Part 9

At first he didn't know where he was. Sunlight came through a high window, lighting the dust particles slowly floating through the air.

But there was no sunlight when they moved, no windows and certainly no soft mattress or safe bedroom. Where was Sev' and his mother? It didn't sound like there was anyone else sleeping nearby. He would have heard them—quiet, yes, but nothing slept quietly enough to fool a werewolf. Comfortable as he was—he thought he might sink into the mattress, weighed down like sleepy lead—he turned his head to the right.

Harry sat on the mattress beside him, gently pushing the hair back from his eyes.

Draco tensed—

"It's all right," Harry said. "You're safe."

Waking up like this—was he naked? he certainly didn't feel any clothes on him—in someone else's bed didn't make him feel safe. Not after...oh. That was where the fear was coming from. He still felt the sick dread from yesterday, the slow climb into Azkaban and the dementors swarming around him.

He flushed, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to panic. Yesterday, I mean."

"S'funny how you have to say when," Harry said, smiling faintly. "You panic so often."

Draco refused to look up.

"Then again," Harry said, "I suppose you usually have a really good reason."

"In my defense," Draco said, "I didn't panic when I was biting Fenrir."

"No," Harry laughed, "you were hanging on for dear life and flying in a circle."

"But I didn't panic," Draco insisted, peeking at him through one slit eye.

"No, you did not." Harry nodded grudgingly. "And you handled that monster in the catacombs pretty well, too."

"Got near torn in half, you mean."

Draco smiled faintly, but as he moved, he felt a deep twinge in his side and a soreness in his back and thighs that he had hoped to never feel again. He winced, more and more aware of the aches and pain as he adjusted. Even under the covers, he was cold, shaking even. Where was his wand? He could at least ease the worst of it. Or the garden and its ingredients could help—

"Don't move too much," Harry said, pressing his hand flat on Draco's chest to set him back on the bed. "We won't have more pain killer until Snape makes more of it."

"'Pain killer'?" Draco echoed. "But for what? I didn't get hurt."

"You tore apart several dementors," Harry said as if that explained everything. When Draco still looked confused, Harry half-shrugged. "I didn't understand either 'till Hermione explained it. She said they pulled open old wounds on you."

Draco immediately put his hand down at his hip, feeling the deep scars there.

"Not really," Harry said quickly. "Not open for real. Just...kind of open in your head."

"Oh."

Not sure how to feel about that, Draco tried to lay still. If he concentrated, he could feel each familiar wound flaring up. His body's favorite places to tear his skin as fur erupted through. Fenrir's gouge on his side. The beast's terrible bites. The claws digging deep into his hips—

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He did not want to remember this.

"How's my father?" he blurted. "Sev', mother, have they said anything? Father looked completely mental. I didn't try to say anything to him before, and..."

"He's well physically," Harry said. "Mentally...I don't know. Your parents are with him, and they're talking to Hermione to get ingredients and things for him."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "My parents? Talking to her?"

"Lupin's kind of realized that without you up and about, he doesn't know all the different things that go into potions or poisons. So she's kind of okay'ing what they ask for."

"Oh, that'll make them so much easier to deal with," Draco snorted. "You don't know how spiteful they can be. Probably end up giving me absinthe instead of nepenthe."

Harry frowned. "Why would they give you alcohol?"

Draco glanced at him. "What?"

"Absinthe. Why would they give you any? And what's ne-pen-thay?"

"I don't know what you're on about," Draco said, "but absinthe's nothing like liquor."

"Sure it is," Harry said. "Fred and George had some hidden under the bed."

Harry cut himself off too late.

Draco grunted, readjusting as he felt Fenrir's claws loosen just a little. The more he woke up, coming out of what had to have been a deep sleep, the more aware he was of just how many of Fenrir's hands were on him. Furred claws on his sides, heavy hands on his shoulders, a sniggering mouth at his ear—

No. If he could just keep focused on Harry...

