:: :: :: :: ::

Whap.

The force of the blow made his skin sting and his eyes water, but Draco Malfoy didn't make a sound. He clenched his jaw and turned his gaze back to Potter. Potter's eyes were dark and hard in the dim light of the cell, standing out from his pale face. He looked like anything but the world's hero, the vanquisher of the Dark Lord. In fact, he seemed rather malevolent himself, standing behind his Ministry thugs and watching with detached interest as they roughed Draco up.

Draco sneered.

"I haven't got all day, Malfoy," Potter said, with something akin to an exasperated sigh. "Either you know where McCaffrey is, or you don't. If you'd prefer to be beaten more--"

"You know fuck all about my preferences," Draco retorted.

Whap. Draco staggered a step backwards and sank to his knees, wincing. He hadn't even seen the hand raised that time -- he really was losing his touch.

Two years in Azkaban would do that to a man.

"However," Potter continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted at all, "If you aren't interested in being useful to the Ministry, that is your choice to make. I don't particularly care if you want to stay and rot in this cell."

Potter stepped forward to stand over Draco. His features were cast into shadow, and for a moment, he reminded Draco of someone else -- someone he'd rather forget. How Potter had gotten to this point, Draco wasn't sure. He'd only heard rumors, some from before his time in Azkaban and some from the inside, of how Potter was the Ministry's information man. If they needed to know something, he was the one they sent to find out. He didn't rely on Legilimancy, either -- he reportedly used other methods that were quite persuasive.

Potter's hand reached out and grasped Draco's jaw, lifting it up enough to inspect the trickle of blood from where Draco's lip had just been split. "Your sentence is twenty years, isn't it? Pity a young man like you should be condemned to this place for so long."

Draco took great pleasure in leering back at him. "Got other ideas for how I should spend my sentence, have you?"

Potter's eyes darkened, and he released Draco's jaw a split second before one of the other men landed a blow to the side of Draco's head with something solid. Draco's face was pressed into the cold stone of the floor, and it was a moment before he realized no one was holding him there. He just couldn't get up.

"I'll give you a few days to think about it," he heard Potter say. The voice was distant and hazy. He heard sounds that may have been footsteps, and the creak of the heavy door being opened and closed again.

Draco rolled onto his back, and felt pain lance through his right side. He smiled.

:: :: :: :: ::

"In there," the guard barked, shoving Draco through a doorway and into a startlingly bright room. He tried not to blink against the glare, well aware that it made him look more pathetic than he did already. There was a time when he'd rather have died than been forced to live like this. There were still times, to be honest, but for the most part, he didn't care. He'd stopped caring a long time ago.

"Sit," the guard said, pushing him forward. The room was empty save for a table with a chair on either side. The chair on Draco's side was plain and uncomfortable-looking, while the other was ornate and plush. Draco sat, and waited.

A door appeared in the middle of a blank wall and Potter stepped through, dressed in black business robes and looking far more human than the creature who'd haunted Draco's dreams for the last few nights. The door closed and melted away as if it had never existed.

"Leave us," Potter said, looking past Draco to the guard. Draco heard a pop, and the room grew silent.

Potter set a briefcase on the table and opened it, then pulled out some rolls of parchment. He spent a moment unfurling the parchments and reading over each one, never once looking up.

One corner of Draco's mouth turned up. From what he'd heard, this was Potter at his finest: cool, calculating, a master of mindfuckery. He knew exactly how far he could push people, and he was quite good at it. Fortunately for Draco, Potter had spent very little time trying to fuck with him. And Draco had been fucked with by far more important men than Harry Potter.

Potter seemed to wait for a certain amount of tension to build in the room before pressing one roll of parchment flat on the table and turning it so that Draco could read it.

"Your sentencing docs," Potter said, his eyes meeting Draco's for the first time. "Twenty years for conspiracy against the Ministry of Magic, for being a Marked Death Eater, and for refusing to cooperate with the Ministry at a time of crisis." He did not wait for Draco to respond, but instead unrolled a second piece of parchment next to the first. "Rosier McCaffrey, Marked Death Eater, wanted for a dozen murders, including three of innocent Muggles. Do you know him?"

McCaffrey's face leered from the parchment, his expression moving smoothly from a bemused smirk to one of rage, replaying over and over. Draco's eyes darted back up to Potter's. "We may have crossed paths at some point. I don't remember."

The two pieces of parchment scooted away from each other to make space for a third that Potter placed between them. "Eyewitness accounts placing you at McCaffrey's home some four years ago."

"I assume you acquired this evidence under the usual circumstances?" Draco replied with a snort.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you, of all wizards, should know better than to rely on testimony obtained under torture, Potter."

Potter's lips quirked into half a smile at that, and he sat back in his chair. "What makes you think I had to torture anyone to get that information? Not many people out there like you, Malfoy. On either side."

The remark stung, but Draco didn't let it show. He smiled instead. "Still worried about popularity this many years out of school?"

"I'm worried that a known criminal is still at large, one who has shown no regard for human life or society."

"Not to mention he's one you've been completely unable to apprehend," Draco added, letting himself sneer a bit. "It must shake your faith in your own moral superiority."

"It worries me," Potter said, voice a bit cooler than before. "And I am prepared to lighten your sentence considerably if you were to help us."

Draco paused as his brain caught up with his heartbeat. "Lighten?"

"Time served, plus five years' probation," Potter said, watching Draco's face. "If we catch McCaffrey, you walk free. More or less."

"You don't have the authority to change my sentence. Only the Wizengamot does."

"I can make a recommendation. And the Wizengamot usually follows my recommendations, on any matter."

It was too good to be true. It had to be a trick. Draco stared at the parchments laid out before him. "What exactly would I have to do?"

"You would be released to my custody and would assist me in the tracking and capture of the fugitive." Potter leaned forward, drawing Draco's attention. "You would still be a prisoner, of course, and would be expected to follow all orders I give."

"Right. Or else." Draco looked away, his mind spinning. Even if it were too good to be true, it would get him out of Azkaban for a stretch at the very least. Even without Dementors, the place was a miserable soul-sucking hellhole, and he doubted he'd leave with his sanity intact in twenty years.

He had no idea where McCaffrey might be. He had never even spoken to the man, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that Potter believed Draco could lead them to him. And if Draco could stall long enough, he might find a way to do just that. Or escape, perhaps. Or die trying.

All three options sounded better than staying where he was.

"All right," he said, looking up at Potter. "When do we leave?"

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco stepped out of the fireplace and into a surprisingly small, dingy flat. It didn't look as though it had been cleaned regularly since being occupied by its current resident, and the furniture seemed to have been assembled from other peoples' cast-offs. Still, it was better than anything he'd seen in six months.

"Here," Potter said, stepping in front of him. "Hold out your hands." Draco did so, and Potter tapped his wand against the metal bindings. They opened and levitated in the air for a moment before Potter snatched them up.

"Thanks," Draco said, rubbing at his wrists.

"It's not for your comfort," Potter replied, eyes cool. "It's for mine. I don't fancy waiting on you hand and foot."

"Nor wiping my arse, I imagine," Draco muttered.

"I expect you to follow a few rules during this assignment," Potter continued, pointedly ignoring the last remark. "You don't leave my sight. You ask permission before you as much as wipe your nose. You do what I say, when I say it, no questions asked."

Draco glared at him. "Is that all?"

"No. Any infraction will earn you a portkey right back to your cell. No second chances. Understood?"

Draco rolled his eyes in response, and a searing pain shot through his shoulder. He clutched at it with one hand and dropped to his knees, groaning. He looked up to see Potter's wand pointed at him.

"New rule. You respond to my questions politely, or I trigger the brand."

"What happened to just slugging me?"

Potter smirked. "This is easier."

"It doesn't hurt as much as the Dark Mark did, you know. Not that it makes you lot any better than--"

"Want me to do it again?" Potter asked, his voice oddly calm.

Draco blinked at him, considering.

Potter gestured to the worn sofa. "You'll sleep there, and you won't leave that spot. If you have to piss, too bad. We leave at dawn." He left the room, closing a door behind him.

Draco climbed to his feet and sat on the sofa, gritting his teeth at the ache in his shoulder. It wasn't even a good sort of ache, which was annoying. He leaned back against the cushions and traced the brand through the fabric of his shirt, running his fingers over the outline of the Ministry's coat-of-arms burned into his skin.

This whole McCaffrey operation was turning out to be a bit more than he'd bargained for, but it was too late for second thoughts.

He sighed. It was still better than Azkaban.

:: :: :: :: ::

"He isn't here," Potter said, kicking an empty bottle across the dusty floor. "And from the looks of it, he hasn't been here for a while."

"Well, the last time I saw him, he was hiding out in this house with a few other Death Eaters." It was the truth, and the only piece of information Draco actually had about McCaffrey. Of course, he wasn't going to tell Potter he'd only seen the man by peeking through the window because Snape had made him wait outside.

Potter turned to scowl at him. "And that would have been what, four years ago? Are you stupid or something?"

Draco snorted. "It's not like I expected him to still be here. But I thought there might be some clue as to where he went."

"Not bloody likely. Is this all you've got, Malfoy? Because I can portkey you back to Azkaban before dinner if--"

"Spare me the dramatics," Draco said. "It would have been foolish not to start here, considering that this was a place I know he spent some time. Besides, there might have been a clue of some sort."

"This had better not be all you've got," Potter said, his eyes narrowing.

"Of course not." Draco turned to the door, and hoped Potter had missed the hitch in his voice.

They walked down the road back towards the village center. Draco tried to walk purposefully, but not too quickly. He needed time to think. Fortunately, Potter seemed content to brood in silence, walking beside him. Draco had no idea what he should do next. There had to be some place he could take them to and convince Potter that McCaffrey had once taken a shit there, or something. Anything.

They rounded a corner into the main square of the village, which was quiet except for a few drunken Muggles stumbling out of a pub on the far side. At the center, a graffiti-covered statue of a Victorian-costumed man on a horse was the only interruption of the span of worn cobblestones. Draco stared at it, realizing that he'd seen it before. All of these little villages blurred together sometimes, especially the way they'd apparated great distances and moved quickly during the war. But this one -- he was sure he'd been in this spot before. He turned to his right and saw a narrow street curving off of the square.

"This way," he said, and headed towards it, feeling relief spreading through him. They walked down the lane, passing boarded up windows and doors and stepping over rubbish that no one had bothered to pick up. The sun hadn't shone on these cobblestones in years, from the looks of it. It smelled like piss and mold. Draco wrinkled his nose.

"Where are we going?" Potter asked, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

Draco stopped below a faded wooden sign, then turned to face a solid brick wall. "Here," he said. He was almost certain this was it, at least. If not, he'd look like a fool very soon. He took a discreet breath, smirked at Potter, and stepped forward -- right through the wall.

The pub was just as he'd remembered, low-ceilinged and dark, with questionable characters ingesting questionable substances in the shadowed corners. God, how he'd missed places like this.

"A bit common for your taste, isn't it?" Potter said, his mouth so close to Draco's ear that it made him jump.

"And here I thought you were the man of the people," Draco retorted. He nodded in the direction of an empty booth. "You go and sit, and I'll get us drinks and have a chat with the barman."

Potter shot him a look of annoyance at being ordered about, but he turned toward the booth. He'd taken two steps away before Draco realized he had yet another problem.

"Potter," Draco said, willing himself not to blush. "Can I… Do you have any money?"

Potter frowned at him, and then reached for his wallet.

Asking Potter for money was only slightly less humiliating than getting his arse kicked by him, but Draco clenched his jaw and headed toward the bar with his head held as high as he could manage.

The barman was a large gruff man, about a quarter giant from the looks of him. His single surviving eye roved over Draco's torso in a way that could only be described as extraordinarily creepy. He grunted, and Draco stared at him for a full second before realizing that had been his cue to order.

"Erm… Two pints of whatever local ale you've got on draught."

The barman grunted again and reached under the bar, producing two large mugs.

"The place hasn't changed," Draco began, looking about and feigning as much fondness as he could manage. "I haven't been here in years."

The bartender continued tapping the ales and ignored him.

"I've lost touch with some associates from those days," Draco continued, shooting the bartender a knowing look. "I don't suppose any of them are still about?"

The barman paused and cast his eye up at Draco. It narrowed. Draco stared back, trying to look as menacing as possible. It was difficult after all that time in Azkaban -- he'd had to learn to look harmless there, just to survive.

The barman snorted and pushed the two pints toward him. "Twelve."

"Knuts?" Draco asked, incredulous. "It's ale, man, not--"

"Twelve," the barman repeated, his eye now narrowed to a slit. "Special price for Mr. Potter."

Draco swallowed. He hadn't thought of it before, but it was obvious now -- if he were to make much progress, having Potter around would only hinder him. Of course, he doubted Potter would buy that. He'd probably think Draco was just looking for a chance to escape. Which he absolutely would, if he didn't have this Ministry brand on his skin that would allow Potter to torture him from afar for the rest of his life.

He picked up the pints and headed toward the booth where Potter was sitting, suddenly feeling every eye in the place on him. He set the pints down and slid into the booth across from Potter, and scowled.

"I take it that didn't help?" Potter asked, reaching for one of the mugs.

He gave Potter a pointed look. "He knows who you are and he won't talk to me. And he's got a point. If I'm with you, why should I expect anyone to give me information on McCaffrey?"

Potter's eyes narrowed. "I thought you knew where McCaffrey was."

"I knew where he was before I was in Azkaban, but being locked up for two years put a bit of a dent in my social life. If I'm to catch up with him again, it hardly helps to be seen on your arm."

"If you think I'm going to let you wander about the countryside without supervision--"

"Then you must not be terribly interested in catching him." Draco shook his head, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "Because I'm telling you that your presence is not helping."

Potter gave him a long hard look, then sipped his ale. "I'm not authorized to let you wander about on your own."

"Bollocks," Draco said, almost sloshing his ale as he set it back down on the table. "If you can get my sentence commuted, you most certainly do have the authority."

"It's not that simple," Potter replied, lowering his voice to a whisper. "And I have no particular reason to trust you."

Draco gritted his teeth. "No, I suppose you haven't."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Draco staring into his ale and Potter casting furtive glances about the pub.

"Over there," Potter said at last, jerking his head toward the corner. "See the man with the hood pulled over his face?" Draco glanced in the direction Potter mentioned, then turned back to him and shrugged. "Go see what he knows."

Draco stared at him for a moment, incredulous, and then pushed his ale away with a sigh.

Potter was stunningly naïve, he thought as he crossed the pub towards the man. If he really thought Draco would be able to get any information by approaching strangers who clearly wanted to be left alone, he was even more inept than Draco thought.

He didn't bother asking; he just slid into the booth across from the man. He considered waiting for him to respond, but then thought better of it.

"Look," Draco began, "I know you aren't here to socialize, but I'm looking for someone, and I thought you might've--"

"Alch'en do chienah l'etischi," the figure replied, and Draco felt his blood chill. He'd heard just enough Malasch as a boy to know that this man -- or demon, more likely -- spoke it. And that meant Draco should get as far away from this booth as possible.

"Right, sorry to bother you," he said, certain that his voice had pitched up an entire octave. He slid out of the booth and headed back to Potter.

"Well?" Potter asked.

Draco briefly entertained the idea of explaining that Potter had nearly just got him incinerated, but decided against it. He shrugged and reached for his ale, taking a few large gulps. "He said he didn't know anything."

Potter gave him a long look, and then scanned the room again. "All right. Try that one over there."

Draco looked in the direction he was pointing and groaned.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco slumped into a worn chair by the fireplace and sighed. He hadn't felt quite this humiliated since the day he was arrested, and for the first time, he wondered if he would have been better off back in his cell. He'd accomplished nothing that afternoon in the pub but to make a fool of himself, and there was no point in explaining to Potter that this approach wasn't going to work.

Potter dropped his rucksack on the small room's single bed. He'd been quiet ever since they'd left the pub and hired a room at this inn, and he didn't seem likely to talk to Draco.

Which was fine by Draco. He closed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, wondering if he'd get anything to eat that night. Potter didn't seem to eat at all, as far as Draco could tell.

"I hope you're planning to try a bit harder tomorrow," Potter said.

Draco's eyes flew open. "Sorry?"

Potter turned to face him, his expression cool. "You accomplished nothing today. You wasted my time."

"It's not my fault no one at that pub would talk to me, you know. Not with you sitting across the way, glaring Ministry daggers at everyone."

"You weren't trying very hard," Potter retorted, stalking towards him. "And I wasn't glaring."

"Like hell you weren't," Draco replied, looking up at him with as much of a sneer as he could muster. "Every person I talked to asked me why I was with you, and you can imagine that hindered the conversation quite a bit."

Potter shook his head, scowling. "And it never occurred to you to use certain assets of yours to better advantage?"

Draco could only gape at Potter, stunned. He'd never been treated like a whore, even when he probably should have been, but that -- that remark was beyond the pale. He pushed himself to his feet, nearly trembling with rage.

"That was never part of the deal."

Potter smirked. "Oh, please. Did you really think that was in your past, Malfoy?"

"Shut up," Draco said, taking a step toward him.

"Why did you think I wanted you for this job? You've got qualifications I could never have."

"Fuck you," Draco growled, and gave Potter a shove.

Potter turned as if reaching for his wand and Draco braced himself, but then Potter turned back and punched Draco squarely across the jaw.

He floated in the sensation for a moment, as if time had slowed down. He felt the skin grow cold where Potter's fist had connected, and then hot, and then felt the tingling give way to pain.

It was glorious.

He staggered toward Potter with every intention of hitting back, but Potter's fist found his stomach first, and then the side of his head. Draco fell to his knees, groaning, so lost in sensation that he couldn't stop the smile from coming to his face. His cock was rock hard now, harder than it had been in ages. He exhaled and looked up. Potter was staring down at him, a mix of concern and revulsion flickering over his features.

"Well?" Draco asked. He licked a drop of blood from the corner of his lip and smiled. "This was what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Potter stared down at him, baffled. "What are you--?" His eyes drifted down to the obvious bulge at Draco's groin, and then his eyes widened. "Oh… god no. You can't think--"

"This is what you brought me here for, isn't it?" Draco asked, moving close enough that his face was less than a foot from Potter's groin. "To fuck information out of people."

Potter paled, and for once seemed too shocked to respond. Draco reached for the fly on Potter's jeans, but he stumbled backwards before Draco could touch him.

"I was talking about the Dark Mark," Potter said, shaking his head and looking horrified. "I didn't mean… You're disgusting!"

"Oh. Sorry." Draco settled back on his heels, unable to keep himself from smirking. He probably ought to be concerned that his assumption was that Potter had meant that, but he wasn't. Potter looked thoroughly rattled, which meant Draco had hit a nerve. This was something he could use to unsettle Potter completely -- if he played his cards right.

:: :: :: :: ::

The sound of the shower woke Draco up. He shifted on the floor and winced at the stiffness in his joints. Potter had spared a blanket for him, but the floor was cold and hard, and he hadn't slept well. He sat up, stretching, and made an attempt to tame his hair. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, casting annoyingly cheery shadows across the floor and onto his blanket.

