A/N: So I worked on this for a very long time. And I'm pretty happy with the result 18, 500 words later. Wow.

I'd also like to point out, in case anyone wasn't sure, that this is an AU where Voldemort won, and Harry is presumed dead by most people. It is four years later, and the world is a very bleak, dark place. I'm very vague about most of the facts, but it very much disregards DH, and mostly focuses on aspects other than the HP universe. I was interested in developing Draco as a 'good' character, his crossover from the Dark side of living, and his interaction with key people.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, and I make no profit from this work of fiction based on JKR's characters, events and et cetera.

It loomed, that was absolutely certain. It loomed over you like a giant, or a particularly nasty adult over a child they were particularly angry with. It didn't have the look of a nice place, either. You could clearly tell that it had once been beautiful, perhaps a thing of Light, haven, sanctuary. But it had gone to seed; nurtured into bad habits by the worst kind of people, coaxed into becoming a place of debauchery, vice and other levels of degradation that the lower dregs of human society liked to indulge in.

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. How could this have ever seemed glamorous, exciting, like an adventure? Draco felt sick looking at the place.

The Dark Lord's HQ – his base, his place of residence, his harem, his torture chambers, his government, his entire life was wrapped up in the walls of this once-beautiful castle.

It could never be Hogwarts again.

All of this occurred to Draco as he Disapparated in front of the rusted gates.

He hated himself for even seeing the place as it was now. He'd known it when it was beautiful, but that seemed an impossible dream, now. How could it have ever have been different, when it was so brutal a place, now? But Draco had to see it, had to live in it, had to breathe in its toxic, corrupted air.

He was one of them, and there was no way to remove the ugly stamp from his forearm. Not anymore, at least. Their only hope had vanished, like so many dreams scattered to the winds.

Draco remembered the last time he'd seen Potter, bringer of damned hope and spirit as surely as he was the demise of them, and while the feelings that had run rampant through him after the Golden Boy's disappearance had been confusing and, if he were honest, frightening, most everybody else had given up. Draco could never be sure – there was no tangible proof – but he was convinced that Potter was not gone forever. Potter was too important to simply have vanished as the Dark Lord would have you believe. No one simply vanished, as the Dark Lord demonstrated, and so history stands to prove that it does indeed repeat itself.

If Draco hadn't been in the process of Apparating, he'd have snorted. What a fool he made, one of the Dark Lord's inner circle – a much coveted position in these dark days – and he was adamant on the continuance of the wayward Boy Who Lived? Draco spent far too much time pining over and thinking about the lost Saviour, entirely too much time. He didn't like what that could mean for his psyche. Or his life, if anyone should ever discover his traitorous thoughts.

He'd avoided the castle as much as possible after the final battle, keeping to the small battles that were happening on the outskirts of the Dark Lord's growing empire. Bands of rebellious wizards and witches who had teamed up with some of the more accepting Muggles – the discovery of magic had been bound to happen eventually, the Dark Lord isn't discreet and the Muggles weren't as brainless as the Dark Lord would have the masses think – to try and push the Death Eaters back. It was all useless, these battles they insisted on. The Dark Lord had won so much, and they had lost nearly everything. They could gain nothing, where the Dark Lord needn't gain anything more, he already had the majority of Wizarding Europe. Soon, these rebellions would no longer happen, because resources were running out. They couldn't survive many more winters. Especially not this far north, so close to the Dark Lord's main stronghold.

Things had become a lot harsher since the Dark Lord's ascendance into his great role. He could almost claim to be Mother Nature, the way that the sun shrunk away from his Dark reign. Draco couldn't remember a week without incessant rain, deadly hail or encumbering rainclouds, always threatening, never letting the sun shine. The world had bled its colour into the soil, and Draco truly believed it would never come back.

Draco hated it. He hated everything about this life, it was unnatural and disgusting to him. He was left with few choices, however, and so he went to the outskirts of the Dark Lord's lands, and fought the rebellions, with the lesser recruits, who saw the work as punishment rather than an escape, as Draco did. He did what he could to limit the damage, and make things easier for the people of the rebellions, while still retaining his position in the esteem of the Dark Lord. It was the most delicate of balances, and the smallest thing could always upset the scales, but Draco could do little else with the world the way it was.

And it wouldn't do to upset his father, after all, would it?

Draco Apparated right into the middle of a small skirmish. Noise assaulted his hears as a bright orange spell whizzed by his left eyebrow, so close he felt the rush of air as it passed by. In the next second, his wand was a blur of movement, spells exploding from the tip with the most minute of gestures. Draco hadn't had to enounce a spell since joining the Dark Lord's forces. Practice had made him expertly, and deadly efficient.

He shielded himself, and as he shot off curse after curse (curses that, incidentally, looked dark and irrevocably dangerous at first glance, but were really mostly harmless) as a cover, he took stock of the situation.

There were about eleven of them, all worn-down, and tired, hungry. They had a glint in their eyes that suggested that this was a last stand, of sorts. Draco had the nasty suspicion that they'd come here to fight to the death, and accepted this without fear. Bloody Gryffindor-types, Draco thought with contempt, he couldn't get away from them, even now.

On his side, there were eight of the Dark Lord's lesser Marked. Not Death Eaters, the elite like Draco, but hopeful that if they fight enough of these small skirmishes that they'll advance through the ranks. As it was, while Draco could have lived in Hogwarts Castle full-time had he the inclination, they'd only ever see it from a distance.

Though outnumbered, the lesser Marked were well rested, fed, and not at all worn down by the days and weeks and months of living it rough, and the battle looked like it was already swaying in their favour.

"Imperio!"

Draco frowned as he watched one of the Marked laugh as he had a bit of fun with one of the Bugs (as the rebelling hoards were nicknamed by the Marked who dealt with them day-to-day). He had her under the Imperius Curse, and he was making her cast spells back at her own people. Tears rolled down her cruelly impassive face, as her wand betrayed those she fought with. Draco sneered, and subtly flicked his wand at the Marked, who accidentally let his concentration drop as Draco's hex made an assortment of dirt and leaf litter hit him in the face. It was subtle enough that no one would suspect Draco of helping the girl escape. It was lucky for her that it was Ford, and not someone more talented or canny, who had her enchanted.

The Bugs were starting to retreat, their earlier bravado having fled. The Marked were not so eager to let their prey escape, however. The Anti-Apparition wards were up now, and the Marked relished in the hunt. They chased after them, and Draco had no choice but to follow.

The Bugs fled into the trees, which provided them with cover, but not much. Tangles of underbrush hindered their advance through the trees. Impatient, Draco cast countless spells that he had learnt in his garden back at the Manor, where he had followed his mother like a lost baby hippogriff as a child, enamoured with the things one could grow if you were only patient enough.

They were just coming in handy when he almost stumbled across the body of a girl he had saved not moments ago. She was prostrate on the ground, her face smeared with a dark substance that Draco was unwilling to put a name to, but knew was blood. She was breathing deeply, and rapidly. With a hasty surveillance of his surroundings, Draco surmised that the Marked had followed the rest of the Bugs deeper into the trees, and this girl had fallen and was left stranded.

An odd emotion gripped Draco as he stood there, hovering on the edge of something he hadn't faced before. He'd never helped one of the Bugs so definitively before. He'd prevented injury and murder where he could, had saved entire communities by leading Marked astray, and whatever else his cunning could come up with in such situations, but never had he been faced with such an obvious act of disobedience.

This girl needed help, and none of her people were around to give it.

She twitched, and moaned. Draco watched in horror as she started to convulse in half-conscious panic. He couldn't stand there and do nothing, could he?

He knelt beside her, and cast diagnostic spells over her as she struggled to breathe, and her convulsing continued. The girl was severely undernourished, he found, and she was diabetic, and worse yet - she was hyperglycemic. She needed medical attention, and quick. But what could Draco do? He didn't know anything about being a Healer, or the specific needs of this girl. This was out of his depth, surely?

"Come on," he whispered. "Give me some sign. I don't know what to do!" He didn't know to whom he pleaded, but he hoped somewhere, his prayers were heard.

When nothing happened straight away, and the girl continued to struggle to breathe, and she weakly reached out to him in supplication and terror, Draco took fate into his own hands and searched her pockets. He remembered something Severus had said about potions for diseases such as diabetes – there were potions that helped, but didn't cure. The girl had to have something on her, surely?

Her robes were threadbare, and she had little in the way of proper protection for potions bottles, but finally, and with relief, Draco found what he was looking for. A small potion bottle was stitched to the inside of her robe, and it was clearly marked Insulin – for emergencies only. Well, Draco thought, this definitely constituted an emergency.

He forced the potion bottle between her lips, and made her swallow. He held his breath once it was empty, and stuffed it into his inner pocket, to keep the evidence safe until he could dispose of it.

"Let it work, let it work." He muttered, brushing back her hair, so he could see her eyes. They darted back and forth as she panicked. Draco could tell that the girl was half-mad with starvation and constant stress.

Finally, the potion seemed to work its magic – her convulsions stopped, and her breathing became more regular, if heavy still.

"You're all right," Draco whispered, hoping to calm her. Her eyes were still wide with fright.

"Who are you?" she breathed, her voice broken, and rough. Draco held his breath. "Why are you helping me? Why didn't you just leave me here to die?"

Draco swallowed, and slowly retracted his arms. "I – I'm not important. I was just, I mean I – I couldn't… I couldn't leave you there, like that."

She stared at him, too tired to move, to weak to do anything but lay there, and question, and hope that he didn't do anything but sit there, too.

"You saved me. But – you're one of them." She took a deep breath. She'd heard tales about the Dark Lord's scions, Draco could tell by the suppressed fear and horrified resignation in her expression. "I – well… thank you. I – I can't give you anything in p-payment for what you've done, except…"

Draco's eyes widened. "No – no! I don't want anything." At her disbelieving look, he repeated himself. "No, I really don't. I'm not that kind of guy. Please, believe me when I say that."

She was clearly confused. "Then… why…"

"I told you. I couldn't let you die, like that. Not when I could have done something."

Her eyes closed, and they were silent for a few moments. Draco looked around him. The trees were almost silent, now, this late at night. Only the rustling of small creatures and the almost silent swoop of owls broke the silence. The Marked were long gone, and Draco suspected that they wouldn't return. He hoped that the Bugs would, however. He didn't know what to do with this girl he had saved. She couldn't be more than thirteen or fourteen. He would leave as soon as he was sure the girl could fend for herself.

"I'm Lucy," the girl finally spoke. "Lucy Bones."

Draco looked at her sharply. Bones? He knew that name…

Before he could say anything, however, there was the distinct sound of people crashing through the underbrush, and calls of "Lucy!" not too far off. It was obvious that the Bugs had come back for their fallen comrade.

