Title: In Between
Rating: R
Pairings: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 33k (in 5/6 parts)
Author's Notes: Written for HD Holidays as a gift for Frayach who wanted and old fashioned HBP AU.
Thank you singlemomsummer for the beta work. Story is complete and am posting in chapters to break it up.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: The Dark Lord gives Draco an impossible mission: befriend Harry Potter or face the consequences.

:o:o:o:

Sometimes Harry felt as though his default setting was 'lonely' and today felt like his worst day yet.

He was consigned to his bedroom again, this time as punishment for not cutting the lawn before it began to rain, but he knew that if it hadn't been that it would have been something else, some other excuse. He wondered how he was expected to find the time for mowing lawns with all of his other chores, but he knew that there was no answer to that, that it was expected that he would fail. He wasn't lucky enough to be in possession of a time-turner, nor was he a trained Weather-Wizard and in possession of the ability to predict oncoming weather fronts.

Now it was raining like it might never stop. The ground outside was saturated as the sky was darkening with the early evening gloom of a stormy summer's evening. Not that it particularly mattered to Harry what it was like outside at the moment; it wasn't as though he had somewhere else to be today or for any other day for the rest of the summer. Staring out of his bedroom window into the garden below was the best entertainment on offer to him at this moment in time and quite probably until he returned to school in September.

Downstairs he could hear the Dursleys, their plates and cutlery clattering noisily as they ate their evening meal of roast chicken and summer vegetables that Harry had cooked for them and served up before being banished up to his bedroom with some chicken scraps and a slice of none too fresh bread and butter that had filled a hole, but went nowhere near satisfaction.

Still, with his loving family busy filling their faces downstairs, Harry had been able to enjoy a much needed shower, albeit a quick one, before Uncle Vernon realised what Harry was doing; normally he was only allowed a shower every three or four days and he'd had one yesterday. He'd stealthily returned to his room with a tiny towel just about secured around his narrow waist, the only towel he was allowed to use, and leant against the window frame to stare longingly outside.

Harry knew he could stand there in the in the dark at the window all night, but it was clear that there was nothing on its way to him, no owls, no rescue…no anything.

Happy sixteenth birthday, Harry Potter.

He was all by himself on his birthday, as usual. Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy sodding birthday. What a bloody joke; nothing had really changed since his childhood. He reached out to pull the curtains closed so he could retire to his threadbare bed when a light flickering to life in the house over the back caught his eye and he froze in anticipation, dropping his hand to his side as he watched a shirtless man walk into the bedroom that mirrored his own, walk to a desk chair in front of the window and collapse onto it, running his hand through tousled blond hair.

The man was older than Harry, about twenty he had estimated, tall and lean with the muscles of a runner. He frowned, closed his eyes, and with a slight tip of his head, he moved his hands to his waistband, twisted a button and yanked down the zip on his jeans, allowing Harry a view of his prick as it sprang free. It was long, red and – Harry winced at the realisation – it looked delicious. He'd seen him walking around in his room without his shirt before, but this, this was a first.

Harry decided that perhaps his birthday wasn't a total wash-out after all. His neighbour probably couldn't see him as he was stood in the dark so Harry shimmied his hips and the flimsy towel covering his own cock fell to the floor. He had been pleasantly aware of it happening, but it was still almost a surprise to find that he was as hard as he actually was.

Neighbour guy wrapped a tanned hand around his own length and began to stroke; Harry mirrored him, unable to tear his eyes off the other man's cock as it appeared and disappeared into his fist as he pumped himself slowly, head tipped back, the corner of his mouth trapped between his teeth.

Harry didn't take long, his orgasm building in the soles of his feet and spreading through the rest of his body to take over every one of his nerve endings as he exploded into his hand, beating the man he was watching to it by a couple of strokes. Harry milked himself dry, mesmerised by the expression on the face of the man as he came, eyes closed, his hips bucking up off the chair as his orgasm hit him.

When his eyes flew open and he seemed to look straight at Harry, Harry gasped and with speed he didn't know he could possess after such an intense orgasm, he dragged his curtains shut and collapsed back onto his bed, his breathing ragged.

He'd been trying to deny this for the past couple of years, this need to look at other men, the desire to touch them as he knew his schoolmates wanted to touch girls. Harry didn't want to be gay. He wanted for something in his life to be 'normal'. Was that too much to ask? After everything that had happened to him in his sixteen years, why couldn't this one thing, this one extremely important thing, be the one thing he didn't have to worry about any more than any average teenage boy, be he a Wizard or a Muggle?

