Part Seven of 'Their Phoenix'

[lomonaaeren]

Thank you again for all the reviews!

“Happy Christmas, Ginny!” Harry held out the brightly-wrapped package in his hands and hoped that his smile didn’t appear too nervous. He should appear excited that he was giving a present to his girlfriend, not like he wanted to throw up.

Never mind that he was close to that last feeling. Ginny had spent most of Christmas Eve avoiding him; whenever Harry tried to make an excuse to drag her over to the mistletoe, she was chatting to Bill instead, or arguing with Fleur about baby names, or laughing at some story of dragons Charlie was telling.

And it wasn’t that Harry resented the time she spent with her family. Really, it wasn’t. But the conviction that something was wrong weighed more heavily on him than ever, and he would have liked some sign from her that he didn’t have to worry.

Ginny smiled, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and took the gift from him. Harry hoped he was the only one close enough, in the crowded room filled with people and presents, to see the wideness of her eyes and the slight tremble in her fingers. He bit his lip, second-guessing the present he’d chosen.

But he’d seen Ginny looking at them with wistful eyes one weekend when he met her in Hogsmeade, and then turning away with her head lifted. Like Ron, she had a bad case of pride where money was concerned, and she wouldn’t want anyone to suspect that she was longing after something that she couldn’t afford.

The paper crinkled as Ginny unwrapped the gift, and then there was a little silence as she opened the box. Harry discovered he had his eyes shut. He shook his head at his own cowardice-Ledbetter would ask him sardonically how he could face Dark wizards if he couldn’t even stand this-and then looked at Ginny.

She was staring at him with an expression of wonder on her face as she lifted the new Quidditch gloves out of the box. They were worked with spells that allowed them to fit any owner’s hands and maintain a firm grip on any broom, so Harry hadn’t worried about buying them too big. He’d been more interested in making sure the color of the leather-soft and butter-yellow-was right, and the embroidery of flying harpies around the bottom. The embroidery showed the gloves had been designed after what the Captain of the Holyhead Harpies usually wore.

“How did you know I wanted them?” Ginny murmured to him, hardly opening her lips. No one noticed the words, Harry thought, because they were crowding around to admire the gift and Ron was enviously declaring that the present Harry’d got him, a pair of dragonhide boots, wasn’t half as good. “No one else did.”

Harry was relaxed enough by then to smile at her. “You’re my girlfriend, after all,” he said. “I should know what you like.”

A sad shadow, or at least a strange one, flitted across Ginny’s face. But she reached out, grasped his shoulders, and drew him into a strong kiss for the first time since he’d begun the visit. Harry kissed her back, feeling more relief than desire for the moment.

“Thank you,” Ginny whispered when they drew apart.

Harry gently touched her cheek. “It was my pleasure.” He dropped his voice; Ron and Charlie were arguing over whether dragon leather should be used for any purpose, even making boots and gloves, but the rest of the family was quiet now, watching the two brothers in amusement. “Could we-could I spend some time with you later tonight?”

And the shadow burned away as Ginny gave him a saucy wink. “That might be possible,” she said, before she turned around to reclaim the gloves from Ron.

Harry leaned back against the couch and beamed. At the moment, it seemed there was the possibility of a Happy Christmas for absolutely everyone.

*

“And my old ones were not good enough for you to use, is that it?” Draco was close enough to Severus by now to know that the slightly less sarcastic tone in his voice than usual was his idea of teasing, but he was still glad that he could look into his eyes and see the deeply-buried gleam of amusement there. “That is what this note implies, at least.” He held up the piece of parchment that had been tucked in with the golden cauldron, but was too absorbed in the cauldron itself to pay much attention to Draco’s response.

“I just thought you should have the best,” Draco said innocently. “And maybe, sometimes, when you’re not using it, there might be the faintest fleeting temptation for me to use it to brew one of the potions I need.”

Severus nodded to the pile of books behind Draco, on both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. “Maybe? Sometimes?”

“As my research deepens, that might be more often than it has been so far,” Draco agreed in a thoughtful tone. He moved closer to Severus, who sat in a wing-backed chair that distant relatives usually occupied during a Malfoy Christmas celebration, when those distant relatives were invited to the Manor as charity. Draco’s mother had quietly removed Lucius’s old chair from the room. Draco understood and agreed with the decision. “Would you disapprove?” He dropped his voice to a whisper.

“I cannot say that it would,” Severus whispered back, “especially if it leads to us spending more time together, in the lab or otherwise.”

Draco wanted to collapse in a smug pile. There was a time when Severus would never have said such a thing, and he knew it.

