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Draco’s parents were already halfway through their breakfast when he entered the Manor’s dining room. His father was browsing through his correspondence, rambling to the room at large, and his mother was scanning the Daily Prophet, in the process of politely ignoring her husband’s monologue. She looked up briefly to smile at Draco as he joined them at the table before redirecting her eyes to Rita Skeeter’s column.

“Good morning,” Draco said awkwardly, freezing when his father’s hard gaze zoomed in on him. What had he done now?

“We’re invited over to the Travers’ residence today at lunch time,” he was curtly informed. “It’s regarding your marriage to their youngest daughter.”

Draco was glad that he hadn’t started eating yet because he surely would have choked on whatever he’d tried to ingest.

“Excuse me?,” he asked weakly.

“We talked about this, Draco!,” his father snapped. “I have a five-year-plan for you. For now, we need to find you a suitable wife, and then we can work on bringing you back into the good graces of the Ministry. I have selected some Wizengamot members that are sure to be swayed by our financial charms, and-”

“Wait!,” Draco interrupted, holding up a hand when it looked like his father was going to drown his protest. “I never agreed to any of this!”

“Draco!,” his father growled, eyes flashing dangerously. “We’ve been through this.”

“Yes, we have!,” Draco called, irritated. “I’m not marrying as a part of your five-year-plan, and I’m not buying myself into the Wizengamot, and-”

“You are the heir of the Malfoy family, and you will do what is expected of you!,” his father bellowed.

“Can we please not shout at the breakfast table, Lucius?,” his mother sighed without looking up from her newspaper.

“I wouldn’t need to if your son wasn’t behaving like a damned Hufflepuff!,” his father snarled.

Draco groaned and got to his feet. He ignored his father’s orders to stay back and listen, just walking away, until he was out of the room, and out of the house. He walked and walked until the Manor had gotten considerably smaller at the horizon, and no more peacocks were crossing his way on the grounds. Only then did he allow himself to spread out over the grass and stare up at the sky, which, curiously enough, seemed to be reflecting his mood, one grey storm cloud chasing the other in an impressive race. It was going to rain soon, he was sure.

The grass rustled nearby, and he looked up to stare at one brave, ginger-furred rabbit that had approached him in his absent-mindedness. The rabbit held in when their eyes met, and Draco raised an eyebrow in challenge. For a good ten seconds, nothing happened, and Draco was quickly bored with their staring match. With a sigh, he directed his gaze back to the clouds.

What he had not counted on, quite obviously, was the rabbit lunging itself at his robe pocket the moment he showed signs of distraction. Because really, what kind of rabbit does that?

Draco exclaimed in protest, but by the time he had scrambled into a sitting position, the rabbit already had his wand between his teeth and quickly turned to make a run for it. Stumbling in a clumsiness that was very unlike him, Draco got to his feet to chase after it. If he’d had time to ponder the ridiculousness of the situation - the Malfoy heir chasing after a rabbit - he might have stopped momentarily to consider drowning himself in the fish pond. Thankfully, Draco had no such moment to spare, since the rabbit was incredibly fast and Draco apparently ridiculously out of shape. He was panting by the time they reached an old alder tree, and before Draco could do anything, the rabbit disappeared into a hole beneath its roots.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Draco groaned, more than a little breathless, pressing his hands into his stinging sides and scowling at the hole. He fell to his knees in front of it, staring. It was surprisingly wide for a rabbit hole, wide enough, he was sure, to admit even him, if he were to try.

Not that he was going to. He was a Malfoy. Malfoys did not crawl into rabbit holes.

Frustrated, he glared down to where the shadows hit the insides from his sight, considering his options. It was either crawling, or going back to the Manor and admitting to his parents that he’d lost his wand to a non-magical creature. For a moment, he tried to picture the face his father would make as Draco explained his predicament. Draco shuddered. No. Definitely not.

Tentatively, Draco leaned down as far as he could without actually crawling.

“Hello?,” Draco called, feeling monumentally stupid. “Rabbit? You have five seconds to return my wand, before I ask the house elves to serve you for dinner!”

The only answer to his words was his own echo, and with a sigh, Draco tried to lean in further, stretching one hand out into the darkness.

As a result, his other hand slipped, and Draco was falling.

He fell for a long, long time. The hole appeared to have expanded tenfold, and his flailing body was now tiny in comparison. He noted objects passing him by - beds, lamps, books, no rabbits - before finally, finally, he hit the ground. Or better, broke through it, and then fell some more, until he hit another one, that one sturdy enough to hold him, at last. Draco winced, feeling sore from the collision. He tentatively opened first one eye, then the other.

He was staring, mildly alarmed, at a chandelier hanging upside down from the floor. Or at least, Draco had through it was the floor, because in that moment, gravity seemed to turn and he lost his grip, landing, butt first, on the actual floor. He groaned in pain, staring up at the fake-floor-turned-ceiling. At least now the chandelier was where it should be, he reckoned.

Huffing, Draco got into a sitting position, taking in his surroundings. He was sprawled over the floor of a round, dark room with so many doors that Draco could not count them at first glance, and a small glass table at its center. Hesitantly, he got to his feet, examining the doors. Instinctively, he reached out to turn the knob of the closest one, pulling and pushing desperately, only to find it locked. So he moved on to the next, and the next, rattling each one until he was quite sure that none of the doors were unlocked. Frowning, he took a look around, until his eyes landed on a key resting innocently on the glass surface of the table. He lunged for it, hastily starting the cycle anew, pushing the key into every lock available, realizing, rather to his distress, that the key fit none of them.

“Stupid rabbit,” he grumbled, only just resisting the urge to kick the table. It was then, that he noticed a curtain in between two of the doors. Tentatively, he crossed the room to grab the velvety cloth of the curtain, lifting it to reveal…

“More wall,” Draco hissed, about to give up when he spotted the tiny little door at his feet. He frowned, staring at it for a good moment before realizing that yes, this was the right size for a rabbit.

If rabbits used doors, and locked up after them. Which they didn’t.

Shrugging off his own thoughts, he kneeled down to open the rabbit-sized door. This time, the key turned and the door unlocked with a loud clicking sound. Excitedly, Draco pushed it open and peeked outside. He could make out grass and daylight, but the frame was not even wide enough for him to stick his head through. Discouraged, he straightened up again. The door fell closed with a squeaking sound.

He sat there for about a minute, cursing the bloody rabbit in every language he knew. Then his gaze fell on the table again. Blinking in surprise, he noted a small glass bottle perched on it, filled with what appeared to be some kind of honey-colored beverage. Slowly, he stood, walking back to the table, dropping the key onto it and picking up the bottle. There was a label attached to the neck of the bottle, and Draco turned it to read: “Drink me.”

Draco stared. He was a fully educated wizard who knew better than to drink strange, unknown beverages. Then again, considering the situation, he was pretty sure that none of this was real. Either he had hit his head trying to crawl into the rabbit hole, or some time before that. Or he was still in bed, dreaming.

“Oh, whatever,” he murmured to himself and uncorked the bottle. “Cheers.”

He took a considerable gulp, coughing when the liquid first hit his throat. It was burning. In the next moment, Draco’s limbs began to tingle, and before he could wonder if he had just poisoned himself, the room began to expand. Or rather, Draco noted with distress as he disappeared in his robes, he was shrinking. Alarmed, he looked down at himself, so small he now fit into one arm of his sweater, and stark naked.

“Brilliant,” he groaned to himself. “Just brilliant.”

He fought his way out of his now oversized clothes and took a look around. He rose one eyebrow when, right next to the rabbit-sized door, he found a hanger with robes that appeared to fit his current size. He was quite sure these had not been there before.

“Definitely a dream,” Draco murmured, reaching out for the robes.

He dressed hurriedly and reached for the door, only to find it locked again. With a sinking feeling, he looked up at the now giant table. He could make out the key lying on top of it through the glassy surface.

He was not getting any marks for intelligence in this dream.

He wasted about two minutes fruitlessly trying to climb up the table until finally, he found a little box at its feet. He bent down to pick it up and open it, observing its insides. It held a cake. A cake which was covered with a white-chocolate glaze, the words “Eat Me” spelled out in dark chocolate icing. Draco shrugged and lifted it to his mouth. What could happen, really?

As Draco swallowed the sweet bakery, his limbs started to tingle again and he shot up into the air as if hit by one of their house-elves’ plant growing charms. The robes seemed to stretch along with him this time, he discovered, much to his relief. He flinched when his head hit the ceiling, though at least he’d made sure to avoid hitting the chandelier and setting his hair on fire.

Without hesitation, Draco bent and reached for the now tiny key on the only barely less tiny table. He held onto it as he picked up the bottle, too, raising it to his lips and taking another measured gulp. More tingling, and the process was reverted, resulting in a once again small Draco with a key and a mission.

He ran over to the door, pushing the key into the lock and smiling proudly when it clicked open obediently. As if he’d let his own dreams outsmart him!

He pushed the door open, and carefully stepped through it.

He was greeted with what looked like a giant, weathered garden with strange, colourful plants he had never seen before, and bushes in the form of magical creatures. Crups. Hippogriffs. Dragons. He had to give his subconscious mind some credit. It was bloody creative.

He was unable to take more than a few steps into the garden, though, before he was cornered by a curious collection of creatures.

The first one Draco recognized was the ginger, thieving rabbit, though now, it was wearing a white muggle suit and was standing upright, arms crossed as he glared at him.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

Draco raised his eyebrows - both this time, since he found this situation required double the gesture - and let his gaze wander over the other creatures. There was a strange, blue bird, who examined him with a scowl, a mouse in a dress, and two human-looking, chummy boys with empty faces, staring at him in wonder. They were surrounded by an army of multi-colored flowers that seemed to have faces, and all of them were staring at him as well, obviously unimpressed.

“You stole my wand!,” Draco said finally, because he could think of nothing else, and because it was true.

“He’s not the right Draco,” the bird complained.

“Of course he is the right Draco!,” the rabbit snapped.

“He doesn’t look like the right Draco!,” the bird argued.

“I wouldn’t even be here if this weren’t Draco bloody Malfoy!,” the rabbit groaned. “Don’t you think I’d prefer to be at home with a butterbeer and-”

“Ron!,” the mouse interrupted him, a warning edge to her voice, and the rabbit fell silent.

“Are you really quite sure, my dear?,” a pink flower enquired, looking Draco up and down.

“As if I’d ever forget this face,” the rabbit muttered darkly.

“I am Draco Malfoy,” Draco acknowledged briskly, crossing his arms. “And you are in my dream, so I should be the one asking the questions. Who are you, and where is my wand?”

“He’s got a big mouth,” a yellow flower commented.

“Might be useful when he goes to face the Black Queen,” an identical one quipped.

“Or it might lose him his head,” the other mused.

“Or that,” its twin agreed.

“Seriously,” Draco barked. “Who are you?”

“I’m Crabbe,” one of the boys offered, looking happy to have an answer to a question. “And this is Goyle.”

“We should consult Severus,” the bird interrupted their exchange impatiently.

“We should,” a blue flower agreed. “Severus will know who he is.”

Crabbe and Goyle nodded and stepped forward determinedly, each grabbing one of Draco’s arms and dragging him along.

“Hey!,” Draco called, struggling quite fruitlessly. “I object to the dragging! Who is that Severus, anyways? I don’t want to see him! Give me my wand!”

But no one seemed to be listening, and he quickly gave up and tagged along as the group retreated further into the garden, where the fauna was thicker and blocking out the cloudy sky.

The farther they walked, the more foggy and stifling became the air, and Draco had to cough.

At last, everyone stopped, and Draco found himself surrounded by a number of steaming puddles, the fumes giving off weird, foul smells that Draco had no desire to identify. In their middle, spread on a richly green leaf, lay a black insect, studying him silently.

“You’re a caterpillar,” Draco blurted out.

One eyebrow raised, the caterpillar conceded in a bored tone: “Obviously.” Draco clamped his mouth shut, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “The question, though, is who are you,” the caterpillar continued.

“I’m Draco,” Draco insisted petulantly.

“We shall see,” came the droning answer, and Draco felt strangely irked. “Let me take a look at you.”

Draco stood stiffly as the caterpillar’s eyes raked over him, feeling highly uncomfortable.

“So?! What do you say?!,” the bird demanded, exasperated. “Is he Draco, Severus?”

“Not hardly,” the caterpillar said slowly.

“Oh, by Salazar,” Draco groaned. “I’m Draco, and this is my dream, and I’m going to wake up now and go back home because you’re all starting to annoy me.”

“Home?,” the caterpillar repeated, sounding amused. “And where is that exactly?”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, only to close it again, his mind suddenly blank. Home. Where was that, indeed. He had just come from there, hadn’t he? And still, he could not procure a single memory.

“If you were to be Draco, you’d remember,” the caterpillar said.

“Imposter!,” the bird hissed.

“Told you,” Crabbe muttered.

“No, I told you!,” Goyle argued.

“He is not the wrong Draco!,” the mouse growled. “Can we all just calm down and-”

But this is how far she got before hell broke loose.

Draco whirled around when he heard a loud, growling sound, only to catch sight of a giant (giant by normal standards. Bloody giant in his current position), three-headed dog watching them with a predatory stare.

“FLUFFY!,” Crabbe and Goyle exclaimed, and abruptly started running. As did everyone else (Apart from Severus, who just calmly retreated into one of the steaming ponds), so Draco figured it was a good idea to follow their example.

“No matter what you do,” the mouse shouted, hurrying to catch up with him. “Don’t let the Soldiers of the Black Queen catch you! Do you hear me, Draco?!”

Draco was about to answer, but then he collided headfirst with Goyle’s massive back, as the other had come to a sudden stop. One glance around his shoulder provided him with the reason: About a dozen of black cloaked figures, their face masked to resemble skulls, were approaching them in sure strides. Behind them, Draco could still hear the growls of the three-headed dog. As if that wasn’t enough, huge claws suddenly sunk into Crabbe and Goyle’s shoulders and lifted them up. Draco stumbled backwards and looked up in time to catch sight of a majestic, white-grey hippogriff flying away, taking both struggling boys with him.

“Come on!,” the rabbit yelled, grabbing Draco’s elbow and roughly pulling him sidewards. For once, Draco did not object to being dragged.

He heard the desperate cry of the blue bird, but he had no time to turn and see what had happened to her.

Draco quickly lost oversight of the chase. The soldiers seemed to be everywhere, and where they weren’t, the dog was waiting. At one point, Draco was separated from the rabbit, but he simply kept running, his instincts leading him. He heard the anguished cry of the mouse - “NO! RON!”- but he simply kept running and running, until everything was silent and he had no breath left in his lungs. He collapsed against a tree root, panting.

What a strange dream this was, he thought distractedly. The pain in his lungs and limbs, the result of running for his life, felt completely real to him, and yet, none of this could be real. He knew he had to wake up, but he just wouldn’t seem to. He desperately tried to procure an image of home, or of the people waiting for him there, but he couldn’t come up with anything.

Very strange, indeed.

“Lost, are you?,” a female voice startled him, and he looked up into the face of a cat. Or at least, he thought it was a cat, because for one, he did not think cats came with pink and red stripes, or were floating in the air.