"I must go. Your people are coming." Draco stood up, but looking down on her, he couldn't leave her without something else. He reached into his pocket, and re-Sized some of the provisions he was given when he went out to fight. He tucked the food, scant though it seemed for all that it was hearty, into one of her pockets, to her awed surprise, and moved away – then stopped dead in his tracks. A wand had been pointed between his eyes before he could move more than a step.

He was slipping if Bugs could sneak up on him like that.

"Don't move." Draco's heart started beating wildly in his chest. "Surrender your wand." Draco handed it over without comment, no Death Eater worth his salt failed to carry a second wand on his person. In any case, he didn't want things to get out of hand, and complying with the Bugs – for now – was in his best interest. To Draco's surprise he knew the man who held the wand so steadily in his face, or at least, had known him in school. This, Draco despaired, is why I don't help people!

The rest of the Bugs – all nine of them, Draco was (ironically) happy to see – circled in. Two immediately dropped beside Lucy and began checking her over frantically.

"She's okay." The woman hovering over Lucy was petting her and stroking her, as if reassuring herself that the girl was, indeed, okay despite her words. "She's okay."

Zacharias Smith had obviously been waiting for the girl's state to be known before he acted. Draco breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling was short lived. Though Smith pulled his wand back, it (and several others) were still trained on him. He even saw a few Muggles, holding firearms.

Draco hated firearms.

"What happened here, Luce?" Obviously Draco was going to be questioned later, rather than sooner.

"I – I think I had a fit, I couldn't breathe. It was the diabetes, again – I'm sorry, Zac, Susan, I can't help it! I – I just, collapsed, and he found me, and he gave me the potion, and I know I'm supposed to save it but I couldn't do anything and I was dying, I think, and – and, oh, Susan, I'm so tired! So, so tired…" Lucy broke down into tears, after that, and Susan – Susan Bones, Draco saw now – wrapped her sister in her arms and comforted her. Draco hoped they could do more than he could, the girl needed more help than she was getting.

"So," Smith said, finally looking Draco in the eye. "is this true? You saved Lucy, did you, scum? Why? What purpose do you have to save one teenage girl when you so easily kill hundreds of innocent children without thought? Well?"

Draco met his gaze, and let his disgust show. He didn't like what he was, but that didn't stop him from participating in what he had to do to keep himself alive. He woke up every day knowing he was a monster.

"It was the right thing to do. I couldn't leave her to die, not like that."

Smith spat. "I don't know what kind of game you play, bastard, but I don't like it. Who are you?"

Draco winced, but he had no choice. He had to do as these people wished. He didn't have possession of his wand, and it was a desperate man who would face so many alone. He removed his mask.

Smith gasped, and took a step back. His eyes were wide with something Draco couldn't read – fear? Awe? Perhaps it was more than that.

"Malfoy!"

Draco smiled sardonically. "Smith."

"Malfoy?" one of the others asked, as Smith continued to look at Draco, shocked. Draco glanced at him. It was the Mudblood, Finch-Fletchley. Great, it's a reunion, Draco thought.

"Of all the buggers we could have caught, it had to be you." Smith remarked. "What are you trying to accomplish, with this little stunt?" He gestured at Lucy.

Draco's mouth twisted, as though he had tasted something sour. "What does it matter? I did it, and it's done now. That's it."

Smith gave him a disbelieving look. Draco refused to say more.

"You live in Hogwarts, don't you, Malfoy?" Susan had looked up at him when she heard his name, though she still held Lucy. Draco was relieved to see the girl standing, even if she were leaning heavily on her sister. "You've access to the castle, right?"

Draco gave her a confused glance. "Yeah, so what?" He didn't know whether he should act hostile, or friendly. Whichever would get him out of there faster.

Smith had caught on to whatever it was that Susan was getting at. "You know how it works in there, don't you? You know about the slaves they keep, what they do with prisoners, don't you? Answer me truthfully, Malfoy, remember who holds your wand right now."

Draco gave him a withering glare. He didn't know what they were talking about. The slaves? Prisoners? Surely they knew that the Dark Lord's prisoners didn't last long – and, well, Draco tried to limit his contact with the slaves. He didn't need the reminder of the kind of people he was surrounded with.

"Sure I do, I guess. Why do you want to know?"

Smith glanced at Finch-Fletchley, then Susan. It seemed they were the leaders of this group. He looked back at Draco.

"I don't think you need to know that much, Malfoy. Let's just say that we have a certain interest in the subject."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Really? How interesting." He feigned nonchalance. "Why should I tell you anything, anyway? What's in it for me?"

Smith gave him a superior look. "I have your wand. I won't give it back, or let you go, until you tell me what I want to know. Speak."

Draco sighed long-sufferingly. Really, what was he getting himself into?

"The prisoners are never kept longer than a week. They're… executed by the end of that time." His captors gave each other uncomfortable glances. "The slaves, though, they're kept under spells like the ones House Elves were bound by. They can't escape, they can't leave the castle walls without the Dark Lord's permission. They serve in whatever way is demanded of them. They're basically mindless dolls. They can't even think for themselves, beyond the necessities. They're practically human-shaped animals."

Smith was looking at him askance. Draco could understand the shock, it wasn't a pretty way to live.

"That's… barbaric!" he gasped. "How could you let that happen?"

Draco gave him an angry look. "You think that I like it? That I condone such behaviour? It disgusts me more than I could ever put into words. If I could have prevented it, believe me, I would have done so."

Smith exchanged another meaningful look with his deputies. "Very well. We believe you. But there's something else, something you need to know before you go back to your Lord." There was a scathing edge to his voice, now.

Draco eyed him warily. He didn't like the sound of that. There was something hidden deep in his words that Draco couldn't decode.

"Things are going to change. There's still hope, but I suspect that you cannot open your eyes to see it, Malfoy. We have more allies than you know – and when the time comes, you're either for us or against us, and despite what you've done here today for Lucy, we won't hesitate to eliminate you if we come to blows on opposite sides of the battlefield again. This is your only warning."

With that final, ringing statement, Smith handed Draco his wand back, and the Bugs Disapparated.

Hours later, Draco still sat in the dirt, his back pressed against a large boulder. In his hands was the small potion bottle he had kept from the girl, Lucy. He was staring at the cramped writing on the label.

It still proclaimed its message, but this time, Draco knew there was more to it than that.

He recognised the handwriting.

What did it mean? Draco thought he knew. Smith had said, 'We have more allies than you know' – this had to be one of them. Someone who was good at brewing potions. Someone who had access to all the ingredients any Master would need to brew any potion. Someone who also had easy and unfettered access to supplies, without trouble, because he was trusted by the Dark Lord.

Draco knew only one person cunning enough to get away with it.

But why would he? He had so much to lose, and so little to gain. Everyone who had given the Bugs courage, who had given the Light hope, was gone – it started with Dumbledore, and it ended with Potter. Why give the Bugs potions, salves, hope, when they were slowly being eradicated?

Draco couldn't understand it. But he had done the same thing, hadn't he? He'd helped Lucy, for no other reason than she had needed his help, and he couldn't leave her like that. And it had done something to him. There was a feeling in his chest – a small glow, perhaps, where before had been a void. He had done something. He'd made a difference – he'd saved a life! He'd never done that before, never cared enough to really help someone, purely because it was the right thing to do.

Was this how it felt, to be good? Draco had only ever been bad, before. He had been raised by a Dark wizard, had come into his adulthood with a Mark on his arm. Surely his heart pumped the blackest of ink now, and not human blood?

If he didn't know better, he may have sworn that he was acting just like a certain Gryffindor.

But this was it. This was something bigger than Draco. Smith had said as much. Draco's action in saving Lucy was a beginning, he knew it. He'd brought himself into it.

Now he had a choice: continue in this way, betraying the Dark Lord on a greater scale, or drop back and succumb to the darkness of being a monster his entire life.

Draco stared at the handwriting, spidery and cramped, on the label of the potion bottle.

In for a knut, in for a galleon, Draco thought with relish.

Draco said nothing as he placed the potions vial on the counter before the Potions Master.

Severus looked up from his dicing. His greasy hair fell in curtains in front of his face, but they did not cover up his surprised expression. He looked at the vial in shock, then stared Draco in the eye. Despite his calm demeanor, Draco could clearly see a spark of apprehension and fear in his black eyes.

Draco smirked. "I found this, Severus – I thought you might need it. You know how glass is a bit of a commodity these days. We wouldn't want it to fall into the wrong hands."

Severus swallowed. Draco didn't use it to his advantage – he wasn't here to intimidate Severus, despite his actions. He was making a statement. He was telling Severus that he was an ally, not an enemy. They could fight together more effectively than they could apart.

"I – thank you, Draco. I appreciate your thoughtfulness." Severus's eyes searched his, and Draco let his expression soften for a moment, and he nodded.

"Any small gesture is better than none, eh, Severus? It all counts, in the end." Draco turned to leave, his mission complete.

"Wait," Severus called, as Draco reached the door. "Draco, I – I am proud of you. This, this is more than I could have asked of you, had I known…"

Draco nodded to him in acceptance, and left before Severus could say more. Anything else would be incriminating – and the Dark Lord had eyes and ears everywhere.

The time for words was over anyway. Draco needed to think, and he wanted a bath.

Draco scrutinised the mosaic that decorated the wall opposite him. It was a stunning collection of glass and tile, used in a stylised way that he was sure couldn't have been in fashion long, if it ever had been. It was angular, but not shapely. It rather hinted at the idea of an image – perhaps of a man speaking with a creature hanging from a branch? – without actually being clear enough to tell. It was like trying to see clearly underwater without the benefit of a Bubble-head Charm. It had no purpose, except to show that the owner had money to throw around. A familiar concept for any Malfoy.

Gold gilding, imported marble, the works – this room had it all in an abundance of garish proportions. Even compared to the extravagance of his childhood rearing, the room was overly opulent, even to a Malfoy's rich tastes.

His bare feet slapped against the intricately tiled floor as he walked the expanse of the room. The mortar was studded with segments of crushed crystals, and the light from the many candles secreted in almost undetectable brackets glinted off the tiny shards. It was like walking on shattered moonbeams.

Draco couldn't decide if it was in bad taste to match these gloriously light features with countless black and deep, almost-black green drapes that littered the room. It was clearly an effort to make the stylistic (if overly ostentatious) décor into a macabre, brooding place, more apt to call the bathing place of men who were of a darker persuasion. Draco wondered who the Dark Lord was trying to kid.

Pathetic, really. In their pursuit of darkness and destruction, the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters missed what truly made life worth living – not that they could ever understand the concept of a pure and innocent joy. Their hearts were as good as coal by now.