Instead, he tilted his head back and let Severus control the kiss between them for the moment. Draco had been the insistent one in bed last night-a fact Severus was probably reminded of every time he shifted his weight. Draco understood the dynamics of the relationship between them better than Severus gave him credit for, he thought, and he knew that letting his lover gain the upper hand at times was the best idea.

At times.

A quiet cough interrupted them. Severus tensed as if he would whip his head away, but Draco placed a firm hand behind his neck and ensured the kiss ended naturally. Then he turned around and raised an eyebrow at his mother. “Yes?”

Narcissa stood in the doorway that led to the small side-room where the house-elves had placed the food, two owls balanced on her shoulders. She looked at Severus and Draco with no judgment in her face. Draco felt Severus’s hand tense on his arm, then relax. He had probably realized, as Draco had, that of course his mother would sense any relationship between them immediately, and would already have objected if she had objections.

“Owls for you,” said Narcissa. “From a person I did not expect to show up to these festivities, no matter how much his absence was felt.”

Draco’s first thought was Lucius, but then he remembered that he had already received a gift from that direction: unlimited access to the Malfoy vaults, which, until the legal permission had arrived, had still belonged to Lucius. It was his father’s tacit acknowledgment that he was unlikely to leave Azkaban whilst he lived.

And, of course, a way to ensure that no one in Azkaban itself could force him to give up his money due to blackmail.

“Who?” he asked, and then one of the owls left his mother’s shoulder and soared over to land on his. It was a generic post owl, and the package was light and wrapped in plain brown paper, so Draco wasn’t expecting much when he turned it over.

Happy Christmas, Draco. Harry.

Draco blinked several times. Then he raised his hands and mechanically tore the package open, thinking all the while that he hadn’t bothered to get anything for Harry. He had just assumed that of course they wouldn’t exchange gifts. That was something friends or family or lovers did, and none of those descriptions fit what the bonds had made them.

But inside was a gift that Draco could use and not simply something that Harry had chosen to gratify his own sentimental inclinations. The shrunken bookshelf carried a tag that explained it would grow larger when a certain incantation was uttered.

A note fluttered out of the package, and Draco stooped down to pick it up, still feeling emotionally distant from what he was doing.

Happy Christmas, Draco, it said again, in the sloppy handwriting that Draco had seen before when he glanced over at Harry’s papers in Potions. I know that the new house has walls that the Great Git plans to turn into shelves, but his books will probably crowd out yours. And he shouldn’t have to do all the work! This is just for you.

Draco put the bookshelf slowly on the floor. Then he sat down next to it and shook his head.

“From Potter?” Severus’s voice was unusually sharp. Draco looked up to see that the other owl Narcissa had carried in had flown to him, and that he was unwrapping what looked like a stirring rod.

Draco caught his breath. The rod, like the cauldron he’d got Severus, was made of gold. There were few potions that required stirring only with gold, but some of them were the most powerful and dangerous potions, and, like the cauldron, this was something Severus could not have afforded on his own. He would have had to simply wait until time had passed and people were no longer as suspicious of him, whilst brewing the potions only in his mind.

And he would have hated that.

Harry, whether he realized it or not, had given Severus a gift that would free his hands and his imagination in the same instant-and he had given gifts, by simple coincidence, that worked well with what Severus and Draco had got each other.

Draco had to close his eyes so that he didn’t do something stupid and sentimental, like stare into Severus’s eyes and expect a silent answer to his silent question. But the thought went on repeating in his head, anyway, where no one else could hear and mock it.

Do you see how well we fit together?

This is only one instance, Draco reminded himself immediately. Even if we do fit together once, it would take a lot of work to make it happen all the time. And Harry probably chose the gifts at random, thinking about what we would like. It’s not like he knew that I was getting Severus a gold cauldron. He got the bookshelf for me because he knew I was doing research, not because he knew Severus was buying books. He hasn’t asked that many questions or paid such close attention.

But it had happened anyway. And the fact that it had happened gave Draco some hope that it could happen again.

“Draco.”

Draco opened his eyes and turned his head. He had not expected his mother to interrupt this private moment. She could see that it was private, from the way Severus stroked the golden stirring rod and the expression on Draco’s face, couldn’t she?

“Have you sent him a gift in return?” Narcissa inquired, folding her hands sternly in front of her and staring at him with an equally stern eye.

Draco swallowed. Suddenly, his automatic omission of Harry from his gift list seemed like a larger sin than before.