And they surely did not grin like they’d had too much Pepper-Up Potion.

“I’m dreaming,” he reminded himself, out loud, and the cat’s grin grew.

“I see,” she said indulgently, examining him, her body floating further up into the air to give her a better view. “ The funny thing about dreams is that if you let them absorb you enough, you forget that they are, indeed, dreams.” When Draco had no answer to that, she continued: “What is your name, little one?”

“Draco.”

“The Draco?”

“There has been some debate about that,” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. “I think the caterpillar decided on ‘No’.”

“Curious,” she quipped, laying her head to the side and continuing to observe him. “But what do you say, little one?”

“Well, I obviously am Draco,” he pointed out irritably. “And this is my dream.”

“That it is,” the cat agreed, floating in a full circle around him before returning to her original position. “Maybe I should bring you to the Mad Hagrid and the March Hare. If you really are the Draco, then they will know what to do.”

Draco looked at her suspiciously. He wasn’t sure meeting up with anyone whose name started with ‘Mad’ would actually help him, but then again, which part of this dream was sane, exactly?

“Fine,” he sighed, at last. “Please lead the way.”

With another eerie smile, the cat floated ahead. Draco pushed himself off the root to follow.

They walked and walked (or, in the cat’s case, floated) through the dark forest Draco had found himself in after his getaway, until finally, the trees lightened and a wooden house appeared in front of them. Or at least, Draco would define it as a house, in lack of a better word for it. The thing was enormous, even if he weren’t currently miniature-sized. Judging by its extreme largeness, it seemed inappropriate to call it a hut, though, considering its architecture, it seemed to be nothing else. Giant pumpkins were growing in the garden, and the cat floated to rest on one of them, grinning down at him.

“Hagrid!,” she called in a melodic voice. “Look who I brought!”

Draco heard heavy footsteps from the hut, and he wondered if he should make a run for it. Whatever lived in that house was obviously oversized, and mad, and that wasn’t a promising combination. But before he could even move a muscle, the door opened and out came a bear of a man. He was indeed huge, several heads taller than a normal person would be, and broad enough that Draco was pretty sure he needed at least two chairs to sit down. He seemed to have wild dark hair everywhere, his head, his face, and even where his skin was bare, he was wearing fur or leather. Draco stopped breathing, and reminded himself that this was a dream and he couldn’t die.

“Wha’ was tha', Gin?,” the man yelled, his voice gruff, and stepped out of the doorway. “Who did yeh-”

He cut himself off when his eyes fell on Draco, and a bright smile spread over his face.

“Draco, is tha’ yeh?! Blimey, it’s good ter see yeh! Abou’ time yeh showed yer face, hones’ly!”

“Um,” Draco said eloquently, trying to come up with any kind of words, but the giant man was already approaching him, and then he was being picked up by the waist and raised into the air.

“Merlin’s beard, yeh’re summat small, aren’ yeh? Wha’ happened? Shrinkin’ hex?”

“He had to drink a potion to come here, Hagrid,” a familiar voice explained, and Draco twisted his head to spot the sharply dressed mouse he had met earlier standing in the doorway, looking comically small in the entrance to such a huge house. Next to her stood another rabbit, this one looking infinitely more ruffled than the one who had stolen his wand (which he had never gotten back, Draco realized with a start). This rabbit spotted fur of a light brownish color and had radishes dangling from its ears. “What were you thinking, disappearing like that?!,” the mouse demanded, now addressing Draco. “Can you imagine how frantic I was when you were gone?! I wasn’t supposed to leave you out of my sight!”

“You told me to run!,” Draco reminded her defensively.

The mouse opened her mouth to argue, but was interrupted by the dreamy-looking rabbit next to her.

“Let him breathe. Look, his head is full of Nargles! No wonder he’s so confused.”

The mouse heaved a deep sigh and closed her eyes.

“What are Nargles?,” Draco enquired.

“Don’t ask!,” the mouse hissed, interrupting the rabbit’s answer.

“Now, now,” the man called Hagrid threw in mildly. “No fightin'. Let's jus' get in. Draco, yeh arrived jus' in time fer tea!”

Instead of protesting, Draco let Hagrid carry him into the house. The cat followed them in swift floating movements, closing the door behind herself.

The inside of the house turned out to be only one room, but everything was as oversized inside as it was outside, and Draco felt slightly intimidated as Hagrid placed him on the center of the table.

“Tea, Draco?,” the rabbit enquired while it filled a miniature cup for the mouse, which was accepted with a tight smile.

“Um, yes?,” Draco replied uncertainly, watching her prepare another similar cup and handing it to him. “Thank you.”

“Have some cake, too,” Hagrid beamed, placing a plate with a huge, stone-hard looking ring cake right next to him. “I jus' baked it this morning!”

Draco tried to smile, swearing to not touch the cake even if his life depended on it.

“Merlin, the White King’ll be so relieved ter hear yeh’re back!,” Hagrid exclaimed, sitting down on one oversized chair. “He kep’ talkin' ‘bout yeh, yeh know? ‘Find Draco. We need Draco.’”

“What does he need me for?,” Draco asked carefully, taking a sip of his tea. Surprisingly, it tasted like treacle tart.

“My, to slay the Black Queen’s Norwegian Horntail, of course!,” the rabbit explained offhandedly, and Draco choked on his tea.

“What?!,” Draco coughed.

“It’s all in the Oraculum,” she shrugged. “You are our savior, who will free us from the reign of the Black Queen.”

“Tha’ ruddy bitch!,” Hagrid bellowed, making Draco flinch slightly. “Destroys ev’rythin' she gets her bloody hands on. I'm tellin' yeh, one day she's goin’ ter erase the entire kingdom, she is! Gotta be stopped, tha’ one!”

“Okay,” Draco said slowly, clinging to his cup. “That sounds really terrible and all, but I think you’ve got the wrong Draco, after all. Because I’m not slaying anything. No way.”

“You have no choice, Draco,” the mouse confirmed gently, but firmly. “This is the only way.”

“It’s not,” Draco argued, his voice slightly shrill. “I can just wake up.”

“Good luck with that,” the cat told him smugly.

“I think he's righ’, yeh know,” Hagrid announced suddenly, making Draco look up in surprise. “Slayin' the poor dragon ‘snot the solution. He's a captive o' tha' pathetic excuse o' a Queen jus' like the rest o' 'em.” Draco frowned, not sure what to answer to that. “Oh, wha’ would I give ter have a dragon,” Hagrid sighed longingly, taking a huge gulp of his tea.

“Right,” Draco muttered awkwardly.

“You know it’s written in the Oraculum, Hagrid,” the mouse reminded him, her voice tight. “The dragon has to die, and Draco has to do it. There is no other way.”

“Well, you’d better search for your Draco, then,” Draco injected, glaring at her. “Because I’m not doing it.”

The mouse glowered back, apparently about to give him an earful when suddenly, noises were to be heard from outside, and everyone held in. The cat disappeared momentarily, only to turn up again at the window.

“It’s the Knave of Hearts, and the Bloodhound,” she pronounced, seemingly unbothered by whoever was searching them out. “You’d better hide Draco.” And with that, she was gone.

Hagrid groaned, and before Draco knew it, he was lifted up by giant hands again. Draco struggled, but really, he might have just surrendered, seeing that in his tiny form, he had absolutely no chance at freeing himself from the grip of a… a Hagrid.

“Don' make a bloody sound, d’yeh hear me?,” Hagrid warned, and with that, Draco was deposited into the pocket of his cloak. He took a deep breath, and wrinkled his nose. It smelled like death in here. He was silently thankful that it was too dark to make out what else the pocket held.

He heard brisk knocks at the door, and held tightly onto the walls of the pocket when Hagrid got to his feet. He was carried some turbulent steps across the room, and then he could make out the squeaking sounds of door opening.

“See who we have here,” a drawling voice resounded, one that sent a chill down Draco’s spine. “My favorite lunatics.”

“What a nice thing to say,” the rabbit returned pleasantly.

“Wha’re yeh doin' here?,” Hagrid groaned, all kindness gone from his voice. “I don' remember invitin' yeh ruddy folks inter me-”

“Oh, believe me, I have no desire to be here, either,” the cold voice of the stranger interrupted, and Draco could hear footsteps as the person entered. “Nevertheless, I cannot ignore an order from the Queen. There have been rumors, Hagrid. Draco is supposed to be back in Wonderland.”

“Codswallop!,” Hagrid snapped. “I’d know if he was here, wouldn’ I?!”

“Exactly,” the other man agreed calmly. “So you’d better tell me what you know, before I take you with me to the court and find some… more effective ways to make you talk.”

“Draco is not here!,” the mouse spoke up, her voice determined and unshaken. “There is no need for any threats.”

“I don’t remember talking to you, filthy street rat,” the man dismissed her offhandedly.

“That is not very kind, you know,” the rabbit noted, not sounding particularly angry about the attack against her friend, but merely curious.

Her comment was not dignified with an answer.

“If I find out you lot have been hiding Draco from me,” he began, but did not get to finish the sentence when suddenly, loud barks were to be heard from the open door.

“What is that?!,” the man hissed irritably. “Oh by Merlin, I’m coming!,” there were footsteps back towards the door. “This is not over! I’ll be back!,” and with that, he was gone, and Hagrid was closing the door firmly after him.

“Blimey, tha’ was close, wasn’ it?,” Hagrid noted.

“We are lucky the Bloodhound is on our side,” the mouse sighed.

“Ginny must have gone to alert him,” the rabbit remarked cheerfully. “She’s nice like that.”

“Sorry ‘bout tha’, Draco,” Hagrid apologized, and then, Draco was lifted out of the pocket and up into the air. He looked into the round once, finding all eyes on him. It made him squirm uncomfortably on Hagrid’s hand.

“We have to bring him to the White Court, Hagrid!,” the mouse declared.

“Yeh’re righ’!,” Hagrid nodded, straightening up a little. “The King’ll need ter see him.”

“Exactly,” the mouse agreed. “The sooner, the better.”

“Then why wait around?,” Hagrid shrugged, placing Draco rather gently on his shoulder before stretching out his palm for the mouse to climb onto. “Let’s get goin’, eh?”

They had long left Hagrid’s hut and made their way into the woods when Draco realized that he had never actually agreed on meeting the White King. Not that he’d had any chance to decline, really - Hagrid seemed friendly for the most part, but he was not going to cross wands with him, especially seeing that his wand was currently unavailable - but it felt like this dream had its own flow, and every attempt of Draco’s to defy it ran into the sand. So maybe, he figured, his best bet was to just go along with it and see where it brought him,

Or, well, to hope that he woke up before anything too traumatising happened.

“The King'll be bloody excited ter see yeh,” Hagrid said cheerfully, making Draco look up at what he could see of his face through all the layers of facial hair. “He told me: ‘Hagrid, we have ter find Draco, no matter wha’ it takes,’ 's wha’ he said.”

“I see,” Draco returned, a little awkwardly. “I’m still not slaying anything, though.” He felt the need to point that out again. He might be ready to go along with the lunatics of his own subconsciousness, but he was not suicidal.

“Ar,” Hagrid said off-handedly, and Draco had to hold onto his cloak as he stepped over a felled tree. “‘slong as yeh bring the crown back ter the White King, I don' really care wha’ yeh do do or don' do.”

“Er,” was Draco’s only answer.

“Merlin knows I don’t have a high opinion of Divination,” the mouse cut in, sounding anxious. “But I really think we should try to stick to the Oraculum. And the Oraculum tells us that Draco has to slay the Norwegian Horntail.”

“I’m not the right Draco, though,” Draco reminded her, rather rightfully, he felt. “Your caterpillar said so.”

“Well, he was wrong!,” the mouse replied stubbornly, scowling at Draco from Hagrid’s other shoulder.

“Mighta inhaled too much o’ tha’ smoke,” Hagrid grumbled.

“Anyways, what is wrong with that Black Queen?,” Draco prodded, finally voicing what had been irking him all along. “Is this just a political war, or-” He broke off when he saw the look on Hagrid’s face. The giant man seemed to suddenly be glowing with vibrant rage, and Draco would have taken a step back from him if he hadn’t been situated on Hagrid’s shoulder.

“She’s a murderer, tha’s wha’ she is!,” Hagrid bellowed, scaring a few birds that had been watching them from a nearby tree into a hasty flight. “Nothin’ but a ruddy murderer!”

Hagrid came to a sudden halt, gazing down the path they were walking as if in trance, and Draco looked up to let his eyes follow Hagrid’s. At the horizon he could make out a clearing, and within it, dark, unrecognizable shapes.

“It was here,” Hagrid said darkly, and started walking again. “Happened a few months ago. We were celebratin' when she attacked. The Horntail burned down the whole village. Killed dozens o' people.”

As he spoke, they steadily moved closer to the clearing, now close enough for Draco to recognize the dark shapes as burned buildings. He could make out the scorched leftovers of a shop sign in the form of three crossed broomsticks. A shudder went through him.

“The King escaped,” Hagrid continued. “but he lost his crown an' had ter go inter hidin'. Since then, she’s been terrorizin' the whole o' Wonderland, an' killin' off ev’ryone who dared ter oppose her.”

When they stepped into the clearing, Draco could make out the extend of the destruction. Nothing was left, it appeared. All he could see was burned wood and broken scraps of what had once been people’s belongings. The place seemed haunted by the lives that had ended here. Draco felt chilled, even though he knew that none of it was real.

“Tha’s why none o’ us are goin’ ter rest until the crown’s with the White King again,” Hagrid finished, his voice rough. “Givin’ up’d be ter betray all o’ our fallen friends.”

The silence that followed his words echoed in Draco’s head.

A solemn silence had settled among them as they continued their way towards the White Court. More and more questions kept shooting through Draco’s mind, but he refrained from voicing any of them, both hesitant to interrupt Hagrid, who undoubtedly reliving the terrible events he had just retold for Draco, and afraid to know the answers, if they were to be as dark and cruel as the first one he had received.

This was a strange kind of dream, Draco reflected. It felt surreal and real at the same time. He was in a constant confusion, in a state of disorientation that never seemed to halt, but he still felt as if he was right on track, walking a path he could not leave, for whatever reason.

Very strange, indeed. He reckoned he should feel distressed, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to.

The stillness both in between them and in their surroundings was suddenly broken by a loud bark, and Hagrid came to a rapid stop, face paling.

“Tha’s the Bloodhound,” he groaned. “He’s warnin’ us. The bloody Knave’s comin’.”

“What do we do, Hagrid?!,” the mouse squeaked, her voice high in clear panic.

“Yeh run!,” Hagrid hissed, and before Draco knew it, he had lifted both of them off his shoulders and placed them on the ground “‘Mione, yeh’ll bring Draco ter see the White King. I’ll distract ‘em!”

“But Hagrid-” the mouse began, clearly hesitant to leave her friend behind.

“Go!,” he growled. “I’ll be fine. Tough, yeh know. Nothin’ will happen ter me!”

The mouse took a deep breath, and then nodded, a sudden determination in her eyes. She grabbed Draco’s elbow, and he found himself dragged into the shadows of the woods, on and on. They could hear angry voices in the distance, but the mouse did not allow them to stop until they were too out of breath to even take another step. They collapsed against one of the tree roots, panting.