He stopped his all-but-forbidden ponderings when he caught sight of the bath tub. He'd been waiting for the moment so many days that he'd had dreams about it. It was glorious, everything the way he liked it (scalding hot water, numerous soap dispensers, and the glory of glories, bubbles) – and it was waiting for him.

His slim, pianist's fingers ran over the rim of the tub. The texture was smooth, like rocks from a fast-flowing river, to the touch, and slightly warm from the open fireplace that stood opposite. This was his one weakness, his one indulgence in a never-ending pit of mud and muck that was his life.

Flicking his wand at the rope that dangled near the door, he summoned a slave, one of the necessary evils of bathing, and the one thing that marred the occasion. He then slipped his wand back into the hidden pocket of his robe before pushing the thing off, draping it over the back of a chair that sat in an inconspicuous corner of the bathing room.

He stepped into the empty tub, just as the slave entered carrying a large jug (spelled bottomless and weightless for convenience) of perfectly tempered water. Draco's eyes fell closed as the slave came into his peripheral vision, and the water slowly filled in the tub. He sighed in bliss. After a week on the field, sleeping where he could find a safe space of ground, rolling around in substances he didn't care to categorise, and enduring the smell of that week's accumulation of blood, sweat and tears, without a chance for so much as a wet flannel, the clean water, laced with certain potions and concoctions of Severus's that relaxed, calmed and purified, was like a slice of that Nirvana Muggles sometimes talked about.

Scougrify just wasn't the same as a proper bath, complete with the wizard's favourite bath toy: a miniature floating dragon.

"Is there anything else Boy can do for master?" a small, husky voice asked from over Draco's left shoulder.

Draco's muscles ached, despite the refreshment potions in his scalding hot bathing water. His limbs were feeling entirely too loose, and wobbly to do any intense scrubbing, as he would like. What harm could it do to indulge himself this once? It wouldn't hurt to break one of his personal rules once in a while, would it?

No matter his façade, Draco didn't condone the Dark Lord's use of slaves – human slaves, at that, now that the House Elves had broken their bonds and fled the Wizarding World in favour of more equal opportunities on greener pastures (to the eternal shame of Draco's father, as it was his personal House Elf who led the crusade) – this was one time where he was willing to let his iron will slip. After the week he'd had, he damn near deserved someone scrubbing his back for him… and besides, scrubbing Draco's back was surely a better chore than the slave was accustomed to.

Draco ignored the little voice in the back of his head – sometimes called Mother, others, his conscience. This once, he would ignore it.

"Yes," he replied, "my thanks." Draco didn't even open his eyes as the slave moved to follow his order. He just let the potions, and the warmth, and the knowledge that he was finally – finally! – free of all the muck, and mud, and dirt, and shame fill him with tranquility.

"As master wishes."

The slave went about his task with easy compliance, without so much as a softly muttered word. Not that he would have been able to, had he tried. The nature of the bond that enslaved him didn't allow it any other way; slaves could not speak out of turn. Draco didn't let the knowledge ruin an otherwise very therapeutic bath. But water couldn't wash away guilt, however much he bathed.

When he was done, Draco dismissed the slave, with his thanks (though thanks were discouraged amongst the Dark Lord's ranks, an unwritten rule he broke more often than not), and then finally opened his eyes. He caught a glimpse of the slave's back in the mirror on the wall, as he departed the room. Draco frowned. That figure looked familiar.

"You're just paranoid, Draco." He muttered to himself.

The charm keeping the water at perfect temperature was starting to wear off, however, and Draco hopped out before it could become uncomfortably lukewarm. The odd flame of remembrance in the back of Draco's mind flickered, and extinguished.

It was after he'd dried himself and turned to put his robe on that he noticed something was wrong with it.

It had been tampered with.

Alarmed, Draco took in the slightly wrinkled sleeve, where it had been handled, and the tie, which hadn't been that close to the ground when Draco placed his robe there. Suspicious, Draco's eyes snapped to the door, but the slave was long gone.

Battle instincts sounding alarm bells in his mind, Draco extended one of his fingers, and prodded the robe tentatively. Nothing happened. Feeling slightly more reassured, Draco placed a whole hand atop the thing. Again, nothing. With one last burst of suspicion – a very valuable thing when one lives in a nest of snakes – Draco fished out his wand from its hiding place (thankfully undisturbed!) and cast a Revealing spell. Nothing.

Draco chuckled nervously to himself, and slipped the robe on, feeling a little ridiculous standing there, naked, prodding a piece of clothing. But, he was sure that he hadn't imagined it. The robe had been touched.

With a last look around the room, Draco left in a hurry, trying to discard the incident from his mind.

The next chance for a bath wasn't until weeks later, but the room was the same as it ever was. Draco surveyed it with a detachment that surprised him. He had always had a feeling of disgust that was almost palpable when he indulged in his vices, but this time, after really letting the reality of his world sink into his mind, and having since accepted that he'd truly saved Lucy (look at him, calling the girl by her first name as though he cared), something was different. He still felt the disgust, the hate for what the castle had become – but now, it was like he could imagine it going back to its former glory. Something could be done to erase the filth that marred the once-great. And he could have something to do with it.

Draco left his robe, with his wand in the secret pocket, draped over the same chair as always. He had to have imagined the disturbance, last time. He was just too paranoid. Skittish.

A slave came, and poured the water into the tub, and Draco relaxed into the feeling of being clean once more. It had been a particularly gruelling week. Though he had not come across anymore old school peers, he had run two raids, fought in several skirmishes, and had been forced to execute a deserter. All in the name of the Dark Lord.

"Thank you." He told the slave, without turning his head.

"Master is too kind. Is there anything else Boy can do for Master?" Draco opened one eye slightly, shocked to recognise the voice. It was the same slave as last time. That had never happened before. Draco thought that he had never had the same slave serve him twice in a row, so why now? There were so many, and they lived in such bad conditions, that they no doubt rotated the work a lot, so as to not wear out as quickly. Crude, but effective.

"No, thank you, this will do. If you'll just leave some towels over there by my robe before you leave, please."

"As Master wishes." Draco imagined the slave bowing, as the slave bond demanded, though he didn't see it. He didn't like seeing a human being – though they could hardly be called that, now – bowing to him like some lesser creature. It went against his morals, thin on the ground though they were.

There was some rustling before the slave left. Draco stayed in the tub for a while, just relaxing, though it made him feel like he was betraying someone in this one small way. He got all these luxuries, while good, innocent people like Lucy were lucky to get a something as necessary as a potion like the one for her condition. Where was the justice in that?

Draco snorted. "Justice, indeed." He muttered to himself. His voice echoed strangely in the bathing room, like so many empty thoughts. He was getting soft, or worse, was growing compassionate.

Their time was coming, though. Smith's warning reverberated in Draco's mind, just as his own voice had moments ago. There was something they knew, something that was making them fight back with more spirit than Draco had ever seen before.

Draco grabbed the soap. They had asked about prisoners… and slaves. For the first time, Draco let himself truly think about what had happened in that forest, and what it meant. He hadn't been able to accept it the last time he'd been in this bathroom.

Why were they important? Maybe – maybe they knew someone who was a slave, or who had been a prisoner? But, no one ever came back from being a prisoner. As Draco had told Smith, they never lasted longer than a week, not after the last of the known Order had been taken down. The Order – well, they'd had special treatment.

Slaves, however, they lasted longer. The Bugs might have known someone, who was made a slave. They may wish to get them back. Why hope for such a thing? They should know that anyone who comes into the power of the Dark Lord had no chance of getting out again. It takes a particularly strong wizard to break any spell the Dark Lord uses... and there hadn't been anyone to rival him since Dumbledore. He was simply too powerful.

So, why hope like that? The slaves couldn't even think for themselves – they would never be able to break the bond, and people like Smith couldn't do it either, he was too weak, and the structure of the bond worked in a unique way. Draco had been there when the Dark Lord first used it, first made it.

The slaves were bound in such a way that only the slaves themselves could break the bond, but their mind and magic were controlled by a net that prevented free thought and impulse. They couldn't break the bond – it would take a person of phenomenal strength of will and magic to do so, and even then, they'd probably need the help of someone else to get rid of all traces of the web. It was too intricate – it would take the power of an accomplished Legilimens to do so.

And who was there, that could do all of that? No one, not anymore.

Feeling suddenly down heartened, Draco got out of the bath and dried himself off. He needed a stiff drink, or a good duel, to rid his mind of these thoughts.

He put on his robe, and felt in the pockets for his wand. It was still there – but there was something else, too.

Draco didn't move, he was so flabbergasted. Again? Someone had tampered with his robe again, and he didn't see, or notice at all?

He pulled the offending item out of his pocket – it was a small, ragged piece of parchment. It had obviously been fingered often, by nervous hands. Draco looked at it suspiciously, and cast several revealing spells, but there was nothing offensive about the paper except for its existence.

Draco unfolded it, and stared at the writing – shaky, done in what looked like charcoal – for a long time.

It said simply, Help me.

The note haunted Draco's thoughts as he camped beside a small bubbling brook the next week. Bugs had flared into action in this part of Scotland, and it was his job to command the Marked that were sent there. Draco didn't relish such work, but at least it afforded him the privacy of his own tent.

The grubby piece of parchment was held tightly in his fist, but Draco didn't need to look at it to know what it said – the words were burned into his memory.

He couldn't remember the last time that anyone had sought him out to ask for help. He'd never been the forthcoming type, and as such had never extended a hand to help anyone but himself. Except in severe circumstances, of course.

Who could have left the note? No one had come into the room, it was hard to get past Draco unnoticed. No, they had to have already been in the room and – but wait. Someone had come into the room. The slave.

Draco's brow creased in thought. "The slave?" he said it out loud, to test the theory.

It was – it couldn't be! How could the slave have broken his bond in such a way? Regained his own functions enough to steal parchment, and write a message, and then hide it so only Draco would find it? He even had enough thought not to speak of it aloud – he didn't betray himself or Draco to the Dark Lord's spies. It was incomprehensible.

But… it made the most sense. Draco always made sure that no one took him by surprise; the only other being in the room with him had been that slave. And there was only one person Draco had ever known who could break strong compulsions.

The flap of his tent opened and a Marked soldier stuck his head in. "Sir? We've sighted some activity to the west. How should we proceed?"

Draco stuffed the note in his pocket and got to his feet. "Come along, Ackerly. We'll sort this out."

Draco couldn't enjoy his bath – and that was the worst thing imaginable at this point. The water was warm, but he was numb. The potions were soothing, but he wasn't experiencing the effects. The air was stale, and all Draco could think about was the note – and the slave currently washing his back.

