a standing position. He marched from his office, nodding once to Dean as he passed. He smiled to himself as he saw Lucius Malfoy being detained by two large Aurors, an outraged scowl on his face.

Finally, he reached the interrogation room. He shared a few quiet words with the Auror standing guard at the door. Then he let himself in.  

---

Draco heard the door of his cell open and he looked up. Two Aurors with vaguely familiar faces stood in the way, silhouetted by the moonlight. 

"Draco Malfoy, you're free to go." One said. 

"But you will have to come with us to the Ministry so the Head Auror can brief you on your parole conditions." The other chimed in. The second man had an odd lilt to his voice, an inflection he'd heard before- Finnigan! his mind supplied. The second Auror was Seamus Finnigan, from Gryffindor House at Hogwarts. The first... the first Auror moved and Draco caught a glimpse of reddish hair under the cap he wore. Weasley. But which one? 

"Malfoy? Can you hear us?" Weasley asked, cocking his head. Ah, must be the young one... Ronald! That's it! Draco watched. 

"I'm being released?" Draco croaked. 

"Yeah, that's right. But you have to come chat to the Head Auror first." Weasley said. Draco considered it; freedom... the word was foreign in his mind. He stood shakily, and Weasley and Finnigan each caught him by the arm. Draco felt the harsh scratch of their robes against his bare arms. His prisoner garb - while at least cleaner under the new mandate for prison hygiene - was sleeveless and grey. The hems of his too-long trouser legs dragged and scuffed under his bare feet. The Aurors marched him down the hallway to a room he hadn't seen since the beginning of his sentence; the visitation room. 

"Sit for a moment, Malfoy, we're having your possessions brought here." Weasley said, sounding almost kind... how odd... 

Barely a minute after Draco had sat down, a weirdly familiar tugging sensation yanked at his navel and he saw the visitation room spin away from him in a blur. A second later, he was sitting in what looked to be a much cleaner version of the same room. The brightness of the room jarred his senses. He shut his eyes against the glare. He sat in silence for a few minutes until he heard the door open. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke. 

"A chair Portkey. Clever, Weasley." 

"Yeah, he's been known to come up with good ideas on occasion." A different voice answered him, not Weasley or Finnigan. Draco cracked his eyes open and glanced at the figure sitting across from him. The first thing he noticed was a smudge of ink beside the famously unforgettable scar, sliding up into messy hair. 

"Potter," Draco snorted. "Should've known you'd butt in." 

"It's what I do, I suppose." Potter shrugged, his shoulders looking rather...broad in scarlet robes. Definitely different to the scrawny Seeker he'd stayed in Draco's mind. Draco noted the scruffiness on Potter's square jaw, the dark bags beneath the bright eyes. 

"So much that you forget to sleep, it would seem," Draco said, raising an eyebrow. 

"Hm, you might be correct. Thank Merlin for Pepper Up Potion, then." Potter scrubbed a hand through his hair, messing it up even worse than it already was. He took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair. 

"So, why are you here, Potter?" Draco asked, a bored tone colouring his voice. "Don't get me wrong, this is very interesting and all, but I'm expecting someone-" the door opened, cutting off Draco's words. Another Auror poked his head into the room. 

"Sir, the newest reports from the Sheffield case are on your desk. Oh, and don't forget you've got a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt after your consultation with Mr Malfoy." The Auror grinned charmingly. 

"Thanks Dean," Potter nodded. "Ah, are you coming to dinner on Sunday?" 

"I dunno, Harry, with Gin being... y'know... Molly's going to expect-" The Auror - Dean Thomas; his brain supplied the name quickly - shrugged almost awkwardly. 

"Right, shit," Potter cursed under his breath. "You know that Molly's gonna be on me about it again though." 

"Yeah, yeah, but at least now she can't complain about you; getting the Head Auror position before you hit thirty is kind of a big deal." 

"Shut up, you ponce. Get back to work." Potter grinned crookedly. Thomas shot Potter a wink before ducking out of the room. 

"So, you're Head Auror." Draco said bluntly. 

"Uh, yeah. Surprised?" 

"No. Just how fast did they rush you through to reach Head Auror before you got a single grey hair?" Draco asked coolly, his eyebrow arched pointedly. 

"For your information, I wasn't rushed through any of it. Robards suggested me as his successor a while ago, when he started talking about retirement. I thought he was kidding," Potter smiles ruefully. "Turns out he was serious." 

"Whatever," Draco yawned. "Can we just go over the terms of my release so I can get back to my life?" 

"They aren't so much 'terms' as they are 'suggestions', really," Potter sighed. "Malfoy Manor was seized by the Ministry after the war, as you know, and for the last ten years your parents have done a very good job of staying off the radar whilst living on the continent." Potter drummed his fingertips on the table. "Your father got himself forcibly removed just now, actually. Burst into my office, demanding I leave you locked up for another ten years-"

"Why didn't you?" Draco interrupted. 

"Pardon?"

"Why didn't you leave me in Azkaban?" Draco asked again. Potter frowned. He continued. "You of all people should have no issue with leaving me in prison indefinitely, after everything I did-" 

"What do you mean?" 

"I was sentenced for my actions in the war-"

"You were sentenced for being a Marked Death Eater. Like most of the Marked Slytherins were. You aren't the only person being released, by the way." Potter explained. "The Ministry was so insistent on punishing everyone that a lot of trials were sped through processing unfairly. A lot of people didn't even get a trial. They were processed purely on a damn tattoo. I'm still trying to get that mess reversed." 

"So, what? You bust out a bunch of Slytherin kids with Dark Marks, and what, just let us run free?" 

"No. Everyone goes through a genuine trial. Now we have the time to do so, we are. A few of your old school friends have already gone through the new process. I do believe Miss Parkinson's trial was two days ago? She was found innocent. Her only crime was being associated with genuine Death Eaters." Potter frowned as he remembered the details. 

"Either way, Malfoy, you're free. At least, temporarily. Unfortunately the earliest trial date we could get for you is in about eight weeks. 

"Why are you doing this? I thought you would've loved seeing us get what we deserved?" 

"I've seen what Azkaban does to innocent people. I'm not eager to see it again." Potter rubbed his eyes. "I'm just sorry it took so long to get you out." He stood and walked to the door. "Auror Weasley can brief you on the procedure from here on out. I'll see you at some point before your trial." 

With that, Potter left the room, leaving Draco feeling more confused than ever. 

---

Harry lasted til he got back to his office before he cracked. A whip of wild magic lashed out and destroyed the ugly vase on top of his filing cabinet. He watched as the shards swept themselves up - one of Maintenance's new tricks - and dropped neatly into the wastebasket by his desk. 

Harry marched over to his fireplace and Floo-called the first person he could think of. 

"Harry, hey, bad timing-" 

"I know, I'm sorry, but I just wanted to know if I can come round for dinner tonight?" 

"You're daft, of course you can. Is that all? Rosie found the paints again-" Hermione looked behind her, presumably to where her two-year-old daughter was, "-Rosie, no! Leave Mummy's paintings alone!" She turned back to Harry. "Sorry, Harry, I have to go. See you at six!" 

The last thing Harry heard as the call disconnected was a loud splash, an excited child's laughter, and Hermione almost cussing. 

---

Draco was relocated to a more comfortably furnished room, and given a selection of reading materials ranging from Ministry pamphlets to Muggle tabloids. A stack of The Daily Prophet issues were delivered as well. Draco sneered at the paper. It didn't react. 

He was flicking through a magazine of some description, not really paying attention to what he was seeing, when the door opened and Weasley stepped inside. 

"Malfoy," Weasley greeted. 

"Weasley," Draco returned, because he may not like the Weasleys, but his mother raised him right. He gestured to an empty chair. "Have a seat." 

"Thank you." Weasley sat. "So, you've seen Har- Head Auror Potter, then?" 

"Yes, and thank you ever so kindly for that warning," Draco raised his eyebrow fractionally. 

"Well we're not exactly chummy, are we? So, down to business." Weasley produced a slim file from his pocket, which - when tapped thrice with Weasley's wand - expanded to double the original size. Weasley extracted a few pieces of parchment and laid them out on the table between himself and Draco. 

"Your trial is being scheduled as we speak, and we should have a definitive time by the end of this meeting. You'll be placed in a Ministry safe house until your trial, and - if you're proven innocent - for a time afterwards as well, until you can find lodgings of your own.

"Unfortunately, because you're classified as a high-risk convict - don't look at me like that, blame the bloody Wizengamot - you'll be housed with a Ministry official. And of course, the only person willing to volunteer was-"

"Saint bloody Potter." Draco muttered, already resigning himself to the next few weeks. 

"Exactly." Weasley nodded. "Could've been worse though, could've been me who volunteered." Draco and Weasley both shuddered at the notion of living together. Living with Potter was marginally better, Draco decided. 

"Wait, didn't Potter shack up with your sister?" Draco asked, his confusion making him blunt. 

"Ah, you haven't read the Prophet issues then." Weasley nodded wisely. "Harry and Gin split up in.... sixth year? I think? Shit, it's been a while. She's pregnant, actually. Mum's been going mental because Dean won't propose." 

"So, Dean and Ginevra are...?" 

"What? Oh, no, Gin's being a surrogate. Dean and Seamus got married after the five-year anniversary of the Battle." Weasley shifted in his seat. 

"And what about the other Golden couple? You and Granger?" Weasley closed up at this question. He turned his attention back to the parchment on the table. 

"Let's get back to the reason you're here, Malfoy, alright?" Weasley said, gruffly. Draco conceded. Weasley relaxed by a fraction and continued to read off the information in front of him. Draco listened almost patiently. When Weasley finally paused, Draco was itching to get out of the Ministry, even if that meant going straight to the lion's den, if you will. 

"So when do I move in?" Draco asked. 

"It'll take a few more hours, unfortunately. We're still getting all of your possessions out of inventory as we speak. Azkaban isn't exactly organised." 

"When has it ever been?" Draco muttered, more to himself than to Weasley. He received a commiserating grunt anyway. 

"But you will be able to move in tonight, which is definitely good. Parkinson had to wait three days before she got housed, because nobody would volunteer." 

"Not even Potter?" 

"Harry was on a case at the time, if I remember correctly. Sheffield." Weasley scratched his chin idly. "Should've heard the rant he gave when he got back and Parkinson was still in holding. He was right livid. Took her in the second he was done chewing out the Department." 

"Hah, I would've preferred to see Pansy's reaction to Potter housing her," Draco huffed out something that could pass as a laugh from anyone else. "She used to have a massive crush on him in third year." 

"Harry would've been flattered," Weasley joked drily. "Now-"

They continued to talk logistics for another few minutes, until a knock came at the door. Potter poked his messy head into the room, eyes flicking between Draco's relaxed posture and Weasley's open expression. 

"Ron? Can I have a minute with Ma- Mr Malfoy?" 

"Uh, yeah mate- I mean, sir." Weasley stood up, shuffling the papers back into order. He clapped Potter on the shoulder as he left the room. Potter took his seat. As soon as the door shut, Potter sighed. 