“What about Hagrid?,” Draco asked finally, when he had managed to draw enough air back into his lungs. “What will they do to him?”

“I don’t know,” the mouse breathed. “If they think he might be hiding something from them, they might take him with them, I think.”

“To that Black Queen?,” Draco demanded, for the first time since he had found himself in this strange dream honestly alarmed. “But what if they torture him, or kill him?!”

“I thought you had decided that this was a dream, Draco?,” the mouse reminded him, examining him curiously. “If it’s only a dream, why get worried? We’re just a figment of your imagination, aren’t we?”

Draco stared at her. His mind seemed sluggish and slow. “Yes,” he acknowledged, frowning. “You are.” He hesitated. “You are. But that doesn’t mean I want anyone to get hurt.”

The mouse nodded slowly, still studying his face so intently that Draco felt uncomfortable.

“Fair enough,” she conceded. “Nightmares are nasty things.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed, relieved. “So, what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to the White Court and I’ll bring you to the White King,” she shrugged. “It’s what Hagrid wants us to do, and what we need to do.”

“And leave Hagrid to his fate?,” Draco demanded, incredulous.

“You need to see the White King, Draco,” she insisted.

“But Hagrid’s in danger!”

“It’s a dream! Nothing will happen to him!”

“How do you know that?!”

“God, even here, you are difficult,” the mouse grumbled, crossing her arms.

“How would you know if I’m difficult in real life?,” Draco snapped.

The mouse just laughed darkly. Draco glared at her, before turning away pointedly. They sat in a petulant silence for quite some time, Draco’s thoughts reeling.

He knew that the mouse was right, on some level. Not only did Hagrid not exist in real life, but a dream couldn’t permanently harm people. Once he was going to wake up, he would forget Hagrid entirely, he was sure of it. There was no use in worrying over him.

But Hagrid had been kind to him. Draco frowned to himself, wondering why that seemed so important all of a sudden. He couldn’t remember anything from his real life, for some strange reason he did not understand, but he knew that people were not usually kind to him without an ultimate motive. And sure enough, everyone in this dream appeared to want something from him: he was supposed to meet some king, or slay some dragon, or just be incarcerated or maybe even killed - and Hagrid was no exception to that, seeing that he too wanted Draco to fight, but still…

He had been kind about it.

“I want to help Hagrid,” Draco announced at last, a hard edge in his voice.

“No,” the mouse refused immediately.

“This is my dream,” Draco reaffirmed. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Nothing will happen to Hagrid!,” the mouse repeated impatiently. “And even if it does, there will be no consequences! You, on the other hand-”

“The worst thing that can happen is for me to wake up!” Draco pointed out, frustrated with her protests.

“No, you won’t!,” she snapped. “That’s the whole point, and we need to-”

But she came no farther than that, because in that moment, they heard noises approaching from the forest. They both froze, listening intently.

“Hermione?,” a voice called, and the mouse relaxed visibly. “Hermione, are you around here somewhere?”

“Over here, Blaise!,” she called, pushing herself off the root she had been resting on and scanning their surroundings.

Finally, an (from Draco’s position) oversized dog broke through the bushes, coming to a halt in front of them.

“There you are!,” the dog breathed, laying down in front of them to gasp for air. “Hagrid told me he’d sent you ahead. I assumed you couldn’t be far.”

“How is Hagrid?,” Draco asked immediately, and the mouse threw him a warning look.

“Alive,” the dog returned gruffly. “For now, at least. The Knave took him in for questioning.”

“Blaise,” the mouse began. “We have to bring Draco to the White King. Can you-”

“I want to go help Hagrid!,” Draco interrupted her stubbornly.

“Oh, will you stop it!,” she hissed. The dog, on the other hand, only looked at him with wide eyes.

“Are you barking?!,” he demanded. “She’ll kill you if you turn up at the Black Court. Off with your head. Not that you wouldn’t make a nice wall decoration, but-”

“I can’t die! This is a dream!,” Draco snarled.

The dog met the mouse’s gaze, staring at her.

“The Oraculum didn’t say anything about Draco being insane,” he noted. “Are you sure you’ve got the right one?”

“No,” Draco said, in the same moment the mouse hissed: “Yes!”

The dog huffed, but didn’t say anything else.

“You’re the ones who want me to slay some dragon and behead some queen!,” Draco reminded them angrily.

“No,” the mouse frowned. “There was nothing about beheading anyone.”

“Not the point!,” Draco growled. “The point is, you want something from me. Well, if you want me to consider it, you’ll have to do something for me, first.”

Draco inwardly congratulated himself as the two animals stared back at him in open alarm.

“Damned Slytherin,” the mouse whispered, almost to herself.

“You know,” the dog said slowly. “The sword is at the Black Court, anyways. As is the dragon.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to go, though!,” the mouse called desperately. “He really needs to see the King before-”

“I’ll see your King,” Draco shrugged. “After we got Hagrid out of there.”

“I don’t like this,” she sighed, and Draco smirked, knowing he had won this one.

“You don’t have to like it,” Draco pointed out. “Just don’t get in my way.”

“I think I like him,” the dog commented, earning a glare from the mouse. “You’ve got yourself a deal, little one. Now hop on!”

The journey through the dark forest went a lot faster on dogback. Draco held tightly onto the dog’s collar and kept his eyes closed through most of it, dizzy from the uneven transportation. He wished he had a broom. Or was tall enough to fly a broom, that is.

When the dog finally came to a stop, Draco thanked Merlin, Salazar and Godric.

“This is it,” he announced, and Draco opened his eyes to take in the sight in front of him. They were standing in secure distance to a wide estate, neatly trimmed gardens leading to an intimidating Manor. Draco shivered. The place seemed to emanate darkness and fear as if it were guarded by dementors.

“I really don’t like this,” the mouse whispered from beside Draco.

“Then why did you come?,” Draco snapped.

“As if I’d leave you out of sight again,” she grumbled. “If I don’t bring you to the King safely, he’ll strangle me single-handedly.”

“Sounds charming,” Draco noted. “It motivates me to the utmost.”

“It’s all your fault, you git!,” she accused. “If you hadn’t-” But she cut herself off immediately, making Draco frown.

“If I hadn’t what?,” Draco demanded.

“Nothing,” she said simply. “So how are we going to get in there?”

“The gate?,” the dog huffed, obviously suppressing a laugh. “I thought you were the smart one?”

“We can’t just walk through the gate like we’re invited for tea!,” the mouse spluttered.

“Actually, we can,” she was corrected. “Because I happen to know who’s the appointed guard today, and he’s on our side.”

“Who?,” she breathed.

The dog chuckled and began approaching the estate. Draco ducked enough to be hidden completely behind his head, scanning their surroundings from its shadows, but there were large hedges everywhere that blocked his view. Only when he heard the jarring sounds of the gates opening did he dare to look up, and found the ginger rabbit that had brought him into this dream world in the first place standing at the other side, gaping at them.

“Ron!,” the mouse gasped.

“What are you doing here, Hermione?!,” he croaked, looking around carefully. “Why is Malfoy not with-”

“I tried!,” she sighed. “But he’s being a prat about it. He told me he won’t come to see him until we got Hagrid out of here.”

The rabbit blinked, his mouth hanging open.

“He wants to save Hagrid?!,” he demanded, incredulous. “Bloody hell, maybe we do have the wrong Malfoy!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sighed, carefully lowering herself from the tall dog’s back to the floor.

“But what are we supposed to do with him now?!,” the rabbit called, his voice high-pitched in obvious panic. “If she sees him she’ll have his head, and-”

“That is, if she recognizes me,” Draco perked up, hesitantly looking down towards the ground. It was rather high. “No one seems to quite know whether or not I’m the right Draco, anyways. I’d say we just don’t tell her.” As if getting the hint, the dog lowered himself to the floor, helping Draco significantly in unmounting him.

“What a smart plan,” the rabbit commented, voice full of sarcasm. “He’s mad, Hermione! We always knew it but now he’s completely lost it.”

“The thing is, he started resembling someone,” she muttered darkly, throwing Draco a nasty look. “And I never thought that would be a bad thing.”

“I’ll not even pretend to understand what you’re saying,” Draco drawled, crossing his arms, feeling more confident now that he had firm ground back under his feet. “So maybe you could stop talking nonsense and instead help me. Is there maybe anything to, um, revoke my current height? I’d very much like to not be the size of a Pixie when I meet your evil queen.”

“Oh, yeah,” the rabbit nodded, eyebrows furrowed. “I think I have some more cake in my pocket… Wait… Ah, here!”

He pulled out the little box Draco had found on the floor at the room with the too many doors and handed it over to Draco. Excited, Draco opened it and stuffed some cake into his mouth immediately.

“Careful!,” the mouse warned. “If you eat too much-”

But that was how far she came before Draco’s limbs began to tingle and he shot up into the air. He grew until he was taller than the dog, until he was his old height, and still a little more. When he was done, he looked down at the animals sheepishly.

“... Oops?”

The rabbit rolled his eyes. The mouse glared pointedly, not dignifying him with a response. The dog, on the other hand, seemed faintly amused. The awkward moment was crowned by a stray black peacock passing them by in unhurried steps. Draco was still looking after it, slightly puzzled, when the mouse said: “So, we need a plan. And a real one, that is, not one of your-”

But Draco never got to hear what his usual plans were like, because in that moment, the door to the Manor opened. The rabbit froze, as did the dog, and Draco acted on instinct: He picked up the mouse, in a manner very much like Hagrid had done to him, and shoved her into his robe pocket, hiding her from sight. Only then did he allow himself to direct his gaze to the dark figures approaching them.

Draco’s eyes first fell onto the snappy blue bird, the one he had met when he had first crawled through that tiny door. Her eyes were narrowed and focused on Draco, but she showed no other signs of recognition. On the other side he saw a cloaked, beautiful middle-aged lady with long, silky blond hair, her blue eyes piercing into Draco with an intensity he could not interpret. Between them walked a woman of similar height but with darker coloring and a much more fear-inducing air around her. Her hair was dark and thick, in a state of disarray, and her face, though surely once beautiful as well, seemed strained through age and hardship. Her eyes were dark and unfocused, and her thin lips were curled in what was apparently supposed to be a smile.

Though he had never seen her, Draco knew with a sudden finality that this was the Black Queen.

“Who are you?,” the Queen demanded in a sly voice, looking Draco up and down critically. “And why did you let him in, you useless rodent?”

“Um,” the ginger rabbit murmured unhelpfully.

“Um?,” the Queen mirrored, her voice a little shrill in challenge.

“That’s my name,” Draco blurted out without thinking. “I’m Um. From Umbridge.” Inwardly, Draco flinched at his feeble lies. What the bloody hell was he doing?!

“I see,” the Queen drawled, looking at him with slight interest now. “And what brings you to my court, Um?”

“I heard that Draco was back in Wonderland,” Draco improvised. “I came here to offer my services to you. I want to capture him for you, your Highness. It would be my greatest honor.”

“Oh?,” the Queen raised her eyebrows, a slow smile spreading over her face. “How honorable of you. Most of my subjects need to be caught and tortured before they agree to do my bidding.”

“Not me, my lady,” Draco declared. “I perceive it to be my duty to make sure the crown stays with you. The White King is the worst thing that ever happened to Wonderland. We must not let him win.”

He saw the rabbit’s eyes narrowing as he spoke, but did not let his eyes linger on him. This was possibly the most elaborated lie he had ever drawn out of his sleeve, and he had to concentrate to keep it on track.

The Black Queen was observing him keenly, eyes wandering over his face and hair.

“Curious,” she murmured. “You remind me of someone.” Draco did not know what to respond to that, so he just waited her out. When finally, a pleased grin spread over her skull-like face, Draco tried not to shudder. “Any enemy of the White King is welcome at this court,” she announced. “Please follow me, Um. I will show you inside.”

Draco bowed to her, and she turned on her heels with a tiny, mad giggle, making her way back to the Manor. Draco took a deep breath as he straightened to follow her.

He felt the blond woman’s eyes searching his face all the way to the door, but he did not look up to meet her gaze.

Draco was shown through the Manor, and he had a hard time keeping a pleasant look on his face. The place seemed dark and haunted by fear, and he felt colder and colder the longer he spent inside, until he was thankful for even the slightest heat the mouse radiated from his pocket.

When they finally reached what appeared to have been a parlour once and had now been functioned to resemble a throne room, the bird and the blond woman took their positions next to the throne the Queen had sunk into with a pleased sigh.

“I need you to meet the Knave,” she told him absentmindedly. “You will cooperate with him in your search for Draco. Cissy, where is the Knave?”

The blond woman opened her mouth to answer, but was caught off by the smooth, male voice that he had heard from his position in Hagrid’s pocket back at the hut.

“I am here, my Lady.”

Draco whirled around, his eyes falling on a tall, robed man with long, shiny blond hair and grey, piercing eyes. Draco was not sure why, but at his sight, his soul seemed to cover with a thin layer of ice. He wanted to shiver.

The man was examining him too, a slight frown on his face.

“Who is this, my Lady?,” he enquired politely.

“This is Um from Umbridge,” the Queen informed him, her voice bored. “He will assist you in your search for Draco.”

“I don’t need assistance, my Lady,” the man protested, watching Draco now with obvious suspicion.

“I don’t care what you need, Knave!,” the Queen bellowed with a sudden fierceness that almost made Draco retreat a few steps. “You will follow my orders, or I will have your head!”

“Yes, my Lady,” the man agreed, bowing to her. “I came to tell you that we caught the Mad Hagrid.”

“Ohhhhh!,” the Queen cooed, her eyes now shining with a childlike excitement. “Wonderful! Just wonderful! Bring him in, Knave!”

With a lazy snap of the man’s fingers, the doors opened and in came a troop of dark-cloaked soldiers, their faces hidden behind those dreadful, skull-like masks that reminded Draco of death and despair. In their midst, Hagrid had been tied with thick, sturdy ropes and was walking with his head bowed, a grim look on his usually friendly face.

Draco’s fingers trembled at the sight, so he quickly hid them in his pockets. The tiny hands of the mouse squeezed one finger in reassurance, and Draco took a deep breath. He felt eyes on him, though, and when he looked up, he realized that the Knave was watching him intently, brows furrowed in distrust. Draco quickly schooled his features into a neutral expression.

“Look at this mad creature my soldiers brought me!,” the Queen quipped in obvious delight. “Hagrid! It’s been too long!”

Hagrid glowered at her, but didn’t return anything.

“Fine, let’s skip the pleasantries,” the Queen shrugged, suddenly bored again. Her mood swings, Draco noted, were quicker than weather changes in April. “Where is Draco? We know you’re hiding him somewhere!”

“‘s gone,” Hagrid grumbled. “Fled when yer lot attacked Hogsmeade. Haven’t seen ‘im since.”

“Don’t lie to me!,” she yelled. “I know he’s back! And I know you know where he is!”

“I don’,” Hagrid retorted. “If I did, I’d give him a good piece of heart, I would. Ruddy coward tha’ he is!”

Draco flinched inwardly. He knew Hagrid was only acting, but being called a coward still hit where it hurt, for some reason.

The Queen examined Hagrid intently for a moment longer, before leaning back with a look of distaste.