This was it. This was Draco's chance to do something for someone, simply because they'd asked him to. Lucy had been too ill to ask for help, and anyway, her people had been on their way back for her – she would have been discovered in time. No, this was different. He burned for the chance to prove himself as more than the Death Eater monster he had been for so long.

Now Draco just had to find the courage within himself to open his eyes and face the man who he needed to help.

He took a deep breath, and got out of the tub, though the slave hadn't finished his task. Draco couldn't face him naked, vulnerable in such a basic way.

Wearing his robe, Draco fingered the pocket where he kept his wand – and the note the slave had given him (he hadn't been able to bring himself to destroy it, as he should have).

"Is Master displeased?" the slave asked; his voice just as small and husky as Draco remembered. But this time, there was something different about the tone, an emotion he couldn't name. He'd name it resilience, if that were something as tangible as an emotion.

Draco took a deep breath. "No, I-" He turned around. His eyes met those of the slave, and he found himself frozen, as if placed under a Body-bind.

It couldn't be! Draco stared hard at the slave, wondering, if he stared hard enough, could he see through a spell? Was this some kind of sick joke? His first instinct, the one he'd been quick to squash, was right?

"Potter?"

The slave blinked his big, verdant green eyes at him slowly. No – not 'the slave' – but, Potter. Harry The Boy Who Lived and Died Potter, Saviour No more, Golden Boy, Harry-Bloody-Potter! He looked different, emaciated and gaunt, with bags under the eyes and the posture of one used to bowing… but it was still him.

Draco was so glad he'd warded the room earlier.

"Master?" Potter – slave Potter, Draco had to remind himself – asked.

"Did you – it was you, right, who gave me the note?" Draco had to be sure. Without realising it, he began to finger the note in his pocket.

"N-Note…" Potter seemed to blink more sluggishly.

Draco watched him with rapt attention. If this was indeed Potter – and Draco couldn't imagine anyone sharing eyes as bright as those – then it made a lot of sense. The fighting the slave bond, why the Dark Lord never calmed down after the Battle for Hogwarts, and why Smith and his band of merry Bugs had that ridiculous glint of hope in their eyes.

Potter was still around to do something about it. Draco took in Potter's slave garments, the conflicted expressions of a slave, a spirit fighting to be free, and the defeated slump of his shoulders. Potter may still be around, but he'd need a lot of help – his help.

It was a challenge, but Draco resisted the urge to reach out and comfort the brunette as he struggled against the bond. He sensed distance was needed, for now. He fought a sudden, urgent need to touch Potter – reassure himself that he was really and truly… there.

Draco licked his too-dry lips. "I'm going to help you. Is this what you want?"

Draco needed to test the boundaries of the bond. If Potter had already started to break the net, it would be a logical solution for Draco to coax him into shattering it further.

Potter's expression suddenly snapped, and he was more alert than he'd ever seen a slave manage.

"I don't have a lot of time." Potter said, taking steps toward the only man who could help him, now. It was as though he'd stepped out of the vaults of Draco's memories. Suddenly, it was Potter – the Potter of old – but dressed in a slave's garments. "I can't fight the spell for long – not right now. I – I don't remember a lot of who I am, but I remember spells, and I remember your face."

Draco felt the blood halt in his veins.

"I don't know why all I remember is your face, but seeing you when you're here – it helps, it helps me think. I – I can't get rid of the bond on my own, and, and I know that I'm not supposed to want to – but, if I remember things, when I'm around you, then surely there's something wrong."

Draco nodded encouragingly. "Yes – you're under a spell that makes you forget, and makes you serve blindly instead."

Potter's face darkened into a deep brooding. "I thought as much. I remember magic. It's how I manipulate some things – this is how I really look, but I'm different around everyone else. I don't remember when it started, when the spells that changed how I look were placed on me, but it only stops when I'm around you, and I can think."

Draco was startled. Glamours? Potter was under constant glamours? And bloody powerful ones too, if he managed to have hidden himself this long.

Potter was breaking out into a sweat. "I want – no, I need you to make it stop. This isn't… it's not right. Please, help me."

"I'll-" but Draco didn't finish his next words, because Potter had already disappeared, and the slave was back, and he looked at Draco mildly.

"What can Boy do for Master?"

Draco was in a right state for the next three days. He didn't know how to feel, how to act. His behaviour on the battlefield was erratic at best, and a catastrophe at worst. The revelation of that night – it had been earth-shattering.

Potter – alive! Imagine that. Draco had been walking around like a zombie for four years, thinking that the last glimmer of a life without tyranny had disappeared for good and certain. But, now, something could rise from the ashes at last – and it would all be on Draco's shoulders.

He couldn't breathe. This was too much for one man, surely? But what could he do, who could he turn to?

Draco buried his head under the hard pillow of the cheap motel he found himself sharing with some nameless face with a good arse. The bedding smelt of stale sweat and sex. It had seemed like the perfect stress reliever at the time, but Draco was just as strung out as he had been hours before.

He'd also needed some comfort, but now he was regretting his decision. Potter always brought out the worst in him, Draco rued. Just the thought of him made Draco's heart beat faster in what he hoped was exasperation.

Glamours, that's how he'd hidden himself all these years. Draco was there at the battle that had been his downfall. He'd seen Potter go down in a haze of green light – or had he? No one had found the body afterwards. Draco, along with everyone else, had assumed that he'd been incinerated in the blast. They'd all been wrong.

Somehow Potter survived – again! – and made it out, only to be captured by the Death Eaters who rounded up human slaves when the House Elves revolted. In some stroke of genius, or luck, as it were, Potter cast a hasty glamour that stayed even when he lost memory of casting the spell.

But he'd told Draco that it dropped when he was around him – and he'd also said that he could think when he was around Draco. That would suggest that the glamour was connected to Potter's ability to retain all his facilities.

Draco frowned. That made no sense. To create such a spell in a hurry, well, not even Professor Flitwick would have been able to accomplish it. No, Potter would have thought of it early in advance, it's the only way he could have come up with such a scheme. But that would mean that Potter had wanted to be captured and made a slave. But why? And why make the glamour drop at all? Surely such a thing was too risky – what if he regained his facilities when he was around someone less friendly than Draco?

The blonde wanted to growl in frustration. He'd thought that such days were behind him – days when he'd do nothing but think about Potter, and how utterly stupid he acted.

Gods, what had he gotten himself into?

Draco jumped out of the bed and hurriedly put his clothes back on. He needed to talk to someone – and there was only one person he could trust with such a secret.

With only a glance over his one-time lover to make sure he was really asleep, Draco Disapparated from the room.

He appeared in Hogsmeade, outside the Shrieking Shack. He didn't want to enter the wards of Hogwarts, and risk another conversation where the Dark Lord might hear him – his chat with Potter had been risk enough, for now.

Draco conjured his Patronus and sent it off to Severus's rooms, heavily masked. Such spells were strictly forbidden, except in dire situations. To use them for messengers, as Draco just had, was definitely a bad idea. But Draco was desperate, and he was feeling reckless.

To Draco's surprise, Severus came out of the shack itself, rather than the direction of the road. But he was too frantic to care about the details.

"Severus. Thank you for coming so quickly." Draco tried to breathe, but he feared he was failing. Words spilled from his lips. "I'm sorry about the way I sent my message, but I felt that the situation warranted it, and I just didn't know what else to do or who else to talk to-"

"Draco, please calm down. What has you so worked up, that you'd risk all of this?" Severus's voice was calm and reassuring, like a balm on Draco's frazzled nerves.

"I – I've…" Draco checked the wards he'd put in place. He was afraid to say it, now that he had to.

Severus gave him a prompting look. "You what, Draco?" His tone wasn't unkind.

"I found Harry Potter."

Severus seemed carved from ice, he did not move for so long. "You – what?"

Draco's mouth suddenly felt dry. "I found Harry Potter, Severus. He isn't dead, he isn't even missing! He's been here all along!"

"Harry Potter, are you sure?" Draco nodded. He had never seen Severus look as pale as he did then. Draco understood the feeling. "Draco – do you know what this means?"

His blonde locks swayed as he nodded miserably. He didn't know how to tell Severus the other thing – how Potter didn't even remember his own name.

"At last… But, you said he'd been here all along? What do you mean Draco? What aren't you telling me?" Severus had always been too sharp for his own good.

"I – Well, he's… He's a slave, Severus. He's a slave at Hogwarts, and he can't remember a thing."

"I see…" Severus closed his eyes, as though in pain. "This complicates many things."

Draco nodded again. "I know… Severus, I need your help with this. Potter asked me for help – he – he said that he remembers around me. I believe that he's beginning to fight the Dark Lord's slave bond, and I can't let him continue like this. I know we were enemies… but no one deserves to be what he is."

"Fighting the bond? How is that possible?"

Draco shrugged. "It's Potter."

Severus smirked, despite the dire situation. "Indeed. Tell me what else you know, and then we can start planning."

Nerves buzzed up and down Draco's spine like angry lacewing flies as he paced the length of the bathing room he frequented when he was on rest from the battlefields of the Dark Lord's empire. The odd mosaic looked down on him, a source of little comfort.

Where was Potter? He'd never failed to turn up before now. Draco fought down his rising panic. He told himself not to be daft, there were many slaves on rotation, and there was no reason to think that he'd been discovered, or –

No, Draco told himself. Don't think like that.

It didn't stop his annoying mind, however.

No matter what he did or who he was with, the green-eyed Gryffindor sent to curse Draco's existence was never far from Draco's thoughts, and it irked him to no end. Who did he think he was, hovering around Draco's thoughts in such a manner?

He doesn't remember who he was, Draco reminded himself. And that thought made him horribly uncomfortable, more than any other he'd gone through that night.

The door opened, and Draco whirled around in a flurry of robes. He hadn't come here for a bath, after all.

Potter was standing there, the look of mingled frustration, confusion, and indifference clear for Draco to read. It was horribly endearing to see Harry looking so young and helpless, yet grown-up and determined at the same time.

Draco dearly wanted to help him all the more for it.

"Good, you're here." Draco snapped, then winced. He didn't want to give Potter the wrong impression.

But he didn't seem to notice – he was still struggling to take control of his thoughts. Draco swept past the slave, and bolted the door shut, making sure that his wards were in pace at the same time. An unwanted spectator was not what they needed right now.

"Potter – how are you?" Draco tried again, looking deep into the man's eyes, trying to decide whether or not they looked more, well, present than usual. He thought he saw something that could be called recognition in them.

"Master – I – I'm…" Potter was breathing deeply, his eyes darted every which way. Concerned, Draco stepped forward and reached a hand out to rest it on Potter's shoulder.

