When Harry had regained his bearings, he found the Hospital Wing had been filled up with a few new faces while he was asleep. Charmingly, one was Draco Malfoy's, pale, pointy, and pasty as it was. He was currently in the process of having a very, very heated conversation with Snape and Dumbledore, which Harry was not at all pleased about. Not even a little. Nope.

"Professor Snape is what?"

"A member of the Or-"

"He's a spy?" Malfoy wailed. "You've been a spy this whole time, have you? The whole time, and you didn't even fucking tell me, when you could've gotten me out of this mess, and-"

Snape looked like he wanted to hex Malfoy's mouth shut. Harry probably looked like he wanted him to hurry up and go through with it already. Good thing no-one was looking at him.

"I was a spy," Snape corrected. "You can blame Potter for my change in employment."

"Potter! Sweet Merlin, why is it always Harry fucking Potter? And he- you're telling me he threw part of the Dark Lord's soul in the way of your Killing Curse?"

Snape pinched the bridge of his large nose. "The Dark Lord sought immortality, and found it in the form of an ancient, dark magic-"

"Yes, the Horcruxes, I heard that," Malfoy said imperiously. "He threw something of the Dark Lord's at you? I didn't get a good look at it, only that it deflected an Unforgivable. That was really a bit of the Dark Lord's soul?"

Snape's eye twitched. "That is what I've been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes, yes."

"And now we have to hide, because Potter blew your cover," Malfoy continued, working himself up into a frenzy. His usually pristine hair was plastered in a sweaty mess to his forehead. "A-And Mother and Father, what will happen to them?"

"I will convince them to join us."

Malfoy looked at Snape as if he were an idiot. Snape's furious expression grew practically apoplectic. "They'll never do that. They'd never defy the Dark Lord. He'd have them killed for it."

"I have given Severus permission to take them by force if necessary," said Dumbledore.

Draco whipped around accusingly. "You're planning to kidnap my parents?"

"Would you rather they were executed for treason?" Snape growled.

Malfoy quieted immediately. "Fine," he said, after a moment. "Whatever you say, then."

"As soon as you possibly can, you must take this chance to contact them," Dumbledore instructed. "You will need to Firecall them, given how likely it is that our owls would be intercepted, and have them Apparate somewhere they won't be found. I will retrieve them personally and give each of you a Portkey to one of our safehouses."

"And we'll sit back and watch as he slaughters you all, then, is that it?" Malfoy spat. Harry could see the drops of saliva spraying onto the bed. It was uncharacteristically undignified, for such a posh, stuck-up brat. Malfoy looked between the two incredulously. "Twiddle our thumbs and just- just do nothing? Great idea," he grit out, and threw his hands up. The motion slid down his sleeve, exposing the stark, obsidian ink on his pallid skin. His eyes widened at the sight of it, despite the fact that he'd agreed to be Marked in the first place. Harry swallowed. Hadn't he?

Neither Dumbledore nor Snape's gaze strayed from Malfoy's face. Harry didn't know how they could ignore it, the poisoned brand that clearly revealed just whose side Draco Malfoy had chosen to align himself with: not their own. "Just brilliant! Shit."

"No," Snape said. "That is not it. You, along with Potter, will be attending remedial Defence Against the Dark Arts classes with Dumbledore... and myself." Snape's nose scrunched up a little at being forced to say the words. No doubt it was Dumbledore's idea that he be teaching extracurriculars, given Snape's general hatred for his own profession. "If we're very fortunate, the shard of the Dark Lord's soul within Harry may choose to grace us with his presence."

Malfoy's expression went from sick to sicker. "What? I- I can't be classmates with the Dark Lord! Merlin, have you two gone round the bend? You have, haven't you? You're mental!"

Snape shook his head. "Not classmates. It's more likely the Dark Lord will want to teach the class alongside us, considering he once applied for the position."

The sweat beading at Malfoy's temples began to drip down into his eyes. He blinked rapidly. "I won't have you make me learn Defence Against the Dark Arts under the Dark Lord's tutelage! He'll put me under Crucio if I make even the smallest mistake! That's what- that's what he did when I- when I failed last time."

"He wouldn't," Harry interrupted. Malfoy startled hard enough to knock over the glass of water at his bedside table. Snape Vanished it away with distaste. "He wouldn't do that. He's attached to me, so I control how much magic flows through our connection."

"You'll have to forgive me if I find that extremely hard to believe, Potter."