"So the terrible twins are hiding it from mother?" Draco said and smiled wanly, taking satisfaction in how this small distraction was loosening Fenrir's grip. "Figures. This war'd drive anyone to drink."

"You can't tell anyone," Harry demanded, but his stern voice was at odds with his wide eyes. "I wasn't supposed to tell."

"They promise not to hit me again," Draco muttered. "Sure. What's a little poison between such grand friends?"

"'Poison'?" Harry said. "It's just a drink."

"I've never heard of a drink called absinthe," Draco said. "The stuff I make has wormwood and fennel, touch of anise and a few drops of fairy's blood. Potent stuff. See monsters that aren't there for days."

"Huh," Harry mused. "I wonder if muggles got their hands on some of that before."

"Tell you what," Draco said, coughing as his throat ran dry. "I'll make it my way and see how the twins like that?"

"I think you could do with some water," Harry said. "Can I sit you up a bit?"

"Think you might have to," Draco said, closing his eyes. "Room's spinning a bit."

Harry gently reached beneath his back, bringing him up while Draco pushed against the mattress, forcing himself to sit against the pillow Harry propped behind him. Laying back on that felt like he'd climbed Azkaban on the outside, and he felt deep relief that Harry was putting the cup to his lips, letting him drink as slowly as he wanted.

"Don't understan' it," Draco murmured as he finished. "I got back here all right. Why's it only hurting me now?"

"...it's my fault," Harry said. "I didn't...I shouldn't have made you turn into a wolf. It worked, but not in the long run."

Draco grimaced, turning his head slightly away, glancing at the drab brown wallpaper and exposed brick under the thin patches. There were no other beds, which surprised him a little, cramped though the room was. The Weasleys were so pressed for space and here the Boy Who Lived claimed his own room? Did Hermione have her own as well? Perhaps there were other nooks and crannies that the Weasleys stuffed their children. Lord knew—

Fenrir's snickering in his ear grew louder, familiar breath of blood and bone whispering across his face. "Give in, whelp."

Clenching his teeth, Draco forced his attention back on Harry.

"Talk to me," Draco whispered. "Please."

"Uh..." Harry blinked. "Talk?"

"Please," Draco groaned. The pressure at his back was growing into a fierce flame. "Distract me."

"Oh!" Harry looked around the room as if for inspiration. "Um, right. Distraction. Um. Right. I shouldn't have forced you to turn. When I told Hermione, she about blew a gasket."

Draco murmured something under his breath, wincing as pressure built on his shoulders, pressing him down into the mattress like a heavy weight.

"And she said I would've been smarter to teach you how to cast a patronus yourself," Harry said quickly. "But that took me ages to learn, and Lupin said...well, he said that not all wizards can do it. That sometimes it turns back on the caster. Some dark wizard tried and it turned into maggots that ate him."

Draco's face drew tight.

"Figures," he hissed. "Stupid light magic...pure of heart this, unworthy that..."

"You probably wouldn't have been afraid if you'd gone already as a wolf," Harry said. "You're fearless in that shape."

"Show's what you know," Draco said with ill-humour. "I just run faster is all."

"Yah, whelp." Fenrir's voice burned in his mind. "Run faster, but not fast enough to outrun your pack, huh?"

Harry saw Draco tense, saw the fear in his face turn to pain. Although several solutions flashed in his mind—call Hermione, call for that nepenthay stuff, even ask Lupin if there was a spell he could cast, obliviate maybe—his enemy, bodiless but all too real, lay in front of him.

What was a Gryffindor to do but put his hands on Draco, cool fingertips against Draco's hot skin, bringing a flush to Draco's throat as his hand fit perfectly, curving along the other boy's collarbone. Draco gasped as if for air, struggling to cool himself.

Harry took his wand and cast a glacius spell on the remaining water, chilling it until ice flakes floated on the surface.

"Here, drink," he said, putting the cup to Draco's lips again. "It's colder."

"Can feel it, thanks," Draco grumbled, but he drank obediently anyway. "God, that is better. Keep it ready, won't you?"

