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Bunnies and Plots

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October 31st 2000
Ministry of Magic Atrium

“Listen to me, Potter,” Draco said, as tired of the arguments this year as he had been the year before. “It’ll be fine. I’ll go ahead to Hogwarts and deal with whatever shite it is that McGonagall needs us to deal with and once you’re done, you can meet me there.”

“I just…” Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, a terrible habit as far as Draco was concerned but he couldn’t deny that he loved the just-shagged look it gave Harry. “I’ve got a really bad feeling that—”

“No. Harry, I’m not going through this again. You were awful at Divination and I refuse to give these ‘feelings’ you get any meaning unless they’re you getting the feeling that you’re getting shagged when we get home.”

Harry let out a snort of disbelief. “Always so crude, Malfoy.”

With a sigh, Draco pulled Harry into his arms. “Love, I know you hate Halloween and for very good reason but this insistence that something terrible is going to happen every single year is ridiculous and you know it.” He released Harry and brushed the tips of his fingers across his collarbone, coming to rest beneath the silver chain that matched his own. “Granger’s sorted it anyway, remember. If either of us are in danger, these will activate. They’ll take us, together, to safety.”

Harry’s expression was halfway between a pout and a scowl. “If I’m being so dumb why do you keep wearing yours?”

As tempted as he was to kiss the expression off of Harry’s face, Draco simply looked at him and arched one eyebrow. “Like you’d let me take the damned off anyway,” he said before muttering, “Paranoid control freak.”

“Well, sorry for living my entire life in a war,” Harry said petulantly as he folded his arms across his chest.

This time Draco did give into the urge to kiss him, pressing their lips together firmly before peppering kisses over Harry’s cheeks and forehead, the final one pressed firmly against the lightning bolt that had faded over the last two years. “It’ll be fine. I really do have to go though, so you can either stay here and argue with thin air, head over to the graveyard, or come with me, the decision is yours.” With one last kiss, this time to the tip of Harry’s nose — which wrinkled in response — Draco said, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Harry replied, drawing Draco’s hand to his lips and kissing the tips of his fingers. “I’ll head over to the graveyard and meet you at Hogwarts in a few hours.” Draco nodded in reply and left, Harry watching him anxiously. He knew why Draco kept brushing off the feeling he had about Halloween but it was there, and as much as he hated it, he just knew something was going to happen. He could only hope that everything would be okay by the time the day was over

As Draco walked up the path that led from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts, he thought about Harry’s feelings about Halloween. He didn’t like that Harry put so much significance on it, though he could understand it. His parents had died on Halloween, after all, and in their first few years at Hogwarts — the ones before Voldemort’s return — something had always happened. Even last year, the first full year after the war’s end, there had been an incident involving both Harry and a Death Eater. Corban Yaxley had been in Godric’s Hollow. While he had avoided the Ministry for over a year after Voldemort’s defeat, he had intended to show the Wizarding public that the Dark Lord’s idea of Pureblood supremacy was not gone by destroying the memorial left to Lily and James Potter in the centre of Godric’s Hollow. Harry had been in the village visiting his parents’ graves and had spotted him. When Yaxley realised Harry was there, he’d decided that Harry was a better target than the monument. Harry had come away from the fight with a scar on his arm but Yaxley had been disabled and ended up in Azkaban for his troubles. Draco had arrived at the scene before Yaxley was carted off, instead of worrying about what day it was, he worried about Harry and how it would affect the brunet’s recovery from the war. He needn’t have bothered, not really. All it had done was exacerbate his idea that Halloween — at least for him — was cursed.

Draco was pulled from his thoughts violently by a spell whizzing past his face, barely missing him. When he turned to look at his attacker, he was faced with someone he hadn’t thought he’d see for at least a few years.

Azkaban had not been kind to his father, not the first time around in 1996 after almost killing Harry in the Department of Mysteries, and not the second, after Voldemort’s defeat. Draco knew his father resented both him and his mother for escaping his fate, as far as he was concerned Narcissa had betrayed the Dark Lord and therefore would have been killed, along with himself, had the Dark Lord won. He saw this as a reason that the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry after the war should have counted him as on their side, regardless of the fact that he had never done anything to aid them and had, multiple times, been the reason behind Harry’s almost death.

“Draco,” Lucius said in greeting as his son turned to face him. “It’s been a while.”

“Of course it has, Lucius,” Draco replied. “After all, you’re supposed to be in Azkaban and why on Earth would I go there unless I was forced to?” His voice was cold and something akin to fear was flooding him, almost as quick was the anger that replaced it.

“I had some interesting news while I was away,” Lucius continued casually, as though he had been on holiday, not incarcerated in one of the worst prisons in the world. “An old friend informed me that you had taken up with Potter.”

Draco’s expression froze. He hadn’t bothered to think that if Yaxley noticed the closeness between himself and Harry, he would let Lucius know about it when he got to Azkaban. His mind had been on other things in the immediate aftermath and after that, he hadn’t worried because it wasn’t like he would see his father anytime soon.

“It’s true then?” His father asked. “Not only have you taken up with half-blood but a man, someone who couldn’t help you continue the Malfoy line even if he were acceptable.”

Draco huffed in lieu of the laugh that threatened. “Of course you would be worried about that. After all, what good is an heir who doesn’t have heirs of his own, right?” He shook his head and fought the urge to pull at his hair in frustration. “Was I ever just a son to you, or was the only thing you ever thought of how I could further the family —” a sneer crossed his face, “— and your own sense of worth.”

The anger on Lucius’s face was proof of how far Draco had fallen in the eyes of his father, but instead of being scared, as he would have been when he was younger, he felt proud, and with that pride came the realisation of how much he had grown in the four years since his father’s first incarceration. It was almost ironic that he owed most of that growth to Harry.

“I knew I’d failed to properly educate you as a child, but I had no idea your mother had failed this badly with my attempts to re-educate you. That will need to be fixed.” He brought his wand up and cast a spell wordlessly.