"Potter? Calm down, you're safe – for now. I'm here to help you, remember?"

Potter's breathing settled, and he managed to look Draco in the eye and nod. "Yes – I, uh, thank you." He breathed deeply, and sighed. Draco was glad – control was everything, at this point. And he would need every bit he could get for what he wanted to do.

"It's quite alright, Potter." Draco opened his mouth to continue, but Potter spoke up before he could get another word in.

"Why do you call me that – what does it mean?" Draco wanted to lash out at the brunette that they didn't have time for stupid questions, but held back his tongue. Potter was confused, and he'd only shy away if Draco upset him. The blonde steeled himself to answer.

"It's your name – or part of it, at least. You're full name is Harry Potter." Draco said as patiently as he could. "Mine is Draco Malfoy."

Potter nodded slowly, and seemed to think it over. "Yes… Harry Potter. I think I… I think I remember, or rather, recall a memory where I might have known that." He paused in pensive thought, then continued. "Why is it that you call me 'Potter' and not 'Harry'?"

Draco subtly rolled his eyes. Really, was this necessary? But, again unwilling to upset the man, Draco said, "I can call you whatever you like, it makes no difference."

Potter gave Draco a smile, then. Oddly, Draco felt something in his chest give a series of back-flips.

"Very well, I wish for you to call me Harry. And I will call you Draco." Potter finished his statement with such a brilliant grin that Draco could only nod his acquiescence.

Draco decided they'd had enough idle chatter. "Harry – I need to do something that might make you feel uncomfortable, but trust me, it's absolutely essential, or I wouldn't try, okay?"

Potter's eyes went steely with determination. "Whatever you need, Draco. I trust you to do what is right."

Swallowing around the sudden knot lodged in his throat, Draco formed the words, "Good. What I'm about to do is enter your mind and assess the extent of the bond that holds you here, and whether or not it will be possible to break it in the near future, and any possible side-effects that may occur once it's removed. Depending on what I find, we will proceed accordingly. Understand?"

Potter gave him a look that clearly said he trusted him with his life. Draco hoped he was worth it.

Draco raised his wand, and took a deep breath. He glanced at Potter – his eyes were wide with trust, his breathing quickened with excitement or fear, Draco couldn't tell. But there was a spark in the man's eyes that made something flare to life, where it had nearly been extinguished before, in his chest.

Before he had another chance to think about it, Draco whispered, "Legilimens!"

Being in Harry's mind was unlike anything Draco had ever experienced in all his years as an accomplished hand at Legilimency.

His first impression was one of a black, empty vacuum of space. Harry's mind was suspiciously void of any thought, any memories, of anything.

But then the nothingness started to fall away. The blackness wavered and vanished like the last traces of fog in the morning, and gave way to something entirely more frightening than the emptiness had been.

Draco was surrounded by chains.

He moved closer to them – repulsed but curious at the same time – and saw that, no, they weren't chains, per se. It would be more accurate to describe them as thick concentrations of will, woven together to fit over Harry's mind and memories like a net. A manifestation of the bond that bound Potter to the will of the Dark Lord – they weren't real in the sense that Draco could reach out and touch them, but they were there nonetheless.

Draco studied them with horror. They were thick, and looked as solid and strong as stone. How could anyone hope to break such bonds? They were everywhere, encasing the entirety of Harry's being – from his thoughts, to his memories, to his impulses, everything, not even the smallest natural reaction of every human being was left free of this net. If Draco had felt like hitting Harry, he'd have done nothing in retaliation – not even shield himself to protect his well-being. His sense of self-preservation (dubious to begin with) was cut off completely.

It was far more gruesome to see like this, in such a confronting way. While Draco had theoretically known about all of these things, to be seeing the hard evidence was an entirely different matter.

Reaching out hesitantly with his mind, Draco focused on the touch his mind would make, until it manifested itself as a kind of ghostly pair of hands. He pushed a bit further, and let them run over the strands of the net.

To Draco's mind, they felt like a smooth rod of solid metal, unyielding and fast. But when he moved his mind-touch further along, there were parts that felt weathered, like crumbling rock. This was where Harry had managed to break through the bond and regain some of himself.

Draco could even see the doors in Harry's mind that had open slightly, pressing against the net so that it strained to remain intact.

Shaking, Draco returned to himself, and lowered his wand. He simply stood there and stared at Potter, amazed.

He'd accomplished such a feat, to even be looking at Draco with such clarity in his gaze, as though he knew exactly what he wanted, and it was only a matter of time before he got it.

Draco's brow creased in thought. What did that mean?

Potter took a step forward and pierced Draco with his gaze, not letting his attention wander for even a moment. "What did you find?"

Swallowing, the blonde tried to look away, but found he was unable to. "Your resistance to the bond is astounding, Harry. You're probably the only being alive both magically and willfully strong enough to do it. As it is – the bond cannot be broken now, not as you are."

Potter took another step forward. "Why is that?"

"You're physically too close to the source of the bond, the magic involved is always present, and while your resistance is stronger in my presence, it is not enough to break it completely." Draco mulled it over, and thought he had an idea of what could be done. "To do so you will need to leave the castle, and I'd recommend doing it soon, I don't want you to risk the magic healing itself. Spells and bonds like these – well, they're almost unpredictable, and volatile when tampered with. If you're further away from the source, you're less likely to be effected badly by the backlash when the bond falls away from your mind."

"How will you get me away from the castle, Draco? Is it possible?" Potter's eyes were too intense, Draco decided uneasily. He wished that the brunette would look away, at least for a moment. He was finding it hard to think and breathe with him so close, staring like that.

"I have a friend we can trust, to get permission." Draco took a deep breath, but it seemed almost as if Potter were getting closer still. "It's not unheard of, one of the slaves leaving the castle. It'll just be – delicate, is all."

Potter nodded gravely, and stepped yet closer to Draco – he was nearly pressed flush against the blonde now, and Draco found it almost too distracting. What was Potter trying to do?

"I want to thank you, Draco. For everything you're doing for me. I – don't remember the nature of our relationship, but I think I can safely assume that, well-" without finishing his thought, Potter leaned in those last few inches, and kissed him.

Heart pounding, mind in a flurry of thoughts and processing feelings, Draco almost didn't react – but with the warm feeling flooding his skin, and before he could let himself think it through, Draco let himself be caught up in the kiss – and kissed Harry back.

Callused hands slid their way up his arms and linked behind his neck as Harry tilted his head slightly to the side and let Draco properly explore his mouth. Draco let himself bury one hand in that bird's nest of a head of hair, and the other to wrap around the man's bony waist. Losing himself completely, Draco gave up and simply let the feeling of warm, wet lips against his own, and an enticing, enthusiastic tongue melt itself to his drown him in his favourite kind of bliss. He tasted something unique in Harry's mouth, and moaned when one of Harry's hands moved to grip the hair at the nape of his neck. He didn't want to let whatever this was go – without even realising it, Draco had longed for this kiss for nearly as long as he'd known Harry.

When Harry pressed his body flush against Draco's, fuelling the spark of fire into something nearly unmanageable, Draco snapped back into himself.

He pulled away, instantly missing the feeling of having that delicious, warm mouth against his own. But what was done was done, and Draco couldn't let it happen again. Potter's flushed face and puffy, red lips didn't help his resolution much, but Draco persevered.

Draco knew he'd done the right thing, however, when Potter's eyes clouded over again, and he asked, "What can Boy do for Master?"

Draco very nearly thought he might cry.

It was bitterly cold, and no Warming Charm had yet managed to stave off the chill. Draco shivered as he sat in the chilly room, watching as the slow drift of snow built up on the windowsill.

The shrieking shack certainly wasn't his favourite place to hang around, but it was a far cry better than sitting out in the snow. He hadn't felt anything below his ankles for an hour now.

Trying not to feel sorry for himself, Draco twirled his wand around in his hands as he waited. The smooth, polished surface of the wood against his chilled fingers was a comfort, when all else failed. And he needed it right then.

In all the years when he had the chance for something better than his lot, Draco had never once faced the sort of turmoil he felt right now. He guessed that was partly because he blamed Potter for rejecting him, in their first year. He'd never been able to forgive him for it, and, spoilt and arrogant as Draco had been in those blissfully innocent days, he'd done everything he possibly could to ensure they ended up as enemies. How stupid it all seemed now – maybe he'd have stood in the battle beside Potter, and died protecting him, maybe even become a slave, if he'd only swallowed his damn pride. But those days were long gone, and while death would have been preferable to the life he lived now, it was the lot he had chosen, in the end.

The kind of bitter pill that no one found easy to swallow.

Of course Potter had to pop back into his life again, and it was inevitable that his appearance had to shake the foundations of Draco's very existence. Nothing was ever easy when it involved the Gryffindor.

Perversely, Draco wasn't angry or upset about this. No, he was used to being caught up in the inexplicable by now. What really annoyed him, more than anything else, was how attracted he was to the git.

Was there no end to the humiliation? Even when he wasn't aware of it, Potter managed to bring Draco to his knees in one fell swoop. He was ridiculously weak when it came to the brunette.

All part of his divine punishment, Draco supposed. He'd sinned too much not to suffer for it.

He heard a shuffling sound at the opposite end of the room. With quick, smooth, silent movements, Draco was on his feet and pointing his wand at the person who emerged from an opening in the side of the shack. A curse was on the tip of his tongue before he recognised the dour countenance and graceful swirl of robes that preceded the Potions Master.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Draco lowered his wand. "Severus, you startled me. Is that a passage way?"

Severus inclined his head. "Indeed, with many bad memories attached to it."

Draco was curious, but he had more pressing matters to attend to this night.

"I've assessed Potter's mental state." Draco watched as the Potions Master's eyes sharpened. "It's the best we could have hoped for, considering."

Severus nodded and eyed a piece of rotting furniture without really seeing it, in deep contemplation as Draco told him everything he had discovered in Potter's head.

"It seems that the only option would be to remove the direct source feeding Potter's bond. That should sufficiently weaken the net enough for Potter's will and his magic to take complete control."

Draco nodded. "I thought as much. But how do we remove him from the castle, do you have the authority to gain permission for the procedure? The Dark Lord isn't exactly loose with his property. He will need sufficient reason to let Potter out of his control, even for a short amount of time."

"Not to mention the risk to us, as well as to Potter, once the bond is broken." Severus murmured. "I have enough favour with the Dark Lord at present to gain permission to use a slave outside the castle. I'm sure I could think of a good enough excuse – I may need a rare potions ingredient, for a concoction the Dark Lord has me working on."

Draco eyed the man as he struggled through something. "But once Potter has broken the bond, it will become evident that I aided him, and I will be hunted as a traitor, or worse."