Harry shrugged. "You don't have to believe it." He angled his head towards Dumbledore. "How will I search for the Horcruxes if I'm attending classes at Hogwarts, sir?"

"You cannot afford to sleep away your nights unprotected. You will return to the castle in the evenings, attend this class and this class only, and sleep where we can keep you safe." Dumbledore's tone gentled. "As for where you shall go in the day, you will have to pry the locations of the Horcruxes from Voldemort's mind yourself. Only you are capable of bypassing his Occlumency shields, Harry."

"You don't- you don't know where any others are?"

Dumbledore's eyes filled with sympathy. Or perhaps pity. A dark part of him, the part closest to Tom's side, leant towards the latter. "I'm afraid Voldemort guards his secrets much more closely than that."

Harry sighed, looked down at the white sheets draped over his gangly limbs. How was he supposed to fight a war like this? Clueless and grasping at straws? "I understand, sir. Then, we'll be starting training immediately?"

"As soon as you can both stand. You must learn to better protect yourself against the Dark Lord," Snape cut in. "You're his newest fixation, Potter. He will try everything within his power to get to you, and to everyone who dares to associate with you. Whatever leverage he can find, he will take."

Harry was already well aware of this fact. Not that he planned on telling Snape even so much as a single word about what leverage he'd given Voldemort already.

Malfoy sneered, but it wasn't filled with as much malice as usual. All of Malfoy seemed drained, hollow, even his most favoured facial expression. His eyes were darkly rimmed, and Harry could still see a slight tremor in his hands. "And let me guess, I'm considered one of Scarhead's associates now, am I?"

"The Dark Lord knows you have no-one but him to turn to."

"Oh, that's just fantastic." Malfoy scowled. "Stuck between the Dark Lord and Harry bloody Potter. Frankly I'd rather climb into a dragon's open mouth, lie down, and wait to become its next hors d'oeuvre."

Harry snorted. "You're such a melodramatic little-"

"Enough!" Snape yelled. "The two of you will attend our class at seven o'clock tomorrow, and seven o'clock precisely. I expect no complaints, no childish tantrums, and no petty squabbling. For every five minutes of tardiness, I will add fifteen extra minutes to class time." Snape took in a deep breath, and attempted to school his sour disposition into something more measured. Likely because Dumbledore's watchful gaze was still pinning him down. "Every interruption, every second you waste uselessly bickering will need to be made up in triplicate. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

Harry winced. "Yes, Professor. Crystal clear, sir."

"This war is not a game. These classes are your only chance at evading the Dark Lord's capture. Treat them with anything less than absolute respect, and it won't simply be your grades that suffer."

Harry suddenly wished he was back in the dreamscape, Voldemort himself only inches away. If he had to lock himself up with angry Slytherins, he'd rather be with one that found him pretty to look at.

Then again, both Slytherins present did have quite the unusual obsession with him.

Merlin, no. Best not think about that.

Harry was forbidden from leaving the Hospital Wing for the rest of the day. Bedrest, he'd been told. Until tomorrow, when he would begin his lessons with the four most infuriating people in Wizarding history. Bloody fucking fuck.

His only saving grace was that Malfoy had been subjected to the same orders. And Harry still had his wand, which meant he could cast as many Silencing Charms as necessary to drown out the ferret's god awful whining. He also had the Diadem, for which he felt a great deal more trepidation. Never deny Tom Marvolo Riddle what he most desires, or else you will pay dearly. Especially when it's sparing the life of his most hated enemy.

Fun.

"Potter!" Malfoy's haughty tone filtered into his panicked mind like a slow, grating ooze. "You're not going to let them confine you here like this, are you? Like some sort of chained dog? We might as well just make our way down to Hagrid's doorstep and have ourselves collared."

Harry felt his already ruffled feathers puff up even further. "Into that, are you?"

Malfoy's mouth shut. For half a second, and then it was open again. "So interested in my preferences in the bedroom, are you, Potter?" he shot back. "If you must ask, I prefer to be doing the collaring, thanks ever so much. And it's precisely my desire to be doing so that means I'm not sitting here with a thumb up my arse, letting myself be led around like some sort of pet!"

"Could've fooled me."

"Yes, and what a difficult feat that would be." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I've been following Pomfrey's routine closely. There's one particularly whiny patient that kicks up a fuss when his Calming Draught runs out every five hours. We're about due for another tantrum."

"Hmmm," said Harry at length. "I'd agree with you there. You don't seem very calm at all."

Malfoy twitched. "Your wit truly astounds us all. Now, if you'd like to be bloody useful, contribute to my Silencing Charms so Pomfrey doesn't hear us sneaking out of here. And for Merlin's sake, make sure you stay out of her line of sight!"

Harry tilted his head. "What's got you itching to be rid of this place in such a hurry?"

"You think I want to spend my last day of freedom from that wretched class sitting in the infirmary and listening to Mr. Calming Draught throw a fit? No, I'm going to go steal that stash of Firewhisky Trelawney's hidden in the Room of Requirement. And then I'm going to get properly smashed."

"You noticed her, did you?"

"So did you," Malfoy retorted waspishly. "So don't try and point any fingers at me, Potter. Glass houses and all that."

"Am I invited to your last hurrah, then?"

Malfoy huffed. "Why should you be?"

"I know the location of another stash. You can share it with me if you let me in on yours."

Harry watched as envy and resentment fluttered across Malfoy's sharp features in spades. "Fine." He sighed. "Here's to whining prats and alcoholic fortune tellers. May they have some use after all."

True to his word, Malfoy gave Harry a hasty jab in the shoulder when the poor bastard some beds down from them began to cry out about Death Eaters in his bedroom and the Dark Lord whispering into his ear. Harry, having been the recipient of such a thing, could empathise. "Now's our chance!" Malfoy hissed.

They scrambled, casting hurried spells this way and that, in the hopes that their clumsy footsteps wouldn't be heard.

Mr. Calming Draught was luckily loud enough to drown out their fumbled attempts at an exit, and Madam Pomfrey's exhausted sigh, though not audible over the din, was palpably felt in each of their souls. They rushed out, as their souls, all two and one seventh of them, were bloody well sick of the noise already.

"Yes!" Malfoy cheered, when they'd finished clambering about like the drunkards they were soon to become. "We did it! Shite, I thought I'd never leave." He sobered slightly. "That was actually a passable attempt at spellcasting, Potter. If we're going to be working together in the future, let's aim for a repeat performance, shall we? Muster up something halfway past decent, at the very least. I have no plans to mop up your messes, especially if Professor Snape has us Brewing."

"I've been aces at Potions this term," Harry returned, though his cheery mood hadn't drained away completely, and it came out more teasing than annoyed. The Prophecy seemed only the beginning in Fate's plans to have him working with every moody Slytherin he'd ever so much as glanced at.

"You've been a filthy cheater this term, you mean."

"It's not cheating," Harry declared, mocking Malfoy's posh tones. "I'm simply receiving guidance from a tutor."

"You ought to think about what you'll do when your tutor can't help you, Potter, because neither of us want any cauldrons exploding." Malfoy's light demeanour faded as quickly as it had come. "Especially not with the Dark Lord overseeing our lessons."

"He's not like that." Malfoy looked up at him, confused. "The Horcrux. My Horcrux. He's not like what lives in the manor with you."

"He's the Dark Lord," Malfoy said, as if that explained everything. To everyone else ever graced with Voldemort's presence, it probably did.

"He's been attached to my soul for more than a decade. That changes a person, even Voldemort himself."

"Oh, so he'll wait two extra seconds before casting the Cruciatus Curse, I see. How magnanimous of him. How utterly merciful."

"Come on," Harry said. "You know me. I make quite the impression."

"One doesn't impress themselves upon the Dark Lord, Potter."

"Well, I do." Harry shrugged. "I guess it's better if you meet him in class. Or maybe he could share a shot or two with us."

"Merlin knows I'd need to be drunk off my arse to share a drink with the Dark Lord," Malfoy muttered. "He can do as he pleases. He always does. Though I doubt you have any control over him whatsoever, at least try to get him a little tipsy, will you? We might have a chance if he's intoxicated while casting spells."

"He's not going to kill you, Malfoy." This got him a withering glare. "Well, this part of him isn't."

"How very reassuring of you. Part of him won't kill me. Well, thank my lucky stars, hmm?"

"Dumbledore won't let him get to you, alright?" Harry turned to him, suddenly serious. "And neither will I. You're honestly an awful, arrogant, pretentious berk, but you don't deserve to die for it."

"Oh, thank you, Potter. Because you're such a saint yourself."

"I'm not," Harry acknowledged. He knew it now more than ever. "But all we can do is try our best and hope not to ruin everything along the way."

"Cheers." Malfoy sighed. "I'll drink to that."

