Reading Time: 86 Minutes

Title: Enduring
Author: MykkiTno
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Contemporary, Drama, Family, Fantasy, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Paranormal/Supernatural
Relationship(s): Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Severus Snape/Sirius Black
Content Rating: R
Warnings: Hate Crimes, Hate Speech, Slavery, Torture, Violence-Domestic, Violence-Against Children, Abuse-Child, Discussion-Child Abuse, Dubious Consent(magical bonds without a discussion but still wanted), Non-Con(magical Control and coercion), Mild Sexual Content, Homophobia, Disturbing Imagery, character bashing, magic withdrawal, magic addiction, non-consensual magic use. Discussion on drug usage(potions) and withdrawal. Major Character Death (canonical death, but in a non-canonical way)
Alpha: I need to thank three people for their patience and help in wrangling this massive work into a cohesive whole, Hourstillnoon, Vi and Kait for their unfailing feedback and support. They let me natter and plot out loud or suffer when I panic and send a quick blurb asking if it made sense, and their fast responses mean everything to me. SO thanks!
Word Count: 88,647
Summary: During Yule of Harry’s fifth year, he finds something in the Chamber of Secrets that answers questions he hadn’t realized he had, but he keeps the knowledge hidden until he can’t anymore. Resorting to Dark Magic isn’t something he thought he’d do, but the changes it wrought aren’t ones he regrets because the alternative would have made things worse.
Artist: CoCo

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Prologue

June 1996

“Stay together!”

Harry’s breathing was harsh as it echoed around the cavernous room, his attention drawn from the whispering archway.

Seconds later, Death Eaters flooded the room, spells, jinxes, and curses fired indiscriminately before the Order appeared.

Watching in horror, Harry saw the red curse out of the corner of his eye, shot and aimed at Sirius. Like a scene from a nightmare, he saw the overlapping image of Sirius laughing, falling, and never getting up.

Grief and terror flooded his system and exploded out of him, making everyone shiver but unable to look as magic flooded the room, making it impossible to look. It was enough for Harry, though; mixing the blood smeared on his glowing hands, he jerked them up, voice lost to the yelling, but in that second, everything froze, even the spells the one aimed at Sirius inches from his chest.

When everything started again, Sirius lay on the floor panting in confusion, and Bellatrix blinked in a dazed fashion as she toppled through the archway, a fitting end to madness.

Chapter One

June 23, 1996

Sighing, Draco leaned against the train window and watched the passing scenario, feeling the coil of dread in his stomach grow the closer they got to London.

Beside him, Pansy made a slight noise in the back of her throat, newspaper rattling in her hand, making Draco close his eyes, not wanting to know what had been said. Every day, there had been some new sensational piece and growing rumours of death eater activity or supposed sightings of the Dark lord, but nothing concrete or proven, and he was starting to suspect that after the last year of being in denial, they were printing everything be it confirmed or not. It was also glaringly apparent that the articles were hogwash. Potter had forced the Dark Lord’s plan before he was ready and was now in hiding, and Draco was terrified that it was at the manor, knowing his father as he did. It honestly would have been better if it had been his father and not his Aunt Bellatrix, who’d died, crazy as she had been. It would have been a freedom Draco could have utilized and worked with.

His mother had been silent since his father’s arrest, only sending a note that morning at breakfast that she would be picking him up from the train, giving no indication that she had any sort of plan. It was terrifying in and of itself. His mother had been a Black before her marriage and grew up learning to plot and plan amongst experts.

Pansy cleared her throat again, leaning her head against his shoulder, where he felt a shudder go through her body. It made him turn and glance at her, stomach rebelling his breakfast dangerously as names jumped out at him, half hidden under her thumb. Names of those arrested, her father not one of them, but it did name Draco’s and the number of dead found. Draco’s eyes skimmed the page as if against his will, his breath catching as another headline caught his eyes.

“Sirius Black, Innocent All Along?

We have all heard of the breach at the Ministry of Magic a few weeks ago, but it only came to our attention today that one of the suspects found and arrested was none other than Peter Pettigrew, a man who has been believed dead for fifteen years.

In the original story and report, it was believed that on November 2, 1981, Peter was trapped in an alleyway in Muggle England, where he confronted Sirius Black, claiming Black betrayed James and Lily Potter, resulting in their death. Sirius Black suffered twelve years in Azkaban without a trial. But in a surprising twist of truth, it was the other way around. This reporter has confirmed that Pettigrew was the secret keeper and, thus, the person who betrayed the Potters, which is how Black came to be in that alleyway. It appears a Fidlius Charm had been used to hide the Potters, meaning Black had forgotten where the cottage was until He-who-must-not-be-named had discovered it.

Peter Pettigrew was charged and is awaiting trial; his Order of Merlin was stripped of him this morning after Sirius Black was officially declared innocent of all charges. The Ministry of Magic is paying an undisclosed sum in restitution, refusing to answer all questions.

There is no word on whether Black has claimed his Lordship, so seeing what a traditional Dark house does will be interesting. Will he hold up to family honour, or will he continue foraging his own path…?

The rolling in his stomach continued with a sliver of hope; if Sirius Black was innocent and claimed the Black lordship, Mother could claim sanctuary. Magic could dictate that if Mother proved her innocence and alliance with the new Lord, he would be honoured and magically bound to protect them.

Meeting Pansy’s eyes, he lifted a shoulder and then turned his gaze back to the window, ignoring the worried looks from the occupants on the other seat. Daphne and Blaise thankfully didn’t say anything meaningless; no amount of empty platitudes would help. Draco knew they were neutral, a traditional Grey Family that hadn’t supported either side in the last war. They might be caught in the same nightmare now, but not compared to him and Pansy, where they had the means to escape, Draco and Pansy did not.

They’d been friends since childhood and, shortly before the fourth year, concocted the story they were dating to fend off other interests; it was tiresome but necessary. Draco had no interest in any females, and the one person he did want…. He shook his head, trying to keep that thought at bay. It wasn’t good to dwell on what he couldn’t have. No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than a scuffle from the corridor caught his attention, making Draco turn his head. A mop of unmistakable, unruly dark hair made his stomach clench. He made no other outward reaction as Harry winced, pushing off the wall without comment and continuing down the corridor.

A second later, Millicent, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, entered a sneer of disgust fixed on her face and sniffed, “Can you believe the nerve of that traitor? He’s lucky I didn’t hex him for what he did.”

Wisely, Draco kept his mouth shut, turning back to the window and letting the others deal with the three idiots. He was more concerned about Harry’s look of dread. It felt awfully familiar, and it wasn’t the first time he wondered how much he had in common with the boy who lived.

Letting his eyes slide shut, Draco pretended he was sleeping, though, in truth, he was running through all his memories of Harry Potter and came to a few disturbing conclusions and realizations that made him nauseous.

In the meantime, the idiots were prodded from their carriage, his friends letting him keep the illusion he was sleeping. They probably wouldn’t have let him if they’d known his thoughts. Why had it taken six years to see the obvious signs of trauma and abuse? There were only two months between him and Harry, and Harry was at least a foot shorter and correspondingly thinner – something he had noticed at the start of each term. It always took Harry time to build up an appetite, having learned his lesson the first year by gorging himself and almost making himself sick each meal. He also noticed that after the novelty wore off, Harry avoided most fatty foods, sticking to plain fair that was hardy and high in calories and skipping desserts unless it was a small slice of treacle tart.

Upon reflection, he could see Harry’s control over his temper and the remembered calculation in his eyes as he analyzed each situation he encountered. Draco couldn’t help but be impressed. He didn’t think he would have kept his if he’d found himself in the same scenarios Harry had found himself in over the years. The fact that he hadn’t rubbed everyone’s noses in the fact he’d been proven right, not that anyone in Slytherin had doubted his claims, even if they hadn’t vocalized that, Draco knew he wouldn’t be as forgiving.

A gentle nudge from Pansy alerted him just as the train blew the whistle, and platforms 9 and 3/4 appeared, making him sigh again, shoulders slumping.

“I’ll owl as soon as I know it’s safe,” he whispered, meeting her eyes wide and tight. Only a flicker of unease betrayed her as she swallowed and nodded.

“Maybe I can convince my dad to invite you for a visit until then,” Daphne offered softly.

Startled, Pansy darted a look at her and smiled weakly in return but didn’t comment, not wanting to voice anything in case it was overheard.

As the train pulled to a stop, steam billowing around the windows, the four Slytherins exchanged another look before rising to their feet to gather their things slowly, allowing the other students to disembark before them.

As he strolled down the corridor, he caught sight of Harry being hugged tight by Granger, the only one in the circle of laughing and reuniting Weasleys who had the same look of dread on their face that Harry had. It appeared Granger at least had an understanding and an idea that Harry’s summer would be as dreadful as Draco’s.

Draco stepped off the train a short time later and found his mother, cloaked and hooded, watching the crowd warily. She only relaxed when she saw him; the relief and joy in her eyes helped settle Draco’s nerves as he reached her and nodded a greeting.

To his surprise, she dropped her decorum and wrapped him in a hug, which he had to stoop to accept. The little boy trapped inside melted at the outward affection.

A loud booming laugh broke them apart, a blush building on Narcissa’s cheeks replaced with a look of mild disgust as she watched the Weasley’s families loud, vulgar behaviour. Draco watched too, or at least he watched Harry, who stood on the platform dejected and defeated, seemingly forgotten as the Weasleys moved towards the exit, pulling Granger away, ignoring her protests.

Watching Harry sigh and wave a hand at his trunk, Draco swallowed as it levitated a few inches off the ground, making it appear that it had wheels. He heard his mother gasp, but he kept his eyes on Harry, who walked towards the exit the Weasleys had disappeared through, and then paused, glancing back at Draco as if he’d known he was there the whole time.

The intensity of their shared look made Draco shiver before Harry nodded once, his eyes losing their sparkle as he resolutely squared his shoulders and turned away, leaving through the platform, making Draco question everything he thought he knew again. His mother touched his arm, and the familiar lurch tugged at his navel, sending them spinning as they were sucked through, landing with only a tiny stumble into a garden with flowers in full bloom. Draco was already tense and on edge, eyes darting around in confusion. The garden was not one he recognized, and he knew it far surpassed the one at Malfoy Manor, spreading out towards a lake that reflected the summer sun. The air was different, magic humming along his skin, caressing it like a lover.

Glancing at his mother hopefully, he opened his mouth, only to close it as off-key humming floated down the path towards them, followed a second later by a man he’d only seen in newspapers.

No one, though, would recognize or confuse this man with a crazed mass murderer. Sirius Black cleaned up well, even if he still appeared thin. His hair had been cut and tamed, styled expertly, with clothing that seemed to match, making Draco realize the stories his mother had whispered about her ‘flirt’ of a cousin were one hundred percent accurate. Gone though was the carefree attitude, the hint of madness in his eyes, not necessarily a Black family trait, but reminiscent of his time in Azkaban.

Sirius Black flashed a smile as he crossed the distance, buzzing a kiss on Narcissa’s cheek before glancing at Draco, the casual pursual, causing a blush to form on his cheeks.

The quirk of Sirius’s brow and the quiet chuckle were startlingly familiar, even if there was no other outward resemblance.

“Welcome to Black Manor, Heir Malfoy.”

Draco swallowed at the timber and bowed correctly, “Thank you for the sanctuary, Lord Black. I’m happy for my mother and honoured on her behalf that you would assist us in our time of need; if you require assistance in any manner, I offer myself to repay that debt.” Finishing his little speech, Draco swallowed and straightened, ignoring his mother’s stricken expression, knowing she would have words with him later. Vowed or not, his words had offered the other man power, and he would rather be beholden to family and not the insane man his father was.

Sirius hummed thoughtfully and nodded once to acknowledge Draco’s words, turning to gesture towards the house, “It is a bit of a walk, but I have the manor on lock-down under war wards as no one can apparate or floo inside, and letters are sent to a secured room to be ‘examined’ before dispersing. Severus is my only other guest until I can get Harry here, but Remus is here occasionally.”

Draco frowned at Severus’ name before he realized what Sirius had said and licked his lips, questioning with a sinking heart, “Harry Potter?”

“Hmm? Yes, Harry, my godson and Heir.” Sirius replied in amusement and then shot him a hard look. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

Quickly shaking his head, Draco strove to hide his nervousness and then offered softly, “It’s not a problem for me, My Lord, but if Heir Black has an issue with us being here, I will forfeit our sanctuary to make him-“

His mother dug her nails into his arm, giving him a warning look. Sirius laughed, “Don’t worry about Harry. He’ll understand; magic calls to magic, and as children of Black’s magic, you’ll come to a mutual understanding and respect.”

Narcissa stumbled, her hand tightened on Draco’s arm, her nail digging deeper and drawing a hiss from his lips, which his mother ignored to demand, “You gave Harry Potter Blood Heirship?”

Sirius grinned, “Sure did, not even twenty-four hours after his birth, with Grandfather in attendance.”

“But you-you,” Narcissa stuttered, mouth opening and closing, unable to finish.