“There wasn’t…” He trailed off feebly. His mother’s face became sharper and sharper with disapproval. “I mean, we didn’t know that he was going to do this.” He gestured between them, and at the gifts. Severus peered from beneath his curtain of hair at Narcissa, only half his face visible.

“Whether you knew or not,” Narcissa said, her voice soft and reverberating at the same time, “you should have sent him a gift. It is the polite thing to do for someone who saved your life.” She paused, whilst Draco wriggled in embarrassment and guilt, feeling all of six years old again.

“I hope that the thank-you notes are at least lavish,” Narcissa said, and lifted her nose, and walked out of the room. Draco looked at the floor.

“We shall have to find gifts, yes,” Severus said, at last. He reached out and lifted Draco’s chin. “I am equally guilty in not sending Potter-Harry-a gift. But we will find one, Draco. And do you realize what this means?” His eyes were bright as his face could never be, because he wouldn’t permit that to happen. “He will fit with us. The task is not hopeless.”

Not able to explain why he so needed it, Draco lifted his head for another kiss, and Severus obliged eagerly.

At the moment, if Harry had appeared in front of him, Draco thought he could almost have granted him the same kind of kiss.

*

Severus opened his eyes in shock, and gave a small hiss. He didn’t understand what could have awakened him from a sound sleep, made all the sounder by the energetic sex he and Draco had undertaken before they climbed into bed. He lay still for a moment, his eyes moving in slow circles. It was not impossible that one of the Malfoys’ numerous enemies had managed to get through the wards surrounding the Manor.

Then he understood. The current of Potter’s feelings that continually passed through him had gone silent. It took more effort to miss something that was no longer there than something new which had intruded.

Severus shook his head, sending his hair cascading down the side of his neck. Draco lay breathing peacefully beside him. Obviously, the shutting of the bond had not caused either of them immediate health problems.

Had Potter died?

No. From everything Severus had read in the past few books, he was virtually certain they would have felt the death, and in a way that would bring Draco screaming up from sleep and begging Severus to stop the pain.

Far more likely, Potter had encountered a circumstance that urged him to shut the bond for a time. And given that he was young, was spending Christmas with the Weasleys, and had not returned to join them for the night…

Severus uncurled his fingers and stared at the ceiling. He closed the bond so that he could have sex in privacy, without us overhearing him.

It was certainly a reasonable desire. Severus made himself consider it from the point of view of a bond-holder. If Severus had wielded control of the phoenix marks and not the other way around, he would not have wanted Potter to join in vicariously when he and Draco were in bed.

And he had no right to feel jealous. He and Potter were not lovers yet, and might never be, even if Draco and Potter became so-something Severus thought more and more likely, from the soft tone of voice in Draco’s voice when he mentioned Potter, and the way that Potter had watched Draco explore their new home with indulgent rolls of his eyes.

But jealousy was there in any case.

Severus closed his eyes. He faced a dilemma that even his new commitment to genuine feelings where Potter was concerned did not help. Did he show the jealousy, because it was honest? Or did he keep it concealed, because Potter was likely to think the emotion ridiculous and jeer at him for it?

I despise not knowing what to do.

Severus took a slow, deep breath, and then turned to the side. Draco lay sleeping on his pillow, face turned towards him and one hand stretched out; Severus thought it had likely slipped off his shoulder when he awakened. Draco lacked expression in sleep, looking blank and unmolded. Severus touched the back of his head, moved his fingers through his hair, and watched as Draco briefly stirred and then lapsed back into sleep.

He had come through the war, marked, like Potter, but less changed-and certainly less marked than Severus himself. He would have leaped awake at the slightest touch in such a vulnerable place as the back of the head. Draco thought that was marvelous. That was because he did not fully understand the experiences that had produced such a reaction.

There is a third person to consider here. Would expressing my jealousy help or hurt Draco?

Severus bared his teeth. He did not know that, either, but the only course that suggested itself to him was to wait and talk it over with Draco in the morning. After all, he might have jealousies of his own, and good reasons for expressing and not expressing them.

I also despise abiding by the decisions of others.

But he could do it. His experience under both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore had proven that.

Draco made a sleepy murmur and buried his head in Severus’s shoulder, snuffling. The sound should have made Severus curl his lip in disgust. He made every effort to keep his lab clean and himself free from sickness, as the slightest addition of an alien living organism could damage many potions.

Now he found himself drawing Draco closer and bowing his head so that his nose rested against his cheek. Draco made another snuffle, this time contented.

And Severus began to glimpse, dimly, why his overwhelming resentment of his slavery under the Dark Mark was missing from the way he regarded Draco and Potter.

I may learn not to despise accepting limitations, when they lead to such rewards.

*

Harry blinked and yawned, opening his eyes. He frowned when he realized that he didn’t recognize the ceiling of his bedroom.

Then he remembered how he’d spent yesterday evening, and turned to the side so that he could see Ginny. She slept flat on her stomach, her mouth slightly open as though she wanted to let her dreams out through her lips.

Harry stared down at her, then closed his eyes and sighed. Last night had not been as wonderful as the first time they made love, and he didn’t understand why. Of course, there was no law saying every time had to be the same, but…

It should have been more than that.

And what frustrated him was that he couldn’t even articulate what he meant, what “more” he was seeking.

Harry bit his lip and opened the bonds again so that Sn-Severus and Draco could feel his emotions. It was probably all right to keep them shut out for a few hours, but he didn’t want to meet them at Spinner’s End later with them fainting and convulsing, or, worse, have to invade Malfoy Manor because they couldn’t move to meet him.

Ginny still slept. From the sounds of it, so did most of the Burrow. Harry could sneak back to Ron’s room, where he slept in a spare bed Transfigured from cushions, and no one would see him. Since half the Weasley family seemed determined to pretend that Ginny would never grow up and the other half that she would never have sex until she was married, that would probably be the best plan.

But Harry lingered on, using his finger to trace the shape of Ginny’s lips and eyelids. She was perfectly lovely. She was young. She was healthy. She either loved him or liked him a lot. And Harry had to like her, or he would never have agreed to have sex with her. God knew he had plenty of practice in refusing proposals, given the owls that some witches still sent him.

Why isn’t that enough, damn it? He’d been sure it would be enough just a few days ago, when he talked with Hermione and thought about spending the rest of his life with Ginny.

And he didn’t know what he would want to do differently.

Maybe I want something perfect, something that can never happen. And if that’s true, it’s not fair to blame Ginny when she falls short of it.

Harry sighed under his breath and reached out to push Ginny’s hair away from her face. This time, the touch made her start and open her eyes, although Harry hadn’t meant to wake her up. Ginny smiled tentatively when she saw him, and sat up, hugging the sheet around her breasts. Harry thought that was silly when they’d seen each other both naked for the second time, but he didn’t want to make Ginny feel ridiculous, so he didn’t say anything.

“Hi, Harry,” she said. “What time is it?”

Harry performed a wandless Tempus Charm without even thinking. It was something he’d got used to doing, small wandless spells, since he performed the spell that would let him share magic with everyone in the bond. “Eight-o’clock,” he said. “I thought for sure your mum would be up by now.” He tried out a small smile.

Ginny laughed. “Mum says we can find our own breakfast on Boxing Day,” she said. “Only day of the year that happens.”

Harry laughed with her. Then the laughter faded, and they sat there feeling awkward-or at least Harry did. He drew in a deep breath and snorted it out through his nose, telling himself that this wasn’t stupid, or a sign that he and Ginny were wrong for each other. Everyone probably felt a little awkward on the morning after.

“Er,” he said at last, “I reckon I ought to get back to Ron’s bedroom before he starts suspecting something’s wrong.” He stood up and peeled back the sheets slowly. Ginny blushed and looked away.

“If he’s in there to suspect something,” Ginny murmured. Her voice was wicked, at least, a sharp contrast to her brilliant red cheeks. “I distinctly thought I saw him sneaking into Hermione’s room last night before we shut the door.”

Harry laughed again, and relaxed. No, nothing’s perfect. But I don’t think we’re expecting too much of each other, and we’ll get used to this. “Hermione’s the little hypocrite, then,” he said, “giving me lectures on being careful and being sure of what I want until I get married.”

Ginny looked up abruptly, her eyes wide and wounded in a way Harry hadn’t known they could look. Ginny seemed so strong most of the time, except about whatever secret she was keeping from Harry. “She lectured you? Why?”

Harry blinked, but decided the best thing he could do would be to answer right away and truthfully. Ginny thought there was something wrong with this, obviously, but Harry didn’t know why, and he didn’t want to get Hermione in trouble. “Because she said that lots of times, people don’t know what they really want before they get married. Marriage is a big step, and so it’s natural to fool around before then and make mistakes.” Harry rolled his eyes. “If people make that many mistakes, I don’t see why she thinks marriage cures everything.”

“Oh,” Ginny breathed out, and closed her eyes. “I thought she might have been talking about…your bond.”