"I swear, they call me that just to make me say it." Potter messed up his hair again, a seemingly subconscious motion. Draco had the sudden urge to smooth down that hair, to force it into some semblance of neatness. He tamped down the urge quickly. 

"You volunteered to house me, I hear," Draco said instead. It got Potter's attention. 

"Yeah, I mean- better to be stuck with someone who won't try to hex you in your sleep, I suppose?" 

"Hm, fair. Out of curiosity, though, who were my other options?" 

"Dawlish, Savage, Ron, Seamus Finnigan, or Susan Bones." Potter grimaced at the list. "Not that I don't trust Ron or Seamus, or even Sue, but... they have their reasons for not wanting to house you." 

"But you don't?" 

"I can deal with you. Merlin knows I've had enough practice." 

"Potter, the last time you 'dealt with me', we were both under threat of death. I don't think that counts." 

"Let's leave the past where it lies, shall we? You saved my life, I saved yours, we're square." 

"Then why are you doing this?" 

"I owe your mother." Potter shrugged. 

"Then do something for her," Draco suggested offhandedly. 

"I am." 

---

After Potter left to do whatever he did, Draco read the Daily Prophet issues he'd been left. He read as fast as he could, only really paying attention to the articles about Potter - of which there were many. He took it all in with a pinch of salt, however, as he knew intimately how well words could be twisted by the press and their vicious quills. 

He read about the famed Golden Couple's split; how Potter had pursued a career in the DMLE, whereas Ginevra Weasley aimed for professional Quidditch; how Potter had been in limbo with the Weasley family's favour for months, until Ronald Weasley's engagement to Hermione Granger fell through. Draco read the following article, a speculation piece about the cause of the Granger-Weasley split. Neither party made an official comment to the press about the state of their relationship. 

Draco even found a marriage announcement for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, squeezed in beside the obituaries and commemoration articles. 

The more he read, the more it dawned on him that he really was free, and that he had ten years to catch up on. He made a mental to-do list as he read. 

1. Find Pansy

2. Reestablish status 

3. Assume Lordship of Malfoy Manor

Simple. Draco could handle simple. He continued to read.

---

"I know I volunteered, Mione, but really..." Harry whined at dinner that night, sitting in his usual chair across from Hermione and her daughter Rosie. 

"Really, Harry, you know he pushes your buttons more than anyone else does." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why did you volunteer anyway?" 

"I heard Savage and Dawlish talking today, while Ron and Seamus were bringing Malfoy in. They were.... they were talking about hexing him in his sleep. Not anything gentle, either. I couldn't- I couldn't let that slide." 

"So did you suspend them?" 

"Yeah, they're both on three-month suspension for abusing their power," Harry sighed. "That's not the point though, and you know it." 

"No, the point is, you didn't think this through, and now that it's happening, you're letting yourself panic. He's moving in tonight, right?" 

"Yeah. Soon as Ron and Seamus get all his stuff from Azkaban. I'll have to be home before that; he won't be able to get in without me there." 

"And you've thought about the whole-" she waved her hand around absently "-sleeping situation? I know Grimmauld isn't ideal, Harry, but at least it has enough room." 

"So does my flat. And I'm not going to hang out in Grimmauld Place til Malfoy's trial. Kreacher just got used to being away from the damn place." 

"Harry, language." Hermione scolded quickly, glancing toward her daughter. Rosie was - thankfully - too immersed in mashing her peas and carrots into an unidentifiable mush. "Look, you took Parkinson to Grimmauld." 

"Yeah, and you saw the way she was the whole time, all wide-eyed and 'oh thank you Mr Potter!' I wasn't going to let her anywhere near my place." 

"True," Hermione mused. "You know, I always thought she held a torch for you." 

"Shut up, Mione." Harry sniped, not cruelly. 

"Whatever. Finish your peas, you have a house to make ready." 

---

Harry got home and had just barely enough time to cast a handful of cleaning charms on his flat before the intercom buzzed. Harry pushed the little button by the door. 

"Hello?" 

"Harry! It's us, mate, let us up." Ron's chipper voice rang through the intercom speaker. Harry chuckled and pressed the button that would open the building's doors for them. A few minutes later, a knock sounded at Harry's front door. 

Opening it, he was greeted with Ron and... Seamus? 

"Uh-?" 

"Polyjuice. Figured it would draw less attention. Should wear off in ten minutes, Malfoy," Ron explained quickly. Harry shut his mouth. Ron had a point. There was a reason he was the better strategist of the two of them. 

"Beer?" Harry offered. 

"God, yes," Ron sighed. 

"Malfoy?" Harry asked. 

"Hm? Oh, um, none for me, thank you." Malfoy was watching his surroundings almost curiously. 

"Right." Harry grabbed two beers from his fridge, tossing one to Ron, who caught it easily. "Saw Mione and Rose tonight," he mentioned, to fill the silence. 

"Yeah, I heard. Vik and I are going round on the weekend," Ron supplied. 

"Oh, nice. How is Vik, anyway?" 

"Yeah, he's good. This season's been hard, though. He's been a right arse coming home lately." 

"What can you expect? Quidditch is stressful, you know that." 

"Yeah, yeah. Oi, you know he still fucking sings 'Weasley is our King' at home? I blame you entirely, mate," Ron used the rim of his beer bottle to point at Harry then, who simply laughed. 

"At least I didn't mention the World Cup-"

"Don't you fucking dare!" 

"Wait, you don't mean Viktor Krum?" Malfoy interrupted suddenly, reminding both Aurors that they did indeed have company. 

"Oh, uh, yeah..." Ron blushed, and Harry chuckled. 

"You live with the Viktor Krum." 

"Actually, I uh, I married the Viktor Krum." Ron shrugged. He lifted his left hand, where a plain silver band rested on his fourth finger. Harry watched the interaction closely. 

"No way." Malfoy's jaw nearly dropped. "Weasley, King of the Heterosexuals, married Viktor Krum?" 

"Malfoy, if you're about to say something derogatory, need I remind you whose house you're in." Harry butted in, as always. 

"Saying something derogatory about liking men would be an insult to myself as well, Potter," Malfoy quipped. "I'm gay, Potter, you needn't look so shocked." 

"Called it." Ron cut in. Harry punched his shoulder. 

"You said that when I came out too, you asshole." 

"Well I did!" Ron laughed. "I had you pegged since fourth year. God, you never could leave Cedric alone-"

"Fuck off." Harry chuckled. "Well, now that we've all bonded over our mutual love of men, shall we talk business?" 

For another hour or so, they talked about the basic limits of Malfoy's stay. He couldn't leave the flat without Harry or another Auror's company, he couldn't make unsupervised Floo-calls. His letter writing was restricted to once a week, and all of his mail would be screened by an official at the DMLE. As for household amenities, he could use whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. His spellwork was restricted as well; only mundane spells, nothing Dark, and nothing more serious than a tickling hex. 

Harry could see Malfoy - for the Polyjuice had worn off at last, and he was fully Malfoy now - growing increasingly frustrated at all the limitations he was being put under. 

"It's only until your trial. If you're proven innocent there, you're free to do what you want." Harry tried to placate him. It earned him a glare. 

"Right well, today's been rather tiring. Where will I be sleeping?" Malfoy asked imperiously, after Ron had left. 

Harry gave him an abbreviated tour, ending with the spare room that would be Malfoy's for the foreseeable future. They bid each other goodnight and retired to their separate rooms. As Harry dressed for bed, he wondered what kind of roommate Malfoy would be. 

He'd find out in the morning, he supposed, as he fell into the clean sheets and into sleep. 

---

Apparently, Malfoy was a very grumpy roommate, especially first thing in the morning, which made Harry all the more grumpy himself. 

Harry slid his glasses onto his nose right as he walked out of his bedroom, ambling slowly down the hall to the kitchen for his morning coffee. He scratched at his stomach as he walked, only to realise he hadn't put a shirt on before leaving his bedroom. At least he was wearing pyjama pants. Thank Merlin for small mercies. 

He shuffled into the kitchen, heading straight for the kettle. Harry went about the usual routine; pulling out a clean mug from the cabinet, scooping a spoonful of instant coffee powder into the mug, filling the mug two thirds full with boiled water and capping it off with a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar. He stirred the coffee slowly, enjoying the moment, before the moment was rudely interrupted by a very obnoxious voice. 

"Do you need to make your coffee so bloody loudly?! It is too early for this!" Harry spun on the spot to find Malfoy slumped over at the breakfast bar, glaring at him for all he was worth. 

"Do you need to be shouting? Your voice is louder than my coffee." Harry pointed out. 

"I'm a Malfoy! I never shout!" Malfoy shouted. 

"Alright, Malfoy, whatever you say." Harry turned his back on his unlikely roommate, stirring his coffee quicker now. He desperately wanted to escape the kitchen, and Malfoy's glare. Finally, he picked up his mug, set the spoon in the sink, and beat a hasty retreat. He ended up in the living room, curled up in a corner of the settee, with his coffee balanced on one knee. 

He cast a wandless spell on some of his reports, making them hover in front of him. Of course, when he got halfway through the stack, Malfoy walked in, nursing a mug of his own. 

"Merlin help me, are you really that lazy, Potter?" He drawled, sounding annoyed already. 

"Keeping my head down for too long gives me migraines. This way I can read quickly-" the page changed in front of him, and he scanned along the newer report for discrepancies "-and get more work done without having to take pain potions every hour." 

Stunned silence was the only answer he received, until Malfoy sank into the armchair across from Harry. 

"What are you reading, anyway? It's not even ten in the morning yet." 

"There was this case-"

"Sheffield?" Malfoy interrupted. 

"How'd you know?" Harry asked, suspicious. 

"Sheffield has been mentioned a total of five times in my presence, Potter, and I'm not dim." Malfoy waved a dismissive hand. "Carry on." 

"Right... well, it's all set up to look like an illegal potions ring - nothing too deadly, nothing too addictive, nothing we haven't seen a hundred times since the war ended - but there's something we're missing, I can feel it." Harry frowned at the paper in front of him. "It's too clean, too obvious..." 

"Do you have any idea what you're going against?" 

"No, but I've got a hunch. They usually turn out to be true," Harry muttered as the pages shifted again, now showing the invoices his team had managed to dig up. "We arrested fifteen wizards last week. None of them are talking, no matter what we've tried." 

"There are methods-"

"Illegal ones?" 

"Well, not technically." 

"Well, 'not technically illegal' isn't going to be enough to get permission to use your methods, Malfoy, sorry," Harry shrugged, taking a sip of coffee. He caught sight of something in the lower corner of a report and snatched it out of the air. "I knew it," he muttered. 

His coffee was abandoned on the table and he rushed to his room to get dressed. Before vanishing into his room, however, he turned back to his house guest. 

"Malfoy, you have two choices; get dressed and come with me, or submit to being locked in here without your wand," Harry spoke quickly, knowing they didn't have very much time. Malfoy watched him closely for a second before moving toward his own room. 

"I can be ready in five minutes," Malfoy said as he passed Harry. 