Thank the gods for small mercies, Trelawney's stash of booze was where Harry had last seen her leave it, blessedly untouched and ripe for the taking. A small smattering of dust even coated the topmost bottles.

"He shoots, he scores!" Harry let out a small whoop. One of the paintings shushed him. "And he won't let a grumpy canvas ruin his fun."

"We'll need to find a better spot. He's probably not the only portrait in this hallway that disapproves of our choice of pastime."

"So, you could say that... a certain room might be... required?"

"You disgust me," Malfoy groaned. "Now give me some of that whisky before you drop it all. Your pathetic little arms can't carry as much as she can. She's got years of alcohol dependency on you, I'm afraid. And Merlin, so have I, probably."

"When did you start drinking?" Harry asked. First Snape had surprised him with hidden depths, and now Malfoy? It shouldn't be a shock to him that the people who hated him most were human, but perhaps his subconscious had found it easier to wilfully ignore any signs he'd seen in the past. Snape was a nasty bat that haunted the dungeons and Malfoy was a snivelling little ferret, and that was as far as it went. Any further and Harry was liable to feel empathy. And you can't fight an enemy you pity. "And hey, who are you calling scrawny? Pot, meet kettle! Mrs. Norris has more meat on her bones than you do!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I could pick you up and throw you all the way across this hall, Potty."

Harry huffed and turned up his nose. "I'd like to see you try. Go on, just try and get your hands on me, Malfoy-"

Malfoy pitched forward, and then froze as a sultry voice whispered into their ears. Harry suppressed a full-body shiver. "I'll be needing some of that Firewhisky if you want to convince me to share you like that, Harry."

Shit, Harry thought. I'd forgotten the Diadem. And I'd forgotten that he's more than a little annoyed with me for the stunt I pulled. Evidently annoyed enough to try and torment me with his- his- his damn flirting.

"Who's there?" Malfoy gasped out. He'd gone white as a sheet. Well, whiter than his usual sheet-like shade. Did wizards worry about vitamin deficiencies? Scurvy?

"One of the-"

"One of them?" Malfoy interrupting people trying to patiently explain things to him better not become a habit, especially not if they were going to be taking private classes together. "You keep more than one with you at once?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Not usually."

"'Not usually!'" Malfoy parroted. "But today has to be the exception, doesn't it?"

"Actually, yes," Harry said smugly. "He saved Dumbledore's life." A hiss. "Begrudgingly."

"It hisses! It hisses like a snake and you keep it in the bloody pockets of your robes?" Malfoy's manicured fingernails (figured) picked desperately at the seal on the Firewhisky. "I need Treloony's entire stash."

"Treloony," Harry said, more to himself than to anyone.

Malfoy was undeterred. "Though you're rapidly rising in the ranks of the lunatics who reside within castle grounds, Potter! Sharing a drink with the Dark Lord in your pocket. Just kill me now and be done with it."

That could certainly be arranged.

"Now, now," said the Diadem. "That would hardly be any fun, would it, Draco?"

The bottle popped open. Malfoy fainted.

"I can't believe you fainted," Harry said, excitedly. He was currently sitting happily on top of a rickety antique chair. Its legs were half rotten away, but Harry couldn't care less, and swung his own legs to a haphazard rhythm.

Upon sensing Malfoy's obvious distress, the Room of Requirement had opened in front of them. A place away from the hustle and bustle of the portraits was a welcome respite. Not that it was guaranteed there were no portraits in the Room of Hidden Things.

"After making fun of me for doing the same, too. I believe you call that karma."

"I didn't faint," Malfoy said. "I fell unconscious."

"Fell face-first onto the floor, more like."

Malfoy snarled. "You don't know what it's like to live with him, being the beloved Chosen One that you are." That was true, Harry knew. As much as he thought the Malfoys were cowardly, bigoted sycophants who were only getting what they'd explicitly been supporting all these years, nobody deserved to live in terror. And Draco was as young and stupid as Harry himself was, only that he wasn't fortunate enough to be from a loving and compassionate pureblood family like the Weasleys. No, he got... Lucius and Narcissa. And Bellatrix fucking Lestrange for an aunt. "Every day I feared would be the last for my mother and father, let alone myself. The smallest of things would set him off. Not only mistakes, but tones of voice, choices of wording."

Harry winced. "I don't know what it's like to live with a murderer, no. Sorry."