Before Draco could understand what it was, the light of the portkey he wore around his neck glowed. The collision of the spell with the portkey’s shield let out an explosion, both Draco and Lucius were thrown from their feet and Draco sank into unconsciousness.

October 31st 2000
Godric’s Hollow

Harry arrived on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow feeling unaccountably weary. The idea, the feeling, he had that something bad would happen was growing. He honestly wanted nothing more than for Draco to tell McGonagall to piss off for the day and take him home, where they would both be safe from whatever it was that haunted this day.

He stood at the entrance of the cemetery with one hand on the gate, looking at the marble of his parents’ grave glittering slightly in the autumnal sunshine. ‘It should be raining,’ he thought to himself. ‘If that has to be there, then it should be raining.’

He squeezed his eyes together to try and stop the tears that threatened before he felt the familiar — and hated — sensation of a portkey.


Chapter One



September 19th 1981
Godric’s Hollow

He knows he shouldn’t be smug about it, really he does, but a tiny part of Harry can’t wait to see Draco and tell him to dismiss his feelings now. It’s only when he stops gloating, albeit silently and to himself, that he realises that he hasn’t actually moved, or at least not very far. He’s on the ground, as he would expect having just taken a portkey, but he’s barely feet away from the kissing gate to the graveyard that holds his parents. He looks around for Draco, expecting to see him standing somewhere nearby, because he knows that if he were in danger from something he hadn’t noticed, he would have been taken to wherever Draco was, assuming it was safe. He doesn’t see him, and that’s when he starts to worry slightly.

Harry knows that Hermione’s spellwork is perfect; he knows that the portkey wouldn’t have activated unless one or both of them were in trouble; he knows that the one in danger would be taken to the other unless they weren’t safe either. That means, though he has no proof of it right now, that he is not safe.

He pulls his wand from the pocket of his hoodie and slips his hand into his sleeve, where the wand is hidden, but still incredibly useful. With narrowed eyes, he looks down the path towards the village, slipping into the state of awareness he rarely utilised during the war. He turns in a slow circle, a shield charm on his lips for the second he notices something amiss. When he does notice the something, it’s not what he prepared for.

He’s looking at the cemetery itself again, he’s in almost the same position he was before his portkey activated and, in this position, he would normally be able to see his parents’ gravestone. But he doesn’t.

It’s not there.

He abandons caution as fury rolls through him, the same fury he felt this time last year when Yaxley tried to destroy the memorial of his parents, except worse this time because the memorial isn’t all that important, not really, not in the long run, it’s just stone.

While the same may be said for the marble that marks his parents’ final resting place, it’s different, at least to him.

He heads towards the plot, silently vowing to destroy whoever took this one thing from him before stopping, confused. The plot where his parents are buried is empty of anything to mark it as a grave. In fact, the area surrounding it is bare of graves too. This, he thinks, is almost too weird.

He leaves the graveyard in a fugue of confusion, heading towards the village and the memorial there. He knows he will be maudlin for a few days if he doesn’t do what he needs to now he’s here, Merlin knows Draco’s complained about it often enough.

His perplexity is worsened when he comes to the square and the cenotaph of the muggle wars don’t change for him. The only possible explanation he can think of is that he was actually attacked and somehow had his magic removed. Looking around, to make sure no one is watching him in case he’s wrong, he tries to light the tip of his wand with a Lumos spell. The light is there, and he feels his magic trickle into the wand to power it. With a quickly muttered “ Nox, ” he decides to head to the ruin of the cottage. He still has no idea what’s going on.

For a few minutes after his arrival, he simply stares. The ruin he should have grown up in is no longer a ruin. Despite his confusion, he feels hope. Hope that just maybe, he’ll be able to see his parents. Just maybe, he’ll be able to grow up with them.

As he looks at the house, he sees someone pass by the window on the inside. A redhead he’s never seen alive outside pictures and, briefly during his first year, in a mirror. He feels his eyes fill with tears and, without thinking, he opens the gate and heads towards the door.

September 19th 1981
Hogwarts Hospital Wing

When Draco wakes, it is to the sight of a ceiling he hasn’t woken up to in a long time. He tries to raise his hand to wipe at his eyes but finds them bound to the bed. He hadn’t expected that. Blinking, he tries to orient himself properly while unable to move much.

“You’re awake then?”

Draco freezes. He must have hit his head very hard to be hearing that voice, after all, Dumbledore’s been dead for more than three years.

“I apologise for having bound you, but in times like these I’m sure you understand. Especially since you have that particular mark on your arm.”

Draco moves his gaze from Dumbledore’s cold eyes to his forearm. At Dumbledore’s words, he was terrified that the Mark, which had faded and now more resembled a curse scar, had come back.

“Professor,” Draco says, trying to gather his scrambled thoughts into coheriency. “As much as I hate to put off the inevitable, could you answer a few questions I have first, please?” There is so much he wants to know, like how the hell Dumbledore is alive and what the hell happened to land him in the hospital wing. As he looks at the headmaster, he can feel the subtle trace of his legilimency and he doesn’t even try to fight to keep the headmaster out. He knows by the look on Dumbledore’s face that he saw the thought Draco had about asking how he was alive.

“You may ask your questions,” Dumbledore tells him. “But I reserve the right to refuse to answer.”

Draco nods. There’s only one question he’s desperate for an answer to right now and there would be very little point in Dumbledore lying about it.

“Could you tell me the date please?” he asks. “Month and year, is you wouldn’t mind.”

Draco is very good at reading people, it was something he learned at his father’s knee as a child and his ability only grew with age. He sees Dumbledore’s slight confusion at the question before it is quickly hidden. He knows Dumbledore is trying to figure out why the date would be so important to Draco and Draco knows that he is definitely under suspicion for being a Death Eater.