"Brilliant. Make it three," Harry sped off and chucked his casual robes over a T-shirt (emblazoned with the Holyhead Harpies logo) and jeans, shoved his feet in his trainers and managed to reach the front door less than thirty seconds before Malfoy fell out of his own room. "Ready? Great." 

He pulled Malfoy from the apartment, locked the door, and Apparated with a hand tight around Malfoy's wrist. When they landed, Malfoy tugged himself free. 

"Want to tell me what the rush is?" Malfoy huffed when he noticed Harry was already walking away at a brisk pace. 

"There was a note in the reports three months ago, something no one in the Department had ever seen before. Some kind of symbol. It got brushed off eventually, since no one could figure it out. It bugged me, though, because the last time I'd seen a symbol that no one knew, it almost got me killed. So I looked into it a bit deeper," Harry huffed as he stopped walking, lifting his wand. A moment later, and his bright white stag erupted from the tip of his wand, cantering off the way they'd just come. 

"And I still couldn't find anything, aside from a lot of semi-illegal bartering going on down on Knockturn," Harry said, moving forward again. "So I took it to Hermione. She recognised it immediately. It's from a Muggle story. Actually pretty clever, when you think about it. Not many purebloods - or even halfbloods - would think to search Muggle literature for a symbol on a Wizarding document, especially one in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." 

"So what are we doing out in the middle of nowhere?" 

"Following a hunch," Harry said. He ducked into a trench, pulling Malfoy with him. 

"Is this going to be another following my gut almost got me killed scenario, because if so, maybe I should've stayed at the apartment..." Malfoy muttered, the brave facade he wore starting to crack just slightly. Harry watched him for a moment and reached into the pocket of his robe. 

"There's a tracker in this, so don't think about running off. You stay under this, right here, and I will come find you when everything is clear, okay?" He handed over his Invisibility Cloak, watching the expression on Malfoy's face as it turned from barely concealed fear to clearly visible awe. 

"No wonder you got away with everything in school," he muttered while wrapping the cloak around his shoulders. 

"I mean it, Malfoy. Don't even think about running. Normal procedure would be to have you bound to me, but that would mean I'd have to keep you within fifteen feet at all times, and I can't guarantee that this isn't going to turn deadly. So, I'm opting to trust you," Harry's eyes were huge and sincere as he watched Malfoy. 

"I'm staying right here, Potter. Just don't get yourself killed this time. I don't fancy moving in with Weasley," Malfoy answered. 

"I'll be back soon." Harry waited til Malfoy pulled the cloak over his head. 

Then he was gone. 

---

Thirty minutes passed, and Draco was still bundled under Potter's cloak. It was oddly warm for such thin fabric, and Draco found himself enjoying it. He focused on the warmth of the cloak around him, and decidedly not on the fact that it had been a half hour since Potter had leaped from their hiding spot. 

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, and they snapped open only minutes later upon hearing a twig snapping nearby. Draco drew his wand as carefully as possible, to avoid rustling the cloak. 

"Malfoy?" It was Potter's voice, but Draco couldn't be sure it was Potter himself, so he stayed still and silent. 

"Malfoy, I'm really hoping you're still here, because if not, I'm gonna look like an idiot." 

Draco stayed quiet. Somebody dropped into the trench behind him, and he tensed. 

"Now would be a really good time to tell me you're still here before I kick you," Potter said. Draco muttered a small incantation, and his words appeared in the air in front of Potter. 

How can I trust that this is the real Potter? 

"You shouted at me this morning for stirring my coffee too loudly," Potter answered. "How can I trust that this is Malfoy I'm talking to?" 

You have seven armchairs in your flat but only four dining chairs. You're an odd one, Potter. 

He heard Potter snort, and heard him take another step forward. 

Not much further, Potter, you'll kick me in the back. 

"Oh, I jumped behind you? Shit, sorry, Malfoy." 

Can I be sure you're alone, and yourself? 

"All I can give you is my word, Malfoy, and you should know I don't go back on that." 

Reluctantly, Draco pulled the cloak off and turned, standing as he did so. He turned it into one fluid movement, not even stumbling on the uneven ground. He faced Potter - alone, looking no worse for wear - and breathed out slowly. 

"You're not dead," Draco noted unnecessarily. 

"Nah, not dead," Potter grinned roguishly. He raised a hand to mess up his hair and Draco's eyes zeroed in on the spreading scarlet stain on the shredded fabric of his robe. 

"You got hit, Potter," Draco said, calm as possible. Potter's brow scrunched up and he looked down at himself. He opened his robe and pulled the sticky fabric away from his skin. What was left of his T-shirt was soaked in red, and he pulled it up as well, revealing a considerable gash arching from his left ribs, over his stomach, and ending above his right hipbone.

"Oh," Potter managed, looking back up at Draco. "Well, fuck." 

He collapsed, and Draco rushed to catch him. 

---

Potter was admitted to St Mungo's a mere hour later. Draco spent a majority of that time ignoring the suspicious glares of Potter's coworkers, and telling everyone who asked, repeatedly, that he didn't hex Potter, and that they could check his wand if they wanted proof. 

The suspicion let up slightly after one of the Healers came out to tell the other Aurors that Potter's injury was caused by Apparation. He'd splinched himself twice during the raid, and taken a concerning number of curses in the ensuing fight. Draco found himself alternately biting his thumbnail and twisting Potter's cloak between his hands. Which was ridiculous, because he wasn't worried about Potter. He just didn't want to move in with Weasley. 

Right. 

Weasley fell into the empty chair beside Draco, huffing. 

"Is he okay?" Draco asked quietly. 

"He will be. Damn idiot," Weasley muttered back. 

"I'm sorry," Draco said. 

"Why? This isn't your fault." 

"No. But he's your best friend, and he's hurt. You must be worried. So I'm sorry that this is happening." 

"Thanks, Malfoy," Weasley scrubbed a hand over his face. "Why'd he bring you with him, anyway? I mean, no offence, but Harry's more the type to go it alone for as long as possible." 

"He gave me a choice. Go with him, or hand over my wand and stay at the flat." 

"And so you went with him," Weasley deduced. 

"Obviously," Draco sighed. "He was going over the Sheffield notes this morning. He noticed something, and then took off." 

"He's been trying to figure out the Sheffield case for months. I don't get it, it's just a potions ring," Ron frowned.

"He thinks there's something that you're missing. I think he's right." 

"Well... we can discuss this when he's out of hospital," Weasley said. "I'm glad you were there, though. Otherwise he would've collapsed by himself and we wouldn't have found him in time." 

"He didn't even notice that he was bleeding, Weasley, that isn't normal." 

"Wait, what?" 

"He didn't notice. He didn't notice til I pointed it out to him," Draco said, his brows pulling in. "Whatever he got hit with, it must've been bad. A numbing agent, maybe... I don't know any spells that could cause that sort of delayed reaction... there's a few potions that could do it, though..." Realisation dawned, and Draco's jaw dropped. He wouldn't.... Weasley noted the change of expression on Draco's face and tugged his up out of his seat. 

"Come with me," Weasley stood, and marched toward the Healer who had tended to Potter. "Healer McCain, can we have a word please?" 

"Of course, Auror Weasley. Is there a problem?" Healer McCain asked, his smooth brow creased with worry. 

"Potentially," Weasley herded the Healer and Draco toward an empty room. He cast a strong privacy ward and turned back to the Healer. "Did you check Harry for potions? Anything that could cause a delayed reaction to pain?" 

"We did the regular check, Auror Weasley. Potions, poisons, and spells. In that order," Healer McCain informed him. 

"Did you check his lung tissue?" Draco interrupted. 

"Pardon? Mr Malfoy, I don't think you have security clearance to be part of this conversation-" 

"I live with Potter, Healer. All due respect, but I think I have plenty clearance to be here," Draco interjected. 

"Alright... no, we didn't check his lungs. There's no potions or poisons in his bloodstream, and all of the spells he was hit with were only temporary," Healer McCain said. 

"There's a potion my father used to use, back when Voldemort was at his peak. He'd use it to aid in interrogation and torture. It's a vapour. He would siphon it into his prisoner's cells at night. Once inhaled, it stays in the system for a week. During that week, anything can be done, and the victim wouldn't know it unless it was pointed out," Draco explained quickly. His hands blurred with the speed at which he gesticulated. "It had a sort of perception filter spell laid into the ingredients of the vapour." 

"Oh, Merlin have mercy," Healer McCain whispered, shocked. 

"Precisely. Which is why you need to check his lungs. The vapour breaks down lung tissue after a month without being re-administered." 

The Healer nodded somberly, rushing from the room. Weasley had gone pale. Draco sighed and turned to Potter's friend. 

"Weasley-"

"Harry was talking to your dad right before you were released," Weasley muttered, shock colouring his tone. "Could he-"

"He could, but he's usually one for subtlety. Besides, the vapour is thick enough that it'd be immediately noticeable." 

"This is going to bring suspicion on you, Malfoy, I hope you realise that." 

"I've had suspicion aimed at me since I could say my own name, Weasley, I understand." 

---

Harry woke to the bright white ceiling that just screamed 'hospital', and groaned. Within seconds, a Healer was standing over his bed, leaning into his face. 

"Mr Potter, welcome back," the Healer grinned. Harry tried not to roll his eyes. 

"Hi, Doc," Harry muttered past the dryness in his throat. 

"So, good news or bad news first?"

"How about some water before we have any news?" Harry suggested. The Healer clicked his tongue but turned to pour a glass of water for him. He handed over the glass and Harry took a grateful swig. Once his throat stopped feeling scratchy, he nodded to the Healer. "Right, bad news first." 

"You somehow inhaled a substance that will break down your lung tissue in a month, unless you take another dose of the substance or find an antidote that can reverse each component in the poison." 

"Well, that's definitely bad news," Harry mused. "What's the good news?" 

"The good news is you're not bleeding out anymore." 

"So basically, I'll die in a month from some kinda poison in my lungs, but I get to keep all my blood inside my body. Great, that's just fantastic, Doc, what else can you tell me?" Harry snapped, frustrated, and scrubbed his face with his hand. "Where are my glasses?" 

The frames were pushed into his waiting hand and he shoved them onto his face. 

"Where's my team?" 

"Auror Weasley is in the waiting room, with the young Mr Malfoy, and Ms Granger," the Healer informed him. "The other Aurors are - I assume - back at the Ministry." 

"Can I see them, please? All of them," Harry requested. "It's important." 

"Of course. Mr Malfoy is the one who made Healer McCain aware of the poison in the first place," the Healer said, as if it wasn't some huge deal. 

"Right, just bring them in to see me, please?" 

"Of course," the Healer left, and about five minutes later, Ron was leading Hermione and Malfoy into Harry's hospital room. 

"Mate, you look like hell," Ron winced, taking a seat on Harry's left. 

"Feel like it. What happened?" Harry inquired. Ron looked to Malfoy, who cleared his throat and answered. 