Harry blinked again. “What would the bond have to do with my marrying you? I don’t see why we would have to invite Snape and Malfoy to the wedding if you didn’t want them there.”

Ginny’s smile was faint, and died quickly. She reached out, squeezed Harry’s hand, and then let it fall again. “I just don’t want to lose you to them,” she said. “And Hermione’s read a lot, and she has a different perspective on the bond than Ron does. Or I do,” she said, so softly Harry could hardly hear her. “She-thinks that you must be lovers with them eventually.” She peeked at Harry from beneath a strand of hair.

Harry felt his jaw fall open. Then he rolled his eyes. “No wonder she’s acted so strangely when she talked about it,” he said. “But that’s ridiculous, Ginny. Snape and Malfoy are already together, and I’m not attracted to them, not like that.”

“Do you find men attractive?” Ginny’s face was so red it looked like a tomato, but she kept her eyes fastened on Harry’s.

Harry cupped her chin. “I find you attractive. And only you.”

When Ginny smiled and kissed him, Harry knew he’d finally given the right answer.

*

Draco felt his shoulders tighten as Harry stepped through the front door of Spinner’s End, his wand already flicking to lift several heavier pieces of furniture. That was partially because Draco didn’t know if the gift he’d chosen would be good enough for whatever exaggerated standards of presents Harry might have.

But most of the tension came from the slender, red-haired figure who walked along beside Harry, and cast Draco a nervous, defiant glance.

She turned away almost at once to float a few trunks, packed with books, into the air, but the damage had been done.

Draco strode up to Harry and spoke in a harsh whisper, not really caring if the She-Weasel overheard them. “What is she doing here?”

Harry offered him a helpless little shrug and a tiny roll of the eyes, after a glance over his shoulder to take in his girlfriend’s position. That reassured Draco; it pointed to friction between them and hinted that this had not been Harry’s idea. “She wanted to come and help,” Harry said simply. “And it’s an extra pair of hands and some extra magic. Why should I have objected?”

He mumbled the last words, though, and avoided Draco’s gaze.

Draco turned and met Severus’s eyes above Harry’s head. He could see his own conclusion written plainly in his lover’s tight, blank expression. They could not give the gifts they had chosen to Harry in front of an audience. She would mock them at best, and put a wrong impression on it at worst.

Or maybe the right impression. Draco wanted to avoid that, too. The mere existence of Harry’s girlfriend was competition enough. What could happen if she thought she had reason to push herself between them and demand answers to awkward questions?

So Draco turned to the packing. He felt only focused determination through the bond from Harry as he shrank shelves, folded blankets, and wrapped furniture in Cushioning Charms for transport. But that didn’t help much.

Draco hadn’t realized how much Spinner’s End had come to feel like home. Certainly he found himself drawing irritated breaths for no reason as they denuded the rooms of familiar objects. Maybe it was anxiety about leaving a place where the Muggles mostly ignored them and moving into a house where the last reaction that would happen was people ignoring them, he thought wistfully.

Or maybe what makes you feel at home is the presence of Severus and Harry, and nothing else. After all, you didn’t feel like this when you stayed in the Manor with Severus on Christmas Eve and last night.

Draco stared at the wall, a set of cauldrons hovering motionless before him. Could it be something as simple as that? That he wanted to be alone with Severus and Harry, and wanted advance warning of extra company, as he’d known that his mother was going to be at the Manor?

“Malfoy. Move. Professor Snape told me to pack those stirring rods up with the others, and I can’t reach them if you’re standing in front of them.”

Draco snapped back to the present, and hissed at Weasley before he could stop himself. She raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed, and waited with wand raised until he stepped aside. Then, as she floated the stirring rods out the door of the lab, she asked, “Is hissing at enemies something they teach all the Slytherin students at Hogwarts? Or is that your particular specialty?” She glanced over her shoulder, and her expression was perfectly innocent.

“Ginny.” Harry’s tense, anxious voice interrupted before Draco could reply.

“What?” Weasley asked, and turned that expression of innocence on Harry. Harry hesitated, the bond thrumming with images of galloping horses and crashing waves. “I’m just making conversation.”

Harry swallowed down what Draco thought must be several different retorts, from the length of time he took, and then he offered a faint smile. Draco mentally compared it to the smiles that Harry had given when they had their dinner conversation about Quidditch, and was satisfied. Of course the bond gave him an advantage, since he was feeling all Harry’s emotions, but he was also becoming good at reading his expression, the skill Weasley had to practice, and this wasn’t a genuine smile. Draco wondered if she knew that. “Right. Well, come and help me with these two tables. Severus wants them taken together, and I don’t think I can manage the weight on my own.”