“Spent twelve years in prison for something I didn’t do?” Sirius asked, with a raised brow, “Being innocent meant I was never disinherited, and Grandfather knew that.”

“No, I know that.” Narcissa waved a hand dismissively, “I meant, shouldn’t it go to your blood children, not some half-“

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Sirius growled low and dangerous, “Truthfully, I never wanted the title, and I would have left it to rot, given dearest mom’s methods of punishment. I was sterile by the time I was sixteen, which is when I so conveniently fled her house and control. Grandfather knew, of course, and asked me to ritually adopt because he refused to let the title die out. My stipulation for his request was James’s son, and it was accepted gleefully. Arcturus Black had a lot of respect for the Potters, given his sister married one. Add in James and Lily’s magic, which was a beautiful mix of light and dark, and grandfather was almost giddy at the ritual.”

Narcissa’s mouth has snapped shut halfway through Sirius’s statement, only dropping open again at the last, voice barely a whisper, “Dark?”

Sirius smiled, a smile Draco recognized as a Black smile, and gestured toward the house, “If you’ll follow me?”

Draco and his mother fell into step beside Sirius as he led them through the gardens, the flowers arching and dancing towards Sirius as he moved. It was beautiful to see, something he’d always associated with his mother. The gardens at Malfoy Manor reacted the same, but maybe it had more to do with the Black family’s magic. It was hard to envision the flora reacting like that to his father.

As they strolled, Sirius pointed out various places he might be interested in, such as a lake, forest, quidditch pitch, and stables. Their conversation was peaceful and easy, though occasionally, a look of sorrow passed over the elder Black’s faces as they got lost in their memories.

When they reached the terrace, Sirius stopped and gazed back out over the expansive lawns. ” Would you like a tour of the house or refreshments in your rooms?”

Narcissa wrapped her arms around herself. “I think I’ll have tea in my room. If that’s all right?”

“Of course, Cissy. Dinner is set for 7. Is that acceptable?” Sirius asked, glancing toward his cousin. A matching expression of regret appeared on his face, and he added as if he needed to offer the reassurance that only she would understand. “It’ll be informal, in the sunroom.”

A grateful look crossed his mother’s face, and she nodded, glancing his way. “Would you like me to show you to your rooms?”

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it, shaking his head and darting a look at his cousin. “No, I think we need to have a private conversation; we might as well do that during the tour.” He paused and shifted uncomfortably, “If that’s acceptable, Lord-“

“Call me Sirius, Draco.” The Earl of Islington responded, his eyes clouding briefly before he shook his head, rubbing at his temple. “And a tour and private conversation is probably a good idea.”

“Siri?” Narcissa whispered, eyes widening as she looked at her cousin, who only shook his head and turned away, waving a hand. The doors opened by themselves, and a house elf was popping to the left of the door.

“Tea for Narcissa in her rooms and another set in half an hour on the west terrace; dinner is still at 7, Folly.”

“Yes, Master Sirius.” The elf responded cheerfully and popped away, leaving the three of them standing there, Narcissa wavering, clearly undecided if she should leave them alone.

Clenching his jaw, Draco refused to look at her, knowing that he needed to converse with Harry’s godfather and hating that he was forced into this position because his parents had been cowards. It might have been an unfair thought, considering he knew the risk his mother had taken escaping the manor and bringing him with him. Still, the resentment that had built over the years had grown; if they hadn’t fallen in with the Dark Lord, they wouldn’t be standing here making an alliance with a supposed enemy when they could have been here all along.

Not for the first time, Draco wished his father had died in the ministry; the selfish idea that he could have been free to guide his house and name overwhelmed him before it died, tasting like ash on his tongue.

His vision of redemption was a pipe dream, as he knew that even with his mother’s support now, she would have fought every possible thing he wanted to do. Sighing, he shook his head, stilling the thoughts as his mother sighed sadly, “Come and see me before bed?”

It was the last thing he wanted to do, knowing she would plead softly, begging him to keep his head down so as not to draw attention from anyone, especially if Potter would be living there soon. Jerking his head in agreement, Draco kept silent as she gazed at him in fearful disappointment before turning away, leaving the two cousins alone. An awkward silence grew between them even as Sirius regarded him thoughtfully.

Whatever he was searching for, Draco had no idea if he found it because his cousin shook himself and strolled away, calling over his shoulder, “Let’s start in the East Wing, though it’s not as exciting.”

So it proved. The east wing held the formal areas, ballroom, portrait galleries, guest library, dining room, and guest rooms. It was somewhat surprising for Draco to realize he wasn’t placed there. He bit his lip to keep from questioning it as Sirius finally moved to the West Wing, pointing out the family library and den, family rooms, private dining, solarium, and potions lab. Sirius causally pointed to Draco’s rooms, even letting him browse them before leading him back to the den.

It still felt awkward as he sank into a surprisingly comfortable chair, accepted the tumbler of fire whiskey, and took a sip as Sirius slouched into the chair across from him. “Are you going to have an issue with Harry being here?”

For a second, Draco panicked, then viciously pushed it down, his hand tightening on his glass. “I—” he stopped and drew in a breath. “I meant what I said outside. I’m grateful on my mother’s behalf for the sanctuary provided, and if needed, I will pay that back in any way possible. If that means forfeiting that to Harry…” Draco trailed off, unable to continue.

“You’re not grateful for yourself?” Sirius asked curiously, eyes intense.

Shrugging uncomfortably, Draco averted his gaze, “To be honest, I had plans to send you my own letter begging for assistance if I’d ended up back at my father’s manor, and I fully expected to be denied,” He sighed warily, running a hand through his hair, “I know how people perceive me, and my actions over the years haven’t had a positive impact on those around me.”

Surprise flashed across Sirius’s face, “you don’t support your father’s ambitions?”

Feeling the blood drain from his face, Draco shook his head, “No, I suspect if I were to prostrate before ‘his’ throne, if he didn’t kill me for my father’s epic public failure, I’d have been set an impossible task that still would have seen me dead.”

A grunt was the only response Draco received. Still, he was content to wait for his cousin to speak, which he did after a moment, “you’re not what I thought…” he trailed off, confusion flickered across his face though he wiped it clear with his hand, “Harry convinced me you’d changed, asked-demanded really that you be given a chance, though I can’t see it.” Sirius flushed and averted his eyes, “which admittedly is probably biased. Your father and I did not get along.”

A snort of laughter escaped Draco. “That’s fair; I don’t know who got along with him.” A questioning brow made Draco flush, “I might put about being a spoiled snot, but let’s just say that my father wasn’t pleasant, even with me.”

Dark silver eyes met him, a hint of madness stewing in their depths before they clouded over, and Sirius shuttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “How old?”

Draco didn’t even pretend not to know what he was being asked, his voice clipped as he responded, “Nine, it started on my birthday and lasted every day until the day I left for Hogwarts and repeated every summer.”

“Seven, my mother’s excuse was to strengthen my magic, but all it did was make me hate her more.” Sirius admitted softly, “When she didn’t touch Regulus, I grew to resent him, jealous that she loved him enough not to hurt him like she hurt me.”

Draco flinched, admitting roughly, “It makes me glad I was an only child; I know if a younger sibling had been tortured as I was, I’d be dead.” He knocked back the rest of the whiskey and leaned forward, needing to address something Sirius had said earlier, “You said Harry convinced you to give me a chance?”

Sirius nodded, dread filling his face as if fearing the follow-up question, but it wasn’t enough for Draco to leave it alone. “Did he say why?”

With his dark eyes closed, Sirius turned his head to the side toward the window. “He said that no one deserved to have Lucius Malfoy as a father, not even you.”

Draco closed his eyes and shook his head, “the stupid git.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before Sirius cleared his throat, eyes shifting nervously, “is there something between-”

A bitter smile crossed Draco’s face, and he shook his head, “No, after Harry rejected my offer of friendship – which admittedly was horrid and selfishly presented, I was never brave enough to defy my father after that one instance.” A cynical laugh shook Draco’s shoulders, but he nodded his thanks as his glass was filled wordlessly, “can you imagine the headlines, Death Eaters Son and the Boy Who Lived? Or my father’s reaction? One made worse because of our different houses? My father would have disowned me for getting with a Gryffindor.” Draco inhaled sharply, “No, I could never risk it; it would never have been fair to Harry for that sort of attention.”

An amused smile crossed Sirius’s face, “My godson didn’t listen, did he? He still tried to be your friend, didn’t he?”

Draco wrinkled his nose and admitted, “he might have wanted to, but I couldn’t afford the risk last year…..”

“Because he was made out to be a nutter in the papers?” Sirius demanded with an edge to his tone that made Draco flinch, jerking back in his chair, sloshing the whiskey over his hand.

“What? No!” Draco denied heatedly, “I knew he wasn’t lying, but it’s not like I could say anything with the fucker living in my home.” Draco pulled his wand, cleaning his hand and drying the droplets that landed on his pants, “if I was vocal in any way,” he sighed, collapsing against the chair, defeat bowing his shoulders, “I’m the son of a death eater, Sirius. I had no one I could go to for a safe haven before you.” He held up a hand as Sirius opened his mouth, “and before you say Harry would have helped, I know, but it wouldn’t have been permanent due to his circumstances.”

Sirius glared, knocking back his drink, and then sighed, defeated, “Yeah, that’s true. I had James when I needed to escape.” Setting his glass down, he leaned forward, “Are there any other Slytherins in similar circumstances?”

“Pansy Parkison,” Draco replied instantly, his stomach clenching as he thought of his best friend. “Her father is in the inner circle, and she’s terrified of what plans are being made for her.”

Thoughtfully, Sirius dropped his gaze, finger tapping on the arm of the chair, “I can’t promise to have her rescued, but I’ll have Severus see what he can find out, and we can make a plan from there.”

Startled, Draco froze, trying to parse what Sirius had said, his head feeling like it was working under a fog, “you mean Professor Snape? My godfather?”

Humming in amusement, Sirius nodded, “That’s correct. He’ll probably be around for dinner, given it’s summer.” He paused and added, “If Remus and him start sniping at each other, ignore it. Moony’s adjusting to a secret we’ve kept hidden for fifteen years.”

Draco nodded in agreement, no matter how curious he wasn’t asking, though he did focus on Severus, “Isn’t Severus a death eater?”

An amused smirk crossed his cousin’s face, “he always did play the dungeon bat well.”

“Stop teasing him, mutt.” The familiar drawing came from the door, making Draco snap his head to the side, mouth dropping open at his godfather’s casual attire. The cut of the dark outer robes was vest-like and the opposite of anything he would have worn at school or even privately at the manor, the sleeves of the undershirt a deep green, shot with silver embroidery. His hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, drawing attention to his growing goatee and highlighting his healthy complexion.

It felt like he’d stepped into an alternate dimension. His godfather had not looked like that when Draco had last seen him at breakfast, “What? How did that happen?”

An amused laugh pulled his attention from his godfather to look at his cousin, who was gazing at Severus with a heavy-hooded expression, making Draco gag as he looked between them. “Oh, Merlin! Seriously? You two?”

An eyebrow rose as Severus folded his arms. ” So what if we are? What business is it of yours?”

Jerking his head in a negative, Draco moved past it, focusing on something else. Indignation making him angry: “But you bully Harry! You make his life hell, and dock points off him when it isn’t his fault!”

“You’re right, I have.” Severus sighed as he crossed the room, sinking into a chair beside Sirius, “I owe Harry an apology.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Draco demanded, then flushed at the cool look of disappointment.

“Use your brain,” Severus snapped, irritation creeping into his tone. “Just like you, I’ve had to wear a mask to give an illusion and impression of my dislike for the Boy Who Lived.”

Deflating, Draco bent over, burying his head in his hands, “I don’t understand.”

“We know,” Sirius said softly. “But before we can offer any information, we need something in exchange.”

Draco regretted the whiskey immediately as his stomach rebelled, hurt but unsurprised there was a price to be paid. “I don’t know how much help I can be. I can name some of the inner circle, but was never included in their plans.”

“We don’t need information from you, Draco.” Sirius said, glancing at Severus, who nodded, “We have Severus for that, and I’m not about to ask you to join their ranks to become a spy.”

Relaxing slightly, Draco straightened, looking between the two men, licking his lips hesitantly. ” What do you want then?” He didn’t add that he had nothing to offer, in hiding as he was. He glanced at his wand, running a thumb over the handle, and felt a tear slide down his cheek.

“Draco,” his godfather’s voice was impossibly soft. “You’re spiralling. We don’t want your wand or an unbreakable vow. What we want is a little more complicated, but if you disagree, you won’t lose the sanctuary provided.”

“Maybe not, but I also won’t be included or trusted, either.” Draco responded dully, hating his father all over again, the weight of the heir ring heavy and looked up at Sirius Black, “Can I renounce my name and position as Heir and assume the Black name?” When both sets of eyes widened, he plowed on, “I don’t want Harry’s place, so don’t think that. I just- I want to be something other than a Malfoy. My name has caused me nothing but grief my entire life.”

The two men exchanged unreadable looks before Sirius cleared his throat. “I—Draco, I understood your reasoning but would never ask that of you. I also can’t say yes in good conscience without having you give it careful consideration. If you keep your status and position, it could help you in the future.”