"You came to find me, but you were bleeding out, really badly... you didn't even notice until I told you.... then you collapsed, and-" 

"And Malfoy hollered for me, and we brought you here," Ron filled in when Malfoy stopped talking. "The Healers did all their checks, but couldn't find anything. They thought you were fine; just a splinching and a few curses... But mate... I remember how bad splinching hurts, and you didn't show any pain at all until Malfoy mentioned it. You didn't even notice you were bleeding..." Ron took a breath. "Malfoy told Healer McCain to check your lung tissue." 

"What'd they find?" Harry asked, even though he knew. 

"A poison gas my father used to use when Voldemort was in power. It numbed its victims, and made it so that they wouldn't notice their own wounds until they were pointed out." 

"Shit. I think I really hate your dad, Malfoy," Harry's head dropped back against his pillow. 

"That makes two of us, Potter," Malfoy supplied. Hermione sniffed quietly beside him, before carefully stepping forward and taking Harry's hand. 

"You promised, no more hospitals til we're old and grey," she tried to joke. Her laugh was watery and her voice wavered, but Harry ignored it. 

"Must be a sign, I'm gonna be prematurely grey," Harry teased back. Hermione whacked his shoulder for it. 

"Don't you make jokes about this, Harry," she cried. "One of these days.... one of these days your luck is going to run out, Harry. What would've happened if Malfoy hadn't been there?" 

"I have to make jokes, Hermione, because if I don't, this will actually sink in and I can't deal with that right now." 

"God, why couldn't you have just taken up knitting," Hermione sighed, sounding exasperated. 

"I'd've found a way to get hurt doing that too, Mione. I wish you wouldn't worry so much." 

"You're family, Harry, I'm always going to worry." 

Harry squeezed her hand and smiled when she returned the pressure. He noticed Malfoy watching him, and turned his attention to him. 

"Thanks, Malfoy," he said, pressing as much gratitude possible into his tone. 

"I do believe I asked you not to get yourself hurt today, Potter," Malfoy quipped. Harry took it for what it was. An admission of worry. 

"I promised not to get killed, actually. Never said anything about getting hurt," Harry smirked. Malfoy rolled his eyes in return. 

The Healer poked his head back into the room at that point, claiming that they wanted to keep Harry overnight for observation. Thankfully, Hermione spoke up. 

"I have Healer training, if you recall. I can keep an eye on Harry easily at home," she said. 

"I thought Mr Potter lived with Mr Malfoy?" The Healer asked. 

"He does. I can stay the night with them," Hermione shrugged as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

"Alright. I'll send McCain back in to see you off, Mr Potter," the Healer left again. 

"Mione, what about the kids?" Harry asked. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, not knowing Hermione had children. 

"Luna's at home. Rosie and Hugo are fine," Hermione shrugged. "Ginny won't be home until Monday, but that's alright." 

"You live with Lovegood and Ginevra?" Malfoy interrupted, confused. 

"Uh, I'm dating them, actually," Hermione said. 

"Both of them?" 

"Yes."

"And they know this?" 

"Yes." 

"And they're okay with it?" 

"Yes," 

"That's certainly different..." 

"It's called polyamory, Malfoy. Loving more than one person at once." 

"Oh." 

"Yes. Can we get back to the topic at hand now?" 

"Right, yes, sorry." 

---

A few hours later, and Potter was propped up on the couch in his flat. Granger hovered by his side the whole afternoon, and Draco often had to hold himself back from making any kind of inappropriate commentary. Instead, he made far too much coffee. 

"Potter!" He called at one point. "Why don't you have an elf? This would be so much easier with an elf."

"I do have one, but he's afraid of Hermione, so he stays away whenever she's here," Potter responded. 

"What did Granger do to make a house elf afraid of her?" 

"Offered him freedom and wages in one conversation." 

Draco put down the mug he held and walked all the way back out to the living room to stare disapprovingly at Granger. 

"Really, Granger?" 

"He's a slave, Draco, that's not right!" 

"House elves are a slave race, Granger. They exist to serve; taking away their purpose in life would be like burning a library in front of you. It's torture," Draco shuddered, remembering the pained wailing of his favourite childhood elf when she was dismissed. "It can kill them, you know." 

"How can being free kill them?" 

"To you it's freedom. To them, it is the worst punishment imaginable." 

"But-"

"No. Muggles use service animals, do they not? For those with impairments?" 

"Well, yes, but that's different!" 

"How? Your service animals are bred to serve. They're trained rigorously, for their whole lives, to take care of their Muggle owners. How is that different to an elf being trained his whole life to take care of his wizarding masters?" 

"Because animals don't have a choice!" 

"Elves do, though, and most elves you ask will choose to serve," Draco wiped his hands on the dishtowel he'd carried from the kitchen without noticing. 

"But they don't know any other way to live-" 

"Granger, none of us know any way to live outside of our learned behaviours. If I attempted to be brave or chivalrous, I'd probably screw it up and resent attempting it, because I don't know how to act that way. If you attempted to be self-serving, you'd hate it, because it isn't who you are," Draco shrugged. "We are who our experiences shape us to be. Brave Gryffindor, sly Slytherin, servant house elves." 

Granger gaped for a moment before biting her lip and sinking into a sullen silence. Draco returned to the kitchen and finished making coffee. He placed the three mugs on a tray with a small jug of milk and a bowl of sugar. He carried it back to the living room and set it down carefully. 

"Now, how do you two take your coffee?" 

---

A week after Potter was released, Draco almost tripped over him in the hallway on his way to the bathroom. Potter was curled up in a ball on the floor, gasping and rocking, with his arms tight around his stomach. 

"Potter," Draco crouched beside him, pressing his palm to Potter's shoulder. The usually steady man was trembling beneath Draco's hand. "You need to sit up, Potter, can you do that?" 

The shaking intensified, and Draco sighed. He reached around to pull Potter into a sitting position, leaning him back against the wall. He crouched again in front of Potter, trying to meet his eyes. 

"There we go, now try and breathe with me, okay?" Draco took several deep, exaggerated breaths, watching Potter's face. It was a relief when Potter finally mirrored Draco's breathing. "There you go, Potter, that's it," he murmured. "Easy does it." 

Potter whimpered in the back of his throat, a sound so small Draco would've missed it if he wasn't paying such close attention. 

"Tell me what happened, Potter," Draco pressed, voice firm but gentle. 

"Ni- nightmare," Potter managed to grumble. Draco nodded understandingly. 

"That's okay. Any reason it sent you into a panic attack?" He prompted. 

"Mione thinks I have... PTSD... or something..." Potter said, taking deep breaths between his words, as if it was hard work just saying them. 

"Did you see a Mind Healer?" 

"No."

"Why?" 

"Don't need one. 'M fine," Potter brushed him off gruffly. 

"Okay. Well, I'm not going to be able to sleep now, and I doubt you will either. Make us a coffee? I'm going to take a shower." 

"Why should I make coffee?" 

"Why shouldn't you? You're capable. I'm not going to coddle you, Potter, you can make a couple coffees by yourself," Draco stood and headed for the bathroom. "I take mine black with two sugars, Potter." 

---

Things went smoothly enough for a time, if one ignored the ticking countdown on Potter's life. It had been two weeks since the raid, and Draco found Potter and Weasley poring over case files in the kitchen, taking up an inordinate amount of space. 

"Really, Potter, we have a study for this exact reason, do you really have to clutter up our kitchen?" Draco complained as he attempted to maneuver through the mess. He barely registered his own words, but he certainly registered the sudden silence that followed them. "What, do I not have security clearance for this conversation?" 

"Malfoy, do you think maybe you're getting a bit... comfortable here?" Weasley piped up. 

"What do you mean?" Draco raised an eyebrow. 

"You said 'our' kitchen..." Weasley said. 

"I am living here temporarily, excuse me for assuming I could use personal articles. Shall I leave Potter's kitchen? Return to Potter's living room? Perhaps you'd be more comfortable if I simply locked myself in Potter's spare bedroom?" Draco snapped. He turned on his heel and stormed past the two befuddled Aurors. "Oh, I'm sorry, Potter. May I excuse myself to your bathroom, I believe I need to use your shower." 

"Malfoy-" 

"Whatever, Potter. If you have need of me, I'll be in the guest room. Or maybe it's time you built a little prisoner cell, since I'm only here until a group of biased wizards with a grudge against my name send me back to Azkaban." 

He stormed away, but not fast enough to miss the little pained groan from Potter. 

He ignored it anyway. 

---

Harry hung his head when Malfoy stormed out, and grunted in pain when the movement exacerbated his headache. 

"Did you have to say anything, Ron?" Harry groaned. 

"Mate... you remember he's only here-"

"Until the Wizengamot make up their minds, I know. But what if they decide to send him back?" 

"Then he goes back and serves the rest of his sentence, Harry, you know this." 

"Ron... I can't let him go back to prison. He's... he's changed." 

"I know, mate. But you can't save everyone," Ron clapped a hand gently on Harry's shoulder. 

"Yeah... I'd just be happy to save him, though." 

"Harry, you're not- you don't... fancy him, do you?" 

"I don't know, Ron. All I know is that I've only had one panic attack in the last three weeks, and he brought me out of it in under ten minutes," Harry shrugged. "There's something grounding about him being here. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe I fancy him, maybe I'm just glad that I'm getting real sleep. I don't know. But if I figure it out, I'll tell you." 

"Good," Ron clapped his shoulder again. "Now, let's finish this damn paperwork and then I'll go apologise to your boy." 

"He's not my boy, Ron, shut up," Harry grumbled. 

"Not yet, you mean," Ron muttered. Harry shoved his shoulder roughly, Ron chuckled, and they turned back to their papers. 

---

The next day, Harry was summoned to St Mungo's. Apparently, Healer McCain had made some progress in finding an antidote to the vapour that was slowly killing him. Harry got dressed carefully, and then crossed the hallway to Draco's room. He knocked thrice and waited. 

Draco opened the door, leaning against the frame once there was enough space. 

"I have to see Healer McCain today. Did you want to come with me?" 

"Don't want me taking up too much room in your flat, Potter?" 

"Malfoy... I don't want to fight today, okay? They think they've made progress finding an antidote for me. If this doesn't work... if it doesn't work, I only have a week and a half left," Harry rubbed at the scarring on the back of his left hand. The words were still as clear as they were the day he carved them into his own skin. I must not tell lies. 

"Potter, you have plenty of people you could call upon for moral support, if that's what you're after," Draco sighed. 

"But you're the only one who isn't going to panic if this doesn't pan out," Harry said. "I'm not afraid to die, Malfoy." 

"You're not afraid to die, but you don't want to process that news by yourself," Draco filled in the blank. 

"I wasn't alone the last time I had to die. Guess I just got used to it," Harry shrugged. In reality, he knew he was asking because he needed the grounding sensation that Malfoy's presence supplied. 

"I can be ready in five minutes," Draco said softly. He ducked back into his room and closed the door. Harry let his eyes close at the same time. Then he moved away from the bedroom door and waited in his favourite armchair for Draco to return. 

---

Draco would've had to be blind to miss the abject fear in Potter's eyes as he mentioned the very short lifespan he was looking at. He couldn't fault Potter for not wanting to go alone. He wouldn't want to be alone either, if he knew he would be receiving the worst news of his life. 