Weasley’s eyes widened, and her face went a little pale. As she moved out the door of the lab, Draco heard her demand, “Severus?”

“He asked me to call him that,” Harry said. “First step towards a truce. I said I would.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Weasley muttered.

Harry stopped and turned to face her, from the sound of it. Draco waved his wand so that several sets of vials would fly around the lab and into trunks, which made a lot of clattering noise but left him free to spy, and stuck his head slowly around the corner. “Ginny,” Harry said. He was speaking quietly and firmly, but the bond had darkened in Draco’s mind, frozen lightning hanging about it the way it had when he was trying to control his anger after Draco was wounded in the bookshop. “I have to live with them. I want to be as friendly with them as possible. Is calling them by their first names that much of a sacrifice?”

Weasley shook her hair out of her face and looked up at him. Her arms were folded, her body radiating tension. “You don’t do that in front of me. You always call them by their last names.”

“Because I thought it would be diplomatic to do that in front of you, and call them by their first names in front of them.” Harry ran a hand through his hair, hissing. “I’m just trying to get along with two very different sets of people, and in a way that will make them as comfortable and happy as possible. And me as comfortable and happy as possible, too, come to that. You know that I can’t break this bond. Can I have your help in living with it? Please?”

Weasley held the hostile posture for a breath longer, then sighed and let her head droop forwards. “Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry, Harry. But-seeing the way they look at you-”

“As if I’m not quite as stupid as I appear?” Harry asked dryly. “Trust me, they may have upgraded me from possible Potions ingredient to tolerable human being in their minds, but it won’t go any further than that.”

Draco curled his fingers into the side of the doorway. He says that he wants to live with us both, but he’s still being fairer to the Weasleys than to us. He was glad that he had advised Severus to hide his jealousy for now. Harry really wouldn’t understand why they might be jealous over him, if he was in this kind of mood.

“Not that,” Ginny said. “But it’s something-something else that I can’t define, but I don’t like. Not as if they want you.”

How little you know, Draco thought in her general direction, and marveled that Harry could nod as if this was a reasonable conclusion. For a moment, Draco wished with quiet violence that Harry would open the bonds the other way. Feeling what Draco and Severus felt about him would do him a world of good.

“All right,” Harry said, his voice full of a crooning gentleness that made Draco want to vomit. He better not talk to me that way when we become lovers. “If you do learn what it is and want to talk about it, let me know.” He smiled at Weasley and turned back to the lab. “Why don’t you ask Severus if we can take the first load to the house?”

Draco hastily ducked out of sight, but not hastily enough, as was proven when Harry stepped into the lab after him and looked at him steadily, in silence. Draco let his eyes fall and felt his cheeks heat up.

“I don’t enjoy spying,” Harry said. He sounded weary, as if he’d already had to deliver several lectures about spying today. That was unjust enough to make Draco meet his gaze again, with defiance. Harry raised an eyebrow and his voice turned harsher, whilst the bond glowered with images of steep cliffs. “I’m sorry that I brought Ginny with me. I don’t think it’s working well. But the bit about my trying to live with everyone else in the bond? Applies to you, too. If you could go out of your way to avoid openly insulting her, then I’d appreciate it.”

“I hissed at her,” Draco said. “Not insulted her.”

“I know, Draco.” Harry clasped his shoulder. “But she’ll take it the same way.” His expression lightened, a bit, and he nudged Draco in the ribs with an elbow. “And I’m the one who has to live with the consequences of a wrong word, right? I’m sure that you have your own ways of being careful around Severus.”

Draco whirled to face him, bubbling with exasperation, and sought an outlet the only way he could, since revealing his jealousy really would let Harry know something was up. “Doesn’t that bother you? That we’re sleeping together?”

Harry paused. His eyes were careful, and so was the bond, the cliffs melting and changing colors too rapidly for Draco to easily tell what he was feeling. “Should it?” he asked in a neutral tone of voice.

“I think so,” Draco said. “We’re both people that you used to hate, and he’s a lot older than me, and we’re both men.”

Harry shrugged, holding his body so stiffly that Draco wondered if he was fighting to keep from backing away. “I think that you’ve been through lots of things I can’t understand,” he said. “The imprisonment, being tried for war crimes after you both suffered during the war as much as anybody, and then spending a lot of time under house arrest. And the bond took some of your freedom, as well as mine. I don’t think it’s my place to judge, or interfere. If you’ve found each other, fine.”