He did, however, understand living in fear. Yes, he didn't get literally tortured for setting off the Dursleys, but they were still vile. He just got malnourished instead of subjected to an Unforgivable. It wasn't torture. Was it? ...Was it?

"I'm not saying he hasn't done his fair share of tormenting and terrifying you," Malfoy said this in the most begrudging way. "But you always had an escape. He was in my house. My house, Potter! You could face him and still return to your burrow full of Weasleys. I had nowhere to go but back to him."

"That sounds awful." If someone had told him a few days ago he'd be comforting Draco Malfoy over a bottle of Firewhisky, he'd probably have laughed in their face. Alas, here he was, doing just that.

"It was awful. Worse than awful, it was fucking terrifying. He was everywhere at once, eyes in the back of his head, ears in every room. He always sent that cursed snake around to spy for him, if he wasn't prowling the hallways himself. And I don't have your lovely little gift, Potter, so I could never understand what in Merlin's fucking name he was saying to her." Malfoy took a long, long pull from the bottle. "He could've been discussing the weather or how he'd like to see my head on a spit. I had no idea." He looked off into the distance. His eyes were very empty. "His punishments were completely at random anyway, so I suppose being a Parselmouth wouldn't have made any difference."

"I'm sorry." It was likely the first time he'd apologised to Malfoy in his life. "Really, I am. You're safe here. The Horcruxes are more sane, more rational. They're not as unpredictable."

"More sane, more rational. That all sounds like still not quite all there to me."

That was the truth Harry had been trying to skirt around. Nothing in the world could convince Malfoy, or Harry himself, that any form of Voldemort was in full possession of all his faculties. Nothing short of completely reuniting his soul, which was impossible. Harry could only ever hope to partially reunite Tom's shattered humanity. Not that he ever had much.

Malfoy took Harry's silence for the acquiescence it was. "Fuck you," he said abruptly. "Fuck all of you, for doing this to me and to the people I care about. One side will torture me in the halls of my own home, and the other, well, it'll just have to get that torturer to do their dirty work for them, won't it? That's what you've had Snape doing all this time, and that's what you're going to do to the Dark Lord now."

"I do no-one's dirty work." The hiss came from all sides. It spoke with multiple voices, a high whisper that nonetheless seemed to rattle the room like a shout. Sick, dawning realisation hit Harry like a kick to the stomach. Both Horcruxes had replied at once.

The Diadem had spoken.

Malfoy dropped the bottle. Tom caught it, gracefully, elegantly, in one outstretched hand. "M-m-my Lord," Malfoy stuttered. He bowed, deep enough to bend his spine unnaturally. His face, sharp angles hewn sharper and gaunter from constant stress, contorted like a tragedy mask, so low it nearly touched the floor. "Forgive me. I spoke out of turn."

"Your comments betray your ignorance, Draco," Tom continued. He circled Malfoy like he was stalking prey. It wasn't the angriest Harry had ever seen him, but it was the most disappointed. Like a twisted parody of a parent trying to cow an unruly child, disappointment was perhaps worse. "Lord Voldemort only works to further his cause. We are above servitude, especially as a mere pawn in Dumbledore's game. Surely you have come to realise this, yes? Lord Voldemort serves no man, it is man who serves Lord Voldemort."

Malfoy didn't meet his eyes. "O-of course. My apologies, My Lord. I'd not meant to imply otherwise."

"Mmm. Your misapprehensions have been corrected. You are forgiven," Tom said. He offered an empty smile. "I do not torture for mistakes."

"Can't you see he's terrified?" Harry snapped. Malfoy winced upon hearing this, but his trembling was too obvious for him to make any attempt at denying it.

Tom's eyes narrowed into a mismatched glare. Even missing the full pair, seeing just one of Harry's own eyes staring back at him so furiously was disconcerting. The back of his neck itched. "And?"

"If you want me to help you, I won't stand by psychological torture any more than I stand by physical torture."

"He's hardly broken," Tom dismissed. "Another shot and it'll be as if nothing happened. Isn't that right, Draco?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"No," Harry insisted. "And you know he's only saying that to appease you."

Tom growled. "I can hardly be blamed for the boy's unfortunate genetics. Malfoy cowardice isn't a stain that can be so easily erased."

Malfoy made a choked off noise. Harry grit his teeth. "I won't sit around while you use that against him."

"And you wouldn't say he has it coming? Remember, I've sat by all these years and watched as he tormented you. He's belittled you, assaulted you, schemed against you. His incompetent father lost the Diary, which ended up leading you to the Chamber to die."