He dressed quickly, throwing a semi-casual outfit on and buttoning his cloak over it without bothering with his robes. 

He was back out of his room within three minutes, and found Potter curled up on his usual armchair. 

"Potter?" 

"When I die, you can keep the flat," came the scarily calm response. 

"Don't talk nonsense, Potter. You're not going to die yet," Draco walked over to crouch in front of Potter, forcing him to meet Draco's eyes.

"I might. I wonder if this delayed reaction thing includes killing curses," Potter mused, a dark light in his eyes. 

"Potter-"

"Oh, I'm not going to kill myself, don't worry. Just call it a morbid curiosity," Potter tilted his head. 

"Well, enough of that. Let's get you to see Healer McCain. Is your Floo connected?" 

"Yes, why?"

"Because you are absolutely not in any shape to Apparate anywhere." 

"So? You Apparate us, then." 

"Not allowed, remember? That's one of my restrictions." 

"So use my wand. Who's gonna know?" 

"Potter, come on. Up we go," Draco stood, pulling Potter to his feet as he did so. Potter ended up stumbling straight into Draco's chest. His forehead rested against Draco's left collarbone, and he sighed. 

"I don't want to die, Draco," Potter muttered, sounding much younger than his twenty eight years. 

"You're not going to die, Potter," Draco insisted. He stiffened slightly when he felt Potter's arms slide around him. "I'm not going to let you die." 

---

They reached St Mungo's a few minutes later, in relatively good shape. (Though Harry did have to steady himself by gripping Malfoy's arm tightly when they stepped out of the Floo). Malfoy led them to Healer McCain, and then they followed the Healer to his examination room. There was a brief stall when Healer McCain tried to keep Malfoy out of the room, but Harry turned pale as a sheet at the threat and the Healer backtracked quickly. 

Once Harry was settled on the exam table, and Malfoy took up a post by the door, the Healer started his spiel. 

"So, Mr Potter, we have some good news," Healer McCain began, smiling broadly as though that could erase the tension in the room. 

"About damn time," Harry grumbled. "What've you got for me?" 

"We seem to have made progress in finding an antidote. We've deconstructed the poison in your lung tissue and reverse engineered a potion that should be able to-"

"Wait, should be able to? You brought him in here on a hunch?" Malfoy interrupted, frowning. 

"Well, it's a very complex poison-"

"I know that, I've seen it made. In case you've forgotten, it was my idiot of a father who created it." 

"And you haven't supplied any information on how to reverse it, either," Healer McCain snapped. Malfoy scowled. 

"I could offer a more certain result than you have by now, if you'd have given me the deconstructed ingredient list as I asked last week." 

"I- you are a convicted criminal, Mr Malfoy, you have no authority to that information." 

"Hold on. Malfoy, are you saying you could have a cure made?" Harry jumped into the conversational fray, his eyes alight with hope for the first time all day. 

"Potter, I could've had one completed and administered by yesterday if these dolts had done what I asked." 

"Mr Malfoy doesn't have authority-"

"So how do we go about getting him that authority? I'd very much like to not die before my thirtieth birthday, thanks." 

"Only family members and next of kin are allowed access to personal medical file, Mr Potter, as you're well aware." 

"Alright. The Weasleys are my next of kin," Harry shrugged. "Give the list to Auror Weasley. He can supervise Mr Malfoy. No rules broken, no red tape cut, easy." 

"Mr Potter, I can't authorise-"

"You can, and you will, unless you want to be held personally accountable for the death of Harry Potter," Malfoy threatened. 

"Malfoy, calm down, it's fi-" Harry broke off into a coughing fit. He covered his mouth as he hacked, and when he drew it away, his palm was flecked with red. 

"Fine, is it?" Malfoy asked rhetorically, suddenly right beside him. 

"Do it, Healer. If your team can have a solid cure that you're sure will work by tomorrow, then I'll concede. But right now, he needs that cure, and I know I can have it ready before the weekend." Malfoy ordered, but there was a waver in his voice that Harry didn't want to think about. 

He couldn't stop staring at his hand. It was a relief and a shock when Malfoy's nimble fingers came into view with a tissue. Malfoy wiped the blood from Harry's hand gently, then tipped his face up to wipe away whatever had stayed on his mouth. 

"Let's get you home, Potter, come on," Malfoy helped Harry stand, and steadied him when his legs tried to give out beneath him. "Someone will be in touch, Healer McCain. You had better deliver. The Saviour's life is in your hands." 

---

By the time Draco got Potter home, the latter was nearly unconscious. Draco settled him carefully on the couch, sliding the throw blanket over him and slipping a cushion beneath his head. Then he turned back to the fireplace and hoped this would work. 

The call went through, but instead of Weasley's freckled face, it was Krum. 

"Mr Krum, nice to see you. I need to speak to Auror Weasley," Draco said. 

"Vat do you vant vith my husband?" Krum's heavily accented tone was hostile. 

"It's about Potter. It's an emergency, please." 

Krum studied him for a moment before pulling back from the fireplace. 

"Ron! Ze Malfoy boy is calling for you!" Draco heard heavy boots moving away from the fireplace, to be replaced by lighter, faster steps. 

"Thanks, love," he heard Weasley say, before his face was finally in the fire. "Malfoy. What's wrong?" 

"I need you to get the list of poison ingredients from Healer McCain. I can make the antidote for Potter," Draco explained. 

"So why couldn't you get the list yourself?" 

"Not family, or next of kin. You are. McCain won't give me the list." 

"So what's the guarantee that he'll give it to me?" 

"Well see, he has two options. Give you the list, or be responsible for the death of the Saviour. What do you think he'll choose?" 

"I hope you're right, Malfoy. How soon do you need that list?" Weasley asked. Potter coughed again on the couch, heavy and wet. Draco cringed to hear it. 

"As soon as possible." 

---

An hour later, Potter's cough had eased off enough to let him sleep, but there was a pile of bloody tissues on the coffee table. Draco cringed looking at them. A knock on the door saved his sanity. He stood from where he'd been mopping Potter's brow with a damp cloth, and rushed to answer it. 

He dragged the door open to let Weasley inside, not even caring how he got passed the building's security. Weasley held out a sheet of parchment, but Draco didn't take it. 

"Did you check for contact curses?" He asked, keeping his distance from the parchment. 

"Shit, no, I didn't-" Weasley pulled out his wand and performed several detection charms, before declaring the parchment clean. "Here," he handed it over, and Draco took it carefully. 

"Excellent. Alright, I need a lab set up but I'm not allowed Transfiguration spells, and-" Draco took notice of the large case Ron had dragged in with him. 

"Mione let me take hers. Apparently it's rudimentary, but I figure it'll do, right?" Weasley hauled the case to the kitchen, tapped it with his wand, and stood back as it set itself up. A fully constructed potions lab, laid out over the kitchen counters and island. 

"It's perfect. God, remind me to get one of these once I'm free." 

Draco rushed forward, checking the store cupboard against the list in his hand, mentally countering the ingredients. He had almost everything... 

"I need lacewing flies," Draco groaned. Those were almost impossible to find outside of Hogwarts these days, due to the demand for Polyjuice potion- 

He flashed back to his arrival at Potter's flat, disguised as Seamus Finnigan, using Polyjuice- 

"Weasley, who brews your Polyjuice for the Department?" 

"Uh... Montgomery Fletcher, I think?" 

"Can you get him to give up three lacewing flies?" Draco asked. "They have to be whole flies, and they cannot be damaged." 

"I can damn well try." Weasley marched out the door and Draco heard the pop of Apparation a second after the door shut. Draco went about gathering the rest of the ingredients. He hauled a heavy iron cast cauldron onto the portable fire set up on the kitchen island. He was about to light the flame when he heard it. 

More coughing. It was still wet, and it clenched Draco's chest tightly to hear it. He dropped everything and rushed back to the living room. Potter was trying to get to his feet through his hacking fits. Draco moved to intercept him. 

"Potter, come on, you need to sit down-" Draco tried to pull him down again, but Potter cried out at the touch. Draco's stomach turned to lead. He knew this stage. Every touch felt like fire at this point. 

"Potter, can you hear me?" Draco checked out of necessity (and a stupid amount of worry), as he mentally begged Weasley to be faster. Potter's eyes met Draco's and he whimpered again in pain. "I know, Potter, I know... but it's going to be okay," Draco tried to soothe without touching Potter any more than necessary. 

"I've got everything for your antidote, okay, I've got all of it, Harry-" Draco was babbling, hoping it would calm Potter enough that the coughing would abate again. He didn't even notice he'd used Potter's first name. "You're going to be okay, Harry, I promise."

Finally, the coughing eased off, and Draco managed to convince Potter to sit down. He grit his teeth when Potter cried. Because Potter was crying now, steadily and silently, and by Merlin if this had happened fifteen years ago, Draco would have relished the pain in Potter's eyes. But now he bore down and tried to soothe Potter with just his voice and his words, since touch was out of the question. 

He thought back to last week, when he'd claimed he wouldn't know how to be brave. He didn't know how, but he hoped that this counted. There was something to be said about watching the man you've loved for most of your life cry in agony without having a way to help. 

Weasley returned shortly, and Draco extricated himself to begin brewing the antidote that could save Harry's - because he was Harry, and Draco didn't think he would ever go back to being Potter, not after this - life.

"What's wrong with him?" Weasley asked, when Harry had fallen into a fitful sleep. 

"The poison is complex. Originally it's meant to suppress the pain receptors in a victim, so they won't realise they've been cut open until they're told about it. They'll just be confused about why they're suddenly so lightheaded. But once the first week is up, the potion goes through stages. It disintegrates lung tissue, yes, but it also lowers inhibitions and eventually - once past the two or three week stage - actually increases the sensitivity of a victim's pain receptors," Draco spoke quickly as he diced bat spleen with practised hands. 

"In English, perhaps?" 

Draco stopped moving for a split second. 

"Everything feels like razor blades against his skin now. His clothes are irritating him, the blanket is smothering him, and physical contact feels like a cold knife slicing into his skin." 

"Sounds like you're quite the Legilimens," Weasley said quietly. 

"No need to dig in someone else's head when it's already in my own," Draco returned, just as soft, before returning his attention to the list beside his cutting board. 

Neither of them spoke again, and ten minutes later, Harry started coughing. 

---

Harry was lucid the next day, while the antidote simmered through it's final brewing stage. Draco brought water and dry toast to him on the couch. 

"You should try to eat something," Draco said softly as he sat beside Harry, being mindful to keep space between them. 

"You called me Harry yesterday," Harry said. He sounded proud. "I remember." 

"Good to know your memory isn't affected. Now, will you eat something?" 

"I like it." 

"You like toast?" 

"No, I like when you call me Harry," Harry smiled, looking like a loon. Draco remembered what he said about the potion lowering inhibitions. Then he remembered how thirteen-year-old Draco would've eaten up this opportunity to humiliate Saint Potter. 

Twenty-eight-year-old Draco was more mature. 

"I'll call you Harry again after you eat something," Draco bargained. 

Well... slightly more mature. 