“I promise, I will answer what questions I can, as long as you can tell me when I am right now.” He knows it’s not subtle, but then again, he also knows Dumbledore was a Gryffindor and Gryffindors are not known for their subtlety, at all.

“September 19th, 1981.” Dumbledore’s reply is to the point and Draco does a very quick calculation in his head.

“Six weeks, shit.”

“Who are you?” Dumbledore’s question cuts straight through him. It doesn’t even matter if he believes Draco right now, all that matters, at least to Draco, is that he can get to Harry before he inevitably stumbles upon the fact that his parents still alive and that there’s only six weeks before they die.

“My name is Draco Malfoy, and I’m from the year 2000.” He looks at the old headmaster as he speaks, willing him to believe his words so that he can get to Harry before his heart breaks all over again.

Dumbledore says nothing as he looks at Draco. He says nothing as he stands to leave the room.

“Please, you have to believe me. Or if you can’t believe me the let me summon someone who you will believe.”

Dumbledore’s gaze pierces him as it never did in life. He had never been quite this distrusted by anyone before the headmaster’s death. Or at least, no one except Harry.

“Who do you suppose you can ask to come here to convince me of your truthfulness when you claim to be from 20 years in the future?”

“If I’m here, then my partner is here too. If you won’t trust me because of my name, maybe you’ll trust him for his.”

“And who is he, that I would trust him?”

“Harry Potter.”

Draco would hate Dumbledore’s reaction if he hadn’t been counting on it, and he knows Harry will hate Dumbledore’s reaction anyway. No matter what he had believed as a child, he knows now that Harry has always hated being put above anyone else when no one had a reason to. He knows that Harry hated his status as the Chosen One from the minute he learned of it.

“I can send him a patronus,” Draco says. “I can ask him to come here. I can…” He can’t finish that sentence. He knows that if he tells Harry to stay away from Godric’s Hollow until he sees Draco that the first thing Harry will do will be to apparate there. Then he realises that there’s a very good chance that Harry was already in Godric’s Hollow, there’s a very good chance that he was at the graveyard or his parents’ house before they were sent back. He’ll already know that they’re alive and he would hate Draco for trying to hide it from him. Before he can think too much about it though, a familiar patronus flies into the hospital wing.

“Professor, we have a slight problem,” It’s not Harry ’s patronus, Draco realises after it speaks. The voice is one of those who have been brought up like he was, Pureblooded. “I’ll be bringing a guest through, you can decide what to do with him. My vote is for the Janus Thickey ward personally.”

The last sentence is hard for Draco to hear. He knows there were a lot of people during the war, at least before Voldemort made his return public, that thought Harry should be locked up. He doesn’t think it would be easy for Harry to hear the same sort of thing said by his father.

Dumbledore produces his own patronus and dictates his own message for it. “I am currently in the hospital wing with a guest of my own. If you could come here directly, that would be appreciated.” The patronus soars through the window and disappears. Draco watches it go before he realises that Dumbledore has turned to him and is waiting for his attention. “Would I be correct in assuming that the guest we are about to receive is the person you call Harry?”

Draco nods. “And I’m assuming that was James Potter’s patronus which means we’ll likely need a calming draught for him.”

“He’ll be upset to see his parents?” Dumbledore asks.

“Oh, no, he’ll be ecstatic, until he realises what the date is. That’s when we’ll need the draught.”

Despite the fact that his mother is holding him at wandpoint while his father binds his hands behind his back, Harry is happy. He’s even managed to push the fact that Draco may have been in danger to the back of his mind because for the first time in his memory he is in the company of his parents . It doesn’t matter to him that they are, at this moment, almost the same age, less than two years between them, at the absolute most.

James is tugging him towards the fireplace for them to floo to Hogwarts and he still can’t stop smiling. He hasn’t managed to catch sight of himself as a baby yet and he’s not entirely sure what year it is, but for now, his parents are alive and that means that he has a chance to save them.

When they arrive at Hogwarts, Harry’s first sight is Draco tied to the bed, followed rather quickly by Albus Dumbledore’s wand — the Elder Wand — in his face. The beaming smile he had been wearing since his mother opened the front door drops and he glances back to Draco. He doesn’t want to remember the last time he saw Draco and Dumbledore in the same place. It fills him with the same anger that assaults him everytime he arrests someone who shouldn’t have gotten away for as long as they had.  He closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath.

“You said you forgave me.” Draco’s voice is reminiscent of the tone he used after his trial. It’s the tone that he only gets around Harry when they argue about something that one of them said or did before they were together, when they were children. It’s the same tone he used when he spoke to Hermione and apologised to her for being so damned prejudice as a child and begging her to forgive him because he didn’t want to be that person anymore.

Harry’s eyes are still closed when he answers. “I did. I do. It’s just…” Harry knows the whole story, from all sides. He knows that even after being together for almost two years, Draco doesn’t quite get how Harry can forgive him everything.

“Hard?” Draco asks.

Harry finally opens his eyes again and smiles at Draco, hoping to convey that everything he said still stands. “Yeah.”

While Draco and Harry have been lost in their past, Dumbledore has been casting spells to detect glamours on Harry.

“Well,” Dumbledore says. “This is, at the very least, what he looks like.” He looks between James and Harry, studying them side by side.

For all that people always told Harry that he looks exactly like James, Draco can see a few very big differences. Harry’s malnutrition as a child, followed by summers of not getting enough to eat have left him a lot shorter than James is, and while they’re both naturally thin people, James’s shoulders are broader. Even though they have the same eyebrows and their lips are the same shape, Harry’s jaw seems more delicate to Draco and his cheekbones are high and narrow, as opposed to James’s more angular ones.

“Sir, can you tell me what the date is, please?” Harry asks. “I want to know —”

Draco interrupts him before he can say too much. This is not a conversation line that James Potter needs to be familiar with just yet. “September 19th, Harry.”