“You’re no use for me if you don’t know anything,” she sniffed. “Off with his head!”

“No!,” Draco called, freezing when all eyes flew to him - including Hagrid’s, who seemed dismayed at his sight. “I mean, are you sure you’re not being too hasty, your Highness? He might proof to be useful in the end. After all, he knows a lot about the White King, doesn’t he?”

The Queen looked at him, clearly intrigued, but the Knave let out a groan of anger and called: “Don’t let him manipulate you, my Lady! Who do you think you are, coming here and defying a Queen?!”

“He’s got a point, Knave,” the Queen said quietly, effectively shutting her servant up. “What do you suggest I do with him, Um?”

“Let him tend to your creatures,” Draco smiled. “He was Gamekeeper to the King, wasn’t he? And I heard you have an excellent lot in your possession. Keep him occupied, and use him for your purposes when necessary.”

“I like your way of thinking,” the Queen smirked, clearly pleased with Draco’s suggestion. “Knave! Lay him in shackles and show him to the stables! Cissy? Go and show Um to one of the good rooms in the east wing. He will be staying.”

Draco bowed to the Queen in a show of gratitude, ignoring when the Knave threw him a look of loathing before doing as he was told. He didn’t dare looking at anyone, be it Hagrid, the Knave or the Queen, as he followed the blond woman out into the corridors.

None of them spoke while she led him through the Manor, and Draco was thankful for the silence because it gave him a moment to plot.

He needed to grab Hagrid and get out of here. With some luck, the rabbit was still guarding the entrance, and they could slip through the security rather easily. Or as easily as it would be to sneak a huge person like Hagrid - not to mention his own rather oversized self - out unseen.

“Here we are,” the woman pronounced, coming to a halt and effectively drawing Draco out of his own head. “I will show you inside.” She reached out to push open the wooden door, stepping aside for him to go through first. Draco nodded at her and entered the room.

It was surprisingly nice - wide and bright and tastefully decorated. Draco saw a few photos moving in their frames, but before he could focus on them, the door behind them closed, and the blond woman was reaching out to grasp his wrist in a firm grip.

“Draco, darling, what are you doing here?!,” she whispered, gaze intense with sudden intent. Draco stared at her, aghast.

“I’m not Draco,” he argued, rather weakly, he felt.

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “I’d recognize you anywhere, my dear.”

Draco bit his lip, examining her. He had no idea who she was, but she did not seem to mean him any harm, so he decided to chance it.

“I’m here to get Hagrid,” he said quietly.

“That man can take care of himself,” she assured him grimly. “But you… They must not recognize you. I am sure the Knave is already suspecting your real identity.”

“I won’t be long,” Draco promised her, more confident than he felt. “I will be in and out.”

“Don’t let them catch you,” she whispered with obvious worry in her eyes. “I will try to distract the Queen for a while, but I can’t keep you clear of her forever. And the Knave listens to no one as it is.”

“Thank you,” Draco nodded, sending her a grateful smile. “I appreciate it.”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” she shook her head. “As long as you are safe, that is enough for me.”

And with that, she let go of him and left the room. As she closed the door behind herself, Draco sighed in relief. He immediately reached into his pocket for the mouse, placing her gently on the nearest surface, which turned out to be a dresser.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Now what do we do?”

“This is insane,” she whispered in distress. “I hope you realize how insane this is.”

“Yes, yes,” Draco waved her off. “Never mind my apparent insanity now. We need a plan, and we need to execute it while that woman keeps the Queen occupied.”
The mouse stared at him long and hard.

“You really don’t know who she is, do you?,” she asked finally.

“No,” Draco admitted, uncomfortable. “But everyone in this dream seems to know me - or, Draco, at least - even though I’ve never met them before. Why should she be any different?”

“I guess you’re right,” the mouse conceded, if hesitantly.

“Anyways,” he prodded. “Hagrid.”

“Why don’t you go look for him?,” she shrugged. “No one told you that you needed to stay in this room. Just keep clear of the Knave.”

“Yes,” Draco nodded, trying to soothe himself more than anyone else. “You’re right. It will be fine.”

It was then, that his eyes fell on one of the framed photos not far from where the mouse stood. He recognized a flicker of his own bright hair, so he picked it up to study it.

It showed him, indeed, laughing with another boy, whose arm was slung around his shoulders. Something inside Draco broke open at the sight, and his breath caught.

“Draco?,” the mouse asked, sounding worried.

“Harry,” he whispered, his fingers trembling.

“You remember Harry,” she breathed, sounding surprised, and yet hopeful. “Who is Harry, Draco? Do you know?”

He shook his head, his heart racing as he stared at bright green eyes and wild black hair. He didn’t know, couldn’t procure a single information connected to that name or face, other than the definite fact that his name was Harry and that he was important. That he was Draco’s whole world.

“Draco,” the mouse said gently, drawing back his attention. “I’ll bring you to him,” she promised. “But for that, we have to get out of this Manor.”

Draco nodded, looking at the picture for another moment before setting it down, willing his hands to stop shaking.

“Yes,” he agreed, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

Draco was unusually nervous as he sneaked through the corridors, unsure where to even start searching. Where had the Queen told the Knave to bring Hagrid? The stables? Those were usually outside, weren’t they? There had to be a back door leading out into the gardens somewhere, right? And if he managed to find Hagrid, would the Knave be with him?

Draco was so busy panicking that when he perceived the sound of approaching footsteps, he jumped and whirled around, only to stare into the faces of the two chummy boys he had met upon his arrival in this world.

“It’s just you,” he whispered, breathing deeply.

“Is that…?,” one of the boys said, staring at him with an open mouth.

“Nah,” the other frowned. “He was tiny, remember?”

“Oh,” the first one nodded. “Right.”

“Right,” Draco agreed, trying to smile, though he suspected it came out more as a grimace, from the confused looks the boys gave him. “Can you tell me where I might find the stables?”

“So that you can sneak away with the Mad Hagrid?,” a third, female voice cut in, and Draco looked over his shoulder to see the blue bird approaching them. “How adventurous of you, Fake-Draco.”

“He’s not Fake-Draco,” one of the boys supplied helpfully. “He is huge.”

The bird rolled her eyes.

“Please keep your voice down,” Draco pleaded. “Can you please show me to the stables so I can be out of here?”

“Why should I help you?,” the bird demanded. “You’re not the real Draco.”

“Apparently not,” Draco admitted. “But isn’t it in your interest that Hagrid is not imprisoned here so that he can find the real one?”

She stared at him, contemplating his words.

“You might be right,” he relented.

“Great,” Draco nodded. “So, the stables, if you will.”

“Though Hagrid is, of course, mad,” the bird continued, not moving an inch. “For all I know, he might even believe that you are the real Draco. In which case, we should find someone more suitable to search for him.”

“Pansy!,” the mouse hissed from Draco’s pocket, sticking out her head. “Stop being difficult and wasting our time!”

“Great,” the bird sighed. “Another mad one.”

Draco groaned, rapidly losing his patience with her. He turned back to the two boys, who had been watching the exchange with obvious curiosity.

“Can you two bring me to the stables?”

Both of them nodded, and then walked into opposing directions, heedless of Draco not following them. With a deep sigh, he turned back to the bird.

“Please?,” he stressed.

“What do I get for bringing you?,” she asked, sounding unimpressed.

“I’m not going to strangle you,” Draco ground out.

She examined him for a moment, as if judging the likelihood of that happening, and nodded.

“Fair enough. Follow me.”

The stables were indeed out on the grounds - so far out that the Manor was hidden by trees once they arrived, and Draco felt like he could breathe a little easier now that he was out of the gruesome house.

They found Hagrid shackled to a tree, the chains long enough to allow him some couple of yards of mobility, but no more than that.

“Draco!,” he hissed as soon as he had spotted him at the bird’s heels, sounding livid.

“Oh, I knew it,” the bird muttered, crossing her wings and scowling at Hagrid, who completely ignored her.

“Wha’ the bloody hell are yeh doin’ here? I told yeh ter go on ter the White King, didn’ I?!”

“Change of plans!,” Draco shrugged sheepishly. “I’ll go after I got you out of here.”

“Yeh’re mad, yeh are!,” Hagrid grumbled, clearly frustrated.

“That makes two of us,” Draco said matter of factly. “Now, how do we get you out of these shackles?”

“Yeh don’,” Hagrid grumbled. “They’re spelled ter stun anyone who tries touchin’ ‘em.”

“There’s gotta be a way around that,” Draco frowned.

“How about the Sword of Gryffindor?,” the mouse suggested, peeking out of his pocket again. “It was good enough to destroy Horcruxes, after all?”

“What?,” Draco asked in confusion.

“Never mind,” she waved him off impatiently. “Where is the sword, Hagrid?”

“Buckbeak’s guarding it,” he answered, and Draco did not like the way his eyes lit up at that name. “Want ter pay him a visit?”

Draco was about to find an excuse - because surely anything that made Hagrid excited like that had to be bad news - but the mouse had already agreed and Hagrid was getting to his feet, so he knew it was a lost battle. Hagrid led them over to the closest stable, and when he opened it, he made some cooing kind of sounds, alarming Draco even further.

“Beaky!,” he called in delight. “It’s been too long, ol’ lad!”

It was then, that Draco caught sight of the hippogriff that had earlier kidnapped the stupid, chubby boys right under his nose.

“No,” Draco exclaimed, taking a couple of hasty steps backwards. “There’s no way. Not in bloody hell.”

“Aw, come off it, Draco!,” Hagrid beamed. “Beaky’s harmless ‘s they get.”

“This bloody chicken will rip my arm off!,” Draco called, not even embarrassed of how high his voice had gotten in his alarm.

“I should have seen that one coming,” the mouse sighed from his pocket.

“Now, now, Draco,” Hagrid frowned unhappily. “There’s no need ter be rude. If yeh’re polite ter Beaky, Beaky’ll be polite ter yeh.”

“Keep eye contact, and bow to him,” the mouse advised. “Try to not be a git.”

“But I’m such a natural at it,” Draco sneered.

“Merlin’s pants,” she groaned. “Do it for Harry!”

Something inside him clenched down painfully at those words, and finally, he made himself look up and meet the eyes of the creature. It stood, high and proud, looking sinister and ready to serve Draco’s head to his Mistress at any wrong move. All Draco wanted to do was run.

Instead, he took a deep breath and bowed deeply.

The hippogriff huffed, and to his surprise, he folded his forelegs and bowed right back.

“Tha’s it, Draco!,” Hagrid boomed in excitement. “Knew yeh could do it! Now come an’ say ‘hello’!”

Draco straightened up hesitantly. He had to force his legs to move, one step after the next, and his fingers were trembling when he reached out, but in the end, the hippogriff let him stroke his soft, grey feathers, and he felt strangely proud of himself.

“Now, where is the sword, Hagrid?,” the mouse asked from the pocket.

“Ask him,” Hagrid shrugged, nodding over to the hippogriff, who was looking up at Draco expectantly. “But remember yer manners.”

Draco took a deep breath and met Buckbeak’s dark eyes.

“Could you please show me the sword you are guarding?,” Draco asked softly. “I need to bring it to the White King.”

The hippogriff was looking at him for a long moment, and then inclined its head, turning around. Draco stared in amazement as it led him back into its stable and, after making sure Draco had followed, nudged a chest standing against the far wall. Draco stepped closer, scanning the chains wrapped around the chest, and the lock holding them closed.

“I need a key,” Draco murmured.

“Of course you do!,” the bird snapped from where it had joined Hagrid at the entrance to the stables. Draco had forgotten she was even present. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?!”

But before Draco could even respond, the hippogriff had nudged him in the arm. Draco looked back at it, finding that it had bared its throat for him, revealing a chain with a key wrapped around it.

“Not goin’ ter be tha’ easy, ‘s it?,” Hagrid returned meaningfully, and the bird glared at him.

“Thank you,” Draco smiled at the hippogriff, and carefully raised the chain over its head. Then he kneeled down to unlock the chest. The lock made a satisfying, clicking sound as he turned the key, and the chains fell away limply, allowing Draco to lift the lid of the chest and look inside.

A massive silver sword lay inside. Rubies had been worked into the hilt, and just underneath it, on the blade, Draco could read the name Godric Gryffindor.

Draco picked it up hesitantly. It lay heavy in his hands, and felt foreign to his touch.

“Okay,” Draco said, frowning. “Now, what?”

Draco expected an elaborate plan from the mouse, or maybe a sarcastic comment from the bird. What he did not expect, though, was the smooth voice of the Knave.

“Now, Draco,” he said, making all of them whirl around to find him standing behind the trees, watching them, his own sword drawn. “The Queen is going to have all your heads, and they will be sent over to the White King as a present.”

For a moment, there was a dazed silence, and then, various things happened at once: Hagrid let out a loud growl and started towards the Knave; the bird let out a high-pitched, frightened sound and ran; the mouse was shouting at Draco from his pocket, though Draco’s brain registered none of it. The hippogriff, though, lowered itself to his knees and looked at Draco expectantly.

Draco did not think twice. He mounted the hippogriff, one arm slinging around its neck for support, the other tightly grasping the sword.

“Oh no!,” the Knave yelled, ducking to escape Hagrid’s attack - he might have been armed, but Hagrid was still twice his size. “You’re not going anywhere, Draco!”

“Go, Beaky!,” Hagrid ordered without looking back. “Draco, say ‘hello’ ter the king fer me!”

And with that, the hippogriff galloped out of the stable and rose into the air. A thousand things went through Draco’s head - they could not leave Hagrid! For one, he could not find the White King without him! Besides, the Queen would have his head for helping Draco escape, and what about-

But then, finally, the mouse’s voice broke through his panic, bringing him back to the present.

“Find Blaise!,” she yelled, though whether she spoke to Draco or to the hippogriff, he was not entirely sure. “He knows the way!”

Draco tried to come up with a face belonging to that name, but as they flew over the Manor, the hippogriff immediately located the dog and the ginger rabbit, piloting towards them. He could hear a choked ‘What the bloody hell-’ coming from the rabbit, but the mouse was already calling out to the dog.

“Bring us to the King!”

The dog nodded once, grimly, letting the rabbit climb his back before he started to run. The hippogriff followed, no input from Draco’s side needed.

As they flew, the forest turned to a landscape of mountains and lakes, and finally, Draco spotted a castle between them. Warmth spread through Draco at the descent towards it; a warmth that originated from within him and won against the chilly wind that hit them as they were flying.

They landed on the grounds in front of the entrance doors. The dog and the rabbit were already there, waiting for them. Draco was unsure of how they had made it there before them, through all these mountains and on foot, but he did not ask. This was a dream, he reminded himself.

Then, the doors to the castle opened, and Draco forgot all about the matter. The only thing that mattered was the person hurrying down the steps towards him, bespectacled, panting and messy haired, taking Draco’s breath away.

“Harry,” he whispered, almost falling in his haste to unmount Buckbeak. “Harry!”

“Draco!,” Harry called, coming to a halt in front of him. “Thank Merlin, I - why are you so huge?”

“Too much cake,” the rabbit informed him.

Harry nodded distractedly, but did not look away from Draco, green eyes drinking in his face. Draco felt his gaze like a caress.