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Could this just be a phase? What just happened was nothing more than his loneliness and needingsomething on his birthday – some human contact with someone who didn't hate him. That was all it was, all it could be. He couldn't like blokes like that. He wanted to be straight, normal, and if he lived long enough – something that was always a question mark given his history – he was going to marry a nice witch, settle down and have a family. It was all he'd ever wanted. A warm and loving family who loved him, not the Boy Who Lived, but Harry Potter; because of who he was, not because of his scar and his name.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon's voice broke him out of the semi-trance he had slipped into. "Get down here you good for nothing lump! The washing up needs doing, and-"

Harry groaned and rolled off the bed, and for the first time in forever, was glad of the distraction the Durlsey's chores offered. Anything was better than facing the truth.

:o:o:o:

"It won't work. Potter hates me, he always has," Draco argued, sick with nerves, his voice rising slightly, but his words might as well have been directed at the moon for all the impact he was making.

"You will befriend Harry Potter, Draco," the Dark Lord hissed. He pointed a bony hand in the direction of Draco's mother who glanced nervously around her, at the assembly of Death Eaters and swallowed thickly. Voldemort crooked a finger and she immediately gathered herself with a pale smile and the Black poise and walked over to stand beside him. Voldemort, his reptilian eyes sliding sideways towards Narcissa said, "Do not fail me on this. I warn you, the consequences will be…unpleasant."

The implication was clear. Draco had to do what he was instructed or his mother would pay the price. He glanced at her now, their gazes meeting, identical fear in both sets of eyes. She nodded at him, an almost imperceptible inclination of her head that many would miss had they not been looking for it.

"I will do as you ask as best I can, My Lord," he replied, bowing accordingly. "If I am to do so, however, might I be allowed to know why?"

Several of the Death Eaters gasped at Draco's audacity, and Draco immediately regretted his impulsive words. Would he never learn the time and the place for certain…matters? His father would be ashamed if he were here, which of course he wasn't, hence the reason Draco was making promises he was certain he wouldn't be able to keep.

He was surprised when Voldemort laughed; a skin crawlingly unpleasant low chuckle that set all the hairs on the back of Draco's neck to attention. "No, Draco, you may not be allowed to know why. You will wait for my command. I am a reasonable man; I do not expect you to have the boy's trust immediately. I will give you this advice: do not allow yourself to become fond of the boy – it would be unfortunate to see you grieving for him when he meets his death at my hand."

Draco almost snorted at the concept, even as the nausea rose in his throat at the inevitable failure of this ridiculous mission. Become fond of Potter? Even if he did consider Potter's arse to be one of the wonders of the magical world, he'd sooner dive headfirst into a vat of Bubotuber Pus than have to actually spend any time with him. Not that he even believed that he could succeed in making friends with the wanker. Potter would be too busy basking in the admiration of his many groupies to find a moment for Draco. Besides, he'd already failed spectacularly at befriending him five years ago when his eleven year old self had offered Potter his hand, back when he'd genuinely wanted to be friends with him and Potter hadn't even known anything about him. Potter had still chosen Weasley over him; Draco was under no illusions that he would accept any sort of overture of friendship now, not after everything that had happened in the years since then.

Draco caught himself in his thoughts and realising everyone was staring expectantly at him he bowed again and stepped over to stand back next to Crabbe and Goyle, determinedly not looking at them, knowing that had they been anywhere else and Draco had told them about what he had to do then they would have been on the floor shaking with laughter. Neither one of them was laughing now, and Draco suspected that after today they never would again, not with him.

The meeting continued for some minutes, but Draco had tuned out, his mind reeling from what he had been asked to do. Befriend Potter. The concept was ridiculous, not to mention impossible!

Draco glanced at his mother again, to find her watching him with obvious concern. He forced a small smile, silently cursing his father for being in Azkaban and leaving them both alone and unprotected in the monster's lair like this.

Make friends with Harry Potter. He felt a un-Malfoy-like hysterical giggle trying to fight its way free from his throat.

He was fucked.

:o:o:o:

Harry loved sitting in the Muggle greasy spoon café at the station. He could sit there for hours, watching the trains come and go, Muggles bustling past, getting on with their lives, unaffected by an impending magical war, blissfully oblivious to what was coming. They were so lucky and they didn't even know it.