"Sure."

As Harry put the cup back on the nightstand, he looked down at himself, finding that in his rush to help Draco, he'd come to sit beside him, arm around his back to hold him steady. The position was comfortable despite the other boy's weight on his arm, and Draco leaned more and more against him until Draco's head fell comfortably on his shoulder.

"Keep talking," Draco murmured. "This...this is better."

"Is it?" Harry said uncertainly. "Seems awkward for you."

"Not that bad," Draco said. "You're comfortable. And..."

And touching Harry meant that he could separate the Dementor's touch lingering in his mind. Fenrir's hand couldn't be on his shoulder because Harry's was there. Fenrir couldn't be clutching at his hip because Harry's bony pelvis was pressed against him.

"God, Potter," Draco breathed. "Eat something, will you? You're as thin as a broomstick digging into me."

"Uh...right," Harry stumbled, adjusting himself with a faint hint of color on his face. "Eat something, sure. I'll do that. Um. You sure you're okay? Need me to get more water?"

"Just conjure the water," Draco said. "You do remember how to do that, right?"

For some reason, Harry flushed further. "God, right, yes. Sorry, a bit distracted."

"Oh?" Draco laughed once, wearily. "Are my moans boring you?"

"Not quite," Harry mumbled. "God, when I thought I'd get someone in my bed, this isn't how I imagined it would go."

Draco chuckled again, asking for and receiving another sip of iced water. As he lay back again, staring at the ceiling, all too aware of Harry against him, the calloused fingers on his skin, how Draco wore nothing beneath the blanket...he forced his mind away from the werewolf's voice in his head—it was beginning to fade anyway.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"What are we going to do? If my father isn't...if my father can't help."

"You were really hoping he could, weren't you?" Harry asked.

"My father knows a lot of things," Draco said. "Secrets from the Ministry. The dark lord. Everyone. I thought he could...I thought...I mean, I'd never seen the inside of Azkaban before."

And it hurt. Seeing his father like that had hurt, and he hadn't known it would. He'd always looked up to his father, idolized him, saw him outsmart the Ministry and the dark lord alike over and over. He hadn't considered that his father would be a casualty.

"He might still help us," Harry said quickly. "And even if he doesn't...you saw what we took out of the catacombs, right?"

Draco closed his eyes. "Sure, but let's pretend I'm exhausted and feeling like utter shite and can't remember."

"Sorry," Harry said. "It's a stone baby. There's not many of them, and that was the only one Hermione knew about."

"So?" Draco asked.

"So Hermione says it's something we can use against him." Harry shrugged. "I don't really understand all of it. She's the brilliant one."

"Sure," Draco said, yawning. "A little lump of stone will save the world."

"Really," Harry said. "She explained it all one night, but then the Death Eaters were attacking, and then later we lost contact with Luna and Cho, and then...well, then you showed up. I'm not lying when I say that you and your potions started to turn the war around for us. It felt like we were just breaking even. And then Ron tossed that first bottle of white snake's tongue, I think you called it. And suddenly we were winning all over again."

"Mm."

Draco smiled faintly, pressing his face into the crook of Harry's neck. This was a position no sane wizard would let himself in, a werewolf's jaws so close to his skin, let alone his throat. And if Voldemort hadn't treated his family so poorly, he might have taken a bite. But Harry was warm and firm against his side, and Fenrir's voice was just a faint echo in the past. The hands on his side once more the same faint ghosts that they always were.

"I just wish..."

"Mm?"

Draco's quiet murmur was more to keep Harry talking than to hear anything else.

"I wish I knew where the others are." Harry sighed. "I wish I knew where Colin was."

Draco blinked.

"What?"

"Colin," Harry said again. "Creevy. You remember, the one with the camera? Hermione says we can get by, but she had that look on her face that said she really, really wished she didn't have to."

Draco closed his eyes again. No. He just could pretend he was asleep—he was close enough now anyhow. A minute more and—

"It'd make the plan with the stone thing a lot easier," Harry said.