Harry nods. “Hermione’s birthday. What are the odds of that.”

“Her third birthday,” Draco clarifies and as he expected, the smile Harry had been wearing, even while thinking about Dumbledore’s death, slips off his face.

Harry’s knees almost buckle beneath him and the tears that threaten, which had been happy in Godric’s Hollow, are now ones that feel more familiar.

“We’re going to do something, right?” Harry asks, his eyes pleading with Draco to fix this .

Draco looks at Harry and he knows that he’ll have to at least try. He knows that Harry wouldn’t forgive him for not trying now that they might have a chance. He knows that he would never forgive himself for not trying to give Harry the one thing he’s always wanted.

“Professor Dumbledore, I don’t think this is a conversation Mr Potter should be privy to.” Draco hopes that Dumbledore remembers that he didn’t know what year it was. That they — he and Harry — are from the future.

Dumbledore nods and unbinds Draco from the bed. Draco isn’t sure, but he hopes Dumbledore will believe them now.

As Draco walks towards him, Harry reaches out, almost blinded by the tears in his eyes that he’s still desperately trying to keep from falling. Draco wraps his arms around him and a part of Harry breaks, the tears begin to fall unbidden, and it is with great difficulty that he swallows the sobs that threaten. The small part of him that wanted to say “I told you so” to Draco about his thoughts on Halloween is crushed to dust by the idea that this Halloween he was given the opportunity to relive the original one again, with just enough time to get to know his parents, to realise what he was missing before it’s taken away from him. This Halloween, he thinks, is almost worse than the first.

Draco isn’t happy to see his prediction about needing the calming draught is true; he is, however, happy to see that Dumbledore remembered it and is passing him one. He takes it from the headmaster and feeds it to Harry before throwing the empty phial onto the bed and wiping away Harry’s tears. After a few minutes, Harry is calmer than before and Dumbledore leads them to his office.

Draco had never been in Dumbledore’s office when it was Dumbledore’s office, he had, however, been there once or twice when it was Professor Snape’s office. It seems to him that Snape had changed very little about the office in his single year as headmaster. A glance over at Harry tells him that he too is taking in the changes from the office he knew from the 90’s.

Dumbledore almost seems surprised when Harry looks over to Fawkes and smiles. Draco thinks he looks down right disappointed that Fawkes does no more than warble a single note in response to Harry brushing his hand across the crest of feathers on his head. When Harry finally turns back to face Draco and Dumbledore, he looks calmer than Draco has seen him all day.

“Please take a seat, boys,” Dumbledore tells them, gesturing to the two chairs in front of his desk.

Draco sits almost immediately, but Harry takes the time to move his chair closer so he can hold Draco’s hand through what he thinks will be a hard discussion. They have to convince Dumbledore that they’re telling the truth and in the height of the war, he’s going to be a lot more skeptical than if it were peace time. Harry’s fingers squeezing his own lets Draco know that Harry realises how difficult this might be. In a language they each know by heart after two years developing and practicing it, Draco brushes his thumb across Harry’s knuckles, letting him know that Draco will deal with what he can. With a quick glance to Harry, Draco begins to explain what he can

Chapter Text


Draco wasn’t sure when it had started exactly, he wasn’t even sure what it was. All he knew was that he woke up every morning in the Ministry’s holding cells covered in his own come yet still hard and desperate; he hadn’t had dreams like this since his fourth year, and even they weren’t as intense.

He had been sure that the end of the war would mean coming back to normality, even if the new normality for him would be a prison cell. Instead, he’d had one meeting with a solicitor appointed by the ministry and had otherwise been left alone. The table in his cell had food delivered three times a day and he had a refilling pitcher of water and a cup that had been charmed to be unbreakable. That was apparently all he needed.

He wasn’t even exactly sure how long he had been here. Had his birthday been and gone already? He knew the lights in his cell came on in the morning and went off at night but he wasn’t sure how many days and nights had passed. By the time he realised he should have been keeping track, he’d already had trouble remembering.

To say he was shocked to hear his cell door open would have been an understatement. He looked up to see his solicitor stood in the room and sat up, trying to make himself a little more presentable.

“Your trial will start tomorrow, Mr Malfoy,” the man said. “You will be brought fresh robes in the morning on the insistence of…” He trailed off a little, apparently trying to think about how to phrase it. “People better than you,” he finally said with a sneer.

This didn’t surprise Draco that much. He was well aware of what people thought of him, both Death Eaters and those on the other side. Draco however had learned in the last year that there were benefits to staying quiet when people tried to provoke you.

He thought back to the last year in school, how everyone but the Slytherins had avoided him while sneering at him, the bolder ones sending hexes at him. It was his fault the school was now occupied by Death Eaters after all. He had been the one to let them in last year and it was his fault that Dumbledore was dead. He was the only one with a mark they could fight against and stand a chance with, so long as they weren’t caught.

Slytherin had become even more synonymous with “Death Eater” this year, even though Draco was the only one marked. Even those who came from neutral families were attacked. He had once stopped a pair of fifth year Gryffindors hexing a first year Slytherin. They had scowled at him, told him “The little bitch deserved it” and walked away. After they left, the first year had glared at him and told him how it was his fault. The Slytherins were united in the face of the school, but in the common room, where the only eyes were their own, he had been just as hated.

Those from the neutral families hated him for making their sorting a curse, those from Death Eater families knew that their Lord was displeased with him and wouldn’t care if he was hurt. The only ones who had known exactly how displeased were those of the Inner Circle and the people who stood by Draco despite his pariah status.

Blaise Zabini hadn’t been much of a friend to Draco before their fourth year. He had thought Draco to be someone who couldn’t stand on his own, who relied too much on his father and his name to get him out of trouble. He hadn’t been wrong, not entirely. In their fourth year, however, Draco had taken him aside and told him that he had put too much faith on his father’s words and realised that he needed to make a change. It hadn’t been much and certainly wasn’t something the rest of the school knew about, but Blaise had accepted it and in the years since had been there for Draco when he needed to talk about anything.