The young man who worked behind the counter was almost beautiful with huge blue eyes and a genuine smile for all of his customers. Harry smiled back at him when he brought him his third coffee, and asked him what time he finished. "Ten," he answered, brushing a lock of dark blond hair out of his eyes. "Would you like to…go for a walk?" And there it was; as it had been since the evening of Harry's birthday when they had first set eyes on one another. When Harry had been able to get away from the Dursleys he'd found find respite here – once he'd got past his embarrassment regarding what had happened that day - with his new…friend.

Harry nodded, smiling at him, and drinking in Seth's beaming grin. Seth returned to work and Harry dug the Prophet out of his rucksack and stared down at the picture on the front page for the umpteenth time that day. Someone had snapped Malfoy and his mother in Diagon Alley yesterday, and the article was speculating on Lucius Malfoy's internment in Azkaban following the 'incident' in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry hoped the older Malfoy was suffering horribly for his crime; Sirius was dead thanks to him and his Death Eater pals. Harry would never see him again.Never. The one person who had been Harry's own family… Yes. he knew the Weasleys loved him but no one loved him and took away that empty lonely feeling like Sirius had.

The pale face of Draco Malfoy stared out of the photograph at him; the worry on both his and his mother's faces clear to see. Good, Harry thought maliciously. He hoped they were both utterly wretched. Lucius was still alive and cunning enough to be out of that prison before long; frankly Harry didn't see what they had to be so anxious about – well, apart from the whole dancing to the tune of a mad man thing – but that was entirely their own stupid fault and as far as Harry was concerned, he hoped they got everything they deserved.

When ten o'clock rolled around Seth waited for Harry at the door, and they walked hand in hand out of the station and towards the nearby park. Seth told him funny stories about annoying customers and how his uni dissertation was going to be the end of him. Harry loved to listen; Seth's life was so carefree.

When Seth pushed Harry back against a tree near the park gates and kissed him, his tongue pressing for entry into his mouth, which Harry allowed, Harry wished – not for the first time – that he didn't have to go back to school, but – there was just something not right about this thing with Seth, something that niggled, yet before he had chance to explore further there was a loud pop to his right, and in shocked recognition, Harry pulled out of the kiss and gaped when he saw Professor Dumbledore standing beneath the street light on the opposite side of the road, his long blue robes billowing in the breeze.

"What's wrong?" Seth asked, turning to look over his shoulder in the direction of Harry's stare. "What are you looking at?"

Dumbledore waved. Seth turned back to Harry with a puzzled expression. Clearly he could not see the old man. Well, bloody great.

"Look – er – I have to go. I forgot I need to be somewhere." Harry couldn't ignore the summons of his mentor. "I'll see you soon though, yeah?"

Seth spluttered, "What-?" but Harry had kissed his forehead and was heading across the road to Dumbledore, who had started walking towards an alleyway, disappearing into it. Harry followed, Seth already forgotten.

"Harry, my boy, so terribly sorry for the dreadful timing," Dumbledore greeted, not looking sorry at all. "He really is truly beautiful, you are a lucky boy."

Harry rolled his eyes, he didn't feel very lucky although being caught snogging a bloke by his headmaster was not as mortifying as Harry might have thought it would be. "Well, he probably won't talk to me again after I've just run out on him like this." He supposed he should be a lot more bothered about that than he was, but other than feeling a little guilty for leaving him standing there staring after him, he didn't feel too much regret that he had possibly just burnt his bridges; and just like that lay the answer to the niggle.

"I am in need of your help, Harry," Dumbledore said, and any lingering thoughts of pretty Muggle boyfriends exited Harry's head. Dumbledore held out his arm, "Will you join me?"

Harry took hold and experienced his first Side-Along. Nausea pulsed through him when they reappeared on the village green of a picture postcard Muggle village and then as quickly as the sickness had arrived it was gone.

"Why are we here?" It was eerily quiet; there was not a single person to be seen despite the balmy late summer evening and the brightness of the moonlight.

"There's someone I want you to meet," Dumbledore told him and led Harry towards the gate of an old Georgian townhouse. "I only ask that you follow my cue and save any questions until we leave."

::

Harry was pleased when Dumbledore Apparated him to the Burrow after his introduction to the slimy Professor Slughorn, a man who had been instantly star struck by Harry from the moment he'd heard his name and seen the famous scar with his own eyes. He had delighted in showing Harry his collection of photographs of famous ex-students to which Harry had made the appropriate noises of approval and kept his opinions to himself.