Well, bugger.

Draco screwed his eyes tight. It was so quiet now, so comfortable. The pain was all but gone. And he was going to go and ruin it, and for what? To make Harry happy. Oh, sure, to end the war, but that didn't seem nearly as important as making Harry happy, and how out of his gourd did he have to be to put Potter's feelings ahead of his own comfort?

Oh, whatever. He hadn't been in his right mind ever since Fenrir's bite anyway.

"Colin," Draco said slowly. "If they haven't moved him...then he might be at the Grinset house."

He felt Harry turn, then lean back just enough to see him.

"You know where he is?" Harry said. Too flat, too emotionless.

"It's been months," Draco said quickly. "They just showed off how they'd hurt him to scare us."

"You didn't tell me," Harry said.

"I figured they'd already taken him away," Draco said. "We were going to bring him—"

"Draco—"

"We didn't know where to go and he might have—"

"Stop it." Harry took a long breath. "Stop."

"Harry—"

"Stop."

Harry breathed out. "I need to think."

Draco didn't move. The room grew so silent he could hear the ticking of the clock downstairs, the one showing the Weasley family. Such a ridiculous thing, constantly ticking, counting every second, and he tried to listen to Harry's breath instead.

"Who else do you know about?" Harry asked.

"...maybe Hannah Abbot," Draco said. "At least, I saw her when they were taking her from the Grinset house. I didn't hear anything else about her afterward."

"So she was alive then?" Harry said. "Hermione will be a little relieved."

"I don't know that she's still alive," Draco said. "It's been months. And they weren't telling us anything. We were just as much prisoner as they were."

"It's more than we knew before," Harry said. "Draco, listen. Do you think you could get us there—?"

There was a knock on the door, swiftly followed by Hermione backing into the room. She turned around, a basket of bottles and lavender blossoms in her arms, and kicked the door shut behind her.

"Harry, they finished up Draco's—"

She stopped, her jaw still dropped as she saw Harry holding Draco, the blanket down to his waist. Her head tilted as Harry had the decency to look sheepish. Draco just kept his eyes shut and hoped the embarrassment would go away.

"Well, that explains a few things," she said.

"Hermione—" Harry said, trying to get up and wincing at how Draco gripped his arm with surprising strength. "Ow, bloody little—it's not what it looks like."

"Right," she said, dropping the basket on the bed. "Two teenage boys in bed together—you know he's sick, right? Draco, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I haven't forced anything—" Harry started.

"He's practically a prisoner here," Hermione said. "I should hope you haven't."

"It's all right," Draco said, hoping he wasn't as bright red as he felt. "Is that...is that the nepenthe?"

"Hm?" She glanced at the basket, then started and fished out a bottle. "Yes, yes. They just finished it. But, well, they said not to use it unless you were in pain, and you don't seem like you're in pain."

"Harry helped it go away," Draco said. "But I don't think there'd be any problem with making sure."

"Mm." She looked at the bottle doubtfully, but she uncorked it and handed it over, watching him down it in one go. "I suppose, but that's kind of odd. I mean..."

Her eyes widened, and she looked back and forth between Harry and Draco.

"Oh."

Draco had the feeling that she'd figured out something he didn't, and from the look on her face, he wanted to know.

"Right. Okay." She nodded once to herself. "Don't tell anyone about this."

"About what?" Harry asked.

"About this," she said, waving her hand at them. "About you two. They'd all go nuts. For different reasons, of course, but either way, just don't."

"Wasn't planning on it," Harry said. "Listen, Draco said he knows where Colin is."

Hermione stopped, looking from Harry, then at Draco, who didn't look up. Her mouth pressed into a firm line, and she turned and locked the door, sealing it with a spell.

Harry looked down at Draco, who refused to lift his head. He gave Draco a nudge, then a harder one that made him grumble and readjust.

"All right," she said, coming and sitting down at the foot of the bed. "Tell me everything. And don't leave anything out."

TBC...