Their fourth year it had been tentative, nothing much that either had shared was personal. That changed in fifth year, when Draco had pulled Blaise aside after the start of term feast and told him he was terrified about the war that was brewing and what would happen if the Dark Lord won. They had both shared a lot of fears that day. During his sixth year, the year where Draco had tried so hard to fix the Vanishing Cabinet to save his mother’s life, Draco told Blaise how he was scared that he would manage it, he couldn’t go to anyone because he had been marked and he was scared that this would be the reason the Dark Lord won. He was terrified he would manage it and the Dark Lord would kill his mother anyway. That, he had told Blaise, would be worse than not being able to do it. If he couldn’t do it and his  mother was killed, he would have a very good reason to defect to Dumbledore’s side, to Potter’s side, if he did it and she was still killed though, he would be on his own.

And he had done it, he had gotten Death Eater’s in to Hogwarts and had almost killed Dumbledore. Dumbledore had given him an ounce of hope, promising his protection, then his aunt and others had came, Snape had came. And Snape had destroyed any hope he had.

After their escape from Hogwarts, The Dark Lord had punished him, for weeks he had been shut in the dungeons of his own home, away from prisoners of the other side and away from his parents. He had endured weeks of the Death Eaters telling him he was a disappointment, torturing him, and promising him it could be worse, that he was lucky, that if the Dark Lord had really wanted to hurt him he would never recover.

The Dark Lord’s words had been worse. He had told Draco how he had made his Death Eaters promise not to scar him, because he didn’t really want to mar his pretty body . That he was lucky the Dark Lord had a war to win before he could sate himself in his chosen catamites, and wouldn’t Draco be honoured to be chosen by the Dark Lord. That had been the moment he had decided to do what he could to help Potter win.

He had been released halfway through July and had spent most of his time with his mother. The only times he wasn’t allowed were when they were in meetings. He had been relieved to go back to school.

In the last weeks of August, he’d had dreams of being able to do what was right for once, he’d dreamed of being able to stand up to the Death Eater’s who’d made his life hell. His return to Hogwarts had crushed those dreams. Sneering Slytherins who thought they were better than him, Crabbe and Goyle, even the Carrows had taken to calling him the Dark Lord’s little whore when they could get away with it. That was worse than being called a Death Eater by the members of Potter’s little club. He actually had been a Death Eater, no matter how bad he was at it and how he wished it was different; he had never (yet) been fucked by the Dark Lord.

Blaise had been the one he turned to at that point. He had a vaguely cordial relationship with Theo Nott, enough that Theo didn’t call him a whore or a Death Eater but definitely not enough for Theo to stand up for him. Theo’s father was a Death Eater too, he knew what awaited him at the end of the year.

Snape had been the other surprise to him. Despite the way Draco had treated him last year and the punishments Draco had received for allowing Snape to complete his task, Snape had taken it upon himself to give Draco advice. Over the year, They had become closer than student and staff, Draco had started to look at Snape like a mentor. One piece of advice had stuck in his mind. “Do what you must to survive.”

Draco, not knowing what it was he could do to survive, did what he could to help those who were hiding out from the Carrows. He brewed healing potions and salves for the infirmary, taking care to note the ones that depleted most often and trying to restock them before they ran out. Once, after a detention with McGonagall, he’d deliberately left a box of phials filled with blood replenishing potion and murtlap essence. The next lesson he’d had with her, McGonagall had given Slytherin 20 points, even though, at that point, giving points was obsolete.

He wondered if McGonagall would be willing to speak for him at his trial. It wasn’t a lot and probably meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, but maybe having someone tell the Wizengamot or whoever was passing his sentence that he had at least tried to help a little would work out in his favour. He was not expecting what happened the next day.

The chamber for his trial was mostly full. The press gallery was packed and the public gallery held more people than he thought would come. A lot of them were people who probably wanted to see him in Azkaban, he could see Granger and Weasley there but there was no sign of Potter. Blaise was about the only person he saw who knew was there to support Draco.

He didn’t pay much attention as the prosecution mounted their case. He knew what would be said. That he had been a bully as a child and that he thought the sun shined out of his father’s backside. That he put too much faith in his pure blood and that he was happy with the Dark Lord’s return. That had mostly been true until he realised what it was the Dark Lord had been like. It had only taken the Dark Lord being back for a year before Draco realised that he was in too far to back out completely and at that point he would have been killed, so he had done what he could to live, to keep his mother alive, when he knew he wouldn’t have a chance at aligning with the other side.

His solicitor hadn’t said much in his defence either. He had just gone on to call those who wanted to speak for him. He knew there wouldn’t be many people, Draco had not been a nice person for most of his life and he would be paying for it in Azkaban in the near future, he was just lucky anyone was willing to speak for him. The first person was Professor Slughorn. Draco honestly wondered what he could say to make things better for him.

“I knew Mr Malfoy had been using the potions lab during his Seventh year,” he told them. “I knew that in the days after Mr Malfoy would use my lab I would be thanked by Madam Pomfrey for restocking her supplies. I also knew that it wasn’t me restocking the supplies. Mr Malfoy knew that students were being hurt and needed those supplies and I was busy teaching and marking and overseeing Slytherin house, so he took it upon himself to do the right thing where he could. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than anyone else was doing that year.”

McGonagall told a similar story, telling how she delivered the much needed blood replenishing potions to students in hiding, knowing that Draco had made them, had taken note that they would be needed and earned a detention with her to get them where they were needed. How she had thanked him the only way she could, by giving points in a class when she usually avoided doing so.

The biggest surprise for Draco though was when Harry Potter was called to take the stand. That was the first time Draco looked up the entire trial, his gaze never wavered from Potter.