Draco stared at him incredulously. “Did your friend Granger give you that speech?” he asked, since he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Harry’s face twisted into harsh lines, and Draco’s body twitched as the force of Harry’s anger struck him like a flood. “No,” Harry hissed. “Sometimes I think of things on my own, and sometimes I make my own decisions. Just because I don’t tell them to everybody doesn’t mean they’re not my own decisions!” He was taking deep breaths as if trying to control the magic that made the vials rattle in the trunks they’d settled into. “I’m not as smart as Hermione, but I’m smart enough to make up my own mind. I’ll listen to you, and Severus, and Hermione, and Ginny, and Kingsley, but I won’t let any of you control me. Or the Ministry either, for that matter, or the thought of the greater good. That’s what I really think about you and Severus sleeping together, Draco. Take it or leave it.”

And he whirled and stalked out of the potions lab, leaving Draco feeling much smaller and more chastened than he liked.

*

Later, Harry blamed his anger over the conversation with Draco and his worry over Ginny for his carelessness, but he wasn’t sure that it much mattered what got the blame. The fact was that the thing had happened.

He Apparated to the new house’s front garden, a collection of trunks hovering around him, and heard a shout. Harry whipped around, his body reacting to the sound automatically after more than half a year of Auror training. Somebody was in trouble, and he wanted to do something to help.

A lone witch stood in front of the garden wall, her hands wringing together. Harry looked around for a child in danger or someone threatening her.

And so he missed the spell she sent at him.

Harry went to his knees with a loud cry. The spell cut into his belly, sinking deeper and deeper, like the marks of chewing teeth. Harry could feel fluid that wasn’t blood sliding down his legs and things shifting around down there that shouldn’t be moving, and he wanted to faint with the pain.

Ledbetter said that the worst wound was a gut wound. Harry knew what he was talking about, now.

He struggled to lift his head, though, because his voice wasn’t the only one sounding. Draco and Severus had both dropped in their tracks as though they were the ones the spell had cut. Harry grimaced. My pain affects them, and much more than their pain affects me. Bloody bond!

It was the thought of that, of harm coming to them that they couldn’t help or stop, that gave Harry the strength to stagger to his feet. Something fell from the open wound across his belly and splattered on the cobblestones. Harry gritted his teeth and rose above that, focusing on the woman with the kind of intensity that he’d used when he clung onto the dragon flying out of Gringotts.

He was going to die, and so were other people, if he didn’t do this. It was the best motivation he’d ever found for doing anything.

The witch opened her mouth and said something, but at this distance and with the roaring anger in his ears, Harry didn’t hear what it was. He pulled as hard as he could on the shared magic that encircled him, Draco, and Severus in a ring, and then poured it into a single spell. That made a weird bulging sensation in his mind, as if the spell were a container too small to hold everything.

“Petrificus Totalus!” he yelled.

The magic hit the woman in a sloppy running wave of light rather than the normal single beam, and she shrieked and dropped her wand. Her legs turned to stone, which climbed higher up her body until it reached her neck, leaving her a living head on a stone body. She began to scream again, the sound shrill and speaking of mindless fear.

Harry didn’t much care right now. It was the least she deserved for hurting Draco and Severus like that. He turned the shared magic back again, wielding it like a hoop, and turned it on the pain his bondmates were feeling.

Their cries stopped. Harry hesitated, then opened the bond the other way for the first time since that night in the hospital wing after he’d defeated Voldemort. He had to be sure they weren’t in any more pain.

Fires bloomed into view, one to the left side of his face, one to the right. One was golden, one purple. Harry hissed. He had forgotten that he had no idea how to interpret the colors Draco and Severus took on in his mind.

He shut the bonds again and then wavered and fell to his knees. “Are you all right?” he asked, committed to doing this the old-fashioned way.

“I am,” Severus said. Quite suddenly-Harry had been sure he was lying on the ground some distance away-he was kneeling beside Harry, one arm around his shoulders and wand moving in patterns not unlike those he’d used to heal Draco of Sectumsempra when Harry cast it at him. “But you have forgotten yourself, idiot boy. And if you die, we die with you. I am certain of that now.” His face was white as parchment.

That’s a good reason for it to be, Harry thought, and glanced down rather stupidly at his own hanging intestines. “I knew I forgot something,” he muttered.

Severus’s wand brushed against his temple. “Sleep, stupid boy,” he whispered.

Harry dropped off, wondering why Severus had said those words when his palm was gently stroking the back of Harry’s head. Can someone lie with their hands?