A harsh, bitter laugh escaped Draco, exhausted from everything that had happened. Instead of responding directly, he ran a hand through his hair, asking, “What can I do to help?”

The glint of excitement that lit Sirius’s eyes made him question his cousin’s sanity and his own, but he waited patiently. Yet, nothing could have prepared him for the statement from Sirius’s mouth, who looked him dead in the eye and said bluntly, “I want your help rescuing Harry from his muggle relatives.”

Draco blinked and wiggled his finger in his ear like he was clearing it out in an action that would have horrified his mother. Then he blinked again, “Pardon me?”

Huffing a laugh, Severus folded his arms and glanced at Sirius. ” I told you he wouldn’t say no immediately.”

Rolling his eyes, Sirius summoned another tumbler and the bottle of fire whisky, topping up each of their glasses, “Bloody git.”

Severus waved a hand, wordlessly summoning the glass from Sirius, and smugly took a sip, “I know my godson, mutt. I said he was trustworthy; his obsession with Potter has been evident for years; I’m just glad everyone else was blind to it.”

Flushing as they discussed him like he wasn’t even present, Draco squirmed in his seat, demanding with a squeak, “Could you—are you two flirting in front of me?”

Snorting, Sirius filled the tumbler Draco had been using and then the new one, ignoring the question in favour of explaining his request, “It’s a two-part request; in addition to recusing him, he also needs tutoring in everything related to wizarding customs.”

“But!” Draco started shaking his head, feeling like he was being given an impossible task, “he hates me.”

Sirius frowned, “you already said he’s tried to be your friend.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he will listen to me. He hasn’t bothered learning anything about our world. Why would he want to be taught by me?” Draco demanded. “It’s not like he cares that he’s helping disrespect magic by following muggle customs.”

“Is it that he doesn’t care or doesn’t know?” Severus asked quietly, staring intently at his godson, and then waved a hand expressively as Draco froze. “Stop reacting and think. Harry grew up in the muggle world with relatives who hated him, and he only learned he was a wizard when he received his letter. Where would he have learnt anything to do with our customs and beliefs? Would he have even known to ask if he didn’t suspect things were different?”

Swallowing, Draco looked between the two men and thought through the questions and realized with a sense of dread that half of what had pissed Draco off was Harry’s ignorance which had been real. Severus was right; where would Harry have learned anything about the wizarding world? It wasn’t like Hogwarts offered classes anymore, and no matter how Pureblood the Weasleys were, they were ostracized as blood traitors. If they served the old ways, it was privately, as they were not invited to join social events. Draco set down his glass, fisting his hands and rubbing his eyes, his thoughts continuing, Granger might be considered the brightest witch of her age, but she was still muggle born; she wouldn’t be of assistance when it came to teaching Harry what he needed to know as Heir to two noble houses.

That thought pulled him up short. Harry had to learn more than just wizarding customs; he had to learn everything else, including the training for his seats, laws, past and present, voting blocks, etiquette, and land management…. He cut himself off before panicking and looked up sharply, “Why wasn’t he taught any of this?”

A cold look crossed his godfather’s face. “I can give you two guesses, but you’ll only need one.”

“The headmaster,” Draco replied flatly, hating the flash of appreciation he had for his father when he’d tried to have him removed.

Sirius nodded grimly, “he’s been using Harry’s seats and others he’s obtained through blackmail, bribery and corruption to sway votes in his way.” He averted his gaze, looking at the blank wall, and swallowed, “The only thing we have in our favour is Dumbledore isn’t aware of Harry’s true identity. Truthfully, I wasn’t aware until I claimed the title, and I’m glad for that now. The damage Dumbledore could have wrought in the Wizengamot with that power is horrifying, and it would make Voldemort look like a flea in comparison.”

“What?” Draco croaked, fear snaking up his spine. He was unsure he wanted an answer, though he was burning with curiosity.

Severus knocked back the rest of his whiskey, pouring another measure before speaking flat and toneless, “Did you know it was custom for Half-Blood children to acquire two names, a public name used until they claimed the titles they were entitled to?”

Shaking his head, Draco thumbed the lip of his glass, taking a sip and breathing through the burn as the whiskey slid down, wondering if it was a good idea to get drunk now.

“It’s not a well-known practice. Most half-bloods are immersed into our world, so that sort of protection isn’t always necessary, but that’s not the case in Harry’s circumstance.” Severus explained carefully, “his position as Heir Potter was evident in his name as being the last known Potter, the Heir Black was suspected but never confirmed before Arcturus’s death, though it was acknowledged and formalized by him as he was at the ritual.” He sighed, staring at the amber liquid eyes filled with grief and regret, “none of us thought to question Lily’s heritage.”

“She’s a muggle-born, though,” Draco couldn’t help but point out, confused at where the connection was going.

“That’s true.” Sirius agreed with a nod, “but what isn’t acknowledged or even believed by some factions like Voldemort and his followers is that muggle-born children have to have come from somewhere.” He nodded to the wall, “I can’t do anything with it yet, but I can prove in so far as much as I can with Harry’s heritage that muggle-borns come from forgotten squib lines. He was a thirteenth-generation born from a single line of males, excluding Lily, who would have been the twelfth generation.”

“Sirius?” Draco breathed, not even sure what he was asking. His mind raced with numbers and possibilities, and the implications alone were enough to make him numb.

His cousin ignored him. “Severus and I spent a week researching what we found, and then, in a desperate bid, I woke the house and demanded answers.”

“You what?” Draco demanded, his eyes widening. He’d never heard of a family waking a house after it had been forced to sleep. The fear of facing a Sentient Spirit that could and would more than likely be wrathful stopped the idea before it could gain any sort of traction.

“I woke Medea, the spirit encased in the house and our family magic,” Sirius replied flatly, then frowned as the curtains closed and opened, windows rattling. “Alright, I didn’t do it alone; as she likes to point out, she was slowly waking up.”

Feeling another shiver, Draco bit his lip, thinking furiously, trying to pull up everything he remembered of the stories and legends his mother had told him as a child. Before he gave up, the only thing that came to mind was her gift of prophecy. He jerked his head up, staring at his cousin. “What did she show you?”

Sirius shook his head, holding his hands, “I can’t tell you.”

“What do you mean? It’s my future! Don’t I deserve to know?” Draco demanded harshly, unable to stop his eyes from filling with tears.

“Prophecy doesn’t work like that,” Sirius started, and then shook his head, “I get it, it would piss me off when my grandfather would become cryptic and evasive, but I spent twelve years in Azkaban ignoring his advice; I won’t set you up for the same failure.” He drew in a breath and continued more calmly, “Seeing the future isn’t easy to translate into an understanding for the non-gifted, which is a sentence I never thought I’d utter in my life,” he added with an eye roll at his expense. “Look at our history and all of the mythos and legends surrounding entities that predicted the future, and tell me if any of them who shared stopped something bad from happening. Look at Harry! He wasn’t even born when a stupid self-fulfilling prophecy was given that predicted the defeat of Voldemort. Look at the misery he’s experienced.”

“Less is more in this case,” Severus added nodding towards the wall. Draco turned to look in confusion, his jaw dropping at what he saw.

The previously blank wall now held a sprawling web of lines, looking like a latticework of intricate art or a spider’s web. Feeling a nudge that wasn’t physical, Draco set his half-full tumbler on the table and rose to his feet, smoothing his robes as he paced toward the wall.

The pulsing was the first thing he noticed, like the web was breathing, but instead of feeling uneasy, he felt a sense of anticipation as he scanned the lines, unsurprised to find them centered on Harry’s name, his place as Heir outlined in silver.

Harry James Potter, July 31, 1980

Draco blinked as his vision blurred, but when it stayed blurry, he realized it was actually the wall rippling, expanding on his direct family line and focusing on Lily Evans’s.

Travelling up the tree, he counted as he went, eleven first-born males of the Evans line until he came to the Warren name, showing that daughter had been a squib. Before moving on, four generations before that, he felt his breath stutter, and he put a hand on the wall, suddenly dizzy as he read the name, “Cadmus Peverell?”

His eyes jerked to the top of the tree, breath coming in little pants of disbelief as he stared at the name, blood draining from his face as he sank to the floor, legs unable to support him.

It felt like the house hated him, as the family tree seemed to flow to his level. Harry’s name reappeared in front of him, the letters rippling and unscrambling to be reformed with a faint golden loop over the silver: Hadrian Cadmus James Peverell, Duke of Warwick, Earl of Exmoor and Guardian of Avalon, Heir Black Baron Ignis, July 31, 1980.

A semi-hysterical laugh bubbled out of Draco, “He’s a Duke and not just any Duke; he holds the oldest titles in existence, blessed lady magic. What have I done? I’ve spent the last five years bullying him. Oh, sweet Merlin, what if he’d declared a blood feud? I’d be dead, and I wouldn’t even know why.” He stopped babbling and stared at the family tree again, blood turning to ice as he ran through the lines again, and dropped his head in horror and then, to his shame, burst into tears.

Chapter Two

Staring at the door to Number 4 Private Drive, Harry felt the change in the wards since his last stay. They slid along his magic, testing and tasting, making him roll his eyes at Dumbledore’s effort to ensure his continued cooperation, the attempt pathetic and annoying. It was grating that he had to play this out until his birthday, and if he hadn’t promised Sirius, Harry would have shredded the warding and disappeared before anyone would notice, but they had a plan, one Harry couldn’t rush.

Thumbing the invisible Heir Ring, Harry pulled his trunk behind him, not even offering a token act of arguing. He set it in his old bedroom, the closet under the stairs, and moved to the kitchen to make dinner.

It was difficult biting his tongue after everything that had happened in the last year, but Harry managed to ignore the smug beady eyes of his aunt and uncle as they waited with bated breath for him to fuck up.

It wouldn’t have mattered to them either through a verbal or magical outburst; they just needed an excuse, and it would have broken the accord they had reached at the rail station.

Harry wasn’t particularly worried. The connection Voldemort had utilized the last year had been suspiciously silent since the ministry fiasco. Harry knew it would stay that way. Voldemort unwilling to give Harry more insight into his plans.

With a brief flash of amusement, he wondered if Voldemort had ever thought to search Harry’s thoughts or had just concentrated on showing him what he wanted the Boy Who Lived to see.

It would have probably driven Tom crazy if he had realized how many secrets Harry carried, how much he distrusted Dumbledore, or that he knew the complete prophecy. It was almost tempting to push through the block in his head and send the entire thing to him just to see how much he had played into Dumbledore’s hand and created his own downfall.

The reminder of that only meeting with Dumbledore made Harry pause and redirect his thoughts. There was no point in getting angry here. It would serve no purpose and undo months of work. Reaching out, he shoved the rage into the reinforced box in his mind, hid it under the layer of occlumency shields Professor Snape had halfheartedly taught on Dumbledore’s orders, and resumed cooking dinner.

After the Dursleys had finished eating and moved to the living room to watch their nightly programs, Harry was left alone in the kitchen, elbow-deep in scalding hot water, when he was blind-sided by grief.

It was so overwhelming that it drove him to his knees, unrelenting sobs breaking free.

The cuff to his head wrenched his head around, knocking it against the cabinets. Stars filled his vision as his glasses flew off. Yet, it was enough to wrestle the emotion under control, knowing they weren’t his.

If the magic coiling and mingling with his own hadn’t told him who, he’d know the echo of the crying anywhere. Latching on, he clung to the spark, ignoring his uncles bellowing and the blows that rained down on his body, layering protection after protection around the fragile piece, hoping it was enough to block the pain of what he was going through, never wanting anyone to suffer that, but allowing his happiness and the “finally” to filter through the bond that had always been there but closed. Now, it shone like a beacon in his mind, and Harry couldn’t help but reach out, brushing ‘fingers’ along it with a whimper of joy that it was real.

Harry didn’t understand what had happened or even where he was, but he never wanted Draco Malfoy to regret choosing him.

***

Draco’s tears were grief over his lost childhood and father’s betrayal, as well as his actions or lack thereof since then. Add in what he had learnt today, and well, it was like the stopper he’d had clamped around his emotions hadn’t been secure, and he wept bittersweet tears for every lost chance he’d had and hadn’t taken and the possible reprieve he’d been presented with today. Draco couldn’t have said how long he cried; it could have been minutes or hours, but given he couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, Draco felt he was due.

When he stopped, his eyes hurt, and his nose was stuffed, but he felt remarkably calm, though exhausted, as he listened to his mother demand answers as her fingers dragged through his hair.

“He’s fine,” Sirius stressed, tone implying he was getting annoyed at having to repeat it.

“Obviously, he’s not fine; Draco doesn’t cry.” Narcissa snapped, making a soothing noise when Draco flinched.

“I understand your concern, Narcissa, but at this point, stop looking at it from a protective mother’s point of view and put yourself in his shoes and feel what he’s feeling.” Severus stated, “his entire world has shifted; he’s grieving the past and just now starting to understand his future.” There was a pause, and then Severus continued, “It’s an overload and a lot to take in. We had him contained in shields even though we’re the only ones here, so no damage has been done.”