"Dumbledore says he wants me to let Slughorn 'collect' me," he told Ron and Hermione once the excitement of his arrival had died down and Molly and Ginny had retired to their own quarters leaving him alone with his two best friends. The three of them sat on the floor in Ron's room with crossed legs and happy smiles from the joy of being together again. "He hasn't told me why yet, but when is he ever anything other than cryptic?" Dumbledore operated on a pure 'need to know' basis, and Harry had no doubt that he would find out eventually why Dumbledore wanted him to ingratiate himself into Slughorn's good graces.

"I'm sorry I missed your birthday, Harry," Hermione said when they had settled into quiet contemplation. She rummaged into her bag and pulled out a shiny gift-wrapped present and handed it to Harry. "It's not much but-"

Harry took it, giving it a squeeze. He didn't get many presents. "Thanks, Hermione, I-" The gift was hard and unyielding. He laughed. "It's a book isn't it?"

Hermione bristled. "You can never have too many books, Harry!"

Harry grinned, tearing at the paper and saying, "No, I don't suppose you can." He leant forward and kissed her cheek. "Now, have I missed anything?" He glanced down at the book and found 'Potions for Idiots'. He snorted, trying to suppress a laugh.

"Nothing much, I only got here the day before yesterday myself, I was in Italy with my parents before that," Hermione said, shooting Harry a disapproving look at his reaction to the book. "Other than Ron and I saw Malfoy yesterday in Flourish and Blotts and we overheard-"

"We overheard his Mum consoling him on being rejected!" Ron interrupted, conspiring about Malfoy being one of his favourite topics. "It was brilliant! The ferret must have a tried it on with someone. I'd love to know who! I tried to listen for more but they left and I didn't see where they went."

Harry sighed. This was hardly information that would lead to Voldemort's downfall. Malfoy trying to get into some prissy pureblood girl's knickers was amusing but it wouldn't win the war. He did wonder who it might be though…

"It made Ron's day- He forgot to buy the books he went in to buy," Hermione interjected.

Ron ignored her, launching into talking about the Cannon's latest victory, and from there they moved on to discuss their summer antics, or in Harry's case, lack thereof. He did not tell them about Seth. He wasn't ready for the hugeness of that conversation and just wanted this year to be normal, or as least as normal as it could be for someone whose name was Harry Potter.

:o:o:o:

Draco watched the Golden Gits arrive from his hiding place behind the Muggle stationery cubicle at King's Cross station. He sidled up behind a fat Muggle who had planted himself in the middle of the concourse to talk into a black plastic contraption and watched as Granger appeared to be lecturing Potter and Weasley about something. The expression on their faces was that of resigned horror.

The she-weasel circled at a distance, her huge blue eyes trained on Potter like a lovesick puppy. Not that Potter even noticed as he was now rummaging frantically through a ratty looking backpack with a frown. None of them saw Draco.

He continued in his observations of Potter, as it was him that he had to concentrate his efforts on, though undoubtedly he'd have to try to be pleasant to the other two as well. Damn it all to Salazar, as if being nice to Potter wasn't going to be challenge enough!

He noted that Potter looked skinnier than he had been at the end of fifth year, as he always did at the start of a new year and- Dammit, why would he evenknow that? Anyway, despite that predictable downturn in Potter's physical appearance Draco noticed that his choice of clothing had markedly improved – he was wearing slim fitting Muggle jeans that hugged that still fine arse and some of those white-soled trainers that Muggles favoured and he looked…passable, even if he did look as if he hadn't slept in a month.

How could he still look so gorgeous? It wasn't fair that he should be Harry Potter and so attractive with it. He should be hideous with that scar, but no, hideous was the last word Draco would use to describe Potter – unless he applied it to his personality.

Despite his train of thought, Draco's lips quirked into a smirk at the evidence that Potter wasn't sleeping. It served the bastard right. It was partly down to him, after all, that his father was in Azkaban and Draco was in this mess in the first place. That didn't stop him from hating Lucius as well, not at all. His father was the one who instigated their worship of Voldemort – his mother loved Lucius too much to argue with his decisions, and Draco, well, he had come to his senses too late and now he bore the mark as well. It had been forced upon him the first day of the school holidays.