“We can fix that. Hermione, can you tell Luna we need an antidote?”

“Of course, Harry,” the mouse responded, climbing down Draco’s robes until her feet touched the ground, and then running up towards the castle.

Harry’s eyes were still on him even as she disappeared into the castle.

“Are you alright?,” Harry asked softly, looking at him enquiringly. “You are not hurt, are you?”

“No,” Draco got out, his voice weak. “I can’t get hurt in a dream, remember?”

Harry smiled at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “How silly of me.”

Draco did not know what to respond to that, but it didn’t seem like Harry needed an answer. Instead, he reached out his hand, holding it out for Draco to take.

“Come with me,” he requested softly.

Draco did not even need to think about that one. He immediately took Harry’s hand. Harry smiled and entwined their fingers, his touch tender.

Draco quickly lost track of where Harry was leading him, down moving staircases and along countless corridors, but it was fine. He trusted Harry. There was no need to ask questions.

When Harry at last stopped in front of a painting showing a fruit bowl, he reached out to tickle the green pear, and the portrait swung open, revealing a kitchen. The March Hare was rummaging through drawers and cupboards inside, throwing seemingly random things into a bubbling cauldron. The mouse stood not far from it on the table, watching her actions with some alarm.

“Draco!,” the March Hare called cheerfully, sending him a dreamy smile over her shoulder. “You finally made it! Harry was starting to get antsy.”

“‘Starting to’?,” the ginger rabbit repeated, scoffing, but fell silent when the mouse shot him a look of warning.

“Anyways, drink this,” the March Hare suggested calmly, filling a bit of the potion into a glass and holding it out to Draco. “It might taste a bit bland, but we were out of powdered horn of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.”

Draco opened his mouth to comment on that, but closed it again quickly, deciding against it. Instead, he simply accepted the glass and took a sip. Immediately, he felt a familiar tingling in his limbs, and he found himself shrinking down to his normal height. He looked over to Harry, noticing that he was still slightly taller than him, but not ridiculously so, as he had been. Harry seemed satisfied, anyways, because he immediately wrapped Draco up in a tight embrace and pressed his face into his neck.

“I’m so glad to see you,” he breathed, his voice thick and unclear, dampened by Draco’s skin. “So glad.”

Draco’s arms encircled Harry’s waist without conscious thought, and he closed his eyes, just enjoying the other man’s proximity. It felt perfect. Healing, even. Only when the sword slipped out of Draco’s fingers and landed on the floor with a loud, resounding clangour did they part, looking at each other.

“I brought you your sword,” Draco pointed out the obvious.

Harry smiled.

“It’s not exactly my sword, but thank you, anyways.”

Draco frowned in confusion.

“I thought I was supposed to bring you the sword?,” Draco asked, looking over to the mouse for confirmation. “That’s what you told me, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes,” the mouse confirmed impatiently. “But the point was for you to slay the Hungarian Horntail with it. In the name of the White King. At least that’s what the Oraculum said.”

“Nevermind what Snape says,” Harry snapped, in the same moment when Draco protested: “Your caterpillar said that I am not the real Draco!”

“There’s no way you are not Draco!,” the ginger rabbit argued, obviously frustrated. “We’ve had to look at your face for six years at school, and then some more! I think we know what you look like!”

“I’m not slaying anything!,” Draco exclaimed in panic.

“Yes, you will!,” the rabbit spat. “You will do what we say, so we can get out of-”

“That’s enough!,” Harry yelled, and everyone fell silent, staring at him with wide eyes. “We are not going to force Draco to do anything,” he insisted, green eyes focused on the rabbit, who bit his lip and looked almost guilty. “He decides where we go from here, and no one else. Not Snape, not me, and surely not you, Ron!”

The rabbit nodded in agreement, and finally, Harry turned back towards Draco, scanning his face in obvious worry.

“How about I show you to your room?,” Harry suggested, his voice much softer now. “We can talk more quietly there.”

Draco nodded, allowing Harry to take his hand and lead him back out into the halls.

They climbed down and down more staircases, until all natural light had long faded and the halls were only lightened by the dim flames of the torches on the walls.

“Are you locking me into the dungeons?,” Draco asked jokingly.

“Funny,” Harry snorted. “No, but your dorm is down here. I thought you would be more comfortable in familiar surroundings.”

“I’ve never been here before,” Draco protested.

“Have you not?,” Harry challenged, his tone meaningful, and nodded towards the end of the corridor. They were now approaching a blank wall, and though it looked like every other wall in this dungeon, something inside of Draco jumped at the sight of it.

They came to a hold in front of the wall, and when Harry whispered to it, it opened up to reveal what looked like an oversized living room. Common room, a voice whispered in Draco’s head, and as he took in the the furniture and decorations, laced with emerald and green and bathed in the dull, greenish light coming from the lake outside the windows, he realized that, indeed, he had been here before.

Harry squeezed his hand, searching his face.

“Are you okay?,” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted, rather honestly. “I really don’t know.”

“Let’s sit,” Harry suggested, and he maneuvered them over to the nearest sofa, pulling at his wrist until Draco sat down next to him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Draco. It’s a dream, remember? Nothing can hurt you.”

“Why can I not remember any of this even though I have been here before?,” Draco questioned, looking at Harry, his eyes pleading him for answers. “I know you, and still, I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m Harry,” Harry told him, squeezing his hand while stating the obvious.

“I know that,” Draco sighed. “And I know that you are kind, and gentle, and would never hurt me, and at the same time… I don’t know who you are.”

“It will come back to you,” Harry promised softly. “Just give it time.”

“Do I have time?,” Draco asked, doubtful. “There are talking animals out there that expect me to slay a dragon.”

“Forget what they said,” Harry shook his head. “Yes, some Oraculum might have said that you needed to be the hero of this world, but you know what a wise man once told me? He said that it’s us who decide whether or not to fulfill a prophecy. The prophecy doesn’t dictate what you have to do. Do you hear me, Draco? Nothing will happen unless you want it to happen.”

Harry’s eyes were so very green and so very sincere, and Draco felt some of his panic ebb away. If Harry said it would be okay, it would be okay. He trusted him.

“Okay?,” Harry checked, squeezing his hand again. “Will you be alright? I need to go up and talk to the others for a moment. I’ll be back soon.”

Draco nodded, and Harry leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Draco closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Harry’s touch wash over him. He did not open them again until the door fell closed behind Harry, leaving him alone in the dark Common Room.

Draco had no idea how long he sat there, staring into space, his mind racing. Voices were speaking to him in his head, none of which he could place, all of them telling him what to do, who to be, and none of it made any sense to him. He felt ready to scream.

“You look like your head is about to explode,” a slight voice commented, and Draco whirled around to find the grinning cat floating through the air, studying him in obvious curiosity.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Draco snapped. “Go away!”

“You sound almost like yourself again,” she snickered, coming to rest in an armchair not far from him. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m not going to slay anything!,” Draco grumbled, his eyes narrowing at her. “Harry said I didn’t have to.”

“Harry would say anything to protect you,” she waved him off. “The question, though, is whether you can live with yourself if you do nothing. Again.”

“What do you mean?,” Draco frowned.

“They still have Hagrid,” she smiled. “And the Queen said she will have his head first thing in the morning.”

Draco gaped at her, his stomach tying into knots. Harry’s presence had very nearly made him forget about Hagrid.

“But we can’t let that happen!,” Draco called. “Someone has to help him!”

“You have to help him!,” she corrected. “No one else can do it for you.”

“But, Harry-”

“Harry is not the hero of this story. You are.”

Draco frowned at her. “But Harry is always the hero of every story,” he pointed out.

“Not this one,” she smirked. “I can prove it to you if you come with me!”

Draco balled his shaking fingers into a fist and nodded.

“Draco,” the caterpillar smiled, looking up at him with sharp, dark eyes. The cat had not let him far - out of the common room and into another room down in the dungeons - and now he found himself in what seemed to be a potions laboratory. Cauldrons were brewing and funny smelling smokes were drifting through the air, making Draco cough. In their middle, the same black caterpillar Draco had met back in the forest was launching on a table, examining him. “There you are. It took you long enough.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t Draco,” Draco reminded him, his voice strained.

“I said you were not hardly Draco,” he drawled lazily. “Now, though, you are much more like him. In fact, you are almost him.”

“Almost still isn’t the same as saying I am him,” Draco argued, just for the sake of it.

“Exactly,” the caterpillar only returned, sounding pleased. Draco sighed, shaking his head.

“Whoever I am, I can’t slay a dragon,” Draco told him. “I’m not the dragon-slaying-kind of guy. I’m the run-away-and-hide-kind of guy. I’m a coward.”

“Yes, you are,” the caterpillar agreed, rolling his eyes. “You’re hiding behind the presumption of being a coward. You’re making excuses, because courage scares you.”

“Isn’t that the point of being a coward?,” Draco checked, confused.

“You dunderhead!,” the caterpillar groaned. “If you would just open your eyes and look at the world around you, you would see that you are only hiding from yourself.”

“I am looking!,” Draco called, frustrated. “It’s not my fault that I am lost in a dream full of strange creatures, and-”

“If you were to really look, you would see that none of these creatures are strange, or fear-inducing in any way. None of them can harm you permanently. The only one who can is you.” Draco simply stared at him, unsure what to say. “Now, if you’d be so kind, I’d like to sleep. Come back when you’ve finally found yourself.”

Draco nodded, rather dumbly, he felt, before turning around and leaving the room. The floating cat was holding the door open for him, and let it fall closed as soon as he had sat foot back into the corridor.

“You understand now, don’t you?,” she asked, floating until she was all up in his face, her

whiskers brushing Draco’s skin.

“No,” Draco shook his head.

“You are not looking,” she smiled, turning until she was upside down, eyes still on Draco’s, waiting.

And Draco looked. He looked at her, at the red in her fur and the brown eyes. The amused, knowing look in them.

“Ginny,” he breathed.

Her smirk grew, and she clapped her paws in an upside-down applause.

“Very good,” she cooed. “Now look around. Where are we?”

Draco did look, taking in the dark corridors, the torches on the walls…

“This is Hogwarts” Draco stated. “Down there is the Slytherin Common Room, and this is the old Potions Classroom.”

“Exactly,” Ginny nodded, turning herself back onto her stomach. “And now, where do we find Harry?”

“The Gryffindor Common Room,” Draco answered automatically.

“Good. Then follow me.”

Ginny led him up moving staircase after moving staircase, past talking portraits and jangling suit of armors, until finally, they reached the portrait of an opulent lady looking down at him critically.

“Password?,” she demanded, making Draco look up at Ginny helplessly.

“Tweak,” Ginny said cheerfully, and the lady nodded before swinging open to allow them entrance.

As soon as Draco climbed through the hole the portrait had revealed, he heard loud voices in an agitated discussion.

“You’re pampering him, Harry! You’re catering to his insecurities!,” the ginger rabbit called in audible frustration. Weasley, his mind supplied. His name was Ron Weasley. “He won’t ever return to our world if you don’t push him a little!”

“Me pushing him into things he wasn’t ready for only made him end up here in the first place!,” Harry argued heatedly. “Everyone keeps pushing him, from every side, and it’s not doing him any good! He has to make his own decisions!”

“And if his decision is to rot away in this place called Wonderland, you’ll let him?!,” Weasley demanded.

“It won’t be!,” Harry snapped. “I know him, Ron! He’ll find his way on his own if we allow him to! I know you don’t have any trust in him, and that you don’t understand how much I care for him, but don’t act like-”

“This is not what this is about, Harry, I’m only-”

“Stop!,” the mouse - Granger, Draco’s mind supplied - groaned. “Stop attacking each other! It won’t help the situation!” When none of the boys spoke up, she continued, in a much calmer voice: “Harry, I hear what you are saying, but Ron has a point. The longer he is in here-”

“Of course you’re on his side,” Harry said bitterly.

“I’m not on anyone’s side!,” Granger pointed out firmly. “All I’m saying is that we can’t just wait around for things to happen. We have to act.”

“Don’t you think I want him back more than anyone else in this room?!,” Harry challenged, his voice slightly shaky. “You act like I’m the irrational one here, like I’m blinded by my feelings for him, but none of you really know anything about him! No, Hermione, listen to me! As much as you pretend to not be judgemental, you never really bothered to get close to him. To get to know him.”

“It’s not like he ever-,” Weasley began, but was cut off roughly by the continuation of Harry’s rant.

“There’s a reason he refused every time your mother told me to invite him for Sunday lunch, you know! How is he supposed to reach out to the people close to me if all he gets from you guys is frozen politeness?! You’re not making it easy for him to grow some confidence!”

“That’s not our job,” Weasley muttered.

“No, he’s right, Ron,” Granger sighed. “We’re your friends, Harry, and we should have been more welcoming towards the man you love. I’m sorry. I really am. And I promise we’ll make a bigger effort once all of this is over. But Harry-”

“I’m doing it,” Draco spoke up, finally stepping out of the hole and into the Common Room, making all of them jump. They whirled around to stare at him, Harry looking horrified, the other two sufficiently guilty.

“What?,” Harry asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“I’m going to fight,” Draco announced evenly, his heart racing despite his outer calm. “I don’t know what it is that’s going on here, but I’m not going to run away. I’m not the coward everyone thinks I am.”

“I don’t think you’re a coward,” Harry protested, eyes wide and worried. “I might have, at one point, but I know you better than that by now. You have nothing to prove to me.”

“Not to you,” Draco affirmed. “But maybe to myself.”

Harry crossed the distance between them carefully, like he was approaching a wild animal. He gently took Draco’s face into his hands, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs.

“I don’t want to push you into anything,” Harry whispered. “I’m not going to be one more person in line that tries to drag you one way or another. Whatever you do, I want it to be your decision.”

“But it is,” Draco pointed out, giving him a small smile.

“Not if you’re doing it for me,” Harry shook his head.

“I’m doing it because I love you,” Draco argued softly. “And because I know that, to be with you, I have to follow down the path the Oraculum has laid out for me. It’s something I do for myself as much as for you.” When Harry still seemed unconvinced, Draco joked: “I’m a Slytherin, remember? I always have my best interest at heart.”

The corner of Harry’s lips twitched, before he sighed, still searching his eyes.

“Are you really sure?,” he checked.

“I am,” Draco ensured. And surprisingly, he was.

“I knew you had it in you,” Ginny noted, her tone smug as she floated around Harry and Draco’s heads. “Took you long enough.”

Everyone assembled on the castle grounds for their departure. The March Hare - no, Luna, Weasley and Granger were all trying to squeeze onto the back of the Bloodhound - Blaise, bickering slightly as they did, while Ginny floated around them, throwing amused comments. Draco gently stroked Buckbeak’s feathers, Gryffindor’s sword heavy in the scabbard he had fastened around his right leg. He tried to keep his fingers steady, to convince himself that he was not afraid, but judging from the way Buckbeak leaned into his touch, he wasn’t very successful.

“Are you really sure you want to do this?,” Harry murmured, placing a warm hand on the small of his back.

“I am,” Draco confirmed, raising his head to look up at him. “I know you want to protect me, and I appreciate it. But I need to do the right thing for once in my life.”

Harry looked like he wanted to argue, but he just bit his lips and nodded.

“Alright then. Are you ready to leave?”