*

Severus closed his eyes. He had been utterly unprepared for the fear that ran down the bond, and that, more than the pain, had carried him from his feet when the witch’s spell hit Potter.

The Dark Lord had once had Nagini drape herself over Severus so that he might appreciate the power in her body. Potter’s fear for their lives was a strangling thing like that. If there was a scrap of concern for himself in that emotion, Severus could not detect it. The thought of them choked everything else.

And so Severus’s own fear when he saw the coils of blue hanging from the violent slash of red across Harry’s stomach had mixed with that terror and kept him still. The pain was nothing. He had weathered worse; the Chewed Gut Curse was still not an Unforgivable, and the Dark Lord had preferred the Cruciatus for punishments on Death Eaters.

But the thought of Harry dying…

Severus opened his eyes to see the phoenix mark on his left arm glowing softly, but steadily. He wondered what that meant, but now was not the time for research on bonds. He rose to his feet and looked about for Draco.

Draco stood with his wand jammed into the throat of the Petrified witch. Severus took a moment to dispassionately admire the work of Harry’s magic as he picked his way towards Draco’s side over the objects Harry had dropped. That was an interpretation of the spell he would never have thought to use.

Because I would have used a stronger spell than that in the first place, he acknowledged to himself, and reached out to lay a hand on Draco’s wrist. Draco, who had been snarling threats under his breath to the terrified witch, turned on him like a tiger.

“Moderation,” Severus whispered, deliberately keeping his voice low and sober. This was one of the first Potions lessons that he had taught Draco, and he thought the appeal to childhood memories might help in calming Draco down. “In all things, moderation. The use of force as much as anything else.”

Draco closed his eyes and nodded jerkily, seeming to remember for the first time that they were newly pardoned Death Eaters in the middle of Hogsmeade. He stepped back. Severus moved forwards and stared into the woman’s eyes.

“What did you hope to accomplish by hurting the Chosen One?” he asked, using the words to distract her from the Legilimency he used to ferret into her mind.

The woman babbled something nonsensical about hope and freedom, but Severus had located the real reason. The Boy-Who-Lived shouldn’t be associating with Death Eaters! They must have corrupted him! It was better to die than to live such a life!

His lip curled, and Severus fought the temptation to teach her a sharper lesson. The warning he had given Draco applied just as much to him as it did to Draco. He inclined his head and moved backwards instead.

“Bring her along,” he told Draco. “The Healers at St. Mungo’s will need to see Harry, and probably also her, in order to undo the spell Harry put her under. We will make ourselves look better than we have in the eyes of the law, by getting even the attacker treatment and proving we have not harmed her.”

Draco jumped, as if the words had been a whip to strike the desire for vengeance out of him, and then turned and looked anxiously at Harry. “Is he-”

“Asleep,” Severus said. “And as healed as I can make him. I have had some practice in treating the effects of this curse.”

Draco swallowed and nodded. Then he touched his left arm and his phoenix mark, which still had a faint trace of red and gold light. “I don’t want to think about what would have happened if we’d lost him,” he said lowly.

“Would you have died?”

It was Weasley who asked the question, leaning against the wall that encircled their garden. Severus had nearly forgotten about her. He gave her a glance now, saw that she didn’t intend to interfere in their transport of Harry, and dismissed her.

“Yes, we would have,” Draco said, his voice muted.

Severus stiffened in irritation-Draco did not need to blurt that out in a public place for enemies to overhear-but then busied himself conjuring a stretcher. As he lowered it into place beside Harry, he heard Weasley whisper, “I didn’t know. I would have-I would have behaved better to you if I knew.”

“Don’t make this about yourself, Weasley,” Draco snapped at her. “Harry’s hurt.”

Severus didn’t bother listening to her reply. His gaze was locked on Harry’s pale face as he levitated him onto the stretcher.

I know he has been hurt in Auror training, and we have not been affected. Why now? Is it only due to the nature of the curse? Has the bond begun to change, and if so, what does that mean?

Severus shook his head. Once again, he had few answers for many problems.

But there was one thing he knew would have to be done. That lack of concern for his own life in the bond, the way Harry had seemed to forget that he was wounded…

It chimed with the self-loathing Severus had felt in the bond when it first opened, and the reckless way that Harry had used accidental magic to save them, and several other signs that made him-concerned. Not worried. Worry had been what he felt when he saw Harry fall in front of him.

We must find out what the source of that is. Nothing like a hidden death wish, I hope.

He brushed Harry’s hair away from his unmarked forehead, and hoped that he might soon see those eyes open.

For practical reasons, of course, but also for personal ones.

Part Eight.