After Harry nibbled his way through half a piece of toast, and drank most of the water, Draco relented. 

"That's good, Harry," he took the plate and glass as he stood. He glanced back on his way to the kitchen. Harry was grinning widely. Draco took it as a win and decidedly ignored the fluttering in his chest. 

He checked on the potion as he passed and sighed with relief as he recognised the mother of pearl sheen. Nearly ready. It only had to be stirred twice now and it was ready to be ingested. Draco picked up his stirring rod.

Then the peace of the day was broken in half, when a swarm of Aurors slammed through Harry's front door. 

"Malfoy! Surrender yourself! You are outnumbered!" One bellowed through the small flat. Draco panicked and shrank the potions kit back into the case. The potion itself he extracted a large dose of and siphoned into a vial. He stashed it inside a half empty jar of peanut butter. By the time he turned, four Aurors were barging into the kitchen, bearing down on him. 

"Might I ask what this is about?" Draco asked, using the coolly polite tone he reserved especially for Aurors. 

"You're under arrest," one Auror said and roughly shot off an Incarcerous jinx. Draco's hands bound themselves behind his back. 

"For what?" 

"For the attempted murder of one Harry James Potter," the same Auror grunted. Draco's mind short-circuited. 

"What evidence do you have?" He asked anyway, because he knew his rights. 

"Well, for one, we have the damn list of poison ingredients right here on the kitchen counter. Really, Malfoy, you're getting sloppy," another Auror scoffed. 

"And what, may I ask, will you do with Potter when you imprison me?" Draco asked. 

"Potter will be transferred back to St Mungo's, where he should have been this whole time," finally, an Auror he recognised. Dean Thomas. Draco didn't have a chance to rebut this time, as he was forcibly dragged from the kitchen. 

---

He was back in the same interrogation room he'd been in upon his release from Azkaban. He eyed the only chair in the room cautiously, wondering if it was another Portkey. The door opened and closed again behind him and he heard Weasley speak up. 

"It's a one-way Portkey. You can sit, it's fine." 

"Forgive me if I'm wary, Weasley," Draco sighed. The fight had drained from him in the hours that he'd been left here. "How is he?" 

"They put him back in St Mungo's. They wouldn't let me explain what you told me about the pain sensitivity, though, so it was a loud event. I ended up knocking him out, for his own safety." 

"Those idiots could've killed him..." Draco muttered. He still wasn't sitting, and he still wasn't facing Weasley. 

"I know." 

"They think I did this to him," Draco stated. 

"I told you it would bring suspicion on you, knowing your father invented the poison," Weasley said, but he didn't sound smug. "Are you alright?" 

"No. My wrists are bruised, I'm looking at going back to Azkaban, and Har- Potter will die within the week." 

"Wait, you said we had nearly two weeks left?" Weasley circled him now, and Draco took in his bedraggled appearance. 

"There's something we're missing. It's too... it's too fast. He was lucid today. After the pain he was in yesterday, he should not have been able to sit up, much less hold a conversation and eat a meal. He wasn't even coughing." 

"What are you saying?" 

"I'm saying... maybe that potions ring isn't so typical after all." 

"Malfoy, if you have any-" 

"I can't promise results this time, Weasley, but I can promise information. I hate to pull the bargaining chip here but I really do think that my information can help Harry," Draco didn't even have time to kick himself for the slip. Weasley was already lighting up. 

"You need out?" 

"I need out. Please, Weasley, this could be something big." 

---

An hour later, Draco walked out of the Ministry, a free man at last. At least, a free man with an Undetectable Listening Charm embedded in his signet ring, which Weasley had finally managed to pull from Inventory. 

He Apparated from the front steps, knowing Weasley's Trace would let them keep up with him. He landed in the trench that had started this mess, and climbed out quickly. He strode surely forward, making a beeline for the Manor he knew was hidden behind several wards, and schooled his features into a mask of bored indifference. 

He reached the ornate gates of his childhood home and sighed when they opened to his touch, as they always did. He walked up the lengthy driveway. An elf - Slippy, if he recalled correctly - opened the huge doors as he reached the steps. 

"Master Draco is home! Oh! Happiest of days!" The elf cried joyously, hopping up and down. Definitely Slippy then. 

"Good evening, Slippy. Tell me, is my father home?" 

"Oh, yes sir, Master Draco. Master Lucius is in the study with his associates." 

"Excellent. Take me to them. I have news." 

The elf trotted off, keeping pace with Draco's strides. They reached Lucius' study, and Draco opened the door with ease. The Manor recognised the Lord of the Manor, and that was not his father anymore. 

"Father," Draco greeted. 

"Boy, you know better than to barge in where you are unwanted," Lucius threatened. 

"Do not test me, Father, I have had a rather trying day," Draco nodded toward the decanter of whiskey on the sideboard. "If I may?" 

Lucius Malfoy may be a rude father, but never let it be said he's an ungracious host. He nodded. Draco walked toward the alcohol, pouring himself a short measure. 

"Well then, what's all the fuss?" Lucius huffed impatiently. 

"You'll be pleased to hear Potter's situation has worsened considerably, and the team at St Mungo's are still no closer to a cure," Draco said, considering the drink in his hand. He did not drink. 

"And why would I be pleased to hear that?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must be misunderstanding. Do you not wish for your associates - hello, Lestrange, Rowle, - to know that your endeavour is a success?" Draco leaned carefully, positioning himself so that the crown of his head was still above his father's. 

"Of course, perhaps if they knew the methods you used... they might not have been so cautious in their own attempts to rid the world of Potter." 

"What can you say of it, boy, you've been living with Potter for the last month," Rabastan Lestrange interjected. Draco met his gaze coolly. 

"Exactly, I've been living with him, so I know exactly how useless your assassination attempts have been. I mean, really. Cursed packages? Don't you remember who of us tried that first?" Draco scoffed. "You may as well have danced at his doorstep in the nude, you were so obvious. It's a miracle the Aurors haven't found you yet." 

"You dare speak down to me, boy!?" 

"No, I don't speak down. After all, only one of our number is a true Lord," Draco raised an eyebrow. "And it certainly isn't you." 

"Your father-"

"Is no Lord either," Draco interrupted, raising his empty hand. "Or is that another detail he forgot to mention?" 

"You rotten child. You will not impugn me in my own home!" Lucius seethed. The foundation of the Manor rattled threateningly. Lestrange and Rowle looked around, confused. 

"Your home? Oh, no, now you seem to misunderstand," Draco smiled coldly. "The Manor is mine, Father. It has been mine since your title was stripped ten years ago. It has tolerated your presence, purely because you are still of Malfoy blood. But the Manor, the Lordship, the land, the properties, the finances, and the power belongs to me." 

"You-!" 

"I am Draco Abraxas Malfoy, Lord and Liege of the Malfoy Estate. You are no more important than the dust in the air," Draco drew himself to his full height, glaring with the strength of generations, and the Manor went deathly still and silent. "I command the Estate. You are a visitor here, Lucius Malfoy, and your time as Lord is finished." 

Lucius finally backed down, flinching from the crackle of power surrounding Draco. Once his father had deferred, Draco turned to the two former Death Eaters. 

"You answer to me now, or you answer to the Aurors later. Take your pick," Draco threatened. Rowle, ever the coward, acquiesced immediately. Lestrange watched him bitterly, but agreed eventually as well. 

"Good. Now, tell me about Sheffield." 

---

The operation was bigger than anyone thought. There were dozens of wizards involved, all at different levels. Rowle, Lestrange and Lucius were the top bracket - the three who knew all of it. Draco personally decided that was foolish. The only way two people could keep a secret was if one of them was dead. 

But he listened, and learned, and hoped that he wasn't too far out of range for the Listening Charm on his ring to pick up the conversation. His mind was shielded thoroughly, so he had little to worry about in the way of accidentally tipping off any of the men. So he listened attentively to their explanation, frowning when it got too convoluted. 

"Is it really necessary to have twelve runners?" He interjected when Rowle tried to explain their ridiculous plan to confuse any tails. Having several people play-acting as the target, meaning less people will be on the right track. 

"Potter did it," Rowle shrugged. Draco held up a hand. 

"You're planning this all on some convoluted - and foolish - trick that Potter tried? Really? How daft are you? The Aurors will know that tactic and they will plan accordingly. For all your forethought, you have overlooked the fact that most of the serving Aurors have trained with Potter or have trained Potter themselves," Draco huffed. The strategist in his head couldn't let such an idiotic slip pass, but the man trying to save Harry Potter knew he needed to give the Aurors as much leeway as possible, so he explained. 

"If you take the target through Muggle London, you'll lose them quickly. If you take Muggle transport - for example, the Metropolitan Tube line from Amersham to Euston Square - you can literally walk to your drop site," Draco said, shrugging like it was simple. Which it was. 

"How do you know anything about Muggle transport?" Lestrange asked, sounding suspicious. Draco rolled his eyes. 

"I. Lived. With. Potter," he enunciated clearly. "Are you forgetting his little Mudblood friend? Those two are enamoured with everything Muggle. And I didn't have clearance to stay behind, so they dragged me off with them." 

That wasn't too much of a lie. Harry had dragged him off to use the Muggle underground. But Granger hadn't been there. Harry had just decided one day - before the coughing started - that Draco needed to see London like a proper tourist, since you're all posh and shit. 

"Can't believe you managed to put up with that filth for so long, Malfoy," Rowle scoffed, but it wasn't aimed at Draco. 

"Not hard to do when I knew he'd die soon," Draco shrugged and pretended like that didn't hurt to say. 

They got back to business. 

---

Once news spread that Lord Draco Malfoy was in residence at the Manor again, the media became a flurry. It was divided, for the most part; was Draco a war-hardened criminal, or a child who just wanted to start fresh? If you asked the general public, they wouldn't be able to give a definite answer. 

If you asked Draco, he was just fucking tired. 

He hadn't been able to leave the Manor for even a moment; the elves were being sent off to do his errands for him, as he was to be properly educated on the operation. So, Draco got clever. 

"Slippy," he called one night after dinner. Rowle and Lestrange were off in an empty room somewhere, doing whatever they did when alone together. Lucius had retired early, not wanting to sit around and be reminded that he was no longer in charge. 

The little elf popped into existence by his elbow. 

"Yes, Master Draco, sir?" Slippy addressed him carefully, still getting used to the new Lordship. 

"Slippy, you can relax. I am not my father. You will not be punished," he reassured the small elf. It unnerved him to see her so solemn. 

"Yes sir, Master Draco, sir. What can Slippy be doing, sir?" 

"I need you to run an errand for me, and it is very important that you pay very close attention to what I am about to tell you," he waited until she nodded severely. "I need you to go to Harry Potter's apartment in London. I need you to collect my belongings; they are in the bedroom on the left. Then - and this is the very important part, Slippy, please - I need you to find the old jar of peanut butter in the pantry." 

"Peanut butter, sir? But why?" 

"Because it is very important. I need you to take the peanut butter to Hermione Granger." 

"The Granger girl? Oh sir... if the Granger girl sees Slippy, she will offer wages, sir, Slippy will not take them!" 