Potter looked ill, was his first thought. Like he hadn’t been sleeping. His usually bronze skin was chalky and his face was sunken. Draco thought he was seeing his salvation though. That Harry Potter would testify for him would have been too much like a dream for him to think about.

“Malfoy recognised me, when my friends and I were caught by snatchers and taken to his home. Even if he hadn’t, he would have known Hermione and Ron, he would have known they wouldn’t be without me. Malfoy lied to his father and his aunt and said he didn’t know if it was me. If he had given any hint that it was, Voldemort would have been there in an instant, and we would have had no chance. If Malfoy had wanted him to win, he would have told them the truth, that he didn’t tells me that he didn’t want Voldemort to win, even if it meant his family would be on top, which they would have been, had they handed me over.”

And how the hell did Potter know Draco so well?

“Mr Malfoy did nothing to help you and your friends though, did he, Mr Potter?” one of the prosecutors said

“That depends,” Potter said with a wry grin. “Malfoy is the reason I won after all. That he was shocked enough with our leaving the dungeons to put up enough of a fight that I won mastery of the Elder wand from him when he all but gave me his wand means that, at the very least, Draco Malfoy did enough to help me win the war.”

Potter was excused, Draco kept watching him as he left the floor and headed towards the doors. The entire time of his testimony, he hadn’t looked at Draco, but in the few seconds before the doors closed behind him, he met Draco’s gaze.

Draco felt his blood turn to fire and scorch through his veins.

His dreams that night, dreams he’d been having for weeks, the first dream of his first night spent as a free man, were dreams of Harry Potter.


Chapter One

Harry hadn’t thought that not needing to sleep could be so tiring. He sat with his back to the wall of the Hogwarts Express, his knees brought up to his chest, his cheek resting on his knees. It was October 1st, and Harry hadn’t slept since May. He had slept after the Battle of Hogwarts, spent two weeks doing not much more than eating, sleeping and attending funerals and then, on his first trip to capture escapee Death Eaters and supporters, he had been bitten by a vampire. Andromeda Tonks had been the one to save his life, as he lay convulsing on her sofa, half drained of blood. A combination of Blood replenishing potions and a stray dog under the imperius curse was her solution. Kingsley had been unimpressed, but Harry stopped convulsing and even though his heart stopped beating, he still breathed. He wasn’t alive, but he wasn’t dead, and that was enough.

He had woken three days later, his throat burning, and tried to attack Andromeda when she came too close. Instead of fighting back, she slid a muggle blood bag between his teeth and her throat. He had gone through five of them before he regained his mind enough to talk about anything. He spent as long as he could talking about what had happened. It hadn’t taken him too long to accept that he was now a vampire, it wasn’t something they could be sure of until he woke.

Andromeda talked to Slughorn, who spoke to the vampire who had been at his Christmas party in Harry’s sixth year, and two days later, Harry was sat in a muggle Cafe with Sanguini having life as a vampire explained to him. He was told that he shouldn’t go too long without drinking blood unless he wanted to lose control of himself, that he could still eat some foods, mostly those rich in iron, and that it was normal for most vampires to have a dedicated “feeder” around, along with a stock of potions for them.

He explained that one day, he may find a person whose blood would call him. Some people would call it his mate, and while love may happen between them, Sanguini told him, this didn’t mean it was only this person. A true mate, he was warned, is incredibly rare. It could be anyone around the world, Wizard, muggle or creature, and this person would have been dreaming of him without knowing it was him, since the moment he was turned. A true mate, he was warned, would always be of an age with him, after the war they had just gone through, his could even be dead already. He would be better off, Sanguini told him, to forget about the true mate business and focus on living his life.

It was this conversation that came to Harry as he sat with his cheek resting on his knees in the Hogwarts Express. The reason wasn’t because he was thinking about his mate, it was because he smelt blood.

In itself, this wasn’t unusual, he could smell blood all the time now, unless he was especially thirsty, it didn’t much bother him. If anything, it helped. He could tell who someone was by the way their blood smelled. He wondered if it had been the same for Remus. The reason this was unusual was because it was freshly spilt blood. Slightly more of a problem than normal but something he had learned to deal with. The problem was that this meant someone was bleeding on the train and it was too much blood for it to be an accident.

He almost thought he should have seen it coming. Everyone who was a seventh year last year had been offered to retake the year, a lot of people hadn’t returned, and a lot of people were angry that the Slytherin’s were being given the same chance. The only Slytherins to take advantage of the offer though, were Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. And it was Draco Malfoy who was here now, leaning against one wall of the corridor of the train and taking whatever hits the people around him were giving him.

“Stop it,” Harry said. He was surprised the words had left his mouth.

“You can’t be serious, Harry.” One had turned to look at him, it was Dennis Creevey. Harry’s breath caught as he remembered that Colin had died.

“Aren’t you sick of fighting?” Harry asked. “We just got done fighting a war.”

“Yeah, one my brother died in, thanks to him . He shouldn’t be here.” His eyes were swimming with tears. He looked a lot how Harry had felt in his own fifth year.

“He didn’t kill Colin,” Harry said quietly. “And Colin didn’t die so you would get expelled because of needless vengeance.” Even as he said the words they sounded like bullshit to him. Dennis simply clenched his fists, threw one last glare at Malfoy and left, his friends following behind him. Harry blinked slowly before turning to face Malfoy. Suddenly, he thought he realised what Sanguini had been trying to tell him about someone having blood that calls to him, because this was the first time since he had woken up as a vampire that he had to fight to control the urge to drink. Instead, he pulled out his wand and aimed it at Malfoy’s face. “Episkey, Tergeo.” the blood was gone from his face but it didn’t help much.

“Thanks Potter,” Malfoy said, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

“You’re allowed to fight back, Malfoy,” Harry told him. “Don’t be a martyr for a cause you don’t even care about.”

