Entry tags:

harry potter, harry/draco

hds_beltane: In Control
I forgot to post this way back. Here it is, finally!

Title: In Control
Author: yura_slash
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: foul language, sexual innuendo, and questioning under Veritaserum
Word count: 6,200
Summary: Draco is determined to find and help Severus Snape, who’s too smart to be dead. Harry wants to know what he’s up to.
Request: chibitoaster: I've lately been fascinated with a post-war Draco without his Godfather trying to find his way. So, perhaps a story where Draco finds out Snape is alive? Kind of in the way that Harry does in a lot of Snarry?
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.


In Control

He slinked through an empty windowpane and dropped into darkness. The full moon’s glow didn’t penetrate the rest of the dirty glass, but a single shaft of eerie blue light fell in front of him, illuminating nothing but dust particles floating through the air and a bit of dirty carpet. His pink rodent nose quivered for a moment, taking in all the lingering scents. It smelled . . . musty and stale. He took one more deep breath in and then sneezed, pitching his small body forward violently into a moldy box.

Ow . . .

He got up onto his paws again and started to make his way through the room. A junk room, it seemed, and it was so cluttered that his progress was uneven and labored. Dust was heavy in the air, and after a few moments of scurrying around and over boxes it hung from his whiskers in dark grey clumps.

Where’s the damn door, anyway?

He’d crawled all the way up a hill to the house and, because he was not used to traveling so far in this body, his breathing was labored. Finally, he found the door, and it was mercifully ajar. He took a great running start, which promptly turned into a skid as his nails lost purchase on the smooth, hardwood floor of the hallway. He gave an undignified squeak and splayed all his limbs out in an attempt to slow his progress, but he still managed to hit the wall opposite the doorway with stunning force. He lay still for a moment and then got to his paws again.

Slower this time, he cautioned himself. He took a few seconds to clean his dusty whiskers, licking his front paws and running them back and forth across his entire face briskly, catching his small ears as well, and then he began his search.

It didn’t take long. A large smear of blood, as brown as rust, was on the floor in the next room under a thin layer of dust. He paused, almost afraid to get closer, and took in the area around him. He was in what could have been the parlor, but all the furniture had been overturned or knocked askew. He approached the stain slowly, and saw that it had been scrubbed. The dark center of the stain was surrounded by lighter-shaded wisps, and from the strong astringent smell still lingering it was probably done with an agent to break apart the cells and make the blood unusable in a potion or ritual.

Something glinted under the couch, and he slid under the scratchy fabric to get a closer look. An empty potions bottle . . . two of them! He gave each a careful sniff, and perhaps it was wishful thinking but one seemed to smell of antivenom, the other a mix of dittany and coagulant. It was too dark and his eyesight was too dull to read the labels.

He scurried out from under the couch and then, in a single rush of adrenaline, he shed his animal form without a thought and tumbled the couch over onto its back. The two potions bottles seemed to glow with an inner light as he gazed at them. His heart was beating a frantic tempo and, unable to help himself, he scooped them up with whoop of delight. They were potions from Severus’ personal stores, decanted into special bottles and meant for his own use. He read the spindly handwriting labeling each bottle: Nagini 1 and Nagini 2.

What more could he need? His godfather was alive! Severus was alive!

Draco shoved the bottles into his pocket and took out his wand. In the space of an instant, a small, white ferret stood in his place.

Severus was alive, and he was going to find and help him. He ran back to the junk room, careful not to go into a skid on the hardwood floor. He was going to find him, no matter what it took.

hdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhd

“What the hell is he doing here?” Ron muttered, spelling a pile of rubble so that it melded itself together and set into a single, large stone with a flash a light.

Ron, Hermione, and Harry were an advanced repair team working on a collapsed hallway near the castle entrance—far enough from the hallway where Fred had died for it to be out of sight, if not out of mind. Hermione consulted the planning parchment they’d spread out on one end of a long, low-lying table. “Put it there, Ron, with the other foundation-sized stones. Harry, have you finished with the cementing agent?”

Harry stood over a cauldron at the other end of the long table, “Yeah, just a few more stirs. Who, Ron?”

“Malfoy,” he grit out, the very name a curse.

Harry’s head shot up and his eyes darted around until they came to rest on a pale blond head. “Bloody hell—who does he think he is, anyways?” Malfoy appeared to be working with a team of mostly Slytherin sixth years, fortifying a bit of castle wall that had suffered structural damage in the final battle. “The nerve . . .”

Hermione strode to Harry’s side of the table, commandeered the stirring rod from Harry’s slack hand, and gave the potion five more brisk stirs counterclockwise. “He’s here to help clean things up, same as the rest of us,” she huffed. “Now pay attention to what you’re doing!”

“Yeah, well I don’t trust him. He almost killed me, Hermione!” Ron hissed. He swished his wand and spat the group chaining spell again, and this time three stones each melded together in a flash.

“He didn’t manage it, did he?” she answered him, directing the stones he’d just reconstituted to a pile of smaller ones with a quick Wingardium Leviosa. “He’s quite pathetic, really. His father’s back in Azkaban and the Ministry seized all the family’s assets, including the Manor. Who knows where he and his mum are staying—”

“Serves him right,” Harry interrupted through clenched teeth, now spreading the cementing agent on the castle’s foundation and sticking the first few large stones in place, a bit harder than necessary.

“It’s terrible,” Hermione rattled on, oblivious to the extremely dark looks Ron and Harry were directing Draco’s way. “The way the Ministry is taking everything from the Death Eaters they’ve caught, like they had the right to ruin the lives of their families, as well—they’re bound to make a few more Voldemorts if they continue on the way they are!”

“Ron! Harry! Hermione!”

The three of them turned to see Arthur running up towards them, his robes flapping.

“Dad!” Ron exclaimed, his eyes leaving Malfoy and taking in his father’s flushed face. “Is something wrong?”

Arthur came to a stop beside the planning table and hunched over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath.

“What’s going on, Mr. Weasley?” Harry asked, voice low and urgent.

Arthur took in a great gasp of air. “Rookwood . . . was found . . . just now . . . dead!”

Their mouths dropped open. “What? How? Who . . .” Arthur waved his hand and Hermione’s line of questioning came to a halt.

“We don’t know,” he said, still panting heavily. He raised a hand to wipe his brow. “He was in solitary confinement. Nobody should have been able to get to him.”

“Could one of the guards . . . ?” Hermione began, tone skeptical.

“No. No, they’ve all been questioned. Veritaserum. Had to. The way he was—”

Harry’s eyes scanned the immediate area, and he noticed Malfoy standing still with his back to them, shoulders tense. “Not here,” he said.

Arthur glanced around. “You’re right—this is sensitive information.” He eyed the cauldron of cementing agent and the piles of unplaced stones. “Can you leave this for now? Kingsley wants your opinion on something.”

Ron’s chest puffed up with pride. “Sure thing, Dad. Anything for the Minister!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but cast a quick stasis spell over the cementing agent. “Of course we can come if Kingsley’s asked for us. This’ll hold.”

hdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhd

Draco watched the Gryffindor trio follow Mr. Weasley off the school grounds. This is what he had been waiting for—he could feel it. He had gone crawling to McGonagall and begged for the chance to “right his old wrongs” and “rebuild what he’d helped destroy” just for this very opportunity. His mother was too busy selling off what items she’d managed to salvage from their old lives to notice him gone, or to care that Severus, his godfather and the man who had saved him from splintering his soul that night on the Astronomy Tower, might still be alive and in need of their help.

But he’d been persistent. He’d signed up for the Hogwart’s renovation project, and he’d waited over a week for Potter and his sidekicks to make an appearance. Thankfully, on their very first day they’d been assigned to work on a part of the castle just over a dozen meters from his own. And now something was happening, and he would make every effort to find out what it was.

“I need to use the facilities,” he murmured, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. His team waved him away and he quickly ducked behind a piece of wall.

And darted out again, low to the ground and several stone lighter. He just had to reach Hermione before she got to the edge of Hogwart’s grounds . . .

He ran, his tiny body stretching far with each bound. His claws dug into the earth and set loose bits of dirt and gravel. His mouth fell open as his chest heaved in breath. And then – he leapt, and nobody noticed the small, white ferret disappear into the top of Hermione’s bag, though he only remembered to pull in the rest of his tail a few moments later.

hdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhd

The squeeze of Apparition told him he hadn’t been detected, and subsequent jostling seemed to indicate that they were traveling further by foot. It was hard to hear anything surrounded by rough canvas and the muffling bulk of a dozen or so books, and Draco had to resist the urge to chew on a few bindings to pass the time—he didn’t want to leave behind any evidence, rodent or otherwise, that he’d been there.

Finally, the bag ceased its swinging back-and-forth motion and came to a stop. Draco wiggled as carefully as he could and then pressed an ear to the slight opening the drawstring left at the top of the bag.

“Arthur! Thank you for fetching them so quickly,” a deep, booming voice said. “This situation is a complete nightmare, as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course, Minister. If there’s anything else I can do—”

“Please, Arthur, you don’t have to stand on ceremony with me. And I can only hope not to have this damned title for too much longer. How I would love to leave this mess for someone else to straighten out.”

“Well, Kingsley, we’ll just have to see how long it takes for the Wizengamot to recover and put together a mid-term election. The upheavals caused by that horrible Umbridge woman . . .”

“I know, I know, but let’s get to the business in front of us now. If you’ll excuse us, Arthur.”

“Certainly.” The sound of a door closing and then – “Harry, Hermione, Ron, what I’m about to tell you can go no further than this room.”

“Of course, Minister,” Hermione’s voice piped up, and what Draco assumed were Harry and Ron’s voices followed hers with murmurs of assent.

“We didn’t take in Rookwood two days ago—he was delivered to us.”

Hermione gasped and Harry started to talk, tone strident, “But who could have –”

Kingsley’s strong voice overrode him. “We don’t know for sure. Rookwood was a trembling mess when he showed up at the doors to Azkaban, and blood tests showed that he was suffering from an overdose of Veritaserum. He wouldn’t talk, and we couldn’t give him anymore of the stuff—at least for a few weeks—so we stuck him in solitary.”

Hermione’s voice sounded out. “Could the overdose have been what killed him? If he didn’t receive proper medical care –”

A loud thud silenced her, and then the sound of rustling papers filled the room . . .

A chorus of gasps rang out. Draco could hear retching, too, and then Ron’s voice, shaky. “Blimey, that’s awful!”

“He was found like that the morning of his second day in confinement. The nurses who’d gone in to check on him the night before reported only that he seemed to finally be resting, if fitfully,” Kingsley continued. “This kind of torture can only be inflicted through a slow-acting poison known as Eructo Viscera. Usually, it can be detected with an extensive blood test, but we think the high levels of Veritaserum masked the more subtle poison. What’s more, both Eructo Viscera and Veritaserum are controlled substances that are devilishly hard to brew and keep fresh.”

“Only a Master could brew the Eructo Viscera, Minister,” Hermione affirmed. “And if he made a batch, he’d have to use the remainder in the next few weeks or risk it going bad.”
“Exactly what we’re afraid of,” Kingsley said. “But we knew all that already. What we really need to know is –”

He paused, and Draco perked his ears up.

“How certain are you that Severus Snape is dead?”

Silence descended and a rush of blood went to Draco’s head. The Minister thinks Severus is alive, too! But also that he captured, questioned, and poisoned Rookwood? Why would he–

“We saw him die. He gave me his memories just before the light left his eyes. He’s dead,” Harry said, insistent.

“And did you move his body afterwards? Now’s the time to confess, if you did.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “But that doesn’t mean that someone else didn’t!”

“Hmm . . . Hermione, you were there, too. Are you absolutely certain that Severus was dead?”

“I – I think that, maybe, it’s possible that he wasn’t . . .”

Ron’s voice broke in. “But why wouldn’t he let us know he was alive? Is he planning to find and bring us all the Death Eaters we let get away? And why poison Rookwood? As a message? Or is this a personal vendetta, and does the Ministry need to do something to protect the other Death Eaters already in prison?”

Draco reeled at the string of conjecture. When had Ron grown a brain in that ugly, ginger head of his?

“Good points, Ron, and all things that we’re thinking right now. We’ll send a team to the Shrieking Shack and look for any trace evidence—it should have been done weeks ago, but we’ve been so preoccupied with the upcoming trials and the threat of those we have yet to catch –”

“Of course, Minister,” Hermione said, and the bag Draco was hiding in began to move again. “If that’s all you needed to know, we’d best get going. We want to get some work done at the castle before it gets dark.”

“Wonderful, it’s great to see today’s youth working so hard to repair the damage our world has suffered.”

“Yes, well, McGonagall asked and we answered,” Ron said. “Bye, sir.”

“Goodbye, Ron, Hermione, Harry.”

Harry was conspicuously silent, and none of the trio spoke again until after they’d Apparated back to Hogwarts.

hdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhd

Harry followed Hermione and Ron up to and through the gates of Hogwarts. Although damaged, the castle still stood tall and proud, flags fluttering in the wind and the midday sun bouncing off the undamaged portions of wall.

When they reached their workstation, Hermione set down her bag and sighed. “Well, what are we going to do?”

Harry looked at her incredulously. “Who says we’re going to do anything? If it’s Snape, he obviously doesn’t want anyone knowing he’s alive.”

Ron nodded. “Exactly. And no matter what I said in front of Kingsley, I’m not about to help the Ministry catch him. If he’s the one who captured and poisoned Rookwood, well – good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.”

Hermione shook her bushy head at them. “It’s wrong! Whoever poisoned Rookwood was wrong—you have to see that. You can’t take the law into your own hands –”

Harry picked up the cauldron of cementing agent and let it fall to the ground with a loud thump!, making Hermione jump and then scowl at him.

“Be careful with that, Harry,” she scolded.

Harry’s green eyes flashed. “Since when is it wrong to take the law into our own hands? What were we doing for the last year if not that?”

Hermoine’s face had gone red, but she said nothing.

“And when I faced Voldemort, where was the proper law enforcement, then? Should I have waited longer for them to do something? Let more people die?” Harry continued, voice getting higher and louder with each word.

“That was war, Harry,” Hermione interrupted him quietly.

“This is war, Hermione. They may try to convince you that we’re in the ‘clean-up phase,’ but there are still bad people out there, people who would do anything to further their broken cause. People like,” and here he whipped out his wand, “Malfoy! Stupify!”

hdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhd

Malfoy came to face down on a thin, canvas floor, human again, his hands tied behind his back. The ground under the canvas was uneven and what he assumed were rocks dug into his body in less than advantageous places. The last thing he remembered was peeking out the top of Hermione’s bag, ferret whiskers twitching and hoping that no one would be looking in his direction. Apparently, his luck hadn’t held out. Merlin only knew what kind of situation he’d find himself in now.

His legs weren’t bound, so he brought them up under his body and pushed up onto his knees.

“Hey ferret-face.”

Draco’s eyes widened at the sight before him.

Potter, who had been reclining on a beat-up couch across the room, stood up and walked towards him, wand in hand. “I like seeing you on your knees in front of me,” Potter continued, drawing his wand up Draco’s neck and under his chin, making him tilt his head back further.

“P-Potter,” he stammered.

He smiled, green eyes twinkling. “We’re going to find out exactly how much you know, and then we’re going to decide what –” and here he let his wand slide up Draco’s face, from his chin to just under his prominent cheekbone, “to do with you.”

Draco didn’t flinch, but it was a close thing. “I’m not afraid of you, Potter. You’re too much of a goody goody to do anything to me.” He leaned forward, letting Potter’s wand dig even further into his flesh. “So just let me go, and we’ll forget all about this.”

Potter stared down at him, immovable, and Draco began to sweat. In his mind, he tried to focus on Apparation. On his Animagus form. On anything that would get him out of this mess.

The wand fell from his cheek to rest against his neck, as if he were being knighted. “Draco, Draco, Draco, where did your mind go just now? Trying to Apparate? Turn back into the little ferret that you are?”

Draco refused to move away as Potter came closer to him, then leaned back and pressed his hips forward. “You won’t be able to go anywhere. We’ve warded this tent so that no one can Apparate into our out of it. And no Animagi can hide inside, either. But nice try.”

Draco stared at Potter’s crotch, just an inch from his face. Would the hero of the Wizarding world really make him . . .

“Harry!”

Potter moved back in a smooth motion, as if he had nothing to be embarrassed about. “Do you have the potion, Hermione?”

Hermione let the tent flap close behind her. “Yes, but Harry . . .”

Potter held out his hand and Hermione rushed forward and placed a potions vial in his hand. “Thank you, Hermione. You can leave now.”

Hermione looked down to Draco, still on his knees but flinty eyes fierce. “Harry, I don’t think I should leave you alone with him. You’ve always been weird where he’s concerned, and do you even know how much to give him? If you give him too much, or ask too many questions in quick succession, you could –”

“Hermione, I need to question him alone. Please just go meet Ron at the Burrow. And stay away until tomorrow morning.”

Hermione’s big brown eyes filled, and for the first time Draco felt well and truly afraid. If Granger was worried to leave him alone with Potter, well, maybe Draco didn’t know the other boy so well, after all.

“Okay,” she whispered, blinking rapidly to keep from crying.

And then she was gone.

Leaving Draco alone with him.

hdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhd

Harry looked down at Malfoy’s pale face: his high cheekbones, his pointy chin, his hard, gray eyes, and his flaxen hair fanned across his broad forehead. It was sad, in a way, that something so beautiful could be so damaged.

“Are you ready to tell me everything you know?”

Malfoy just glared at him, so he grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him up to his feet.

“Come on, let’s get comfortable. We may be awhile.”

He pulled Malfoy through a privacy flap and threw him down again, this time in the tent’s sleeping area.

“This is where we lived for the last year while we were hunting down and killing . . . hmmm, I suppose I shouldn’t tell you about that. Still classified,” he said, trying to scare Malfoy even further. This whole thing was exhausting. Being scary and angry and full of rage always was.

Malfoy struggled among the sleeping bags and blankets on the floor, trying to get upright again although his hands were still tied behind his back. “What the hell, Potter?” he growled. “What’s the matter with you?”

Harry watched him and, while he should have felt amused by the way he flailed around and grunted with effort, he only felt more saddened. “Things have changed in the last year, Malfoy. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen. What I’ve done. In comparison, this is all too easy.”

Draco gave up his struggle and lay limp on his side, eyes glaring up at him. “Don’t do anything stupid, Potter. People will wonder where I am –”

“Nobody cares where you are Malfoy. Except maybe your mother, and who’s going to do anything to help her?” he mocked, hating the way Malfoy’s eyes widened in fear.

“You owe her, Potter! She told me about how she saved your life—she told Voldemort you were dead!” Malfoy screamed, face turning splotchy. “And you owe me! I didn’t tell Bellatrix that it was you that night, even though I knew. I knew who you were the minute you showed up at the Manor with your stupid face swollen up like a balloon!” he finished, chest heaving with effort.

“I saved your life twice already, Malfoy. I don’t owe you or your mum anything!” Harry spat. “Now,” and here he kneeled at Malfoys side, face grim, “open wide. And don’t struggle, or I might accidently give you too much of this Veritaserum. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Harry gave him three drops on his tongue, careful to keep his fingers away from Malfoy’s pearly, perfectly lined teeth. He had to get through this, and then, once he was knew what Malfoy’s motives were, he could decide what to do. When would this war be over?

He watched with clinical detachment as Malfoy slumped and his eyes went hazy. “Good. Now let’s test it out.” He rolled Malfoy from his side onto his back, and he came to rest on top of Harry’s sleeping bag, eyes focused on the tent’s ceiling. “What’s your full name?”

Malfoy’s gray eyes moved slowly, coming into focus on his face. “Draco Abraxas Malfoy.”

“And when were you born?”

“June 5, 1980.”

Harry nodded, satisfied with the potion’s effects. “Can’t expect anything but the best from Snape’s stores,” he muttered, moving closer to Malfoy’s supine form and then dropping down onto Ron’s sleeping bag.

“So, when did you become an Animagus? And why? I would have thought all the work involved would be too much for you to want to take on.”

Malfoy answered, voice expressionless. “Last year sometime. I don’t remember exactly when. And I had to, in order to hide from the Dark Lord and his followers. They would know if I left the Manor grounds, but if I stayed there as an Animagus they wouldn’t be able to find me. Make me do things.”

Harry watched the other boy, curious. “What did they make you do?”

“Torture people. Ask them questions.”

“That’s all?”

Malfoy was silent, until Harry realized that his question hadn’t been specific enough. “Did they try to get you to do anything else?”

“Yes.”

Harry sighed in exasperation. Malfoy was answering all his questions quickly and completely, it was just his questions that sucked. Maybe he should have had Hermione help after all. “What else did they want you to do?”

“Rape. And kill. Like the rest of them, but I couldn’t . . . perform.”

Harry’s gorge rose, but he choked it down with an effort. “Don’t think I’ll feel sorry for you, Malfoy,” he growled. “It won’t work.” On the inside, though, Harry couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. It seemed like Malfoy really had been through a lot of awful stuff, and here he was adding to it. But Malfoy had made his choices—stuck by his family even though they were horrible, hateful people who had brought everything down on themselves. And then he’d been snooping where he didn’t belong. “Enough about your pathetic life. Why were you in Hermione’s bag?”

“I wanted to see if you knew anything about Severus.”

Harry sat up straight. “Wait a minute – why would you think that we’d know anything about him?”

“Because you were there in the Shrieking Shack with him the night of the final battle. And you might know where he is now.”

“You mean we might know where his body is?”

Malfoy didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “yes.”

“His dead body?”

“No. Severus isn’t dead.”

Harry frowned. “You heard our conversation with the Minister, didn’t you? You were in Hermione’s bag that whole time!”

“Yes.”

“Fuck!” Harry ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “That was classified information, Malfoy!” he spat. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy answered. “Probably wipe my memory, at the very least. Kill me, at most.”

“I wouldn’t kill you, you stupid bloody wanker. I’m not like your Dark Lord,” Harry asserted. He leaned forward and glared straight into Malfoy’s hazy eyes. “So, you learned that Snape might be alive from your snooping. Is that what you wanted? And where does that get you?”

“No, I already knew that Severus was alive. I wanted to know where he was, so I’ve gotten nowhere.”

Harry reeled. “How did you know that? Has Snape been in contact with you? So help me, Malfoy, if anyone else knows anything about this . . .”

Malfoy seemed to grow agitated at the number of questions piling up, but spat out his answers with a bit of stuttering. “I found empty vials of healing potions under the couch in the Sh-Sh-Shrieking Shack. They’re from Severus’ p-personal stores. The blood had been wiped with a potion that would keep it from being used in any other p-potions or rituals. I assumed that he was alive, after all, because his b-body was also never found. No, he has not c-contacted me. I haven’t told anyone else what I’ve learned. I – I don’t know anything else.”

“And are you working for anyone? Have you been in contact with any of your old Death Eater friends?”

“No, I’m not working for anyone. And no, I haven’t been in contact with any Death Eaters. I wanted to find Severus and help him, if I could. My mother and I owe him so much . . .” He took a deep breath and then, “Please, just let me go.”

Harry leaned forward and checked—Draco’s eyes were beginning to clear, so the questioning was over. “I don’t think so. Not yet. I still have to decide what I’m going to do with you, Malfoy.”

Malfoy took a deep breath, and Harry could detect a slight waver in his voice when he whispered, “Then just . . . just stop calling me that.”

He’d turned his head away so that Harry couldn’t see his face. “Stop calling you what? Malfoy? It’s your name isn’t it?”

He waited a few moments and then, “Yes, it is,” Malfoy answered quietly, obviously against his will.

Harry, hungry, decided to just leave him to himself for a little while. Malfoy wouldn’t be able to leave the tent, no matter how hard he tried, but he still warned him after standing to go. “Don’t even think about trying to escape. It’s no use.”

Malfoy didn’t say anything in return, and Harry sighed. What the hell was he going to do? Just let him go? He needed some time to think.

hdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhdhd

Draco woke up to a hand shaking his shoulder and a gruff voice telling him to get up.

“I can’t feel my hands,” he mumbled. “Where –”

And then he remembered. Working to repair Hogwarts, following Harry to the Ministry, hearing that Snape might be behind a recent murder, getting captured, being questioned under Veritaserum. “Nooooo . . .” he groaned, trying to worm away from the insistent hands on his body.

“Get up, Malfoy! For God’s sake, you prig, I’m trying to get some food and water in you!” Potter insisted, yanking him upright and leaning him against his chest.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, voice petulant.

“Okay then, Draco, just drink this and then eat up. Hermione insists that I treat our prisoners humanely if I don’t want them dying on us.”

Draco leaned away from Potter’s body and glared at him. “I can’t do anything with my hands tied behind my back, and I refuse to let you feed me like a baby!”

Potter glared back. “Fine!” he snapped. “But the minute you try anything I’ll Stupify you again and let you fall where you will.” He waved his wand in Draco’s face in warning.

“Sounds good to me,” Draco agreed, eager to have his hands free.

Potter waved his wand and the bindings fell from his numb hands. Draco was too relieved to feel the blood in them again to appreciate the wordless casting that Potter had accomplished.

“Bloody hell, my hands hurt,” he groaned rubbing them together and shaking them to get the feeling back.

“It was necessary,” Potter said quietly. They were still sitting very close together and Draco looked up into green eyes inches from his own. “You know, Draco, I do have some compassion. And I know something of what you suffered—I saw some of it through Voldemort’s eyes, and I heard what you said just today. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at? And why are you suddenly being nice to me?”

“I’m not being nice, Draco. You don’t deserve ‘nice.’ I’ve taken some time to think and I – I’m just speaking the truth.”

Draco shifted slightly, trying to get some distance between them. “Okay . . . can I get some of that water now?”

“In a minute,” Potter answered, moving closer to him again, eyes intense. “You’ve been through a lot, but you put yourself in that place. And maybe, if I had a family, I would have done the same for them. But I don’t, so I can never know . . .”

“No, you can’t,” Draco snapped. He was sensing a weakness in Potter’s defenses, so he decided to reach for the Snitch while he had the chance. “Now I really would like to get out of this creepy tent, if it’s not a problem with you. I don’t know anything else, and I won’t tell –”

“Tell what? Tell anyone that I tied you up and questioned you under Veritaserum? I hardly care about that. Who’d believe you, anyways?”

“Then what do you want?” Draco asked, feeling exhaustion creep in on him again. “I won’t help you track Severus down and throw him in jail. I just won’t.”

“Good,” Potter said simply.

Draco sat for a minute, stunned. “Wait – what? I’m confused. Don’t you hate –”

Potter grinned at him. “Perhaps you were too busy trying to sneak away from Hermione’s bag, but I was arguing quite loudly that, if he were alive, we just let him be. The man’s done enough for us, and if he wants to play possum and kill all the worst of the Death Eaters while he’s at it, good on him.”

Draco knew he was gaping like a fish, but he couldn’t help it. “You are nothing like the Potter I used to know. That Potter would have done anything to stop a vigilante who was murdering people. Even if they were bad people.”

“I guess you don’t know me all that well, then. For instance, did you know I broke up with Ginny?”

“Who doesn’t?” Draco responded, grabbing for the glass of water still in Potter’s hands. Potter let him have it and he gulped from it greedily. Merlin, but he was thirsty.

“Yes, but do you know why I broke up with her? The real reason, and not the well publicized one?”

Draco finished drinking down the whole glass and pulled it away from his lips, gasping. “Nope. Don’t know, and don’t care, Potter.”

Potter said nothing for a moment, just stared at his lips, and Draco licked them dry self-consciously, then shoved the glass back at him.

“Well, are you going to tell me, or not? Not that I care, mind you, but I did so recently spill my guts to you. Against my will, of course, but all the same . . .”

Potter leaned into him, and Draco flinched away, uncomfortable.

“P-Potter,” Draco stammered. “What are you –”

“Call me Harry,” he whispered, leaning forward just a bit more. “It’s only fair if I have to call you Draco.”

“Okay,” he whispered back. “But what –”

“Say it. Say my name.”

“Harry –”

And then Harry was pressing his lips against his own, but not softly—with force. Draco leaned back, to get away, and Harry pressed him down onto the sleeping bags, his mouth still hard against his. Then Harry’s body moved on top of him, and Draco raised his hands to Harry’s shoulders and tried to push him away, but Harry only groaned and stuck his tongue between Draco’s pursed lips.

Draco, to his abject embarrassment, was becoming aroused. All those years of hiding his sexual orientation from his father were coming back to bite him in the arse, and his cock was filling and growing hard in his trousers as Harry kissed him. As he moved against him.

Draco groaned and then . . . stopped fighting it. It felt good, and some small part of him had wanted Potter – had wanted Harry as his own since he first saw him in Madam Malkin’s all those years ago.

Harry broke away for a moment. “Fuck! I’ve wanted to do this since –”

“Shhh . . .” Draco soothed.

Harry didn’t resist as Draco rolled them over, as he took a position on top and took control of the kiss. For all his aggressive behavior, Harry didn’t seem to have much experience in a leading role, so Draco decided to show him how it was done. He rolled his hips, letting his erection rub against Harry’s crotch. He was excited to feel an answering hardness there.

“Shit – what are we doing?” Harry whispered between kisses.

“I don’t know –” Draco whispered back.

And then they were lost. They kept kissing and rubbing and they were panting in each other’s ears and touching and pulling away their clothes.

“I don’t like feeling like things are out of my control,” Draco confided, nuzzling down Harry’s bare chest.

“I don’t like being in control,” Harry gasped back. “I’m so sick of being in control – you have no idea!”

Draco latched onto one of Harry’s nipples and sucked and licked it like a lolly. “Mmmm . . . could have fooled me.”

“Oh – oh God,” Harry moaned. “You are too good at that. I just – we’re good, right? You’re not mad about the questioning? We’re not going to do anything about Snape?”

“Shut up, Harry. Just – we’re still teenagers, right? And Merlin, I have a boner the size of –”

“Oh – oh fuck! Your hands are cold!”

“Mmm . . . mmmmmmm . . .”

“Aaaah! Have you – oooooooooooh . . . have you done this before?”

Pop! “Harry, if you don’t shut up, I swear to Merlin –”

. . .

“It’s about time – we can figure all that other stuff out later. Now, where was I?”