That didn't sound promising to Draco. "I will not ask you to risk your position over this." Draco said it with firm assurance, though he knew not where his conviction had come from.

Severus smiled, and oddly, it was sincere, if a bit bitter. "My position means nothing compared to the life of Potter, and yourself, Draco, not to mention the countless people we could save simply by breaking a spell that no one has ever managed to weaken before. I will do this, Draco, and I do not hesitate. You needn't ask, for I do so willingly."

Draco was awed by the man's bravery and strength of conviction. He could only hope that things went smoothly for him, for there was little else Draco could offer in the way of help with the Dark Lord.

He wished there was more that he could do. For the first time in his life, he felt useless, and he hated it.

Something indefinable labored within Draco. He didn't know what it was, that made his hands shake, made sweat gather on his brow, nearly giving away his careful façade. It was as foreign as snow in July, but Draco was determined to ignore the sensations in favour of studying his charge.

Potter. Harry. Whatever Draco called him, he was the same man who made him remember things he hadn't thought about in years. Things he'd used to love, used to find beauty in. Such things he had thought would be strange to him, now, unattainable.

As Draco stood next to the window of his bathing room – still a clash of antiquated design and depressing drapes – he looked out over the view he had of the Lake, and was reminded of a day when he'd sat on its shore and watched the sun rise. It had been breathtaking, the way the sun glinted off of the water, the gentle sounds of the Giant Squid stirring for the day.

But even the memory was marred by darker things – it had been a few days before, well – a few days before Dumbledore met a sticky end.

And didn't that open up a jar of flobberworms.

The door opened, and Draco fought the urge to turn around in an undignified manner. He'd been squashing all sorts of inappropriate urges since finding Potter. He was near his breaking point.

Hearing the footsteps echo around the tiled room, Draco thought that Potter had regained his faculties for this meeting – his were not the steps of a slave.

"Draco," Harry sighed, and before Draco could turn around and face him, the brunette had slid his arms around Draco's torso and clutched him tightly.

Unable to resist, Draco placed his own hands atop the callused and pale ones of Harry's. They were cold to the touch, and Draco thought he detected a slight tremor in the body pressed against his.

Disconcerting as the tremor was, the blonde was more interested in the feel of that body, moulded against his own. A nose was pressed against the side of his neck, and chapped, warm lips pressed against his flushed skin in a light kiss that sent a wave of something nearly irresistible through his body. It had to be a sin, to create such a reaction in him when Harry had barely brushed Draco's flesh.

Nevertheless, the sensation was intoxicating, and a distant part of Draco warned him that a distraction was something he didn't want right about then.

"Harry," He breathed the name, with less of the authority he wanted to convey, and all of the neediness he didn't.

"Mm?" Harry's sly, moist tongue slid from the haven of his mouth to lap at the slight beading of sweat that had collected along the line of his throat. Draco gasped, his knees weak.

"I – I don't think this is the r-right time for this, Harry…" He kicked himself for stuttering, then forgot as the brunette took one of his idle hands and ran it up under Draco's shirt. His touch was like fire in a forest, wild and unpredictable. "Oh, Gods…"

Draco felt Harry's lips form a smile against his neck. "Oh, but it is. I've been locked within my own mind, Draco, and while I may not remember my past, who we are, or exactly why I am a slave here in this place, I fully remember how one shows appreciation to one's paramour. Don't you want to feel my appreciation, Draco?"

His statement was punctuated by a sharp thrust of his hips – showing Draco exactly how much Harry appreciated the blonde.

Draco wondered if he could resist the brunette. Wouldn't this be taking advantage of him? Harry couldn't remember who he was, their past, anything at all. Not to mention where they were – this was hardly the place for a romantic interlude. There were so many reasons not to indulge their needs.

Oh, but it felt too good. Draco sighed internally. Fuck if he didn't want to touch Harry, feel Harry, be the reason his verdantly green eyes darkened until they were almost black with lust. He wanted to taste the salt of the sweat on Harry's body as they worked each other into a haze of magic and sex, he wanted to plunge deep into the brunette's more than tangible heat, and soak up every expression, every sound, that the man let go as Draco marked him as his – no one would touch him once Draco was done.

With a growl, Draco whirled around and pressed Harry against the wall next to the window. His mouth took up possession of Harry's as he fought his last vestiges of conscience and found a compromise.

Tasting the sweet sourness of Harry's tongue on his lips, Draco quickly got rid of Harry's tunic so that he could place his hands on that sinful flesh. Draco felt like his hands skated over the flesh of a god, it felt so good. He memorised the texture, the gentle yielding of Harry's muscles to Draco's questing fingers. He scraped his short nails lightly down Harry's sides, and the brunette keened and shivered from the sensations.

"Fuck… Draco – It's been too long…" Harry looked at him with pleading eyes.

Draco smirked, and let his hand wander down to Harry's erection. Teasingly, he played with the waistband of his trousers as Harry panted through his need.

"What do you need, Harry?" Draco asked him softly, dipping his fingers under the band for a too-brief second. "Tell me."

Struggling with his words, Harry managed go gasp out the words that electrified Draco to the core.

"Need you inside me."

Without any further prompting Draco fumbled for his wand. In a matter of moments they were naked, and Draco had a bottle of lubricant – some lotion that had been lying around the room – in his hands. Wasting no time, he pressed the tip of one finger against Harry's opening. When Harry's expression remained relaxed, Draco slid it inside, and bit his lip. Several of his fantasies were about to come true, and the blonde was finding it hard to breathe, let alone make it easier on Harry – who had, as he'd confessed, not engaged in intercourse since (or so Draco assumed) he'd become enslaved.

Taking his time, Draco inserted another finger, and another, until he felt Harry was sufficiently prepared. Forgetting to breathe for a moment, Draco positioned the head of his cock against Harry's waiting hole, and, almost agonisingly slow, he thrust inside.

Both of them hissed at the sensation. For Draco, it was almost unbearable, how perfect and tight Harry was around his girth. It was better than he'd imagined, and as Harry opened his eyes to stare Draco down, the blonde knew he'd found something that was irreversible. He couldn't back away from this, and despite his reservations, he didn't want to. Harry was something else, and he'd always been. Draco wished, as his thrusts got more brutal, more passionate as his past regret took him over, that his eleven year old self could have been less prideful and arrogant, and become friends with Harry then, so that they could have been something other than enemies.

Like a man eating forbidden fruit in the forests of the gods, Draco dipped his head to taste Harry's skin. It was divine, the scent and smell of the man was almost like a narcotic to the blonde's system. Trailing kisses that left Harry moaning and clenching around Draco's cock, pumping furiously in and out of him, now, Draco made his way to Harry's divine lips. Attaching himself firmly to those lips, Draco attempted to suck the life out of the man. His tongue wrestled with Harry's as he felt the orgasm build in Harry's body. He wrapped one hand around Harry's throbbing arousal and began to pump him, in sync with his thrusts.

The man was panting as harshly as he, letting out small whimpers as Draco stroked that spot inside him over and over again, sending him into an agony of exquisite pleasure. Finally, the dam broke, and Harry shot his orgasm into Draco's awaiting palm with a hoarse cry.

As Harry's hole clenched around Draco's cock, he saw stars, and couldn't hold onto his own completion – with a shout, he came, thrusting a few times more, in a desperate attempt to make the experience last just that little bit longer.

Harry smiled as Draco waved his wand in a silent Scourgify, a few fortifying minutes later. He brushed his fingertips along the edges of Draco's face. "Thank you."

Draco thought that was an odd thing to say, but accepted it as something a Gryffindor would feel obliged to voice. "It was a mutual appreciation, Harry." Draco smirked, and tried to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling that had nothing to do with great sex (though it was surely part of it) and everything to do with the look in Harry's eyes.

Somewhere, a clock struck the hour, and Draco was snapped out of his haze. He took a step back and straightened his robes.

All business, Draco gave Harry a stern look as he smiled mischievously, and told him, "None of that, now. I have serious things to say. It's important, there's no way of knowing how much time we have."

Harry's face was suddenly serious, and he nodded. "Very well, Draco."

Draco was satisfied, but, oddly, he regretted that the happy glint in the brunette's eyes was replaced with something more serious.

"My contact and I have found a way to get you out of the castle, and attempt to sever the bond that holds you to this place."

Determination now shone from those eyes. "How soon can the plan go ahead?"

Draco wanted to smile. Even without his memories, Harry was smart enough not to ask any of the more obvious details – revealing the how and who of it could prove disastrous for them should they be caught. It was better if only Severus and Draco knew of the details.

"Soon, I hope." Draco replied. "A few weeks, perhaps."

Harry nodded, and stared into Draco's eyes for a long moment. Oddly, he repeated a sentiment he'd already expressed that night. "Thank you."

Draco was unaccustomed to such sincere gratitude, and only smiled in hesitant acceptance. Harry, however, laughed and gave him a quick kiss.

"Thank you, Draco. For everything." Draco thought he could understand what that meant – at least a little.

"You're welcome Harry."

The brunette smiled – but then it vanished, and his eyes lost a little of their brilliance as he intoned, "Is there anything Boy can do for Master?"

Draco was sure a part of him died whenever those lips oozed that sentence. He swore that soon, he would never hear it again.

Something inside him had snapped, surely. He was mad, he had to be. Draco struggled against a tide of self-loathing and recrimination as he lay there, paralyzed by his own thoughts. His wand was held in a loose grip by his limp hand, and he stared at it with something that was beginning to verge on complete and utter panic.

Why wouldn't it lift? Why couldn't his lips form any words?

He wanted to laugh bitterly, but he couldn't even manage that much. Something was terribly, terribly wrong with him.

Oh, Draco knew what it was, alright. He wasn't so stupid as to have failed to see it, when it stared him down every minute of the day, when he couldn't get the damn brunette out of his head.

It was a blow to his ego, however, and he refused to think about it, not when he really wanted to twitch his wand and whisper beautiful, soothing words that would spell out pain – for him, for some feckless Marked fool who happened to cross his path – anybody would have done at this stage. But alas. It did not so much as stir a mote of dust.

Oh to feel the sheer, simple joy of magic once more. For too long it had been a chore.

From a short distance away, Draco heard something crash as it fell to the ground. It was quickly followed by loud, frantic voices of people who were scared to their very cores. Closing his eyes in exhaustion, Draco managed to force himself out of his (ironically, self-enforced) stupor.

He had people to save, it seemed. Whether it was his own, or any of theirs, remained to be seen.