The pain had almost been the end of him.

He was now Draco Malfoy, reluctant Death Eater. He hadn't wanted the mark, he still didn't. He didn't believe in Voldemort's world view – what he hadbelieved in, until recently, was his father. Now he believed in survival, for himself and mostly for his mother. He didn't believe in Voldemort, yet he had no choice other than to follow his wishes.

He had to make friends with Harry Potter. He had to get under his skin and make the idiot trust him and if that meant laughing at his jokes and being nice to gingers then he'd do it.

As he watched Potter and his entourage move towards the platform, Draco's adrenaline kicked in when Potter turned, catching his eye – green on grey – and Draco twisted his lips into a half smile, forcing it out of the depths of his soul. Potter's eyes narrowed and he turned away; he did not return the smile. Draco exhaled and closed his eyes; Merlin, he was going to have to try harder than that if he was going to win Potter's friendship and trust ever let alone in the Dark Lord's twisted timescale, which Draco had gathered to be anytime between now and whenever the Dark Lord summoned him, which was no help at all.

::

"So, Draco, what's the strategy?" Pansy bounced on her seat beside him, her voice carrying along the length of the train, despite them managing to secure a private compartment.

Draco was already regretting telling her his mission; it was bad enough that Crabbe and Goyle knew and would be scrutinising his every move. He strongly suspected that they had been instructed to keep an eye on him and report back to the Dark Lord. Thankfully they weren't sleeping in the same dorm this year and had a room of their own; Blaise had had his mother write and complain about their combined snoring affecting her son's sleep. Draco had mocked Blaise for it at the time, but now he was more than glad of it.

Of course, Pansy had told Blaise, assuming that this was a group concern as they were a close-knit trio – but - Blaise had immediately made it clear that he did not approve. Draco had thought it obvious that Blaise seemed to have a crush on the boy wonder, and was amazed that this had passed Pansy by. She normally had a sharp eye and hated being out of the loop.

"Keep your voice down," he hissed, yanking the compartment door shut with a crack. "If it's not bad enough that you told Blaise, you don't need to tell the whole school!"

"Sorry," Pansy sighed, actually managing to look as though she meant it. "I just – it's going to be fascinating, like a social experiment. 'How to turn your enemy into your best friend'."

Not many people knew that Pansy was fascinated by Muggle sociology and psychology and was hoping to study it at a Muggle university with the view to applying it to Wizarding life. Her parents had no idea, they were good little Death Eaters, and one did not mention the word 'Muggle' in the Parkinson house unless it was to be disparaging about them.

"Great, Pans, I'm so pleased that my suffering is going to be useful research for you," Draco grumbled, watching Blaise from the corner of his eye, wondering how to save the situation.

At least Pansy had the grace to flush when she said, "Well, I did plan on keeping notes for future reference." She quickly added, "Don't forget I've got those Muggle books on how to win friends and influence people. I haven't read them yet but…"

Draco supposed he did need all the help he could get.

"I think you're crazy," Blaise offered, folding his arms across his chest and staring out of the window at the blurred scenery beyond. "This is a new low even for you, Draco. I don't care what your reasons are, Harry-"

"If I didn't know better," Pansy cooed, cutting Blaise off. "I'd swear that Blaise wants to tap Potter." Alright, she was not as out of the loop as Draco had assumed.

Blaise's jaw tightened and he continued to stare out the window.

"Just don't expect any help from me-" Blaise continued firmly. "I've got to know Harry a little – he was my Herbology partner last year, remember? I don't think he's the attention whore you believe him to be – and anyway since when do you bow down to that psychopath? You always said-"

Draco turned to Pansy and gave her a pointed look. "When did you tell him about this?"

Pansy bit her lip and said, "Probably about ten minutes before you arrived." She looked down at her painted red nails and looked away as Draco pointed his wand at the back of Blaise's head.

"Obliviate." The tingle of guilt that washed through Draco wasn't as strong as the relief. The less people that knew about this mission the better; this was his mother's life a stake here, Draco couldn't afford the risk.

Blaise startled and turned to face them, his eyes dazed. "Did I fall asleep?" he asked, befuddled.

"Yes you did, you party animal," Pansy teased, moving to sit by Blaise and mouthing "Sorry," at Draco as she passed.

Draco slumped back in his seat and sighed. Aunt Bella might be a nutter, but she knew how to teach those memory charms.

:o:o:o: