:: :: :: :: ::
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 ~
Emma Grant's Fiction
Fiction, Fandom, and Naughty Stuff