In the days and weeks that came next, Draco was on an edge he had not been familiar with since the Battle of Hogwarts. He jumped at the most insignificant of noises, was spooked by shadows, and he even found himself praying to the gods for help. It was more than his sensibilities could bear, and yet it continued.

He found that every time he was at the castle, he watched the slaves, suddenly and keenly aware of them, more than he had ever been. Draco was just as guilty as any Death Eater regarding the slaves. He abused their services, he didn't question their existence anymore. Like any pureblood snob, he'd taken to them like he had the House Elves, as though he were born with them as his subordinates.

It made him ashamed, more than ever, to think of the world he had come from, and the one he lived in now. To deny anyone basic human rights was something he should never have stood for. What he was doing now for Harry was too little, too late. How can one right a whole lifetime of wrongs with one deed?

Picking at the dirt under his nails, Draco tried to calm down. The moon was almost full, sitting fat and round in the sky, reminding him that on the night of no moon, he and Severus would implement their plan. Not only were the wards weaker on nights with no moon, but it would work with their cover, with certain potions ingredients being available on this night only.

The old floorboards of the Shrieking Shack creaked as Draco shifted his weight, full to the brim of nervous energy. He was glad that no one was around to see him at that moment. He'd taken to sitting in the Shrieking Shack for solitude and solace away from the castle. That place was like a prison, suffocating in its intensity of dark magics and haunted memories. Draco was infinitely better where he was.

The clouds shifted in the sky, and the light that had illuminated the room suddenly vanished as the moon's face was obscured by the cover. Draco closed his eyes, and remembered what Severus had said.

"The Dark Lord has agreed to my request. We will have a small window of opportunity on the dark of the moon. It is not a chance that will be repeated, so we must be diligent, or face the consequences." In his glittering, black eyes Draco had thought he'd seen something like fear – or, less likely – hope, buried there beneath the façade.

Suddenly Severus's face had levelled out and he had squared Draco with a particularly stern look. "I understand the nature of what we're about to attempt, and I am aware – in all its morbid minutiae – of what could befall us, should our plan fail. I hope you have prepared yourself as well, Draco."

Draco did know, and it was one of the chief reasons he got no rest at night. But the foremost reason was the very person they were attempting to set free – Potter, the be-all and end-all of Draco's existence, past, present and future, all rested on those unwitting shoulders. It was almost more than the Slytherin in him could bear.

His chance meeting with Smith came to his mind, and suddenly Draco wondered if he weren't taking Potter from a bad situation and pushing him into one that was infinitely worse. How could one man stand tall when the weight of the world was putting everything into pushing him down?

"What are we doing?" Draco murmured to himself, while he waited, alone, crouched in some inconspicuous bushes perched at the edge of a very conspicuous forest in an area that lost its inconspicuous cover long ago.

Nerves were eating away at Draco's insides like grubby little maggots inside a corpse. They had to be crazy, to try this. How would they get away with it? The Dark Lord hadn't gotten to be the unequivocal leader of the Wizarding World by sheer luck alone. He was cunning, ruthless, and above all, a paranoid murderer.

"We're crazy, so crazy." His breath rose in small puffs of steam in the air as Draco fought not to fidget with his suppressed agitation. The blonde felt like a skittish horse fighting blind panic. "Where are you, Severus?"

Draco checked his watch for the fiftieth time that minute. The magical numbers read the same time, just a few seconds later than it had been last time. However, the information was essentially this: Severus was late.

What if he'd been caught out? What if something happened to them? What if the Dark Lord was suspicious and set spells on Severus to make sure he didn't try to do just what they wanted to try to do?

Draco forced himself to breathe. He was being unreasonable – he would not panic until Severus was really, truly late. Then he would calmly, and reasonably, decide on a course of action.

Time passed, and clouds began to gather on the horizon, marring the otherwise clear night sky, free of the overwhelming presence of the moon. The clear scent of tree sap and decaying leaves was strong in the slight breeze, and faintly, Draco could smell the unmistakable odour of a rare potions ingredient that only bloomed on the night of no moon. At least their story would check out.

Just as Draco was allowing himself to truly panic, the sharp crack of Apparition cut through the stillness of the air and Severus appeared, with Harry latched onto his arm.

"Thank Circe!" Draco muttered under his breath. Relief pooled in his gut like warm cider. He watched as Severus let go of Harry to set off the signal to Draco that the coast was clear.

Oh his feet almost before the signal had been given, Draco emerged from his hiding place, and Severus gave him a tired ghost of a smile.

"I apologise for my tardiness." Severus gave the blonde a half-shrug and a tilt of the head. "We were… waylaid by certain… events."

Draco looked to Harry in alarm, but the slave looked overworked, tired, and still under the bond of slavery, but otherwise unharmed. His guise still hid his true appearance, but wounds would have been visible. He took a deep breath, and looked to Severus again.

"Are our plans compromised, or may we continue?" Draco questioned tersely. His hands fidgeted with his wand.

"We are safe for now. I cannot guarantee our position after tonight, however."

Draco nodded, expecting as much. Without another word spoken, they gently herded a still-subservient Harry towards the trees. They needed to get as far away from the Apparition point as possible, and hide their trail.

"Draco?" The blonde's head snapped around to look at Harry. The brunette was looking at him with eyes brighter than the constellation Draco was named after, but they were the same green that Draco remembered from their school years. "Where are we?"

Draco smiled reassuringly and grabbed Harry's hand in a firm grip, leading him as they continued their trek through the underbrush.

"Away from Hogwarts." Draco relished the words. "We're setting you free tonight, Harry."

With a gasp, Harry stopped walking, and Draco paused, still holding his hand. Those brilliant green eyes stared into his with a mixture of intense hope and longing, but also despair. Heart hammering, lips quivering, Draco was filled with the desperate need to rid those eyes of that despair, and rid Harry of the longing he'd been suffering for so long. And Draco would make sure it would never exist again.

"Free?" Harry breathed the word, as though he were afraid to utter such dreams aloud. To Draco, it was like watching a blind man learn he could see again.

"Free, Harry." Draco reassured. He gave the hand he held a squeeze, and then gently set Harry back to walking the path.

Severus wisely kept his eyes on the track ahead.

It was several hours before they made it to the clearing Severus had picked out for the event. Without any delay, both Severus and Draco set about creating a protective circle around the area. They'd chosen it not only for its distance, but also its magical energy – it was centered on the crossing of two lesser ley lines, and Draco was sure they would need all of the magical boost they could manage to break the bonds on Harry. It was also easily defensible if the worst should happen, and the Dark Lord caught them.

The sun had still not yet risen when they completed all the necessary spells.

"This is it, Harry." Draco said, rolling the handle of his wand between his palms. "Severus is going to attempt to break the bonds now. Prepare yourself."

Looking pale but determined, Harry stared into Severus's eyes, and then the Potions Master cast the spell.

Draco watched with breathless anxiety. A mixture of emotions ran rampant in Draco's body, battering through him as he watched Severus delve into Harry's mind. Hope that the bond would be broken. Anxiety that something would go wrong and Harry or Severus would be hurt. The worst of all was the dread, the all-consuming fear that Harry would remember how much he'd hated Draco, and that things would go back to how they had been… before. Draco wasn't sure if he could stand it.

For most of his life Draco had tried to deny Harry's intense presence and influence on his world, but he couldn't – not now. He'd still love the prat if he had a lazy eye and a tail. Nothing would interfere with what he'd found ever again, even if the Dark Lord himself came after them.

As Draco watched with growing trepidation, and the night gradually began to lighten into dawn, Harry's brow began to bead with sweat. A red flush of exertion spread over Severus, and they began to shake, though they did not move.

Feeling trapped, like a predator backed into a corner, Draco paced around the pair as they began to show more signs that all was not going well. Draco was about to raise his wand when Harry began to cry out in pain, and Severus severed the link between them with a shout of panic. Both of them fell to the ground in exhaustion.

Draco rushed over and knelt beside them. His hands were shaking as he touched Harry lightly. "Are you okay?"

Harry moaned faintly and Draco brushed the sweaty fringe from his forehead.

"Severus?"

"I am… okay. Tired, but okay." Severus answered. Draco looked at him pleadingly.

But Severus shook his head. "It did not work, Draco. I am sorry… but, there was a barrier to my magic. A lack of trust, or intimacy, which meant Harry could not sever the bonds, even with my help."

Draco looked askance at Harry. "What will we do, then? This was our only hope."

"Draco… it did not work because Harry was not emotionally attached to me. He had nothing to grasp instead of the slavery bond. Where I was lacking, perhaps you do not. There is hope yet."

The blonde Slytherin stared at Harry. "But – I'm hardly the Legilimens you are. I might harm him."

"I do not think so, Draco." Severus stood up, and nodded at Draco. "Do not underestimate your own ability. That is the most important thing right now."

Draco helped Harry to his feet as Severus continued, "I will go now, before the Dark Lord begins to suspect. I may be able to bide you some time, to sever the bond, and hopefully flee further east."

"But – Severus, I cannot ask so much of you. You don't have to go back there."

"You don't need to do this for us, Severus." Harry added.

Severus nodded to Harry, and smirked sardonically. "Ever the bane of my existence, Potter. But I am glad to have helped at all."

Harry stared at the Potions Master earnestly, sensing that the argument was lost. "I… thank you Severus. I hope you do not enter danger once you leave this place. I am in your debt. Once I regain my memories, and my magic, I'll endeavour to repay your kindness."

Overcome, Severus gripped Harry's shoulder in thanks. "You've all we have left in this world, Potter. Don't put everything on the line for my old neck."

When Harry just looked confused, Severus shook his head and turned to Draco. "Look after him, Draco. Though I suspect you don't need to be told."

Smirking, Draco clasped Severus's wrist in farewell. "Look after your own arse, old man. You're still useful to us. And thank you. For everything – I do hope that one day, you'll get your freedom."

"I'd hardly know what to do with myself, would I? My whole life has been in the service of someone else." Severus smiled sadly.

With a final nod, Severus turned in a flare of robes, and left the protective circle.

"He'll be okay," Draco said, once the dark shape of Severus had disappeared completely. Harry nodded.

"Now, Harry," Draco resumed briskly. Time was really running out, now. "I'm going to enter your mind and attempt to diffuse the bond. We're quite far from the castle, now, and the Dark Lord, so it should not be as strong. Also, your resistance is at its peak, so it's now or never, because we'll never get another chance like this. All there is for it, is to make a clean break, while cushioning the blow as best we can. I don't know what sort of repercussions there could be, the bond is a new one, and has never been studied or broken before. So prepare yourself for it and-"

"Draco," Harry interrupted. He stepped up to Draco, and placed his hands on either side of the blonde's face, earning him Draco's entire attention. "Stop rambling. I trust you."