Draco looked out over the grounds of Hogwarts, the vast mountains and the lake, knowing, even without remembering any details, that this was the past he had to leave behind. Standing still was not an option. He had to move forward to find the answers he was looking for.

“Yes,” Draco responded, and Harry’s hand moved to his shoulder, squeezing.

The flight over the mountains and the forest back towards the Manor was picturesque, and almost peaceful. He felt Harry’s warmth against his back and his strong arms around his waist, and suddenly he was sure that, no matter what he had to face - if Harry was at his side, he could do it. He would not run. Not anymore.

As they approached the Manor, Draco could make out an assembly of people in the gardens. He noticed Hagrid first, in the midst of the crowd, thankfully with his head still attached to his neck. He was bound and restrained by Soldiers of the Black Queen - his Aunt Bellatrix, his mind helpfully supplied, and the Knave of Hearts - his own father - was standing across from him, a sword in his hand, ready to strike. Behind them stood Pansy the Dodo, pleading with the Soldiers to let her go, that she had done nothing wrong, that she had not recognized Draco for who he was. His Aunt was watching from a safe distance, framed by Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed rather puzzled at the events occurring in front of them, and his mother, who was looking into the sky, long since having spotted her son.

Buckbeak’s landing was soft and swift, right behind his father, who turned to point his sword at Draco, but Draco had already drawn his own, meeting him head on.

“Draco,” his father growled.

“Hello, Father,” Draco said steadily. “Kindly step away from my friend. You have terrorized all of us long enough.”

His father snarled, but in that moment, Blaise broke through the crowd, growling at the Soldiers and attacking fiercely, creating movement. Draco saw Weasley and Granger flinging themselves at the Soldiers holding Hagrid back, and Ginny evaporated between them, undoing his bonds. In the background, Draco saw Luna calmly freeing Pansy.

Meanwhile, Harry jumped off Buckbeak’s back, approaching his Aunt Bellatrix with sure strides. She was examining him with an expression that was half fury and half mischief. It made Draco shudder unpleasantly.

“Look at that,” she smiled. “Itty Bitty Baby Potter. The White King. What an honor.”

Harry came to a hold in front of her, looking her up and down with obvious distaste.

“And I thought I’d never have to see your face again,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Wait until I’m done with you, then you won’t have to see anyone’s face ever again,” she returned in a dangerously sweet tone.

“You didn’t win in the real world, and you won’t win here, either,” Harry shook his head. “I won’t let you cast a shadow on the things I care about any longer.”

“This kingdom is mine,” she spat.

“No,” Harry argued, smiling grimly. “He’s always been mine, even back when you thought he was yours to order about and use for your own goals. You just never knew.”

“Let’s compete, then,” she shrugged, waving her hand in an exuberant gesture that sent some of her Soldiers hurrying into the backyard and out of sight. “Let’s compare the power of the White King - a cowardly boy with a stolen sword he doesn’t know to use - against that of the Black Queen.”

And as if on call, an enormous dragon flew over the roof of the Manor, letting out a majestic roar. The beast had horns covering most of his body from head to tail, and Draco tightened his grip around the sword to keep his fingers from shaking when the dragon spewed fire into the sky.

“This is just a dream,” Draco reminded himself. “Nothing can hurt me.”

“Go ahead and tell yourself that,” his father drawled, smiling grimly as he drew away from Draco, leaving the stage to him, so to say. “Good luck, my failure of a son.”

Draco gulped and ordered himself to breathe steadily, to let the comment bounce off him. He was not here to search his father’s approval.

“I can do this,” he whispered, unmounting Buckbeak and watching the dragon approach him. “I can do this.”

His confidence lasted for about two more seconds, and then, the dragon spew a sea of flames towards him.

Draco screamed and ran. He knew there was movement around him, people from both sides scrambling to get out of the way, and Draco sank into the masses, not sure where to hide.

What had he been thinking?! He could not do this! He wasn’t Harry! He never won the fights he started! His side always lost!

Then, Harry’s voice filtered into his head, and he stopped, panting.

“Draco!,” Harry called. “I know you can do it! Don’t be afraid!”

Draco whirled around, trying to make Harry out in the crowd, but everything was blurry, and then, the dragon build up to full height in front of him, growling. Draco stumbled backwards clumsily, falling to the ground and dropping the sword.

“Oh, bloody hell! Malfoy!,” Draco heard Weasley shout, and then, something landed in his lap. He fumbled for it, and finally, his fingers closed around his wand.

His wand.

The dragon spew fire at him, and instinctively, Draco lifted his wand.

“Protego!,” he called, watching in relief as the flames bounced off the shield his magic created. His free hand searched for the sword on the floor, and when he found it, he grabbed it tightly and got to his feet.

The moment the flood of fire ebbed away, Draco moved to attack. The dragon roared, flinging its tail at Draco, who simply ducked and jumped out of the way, not letting it deter him from his target. More fire, which Draco shielded himself against with magic, and then, he was face to face with the dragon.

Draco raised the sword in the air, heard a high-pitched squeal, saw the fear reflect in the creatures green eyes, almost the same shade as Harry’s…

And he froze, staring. The creature stared right back at him, motionless. Suddenly, Draco could hear Hagrid’s voice in his head, loud and clear: “Slayin' the poor dragon ‘snot the solution. He's a captive o' tha' pathetic excuse o' a Queen jus' like the rest o' 'em.”

A captive. Just like me, Draco thought.

He lowered his sword slowly, letting it fall to the ground.

“I win,” he pronounced, loud and clearly.

For a long moment, nothing happened, and then, the creature lowered its head and bowed down to him.

The world around Draco came into focus again. He spotted Harry first, green eyes blazing with emotions he could not read; then Hagrid, who was smiling proudly at him; his mother, who had tears in her eyes; and finally, his father, who was staring him down in rage.

“You ungrateful, useless brat!,” he thundered, raising his own sword and approaching Draco in fast steps.

It was Hagrid who stepped into his path, making him stop in his tracks.

“Oh no yeh don’, yeh ruddy-”

“It’s okay, Hagrid,” Draco told him quietly, “I’ve got this!” And with a well placed ‘Incarcerous’, his father was bound like Hagrid had been earlier, his sword falling to the floor with a lifeless sound. Draco heard his Aunt scream in fury, but with another wave of his wand, she was bound, too.

“You two have nothing on me,” Draco said clearly. “Not anymore. I’m past this.”

In the next moment, his breath was knocked out of him as Harry tackled him and wrapped him up in an embrace so tight it squeezed the air from his lungs.

“I knew you could do it,” Harry breathed, kissing the side of his head. “I knew it, Draco.”

Draco smiled, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“Can I wake up now?,” he asked, feeling tired, all of a sudden. He just wanted this to be over.

“Of course you can,” Harry chuckled. “I’ve been waiting for you to open your eyes for so long.”

“Will you be there with me?,” Draco checked.

“Yes,” Harry promised, pressing another kiss to his cheek.

Draco smiled, and closed his eyes.

When his eyes fluttered open, he was blinking against glaringly bright light, and it was hurting his head. His stomach turned and he groaned, pressing his eyes shut again.

“Mr Malfoy?!,” a strange, female voice called. “Mr Malfoy, can you hear me?!”

“Is he awake?!,” Harry called, and Draco could make out movement around him. “Draco?!”

“Mr Potter, please-”

“Let me through! Draco, can you hear me?! Please open your eyes!”

Draco felt warm fingers softly cupping his cheek, and he forced himself his eyes open once more. Blinking away the blinding brightness, he could finally make out Harry, who was searching his face, expression frantic.

“Draco,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “Please say something!”

It took effort for Draco to draw in a deep breath and open his mouth to whisper Harry’s name, but when he did, tears filled Harry’s green eyes and he leaned in to place a gentle kiss on Draco’s forehead.

“Oh, thank Merlin. You’re back. You’re finally back.”

“Mr Potter,” another strange voice, this time male, repeated firmly, and Draco looked around to see a couple of wizards in lime green robes standing around his bed. Was he at St. Mungo’s? “We understand that you’re relieved, but please step back from the bed now. We need to check up on Mr Malfoy’s condition.”

“Come on, Harry,” Granger injected quietly, suddenly turning up behind Harry and placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in comfort. “Let’s wait outside. I’m sure it won’t take long.”

Harry bit his lip, clearly trying to reign in his emotions, and at last, his hand fell away from Draco’s face. Draco immediately missed it.

“I’ll be back,” Harry promised, eyes still on Draco as he backed away. Only when the door fell closed behind him did the Healers speak up again, examining him critically.

“Mr Malfoy, we have to run some diagnostic spells and ask you some simple standard questions to make sure you are okay. Please, tell us your name and age.”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Draco forced out with some effort, feeling strangely drained. Another Healer started to cast spells while he spoke, making his limbs tingle with magic. “Twentyone.”

“Where are you, Mr Malfoy?”

“At St. Mungo’s.”

“Very good. Do you know how you got here?”

Draco frowned, trying to come up with anything, but his head still hurt and wouldn’t cooperate. He shook it wordlessly.

“That’s okay, I did not expect you to. You had an apparition accident. You apparated straight into a set of wards.”

Draco winced. “So I splinched myself?”

“Not exactly,” the Healer said. “It wasn’t a physical damage, but something deeper. In a way one could say you splinched your mind from your body.” When Draco looked at him in alarm, he quickly added: “We reconnected you immediately, of course, but even though there was no trouble with the process itself, you didn’t wake.”

“Simply put, you’d retreated so far into your own subconsciousness that we had to lure you out,” the second Healer clarified, apparently finished with his check up. “That’s why we sent Mr Potter, Mr Weasley and Ms Granger into your mind.”

“What do you mean, you sent them into my mind?,” Draco asked, his mind spinning from all the information.

“It’s a new field of mind healing,” the second Healer explained. “I studied it on my medical exchanges to India and France. It’s basically a combination of Legilimency and the kind of magic Pensieves work with, and it allows other people to dive into your mind and become part of the imaginary world a coma patient has withdrawn himself to. They can therefore influence the subconsciousness of the patient. It has proven to be a very effective method.”

“I see,” Draco murmured, letting the other Healer manhandle him into a sitting position. “So how long was I out?”

“Almost four weeks,” he said as he handed Draco a vial containing a green potion. Draco winced at his answer. “Please drink this. It will help against the headaches and return some of your energy.”

Draco did as he was told, shuddering at the bitter taste of the potion, but immediately feeling better the moment he had forced it down his throat.

“There you go,” the Healer said, taking the vial from his hands again. “You should be fine. The diagnostic spells came away with positive results. We will keep you in for a couple more days for observation, but with some rest, you should be as good as new before you know it.”

“We’ll explain your condition to Mr Potter and send him right back in, before he breaks down the door,” the other Healer joked, and Draco cracked a smile at them.

And indeed, it did not take more than a minute until Harry was back at his side, one hand clutching his and the other stroking his hair back from his face tenderly. He looked at Draco inquiringly.

“How are you feeling?,” he asked, his voice rough.

“Still a little out of it, but the potion helped,” Draco smiled, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You really did,” Harry tried to joke, but his voice was too shaky and belied his emotions. “26 days, Draco. You kept me in the dark for that long.”

“I’m really sorry,” Draco sighed. “I don’t know what happened. I’m not usually a careless apparator.”

Harry’s face looked pained at those words, but he shrugged it off.

“Nevermind that now. You’re back.”

“Thanks to you,” Draco pointed out. “All these things… Wonderland, the dragon,... That really happened?”

“Inside your head, but yes,” Harry nodded, smiling as he pressed another kiss to his forehead. “You were amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

There was a short silence between the two of them, before Harry squeezed his hand and whispered: “While you were unconscious… Your parents, they…” Harry gulped. “I know you weren’t ready to tell them about us, but your father refused to let me see you and I just… I just exploded and told them.”

“Oh,” Draco only said, keeping his face neutral. Merlin, that must have been an uncomfortable discussion.

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” Harry murmured, gaze focused on their joined hand as if he were afraid to look into his eyes. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize,” Draco cut him off. “It couldn’t be helped. Plus,” he said slowly, squeezing his hand to make Harry look up at him again. “I’m not afraid of their reaction any longer.”

“You’re not?,” Harry asked, surprised.

“No,” Draco smiled. “Maybe four weeks of coma changes your perspective on things, or maybe…” his smile widened. “Maybe after an Hungarian Horntail, my father doesn’t seem so scary anymore.”

Harry chuckled, raising their joined hands to his mouth and kissing Draco’s fingers.

“I’ll never let anyone call you a coward ever again,” he vowed. “Not even yourself.”

“Duly noted,” Draco nodded, laughing weakly. But as he looked at Harry, who was still holding Draco’s hand against his lips, something flashed inside of his mind, fighting its way back to the surface.

The corner of a cosy restaurant. Candle light. The blazing look in Harry’s eyes. A ring.

“Harry,” Draco started softly, furrowing his brows. “The day I had that accident…”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock, and his face paled. He looked truly horrified, confusing Draco even more.

“I’m so sorry,” he burst out. “I was stupid and impulsive! You hadn’t even told your family yet and there I went, pushing you to make such a commitment… Of course you ran! How would you not?!”

And then it all came back to Draco. Harry’s sweet words of love, and how all they had done was make him freeze up in horror. How he had heard a thousand voices in his head: his father’s, Weasley’s, even teenage Harry’s, all reminding him of what a failure he was. How he had been unable to breathe, and had had to get out of there.

So that explained the unfocused apparition, Draco thought.

“Let’s just forget about it, okay?,” Harry pleaded. “I’m not going to push you into something you don’t want, like everyone else did all your life. Please, Draco. I love you. That’s all that matters.”

Draco nodded absentmindedly. He loved Harry, too, and it really was all that mattered. While Draco could recall the panic he had subsided into at Harry’s proposal too well, now, he could not bring himself to feel any of it. Maybe it was the fact that he had faced his own fears inside his head, or maybe it was that he had lain in a coma for the good part of the last month, but somehow, Harry’s proposal had stopped sounding frightening.

In the opposite… it sounded perfectly appealing, actually.

“Yes,” Draco whispered.

“What?,” Harry blinked, aghast.

“My answer is yes,” he told him clearly. “I will marry you. If you’ll still have me, that is.”

Harry only stared at him in wonder, as if Draco’s words hadn’t registered in his head properly. Draco’s smile widened.

“Earth to Harry?,” he teased. “Did I break you?”

“Are you serious?,” Harry breathed. “Because you don’t have to. If you’re not ready, that’s okay. We’ll just continue the way things were, and I’ll-”

“Harry!,” Draco interrupted him, rolling his eyes for the effect. “I’m sure. More than sure.”

“But...” Harry muttered, torn. “I’m not pushing you into this, am I?”

Draco sighed.

“You never pressured me in the first place,” he assured him. “I mean, you are right, I felt a lot of pressure from my family, but that had nothing to do with you, or with that proposal. I panicked for another reason.”

“What reason?,” Harry asked.

Draco dropped his gaze and focused on the way Harry’s fingers were twined through Draco’s, holding on as if Draco was his lifeline. As if he never wanted to let go.