"You sent the Basilisk to kill me, not Lucius."

"I shouldn't have been outside the Manor's wards to begin with. Lucius has failed me time and again. And so, now, has his son."

"Yessss," came a sibilant hiss. "My counterpart speaks the truth, and you know this, Harry. If Draco had been successful in carrying out my wishes, you wouldn't have had to use me as if I were no more than a Shielding Charm."

How was the Diadem talking? Had being by Harry's side charged his powers? Or was it the conveniently-placed Avada Kedavra from Snape?

Harry pushed down that line of questioning before it drove him insane. Instead, he snapped, "Because Dumbledore would already be dead."

"No matter," said the Diadem. "You do not need him. We do not need him. We need no-one but ourselves."

"I do need him. All my friends, too. And even Malfoy and Professor Snape. When you can't afford any outcome but to win, you don't turn down help out of pride. I didn't turn down help during the Tournament."

"No, you brought it with you to die."

Harry's stomach lurched.

"We are angry, yes," Tom interjected, quickly, "but there's no need to make Harry suffer from his guilty conscience. He's a Gryffindor, you know how that sort of thing troubles them."

"I brought Cedric with me because I thought he deserved to win, not me. And it was you who cast the Killing Curse. You- you called him the spare." Harry felt the words scorch his tongue as they left his mouth. Just the shape of them filled him with nauseating fury.

"Nobody matters besides you and I, Harry," Tom told him gently. "And that is the truth. But I admit, your unfortunate tendency for sentiment had already extended to Diggory by the time he got in my way. I suppose we could've shown him mercy. After all, he was seeking glory, and glory is power."

Well, his plan to show Malfoy he had things well under control was quite well and truly bollocksed. He dared to shoot a glance his way and met wide, silver eyes and a parted mouth. Makfoy looked quite dumbstruck. It was an expression Harry immediately decided he wanted to see on the ferret's face more often. But not like this. Never again like this.

"You dare to speak like that to the Dark Lord, Potter?" he managed, eventually. "And he hasn't carved out your tongue?"

"He has better things to do with his tongue," said the Diadem.

Tom had only marginally better things to say. "Harry shares our mind. I will not silence him; he is not ignorant enough to deserve it. No, never ignorant. Just an idealist, aren't you, Harry? So charmingly naïve, and yet sometimes I envy you. How positively you see the world."

Harry glared. Not marginally better at all, really. "Perhaps if people treated the world more positively, they would get positivity in return. Just a thought."

"I don't believe in karma, Harry." Tom considered him. "And likely, neither will you, soon enough."

Harry was used to hearing ominous warnings and refusing to heed them.

"Promise me you won't torture Malfoy when you teach us. And Snape. And Dumbledore. Give me your word."

Tom twitched. The Diadem seemed to rumble in the pockets of his robes. Still, he eventually received a nod. "Work personally with the three most egregious traitors to my regime? You ask a great deal of me, Harry."

"Oh, and you don't?" Harry crossed his arms, petulant like a child. He was apparently not above using tactics he would've outgrown even as a First Year.

"Very well," Tom agreed. His mouth was curled down in a nasty scowl. Really, it was no less childish than Harry's own tantruming. What a pair they made.

"If that's settled," Malfoy muttered, "I'm going to go get sloshed and try to forget what my life has become for a while. Joining me, Potter?"

"God, yes."

Tom sniffed at the open bottle, disgusted. He placed it in Harry's lap and shook his head. "I need my mind pristine. No need to addle it with whisky, not when I cannot afford any outcome but to win, hmm? Enjoy." His outline began to fade, sparkling translucency overtaking the well-pressed Slytherin uniform. "Be careful, Harry, not to let your guard down during this little celebration. Anyone could be watching."

And with that, he disappeared, back into the corner dug deep into Harry's very soul.

Author's Note: My multishipping ass bodily resisting adding Snarry and Drarry to my Tomarry fic: *sweats heavily*

Oh yes Draco please throw Harry around, he'd like that c;

To be fair, the nods at Snarry and Drarry being firstrate ships are more to highlight the Beauty and the Beast-style theme of this fic, which is that Harry's puuuuuure wub uwu saves the souls of all sad, guilty, and desperate Slytherins.

I mean. Wow. Choosing between pairings? So last year. I would write Harry charming mean and bitter Slytherins by the horde into loving him in a heartbeat. *sips tea casually* What's this about Harry's Slytherin Gangbang?