Draco sighed and pressed his forehead to Harry's, allowing himself that one weakness. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Harry was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Swallowing, Draco shook his head and smiled shakily. "Just – remember, remember me like this, okay, Harry? When everything comes back, remember me as I am now. Remember that I – I care for you deeply. Please, Harry, promise me that!"

Without missing a beat, Harry promised. "I do. I promise." The questions were left unspoken in his eyes, but Draco could not bear to think of the answers, so he set about arranging them in a comfortable position in the centre of the protective circle.

"Are you ready?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled, and grasped Draco's hands in his own. "Draco, I'm ready. I love you."

Draco's eyes felt itchy, and his throat tight. He took a deep breath, and before he could second-guess himself, he focused on Harry's eyes, and incanted the spell.

"Legilimens!"

Wading through someone's mind was a singular experience for any witch or wizard. Some had described it as trying to move through waist-high quicksand which continually threatens to suck you under. Others had likened it to a partial Body-Bind spell, which left you vulnerable and without the aid of necessary limbs.

To Draco, it was one of the most terrifying and draining things anyone could do, and he loathed it. It was an exquisite torture – he didn't want to delve into Harry's mind, didn't relish it, but its very necessity made it that much more loathsome to him. Breaking the initial Occlumency Harry had managed to build up, which was like brushing away old cobwebs, Draco found himself floating in the abyss of Harry's thoughts.

He was surrounded.

More than before it seemed, Harry's mind was surrounded by thick, binding chains. Draco, locked with Harry, felt the pressure. He felt the weight of them as if he were the one bonded to slavery. Harry's awakening self, pinned to the furthest recesses of his mind, was crying out in agony, and each cry rent through Draco like the fangs of a snake, dripping with a deadly venom. The wound of Harry's pain echoed through the venom and pierced Draco's heart until it was he who was crying out.

This was the connection Severus had been talking about.

Ignoring the pain, Draco summoned all the magical energy he could, and focused his efforts on the chains that bound Harry.

Externally, Draco still felt the cold earth through his robes, could smell the fresh sap and decaying leaves in the air he breathed, and he began to sense the magic from the ley lines, warm and ancient as the earth, flow through the channels of his own body. It poured through him into his wand, and finally, into Harry.

The magic swirled around and through Harry's body, which was unused to such an amount of magic after years of very little. But the body does not forget, and soon it had found its place. His mind still entwined with Harry's, Draco took control of the magic, and directed it at the chains.

They were beginning to lose their solidity, and now resembled stained glass. Through their connection, Draco felt Harry struggling against the stubborn magic of the bonds, and the healing magic of the earth. Using himself as the stabiliser, Draco held onto the bits of Harry that were under threat of the bond. He clung to them, and prayed to Merlin that Harry would be whole and himself once more.

With a sense of triumph, Draco saw that the chains began to shake, before small cracks began to appear through each link. He held onto Harry more tightly, and willed them to shatter.

But before even so much as one link broke, something disturbed Draco's concentration. Alarmed, he scanned Harry's mind, and the chains, but that had not been what Draco heard.

It was outside Harry's mind, in the forest with them. Panic rising like a dark parody of a phoenix in his chest, Draco let himself assess the threat, and felt all the colour leave his body.

The Dark Lord's men had discovered them.

There they were, a troop of Marked with a Death Eater to lead them standing there, watching Draco and Harry. The blonde fought to remain in control of the magic pouring through Harry, and think of a plan at the same time. Luckily the protective shields around them were still up, which gave Draco time to think. But who knew how long it would take the Dark Lord's minions to overcome the defenses?

Draco turned his attention back to Harry's mind. The chains were still there, but the cracks had spread, and it was only a matter of time before they shattered completely. Why did it have to be so slow? Draco willed Harry to embrace the magic more, to force the bond away from him. He could feel the brunette's consciousness stir as the magic in the bond began to wane. But it wasn't fast enough.

Struggling to keep track of what was happening, Draco was only dimly aware of the ground shaking. However, when the Marked tore the first rift in the protective wards, Draco knew he had to let Harry go, and protect his body while his mind struggled with the remaining steps in the process.

"You can beat this Harry," Draco whispered, both in Harry's mind, and outside of it. "I love you."

With a great wrench of strength, Draco tore himself from Harry's mind and the magic that entwined them, and sprawled backwards on the grass of the clearing. He felt like he'd just run a five kilometer race in a matter of minutes.

But he had no time to recover. The Marked were moments away from dissembling the wards altogether.

Rage surged through Draco as he watched the last of the shields waver and dissipate. Could Harry never catch a break? Had the Dark Lord not done all he could to ruin Harry's life already? Enough was enough!

Almost before he'd thought of it, the first spell dripped from his lips and fired out of his wand. "Impedimenta!"

The first of the Marked through the barrier was hurled back past the shield. Already another had advanced, and spells were being cast with rapid succession.

Somehow Draco managed to cast a temporary Protego over Harry, before knocking a Marked sideways in a burst of purple sparks. He kept his back to Harry, watching over him as best he could. It was painfully evident that Draco was woefully outnumbered, but he intended to defend Harry, to the end, if need be.

Fighting the Marked, Draco was grateful that the Death Eater hadn't attacked at the same time. But he was wary of the reason for this. The Dark Lord would not send one of his precious underlings for nothing.

Sweat beaded Draco's brow as he cast yet another defensive spell to repel the attack. He was panting with the exertion of a twenty to one duel, when the Marked stepped to the side, and the leader of the assembled men made his way towards the almost extinguished blonde. He was cloaked, as Death Eaters ever were, in the darkness of his own soul with the glitter of malice about his person. Draco immediately took a defensive stance and waited with a wary eye.

"Malfoy," the voice was muffled behind the Death Eater mask, but Draco heard him well enough. His tone was laced with the sting of sarcasm. "Fancy meeting you here."

Draco cocked an eyebrow in a show of nonchalance. "Felt like a night-time stroll."

Even though he could not see it, he knew the man was smirking at him. "Indeed, traitor."

Keeping his wand in a battle-ready position, the Death Eater stalked towards Draco while he continued talking down to the blonde.

"Tell me, scum, after all the Dark Lord has done for you and yours, why would you betray him like this?" Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, Draco stared the Death Eater down. He hoped that he could keep the attention on himself, and prevent them from noticing Harry's identity for long enough that he could break the bond. Then they could flee.

"Done for me? What has the Dark Lord done for anybody but give them pain?" Draco spat on the Death Eater's boots. "Death Eater swine."

The Death Eater had gone rigid. "You insult the Dark Lord's mission, and his messenger. I will enjoy your execution all the more now, pig." The Marked laughed in uniform mockery. "I don't know what you were thinking, stealing away one of the Dark Lord's slaves. You're more foolish than your father was. At least he died courageously, in battle."

Draco growled and lashed out with a severe burning hex. The Death Eater stepped easily to the side and chuckled darkly under his mask.

"Oh you'll pay. The Dark Lord didn't specify in what condition you had to be brought back to him." The Death Eater stepped closer to Draco, so that the cold nose of his mask almost touched the traitorous blonde's skin. "This is going to get nice and messy, now."

Draco was staring the Death Eater down, so he didn't see the signal that he sent to the troops waiting by the shield's opening. He did notice when curses were being thrown his way.

With a shout, he rolled away from the Death Eater, who had stepped back once more, and began to counter what was thrown his way.

It became obvious, quite quickly, that Draco was already worn out from the previous fight, and his exertions to sever the bond in Harry. With the martyring grace of a Gryffindor, Draco changed his defense slightly, letting the minor hexes hit his flanks while he sent more extensive hexes at the Marked.

But it was a useless effort. He'd only managed to incapacitate a handful of Marked before he crumpled under the strain. This was it. He could do nothing more.

Draco closed his eyes and prayed for mercy. If not for himself, then for Harry, who was all but defenseless in his current state.

Breathing in the damp air of the early morning, Draco felt a peace settle over him he'd never felt after a battle before. This time, he was fighting for something he could be proud of, rather than something to try and forget. Harry had made all that difference.

He opened his eyes. The Death Eater was hovering over him, wand in hand. The others stood back against the shield, like the bloodthirsty dogs they were. The Death Eater's eyes glittered with something that Draco couldn't define… fear, or maybe awe? Was there more than that there?

And then Draco knew… he'd seen those eyes before. The fear drained out of him.

"Bug," he whispered. The Death Eater chuckled.

"Took you long enough," He lifted the mask to show the smirking face of Zacharias Smith. "Follow my lead, and get as far away as you can with the slave. The Dark Lord isn't happy."

"I should have known you were playing both sides. How else would you have gotten those weapons…" Draco would have chuckled, but all he managed was a weak, breathless cough.

"We can't all be as smart as I am." Smith rolled his shoulders, as though he were readying himself for a big spell. "You'll only have a few seconds to get free before I'll have to act, so you'd better not be as banged up as you look."

Draco shrugged, though he was still laying prostate on the ground. "I'm tougher than I look."

"You wish, Princess." Smith smirked one last time, and moved his wand in a high arc, accompanied by the low whisper of Smith's voice as he incanted the spell that would momentarily freeze all his men.

The strain appeared almost instantly on his brow. The spell was too ambitious for Smith, but he could sustain it long enough for Draco to disappear.

With a lurch, Draco got himself onto his knees and crawled to Harry. His heart was too big for his chest as he took in the pale features and hollowed eyes of the brunette. But he looked peaceful, untroubled. Draco pressed two fingers to his throat, and with relief, felt the pulse beating under the skin, strong and steady as the Danube.

Harry's eyes flickered open for a moment, and Draco pressed a hand to his cheek. Harry nuzzled the hand like a weakened kitten. Draco smiled. There was hope for them, yet.

"We'll be out of here in a moment." He told the man. Draco looked at Smith, and smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, Smith. Potter and I are in your debt."

Smith's eyes widened and his hands almost faltered on holding the spell. "Potter…?"

Draco nodded, and then with a firm grasp on Harry, he Disapparated.

They landed in the only place Draco had been able to think of, one of his mother's secret safe-houses. There were few of them left, largely due to the Dark Lord's habit of destroying whole counties. But no matter, this place was safe enough for the moment. Draco estimated they had about a day until they were actively hunted down. He just hoped that Harry had broken the bond. By the look of peaceful slumber on his face, however, Draco thought that they had succeeded. No one encumbered by a slave bond could look so angelic.

He stumbled down the dark hallway of the small cottage to the bedroom, supporting Harry's dead weight along the way. When they reached the bed, he collapsed on it, and Harry fell with him.

Sighing into the bedclothes, Draco drifted off to sleep, never having wanted a bath more in his life than in that moment.

The End.