“I didn’t think I deserved you,” Draco explained softly, and when Harry made a sound of protest, he quickly cut him off: “I know the past doesn’t matter to you, but it matters to everyone else. I’ve never managed to break the ice with Granger and Weasley. I couldn’t even stand to face what is basically your adopted family, because I was afraid of what I would see in their eyes when they looked at me. Not even to mention what the Prophet would write if you were to marry a former Death Eater.”

“I don’t care about any of this,” Harry stressed. “It never mattered to me what people said.”

“I know that,” Draco nodded. “But I cared. I cared because part of me was convinced that they were right. That I wasn’t good enough for you, and that I was rotten to the core, and a coward, and at the next tough spot, you would see that, too.”

“Draco,” Harry sighed, pained.

“Every time things got rough, I made the wrong decisions,” Draco reminded him. “And as much as I have changed since then, I had no way of knowing if that part of me had changed with me. Whether I’d make the right choice in a critical moment, and behave like someone you could be proud of.”

“You did, though,” Harry declared, finally making Draco meet his eyes again by touching soft fingers to his temples. “In there. You could have run away. I would have let you. And still, you stood your ground. And you did it to be with me.” Harry looked at him for a long moment, his gaze tender as a caress. “If that’s no proof that you deserve me, I don’t know what is. And to make things better, we have Ron and Hermione as witnesses.”

Draco smiled, nodding.

“We do,” he agreed. “So no one can blame me if I agree to marry you, right?”

“Your father might have some complaints,” Harry deadpanned, but he was smiling.

“I’ll Incarcerous him,” Draco shrugged, and leaned up to press his lips to Harry’s.

“Are you sure you want your hair to look lifeless like a flobberworm?,” Pansy asked critically, her hands obviously twitching to reach out.

“Yes, that’s exactly how I want them,” Draco snapped, looking up at her sharply. “Don’t you dare touch them.”

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I was only trying to be helpful!”

“Pansy, dear,” Draco’s mother chuckled, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. “You don’t fidget around a nervous dragon, or you will get burned.”

“I’m not nervous,” Draco growled. “She is just being infuriating!”

“How charming,” Pansy sneered. “I guess I can be glad I don’t get to marry you!”

“Now, now, dear,” Draco’s mother injected amicably, pushing her gently but firmly towards the door. “Why don’t you take your seat already? We should be about ready to start the ceremony in a couple of minutes.”

Pansy huffed but obediently left Draco alone with his mother, much to Draco’s relief.

“Now, darling,” she smiled knowingly, walking up to him and fixing his robes. “Take a deep breath. Everything will be alright.”

“I’m not-” Draco argues. “It’s not my fault she’s pissed about the fact that I’m marrying before she does!”

“Language, Draco,” she chastised. “This is supposed to be your happy day. Don’t waste your time fussing over insignificant details.”

Draco sighed and nodded in agreement.

“You’re right, Mother. I’m sorry. I guess I am a little tense.”

“Don’t be, my boy,” she soothed him. “The love of your life is out there, waiting to marry you. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

Draco smiled at her.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“What for?,” she asked, surprised.

“For being here,” Draco shrugged. “For supporting me in my choice.”

“Oh, Draco,” she returned with feeling. “I wouldn’t miss the my only son’s wedding for anything in the world. And as long as the person you marry cherishes you and makes you happy, I don’t care about his gender, his background or his history with our family. Your father might, but he will have to live with the knowledge that he alienated his child like this. I won’t make that kind of mistake.”

“I don’t care whether Father is here or not,” Draco told her honestly. “But I would have been dismayed if you had turned away from me.”

His mother gently flattened his hair, her blue eyes shining with emotion.

“Never, my dear,” she ensured him.

Their moment was broken, though, when the door burst open, revealing Gregory Goyle, his dress robes dishevelled, and looking at them in slight panic.

“Did I miss it?!,” he called. “I got lost! I’m sorry!”

“Seeing that I’m still here, in the dressing room, you haven’t missed anything, Greg” Draco sniggered, keeping himself from rolling his eyes. “You are just in time.”

“Thank Merlin,” he breathed, slumping slightly in relief. “You would have had my head.”

Draco laughed, and his mother seemed amused, too, as she threw a quick freshening charm at his best man and straightened his robes. Just then, Blaise slipped into the room behind him, his own appearance impeccable as always.

“Ginny says it’s time,” he announced. “Greg, take your place down the aisle. Mrs Malfoy, if you’d please…?”

“With greatest pleasure,” she nodded, slinging her arm through Draco’s, holding on. “Ready to let your mother give you away?”

“Yes,” Draco smiled, and she squeezed his arm affectionately.

It all felt very much like another dream to Draco, only this time, he could remember how he’d got here, and his friends and family were no talking animals. All the faces in their surroundings faded away as his mother walked him down the aisle, and all Draco could see was Harry walking towards him from the other side of the garden, Molly Weasley at his side, green eyes following his every move and blazing with happiness.

They had decided on a neutral location - the Weasleys had offered to host the wedding in their backyard, but Draco had felt about as comfortable with that idea as Harry had with getting married on Manor grounds, so they had politely turned down and compromised. Hannah, a Hufflepuff from their year and Longbottom’s wife, had offered them the usage of an elegant Manor near Sheffield that had been in the possession of her family for centuries, and after she had invited Harry and Draco over to have a look at the place, they had agreed that it was a beautiful venue for their vows. The gardens were vast and romantic in the warm June weather, and the seats had been arranged in a circular pattern with Minister Shacklebolt, Greg and Weasley waiting for them in its heart. When Harry had told him about their plans, the Minister had insisted on being the one to take their vows. His mother had been especially excited by those news, and Draco was sure she had thrown it into his father’s face as soon as she had gotten home that night.

He felt a pang of sadness at the thought that his father had refused to attend their wedding, despite what he had told his mother earlier about not caring, but he was determined to not let the man ruin this day for them. He had finally taken control over his own life, and if his father could not deal with that, he had no place in it any longer.

As they reached the little platform in the midst of the seats, they held in for a moment, and his mother leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek. Draco could have sworn he saw tears glistening in her eyes as she stepped away and took her place next to Blaise and Pansy.

His eyes met Harry’s from across the platform, and all tension and worries fell away from him. This was what he wanted, he thought silently. To spend his life with this man.

Harry smiled and reached out his hands, and Draco took them, stepping closer to him.

Draco did barely hear the Minister’s words as he dove into the ceremony. When he had been younger and had imagined his wedding way, he had always assumed that all the details would be highly important, and that it had to be a spectacular affair, but now that he was here, he found that none of it really mattered.

Nothing mattered but the person standing in front of him, looking at Draco like he was the best thing that had ever happened to him and like he could not believe how he had gotten this lucky. Draco was still not used to it, being looked at that way, still could not wrap his mind around how Harry could love him this unconditionally, but he made an effort to not question it any longer. Harry was the most straightforward person he had ever met (if one did not count Luna, and Draco did not - she played in another league), and he knew that he could not have faked the emotions that Draco could read in those green orbs even if he tried.

“Draco,” Minister Shacklebolt addressed him, drawing Draco out of his own head. “Do you take this man, Harry James Potter, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and health, to love and honor, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto him for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Draco replied softly, smiling at Harry, who clung onto his hands a little tighter in return.

“Harry, do you take this man, Draco Lucius Malfoy,-”

“I do,” Harry burst out, cutting the Minister off and making Draco, and some of the guest, laugh. “I do,” he repeated, biting his lip in embarrassment, and Draco grinned at him.

The Minister nodded, seeming amused as he waved his wand and tiny, golden stars rained over their entwined hands. A slight golden wedding band weaved itself around his ring finger, and Draco could feel a powerful magic trickle through his veins from it, until he was enveloped in a warmth he knew was completely Harry.

Once, when he had been very young, he had asked his parents what it had felt like to take their vows of marriage. His mother had told him that it had felt like becoming one with his father, and that she had developed a sense for him. His father had spoken of unconditional loyalty, and while Draco had thought he had understood, he knew that he really hadn't until this very moment. Harry was a part of him, and he could feel him in every movement, every breath, every heartbeat. It was a connection that went beyond emotions, Draco realized, in the same moment that he understood he would never be able to let go of this feeling ever again.

“By the authority vested in me by the Ministry of Magic, I now pronounce you lawfully wedded husbands, bonded for life. You may kiss now.”

Draco could not even draw a breath before Harry’s lips were on his. Draco smiled and leaned into the kiss, thanking Merlin that Harry had crossed dimensions to hold onto him, just so that he did not miss that moment of pure bliss.

Countless of congratulations, plates of food and some speeches later, Draco finally found a moment to breathe. He leaned against the back of an abandoned chair, sipping on his halfway finished glass of Champagne, watching the dance floor with a soft smile. Harry was dancing with Mrs Weasley, and he was laughing openly, seeming as carefree as never before.

I did that, Draco thought proudly.

“He truly is blissfully happy, isn’t he,” a voice said softly, and Draco looked up to see Granger standing next to him, Weasley at her other side, looking somewhat like he was about to flee.

Draco looked back on the dancefloor, eyes hanging on his husband’s smile.

“I know I am,” Draco returned at last, hoping it was a good enough answer. He never knew what to say around them.

“We’re really happy for you,” Granger told him earnestly. “We might not always have given you the impression that we approve of your relationship…” When Draco only lifted an eyebrow at that, she conceded: “Fine, maybe it was not just an impression. There was a lot of bad blood between us, and sometimes it’s hard to leave all of that behind.”

“I apologized,” Draco pointed out, an edge in his voice. “Various times. What else do you want?”

Granger sighed, looking tired.

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “As long as you make Harry happy, that’s enough for us. That’s what I wanted to say, actually. It might have come out the wrong way.”

Draco fondled the neck of his glass, trying to work up the courage to say what he knew he had to.

“It would be really nice if we could try to get along in the future,” he declared. “I know it’s important to Harry, and to be honest I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you guys. We’re not in school anymore, and we want the same thing. It’s time to leave the past behind us.”

“You’re right,” Granger nodded. “Maybe after your honeymoon, you and Harry could come over for dinner.”

“I’d like that,” Draco nodded, pointedly looking over at Weasley, whose eyes were fixed on his shoes. Granger nudged him in the side, and he grimaced.

“Maybe I could challenge you to a party of chess,” he said finally, his voice strained. “I’m running out of serious challengers.”

Draco snorted, but he was smiling when he vowed: “I’m not going to let you win just so that you’ll like me, Weasel.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to, Ferret,” Weasley returned, but he was smiling, too, and Granger looked fairly pleased.

“Look a’ yeh kids,” Hagrid said with a tearful voice, coming up between Granger and Draco and wiping his eyes. “Gettin’ over yer diff’rences. Yeh’ve grown so much.”

“It was bound to happen,” Draco joked, smirking up at him. “Are you ever gonna stop crying, though?”

Hagrid laughed brokenly and hit his shoulder, playfully, Draco was sure, but he still had to hold onto Hagrid’s ugly brown suit jacket to keep his balance.

“It’s jus’ all so beautiful, yeh know?,” Hagrid sniffed. “Yeh and Harry gettin’ married. Ev’ryone celebratin’ in peace. I wished Dumbledore woulda lived ter see it,” he finished, blowing his nose.

Draco still felt a little uncomfortable at each mention of Dumbledore, filled with regret he never quite had managed to shake, no matter how often Harry had told him that the former headmaster’s death wasn’t his fault. He had no time to ponder over it, though, because in the next moment, Ginny came up on his other side, slinging her arm through his in that overly friendly manner that he had been forced to get used to lately.

“Why exactly are you out here making forced conversation with my bore of a brother,” Weasley made a noise of protest, but Ginny pressed on, willfully ignoring him, “when you could be out there, dancing with your husband?”

“Why are you here pestering me when you could be in the washroom, getting it on with Blaise?,” Draco shot back, quiet enough that only she could catch it, but she still stepped on his foot in retaliation, making him wince. At least she hadn’t made use of her heels. “You know that Harry hates dancing,” he reminded her eventually, a little louder.

“Oh, come off it!,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “It’s your wedding day! If Mum can force him to dance, so can you!”

“I don’t want to force him,” Draco stressed.

“You really wouldn’t,” Luna chimed in cheerfully, appearing next to Ginny. “He has been taking lessons for the last month.”

“How do you know that?,” Ginny frowned, looking at her in confusion.

“I caught him sneaking around near Diagon Alley,” Luna shrugged. “The teacher he went to has his studio next to a horrible restaurant I investigated for the Quibbler. They are rumored to serve house elf intestines.”

Draco’s stomach turned at that piece of information, but he decided to focus on the point at hand.

“Why would he take dance lessons for our wedding and not tell me?,” he enquired.

“Because he wanted to surprise you,” Granger answered, smirking. “And, more importantly, I think, because he was embarrassed.”

“That’s ridiculous, and adorable,” Draco chuckled, shaking his head and drowning the rest of his drink. “Well, I guess I do have to get my dance, then.”

“Do that,” Ginny nodded, taking the glass from his hand and giving him a slight shove.

Draco fought his way through the dance floor, only barely managing to not be hit by Angelina Johnson, who had been spun with a little too much force by George Weasley, until finally, he reached Harry, who was still dancing with an enthusiastic Molly Weasley.

“May I?,” he spoke up, getting their attention and seeing Harry’s eyes light up just a moment before he had an armful of Weasley matriarch.

“Of course, Draco, dear!,” she said, and Draco was sure she had had a Giggle Water or two too many. “Congrats, again, my boy! I’m so happy for you two!”

“Thank you,” Draco replied, slightly out of breath as his eyes flew to Harry’s for help, who seemed highly amused.

“Please promise to come to Sunday lunch at our house when you return from Paris!,” she continued as she let go of him. “You are part of the family now! Don’t be a stranger!”

“Thank you,” Draco nodded, smiling. “Of course we will be there.”

Mrs Weasley squeezed his shoulder, and stepped aside to leave them to each other.

Harry grinned, holding out his hand for Draco to take.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t ask me to dance,” he scolded him fondly.

“I thought you didn’t want me to,” Draco said, taking his hand and stepping closer. “but someone told me you’ve been taking dance lessons behind my back, so I have to verify that you’ve indeed been learning, and not just having an affair with the teacher.”

Harry laughed and pulled Draco against him, slinging his free hand around his waist.

“Luna never knows when to shut up,” he noted, his skin slightly flushed in embarrassment, and a little thrill went through Draco when he realized that he could feel his embarrassment through their new bond. “I didn’t want to embarrass you at our wedding with my crappy dance skills.”

“That’s so sweet, and so unnecessary,” Draco snickered, his own free arm settling around Harry’s shoulder, playing with the curls at the back of his neck as he let Harry lead him. “I did not marry you for your dance skills, you know.”

“I hope not,” Harry grimaced, but the smile never left his face. “Though I could twirl you around the dance floor if I wanted to.”

“Please don’t,” Draco said, slightly alarmed.

“But you’d twirl so nicely,” Harry pointed out, smirking.

“Please don’t make me obliviate each and every one of our wedding guests. It would ruin the mood.”

“Okay,” Harry gave in, his tone mock dramatic, and Draco grinned as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Harry sighed into the kiss contently, closing his eyes.

“Thank you for doing this,” he muttered, leaning his forehead against Draco’s without opening his eyes. “Thank you for marrying me.”