"No, Slippy. I've spoken with Granger. She won't offer you wages. I need you to take the peanut butter to her. Tell her to look inside the jar. Tell her it will help who needs it. That is all you are to say, understand?" 

"Yes sir, Master Draco. Only tell the Granger girl to look in the jar, that it will help who needs it. Yes sir." 

"Good," Draco nodded. "Slippy, you must be fast. You are not to speak of this errand to anyone. If my father asks, you are to tell him you went to collect my things from Potter's house. Do you understand?" 

"Yes sir. Slippy will do as Master Draco asks." 

"Thank you, Slippy. Now go," he waved her off, and she vanished with a crack. 

He could only hope his plan would work. 

---

Hermione Granger was trying to coax her daughter into her coat. They were going to the Burrow for lunch, but Rosie absolutely was not having it. Hermione groaned in frustration when Rosie shouted No! for the fiftieth time and ran off. She sat back on her heels for a short moment, until a loud crack of Apparation jolted the silence. 

"Miss Granger! Miss Granger!" A voice rang through the house, not one of any human she's ever met. Which meant it had to be an elf. But all the elves she knew personally were either male or dead, so who-

"Miss Granger! Oh happy day! Oh, Master Draco will be so proud of Slippy, yes he will, oh yes," the elf prattled as she found Hermione. "Oh, Miss Granger, please do not being angry with Slippy! Slippy has something for you, Miss Granger!" 

The small elf carried a half-empty jar of peanut butter in her tiny hands. She held it out for Hermione to take, which she did, warily. 

"Master Draco says to look inside the jar. Master Draco says it will help," the elf recited. Curious, Hermione unscrewed the lid and peeked inside. Stuck in the spread was a vial about the length of Hermione's middle finger, and twice the width. It was filled with an opaque liquid. Hermione looked back up to the elf. 

"Did Malfoy say anything else, Slippy?" Hermione asked. 

"No, Miss. He sent Slippy to Harry Potter's home, and told Slippy to bring you this jar. Slippy knows nothing else." 

"Okay... thank you, Slippy, you did well," Hermione said, remembering what Malfoy had said about elves. Slippy seemed to preen under the praise, light though it was. "Will you tell Draco-" 

"Wait, Miss Granger! Slippy is remembering!" Slippy cried, and hopped on the spot. "Master Draco said it will help who needs it. About the jar! Slippy is sorry, Slippy nearly forgot!" 

"Slippy, it's okay, you remembered. You did well, Slippy. Now, go home, alright? Thank you." 

"Thanking you, Miss Granger!" Slippy bowed slightly, and Hermione cringed. Then Slippy disappeared with another crack. 

"Will help who needs it..." Hermione mused, turning over the vial in her hands. Who needed a potion like this? Who could possibly- Harry!

"Rosie, honey, do you wanna come with Mummy on a trip to London?" 

"No lunch?" Rosie peeked out from under her bed. 

"No, baby, Mummy has a really important errand to run first. Wanna come?" 

"Yeah!" 

"Come on then, you need your coat, Missy. It's cold out." This time, Rosie slipped her coat on quickly, and Hermione tucked the potion securely in her own pocket. She wrote a fast note for her girlfriends and left it on the counter before scooping up Hugo - already swathed in winter gear - and taking Rosie by the hand and stepping through the Floo to the Ministry. 

She rushed to the elevators, taking them down to the DMLE. Once there, she strode toward the receptionist. 

"I need to see Auror Weasley, immediately, please," Hermione said. The receptionist gave her a foul look. 

"Why? Come to pawn off your kids or something?" 

"Kindly refrain from making any more comments about my personal life, or I shall have to report you. Now, I need to see Auror Ronald Weasley." 

Rosie gripped her mother's hand tightly and Hugo's bottom lip was quivering, but Hermione didn't break her gaze. Finally, the receptionist caved, and sent a memo through the office to Ron's desk. He reached the reception area within a minute. 

"Mione? Rosie, Hugo, hey sweethearts," Ron greeted, giving the kids a kiss on the head each. Then he turned back to Hermione. "What's wrong?" 

"Can we go somewhere and talk in private, please?" Hermione's gaze cut to the receptionist who was trying not so subtly to eavesdrop. Ron nodded and led them through to Harry's office. He explained it was his temporarily, as Deputy Head Auror. Rosie looked around in awe, but sat quietly on the rug with Hugo when Ron asked. 

"What is it?" Ron turned to Hermione as soon as the kids were settled. Hermione pulled the vial from her pocket. 

"Draco sent his elf to drop this off. Any reason why he couldn't just bring it to me himself? Or just give it directly to you?" Hermione's eyebrow was raised, and Ron sighed. 

"I don't want to fight about this, mainly because we don't have the time to fight. But Draco's doing infiltration. He knows who's behind Harry's situation and he's getting as much information as he can for the department, beyond just reasonable doubt, so we can finish this," Ron nodded toward the vial in her hand. "That is the antidote for Lucius' poison. He was finishing it the day he got arrested." 

"Yes and why did you let him out? For all we know he could be actually behind all of this!" 

"He's not. Look, it's hard to explain, but... I just know. It's Lucius, all of it. We already have proof that Lucius is running the show." 

"And if they're planting this information?" 

"Then we go back in and arrest Draco. But Hermione, I am telling you, he's not behind this. And he is putting his life on the line bringing us this damn antidote." 

"But-" 

"Hermione, please, you can yell at me later. But Harry hasn't got long. The poison's been sped up." Ron sighed heavily. "We don't know how. But it isn't supposed to be this fast. The final stages are supposed to draw out for another two weeks. Hermione... Harry has hours." 

---

Draco sighed later that evening, tapping his fingers impatiently. There was something to be said about living with people you got along with. The silence was driving him crazy. At least when he lived with Potter, there was a constant hum of background noise. Here, it was nothing but heavy silence. 

His father was still technically in charge of the operation, so Draco could hardly demand an audience with Rowle or Lestrange for details. Which meant Draco would have to sit back and wait, hoping beyond all damn hope that Granger figured out what to do with the vial. 

---

The antidote worked just marginally faster than the poison did. Draco knew that. But he knew that he'd gotten the antidote perfect, and that it would begin to reverse the effects of the poison immediately. He knew that. He knew it. So why was he staring at The Daily Prophet, front page splashed with the news;

DEATH FINALLY CAUGHT UP TO THE BOY WHO LIVED TWICE

Draco couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't see. He couldn't hear past the roaring of his pulse in his ears. He was dimly aware of the other occupants of his home celebrating. He wanted to break them all. How could they be happy... how could they be pleased... 

Draco excused himself to his wing of the Manor, and walked away from the jubilee with as much grace as he could manage. He heard Lestrange laugh about his delicate sensibilities as he left the room, but he paid it no mind. He paid nothing any mind. He ended up in his room, somehow, staring at the large Slytherin House banner he'd pinned up in third year. It depicted a snake strangling a lion, the latter too weak to pry the powerful serpent from its throat. 

Draco cast a neat Incendio charm at it. 

---

"What the hell, Ron?" Harry complained. 

"We can't let them know you're alive, Harry. They're going to get sloppy in their celebrations. We have enough information to bring in the entire organisation now," Ron reasoned. 

"Exactly, you've got your proof, bring in the bad guys," Harry snapped, irritable. "Why do we have to keep him in the dark? He's not going to blow our cover, if that's what you're worried about." 

"That's not what I'm worried about, Harry, but this has to be believable," Ron consoled. "I'm the only one who knows the antidote worked, and for now, we have to keep it that way." 

"You didn't even tell Hermione?" Harry gaped. Ron shook his head. "She's going to murder you when she finds out!" 

"I know, but I've been on her bad side before." 

"Yes well I doubt talking about the ball of light thing is gonna work this time round, pal." 

"You know what I mean, Harry," Ron sighed. "Look, we have to keep them off our trail. Which means, next week, I'm going to have to arrest Malfoy." 

"But-"

"Both of them." 

"Ron!" 

"I have to, Harry. Malfoy and I had this planned to the second. The only thing I didn't tell him about was this." 

"So you've had my death planned for weeks now?" 

"More or less, yeah. It had to be believable, Harry! If he'd gone into this knowing that we were going to claim you died, he might not have managed to hold his cover for as long as he has." 

"You realise he isn't the same git from school, right? He's not going to jump around gleefully over news of my death now." 

"I know that. I'm counting on it," Ron said. "The more he stays out of the celebration, the safer. His motives might be questioned, sure, but his alliances won't be." 

"How would they not be questioned?" Harry asked, incredulous. "If he's not celebrating, they'll want to know why-"

"Lucius Malfoy already knows he was living with you. Draco's played up that role well. He can pass this off as disbelief or shock. By the time it'll be 'too much', I'll be busting in to arrest him." 

"And then what? 'Oh hey, Malfoy, by the way Harry isn't dead, surprise!'?"  Harry asked sarcastically. 

"If it come to that, yes. I haven't made contact with him about it yet. So all he's seen is the paper." 

"My death is in the paper? Are you kidding me?!" 

"Yeah, sorry about that," Ron shrugged sheepishly. "Look, we can do damage control later, if that's what you want, alright, but for now, can we please focus on actually dragging the rest of this lot in?" 

"Fine. But know that I'm pissed at you for it," Harry grumbled. "Damnit, I promised Draco I wouldn't die." 

"I think he'll forgive you, pal." 

---

Draco didn't leave his room for a very long time. The annoying part of his brain helpfully recalled the times he did this as a child, hiding away from the world. Although this time was so much worse than any of his bratty childhood sulks. This time, he wasn't sulking because Harry Potter didn't want to be his friend. He wasn't sulking because Saint Potter didn't appreciate his humour or talent in badge-making. He wasn't sulking because Potter had gotten severely hurt by his Dementor prank, and he wasn't sulking because Potter had nearly drowned, or gotten attacked by real Dementors, or because Potter had kissed the Weasley girl. 

This time was so much worse. Because there was no coming back from death. 

Draco stared at the half-destroyed banner, at the piece he'd rushed to save from burning entirely. He stared until his vision blurred with tears and he stared as they dripped down his face. Then he stood, cast a powerful Silencing charm around his room, and screamed himself hoarse. 

---

"Right so, according to Draco's information, we've got enough here to convict at least - wow - seventeen Death Eaters," Harry mused, going over the case file Ron had pulled together. "There's enough for a further thirteen on suspicion charges alone, but they're all low-level. Are we bringing them in, too?" 

"I think we should. I received word from Malfoy this morning - his father's hosting a dinner party at the Manor. The security is twice as tight; no one can Apparate in or out, not even if they used Elf magic," Ron gave Harry a rueful grin. "Which means it's on Draco to lower the wards enough to let us in." 

"So are we keeping me a secret until we bring Draco in, or are you gonna let me bust in there with you?" 

"No offense, mate, but you know I have to bench you for this one," Ron shrugged. "I know you're pretty much back up to speed, but... I don't want to take the risk if I don't have to, y'know?" 

"Yeah, I know. Wish it wasn't that way though." 