Draco pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the window. Outside, the street was coming to life. A Muggle greengrocer was stacking cabbages on a stand in front of his shop, making little green pyramids with exaggerated care. Three children in school uniforms who skipped past him on the pavement, coming perilously close to his stand of potatoes. A young woman in a short skirt and heels was walking up the other side of the street, and men in suits turned to stare after her, eyes firmly planted on her arse. There were others, and they were all moving -- they all had places to go and things to do. They had lives.

It was a world Draco had never really been a part of, and after two years in prison, had never thought he'd see again. He'd never given much thought to the lives of Muggles before, but watching them now, going about their morning as if there'd never been a war or a Dark Lord or horrible things to haunt them in their sleep at night -- he couldn't help but envy them.

A few minutes later, Potter emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. He didn't look at Draco at all, focusing instead on casting cleaning charms on yesterday's clothes laid out on his bed. He stood still when he'd finished and stared down at his trousers with a strange look on his face, as if reluctant to change into them in front of Draco.

Draco sighed and headed for the bathroom, hoping Potter hadn't used all the hot water. It turned out there was enough for him to rinse off and wash his hair, which was better than nothing. Hot showers had seemed an unimaginable luxury while he was in Azkaban, and just standing under the spray made him feel freer than he'd felt in a long time.

He didn't bother wearing a towel out of the bathroom. Potter gave him a sharp look and turned away, and Draco took his time getting dressed. Let the bastard be uncomfortable.

They ate breakfast in the inn's pub in awkward silence, and even that was an oddly pleasant experience. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd had jam and proper tea. He didn't even care that Potter was barely eating -- there was more toast for Draco that way.

"Sorry about last night," Potter said, in a voice that was so low it took Draco a moment to register what he'd said. Their eyes met for a brief second before Potter looked away again. "I don't expect you to… I mean, you're here because you used to be one of them. I thought you could help us find McCaffrey, and that's all."

"All right," Draco said through a mouthful of toast. He watched Potter stir his tea for a moment, looking even more uncomfortable than he had the night before. Draco suppressed a smile. "But I would, you know. If you asked nicely."

Potter's forehead furrowed, and he stirred his tea a bit more vigorously.

"The innkeeper thinks we're a couple anyway, I imagine," Draco continued, watching Potter's face. "If you think it would be a good cover, I'd be happy to make it look real."

"That won't be necessary," Potter spat, pushing his tea aside. "If you're quite finished--"

"Oh, lighten up," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "I'm only teasing."

Potter stood and gestured to the barmaid for the bill. "I'd rather you didn't."

Draco choked down the remains of his tea as Potter paid the barmaid and gathered up his rucksack and jacket and headed for the door. Draco nearly had to jog to catch up with him.

"So," he said, panting a bit -- not much opportunity to exercise in his cell. "Where to now?"

"I thought that was your job," Potter replied, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"You seem to know where you're going," Draco said, though his stomach twisted. He had no idea where to go from here, and he needed to think of something fast.

"Unless you'd prefer to apparate in plain view, I was heading toward the alley we were in last night."

"Thanks for the update," Draco grumbled, and began to think through a list of places they could go.

They found a quiet spot in the alley out of view of the main square. Potter turned to Draco and looked directly at him for what seemed like the first time that morning.

"Well?"

Draco pressed his lips together. "I think we should go to Rolvenden."

Potter blinked at him. "Where?"

"Rolvenden," Draco repeated, relieved that Potter had never heard of the place. He'd only been there once himself, and all he remembered was that his father had had some business there once. It was as good a place as any to go, and he had no other ideas. "McCaffrey had contacts there. Maybe we can find someone who would know where to find him."

Potter nodded. "All right. But I've no clue where it is."

"Kent," Draco said, and held out an arm. Potter clenched his jaw, looking like he'd rather splinch himself than have Draco apparate him. Draco raised an eyebrow, and Potter sighed. He took Draco's arm, and they disapparated.

:: :: :: :: ::

Rolvenden was tiny, but had a street of magical shops well hidden from Muggle view. Potter had been spotted almost right away by a giggly teenaged witch who'd taken them to the entrance, then pouted when Potter told her they didn't need a tour. He sent her on her way with an autograph and a smile, and it was all Draco could do not to vomit.

"Sometimes I can be helpful to have around, you know," Potter said when he saw the scowl on Draco's face.

"Yes," Draco replied with a snort. "If we were here to rescue puppies and deflower local virgins, we'd be all set, wouldn't we?" They made their way down the narrow street of shops, stopping before a grimy door. "I should do this alone," Draco said, staring up at the faded sign swinging above their heads. "You won't be particularly welcome here."

Potter clenched his jaw, but he nodded. "If you aren't back in 10 minutes--"

"You'll zap the brand, I know," Draco grumbled. He opened the door to see an ominously gothic staircase disappearing up into the building above. He took a deep breath. "On second thought, if I don't come back, you'll probably need it to identify what's left of me."

He climbed the stairs, wincing at how creaky they were, and emerged into a dark, dusty shop that was cluttered with magical objects. There was no shopkeeper in sight, so Draco crossed to the counter and studied the objects under the glass: a real shrunken head, an ivory wand, what seemed to be the skull of a human infant, and a small wooden box with inlaid stone designs on the lid. He leaned forward and stared.

"It's not for sale," a gruff voice said, startling Draco so much he jumped back a foot.

"Everything has a price," he said, though his reaction a moment earlier had most certainly blown any chance he had at seeming menacing. He forced himself to stare back at the man behind the counter. He was quite old with blotchy, wrinkled skin and a ragged scar that ran diagonally across his face. His clothing looked to be older than he was; ruffles like that hadn't been fashionable in the Wizarding world in a century.

"What do you want?" the man asked, scowling.

"Information," Draco replied.

"I don't deal in that commodity," the man said, and turned away.

Draco reached across the counter and grasped one of the ruffles, pulling the man toward him. He pushed up the sleeve of his shirt enough to reveal the tattoo on his arm, casually but deliberately. "Are you certain?"

The man's dark eyes flicked to the Dark Mark and back to Draco's face. "You look familiar, boy. Have we met before?"

"Name's Malfoy. Do you know it?"

The man's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Information you wanted, was it?"

"I'm looking for someone -- Rosier McCaffrey."

The shopkeeper pursed his lips and looked as if he were concentrating. "Yes," he replied. "I remember him. Haven't seen him in a few years, though. Thought he was dead, actually."

"He's not dead," Draco said. "The Ministry is looking for him. Which is why I'm hoping to find him first."

"Got your own score to settle, have you?" the shopkeeper asked, suspicion settling into his frown.

"Owe him a favor, actually," Draco replied, and shook his head as if disgusted by the thought. "Why else would I put my neck on the line?"

"I saw him more than two years ago in Wales," the man said, his voice lowered almost to a whisper. "Rounded up some vulture bile for him, but he never showed up to collect it."

"Where in Wales?" Draco asked.

"Don't remember." The man looked thoughtful for a moment. "The last time I saw him, he was going to meet Severus Snape."

"Snape?" Draco asked. He felt like kicking himself. Why hadn't he thought to ask Snape? Because he knew Potter would veto that idea, of course. Still, it was worth a try. Draco plastered on the most charming smile he could manage. "Do you have an owl, by any chance?"

:: :: :: :: ::

"We're wasting time," Potter said, slumping into his chair and scowling.

"You have somewhere else to be?" Draco retorted. He sat back and drained the firewhiskey from his shot glass, closing his eyes at the sensation of it slipping down his throat. He'd missed this too.

"How can you drink so much of that?" Potter asked, staring into his own single-malt scotch. "It burns like hell. And not just on the way in."

"I like it," Draco replied, offering an enigmatic smile. "I like the way it keeps burning in my belly, for hours after I drink it."

Potter reached for the bottle. He squinted and poured Draco another shot. "Did I tell you about those Japanese wizards I met?"

"Yes, twice," Draco groaned. "And how the custom is never to let someone's glass go empty."

"They think it's rude," Potter continued, settling the bottle of firewhiskey down again with exaggerated care.

"I think you're just trying to get me drunk," Draco said.

"It's not as if we have anything better to do until the mysterious shopkeeper contacts you again."

"He'll come through. He should have that location for us by tomorrow afternoon." Draco glanced at the clock on the wall behind the bar, then stretched and pushed himself to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Potter asked, his head popping up.

"Have to piss. Want to watch?"

"Make it quick," Potter said, glaring at him.

Draco headed towards the toilets, and then looked back to make sure Potter wasn't watching as he continued on past them, to the pub's back entrance. He opened the door and glanced out into the alley. There was no one there. He sighed and stepped through the door, then leaned against the wall to wait. The sky was unusually clear and the moon was full and bright. He stared up at it, watching it seem to swim hazily above him through a fog of firewhiskey.

"Malfoy," he heard, and turned his head. The shopkeeper was there, wrapped in an ancient-looking cloak.

"You're late," Draco said.

"You're drunk," the man replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Have you got something for me or not?"

The man held out an envelope. "It came not an hour ago."

Draco took the envelope and tore it open. He wasn't sure when he would have enough privacy to read it with Potter around.

Stubborn child,

I feel obliged to tell you that your quest is hopeless. Even if you could locate M, I doubt the Ministry would free you as promised. I have heard that others were made a deal not unlike the one you've described to me, and each of them met with a sticky end. To my knowledge, the Wizengamot has not commuted the sentence of a single former Death Eater on the grounds of cooperation with the Ministry.

Regards,
Your favorite teacher

Draco looked back up to the shopkeeper. "I need to borrow your owl again. Can you send a message to him tonight?"

The man sighed, but shot a wary glance at Draco's arm before nodding. "If he replies, how will I let you know?"

"I'll come by the shop tomorrow afternoon," Draco said, flipping the parchment over to write a reply message on the back. He'd already told Potter they needed to be around for another day anyway. "Have you got a quill?"

He scribbled a reply with a few more questions for Snape, then stuffed the parchment back into the envelope. He held it out before him and fixed the man with a stern look.

"Seal it."

"Why can't you seal it?" the shopkeeper grumbled, but he fished his wand out of the sleeve of his robe anyway.

"I don't want the magic traced back to me," Draco replied. It was best not to tell someone you didn't have a wand.

The man cast the spell and the envelope sealed itself again with a shimmer of light. Draco nodded, and the man disapparated.

Draco turned back to the door, hoping all of this hadn't taken too long. Potter was bound to be suspicious no matter what he did, but Draco didn't want to push his luck.

He opened the pub's door to head back inside -- and found it blocked by a very angry-looking Harry Potter.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco hit the wooden floor hard, and felt pain shoot from his knees upwards to meet the pain in his shoulder. He hated the brand -- it wasn't good pain at all, and he suspected it was powered by a modified crucio -- but he didn't want to tell Potter that. It seemed too much like ammunition.

"I'm only going to ask once more," Potter said, standing over him and panting as if he were the one being ripped apart from the inside. "Who did you write to, and what did the letter say?"

Draco sat back on his heels, grimacing. After the first two hits on the brand, he'd considered telling Potter everything -- that Snape had said nothing useful, that it had probably been a waste of Draco's time, and that apparating him back to their room at the inn to torture him was pointless -- but he'd reconsidered when Potter had started to sweat. Potter was worried about what Draco had done. And if the brand didn't break him, Potter would resort to using his fists.

Or at least, that was what Draco hoped. He spat on the floor and then looked up and smirked. Potter made a sound of frustration and pointed his wand at Draco, nearly shaking with fury. Draco braced himself, and didn't look away.

"Do you know how much I fucking hate you?" Potter looked as if he were trying to control a desire to pummel Draco into the floor.

"No," Draco replied, and tilted his head. "Why don't you show me? I know how much you want to."

Potter stared at him for another second, his eyes nearly black with anger, and Draco felt a shiver of anticipation. If he could just push Potter a bit more, he'd get exactly what he wanted.

It happened so fast Draco almost didn't have time to relish it. Potter's wand was tossed to the side and clattered across the wooden floor, and Potter's fist connected with Draco's jaw, hard.

Draco gasped at the sensation -- it was the hardest Potter had ever hit him, and it left him seeing stars. Potter didn't stop there, though -- he hit Draco again, and again, until Draco could barely feel anything but a haze of pain. Blood trickled from his nose, and he shoved Potter backwards just in time to ward off another blow. He took a ragged breath and the oxygen went to his head, sending fire through his veins. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this hard.

Potter hit the wall with a groan, and leaned against it for a moment, as if trying to decide what to do next. His wand was probably under the bed now, and Draco knew he couldn't reach it. Potter pushed off from the wall, but Draco lunged for him and shoved him against it again hard enough that he heard Potter's skull hit the wood paneling. Potter squinted at Draco, a little dazed, and opened his mouth as if to say something.

Draco was on his knees before the words came out of Potter's mouth. He tore at the fly of his jeans and wrenched them down enough to free his cock. It only took a few seconds for it to get hard in his mouth, and for Potter's garbled words to fade into a moan. Draco sucked hard, clenching Potter's arse through the jeans and inhaling the scent of him, all anger and sweat and tension, and it was the most erotic thing he'd done in years.

Potter was inarticulate above him, but he didn't push Draco away. His hands clenched against the wall as if trying to find support, and his cock got even harder.

It was all Draco could do not to rut against Potter's leg, but he hardly needed the stimulation. He buried his nose in Potter's groin, swallowing around the shaft and stroking with his tongue. Potter stiffened and grew silent, and then came. His knees buckled, sending them both to the floor in a heap.

Draco pressed a hand against his own cock through his trousers, and that was all it took -- he came with a groan, his forehead pressed against Potter's belly.

They stayed there for a moment, panting. Draco pushed himself to sitting and looked up. Potter's eyes were open, and he was staring at the ceiling.

"Potter--" Draco began.

"Get off me," Potter growled. "Now."

Draco stumbled back, and Potter rose to his feet. He didn't look at Draco as he tucked himself back into his jeans and fastened them, and then bolted for the door.

Draco stared after him, uncertain what had just happened. He'd wanted to unsettle Potter, hadn't he? That had been a goal from the start, a necessary part of his plan to survive. Sex was just a perk at this point, one he hadn't expected. He shivered and pulled the blanket around him, and settled on the floor. The spinning of the room was because of the firewhiskey, he told himself. And not because of anything else.

:: :: :: :: ::

The next thing Draco was aware of was something hard pressing into his cheek. It was only the experience of two years in Azkaban that kept him from responding. He opened his eyes and blinked against the darkness, trying to remember where he was and why he was on the floor.

Oh. Right. He'd sucked Potter's cock and Potter had bolted, and now that seemed to be Potter's shoe making an impression in his face.

The shoe was removed, and he heard Potter walk across the room. There was a creak of springs, as if Potter had sat on the bed.

Draco stayed still and waited. Potter was either going to kick the shit out of him or fuck him. He wasn't sure which one he'd prefer at the moment.

Potter did neither, though. "I'm sorry."

Draco blinked and turned to stare at him. "Sorry?"

"I was just a little freaked out by…" Potter paused and looked down at his hands. "Why did you do it?"

"Suck your dick?" Draco asked, incredulous. "Do you really have to ask?"

"No," Potter said, burying his face in his hands. "God, no. I meant the letter."

"The letter," Draco repeated. "Right." There was no reason to keep lying at this point. "I wrote to Snape, all right? I thought he might have some information about McCaffrey."

Potter looked up, brow furrowed. "So what did he say?"

"Nothing," Draco replied, looking away. "He said we should give up."

"And you didn't believe him?"

"I think he knows something. He just doesn't want to tell me."

Potter sighed. "I thought… I don't know what I thought."

"I know what you thought," Draco replied. "And I know you have no particular reason to trust me, but I want the same thing you want. I want…" He took a deep breath. "I don't want to go back to Azkaban. I don't give a fuck about McCaffrey, and I'll do what I have to do to find him. But if he doesn't want to be found, what can I do?"

Potter shook his head. "Why didn't you just say that in the first place?"

"You were going to kick my arse no matter what I said. So why should I bother saying anything?"

"You picked a fight with me, Malfoy. Why would you do that if you didn't have something to hide?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but found he wasn't sure how to explain. He didn't really owe Potter an explanation, anyway. "Maybe I like it when you hit me."

Potter's expression hardened at that. "That's sick."

"Is it?" Draco replied, smirking. "It would certainly explain a lot, wouldn't it?"

Potter stared back at him, his face clouded. "You're serious."

"I was horny. And you seemed like you wouldn't mind knocking me around a bit."

Potter shook his head, looking something between fascinated and disgusted. "Why would you… get off on pain?"

Draco couldn't help laughing, even though it sounded hollow even in his own ears. "If I work that out, I'll be sure to let you know."

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

The streetlight above their heads flickered on, and Potter looked up at it. "Perfect," he said, fingering his wand. "It's getting dark."

"Afraid?" Draco asked.

"I just don't want to be here any longer than necessary." Potter squinted and looked up the drive at the small house. "This is really where he lives?"

"Yes," Draco said, fumbling for the parchment in his pocket. He held it up. "This is the address. Funny, I would've expected him to live in a place a bit more sinister-looking than this."

Potter looked away. "Is this going to take long?"

Draco turned to face him. "You're still not coming in?"

"You know I've no desire to be within a hundred yards of Severus Snape."

"I'm sure he feels the same way. Send up sparks if you get in trouble, yeah?"

"Very funny," Potter grumbled. "Now go get this over with so we can get back to work."

Draco shook his head, and then headed up the path to the front door. He raised his hand to knock, but the door clicked open before he touched the wood. It was dark inside, and Draco took a calming breath before pushing it open and walking through.

"Hello?" he called into the darkness. "Professor, are you-- ow! Fuck." He'd walked right into a table, banging his shin against the corner.

"As charming as ever," he heard Snape say.

"Not my fault your table jumped in front of me," Draco replied, looking around for him. He sounded quite close, but Draco couldn't see anything in the dim light of the room.

Snape's face came into view at last, shadowed and more sinister-looking than usual. He appraised Draco for a moment and then said, "Follow me."

Draco managed to follow Snape to his kitchen without bumping into anything else. A cauldron on the kitchen table was emitting a greenish light, and the smell of sage was strong enough to make Draco's eyes water.

"The potion is sensitive to light," Snape said, peeking into the cauldron to check the contents. "It requires ten hours to brew, and so it must be started precisely at sunset. It's past the most critical stage now; however it must be stirred every eight minutes until dawn." He stepped away from the cauldron and looked up at Draco. His face was pale and green in the glow from the potion, which made him look more ghostly than Draco even remembered. Snape raised an eyebrow. "And now you've wasted two minutes of the time I've allowed you. You'll have to leave the house before I can stir it again."

"Right, fine," Draco said, though he hadn't a clue why his presence would disrupt the potion. "You said in your note that if I came here, you'd tell me where McCaffrey is."

Snape folded his arms into his sleeves. "Why do you want to know, Draco?"

"Haven't we gone over this already? His freedom for mine. That's the deal."

Snape glanced at the hourglass on the table by the cauldron, and then sighed heavily. He gestured to the chairs by the table, and they both sat. "Draco--"

"I know what your concern is," Draco interrupted, "and I do appreciate it. But this is the only chance I have to get out of Azkaban."

"What if you're being set up? What if Potter's real intention is to kill you?"

"Better dead than back there," Draco replied. "I won't go back, and I don't care who I have to take down in the process. The war is over. We lost. Now I just want to have a life worth living."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Why do you trust him?"