When he got back to the compartment he was sharing with Hermione, Neville, Luna and Ginny, he was shaking. It had taken every bit of will power he had, every ounce of control, not to go and find Malfoy and beg him to let Harry bite him.

“Harry, are you ok?”

This, Harry thought, might take some explaining.

Harry being a vampire had been kept out of the newspapers. The only people who knew were his teachers and those closest to him. The last thing he wanted was people in school finding out and letting the world know, therefore, it was important, at least to him, that he be kept away from Draco Malfoy lest his control snap and he do something stupid, like promise Malfoy the world in exchange for a taste of his blood.

It was relatively simple while on the train, at least after he had got out of Malfoy’s vicinity. Even the feast in the Great Hall was fine. It stopped being fine when Headmistress McGonagall asked all the Eighth years to stay back after everyone left and there were less than twenty other people to disguise the scent. Only fourteen people had come back to repeat a year.

“As there are so few of you,” McGonagall told them. “We have opened rooms in the East Tower to serve as your common room and dormitories. Before you ask, no, there is no way you will be allowed to stay with your previous houses. You are all unequivocally adults now and, by all rights, would have left school this past June. While the Board of Governors realises it’s not your fault that you didn’t, they also do not condone adults sharing living space with children.” She waited a few moments to see if anyone had anything to say before continuing. “Your new dorms will consist of two rooms each for males and females with a single common room. Each dorm room has its own bathroom. While you do not have a curfew as such, we would appreciate it if you would refrain from wandering the castle after 11pm. You will be allowed to visit Hogsmeade on any weekend you chose, in deference to your adult statuses. You will have classes with the seventh year students and all other rules of the school apply. Does anyone have any questions?”

Silence was her answer and she led them to the East Tower following it. Their new common room was in colours neutral to Hogwarts, there was no red or green or blue or yellow. Instead everything was in shades of cream and white, with touches of grey.

The first person to talk after McGonagall left was, to Harry’s surprise, Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“I’m not sharing a room with Slytherins,” he said, a look of hatred on his face as he glared at Malfoy.

Harry met Neville’s eye a moment before the other Gryffindor spoke up. “You don’t need to, Harry and I will share with Malfoy and Zabini if it makes things easier for everyone.”

Harry wanted to scream. For everyone else this seemed like the best solution but Harry wasn’t sure how long he would be able to share a room with Malfoy before he embarrassed himself. Neville seemed to notice Harry’s reaction after a second and winced. Harry simply shook his head. Malfoy and Zabini seemed to be having a similar type of conversation.

“That’s fine with us,” Zabini said eventually. “We’ll even let you lot chose which room you want first.”

Michael Corner snarled and began to say something before Harry cut him off. “Can we not argue, please. I just want one quiet year at Hogwarts with no fighting, is that too much to ask?” No one answered him, but the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws made their way up the stairs to choose a room. The girls had no such trouble with rooms and decided since there was only five of them any way, they could share a single room.

When Hermione came back into the common room after unpacking, she found Harry and Neville sat in one corner, Harry’s head cradled in his hands.

“I just didn’t think, Harry,” Neville said. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” Harry said, his voice muffled behind his hands. “I know it’s not your fault, it’s no one’s fault, really, it’s just difficult.” He sighed and looked up. “If it gets too much I can ask McGonagall if I can leave or something, anyway. I’m sure it won’t get to that, I just need to make sure I don’t get too…”

“It’s a good job you have us to help with that then,” Hermione said. “You can get by with it once every four days or so now, so until you’re sure you can control yourself, we can increase it a little. If it helps and it makes you feel more comfortable then I don’t mind.”

“Hermione,” Harry started.

“No, we already agreed that I would help you out this year since it’s only once a week and Neville said he didn’t mind doing it if I couldn’t. As long as Neville agrees, once a week from each of us should be fine. Me once, then three days later, Neville. You don’t take much and the potions help regenerate the blood cells as well as plasma. If you needed it more than once a day we’d have cause to worry but as it is there’s no need.” She smiled at him and ruffled his hair as she’d taken to doing recently. “Besides, Madam Pomfrey told me that she has some in stock in case of an emergency so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Harry looked from Hermione to Neville. “You’re ok with this?”

“You know I am, Harry.”

Harry nodded and let out a sigh. “It’ll be fine, I’m sure. This morning… The train was just a shock and he had been bleeding so it was stronger. I wasn’t expecting it. It’ll be fine.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Hermione and Neville or himself.

“This is fucking awful,” Draco said as he sat down on his bed. “Can’t get the bastard out of my head as it is and now I have to share a room with him too?”

“Silencing charms, Draco,” Blaise said, boredom tinting his voice. “And a lot of cold showers.”

“Fuck off.”

“It won’t be that bad. You can ignore him if you want, or even try to make friends. He said he didn’t want to fight with anyone this year and he spoke for you at your trial. He may not mind being friends with you now that it’s over.”

Draco let out a humourless laugh. “Yeah, I can see that going over well. ‘Oh hi, Potter, I’ve been having dreams where you fuck me into the floor every night for months but feel like being mates now?’”

“Stop being so dramatic, Draco,” Blaise told him. “Don’t tell him about the dreams, but if you don’t get to know him then there’s no way the dreams could become real, is there?”

“Who says I want them to,” Draco grumbled, petulantly.

Blaise actually laughed at that. “Draco, the entire Slytherin common room heard you talking about Potter for five years, that in addition to these dreams and whatever else you’ve told me the last few months tells me that you want this, possibly more than is healthy.” He paused for a few moments to look at Draco. “You actually have a chance at this Draco, why aren’t you grabbing it with both hands?”

“You know why.”