"Look, you stay here, and first chance I get, I'll let Draco know you're not dead. How's that?" 

"Solid plan. But first, since you're here, fancy helping me tighten my wards? Someone's been here recently, I can feel it." 

"Oh yeah, that would be Slippy," Ron nodded knowingly. 

"Huh?" 

"The day Malfoy got arrested here? He'd just finished your antidote. He sent his elf a couple days later to grab it for you." 

"How do you know this?" 

"Because he made his elf deliver it to Hermione," Ron shrugged, as if he couldn't quite figure that one out. 

"It's a truce. They had this row a while back about elves being a serving race. Draco sending his elf to her... it's an olive branch. He's saying he trusts her. He'd send his elf to her without worrying that she'd try to free it," Harry smiled, a dumb, dopey smile. 

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Keep it in your pants, mate." 

"Gross, Ron. I don't want to shag him... I just wanna... maybe snog him a bit..." Harry mused, touching his lip absently. 

"Gross, mate. I don't wanna hear about your mushy feelings," Ron waved his left hand dramatically. 

"Right, you get enough of the mushy feelings thing with your husband." 

"Exactly. And I gotta be honest, mate, his feelings... way more interesting." 

"You're just saying that 'cause Viktor shags you after you have the Feelings Talk," Harry laughed loudly as his best mate blushed. 

"Shut up!" Ron howled. 

"Wonder if he knows you used to snog his Quidditch Weekly spread..." Harry sighed, looking off to the distance. "They grow up so fast," he mused. 

Ron punched him in the shoulder. 

---

"Draco!" Lucius demanded, rapping at Draco's bedroom door. "Come out here at once!" 

"Is that any way to speak to the Lord of the Estate?" Draco replied drily. He didn't open the door, just continued to make his mother's old athame twirl in the air. 

"Draco, you will open this door at once and greet me as is proper!" 

"Is standing at my door and shouting belligerently, proper, Father?" 

"Draco Abraxas, you are trying my patience." 

"And you are trying my tolerance for idiocy," Draco sighed. He let the knife drop, and caught it by the blade. He placed it on his dresser and turned to the door. 

"What do you want, Father?" Draco asked wearily when he opened the door. 

"I want you to come downstairs and greet our guests," Lucius demanded. 

"Remind me, as I must have forgotten, whose home we are standing in?" Draco asked rhetorically. "Oh that's right, it's my home. I will come and greet my guests in my home when I feel like it. Understand?" 

He backed up and closed the door in his father's face. His hand left a bloody mark on the wood. He didn't care. 

---

Eventually Draco did go to his guests. After all, he was being arrested today. They all were, if things went right. And they had to go right. Draco didn't think he could handle any more things going wrong. 

He weakened the wards at 7:15 PM as he promised. 

At 7:20 PM, Aurors flooded the Manor and arrested everyone present. Draco didn't even pretend to fight when Weasley bound his wrists. He just went with it. Until Weasley murmured one thing into his ear. 

"He's not dead." 

---

Not dead, not dead, not dead... the words were on repeat in Draco's brain as he was transported to the DMLE. He was placed in the interrogation room again, and this time didn't even bother to be cautious of the chair as he sank into it, his legs too weak to hold him up anymore. 

"Malfoy?" It was Weasley. 

"Do you swear?" 

"Every damn day." 

"That's not what I meant. I meant-"

"I know what you meant. Yes. I swear. He's not dead, Malfoy." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I was worried you wouldn't keep your cover if you knew." 

"You were worried I'd slip up with my Occlumency." 

"Yes," Weasley shrugged. He didn't sound apologetic. 

"Well. If he isn't dead, I'd like to see him. To be sure." 

"You don't trust me?"

"Nor do you trust me, so it would seem." 

"Let's just agree to put this aside for now, then? We have a trial to get to. We've had this ready for days." 

"Let's go then." 

---

The trial was a blur, but Draco remembered a lot of guilty verdicts being handed out. His father, Lestrange, and Rowle were the first to be convicted. Most of the organisation had been arrested at Lucius' dinner party, and most of them were being sentenced to life in Azkaban. Many of them were being convicted of their war crimes as well, such as Lestrange and Rowle, and Lucius himself copped a double life sentence for his actions. Draco waited his turn patiently. 

The knowledge that Harry was alive was thrumming under his skin. It felt like nothing could touch him now. 

"Malfoy, Draco," the disembodied voice from the courtroom floated out, and Draco stood from his seat. "Please move forward to Courtroom 6C for your trial. Please present your wand for identification at the door." 

Draco did as he was told, clearing his mind of all distractions as he did so. He handed over his wand and entered the courtroom. He walked to the small, raised dais and stood to the left of it.  

"Draco Malfoy, you stand accused of the attempted murder of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and of the murder of one Harry James Potter. You also stand accused of crimes against the Wizarding World during the Second War. How do you plead?" The disembodied voice continued. 

"I plead not guilty," Draco stated, calm as ever. 

"Will you agree to questioning by Veritaserum?" 

"I do so consent." 

"Warlock Smith, will you administer the truth serum?" 

"I do so consent." 

"Let it be done." 

Draco climbed to the chair atop the dais, and tilted he head back, opening his mouth. Warlock Smith was stern and solemn as he administered three drops of Veritaserum under Draco's tongue. 

It took a moment, but soon enough Draco felt the heavy compliance sweep through his body and mind. 

"State your name, age and position for the record, please." 

"Draco Malfoy, age 28, Lord of Malfoy Estate." 

"What was your relationship to Albus Dumbledore?" 

"He was my Headmaster at Hogwarts. We didn't get along." 

"Did you try to kill him?" 

"Yes." 

"Did you attempt to kill Albus Dumbledore of your own free will?" 

"Yes." 

"Why did you attempt to murder your Headmaster?" 

"Lord Voldemort tasked it to me." 

"Why did the Dark Lord give you such a task?" 

"As punishment for my parents' failures." 

"Did you succeed?" 

"No."

"Why did you fail?" 

"I was frightened of Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore tried to offer me a way out. I wanted to take it." Draco swallowed against his dry throat. "I lowered my wand." 

"Who did kill Albus Dumbledore?" 

"Severus Snape." 

"What is your relationship with Harry James Potter?" 

"We used to be enemies." 

"What is your relationship with Harry James Potter?" 

"We live together." 

"Did you attempt to murder Harry Potter?" 

"No." 

"Do you know who did?" 

"Yes." 

"Who tried to murder Harry Potter?" 

"Lucius Malfoy." 

"Do you have proof of your claim?" 

"I was wearing a charmed listening device. Once inside the Manor, the charm was redirected to shadow Lucius Malfoy. It recorded everything Lucius said and wrote. It relayed this information to the DMLE, and to Acting Head Auror Weasley specifically." 

"Why did you agree to help the DMLE?" 

"I did it for Harry." 

"Why?"

"I promised I wouldn't let him die." 

---

After the trial, Draco was worn out. He didn't argue when Weasley offered to escort him home. He did, however, gape slightly when they Apparated directly to Potter's front door. Weasley pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door. 

Draco followed Weasley slowly, timidly, as if it was all some big prank and he was going to turn around and be back at the Manor. Then he saw him. 

Potter was sitting up on the couch, reading a book, with his legs covered up in a blanket. Draco's heart stuttered and then beat triple. 

"Hey, wondered when you'd be back. How'd the trial-" Potter's words cut off when his eyes caught sight of Draco in the doorway. 

"Trial went fine, Draco's a free man, and I'm gonna go before Viktor gets mad at me about missing supper again. Have fun, boys." 

The door clicked shut behind Weasley, but Draco still didn't move. 

"You're not dead," Draco stated, unnecessarily. 

"You're not in prison," Potter returned. His voice is what jarred Draco from his stupor. He marched forward and slapped Potter upside the head. 

"I'm pretty sure I said not to get yourself killed, Potter," he huffed. "That includes fake deaths." 

"Back to Potter, is it?" Potter smiled ruefully, rubbing his head. Draco sank onto the couch beside him. 

"It is when I'm mad at you," Draco grumbled. 

"I think I prefer Harry, if I'm honest," Harry tried for a real smile. 

"I think I prefer you not dying, if I'm honest," Draco snarled. Potter took Draco's hand, which had clenched into a fist in his lap, and rubbed his thumb over the knuckles. 

"I think I prefer you living with me," Harry said quietly. 

"I think I agree," Draco sighed. 

---

"You always make your coffee so loudly," Draco whined a week later, slumped at the kitchen island again. 

"And you always whine so loudly in the morning. Hush, I made you one as well," Harry slid the mug over to his grumbling housemate. 

"Shut up," Draco sniped. He took a grateful swig of his coffee. "Thanks," he muttered. 

"You're welcome." Harry leaned against the counter, watching Draco. 

"What are you staring at, Potter?" Draco asked irritably before taking another sip of coffee. 

"Hm? Oh, just wondering what's the best way to ask you out to dinner tonight," Harry shrugged, like it was no big deal. Draco choked on his coffee. 

"Like a, uh, a date?" Draco managed to splutter, oh so eloquently. 

"Yeah, like a date," Harry smiled behind his mug. 

"Why?" 

"Because I fancy you, and apparently this is what adults do when they fancy someone," Harry said casually. Draco's heart nearly leaped out of his mouth. 

"You fancy me," Draco stated. 

"Yep." 

"How long?" 

"Since you yelled at me for making my coffee too loudly and then proceeded to shout about how Malfoys don't shout," Harry smiled fondly. "Didn't figure it out until later though." 

"Huh. I finally beat you at something, then," Draco smirked, almost smug. He set down his coffee and walked around to stand in front of Harry. He took Harry's mug from him, too, setting it down safely. Then he moved forward, caging Harry against the counter. 

"How long?" Harry mimicked. 

"Hm? Fifth year. You were so righteous, leading those secret DA classes behind everyone's back," Draco leaned in. "Can I kiss you?" 

"Why?" Potter grinned, making it clear he was still mocking Draco's awkwardness. Little shit. 

"Because I fancy you, Potter, and I've been informed quite reliably that this is something that adults do when they fancy someone," Draco leaned in enough for their noses to brush against each other. "So, can I kiss you, Harry?" 

Harry didn't answer verbally, he just tilted his head up and kissed Draco heatedly. Draco returned the kiss with as much passion as he could to match Harry's, but soon it slowed and deepened and became more. Draco could feel Harry smiling against his lips, which made him smile back, which made kissing very difficult. Harry's arms wound up around Draco's shoulders, which made him arch beautifully toward Draco, who wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. 

They sighed together when the kiss finally ended, but didn't move apart. Harry only moved as far as to tuck his head into Draco's neck, and Draco's arms tightened around him. Then, because he's a little shit, Draco smirked. 

"I've been imagining that since I was fifteen," he began. He shivered when Harry's lips touched his neck. "Honestly, I don't get what all the fuss is about." 

Harry bit him harshly and Draco gasped. 

"Want to find out, Draco?" Harry murmured into the spot he'd bitten. 

So maybe Potter was a little shit... Draco found he didn't mind at all.

---

FIN.