"I don't." Snape gave him a long look, and Draco scowled. "All right, fine. I do trust him, and I don't know why. I suppose because it's Potter. He's a prick and a bastard, but at least he's up front about it. You trusted him in the end, didn't you?"

"Yes. And look what I have to show for it."

"House arrest is still better than Azkaban, I'd wager." Draco raised an eyebrow. He'd settle for that, honestly. He could lie about all day and live at the Ministry's expense, maybe even get one of those Muggle tellies he'd heard about. "It's worked out nicely for you."

"Has Potter been mistreating you?" Snape asked, his eyes lingering on the bruises visible on Draco's cheeks even in the dim light.

Draco forced a smile. "I only get what I deserve."

Snape's lips tightened into a thin line. "This is unhealthy, Draco. Let me help you."

"I don't want to be helped," Draco said, slouching into his chair. He'd been afraid the topic would come up again.

"Before you went to Azkaban, I began working on a potion. It's still in the experimental phase, but the initial tests were promising. It could change the way you--"

"The way I feel?" Draco said, shaking his head. "You don't get it, Severus. You never understood that I like it this way. I like the way it feels."

"It's dangerous, and you know it. Do you honestly think you know where the line is? That you can control it?"

"I can. Two years getting my arse kicked in Azkaban helped me learn that much."

Snape looked away. "It's my fault that this happened."

"It's Potter's fault," Draco retorted. "He was the one who cast the spell, not you. You were just the one who stopped it from killing me. You didn't know there would be effects."

Snape looked up again. "Is that what this is about, then? You're going to wait until the right moment to tell Potter what he did to you, to get your revenge?"

"It's not about revenge," Draco said with a laugh. "It's about getting off. He gets off on hitting me. And I get off on pain. It works."

"Until one of you kills the other. You remain as foolish and stubborn as ever. But I can help you, Draco. I only request that you let me try."

Draco glanced at the hourglass: time was running out. "You can start by telling me where McCaffrey is. I won't leave until you give me a location, your potion be damned."

Snape glared at him for a long moment, and then he sighed. "All right. But don't think I won't keep trying."

:: :: :: :: ::

"Abergele," Potter grumbled. His breath frosted in the air, though Draco doubted the air temperature and humidity were necessary -- Potter's icy tone was possibly enough. "He's sent us on some sort of wild goose chase, hasn't he?"

"I've no reason to doubt him," Draco replied, looking away. The cobblestones were rough and slick under his feet, and he was tired. They'd been walking all afternoon, and they'd asked after McCaffrey in every shop. No one seemed to know him. They had just given up for the day after having a bite to eat in a pub, where no one had heard of McCaffrey either.

"Well, after today you do. He lied to us."

"Why would he lie about McCaffrey?" Draco asked, unable to keep the irritation from his own voice. "Maybe this was where McCaffrey was six months ago and he's since moved on."

"Snape's been under house arrest for nearly two years," Potter said, stomping ahead of Draco. "He probably knows no more than you do."

Draco's gut twisted at that. "If you didn't think I knew anything useful, why'd you pick me for this job?"

"I thought you did know something. Now I'm stuck with you, aren't I?"

Draco couldn't think of a response to that, so he said nothing. He followed Potter as he stalked through the main square and down a hill, trying to keep up without having to scramble. Potter was growing more irritable by the minute. At this rate, he'd work himself into quite a rage before they got back to the inn. Draco smirked.

Their room was small and sparsely furnished, and Potter didn't bother turning on the lights or even taking off his coat before pressing Draco against the closed door with one hand in the center of his chest.

"Maybe you're the one who's lying," Potter said, his eyes glinting in the dim light that filtered in from the streetlights outside. "Or maybe you're not telling me everything."

Something about the way Potter was glaring at him made Draco swallow his witty retort. Potter had been dragging this argument out for quite a while, for far longer than was necessary. He'd made his point before dinner, and there was nothing else Draco could say to change his mind.

Which meant he was picking a fight -- on purpose. Draco almost grinned.

"Maybe I'm not," he replied, letting his head fall back against the door. "Maybe I've been lying to you all along, dragging you all over the countryside for no reason other than that I don't want to go back to Azkaban."

"You're not that clever," Potter retorted, moving closer. His grip on Draco's tattered jacket tightened. "You never have been."

"Then you're an idiot for following me."

"Shut up," Potter growled.

Draco shoved Potter hard enough to dislodge his grip. "Make me."

Potter lunged for him, and Draco managed to block the first two punches. The third caught him squarely across the jaw, though, and he staggered backwards, already dizzy from the pain. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and saw blood. Potter didn't stop, though -- he landed a few more punches, the last of them sending Draco sprawling on the floor, narrowly missing hitting his head against a table.

"Get up!" Potter spat, but Draco found he couldn't. It was lovely, and he just wanted to float in it for a little while longer. He groaned in way of response, and Potter settled over him, straddling Draco's hips and pressing his shoulders into the floor. He glared down at Draco, panting. "Are you enjoying this, then?"

"As much as you are," Draco managed through the haze.

"I am not enjoying this."

Potter stared down at him for another second, and then, inexplicably, began to tear at the fly of Draco's trousers. Draco thought about resisting, but he felt the cool air of the room on his exposed erection before his hands caught up with his brain. There was more movement, and then Draco felt Potter's hard length press against his own and felt his fingers wrap around both their cocks. Draco closed his eyes as Potter's hand started to move, hardly daring to believe it was really happening.

"You're a sick fuck, you know that?" Potter said. His hand moved in short quick strokes, and the pleasure mingled with the pain in Draco's body.

"You've room to talk," Draco replied. "Oh god…"

"Oh yeah," Potter said, and leaned forward, bracing himself on one hand. "Kicking your arse is just what does it for me, you know."

"If you're going for sarcasm, you're failing," Draco replied. "Just don't stop that, like that..."

Potter paused to spit into his hand, then stroked even harder. Draco licked his lips and tasted blood, and wondered if sex had ever been this good before. Why did Snape want him to give this up? It was glorious.

Potter came first, which surprised Draco. The thought that Potter might have been worked up since before dinner was greatly erotic, as was the way he tried not to make any noise and ended up sounding like he was in pain himself. There was a pause while Potter recovered, and Draco pressed his hands over his face. His left eye was already swelling shut, which would make things difficult tomorrow. He didn't care, though.

And then came his second surprise: Potter took Draco's cock in hand again and kept stroking, hard and fast. Draco came in less than a minute, arching his back and not even trying to muffle his cries. It was far more intense than any hand job had the right to be, and it left him feeling like he'd melted into a puddle on the floor.

Potter didn't say anything; he just stood up and headed to the bathroom. Draco heard him piss and flush the toilet, and then heard the sound of the sink running. Draco didn't move until he heard the springs of the mattress across the small room.

He fastened up his trousers and curled onto his side on the floor. He could see Potter's form on the bed, his back to Draco, and wondered what the hell Potter would say about this in the morning.

:: :: :: :: ::

It was the tingling that woke Draco up. He blinked the eye that would still open against the morning sunlight, and it was a moment before he could focus.

Potter was staring down at him with an intent expression, the tip of his wand a few inches from Draco's nose. He thought it best not to move. Potter would tell him what he'd done wrong soon enough.

Potter pointed his wand at Draco's swollen eye. He said nothing, but Draco felt the spell touch his skin. The tingle spread and the swelling subsided, and then he could see in three dimensions again. He opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say.

Potter cast two more spells wordlessly, then stood and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. A few seconds later, he heard the shower running.

He grimaced at his stiffness as he pushed himself to his feet and looked around. There were signs from their scuffle the night before, but no major damage. He checked his reflection in a mirror standing on a small table. Other than the usual circles under his eyes, he looked fine. Potter had healed all of the injuries he'd given Draco last night.

He ran a hand through his hair and frowned.

He showered after Potter, and they headed down to breakfast without saying a word.

:: :: :: :: ::

"I think we should give up," Potter said.

Draco kept walking, though Potter had stopped in the middle of the street.

"Malfoy--" Potter began.

"He wouldn't have lied," Draco said, not caring if Potter couldn't hear him in the wind. "Not to me."

Potter caught up to him again and then grasped Draco's arm, forcing him to stop. "We've been everywhere in this fucking excuse for a town. We've asked every wizard. We've asked half the Muggles. Even if McCaffrey was here once, he's not here now." Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Potter pinched the pressure point in his arm hard enough that Draco hissed at the pain. "He either cast a memory charm on every inhabitant before he left here, or Snape lied to us. Which seems to be the simplest option?"

Draco twisted out of Potter's grip and didn't answer. Potter had a point, as loathe as Draco was to admit it. Maybe Draco had misunderstood. Maybe there was another village called Abergele somewhere, and they'd gone to the wrong one.

"Well?" Potter asked. "What are you going to do?"

Draco scowled. Of course this was his fault. "Go back to Snape, I suppose. Maybe if I ask nicely this time--"

"That's a mental image I could've lived without."

Draco smirked at him. "Jealous?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Potter said, but he looked away.

"Are you coming with me?"

Potter shook his head. "I'm going back to the inn. Be back by sundown, or I'll--"

"Zap the crucio brand from afar, I know," Draco grumbled, turning away. "I'll be back soon." He headed to a shadowed alley to apparate, and didn't look back to see if Potter was watching him go.

Snape's house looked far shabbier in the light of day. Draco had to knock several times before the door finally opened, and even then he wasn't sure if he'd been let in or if he'd just shaken the rusty locking mechanism loose.

He found Snape in the kitchen, pouring tea into two cups.

"Sugar?" Snape asked, not looking up at him.

"Milk." He leaned against the doorway to watch as Snape tapped one of the teacups with his wand. The tea turned to a light toffee color, and Snape handed the cup to Draco on a saucer. He gestured to the table.

"Why'd they let you keep your wand?" Draco asked, raising the cup to his lips.

"It's monitored," Snape replied. "They know every spell I cast."

Draco wondered if he'd be monitored like that. If he ever got a wand again, of course. Such an invasion of privacy would have disturbed him a few years ago, but now it seemed tolerable. How much his life had changed in a few short years.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Draco felt oddly civilized. Here he was, drinking tea with one of his former teachers, as if there hadn't been a war and two years of scrambling to survive, hiding from Voldemort and the Ministry alike, and then another year of not knowing if Snape was still alive, and then… After that was Azkaban. Draco frowned.

"Does Potter know you're here?"

Draco swirled his tea. "Yes. He's in Abergele."

Snape raised one eyebrow. "He let you come alone?"

"I can't run away. Ministry brand."

Snape's eyes darted to Draco's shoulder, and Draco wondered if he had one as well. "If running away is all he fears you'll do, he must trust you."

Draco frowned and stared into his teacup. Did Potter trust him? Things between them had certainly changed quite a bit from that first night after Potter had taken him out of Azkaban. It was less than a week ago, but it seemed like a month. So much had happened.

He set his tea cup back on its saucer and looked up at Snape again. "Did you lie to me about Abergele?"

"You didn't find him?"

"We looked everywhere. No one has even heard of him."

Snape's lips curved upwards very slightly. "That's good to hear."

"What does that mean?" Draco asked, struggling to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"It means," Snape replied, "that my plan to hide him was successful."

Draco felt the blood drain from his face. "You…?"

"I hid him, Draco, and I had my reasons for doing so."

"He's a murderer. He doesn't deserve your help. He deserves to rot in Azkaban, like I did. Like I will do again, if you don't help me."

"I have been trying to help you. You just refuse to accept it."

Draco glared at him. "I don't want to change. I've told you that, but you don't want to hear it."

"I will not simply stand by and watch you destroy yourself," Snape said, his voice lowered to a growl. "You deserve better."

"No. I don't. I deserve exactly what I have. I…" What did he have? He wasn't sure. He folded his arms over his chest and looked away.

"You were a child," Snape said after a moment. "The Dark Lord used you, and then cast you aside. Everything you've done was in self defense. You may have the Mark, but you were never a Death Eater, Draco."

"Then why won't you--" Draco began, and then clenched his jaw. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood. "Forget it. Protecting McCaffrey is obviously more important to you than protecting me. I'll drag Potter halfway around the world if I have to, but I'll find him." He turned and stalked out of the kitchen, towards the front door, and didn't bother looking back. But the door wouldn't budge when he turned the knob. He shook it fiercely, and then turned to glare at Snape, who was hovering in the doorway of the kitchen.

"He is in Abergele," Snape said.

"How am I supposed to find him?" Draco asked, exasperated. "I've looked everywhere."

"Have you looked underground?"

"Underground," Draco repeated. Of course. There were old sewer tunnels all under the town, and McCaffrey could be living in them, hiding, only going out disguised, or assuming a false identity. He nodded at Snape. "Thanks."

This time, the knob turned when he touched it.

:: :: :: :: ::

"This is ridiculous," Potter groaned. "And don't get me started on the smell."

Draco's hopes had fallen more with every hour, no matter how hard he tried to be optimistic. He turned slowly, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on a low-hanging pipe, and studied the slick stone walls of the tunnel. "He must know we're looking for him. He's hiding."

"There's no evidence anyone's been living here," Potter said. "I've cast revealing spells on every space large enough to inhabit, and there aren't any traces of magic anywhere."

"We just haven't found it yet. We have to keep looking."

"No," Potter said, shaking his head. "I'm done for today. I'm tired, and I'm filthy, and I don't want to spend another moment in this fucking sewer."

"Fine," Draco said, turning to face him. "But if we give up now, we're giving him a chance to escape. He must know we're after him by now."

Potter made a sound of frustration. "God, Malfoy -- he's not here. Face it. Snape lied to you again."

"He didn't," Draco said, but there was nothing he could say that would convince Potter of that. He just knew Snape had told him the truth. McCaffrey was in these sewer tunnels somewhere. And if they left now, he'd be back to square one, with nothing but failure facing him. That, and a one-way ticket back to Azkaban. "Go back if you want to. I'm going to keep looking."

"No, you're not," Potter spat, and Draco felt a tug on the back of his jacket. "We're leaving, and we're going to clean up, and get something to eat, and fucking sleep. Now."

"Let go," Draco growled, twisting away from Potter. "Do you want to find McCaffrey or not?"

"Right now, I really don't give a fuck about McCaffrey."

Draco gaped at him. "This may not matter much to you, but it does to me. It's my only chance at having a life, Potter, and I'm not letting it go just because you're tired."

"It's not your only chance," Potter said, though his expression had softened. "Besides, he's not here. No one magical has been down here in the last decade. I would've turned something up if they had."

Draco pressed his dirty hands to his face in frustration. He had to admit Potter had a point, but he just couldn't give up -- not yet.

"Fine," Potter growled, and wrapped an arm around Draco's waist. "If you're going to be so stubborn--"

"No!" Draco shouted, but it was too late. When the wrenching sensation stopped, they were standing in their room at the inn. Draco glared at Potter, so angry he was trembling. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Potter repeated, scowling. He stripped off his coat and pulled his wand from a pocket. "What's wrong with you? He's not in the sewers, Malfoy." He pointed his wand at himself and his image shimmered as the dirt and grime were banished away.

"We'll never find him now, will we? He'll run, and we'll have to start all over."

"Better than going back to Azkaban, isn't it? Hold still." Potter aimed a cleaning charm at Draco, and he felt the tingle of it rolling over his skin.

"Is this a game to you then? See how long you can torment me and force me to traipse around the countryside, holding the threat of Azkaban over my head? I'm no freer now than I was in my fucking cell!"

Potter's expression darkened, and he stepped forward. "Maybe you'd like it back in your cell. I still have that portkey, you know."

Draco stepped forward, closing what small gap was left between them. "Do it, then. Anything's better than being stuck with you for the foreseeable future."

Potter shoved him at that, and Draco skidded backwards. He managed to stay on his feet though, and braced himself for the first two punches Potter landed. He got in a few swings of his own before Potter had him pinned against the door, fuming.

"I hate you," Draco spat. Of course, the erection pressing against Potter's thigh hardly made him sound convincing.

"I noticed," Potter retorted, pressing that thigh harder against Draco's groin, to the point of pain. "And for what it's worth, I hate you too."

"Whatev--" Draco began, but the rest of the word was cut off by Potter's mouth crushing against his.

For a moment, Draco was too stunned to do anything but let Potter's tongue plunder his mouth. It was a rough kiss, full of teeth and too much tongue, and he found he could hardly think. And then he couldn't breathe. His head started to spin, and panic rose in his chest.

It took a moment of scrambling, but he finally found purchase on Potter's chest and shoved him away. He made a dash for the bathroom, but Potter caught him and knocked him to the floor. Draco managed to get in a few well-placed punches before Potter rolled them over again and pinned him, hands pressing hard into Draco's shoulders.

They were both panting. Potter stared down at Draco for a long moment. He had an expression on his face that Draco had never seen before, and Draco wasn't sure what to expect next. He wasn't sure what he wanted next, either -- if he wanted Potter to hex him back to Azkaban, or fuck him until he broke in two, or just beat him until he passed out. Not surviving the night didn't seem a bad thing, oddly.

And then Potter shifted against Draco, and his arousal was unmistakable. Draco held his breath. Fucking, then. That would do.

"Stay," Potter said in a hoarse whisper. He sat up, his groin grinding into Draco's as he did, and held out his hand. His wand flew into it, and he twirled it in his fingers, looking down at Draco thoughtfully.

"What are you going to--" Draco began, but before he could finish the sentence he was naked.

"You like pain," Potter said, his gaze focused on Draco's body beneath him. "And I like…" Potter pursed his lips, and then touched the tip of his wand to Draco's chest. The touch felt like fire, and Draco's jaw fell open. Potter traced a jagged line across Draco's skin with the wand. Draco gasped at the pain and glanced down at his chest, expecting to see red welts -- but there were no marks. It felt amazing.

"Is this what you want?" Potter asked. The wand was circling one taut nipple now, searing the skin, and Draco arched his back into it. "Do you want me to hurt you?"

Draco grimaced, and a moment later the pain stopped, leaving a blissful haze in its wake. He looked up at Potter and panted. "God, yes. Please."

Potter looked hesitant, but intrigued too. If the last few nights were any indication, Potter had quite a sadistic streak, one that had undoubtedly been useful in his work for the Ministry. But it seemed that he was uncertain about enjoying this, even though he knew Draco liked pain.

Draco sat up enough to kiss him, sliding one hand around the back of his head and holding him there for a moment, then pressing their foreheads together. "Please."

Potter didn't say another word -- he pushed Draco back to the floor and stared intently at him, and then lowered his wand to Draco's chest. The burning spell felt more intense this time, and Draco found himself flooded with sensation. He tried not to make any noise at first, for fear that Potter would stop, but after a few minutes, he couldn't stay silent. Potter didn't seem to mind -- in fact, he seemed to find Draco's moans encouraging, and he proceeded to cover every exposed bit of Draco's skin with the burning spell. When that was done, there were other spells, spells Draco had never known existed: spells that placed an artful array of bite marks on his skin, spells that drew up painful welts and bruises, spells that felt like lashes of a strap, spells that felt like spikes piercing his skin.

Where Potter had picked up all of these spells, Draco didn't want to know. He floated through it all, his nerves on fire as Potter cast one spell after another, carefully and deliberately. Draco lost all sense of time -- it could have been hours that he was strung between pain and pleasure, or it could have been days. Potter's touch was maddening, soothing at the same time as sensations of being burned and cut were pushing Draco to the edge of what he could bear. He came from Potter's mouth and hands, possibly several times, but Potter didn't stop the torture until he'd finally pushed his cock deep into Draco.

And then he put the wand down. Draco blinked up at him, exhausted, unable to do anything but lie there with his ankles on Potter's shoulders as Potter started to fuck him with slow and deliberate movements. Draco wasn't sure if he stayed conscious through it all -- one moment Potter seemed very far away, and the next he was on top of Draco and pressing him into the floor, kissing him as he pounded into his arse.

Draco felt his orgasm building, and he could do nothing but let it come, swelling with the endorphins in his blood, seeming impossibly huge. It was like nothing he'd ever felt, and he was only aware he was screaming when Potter's hand clamped over his mouth. Potter shushed him with frantic whispers, and at some point Draco lost the ability to make noise at all. It seemed to take minutes, and then his vision went fuzzy and his teeth started to chatter, and he was only dimly aware of Potter's completion above him. His ears rang, and his whole body felt numb. And he could die now, really. This wouldn't be a bad way to die. It certainly wasn't going to get any better than this.

"Are you all right?"

Draco opened his eyes and stared up at Potter, who was looking at him with a great deal of concern. He blinked, and then it hit him: Potter had done that for him. It was exactly what he'd wanted, and no one had ever given it to him. And for all he knew, it would never happen again, and the thought was so horrible that he felt himself start to tear up.

"Fuck," he said, and closed his eyes again. The last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Potter. As if he could seem any more freakish than he did already.

Potter didn't say anything, though. He stretched out beside Draco on the floor and stroked his bare chest, and was quiet. There were tingles as Potter's hand moved over his skin, and it was a moment before Draco realized he was casting healing spells. Draco opened his mouth to tell him to stop, to let him keep some reminder that this had happened, but he felt his throat tighten. He swallowed the emotion down, forcing his mind away from the desperate thoughts that had begun to fill it. He pressed his hands against his face, surreptitiously wiping away the few tears he hadn't managed to stop. Potter's fingers were tracing a deliberate line down Draco's chest, and with a start, he realized Potter was looking at the scars he'd given Draco, years ago.

"Mine's bigger than yours," Draco managed to say. He opened his eyes and looked down to see Potter still staring, as if he'd missed the joke altogether.

"I did this to you," Potter said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Draco hesitated. He had wondered if they would ever talk about it, and he had to admit he hadn't thought it would be under these circumstances. "They're just scars, you know. It isn't like I fancied a career as a model of underpants."

"But they aren't just scars, are they?"

Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I was given a scar by a dark spell, and it affected my entire life. So these scars… how did they affect you?" Potter's fingers kept tracing the scars on Draco's chest over and over.

Draco stared at the ceiling. He wasn't even sure where to start. "I don't know."

"You do," Potter said, his eyes flicking up to meet Draco's. "It was this, wasn't it? The way you are, with the pain. It was because of what I did to you."

Draco sighed and managed to push himself to sitting. "Look, Potter… it's all right. I'm used to it. Actually, I kind of like it." Potter made a choking sound, but Draco ignored it. "It's actually been quite useful, on more occasions than you might think."

"I didn't know that would happen," Potter said, his face pale. "I'm sorry."

"You don't owe me anything, all right?" Draco said, and then thought better of it. "I suppose if you really feel some sort of obligation for my predicament, you could be a bit more helpful with this McCaffrey thing. Help me win my freedom."

Potter continued to stare at Draco's bare chest and didn't reply.

Draco sighed. "Let's get you to bed, shall we?" He managed to stand and then to pull Potter to his feet, and led him to the bed. He pulled the covers back and pushed Potter onto the mattress, then started to tuck him in.

Potter caught his wrist and tugged, and it was a moment before Draco recognized it as an invitation. He slid under the covers next to Potter, and when Potter curled around him, he didn't resist.

It had been a long time since he'd slept next to someone. It felt nice.

:: :: :: :: ::

"Back to the sewers, then?"

Draco looked up from his toast, surprised. Potter was staring into his teacup.

"Not that I relish the thought," he continued, "but if you really think it's worth a shot--"

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. "I don't think he's there."

Potter looked up at that. "If he ever was there, he left a long time ago."

"Snape said he hid McCaffrey himself. And he's only been missing for a couple of years, right?" Draco pursed his lips. "The shopkeeper in Rolvenden had seen McCaffrey about two years ago. Said he was on his way to Wales." Draco paused. "To meet Snape."

Potter nodded. "Who proceeded to hide him in the sewers. So why can't we find him?"

Draco shrugged. "There's something we're missing. Maybe we're looking for the wrong thing in the sewers. Maybe he wouldn't have used magic to hide, in case the Ministry came looking for him."

Potter sighed and pushed his teacup away. "Back to the sewers it is."

They headed toward the entrance they'd found the day before, walking past boarded-up businesses and dingy row houses. They stopped at a small church and cut through its graveyard to reach the utility station on the other side. It took a moment of working out exactly where the tunnel was beneath them before either of them felt confident they wouldn't splinch themselves apparating in, but soon they both stood in the dank and smelly tunnel. Potter conjured candles for them, and they examined their surroundings with resignation.

"Rats," Potter noted, tilting his candle toward the sound of skittering feet.

"That or very large spiders," Draco replied, shivering. This place had seemed far less creepy the day before. Now that he'd had a chance to think about it, he thought Potter was probably right. He must have misunderstood Snape somehow.

They began to move slowly through the tunnels, looking for any small clues of human habitation. It was far more difficult than casting detection spells, and within an hour, Draco was getting a headache from squinting in the dim light.

"So why'd you change your mind?" Draco asked, examining a crack in the tunnel that appeared to be rather uniform, possibly a clue.

"About coming back down here? You seemed so certain he was here."

"Ironically, I grow less certain by the minute," Draco replied.

"You could have said something earlier," Potter said, though there was a hint of humor in his tone. "I can think of far more pleasant things we could be doing right now."

Draco turned to stare at him, surprised, and Potter's eyes widened.

"I mean… That came out all wrong."

Draco smirked. "Did it?"

Potter winced and wiped a sleeve across his forehead. "Maybe not. I mean…We should talk about that."

"Right." Draco felt something twist inside him, and he looked away. "The tunnel forks here. Want to split up?"

"I'll take this one," Potter said, gesturing to the right. He disappeared into the darkness.

It was another two hours before Draco met up with Potter again, and he spent most of it thinking more about what had been happening between them. It had started as a mind game of sorts, but after last night, it had definitely become something else. At least, it had for Draco. He had no idea what Potter thought, or if it had meant anything to Potter at all. Potter probably just went along with it because he hated Draco and didn't mind torturing him for fun.

But Potter had enjoyed it, hadn't he? He'd been freaked out about it afterwards, but he hadn't run screaming the other way. Draco had no idea what that meant -- except that his life was far more fucked up than he'd ever imagined possible. Here he was, ready to throw himself at the feet of the first person who'd spent any time with him in years, and it was the person who had the power to send him straight back to Azkaban, for no better reason than wanting to.

"Fucking Stockholm Syndrome," he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. He needed to stay away from Potter until they'd found McCaffrey and Draco had secured his freedom. Until then, whatever he was doing with Potter was only complicating the situation.

"He's not here," Draco said a few minutes later when he spotted Potter at the other end of the tunnel. "I think we've established that by now."

"Are you sure?" Potter asked, though he didn't sound like he was going to argue. "I mean, if you want to keep looking--"

"No," Draco said. "I must have misunderstood Snape."

"How do you misunderstand 'I hid him in the sewer?'"

"He didn't say sewer, actually," Draco replied, frowning. "He said underground. What else could that mean?"

"Some sort of secret underground hiding place? I know I would have preferred that to a sewer." He wrinkled his nose.

Draco nodded. "It would probably be shielded by some sort of warding spell. We could cast some nets around town, see if anything pops up."

"A map of the town would help," Potter said. "And despite the surroundings, I'm a little hungry. Lunch?"

:: :: :: :: ::

They had lunch in a small bistro near the main square of the village, with the map they'd paid a pound for flattened out beneath their plates.

"How about there, just outside of town?" Draco said through a mouthful of sandwich. He paused to chew and swallow when Potter, who had scarfed down his own food within minutes of its arrival, shot him a look of disgust. "Those sewers we've been exploring stop about here." He traced a line on the map with his finger.

Potter pursed his lips, and then surreptitiously waved his wand. A shimmer around their table indicated a conversation screen had gone up. "We need to travel the perimeter of town to start, and cast a net of detection spells. That'll take a while."

"Too bad I don't have a wand. I could help."

Potter laughed. "You think I'd trust you with a wand?"

Even though Draco knew the remark was intended to be flippant, something inside him snapped. "You have no intention of holding up your end of this deal, do you?"

Potter looked up from the map. "What are you talking about?"

Draco dropped his sandwich and leaned back in his chair. "Snape told me lots of prisoners have been offered this deal, to help the Ministry in exchange for freedom. And every one of them is either still in Azkaban or dead."

Potter's jaw clenched. "Do you believe everything Snape tells you?"

"Give me a reason not to."

"Thought I did that last night."

"Fuck you," Draco said. "I have everything to lose here, and you know it. I have no reason to deceive you, but I have no assurance that when we find McCaffrey, you'll free me."

"You have my word. I'm sorry it isn't enough."

"You gave Snape your word too, and look what he got. Can you blame me for getting a little desperate?"

Potter's eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice to a whisper, despite the fact that no one could hear them. "Is that why you goaded me into… You thought you could insure your freedom with a little kinky sex?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, exactly. I was planning to blackmail you into freeing me. Too bad you healed all the evidence."