Draco couldn’t help but snort at his godfather’s words, yet it was enough to make him pull from his mother’s arms and shift to a sitting position on the couch. He silently accepted the handkerchief held out and whipped his face, thankful for the cleaning charms embedded in the cloth.

Soft hands were still hovering over him, but he shifted from his mother’s touch, the guilt pouring off of her in waves, making him nauseous.

A potion bottle appeared in his eye view, and he took it, opening it and draining it without asking, leaning weakly back against the couch as he felt the numbing spread throughout his body. It was in a word odd, numbing areas and places he hadn’t even realized ached though avoiding areas that he couldn’t explain, like between his legs and his stomach, and concentrating on the physical throbbing in his left shoulder and jaw and blossoming along the right side of the chest, ribs throbbing. The worst of the ‘injuries’ throbbed bone deep and utterly unlike suffering from the curious curse, and he briefly had the thought that maybe he’d gotten into a brawl of some kind, but a quick search of the room put that to rest.

“Take a second, kid. You’re feeling things that aren’t all yours.” Sirius stated simply that the clink of glass pulled Draco’s attention and made him concentrate on the words just as another potion vial was shoved into his hands.

Draining that one, he sat up, wincing with a groan as the muscles on his back protested, “What in the name of Salazar happened? I feel like a horde of dragons ran me over.”

Opening his eyes, he met Sirius Black’s, feeling the smug satisfaction reflected in them. He swallowed at the hint of wonder echoing from his godfather.

“That was destiny offering you a gift if you’re willing to accept it,” Severus said, pushing a goblet of water in his direction. He did offer a sympathetic grimace, “though it is wrapped up in a betrayal even if you offered to do it already. The grief prevented the pain from tearing you apart.”

Swallowing the water that tasted like spring, Draco shook his head in confusion, “I-what?”

Sirius sighed and leaned forward, holding his hands, palms up, and then lifted an eyebrow when Draco stared at him blankly.

Huffing, Draco set the glass on the table and reached out wordlessly, setting his hands flat on Sirius’s hands. “I, Sirius Black, Earl of Islington, take and accept Draco into the family and give him the name Black to hold and cherish. May the family embrace him, offering him love, safety, and advice as a child of the blood.”

A wisp of white light illuminated their hands, growing in size and brightness until it flew off Sirius to Draco’s chest, enveloping him in a swarm of warmth, the sensation at odds with what he had felt from the Malfoy’s magic. He understood instantly that for whatever faults the Blacks had, love of family had never been it. It intertwined with a spark he didn’t want to recognize. Still, he didn’t shy away from it either, reaching out a clinging hand to cradle it, unwilling to look too close at the familiarity in the magic and the resounding sense of “finally” radiating from it.

The chain that appeared around his neck felt heavy and foreign for all of a second before the instant acceptance danced along his skin, harmonizing with his magic as the faint giggling of past ancestors held out arms of so much welcome that he melted at the safety and acceptance it brought, causing a rush of tears to his eyes, making him blink rapidly mourning something his father’s family had never offered him.

With that acceptance came knowledge, like little flicks of water dropped along his consciousness. But he zeroed in on the information, searching his own feelings and what he felt from others, before dropping Sirius’s hands and looking at his mother in utter betrayal: ” You hid who and what I was by embedding it into the Heir ring to block it?”

Narcissa pulled back with a pain-filled gasp, tears filling her eyes and shook her head, “I did it to protect you.”

“No,” Draco denied instantly, suddenly furious. You did it to protect yourself, and you know it. It’s why you did nothing to protect me when he started my “training.” He said it with so much venom that everyone flinched and demanded harshly, “How’d he find out? You certainly didn’t tell him, so what gave it away?”

“He tried to sign a betrothal contract in your name,” Narcissa admitted, tears spilling down her cheeks. The family magic told him in the end, just as horrified to realize how they’d been manipulated. But they urged him to take it a step further. They bound and glamoured you, preventing you from removing the ring willingly.”

Snorting bitterly, Draco rose off the couch, “I’m surprised he didn’t disown me, strip me naked and sell me like common cattle.” He turned to face her, “You should have done more; your grandfather was still alive; you could have taken me to him for protection.”

Shaking her head, Narcissa gasped with a sob, “I couldn’t… the marriage rite was bound in blood; I had very little freedom once he found out. He enforced and controlled everything.”

Turning away, Draco faced the blank wall but still saw the tree unfurling in his head. His heart hurt for his mother, but he was still bitter at what he had experienced. He ran a thumb over his empty finger and asked quietly, “Do you regret it?”

“Some aspects,” she admitted softly, “but never you. Draco, you are the only good thing from that marriage; please never doubt that.”

Humming, Draco tilted his head, still feeling aches he knew weren’t his own. He felt his anger flare before tightening control over the shielding – that knowledge being dumped into his head, not as uncomfortable as he would have thought. Still, he didn’t want to share what he sensed with anyone and clung to the newly formed bond, relishing in the happy giddiness that pulsed along the tether. “I appreciate in so far as much as I can that you thought you were protecting me, and I’m grateful you reached out to Sirius,” he felt her relief fill the room and hated to crush it, knowing she would never understand what he had gone through, “yet if you fully want to earn my forgiveness I want one- no two things, and I want it under an unbreakable vow.”

Feeling the tension leap into the room, Draco finally turned to face his ‘family,’ watching the calculating expression on his godfather’s face, the glint of satisfaction in his cousin’s, and finally, the hurt and regret on his mother’s face, along with the slump of resignation in her shoulders, that she straightened, wiping her cheeks clear. “I understand, Draco. What can I do?”

“First, you will accept my mate without argument, no matter your personal opinions. No word, deed, or action against them can ever happen. Cherish and treat them as a child you love, and keep our secrets no matter who asks.” He demanded, feeling a buzzing of anticipation in the back of his head.

Startled, his mother’s eyes widened, questions filling her eyes, even as she nodded, “Of course, I’d never do anything to alienate them; what else?”

“I’ll need your help in creating a training plan. My mate will need help in every aspect of wizarding culture, including etiquette, comportment, land ownership, history – basically, the training I received as a child, and whatever else would be appropriate given their titles.” He paused as Sirius swore viciously, burying his head in his hands while Severus chuckled and patted his shoulder condescendingly. “Please note that will also include the history of laws that are probably long forgotten but still valid, and I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of how to acquire that knowledge. It should also include creature laws, customs, and biology, given I’m half Veela,” he stopped on an inhale, mind stuttering over that and realized he would have to do his own research. Everything Draco thought about himself was thrown out the window at the realization he was more than he’d been when he woke up. The uncomfortable burning sensation between his legs indicated the ritual spell that bound his heritage fully broken, and it made him uneasy but thankful for the amulet that had appeared around his neck when he was accepted into the family, knowing the magic would protect him until he fully bonded.

Narcissa’s mouth opened and closed, her eyes blinking before she swallowed. The list of things he requested threw her into a spiral of confusion. When she seemed to have gathered her thoughts, she spoke softly, as if hesitant to draw attention to herself: “You speak as if you know your mate.”

Draco hesitated for a breath before an almost smug, vindictive expression crossed his face as he nodded, “I do.”

“Who is it?” She finally asked when it was evident he wasn’t going to elaborate.

Lifting a sardonic eyebrow, he tilted his head, “Your vow?”

She reared back as if struck, surprise flashing across her face, not expecting him to demand it even though it had been asked for.

Draco folded his arms. “My mate is for me to protect, and I’ll protect them from anyone, including you. If you want in our lives, you’ll give your vow, or you can leave and live with the knowledge our children won’t have any grandparents.”

Eyes filling with tears, Narcissa nodded, offering her hand to her son. Clearing her throat, she glanced between Severus and her cousin before focusing on Severus, “if you would?”

“No, Lord Black will execute the vow,” Draco demanded, hands still at his side. He looked Sirius in the eyes and said, “And bind it in the family magic.”

Sirius swore again and shook his head, muttering something about viciousness, but gamely sat up, pulling his wand, “If you would kneel and clasp hands.”

Draco knelt immediately, watching the emotions cross his mother’s face before she slowly slid to the floor, taking Draco’s hand without question,

“Do you, Narcissa, swear to accept and cherish Draco’s mate without question or remorse and protect them as your own?”

Sirius asked, tone decidedly odd as a coil of rope slid out of his wand, wrapping around their wrists.

Narcissa swallowed, eyes flicking over Draco’s face, “I will.”

“Will you assist in the education they need to immerse themselves fully into our world, as befitting their titles and station, no matter their opposition?”

“I will.” Her voice wavered briefly, but her gaze held firm, not looking as the second magical rope wrapped around their wrists in a figure-eight.

“Will you swear to keep their secrets, no matter who asks and accept the vow bound in the family magic?” Sirius questioned, eyes flaring with magic as a band of pure white light wrapped around the coiled figure eight, obscuring it from view.

“I swear, on my life, blood, and magic, to uphold the vow and earn my son’s trust and that of his mates.” Narcissa recited, voice surprisingly calm, as the band turned ebony black like their namesake, absorbing the light and reflecting it back before vanishing in a flash, no outward physical mark indicating such a vow had been made.

The silence that filled the room felt airy next to the heaviness the magic left behind, yet Narcissa seemed content to wait until she had been reseated. A tea tray appeared, the tumblers of alcohol disappearing without a word. Once everyone was resettled with tea, Narcissa spoke, “How lacking is your mate’s knowledge of wizarding customs?”

“Severe. They were orphaned and raised in a muggle home that hated them and said nothing of their inheritance.” Draco responded, snagging a cookie. ” They’re not muggle-born, though they were raised as one.

“So they’re half-blood?” Narcissa questioned the cup of tea halfway to her mouth. “That’s not ideal, but it’s not horrible. At least we don’t have to worry about parental opposition. What about guardians? Assuming they’re not already legal age.”

“That’s-“ Draco winced and sighed, shoving the cookie in his mouth, using that time to formulate what he wanted to say, knowing he needed to lay out Harry’s history before dropping his name. Everyone’s perception of Harry was skewed, given the countless stories and theories about the Boy Who Lived. “Honestly, that is somewhat more complicated; the titles give a lot of power; if the reported guardian knew of them, they would fight tooth and nail to keep them under their thumb.”

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. “The seats are being used illegally, then? That does complicate things somewhat.” She tapped the arm of the couch, tilting her head to the side in consideration. ” Is the guardianship valid?”

“No, but nothing can be done about that until their birthday when they can emancipate themselves.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, stiffening in surprise at the new length. He briefly wondered what else had changed before shoving the thought away. “It’s for protection; the current known guardian can’t have any warning that they’re aware.”

His mother said nothing, but her eyes flicked to the three of them. The two men were suspiciously silent the entire exchange, yet she seemed to understand something in that silence as her fingers tightened into a fist and she closed her eyes. ” Is this what you wished to speak to my son about?”

Sirius shrugged, “In around about fashion, I couldn’t tell him for obvious reasons, but it was enough to break free and save himself.”

Narcissa paled, eyes widening, “what do you mean?”

Sirius leaned back in his chair, lazily stirring his cold tea. ” If Draco hadn’t acknowledged the bond when Lucius disowned him, his magic would have turned on and killed him. It was the half that Lucius despised that saved his son and not one he considered.”

“I see,” Narcissa whispered and closed her eyes. “And I assume you know who his mate is?”

A sardonic eyebrow rose as Sirius snorted but didn’t answer. He slumped in his chair, glared at the grandfather clock on the wall, then glanced toward Draco and said, “It’s almost dinner time, and I imagine you’d like to refresh before sitting down to eat….”

Draco closed his eyes and nodded, feeling drained. “I would, but I don’t think I’d make it through eating if I did. Let’s finish this so Mother can have her little freakout, and we can move on to making plans and getting my mate here.”

“I don’t appreciate the accusation. I’ll freak out upon learning who your mate is,” Narcissa chided primly, lifting her chin with a challenging lift.

Huffing, Draco lulled his head against the cushion, drawling carelessly, “If you don’t freak over the name, you will over the titles, and if that doesn’t do it, the magical inheritance will.”

Narcissa opened her mouth to argue, then closed it with a frown, licking her lips. Slowly, as if dreading the answer, she asked, “Titles? Inheritances? As in plural? How many?”

A smile tugged at Draco’s lips, and he glanced at the wall, “how well do you remember your history lessons, mother?”

Ice-blue eyes widened in surprise at the question, and she slowly shook her head in bewilderment, admitting softly, “It was never my strong suit, but if you could give me a starting point?”

Draco kicked back on his couch, feeling wrung out but determined to complete the conversation. He was no longer interested in drawing it out: “Cadmus Peverell married Slytherin’s fourth-generation granddaughter and had three children. The oldest, a son, became the direct magical Heir to Slytherin’s line after the previous line died out. Peverell children produced four more generations before the oldest in line became a squib, a daughter that married into the Warren line.”