Chapter Text

Harry wasn't sure when it started. As far as he knew he could always see people that no one else could. He learned quickly not to mention the people and what they said to his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon or his cousin, Dudley because it was a sign he was a “freak”. The first time he believed something they told him though was when they said not to worry about Mr Connolly, his teacher for year three who seemed a little too interested in him for Harry's liking. They told him that Mr Connolly would be gone by Halloween and he would never touch Harry. When they went back to school after the half term holiday, Mr Connolly was gone and the whole school had to sit through an assembly on what to do if a stranger or any other adult tries to make you go home with them or do something they shouldn’t. Harry didn't quite understand it, but he did know that Mr Connolly was dangerous to him. That was when he started listening to the People Nobody Could See.

They often told him stories. Stories about how magic existed and was hidden from most people. Stories about a castle where kids like him would learn magic. Stories about an old man who thought he did what was best but was often wrong. One of the stories frightened Harry a lot. It was a story about a man who could turn into a dog but he had been put in a horrible prison guarded by demons for something he hadn't done. Harry didn't like that story because he was often shut in his cupboard for things he hadn't done, as well as things he couldn't explain. The People Nobody Could See told him that was him doing magic and one day, one day soon, someone would come and explain it to him.

Sometimes they told him something would happen and it did. They often told him these things when he was asleep though and he would forget about it until the thing happened. While looking in a library book, Harry came across the term “deja vu” that sounded similar but not quite right. One of the People Nobody Could See whispered the word “precognition” to him, so he looked that one up as well. One of the words that was next to this one was Future Sight, and Harry thought that sounded too much like something Uncle Vernon would try to punish out of him, so he resolved to forget about it.

He did. Mostly.

As he got older, though, Harry began to dream things that he couldn’t tell were real or not. The part of him that wanted to be normal, to be deserving of his aunt’s love and affection, the part of him he thought he had got rid of a long time ago when he realised that the People Nobody Could See were right about things, told him that it couldn’t possibly be true. There was No Way mist could take over a man and make him do things, there was No Way the man who had been taken over would start to lose all his hair and grow a second face. There was just No Way. Just like there was No Way for the glass around a snake’s enclosure at a zoo would disappear and reappear. Just like there was No Way Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would take Harry to the zoo in the first place. There was just No Way.

Harry tried not to think too much about his dreams as his last year in Primary school came to a close.

He definitely didn’t think about it on the night before Dudley’s eleventh birthday when Aunt Petunia told Dudley that they were taking him and Piers to the zoo the next day.

He most certainly didn’t think about it when after a brief discussion, it was decided that Harry would have to go with them lest he burn down the house.

He almost thought of it when he was talking to a Boa Constrictor who was telling him that he would like to see Brazil, at least until Piers elbowed Harry in the ribs a knocked him to the ground.

He couldn’t help but think about it when the glass disappeared from the constrictor’s tank and the snake made his way out of the reptile house. When he turned back to the constrictor’s tank and saw Dudley banging on the glass, he really didn’t think he could deny that he had already seen it happen. When Uncle Vernon turned to look at him, his eyes were wide and fearful. There was No Way Uncle Vernon would believe he hadn’t done it. This was exactly the sort of freaky thing he always got blamed for.

By the time Harry was allowed out of his cupboard for more than chores or school, the Summer Holidays had started and it was just under two weeks until his eleventh birthday. Harry’s dreams since he had been let out of his cupboard were stranger than normal too. They held an air of excitement that he didn’t quite understand and all he could really see in them was his name, “Mr H.J. Potter” in green ink on yellow-ish paper. He also saw a new Person Nobody Could See. She was different to the others. It seemed she actually knew him, Harry, not just as someone who could see them but as a person of his own. That was strange enough for normal people, let alone the People Nobody Could See.

She didn’t dress like the others either. And she would come into Number Four when he was awake, unlike the others who prefered to stay outside. She spoke to him about all sorts of things. Like how the hoover needed replacing, and shouldn’t Petunia think about doing that before Big Ol’ Marge comes over next because there was no way it would pick up Ripper’s fur from the carpet the way it was now.

She would roll her eyes whenever Aunt Petunia said something about her “precious Diddydums”, and she practically growled at her the one time she took a swipe at Harry with the old cast iron frying pan after Harry accidentally overcooked the bacon.

One time, she told Harry that if he wanted to annoy Tuney really badly he should just slightly burn a piece of toast and then scrape the burned bit off over the sink. Harry tried not to laugh at the Woman Nobody Could See, knowing that if he did, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would think he was barmy and probably lock him away for the rest of the summer, but he also didn’t burn toast to scrape off in the sink because he knew that if he did that then Aunt Petunia would just say that he wasn’t allowed toast anymore and that was one of the things he really relied on over the summer to keep him going.

One night, about a week before his birthday, when Harry was lying in his bed under the stairs, the woman sat next to him on the bed and told him a story. “Tomorrow,” she told him “You’ll either get a letter from Hogwarts, or someone will come and visit you. In September you’ll finally be able to learn about magic and how to use it.” She stroked her hand through his hair and even though he couldn’t really feel it, he imagined it felt like a mother’s touch would; Like Aunt Petunia rubbing Dudley’s back when he was sick that one time.

“People will tell you that you’re famous, Harry,” she continued as he dozed. “They’ll tell you that you did something amazing and managed to save everyone at the height of a war. They’ll tell you that your parents loved you so much that they died trying to protect you and somehow you killed the person who killed them.”

He didn’t quite understand the words she was saying now, they were just floating in through his ears towards his sleepy brain, losing all meaning by the time he registered them. It was just a soft soothing noise that lulled him to sleep.

“Your parents do love you, Harry, we always will. But the evil wizard they all think you killed isn’t really dead and he won’t be unless people help you. They think you’re destined to kill him and that you have powers he doesn’t. While this is true you don’t need to do it on your own. You didn’t last time, when you were a baby, you won’t this time either. Pay attention to what people say and don’t make hasty decisions. I love you Harry. I’ll always be with you. Remember your dreams.”

Harry’s dream that night was once again of the yellowish paper with his name written on it in green ink. He dreamt about Dudley’s Smelting’s stick and of a giant with a huge bushy beard.