"You're fucking unbelievable," Potter spat, shaking his head. "Look, I had nothing to do with Snape's house arrest, and I don't know what happened to any of the others, because this is the first time I've done this. I decided to do it because I thought your sentence was a bit heavy-handed in the first place. You're a twat and a bastard, and you were even a Death Eater, but… you don't deserve twenty years for it."

Draco scowled, but he didn't want Potter to stop talking. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at him in a way he hoped was both menacing and encouraging.

"I suppose I took advantage of you last night -- and the night before that -- and I shouldn't have. You were in no position to resist."

"It wasn't like that," Draco said.

"Wasn't it?" Potter pressed his palms against his forehead and sighed. "Can we just let it go? It happened, and it's done, and… I just want to get this assignment finished, and then we can both get on with our lives. All right?"

Draco nodded, though Potter's words stung -- more than he wanted to admit.

:: :: :: :: ::

They spent the afternoon walking along the country lanes just outside the village, Draco studying the map and Potter casting revealing spells. Nothing turned up, though, and they both grew increasingly agitated by the situation.

It was starting to get dark by the time they gave up for the day, and they walked back toward the inn in silence. It was Friday evening and the people of Abergele were out and about. Teenagers were moving in groups, laughing and chattering, couples walked along hand in hand, and clumps of people in business attire stood about outside pubs, cigarettes in one hand and pints in the other, talking about their days.

Their days that didn't involve a desperate search for a murderous wizard, one most certainly did not want to be found -- but upon whose capture the rest of Draco's life depended.

Underground. What the hell did Snape mean by that? The more Draco thought about it, the more ridiculous the whole situation seemed. Why would Snape go to so much trouble to help McCaffrey hide? And after two years of keeping him hidden, why would he give Draco such a bizarre hint? Perhaps he'd intended to send them on a wild goose chase. Perhaps Potter was right, and Snape had lied to him.

He shook his head. That wasn't possible. That made the least sense of all.

Underground. How could someone live underground for two years, with no human contact, with no one noticing their presence, with--

Draco stopped in his tracks, and gasped. It couldn't be that simple. Could it?

"What?" Potter asked. He'd turned to look back at Draco, an expression of annoyance on his face.

Draco laughed before he could stop himself, and then shook his head. "I know where McCaffrey is," he said.

Ten minutes later, they stood outside the gates of the graveyard they'd passed half a dozen times since arriving in Abergele. They looked both ways before apparating across the gate, and Potter conjured candles for them.

"Would the stone have his name on it?" Potter asked.

"I don't know," Draco replied. "Snape did say he hid him, so maybe we're looking for an unmarked grave."

They walked up and down the rows of stones, reading names and dates off of each. And then, near the back, close to the place where they'd entered the sewers in the last few days, they found a small, unassuming stone, marked only with dates: 27 February, 1949 -- 12 July, 2000. They both stared down at it for several seconds before either of them dared to speak.

"That's his date of birth," Potter said at last. "I'll have to get a team out here to exhume the body, but I'd say this is probably him."

"I can't believe I didn't figure it out sooner," Draco said, wrapping his arms around himself.

"I can't believe Snape didn't just tell you he killed him," Potter replied. "What kind of idiotic clue is that, underground? Who could work out what that meant?"

"We don't know Snape killed him. Just that he hid the body. I have to admit dead and buried makes a lot more sense than sewers or secret underground chambers."

"That was a bit stupid," Potter said, jabbing him with an elbow. "You're a right dolt, Malfoy."

Draco jabbed him back. "And yet you followed me around these last few days. That makes you a bigger dolt."

Potter sighed. "I suppose it does."

:: :: :: :: ::

One week later.

"Hold still," the mediwizard said, leaning in for a close look at the brand on Draco's shoulder. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt."

"Good," Draco replied, and grinned at the look of surprise on her face.

She had him count backwards from ten, and when he got to four, he felt the spell hit the brand. It did indeed hurt like hell, but it didn't last long. A moment later he was floating in a sea of endorphins, and his Ministry brand had been removed.

"All finished," the mediwizard said, patting him on the shoulder. "I have to say, I've never actually removed one of these before. I wasn't certain it was possible, actually."

Draco turned to stare at her. "You tell me this now?"

"There was no point in worrying you. Get dressed, and then come out and sign your forms." With a cheery smile and a flip of long dark hair, she left the examining room.

Draco touched his shoulder gingerly, but there was only smooth skin where the brand had been. It was gone. There were just a few more ends to tie up, and it would be finished. He really was going to be a free man.

He pulled his shirt back on and smiled.

Potter was waiting for him in his office two floors up. Draco had been in it earlier in the week, right after they'd got back from Abergele, and it was remarkably messier now. Potter looked up when Draco knocked, and Draco felt a thrill at the sight of him. He clamped down on it quickly, but didn't stop himself from smiling. Potter gestured to a dingy-looking chair that only had a few piles of papers on it. A few spells later, the piles had been moved and Draco and Potter were sitting across the desk from each other.

"How'd it go?" Potter asked, flipping through a file that had Draco's name printed in large letters on the front.

"Fine. Hurt like hell."

"Good," Potter said, the corners of his lips turning up a little. "And the halfway house?"

"I'll be glad to get out on my own," Draco replied. "Though it's been nice to sleep in a bed every night, I have to say. Oh, look." He pulled a wand from the pocket of his jacket. "Just got it this morning. Willow, ten inches, dragon heartstring core."

Potter's smile was one of the most genuine Draco had seen on his face. "It must feel good to be able to do magic again."

"I'm a bit rusty, actually. I need to practice."

Potter set Draco's file aside. "The final report came in from the coroner this morning. They couldn't determine the cause of death, but assume it was the killing curse."

"Is there any way to determine who cast it?" Draco asked, slipping his wand back into his jacket.

Potter shook his head. "Not after all this time."

They exchanged a look, unable to say anything more where they might be heard. They'd both testified to the coroner's office that they'd found the unmarked grave after receiving a tip that Abergele was the last place McCaffrey was seen alive. They'd agreed to leave Snape's name out of it, but had both worried there might be evidence that could be traced back to him. It looked like they had nothing to fear, though.

Potter unrolled a piece of parchment and turned it towards Draco. "The signatures of the Wizengamot are all here. You just have to meet with a probation officer in six months and then annually for five years, and that's all." He rolled up the parchment and handed it to Draco. "You're free to go."

Draco took the parchment and stared down at it, not really sure what to say. He looked up at Potter again.

Potter's expression was strained. "Where will you go?"

"I don't know. To be honest, I hadn't thought that far ahead." He'd spent most of his life doing what he was told, going where he was told -- even believing what he was told. The idea that he wouldn't have that sort of structure any more was frightening.

Potter waved his wand in the direction of his office door. It closed with a click, and he looked back to Draco. "We never did talk about what happened."

"I know. I've been thinking about it, though."

"So have I."

They stared at each other for an awkward moment.

"I'd like nothing more than to kiss you right now," Draco said at last, forcing himself not to look away when Potter's eyes widened. "You gave me something I never expected anyone to give me, and I feel like I'd be a fool if I walked away from that. But I need to know who I am, on my own. I haven't been free… well, ever, and if I don't go find out now, I'll never know if the way I feel about you is real." He forced himself to stop there, though he could have babbled on like an idiot for another few minutes.

"I know. I need time too, but I…" Potter took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. "All of those spells I used on you that night -- I was trained to use them to interrogate people, and it's something I was good at. I'm not proud of that, but that night with you, I enjoyed it. I mean, I didn't enjoy it because I was hurting you, not really. It was because you liked it, because it was incredibly hot to see how far I could push you. But god, that's…" He shook his head.

"Fucked up?" Draco offered.

"Yes," Potter replied. "No. Maybe it's not. I just… I wasn't always like this. But during the war, something changed. I could hurt people in ways I never could before. I could cast spells I don't even like to think about, and… I enjoyed it. What does that make me? What kind of person gets off on that sort of thing?"

Draco watched him for a moment. "Maybe casting that spell on me affected you too. Maybe it… I don't know, connected us somehow."

Potter shook his head. "That would be just the sort of sick thing Snape would come up with, wouldn't it?"

"You can't cast such a dark spell without consequences," Draco said. "You know that as well as I do. And to think that a spell so dark as that one would exact those consequences immediately on the caster, connecting him to the victim -- I don't find that sick at all. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Potter looked up at him and smiled. "Touché."

"Well," Draco said, standing, "I suppose I should go off and start that new life of freedom, shouldn't I?"

Potter stood and circled the desk, stopping before Draco. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I suppose."

They stood there for another few moments, and Draco forced himself to turn toward the door. If he didn't leave now, he never would.

"Draco?" Potter asked, just as his hand reached the knob. "How much time?"

Draco turned to look at him. "Sorry?"

Potter looked flustered. "Well, you said you needed time, and I do too, but… how much time?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't know."

"Would you like to… I mean, strictly as friends, nothing more, just a chance to catch up really and see how you're doing… maybe have dinner in about a month?" He shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets and shrugged in a way Draco thought was meant to be casual, but instead looked awkward. "I mean, I should probably keep in touch with you anyway, just to make sure it's all going well."

Draco grinned. "Isn't that what my probation officer is for?"

"Yes," Potter replied. "I meant in an unofficial capacity. You know, just… connection thing and all." He shrugged again.

"All right," Draco said, letting him off the hook. "We'll have dinner in a month. I'll owl you."

Potter grinned, and it lit up his face in a way that made Draco's insides flip. Maybe less than a month, then. A couple of weeks would probably be enough time. There was that connection to think about.

He grinned back and walked through the door, down the corridor, and stopped on the steps looking out onto the street. It was cold, but the sun was shining, and the whole world was laid out before him.

Draco took a deep breath, and then walked out into it.

:: :: :: :: ::

~ fin ~