Draco summoned a glass of water, took a gulp and earned a little twitch of his mother’s brow, either at his delay tactics or his ‘uncouth’ behaviour and revelled in it, pleased, knowing she wouldn’t rush him no matter how impatient she was. “That line married into another family; that family had 11 generations of male firstborns before they had a daughter born into the twelfth, in which magic was reintroduced into the line. Her child was the thirteenth male born,”

“Dragon?” Narcissa’s voice was a whisper, her eyes growing wide at the implications, but he wasn’t done. “My mate’s father has an impressive history, indirect family connection to Godric Gryffindor, married into the Peverell line, and is the Heir to a third ancient home.” Draco glanced at his cousin before looking at the wall. Cousin, if you would?”

Sirius shook his head, but a curl of hip lip told Draco his cousin was amused as he flicked a finger at the wall.

Draco pushed himself into a sitting position, waved lazily, and offered, “You can look if you want.”

Blue eyes slammed into his, and fear and something more undefinable flared in them as she swallowed. “Stop playing games in some perceived misconception that you’re punishing me. Name him, name your mate, Draco.”

Straightening his back, Draco felt a delicious shiver of amusement at her fury and smiled slowly. “My mate is The Duke of Warwick, Earl of Exmoor and Guardian of Avalon, Heir Black Baron Ignis, Lord Hadrian Cadmus James Peverell, magical heir of Salazar’s Slytherin, Peverell and Potter.” He paused and raised a single eyebrow as she inhaled sharply, “also known as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.”

***

When Harry woke, he was in a heap on his floor, which was a bit of a surprise, but in hindsight, it was something he should have expected. His aunt wouldn’t have wanted him to continue bleeding on her porcelain floors. It would have been interesting to watch her stutter through an explanation, though, if they had left him and Mrs.Anges from two houses down had peeked into the window like Aunt Petunia was always complaining about. Harry had yet to see the older woman do that, but one never disagreed with what she said.

Shifting to his side, hoping to relieve pressure on his chest, Harry hissed as his shirt shifted, having stuck to the welts on his back.

A burst of panic filled him, making him flinch at the intensity of emotions not his own, and he whimpered as nausea caught in the back of his throat.

The sudden emptiness did make him heave, and he wordlessly summoned the garbage can from the corner, thankful for his relative’s stinginess in providing food, though it sucked dry heaving.

A hesitant trickle of magic infused through the bond, settling the nausea and dulling the pain in his body, leaving him leaning weakly against the bed, sending a burst of thanks.

It was weird communicating with only emotion, yet more manageable than the spoken word, nervous for that face-to-face meeting.

There was a flash of amusement before Draco’s presence vanished, but not the happiness that radiated through the bond, and it was enough for Harry to push aside his injuries and face the day as he heard his aunt start the process of unlocking the door.

It was a long, exhausting week of daily chores, permanent supervision, and avoiding his aunt’s caustic words and uncle’s goading. The only thing that kept his temper intact was Draco’s steady presence in the back of his head.

Their bond, which had felt fragile, was now a permanent fixture that comforted him and allowed him to accept that his current situation was temporary.

It was just waiting to let Dumbledore’s guard lower, the idea that if Harry hadn’t attempted to escape within the first two weeks, he had accepted his fate, one the old coot had predetermined.

On day fifteen of his unwilling imprisonment, and after a vicious beating he hadn’t been able to avoid, Harry was enjoying his one breath of freedom, weeding the garden, aware that he had to be visible to the guard to continue their reports.

He had no clue who had been assigned as a guard, suspecting they had changed, but if he ever found out one was Mad-Eye, the two of them would have words. The ex-Aurors magical eye, giving him the ability to see the injuries hidden below his clothing, meant the old wizard was compliant in allowing the abuse of a minor. Today, though, it was apparent something wasn’t right in the place he ‘lived,’ the black and swollen face and broken glasses a dead giveaway. He’d wanted someone to be there to see if they would also turn a blind eye, believing whatever lies Albus Dumbledore told, just to keep Harry under his thumb, but it was the lack of eyes that brought Harry’s head up as if scenting the air and caused of lurch of excitement.

Feeling a spark of interest from his bond, Harry let Draco in, giving him the time to parse the emotions.

It seemed to take forever for a response, but when it came, Harry bowed his head and nodded in understanding, trying not to cry. They couldn’t be hasty; they had to be sure Dumbledore had lost interest, and it was only a matter of time.

***

“You what?” His mother’s tone was incredulous as Draco stepped into the breakfast room. He was somewhat surprised to see her sitting at the table, dressed in shimmering navy blue robes, which he recognized as a Yule present he had given her last year.

It hurt. Not the initial abandonment after Naricssa’s vow. No, it was the last two weeks. Avoiding all interactions with him, leaving the room if he entered, and treating him as invisible was infuriating and heightened his worry for Harry.

The fluctuating stability of the bond was painful, knowing it wouldn’t be utterly stable until they touched, but having that connection was just as relieving.

Though it was a double-edged sword, when they could only communicate through emotion bursts, attempting to parse Harry’s emotions was often a test of patience, especially when he forgot the plan. Those days were the hardest. All he wanted to do was rescue his mate, hating the pain and confusion he was going through just to lull Dumbledore into a false sense of confidence.

Draco also hated how much it made sense, though he thought having it explained to him like a child was a little over the top.

“Why won’t you claim your seats?” Narcissa demanded, setting her fork down and drawing Draco’s attention back to the room. He opened his mouth to defend himself when Sirius spoke, his voice deceptively calm.

“Think, Cissy. I need the old coot to continue trusting me. If he thinks he controls them without verification, that works in our favour. Albus has no clue I’ve claimed the title, even though I’m free. I still play the part at Grimmauld’s place, and I need to go back so when Harry’s rescued, no one suspects me.”

A frown settled over Narcissa’s face, lips thinning before she sighed, “Is anything being done to investigate him?”

“Officially?” Sirius asked, rolling his eyes as he continued, “Just Gringotts, the Dverger are gathering evidence, but no witch or wizard would ever challenge The great Albus Dumbledore.”

Draco filled his plate from the sideboard and then settled at the table next to his godfather, who seemed bored with the conversation plate pushed to the side as he browsed a hefty tome, making notes on a parchment.

When his mother said nothing, Draco finished his mouthful and cleared his throat, drawing all eyes toward him, “do you know how much longer Harry must suffer at that home?”

Sirius flinched and shook his head. ” No, it’s part of the reason I need to go back and make more of an effort to be seen instead of ‘sulking’ in my rooms.” He shrugged at Narcissa’s outward gasp, “It’s what Molly calls it, and I can’t say she was wrong. It’d be my prison if I hadn’t been cleared because this place would never have opened to me.”

“It’s disrespectful.” Narcissa snapped, “Even if you hadn’t been cleared, you are a Black, and you opened your home to them, you’d think they’d be more grateful.”

“Arthur is,” Sirius stated softly, “and I hope deep down, Molly is, but…” he snorted and waved his hand. “She’s a Prewett. She may have married for love, but she misses the prestige of being an accepted Pureblood.”

Confused, Draco took another forkful and glanced between them at the amused smirk that crossed his mother’s face, “did she expect her family lineage to redeem the Weasley shame?”

Shrugging, Sirius snagged the teapot and topped up his cup. “I have no idea, but the Molly that lives in the Burrow is a completely different Molly from the one who is invading a Black ancestral property, and the house is protesting.” He flashed a slight grin. “I may be encouraging the chaos.”

Narcissa smothered a laugh and shook her head, “Of course you are. Is the house still as dark and horrible?”

Snorting, Sirius shuttered, “Worse, Mother dearest added a living portrait to the front hall that shrieks and screams insults.”

A little mew of distaste flitted across Narcissa’s face, “Of course she did. Is that old house elf still living?”

“Kretcher? Yeah, he’s doing much better after I ordered him to a conclave for healing. He’s been assisting the house since he came back.” Sirius answered, his eyes dimming.

Severus reached out, seemingly by accident, and brushed their pinky together as he lifted the teapot. “Your mother’s insanity affected the elf; he didn’t mean what he said.”

Flashing Severus a weak smile, he sighed, “I know, it’s a work in progress. Anyway, Molly and the kids have been scouring the house with muggle means and throwing out anything she considers dark and dangerous,” he held up a palm when Narcissa made a noise of outrage, “some of it is, I can’t deny it, the last ten years of mom’s life she slid into the insanity that affects our line, and with no one anchoring the family magics it grew worse.” Sirius cleared his throat and shrugged, “Anyway, whatever Molly finds, and discards are being reclaimed by the house, or Kretcher and Folly, and brought to a secure room here where I’ll have it dealt with as appropriate.”

Narcissa’s shoulders relaxed and sighed, “All right, I can see that.”

“Why muggle means?” Draco asked in confusion, “Why don’t they just use magic?”

“There are a few reasons. The first reason is that Molly hasn’t told them they can use magic without detection in the home.”

Draco frowned. “that’s not all of it, though,”

The three adults exchanged a look, Narcissa shrugging, leaving it up to Sirius, who rolled his eyes and sat back, “What do you know of the Weasleys?”

Draco opened his mouth before closing it and shaking his head, carefully admitting, ” Only that they’re blood traitors, but no one ever explained why. I always thought it was because they were muggle lovers.”

“Eh, not exactly.” Sirius took a sip of tea, “did you know that the Weasley held a lesser title a hundred-odd years ago?”

Jerking back in shock, Draco shook his head, “What happened to it?”

Sirius sighed, “It was only a minor Barony. I can’t remember the name, but it was a rich family in size and money. During World War 1, the Heir got mixed up with a crowd rumoured to gather with Gellert Grindelwald, though no proof was ever offered. It was also never clarified who was responsible, but Garrett Junior got caught breaking the International Statue of Magic by stealing secrets and selling them to either side.”

Horrified, Draco’s eyes jerked between the three adults, looking for anything to indicate they were lying, and only found severe expression.

“Junior fucked up and sold the secrets he sold to Hit Wizards borrowed from the ICW; they arrested him and the group of wizards – half-bloods and muggle-borns who assisted him. They were tried and found guilty, then executed for their crimes. Unfortunately for the Weasley family, the Crown seized the titles, lands and money, and then petitioned the court imposing a restriction on the family magic, making it so none can claim it until their legal age.” Sirius explained and then lifted an eyebrow, “the only reason they weren’t made squibs – which was discussed is that every single family member was tested and proved to be a light. It was decided with much debate that they couldn’t make an entire family extinct for the wrongs of one.”

“Wow…..” Draco whispered in a daze and then demanded, “Why don’t they teach any of this in History of Magic?”

“Because Binn’s grandson was one of those convicted, in addition to the fact his curriculum hadn’t changed since 1850 when he was alive,” Severus drawled. He turned his attention to Narcissa. ” Were you able to finish the list of subjects you wanted for the crystals?”

“I had,” Narcissa admitted, then glanced at Draco. However, I think I have a few extra subjects to add, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, Cissy. I trust you.” Sirius stated cocking his head to the side as he wiped his mouth and pushed back from the table, “Leave the list for Severus, and he can load them later; he should be back later tonight.”

“Who’s calling?” Severus asked as he stood and held out a hand.

“Kretcher. He’s in the master suite,” Sirius said, rubbing a thumb over his ring, their appearances rippling to show their original appearance. It was a disorienting sight. Sirius appeared in ripped jeans and an old T-shirt advertising the Weird Sisters. His hair was loose and somewhat ratty, and he had what seemed to be a three-day-old beard. Severus looked like he did at school, complete with a disagreeable expression. “Are you ready for some fun, mutt?”

Sirius wrapped an arm around Severus’s waist and nuzzled his nose against his neck, “Always, though, may I ask that you try not to antagonize Remus?”

Severus rolled his eyes, “I’ll try, but he’s going to have to accept you’re mine, Sirius.”

Smiling smugly, Sirius pressed a kiss to the potion master’s cheek and glanced at Draco. ” It’ll probably be boring the next few days, but keep watch on the wall in the den. You’ll know when it’s safe to get him out.”

Then Severus turned in spot, apperating the both, leaving Draco sitting there with a stunned expression: ” What? But—I thought only family could apparate inside the wards.”

Frowning a little, Narcissa looked at him, “Severus is family, sweetheart.”

“Well, yeah, I know he’s my godfather, but what does that have to do with the Black Wards?” He demanded, his frown increasing as his mother smiled and then stood with a chuckle, calling over her shoulder as she swept from the room, “Dragon, they’re married.”

Chapter Three

When they landed for the last time, Draco stumbled away, nausea burning in his gut, and collapsed to the ground. Days later, Draco was ready to curse Sirius. His days were filled with finishing his school homework, watching the wall, making a list of things he saw that annoyed or alarmed him, and worrying about Harry.

The bond had solidified between them, shocking Draco somewhat, yet he couldn’t deny the eagerness that flowed from Harry, even if that was mingled with confusion. It was clear Harry didn’t understand what had happened but wasn’t denying the bond. On the days that Harry couldn’t avoid his uncle, Draco did his best to keep the connection open, forcing his help through, understanding without words that when Harry flinched, it wasn’t against his love but at what was being done to him.

It was slowly driving Draco insane, the need to get to his mate increasingly more vital the longer the days dragged on and the abuse happened. He both understood and hated that Harry was left in this position, but the meetings that had been happening daily gave off an air of anticipation, and Draco knew it would be soon. The feeling whispered around his conscience as if Medea tried to reassure him.

The tiny voice that echoed from the wall jerked Draco out of his stupor. He turned to the wall, automatically grabbing the scroll he’d taken to leaving on the end table and the self-inking quill.

The wall rippled to show a dark and dingy sitting room with the two younger Weasleys and an irate-looking Granger, whose mid-sentence voice was clipped and cold. “What do you mean you’re marrying Harry?”

Shrugging, Ginny glanced away, ignoring the bitter look on her brother’s face, “does it matter? You just have to accept that Harry’s mine, Hermione.”

A look of disgust crossed Hermione’s face, and for a single second, Draco took offence on Harry’s behalf, then flushed when the muggle-born snapped back, “That’s vile and disgusting, Harry’s like my brother.”

The Weasel straightened smugly, then deflated as Ginny glared at him before turning to look at Hermione. “The plan is to announce it at Christmas, which gives me six months to plan so I can get married after my sixteenth birthday.”

“Harry doesn’t like you like that, Ginny!” Hermione snapped, incensed.

Smirking, Ginny tossed a leg over the arm of the chair. ” So? I can make him love me anyway.”

“You’d—“ Hermione broke off, looking green, and folded her arms. “You do hear yourself, right? Nowhere in that statement did it imply that Harry was on board this derangement; you’re proposing to remove his free will.”

Ginny waved her hand dismissively, “he’ll grow to love and forgive me.” She sat up and pointed, “Now you’re going to drop this subject and talk Sirius into leaving Harry where he is.”

“I am not.” Hermione declared, “Sirius seems to be the only one just as concerned as I am.”

“Hermione,” Ginny’s voice turned condescending. “Dumbledore has already addressed those concerns. Harry’s fine, and you know it. You’re just letting that crazy convict convince you otherwise.”

“Cleared and declared innocent convict,” Hermione retorted, and a calculating expression crossed her face, “does Sirius know any of these plans? Do you think he’d agree to you drugging his godson to get what you want?”

An alarmed expression crossed Ginny’s face before it vanished beneath a scoff, “Of course he does; Mom showed me the contract with his signature. It’s as good as done.”

Rubbing her temples, Hermione tipped her head to look at the ceiling as if pleading for patience, “and what if Harry isn’t as happy with this supposed plan as you expect? He’s sixteen years old and raised in a muggle world; at our age, we’re considered children and much too young to even think of marriage.”

Ginny shrugged, “he’ll marry to carry on his family name. It’s what’s right and proper.”

“You’re insane….” Hermione tapped her lip and slid a considering look at Ron, who had been suspiciously silent the entire conversation. “You’re not just proposing the drugging of the heir to an ancient and noble house, but line theft on top of that, and think just because you slip him a love potion, he’ll fall in love with you for real? What if your plan fails? How do you think your family will deal with the fallout?”

“I’m doing this for my family,” Ginny hissed, rising to her feet, “if I marry the Boy Who Lived, no one will ever look down on us again, and it will restore our name.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned on her heel and stalked to the room, Ginny pulling her wand the second her back was turned.

Horrified, Draco jumped when Ginny cast the freezing charm and then turned to her brother, “You want the witch. You convince her this conversation didn’t happen.”

“I’m not casting an unforgettable.” Ron snapped angrily, hands trembling.

“Then obligate the bitch and suggest it was a disagreement about doing your homework. No one is supposed to know the plan; Mom was very clear on that front, so you do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

Rolling his eyes, Ron rose to his feet and approached Hermione, pulling his wand and casting obliviate. His voice dropped to a whisper too low for Draco to hear.

When Hermione was free from the jinx, she turned to look at Ron with a simpering smile, “Of course I’ll help you, Ron. All you had to do was ask, let’s go to the kitchen and get started, alright?”

Hermione waited until Ron passed and glanced at Ginny, who had curled up in a seat reading a book, and then around the room before looking at the wall and what felt like straight into Draco’s eyes while raising an eyebrow.

Nodding quickly, though, feeling like a fool, Draco collapsed against the couch, not understanding a thing, as Hermione swanned from the room.

Draco was still sprawled on the couch when the wall rippled an hour later, the view changing from the now empty sitting room to show the kitchen, and while he knew the house was protesting the intruders, if he’d thought the sitting room dark and dingy the kitchen was ten times worse. Which was disgraceful, considering that half windows set at the top of the ceiling to allow light were black with soot, making him wonder when the chimneys had last been cleaned.

The banging of a tea tray echoed in the silent room, half the occupants sitting at the table ducking their heads, casting a wary glance towards Molly Weasley, who glared at Sirius Black like it was his fault they were living in his house.

Draco suspected the whole ordeal had been orchestrated by Dumbledore to keep an eye on Sirius, never once thinking the man might do something counter to his wishes. It probably never even occurred to the old man how ancient houses claimed the titles. The bank was the easiest path, but with a family like the Blacks, Sirius’s tactic for not emerging into wizarding London, and the French cutting off his attire, Draco suspected Sirius’s bleed and demanded it by right.

Sirius sat at the head, a mulish expression on his face as he drank straight from a bottle of 18th-century fire whiskey, with a more run-down and graying Remus Lupin beside him, casting him worried glances, Severus sat at the opposite end, glowering disgustedly as Ron shovel sandwich after sandwich in his mouth, while Hermione wrote on a parchment with a little wrinkle to her brow. In contrast, Ginny sat opposite her, bent over her parchment with a dreamy expression, quill moving in little looping circles.

“You need to stop drinking,” Molly stated, hands on her hips, “it’s inappropriate in front of the children and doesn’t set a good example for them.”

Sirius just snorted, putting the bottle to his lips, before responding, “Not like I can do anything else. As you so helpfully pointed out, my face is too bloody famous to join in any of the jaunts, remember?”

Molly sighed warily, as if this was a long-standing argument, and waved a hand. ” You could help clean up this pigsty, at least help make it presentable for when Harry arrives next month?”

“Harry should be here now.” The man snapped back, pointing a finger, “But you’re too far up that old man’s ass to see what’s plain as the nose on your face.”

A throat clearing from the door pulled Sirius’s attention, and he folded his arms as a kind voice spoke, “Sirius, I can’t let you speak to my wife that way.”

“Then go back to your home and leave me to drink in peace.” Sirius said, “I don’t need a babysitter, and I certainly don’t give a damn about this house. If it wouldn’t cause a fire down the row, I’d cast fiendfyre and hopefully get some ashwinder eggs, that’d be good for something.”

A flicker of amusement and appreciation crossed Severus’s face before he turned his attention to his tea, but Hermione’s head lifted, eyes wide. ” You can cast fiendfyre?”

“Can I cast-? Of course, I can; I’m a Black—“ Sirius stood up with a mutinous expression and then waved a hand, pointing at Molly. ” Don’t you ever silence me in my own house!”

“They don’t need to hear about dark magic!” Molly shouted back, just as angry, “You’re not corrupting them like you were!”

A cruel smile slid onto Sirius’s face, “I wasn’t corrupted, Molly. I was tortured daily by my insane mother in the hopes it would make me stronger. It made me so strong that at eleven years old, I had enough of a backbone to stand up against family traditions,” he sneered the word, “and was picked for Gryffindor, the first in my family line, as for being Dark? Well, that’s subjective, isn’t it? Fiendfyre is classified as dark, as it’s cursed, but it’s the intent in which it’s used. If it’s to hurt and kill others, then, yeah, it’s dark as fuck, but to use it to purify something evil, wouldn’t that nullify the argument it is dark? Considering the horrors this house has seen and absorbed, I’d consider it dark as fuck. The only form of purification that could cleanse the grounds is Fiendfyre.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room, but another throat clearing from the door turned their attention, revealing Mad-Eye and Bill Weasley, looking at Sirius in something like thoughtful awe though it was Bill who spoke, “I’ve never thought of magic in that way, but I kind of have to agree with it,” he shrugged when his mother gasped at him in dismay, “I’m a curse breaker, Mom. What Sirius said makes sense; ritual requests or fire are two ways to cleanse an area. Given the magic permeating the air and the location, a ritual wouldn’t work, and a normal fire would do nothing but spread the influence to other places.”

Red-faced, Molly huffed angrily, “I still don’t want him talking about it with the children.”

“They’re not really children though, Mom, they’re already targets by being on the side of light. Wouldn’t it be better to understand the differences in the darker magics?” Bill asked curiously, “I know when I finished Hogwarts, the year of training I did under the Dverger-“

“What are Dvergers?” Ron asked dumbly, mouth gaping with food still in his mouth.

“The goblins.” Molly sighed warily.

“Goblin is a racist term employed by wizards to degrade a sentient species they consider below them, but their magic is pure, vast and beautiful.” Bill replied firmly, “The correct term is Dverger, and if you want the respect of a species that controls your money, don’t insult them by considering them less.”

Watching then, Draco made a mental note to find an opportunity to speak with Bill Weasley in the future because the man was intelligent, and it showed in his speech.

In fact, it was somewhat startling when Bill plopped into the empty seat by Sirius and accepted the bottle handed to him, took a drink ignoring his mother’s outraged hiss, and looked at his brother, “You know, Ron, getting Hermione to do your homework is going to do shit for your education.”

Ron jerked and blushed red as his mother rounded on him. “Is that true? Is Hermione doing your homework?”

Stammering in denial, he shot his brother a dark look as Hermione timidly held out the parchment when Molly demanded it, then ripped it to pieces and shoved it in the stove. ” If I catch you asking or letting Hermione do your homework again, I’ll get access to the mock tests of the owls, and you’ll do them under my supervision, Ronald.”

Ron’s response was lost to the next wave of people, some of whom Draco recognized and some of whom he didn’t. Food and drink were quickly passed around, and the sound of quiet conversations filled the air before Dumbledore arrived, wearing the tackiest set of purple and yellow robes Draco had ever had the displeasure of seeing.

There was a quick reshuffling of people and chairs before a stare-off between Albus and Sirius, who apparently refused to move, glowering at each person who attempted to convince him, “You know I don’t ask for much, and what I have asked for has been denied repeatedly. None of you will let me join a team; hell, you won’t even let me go to the store without a guard, yet you have no problems invading my home, eating my food, or availing yourself of places to sleep and all without a common basic courtesy of saying thanks. So no, I’m not giving up the chair I’ve been sitting in since,” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “two, when the meeting was originally supposed to start.”

Albus’s nose twitched, but he waved a hand as he sat in the vacant chair that had been meant for Sirius near the foot of the table. ” That’s quite already, dear boy. I apologize. I figured Molly or Arthur would have informed you I had to change the time, as I was in meetings with the Minster.”

“How thoughtful,” Sirius intoned sarcastically, “but maybe address them to the owner of the home and not the guests; it’s called manners.”

“Of course, it was thoughtless of me, I apologize.” Dumbledore stated, frowning at the bottle, eyebrow twitching, “Maybe you should switch to something a little more appropriate when having guests over?”

“Over my dead body, I didn’t invite any of you here,” Sirius growled, the sound emerging from his chest, tonal and threatening, eyes glinting hard. He inhaled sharply and shook himself before returning to the bottle, ignoring everyone as he took another drink.

The awkwardness passed as Dumbledore cleared his throat, “I thought it appropriate to gather everyone here so we could have a clear and concise idea of the larger picture, so let us begin with Voldemort’s actions, Severus?”

The potion master sneered at the headmaster and shrugged, “he’s had one meeting since the ministry fiasco, where he has taken up residence in the Malfoy manner with Lucius’s full permission if he’s had more since I’ve not been summoned.”

Dumbledore nodded as if he expected that and tilted his head, “what of Lucius’s wife and son? How are they taking the stay of their guest?”

“I wouldn’t know; they weren’t at the meeting, but assume since the mission was a failure, they’ve been closely guarded and watched,” Severus responded, clearly annoyed with the question.

Dumbledore rubbed a temple, “Well, if you are summoned, maybe you could find out more about their circumstances; they could be a valuable asset.”

Severus nodded but didn’t reply.

“What about your employers, Bill? Have they indicated who they support?” Dumbledore asked, stirring his tea.

“Neutral,” came the clipped response. Each side has approached, but none with any terms the Dverger considers favourable or fair; in fact, compared to the last treaty signed, the offers were decidedly worse.”

“I see.” Dumbledore’s sigh was full of disappointment, “will you continue trying to convince them to choose for the light? It would be beneficial for us if they consented.”

Bill didn’t even nod but accepted the seemingly never-ending bottle of whiskey and took a drink, ignoring his mother’s glare of disapproval.

“What about you, Remus? Have you had any luck?” Dumbledore asked after a minute.

The werewolf shook his head. ” The majority chose neutrality, too, though a number like Greyback flocked to his side.” He paused and licked his lips. “I’ve been asked not to come back while I use the potion; they think the treatment of my wolf is barbaric and have threatened to free him from the chains imposed on him.”

“Ah…” Dumbledore frowned, “is this the argument against the universal use of wolfbanes?”

Jerking a nod, Remus dropped his gaze, chewing his lip.

“You’re not possibly thinking their arguments are sound, are you?” Dumbledore asked in concern, leaning forward.

The wolf shrunk into his chair and shrugged, “I’m still- they seemed to believe what they said.”

“I realize there is some controversy around the usage, Remus, but it does the job intended, which is to control and subdue the wolf.”

“By poisoning him,” Sirius shot back, gesturing to his friend. “Look at him and tell me he looks healthy,” Sirius said.

Remus ducked at the attention and shook his head at Sirius, earning a growl of disappointment that sent him cowering and whispering. “I’d rather not discuss this right now; it doesn’t pertain to the meeting.”

“Quite right, my boy.” Dumbledore agreed with a pleasant smile, “What about your task, Mad-Eye?“

The ex-Auror glared at Dumbledore, making the old man pull back in surprise, “It’s a bloody waste of time, twenty-four hours watches, and the kid was outside for two hours twice since he’s been home. The wards are strong, and there hasn’t been a hint of a whisper of activity in the area; in fact, there is a dearth of any activity. It’s a muggle town; the only crime committed in the last thirty days, and I looked, was a shoplifting incident committed by a 14-year-old girl.”

“I see. So, is your suggestion to drop the watches to two?” Dumbledore asked carefully.

“No, I’m saying drop them, period. No one’s going to find Potter, and it’s wasting our time when we could be out doing things.” Mad-eye folded his arms. “I realize you want to keep the kid safe, but his relatives watch him like a hawk. If something were to happen, the wards would let you know, and we could muster a response.”

Dumbledore frowned, dropping his eyes to his tea, tapping the side ideally, “Very well, I’ll visit in the next couple of weeks to see how the wards are holding, and if there have been any attempts, you can call off the guard rotation tonight.”

Mad-eye pulled his flask and sipped a mouthful. “I already did. Three of four are here, and Mungdanus arrived tossed, so I dropped him in the Thames to sober him up.”

“You had Mungdanus Fletcher watching my godson!” Sirius shouted, face flushed without rage.

Whatever else Sirius was about to say, Draco missed it because Severus and Hermione looked straight at him and mouthed go, and Draco listened.

Racing from the room without a glance back, the pain echo from the bond spurred him on faster.

***

Appearing just before dusk, Draco looked around the neighbourhood in surprise.

The view before him was a picture-perfect row of identical houses. The only variation he could see was the front yards. Some held what he assumed were muggle children’s toys, others had flower beds, and one house had chairs on a little patio. There wasn’t garbage strewn about. There were no loud noises or shouting; the only sound to be heard was the haunting melody escaping one house.

It was jarring and unexpected, the expectation that he’d land in a horrible little alley, one he’d been left in as a child during one of his father’s lessons on the inhumanity of muggles, a stark difference to what was before him. Objectively, Draco understood that not all muggles were criminals and thugs—Hermione and her parents were a prime example of that not being true—but the lessons his father imparted leaned towards a direct bias against people he found inferior, of whom he viewed every one of lesser rank.

Now Draco stood, shifting uncomfortably, unsure what to do. He hid behind a large oak tree, causally casting a disillusionment charm with his spare wand as he looked around again. It was disconcerting that there were no muggles out. Given that it was summer weren’t muggle children given the summer to play?

Sighing, he looked around at the houses, noting a few had lights glowing behind closed curtains, but the majority were dark.

Leaning against the tree, Draco worried his thumb, tearing off a piece of skin, relishing the sting of pain as it helped him settle. Wiping the blood on his pants, Draco ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair and looked at the houses again, concentrating on the bond.

Scanning the houses quickly, it didn’t take him long to feel the pull, the dark house standing foreboding, coiling with malice and discontent. The only beautiful part of it was the flower bed outside, as it seemed to sparkle unnaturally in the setting darkness, and somehow Draco knew that Harry had been the one to take care of the flower bed, the care and attention he’d offered the flowers returning that by growing perfectly and radiating life.

A dog barking caused Draco to jump, but it was enough to propel him forward. The slick slide of the warding fell off his magic and puddled on the ground. It wasn’t the reaction he expected, and he blinked in confusion, but the sound of stomping and a deep rumbling tone full of satisfaction filtered through the door: “Sorry about the mess, Pet, but the freak shouldn’t move until morning, so let me clean up the kitchen for you.”

Draco didn’t hear if there was a response, waving a hand to reveal the inside of the house, showing both heat signatures in the back and the faint one of Harry upstairs.

Casting a silencing charm, Draco eased open the door, shutting it quietly after he slid inside and moved immediately up the stairs; his only goal was reaching his mate.

The locks on the door were infuriating but easy to undo with magic, and Draco slipped inside, heart plummeting to the soles of his feet at the bloody mess that greeted him.

Worried, he cast a wordless hand to the door, a modified notice me not, and moved to inspect Harry. He felt a tear run down his cheek at the visual inspection superimposed by mage sight. Blood, urine, and tears were smeared on his face, and he had clumps of hair missing, his oversized clothing torn and shredded, revealing old scars and new wounds, some seeping puss, some blood, and some cauterized crudely along with a little collection of vivid bruises. The only thing that kept Draco from panicking, somehow against all odds, was that he was still breathing. Wordlessly casting a cleaning charm, Draco leaned over Harry, pulling back and freezing as emerald eyes flickered open at the touch Draco hadn’t realized he had done.

The vivid green meeting his was pain-filled but calm even in the growing fever that rolled off the body in waves. Harry’s mouth quirked at the side, pulling at the half-healed split, reaching up a trembling hand to hold Draco’s hand against his cheek, his eyes filling with tears. ” You came?”

The question caught Draco off guard, and Harry’s disbelief indicated that the warding had gotten to him even with the protections in the Heir Ring. It caused another tear to fall. Draco’s hand trembled as he brushed a glowing thumb over the split lip, watching it heal instantly. The glow from the touch spread under the skin, healing damage in its wake. It seemed to numb the pain as Harry’s eyes reflected his relief.

Swallowing, Draco fought to keep his tone calm and simple, not allowing any of his darker thoughts to creep out: ” Yeah, I did. I promised I would. They’re never going to hurt you again.”

Harry blinked, his mouth opening and closing, his tongue coming out to lick his dry lips. “I know. Do you have a healing potion or three?”

“Yes, of course,” Draco responded, pulling out the potions, upset he’d forgotten them. Breaking the seal, he helped Harry drink them, then blinked in surprise as their wrists glowed silver, tethering them together before fading, leaving an intricate band of silver on both wrists.

“Draco?” Harry said, twitching as if he was trying to move, but Draco shook his head, heart racing, as he placed his hand on Harry’s chest to prevent him from moving. Shoving aside the giddiness at what it meant, more concerned with getting him to safety, he glanced around the room, wondering where his stuff was.

A warm hand circled his wrist, his eyes jerking to Harry’s, who had a little quirk on his brow as his finger brushed the band, “soulmates?”

Swallowing, Draco nodded, somehow surprised that Harry knew what they meant: ” Yeah, is that alright?”

A slow grin crossed Harry’s face, “considering you’re already my mate, having another bond isn’t a hardship, Draco.”

A helpless chuckle escaped him, and he fought the tears that threatened, “I guess not. I just—it seems sudden, doesn’t it?”

“Eh, maybe, but I think there’s always been something there, too,” Harry responded carefully and winced as he shifted. “Let me up, Dragon.”

Blushing furiously at the endearment that sounded completely different from Harry’s, Draco released his hold and helped Harry sit. Letting Harry lean against the bed, Draco monitored him as he got his breath back, the colour coming back to his cheeks. “Do you know where my relatives are?”

“Kitchen, or at least they were when I snuck in,” Draco responded, glancing around the room. “Where’s your stuff?”

Harry rolled his eyes and forced himself to his feet, only to collapse onto the bed, “under the stairs locked up.”

“What? Why?” Draco demanded, enraged.

Harry let out a pained sigh that wasn’t at his words but at his injuries, making Draco flush in shame, “sorry, that was-“

Harry grabbed his hand and squeezed, “It’s alright, it’s an instinctive reaction,”

Drawing a breath to keep from snapping, Draco released it slowly, saying, “I don’t think I can sneak us out without getting caught.”

“We’re not sneaking,” Harry said, closing his eyes and not explaining.

Draco opened his mouth to question Harry when magic flooded the room. The warding did not even attempt a half-hearted struggle as they seemed to twist into something unrecognizable and shredded like fine china before blossoming and reforming. The shimmering in the air indicated Harry had done something to them without a wand.

It was fascinating and a little more than terrifying, for his eyes glowed with power when Harry opened them. He rose to his feet and stood straight for only a second before he seemed to shrink in on himself as he glanced at Draco.

It wasn’t hard for Draco to understand that Harry was terrified of what he’d think, even without the bond. Yet, in this circumstance, no amount of words would convince Harry, so Draco did the only thing he could: sending a pulse of unrelenting reassurance and acceptance.

The cold look that entered Harry’s eyes made Draco know he understood, but the soft touch of his fingers on his jaw helped, too, and Draco offered a timid smile that was returned as he followed his mate from the room.

Harry led the way down the stairs. The power radiating off him made Draco want to back him against the wall and drop to his knees. Draco had always known his obsession with Harry was weird. Knowing of the mate and now soulbond could only explain so much, but there had always been a whisper that called to him. Something he hadn’t seen or understood but had felt and knew now was the attraction of power. He’d glimpsed it over the years, not always firsthand, but in whispers and rumours of things Harry had gone against.

During the first year – based on rumour and clarified points provided by Severus was how the golden trio had navigated an obstacle course meant to prevent the dark lord from acquiring the Philosopher’s Stone.

In the second year, that was clearer. Draco had started the rumour that Harry had been the Heir to Slytherin after speaking to the snake. It was an ironic twist when it turned out to be true. He just wished he knew what had happened that had ended the threat.

During the third year, he had Sirius & Severus’s firsthand accounts of what had happened. Still, the detail that struck Draco at the time was Harry’s ability to cast a fully corporeal Patronus and hold off a swarm of hundreds of demonstrators.

That, in and of itself, was a feat no other wizard could claim. Sure, some could hold off half a dozen, a few rarer, maybe the full dozen, but hundreds—it was unheard of—but everyone just accepted it because Harry was the boy who lived.

After that event, there had been rampant speculation and discussions in the Slytherin Common room, and the most commonly accepted theory was that the lay lines under the school had powered the spell.

The events Draco had watched during the fourth year with the Triwizarding Tournament had once again indicated something about The Boy Who Lived but nothing to the level of dementors. The only equivalent that Draco could come up with at the time was Harry’s easy use of spells, jinxes, and charms that were NEWT level or throwing off the impervious in the first lesson, and that said nothing of his duel with the Dark Lord after being used in a ritual.

He hadn’t meant to overhear that conversation. Still, he had caught his father talking to Snape about what had happened, wondering if the potion master would have some insight or explanation for Harry’s abilities.

Last year had been the DA, something Draco had heard about reasonably early but had continually ignored, wishing he could join. Then, there were the resulting events at the ministry that had been detailed in every newspaper, courtesy of Ron Weasley, though he didn’t know how the blood traitor got away with it.

Draco blinked back to himself as Harry hit the landing. The door opened, and a large, round teen about their age entered, tripping over his feet and reeking.

Harry froze the surge of power once again, making Draco salivate. He felt weak with desire as the magic rushed over his skin, caressing him as intimately as a lover, and he wanted it. Blessed Merlin and Morgana, did Draco want the man who was his soulmate.

The fat boy looked between them with wide eyes that took on a cruel, anticipatory edge. Before Draco could react, he took off running through the house, yelling that Harry was sneaking a ‘boy’ out.

Shaking his head, Harry continued moving through the house, knocking on the door under the stairs. The padlock clicked and fell with a thud as the door to what Draco was—the kitchen—burst open, and the fattest man Draco had ever had the displeasure of seeing stood there. His complexion was ruddy, and his breathing was harsh, but instead of anger or rage, the only emotion Draco could see was fear.

Nephew and uncle stared at one another in silence as Harry flicked a finger, the door opening beside him, the truck inside shrinking and flying into his hand, the chain and padlock dull plop, that seemed to be a trigger for the fat muggle as he opened his mouth, inhaling harshly and the paled as nothing came out.

“Into the kitchen, Uncle Vernon,” Harry stated simply. He strode forward, Vernon backing up so fast that he tripped, bouncing off the wall, pushed himself off, and scurried away.

Draco was on Harry’s heels when they stepped into the kitchen and found the two adults cowering in front of the fat teen. However, between the hall and here, Vernon seemed to have found some spine because he puffed up once again and declared triumphantly, “They’re going to kick you out. You’re not supposed to use magic. Remember?”

Harry shrugged unperturbed, “They’d have to catch me, and they won’t.”

“But-but-but.” The horsey-looking woman stuttered, shaking her head, “The old man, he promised, said you wouldn’t be able to do anything.”

Harry tilted his head, snorting, saying, “Yeah, Dumbledore’s good at promising things and failing to follow through.”

Surprised, Draco couldn’t help but look at Harry even though he knew objectively that this entire summer had been at Harry’s insistence. He had never expected Harry to be so verbal in disregarding the Head Master. Harry never reacted outwardly but did send a pulse of a promise, and Draco allowed himself to relax, taking it to mean Harry would explain later.

“As for Dumbledore and his promises, when he suggested I couldn’t do magic while under the wards, he was saying I wouldn’t be able to do it with my wand,” he offered a somewhat cruel smile that made Draco swallow and bite his tongue, not sure how he felt.

A ripple of magic was visible in the room, and a wand Draco didn’t recognize appeared in Harry’s hand, the shower of sparks reacting to Harry’s magic, making the Dursley shout in fear, “You see, even if I hadn’t changed the wards, I could have used ‘this’ wand. No one knows I have it, and I sincerely doubt the ministry has a trace on a wand that was created almost 1400 years ago. I can guarantee the previous owner would have had words if any tried.”

Dursley’s reaction didn’t surprise Draco at this point. They shrieked again, the sound dying mid-syllable as Harry casually waved a hand, and they fell silent, eyes wide and terrified.

Curiously, Draco looked at the wand in his mate’s hand, questions bubbling on his tongue that earned him a flash of amusement from Harry, who rolled it in his fingers, more sparks emerging from the tip, making Draco bite back a laugh when he realized Harry was doing it on purpose as the Dursley’s through themselves back against the counter arms raised as if to ward off a blow.

Harry rolled his eyes at the display, “You know most would be proud to be on the receiving end of this wand, even if they were trying to kill me for it, though it would be useless to them considering its tide to a magical inheritance of which I am the only one qualified to hold.” He paused and actually pouted at the blank look on his relatives faces, before his aunt spoke, voice pleading and stuttering, “pl-pl-please don’t-don’t kill us. We-we only did what-what the old man said…”

Harry pulled back, magic coiling angrily, “he told you to neglect and traumatize a little boy, beat and starve him every day he lived under your roof? Punish and call him a freak for something as natural as breathing? Did he tell you to say my dad was a drunk, making me hate the thought of him because he was so irresponsible as to drive drunk and cause a crash, taking both my parent’s lives? Is that what Dumbledore told you to do, Aunt Petunia?”

“Nnn-no…” Petunia dropped her gaze, mouth opening and closing like a fish before licking her lips, “he told me to raise you.”

“Which you didn’t do. You took your jealous childhood hatred out on me and punished me for having what you wanted.” Harry retorted bitterly, “I’m not going to kill you; that’s not nearly enough punishment for what you allowed me to suffer under your roof.” Harry drew in a deep breath, “No, your punishment is going to be much more subtle, and the irony is you won’t know why your dreams are haunted by my eyes, the same colour as your sisters. You won’t understand the anticipatory fear of waiting for that unknown. Still, there will come a day when my face lands in the newspapers, and when that day comes, everything you did will come back, and you’ll sit and wait in fear and horror, wondering if the truth will come out, if there will be consequences for your actions….”

Harry’s arm moved, half hidden, before his head tilted to the side and opened his mouth.

Draco jumped at the odd hissing and shivered in the realization that Harry was speaking- no casting wandlessly in parseltongue, as a burst of light encased the Dursleys blinding them. Harry watched for a second before waving a hand at the partial mess still in the kitchen, removing the blood and cleaning supplies. Then, without a backward glance, turning and snagging Draco’s hand, he pulled him from home, past the new warding, and, without any hesitation, turned and apparated them away.

The cool, dew-covered grass felt terrific against his overheated skin. Mercifully, his mind was blank. He was not sure he was ready to process anything that happened, so he just breathed in the summer air. He felt the warmth of another body sit beside him and then a hesitant touch to his soaked, covered hair before Harry’s voice whispered softly, “Sorry for that.”

Groaning, Draco rolled to his back, struggling to make sense of the sunrise, and looked startled at Harry, who looked away with a hint of shame and worry burning in his eyes.

“You jumped us around all night?” Draco croaked in surprise.

Shrugging helplessly, Harry jerked a nod, “Yeah, I mean, just in case it was a decoy. I scattered our magical signatures all over Great Britain.” He lowered his head, “No one’s going to be able to follow the whole trail. In fact, I’m pretty sure early spots have already dissipated, but I couldn’t risk it.”

Draco stared at his mate, slack-jawed, and incredulously said, ” But-but how? No wand, you-you, it’s not possible until your sixteenth birthday.”

Harry frowned as he looked at Draco, then licked his lips hesitantly, shrugging uncomfortably, “It’s kind of obvious it is possible.”

“Obviously,” Draco snapped, sitting up, “I don’t understand how. You’re not magically matured….” He trailed off, glancing at his mate and looked at Harry, remembering the weird moment at the train station at the end of term when Harry seemed to curve down into himself, a resignation settling on his shoulders. He compared it to the confident Harry that sat beside him now and shook his head dumbly, “I don’t understand.”

A breathless, almost pained laugh escaped Harry, who ran a hand through his messy hair, “Yeah, I didn’t understand it when it happened either, and I didn’t have the luxury of having someone I trusted to explain it. I muddled through for almost three bloody years, hiding and masking what I could do, half expecting someone to call me on it because I couldn’t let anyone know. There was something undeniably different. No one ever did, writing it off as another thing boy wonder could do.” He sighed and glanced at him from under his lashes, “It wasn’t until the Yule last year that I found a trusted source, someone that could explain in detail what was ‘wrong’ for lack of a better word.”

“Who?” Draco asked after a minute, wondering who Harry could have found if he didn’t already have someone. He was unwilling to admit he felt jealous that it hadn’t been him.

Harry snorted a laugh and bumped their shoulders together, startling Draco, who hadn’t realized he’d unconsciously moved closer. It made him flush in embarrassment, but he didn’t back down his challenging look.

Eyes bright with laughter, Harry shook his head, leaning forward to cup Draco’s chin, thumbing his mouth, “You’re adorable.”

Flush intensifying, Draco hissed his denial, “I am not; you’re insufferable.”

“Eh, maybe, but that doesn’t make you not jealous,” Harry replied in amusement, lifting a brow as if daring Draco to deny the feeling.

Huffing, Draco averted his gaze, “How- you weren’t like this before….”

“You acknowledged the bond, demanded it, really.” Harry explained gently, “I couldn’t risk you figuring it out when you were in such a precarious position, trapped with my enemies. If they’d had a hint of what you were to me before your maturity….” He trailed off with a shudder, “It didn’t matter how many times I wanted to save you; it wasn’t worth the risk of you falling into their hands fully.”

Draco frowned, focusing on the words, “I still don’t understand how you matured before me. You’re two months younger.”

“I’m also the magical heir to an ancient line. That line existed before modern magical inheritance, Draco.” Harry replied softly, “I matured the year I turned fourteen. If holding off hundreds of dementors wasn’t an example of that, I don’t know what was.”

Flushing at the reminder of his early thoughts, Draco drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, questioning even though they both knew it wasn’t an actual question: “Slytherin’s line….”

“Yeah, as well as Peverell’s, who married into the Slytherin’s line. I’m a direct descendant of the oldest son; both are considered extinct due to no magical descendants. The only reason I haven’t claimed the Potter bit is because it was still in existence during the magical upheaval in the 1300s that imposed a restriction such as age on those things.” Harry explained calmly, almost too calmly for the chaotic swirl of thoughts crowding Draco’s head.

“So, how did you understand it? You said you had help.” Draco questioned, eyes roving Harry’s face, noting the increasing blush that climbed the dark cheeks.

“Last year was particularly difficult. Masking my abilities and level of power hadn’t been much of an issue, even during the tournament, but watching you struggle put my instincts through the roof,” Harry stopped and drew in a breath. “If I didn’t want to hex or cuddle you for being insufferable, I wanted to claim you.” He offered an apologetic grimace, “which you can guess was a bit of a problem, given our rivalry over the years.”

Face feeling like it was permanently red, Draco shifted, feeling a spike of arousal and pressed closer, mouth opening on a breathless gasp.

A whole-body shiver shook Harry, but he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He whispered against his hair, “I couldn’t risk your Veela inheritance coming through while under your father’s control because even if we had proved we were mates, he would have been stupid and never consented to the match.”

“Why do you say stupid?” Draco asked in confusion.

Harry swallowed, “I know I have loads to learn, but my teacher explained this in detail, so I understood the risks. If the Veela Mate became known before I was sixteen, and your father consented, he could have challenged the Wizengamot for my seats, given the magical inheritance it would have given Lucius all four houses.”

Horrified, Draco swallowed, “And you’ve known this for six months? That would have been maddening. It’s only been weeks, and I thought I would go mad. I can’t even comprehend how you fought it for months.”

A chuckle vibrated Harry’s chest, voice deepening as he admitted, “Sweetheart, it’s been years, probably the same time the inheritance hit.”

“Years!” Draco squeaked, pulling back wide-eyed. “How had you fought it for so long?”

“Years, but it was easy,” Harry agreed seriously, gazing into his eyes, “I might not have understood exactly what was going on or what I was feeling, but I’d never do anything to put you at risk, Draco.”

A warmth filled Draco’s chest at the word and intensity of Harry’s stare, licking suddenly dry lips, “You’ve managed to hide this side of yourself very well.”

Grinning, Harry snorted a laugh, “My teacher will be pleased to hear that. He despaired for months that the closer you got to manifesting, the harder it would be for me to control.”

“Your teacher despaired….” Draco started and then trailed off, “Why?”

Snorting, Harry laughed, “Because I was a wreck with an incomplete and unacknowledged bond, I wasn’t sleeping much, if at all.” He shrugged when Draco stared at him critically, “It was somewhat easy to hide the real reason from everyone else considering everything that happened,” Draco wrinkled his nose at the reminder of their horrible fifth year and nodded, encouraging Harry to continue, “yet when it got to be too much, after Yule, I spent my time mapping out the Chamber of Secrets.”

An involuntary gasp slipped past Draco’s lips as he stared at Harry in complete shock, “seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” Harry replied tiredly, “I couldn’t even give you an accurate timeframe of how often I skived off classes just to escape everything.” He flashed a cheeky grin when Draco gaped and shook his head in denial.

“But you were always in class or at meals.”

Smirking, Harry titled his head, “Was I really?”

Draco opened his mouth to reply, then shook his head in helpless confusion: “I—I think so. My memories say I saw you, but….” He trailed off and groaned, burying his head. “Harry, what is going on?”

“Hogwarts, sweetheart. She knew who I was and helped me hide or escape. She willingly created the illusion or suggestion that I was there so people didn’t question my lack of presence. Unfortunately, after the DA was almost caught, it meant curtailing my visits until after hours if someone came looking during class.”

Draco blinked, and though it felt surreal, he didn’t question it, though he did pull back, “What a minute? If you’ve only known about the magical inheritance for six months, why did Sirius find out after the ministry? Who told you?”

Harry raised a brow, “Draco, I mapped the Chamber of Secrets.”

When Draco didn’t react, Harry shook his head in disbelief and asked slowly, “Love, who built the Chamber of Secrets?”

Flushing at the endearment, Draco felt his stomach flip. He dropped his eyes to the ground for a beat and then jerked his head up, “You found his study?”

“Yeah, I found the study and his anima imagosoul portrait. He’s tutored me in magical arts and theory for six months.” Harry admitted carefully, inspecting Draco’s face.

It was no wonder, as Draco suddenly felt faint, his hands trembling and his stomach starting to gurgle. He dropped his head into his hands and said, ” I think we should head to the manor, eat, and sleep because I honestly don’t know if I can process anything else that’s this groundbreaking.”

“Do you need help standing?” Harry asked instantly, half rising to his feet.

Draco groaned but nodded, squeaking in surprise as Harry hauled him to his feet, proving he wasn’t weak even though he might be smaller.

The action, though, made Draco dizzy, and he leaned weakly against Harry, closing his eyes, “I don’t, fuck I might hate apperating after this.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered against his hair, Draco having rested his head on his shoulder. “I can help you walk if you want.”

Snorting, Draco shook his head. ” We’re not going to be able to walk to the Manor, Harry. It’s hidden, and only blood can enter.”

“I know that love,” Harry whispered, amusement laced in his tone.

Lifting his head, Draco cracked an eye to glare at him, “Then why suggest walking?”

“Because we’re at the end of the gardens, I wasn’t sure where to land us as I’ve never been here,“ Harry offered dryly, wrapping a firmer arm around Draco’s waist when his head snapped up.

Month dropping open in surprise at the familiar gardens and the manor in the distance. “How?”

Harry lifted his right hand, the air shimmering around his fingers before the Heir ring appeared on his index finger. ” It appeared the second Sirius claimed the title,” he shrugged in annoyance. “It’s been useful, more than I expected. What Salazar didn’t drill into my head, the family finished.”

“Food, sleep, talk.” Draco said, trying not to whine, “in that order, it’s been a long bloody day.”

“Alright, love, let’s get you fed,” Harry said, walking him towards the manor without another word, though there was a smile on his face as he pressed a kiss to Draco’s head.

***

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