“Thank you for asking me to,” Draco replied sincerely.

“Even if it made you panic and apparate straight into the Manor wards?”

“I had kind of hoped that would not come up today.”

“Sorry,” Harry winced, opening his eyes, and Draco could feel the guilt that shot through him. “The proposal is still kind of a sore spot for me.”

Draco brought his hand to Harry’s face and gently cupped his cheek, making the other lock eyes with him.

“Don’t you dare feel bad,” Draco warned, his tone serious. “You gave me your heart, and your hand in marriage, and that’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Yes, I might have freaked, but none of that had to do with you. I never wanted to spend my life with anyone but you,” Draco promised, curling his lips into a smile as he added: “My White King.”

“Don’t call me that,” Harry groaned, but he was smiling again, and that was what Draco had aimed for, so he counted it as a success.

“Why? It’s what you are,” Draco teased. “Figures that even in my subconscious fantasy world, you would be a King.”

“It’s not like I chose that role!,” Harry protested. “You did!”

“Me?,” Draco asked, seriously confused.

“It’s your head!,” Harry reminded him sternly. “When we dove into your mind, we only assumed the roles you had laid out for us. It was all you.”

“Interesting,” Draco frowned. “I never realized.”

Harry’s eyes softened and he leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. Draco liked that he had to get onto his toes to reach it, liked that he was just that tiny bit taller than Harry.

“I was pretty surprised myself,” Harry admitted, green eyes locked to his as they danced. “The whole set up spoke volumes about what was going on inside of you, as did the roles you gave everyone. Hagrid, for example. I’d never have expected that.”

Draco smiled, his eyes drifting over to where Hagrid was still standing with Luna, Ginny, Weasley and Granger, occasionally dipping his eyes with his tissue.

“Hagrid was the first one of your lot to really make me feel welcome,” Draco explained softly. “After you had brought me over and I had apologized, it was like nothing had ever happened. I’ll never forget that kindness.”

Harry smiled at him, his eyes glistening with the affection and pride that Draco could feel caressing him through their bond.

“I love you so much,” Harry whispered, pulling him just that tiny bit closer. “Please never pull away from me again. I don’t think I could take it.”

“I promise,” Draco nodded, leaning in once more to catch Harry’s lips for another kiss.

“Harry, it’s time,” Granger warned, casting the third Tempus charm in two minutes. “Your portkey is leaving in exactly one minute and 45 seconds.”

“Don’t go, Harry!,” Teddy whined, his short arms tightening around Harry’s neck from his position in his arms.

“I’ll only be gone for a week, Teddy,” Harry promised, slightly breathless from the child’s firm grip.

“Cousin Draco will be sure to bring him back safe and sound,” Andromeda injected helpfully, and Draco smiled at his aunt.

“And we will bring you a present,” Draco threw in, catching the 4-year-old’s tearful eyes and raising one eyebrow in promise. As Draco had expected, the boy perked up at that, loosening his death-grip on his godfather.

“What kind of present?,” he asked in a small voice, and Draco bit his lip to keep from laughing. His mother and his aunt might have been estranged for decades, but he was just as easy to manipulate as Draco had been at that age.

“Oh, I can’t give away the surprise,” Draco said seriously. “You’ll have to be a big boy and wait for us to come back.”

“I’m a big boy!,” he pointed out indignantly, and finally allowed Harry to set him down.

“Oh, I know you are,” Draco nodded solemnly, winking at Harry when the other smirked at him.

“55 seconds,” Granger announced tightly.

“Yes, Hermione!” Harry chuckled, taking Draco’s hand and touching his thumb to the coin pressed against his palm, which was spelled to deliver them to a safe apparition spot in Paris, not far from their hotel.

“I shrunk your luggage and put it into the pocket of Draco’s coat,” Granger told them. “And Harry, your Muggle IDs and money are in yours. I made the reservation under your name - just go up to the reception, and-”

“Hermione, we’ll be fine,” Harry cut her off, laughing.

She ignored him, clearly unconvinced, and turned to Draco to continue: “The portkey activates again in exactly a week at 9 P.M.. Don’t let Harry wander off alone while you’re there. Remember, you don’t have a license to apparate in France, and he doesn’t speak the language, so-”

“I’ll be his French speaking navigator, glued to his side,” Draco vowed, amused.

When Granger opened her mouth again, Ginny interrupted with a knowing grin: “Have fun, and try to leave your bed once in awhile!”

“Ugh, now I have pictures in my head!,” Weasley complained.

“Four seconds!,” Granger called.

Harry and Draco barely had time to shout a quick “Bye!,” into the round before the world began to spin and Draco felt Harry cling to him in an effort to keep upright. Draco closed his eyes, letting the uncomfortable sensations of the portkey travel wash over him.

When they arrived, he felt Harry stumble into him, groaning.

“I hate portkeys,” he grunted, and Draco chuckled. He opened his eyes and examined Harry’s unhappy, pale face. “Can’t we fly back, after all?”

“If you really think I’m getting into one of those metal constructions the Muggles came up with, you are more naive than I thought,” Draco snorted, and Harry glared without heat. “Plus, it’s so much faster to commute via portkey. I’d very much like to spend my wedding night doing something other than traveling across the Channel in a bird-shaped box of doubtful security,” he finished, his tone flat but his eyes suggestive as he pulled Harry tighter against him.

Harry’s face recovered some of its color at those words, and he smiled at Draco almost shyly.

“Well, if you insist,” he muttered.

“Oh, I do,” Draco clarified. “Now let’s find our hotel so you can talk to the Muggles at the counter and have us checked into our room already.”

Harry agreed rather eagerly, and they stepped out of the tiny side street carefully, making sure nobody was looking before Draco got out their luggage and unshrunk it. It would look suspicious if they checked in with nothing on them.

Draco led them down a couple of streets until they reached the busy Rue de Rivoli, where their hotel was situated. They had chosen a fancy Muggle hotel with an overview of the Jardin des Tuileries instead of a hidden wizarding establishment, mainly for the convenient location. Draco had plans with Harry, who had never been to Paris before, and seeing as they were unable to apparate, he prefered to be close to the center, uncomfortable with the idea of using public Muggle transportation.

Draco stood back and let Harry handle the formalities, choosing to admire the elegant decor of the entrance hall instead, and as they were finally shown to their suite - one of the finest of the establishment, since it was his mother’s wedding gift to them - it was close to midnight.

“Your mother really went all out, didn’t she?,” Harry commented awkwardly, taking in their large suite and managing to look completely out of place in the midst of the posh 18th century decor even when dressed in expensive formal Muggle clothing.

“She means well,” Draco smiled, looking out over the Paris night sky from the window, the Eiffel Tower glowing from a distance. “She may be overcompensating a little because of Father’s behavior, so just accept the gesture.”

As an answer, Draco felt strong arms wrapping around his torso and a warm chest pressing to his back. Draco sighed contently and leaned into the embrace.

“Well in that case, why don’t we go mess up those sheets, which probably cost more than our entire apartment in London?”

“Sounds good to me,” Draco chuckled, gasping when soft lips kissed up his neck towards his jaw. “It will be an excellent use of the family gold.”

Harry laughed against his skin, sending shivers down Draco’s spine. He held in to mouth an especially sensitive spot, his tongue coming out to tease, and loosened his arms around Draco to fumble with the fastenings of his coat.

Draco had half a mind to draw out his wand and vanish their clothes, but resisted, conscious of Harry’s tendency to take his time. Draco had never been a patient person, but he had learned to love Harry’s slow and thorough appreciation of his body, and had found that they had their best times together when he didn’t rush him along.

And tonight was special, after all.

The fabric of his coat finally hit the floor with a soft whooshing sound, and he found himself enveloped in a tight hug, Harry’s nose burying itself into the sensitive hollow where his neck met his shoulder, breathing him in. Draco shivered, his fingers twitching to get rid of the rest of his clothing. They had changed out of their wizarding attire before they had left the festivities in an effort to appear inconspicuous to the Muggle eye. That decision, though, had resulted in the unnecessary fabric of shirts and trousers that now prevented him from feeling Harry skin on skin.

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?,” Harry whispered, pressing a soft kiss against his skin, and Draco nodded eagerly. Harry hummed and squeezed him once more in a tight embrace before his arms fell away. Draco turned to smile at him affectionately and reached out to entwine their fingers to lead him into the adjourning room.

The bedroom, like the lounge, was decorated in light pastel colors of blue and eggshell and was furnished in plush, antique furniture that gave the room a royal atmosphere. Draco was tempted to stand in the doorway and just admire the sight in front of him, but Harry had already lifted his free hand and impatiently wiped the decorative pillows off the bed with a mere wave of his hand, sending a rush of heat through Draco’s stomach. Harry’s casual displays of wandless magic turned him on like nothing else.

“I’m one step away from ripping off your clothes,” Draco warned, and Harry sent him a knowing smile. His hand slid from Draco’s and he hopped onto the bed.

“You wouldn’t. You’re too obsessed with fashion,” Harry teased.

“I’m more obsessed with you,” Draco grumbled, approaching in fast strides and straddling Harry’s hips, fingers immediately flying to the buttons of his shirt.

Harry leaned back easily, watching Draco with a lazy smile as the other undressed him. When finally, he had fumbled the last of the tiny buttons open and the shirt parted to satisfyingly expose the torso, Draco pushed Harry flat onto the mattress, gazing down into bright green eyes that seemed to be glowing with lust and a trace of possessiveness. Not only could Draco see the emotions in his eyes, but he could feel them rush through his veins from where the bond connected them, and the intensity of it took his breath away.

Harry reached up and caught a strand of Draco’s blond hair, letting his fingers run through it and whispering: “You’re gorgeous.”

“I’m not the one who won Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award three years in a row,” Draco mocked, even though Harry’s words made him feel more precious than the contents of their combined Gringotts vaults, keenly aware that Harry must be feeling his emotions the way Draco could feel him.

“That’s a good thing,” Harry whispered, his fingers clasping the fabric of his shirt and pulling Draco closer to him. “I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone.”

Before Draco could return anything, Harry’s lips were on his, and he closed his eyes and let himself be devoured. Harry kissed as if he still had anything to prove to Draco, like he needed to claim ownership, even though the wedding band around his finger should have been proof enough of his sentiments, as well as his newly acquired last name. Draco loved this side of Harry, though. Despite having been brought up with the mindset of being above the rest of the magical and non-magical society - or maybe because of it - Draco had more insecurities than he could sometimes deal with, but when Harry kissed him like this, like there was nothing else in the world but him, the voices in his head started to quieten a little.

Harry loved him. Harry thought he was good enough for him. Harry wanted him.

Draco gasped into the kiss as Harry rolled them around, now pinning Draco’s hands down with his own and deepening the kiss. Draco could feel the gold of Harry’s wedding ring from where he was entwining their fingers, and a deep moan escaped him at the sensations.

“I love you,” Draco whispered when Harry pulled away for a second to catch his breath. “God, I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” Harry breathed, letting his lips ghost over Draco’s once more. “Mr. Malfoy-Potter.”

Draco flushed at those words, not used to the way they sounded, and made a low sound of protest.

“Don’t call me that,” Draco complained, his voice high in embarrassment. “It’s ridiculous.”

“I want to say it out loud though,” Harry teased, grinning down at him. “Grant your husband his tiny pleasures.”

“Oh, please,” Draco moaned weakly. “Just stop.”

“Why, my bonded soul mate, are you embarrassed?”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I can still hand in the divorce papers, you know.”

“You’re a Malfoy. You’d rather cut off your wand hand than break a marriage bond.”

“I’ve been a very rebellious Malfoy these past few years.”

“All my influence.”

“True. I should’ve known you’re bad for me.”

“Yes, incredibly bad,” Harry agreed, a leer in his voice. His fingers moved to unbutton Draco’s shirt, making Draco laugh in the process. “And only for you.”

“That was a horrible pun,” Draco complained. “Why’s my husband so lame?”

“He has other qualities,” Harry shrugged, his eyes glistening as he lowered his head to nibble on Draco’s newly exposed collarbone, knocking the air out of his lungs. “He might be persuaded to show you if you stop bickering long enough.”

“I thought bickering was our foreplay,” Draco argued, his voice breathy.

Harry chuckled, his hot breath hitting Draco’s skin and sending goosebumps down his arms. “Fair enough.”

When nudged, Draco moved up the mattress, carelessly shrugging out of his shirt and stretching out over the entirety of the bed. Harry followed only a moment later to kneel over him, discarding both their shirts onto the floor. Draco closed his eyes, a smile spreading over his lips when Harry pressed kisses as light as the touch of a butterfly’s wings all over his chest, starting from his sternum and slowly moving down to his belly button, until Draco was a shivery mess under Harry’s wandering fingers. Harry knew how to play Draco like an instrument, and Draco suspected that their bond intensified that ability of his, since Harry could now feel Draco’s reaction to his caresses through it.

Harry’s fingers finally found the zipper of his trousers. Draco was already hard and desperate, and his voice was trembling as he whispered: “How are my chances of you just using a spell so we can get to the actual sex part?”

“About as high as those of Dolores Umbridge at becoming Minister of Magic,” Harry chuckled.

“Eww,” Draco grimaced, raising his hips to allow Harry to free him of both his trousers and his underwear. “Please do not mention that toad of a woman when we are in bed together.”

“Sorry,” Harry said innocently, nosing the head of Draco’s erection, green eyes shining up at him mischievously as Draco took a sharp breath. “You’d better stop talking, though, because every complaint of yours will drag this out longer.” He emphasized his words with a kiss pressed to the underside of his shaft.

“I’m quiet,” Draco promised, breathless. “Silence is gold.”

Harry hummed in agreement before tongueing Draco’s slit, tasting the precum that had gathered there. Draco closed his eyes,letting the sensations wash over him. Harry took him into his mouth, and Draco moaned at the wet heat engulfing him.

It was unfair how good Harry was at this. He knew exactly how to use his tongue and how to bob his head, and when he let Draco hit the back of his throat, firm hands kept his hips in place to keep him from thrusting. The heat gathered quickly in his belly, and his hands clung to the sheets, his muscles tensed in pleasure. Draco moaned, shuddering as Harry gulped around him, the movement of Harry’s throat causing his world to tilt. Just then, Harry drew away and let his erection slide from his lips, only to kiss the inside of his thighs.

“Tease,” Draco hissed, squirming, and Harry chuckled, gently spreading his lover’s legs. Draco immediately drew up his knees, allowing Harry the access he sought. Harry’s fingers were slippery as they circled his entrance - Salazar, wandless magic again - and Draco whimpered, way too impatient for Harry’s slow caresses. “Such a bloody tease.”

“I love seeing you like this,” Harry muttered, voice low, as if he was sharing a treasured secret. “All hot and bothered, squirming and desperate. I love watching you lose control.”

Draco responded with a whining sound, and Harry pushed in the first finger. It went in smoothly up to the second knuckle, where he bent it slightly, tickling Draco’s prostate. Draco cried out, fisting the sheets frantically.

“So beautiful,” Harry whispered, pushing in another finger.

Draco lost coherence at that point. It was all too much and not enough at the same time, the slow slide of Harry’s fingers, the teasing touches to his prostate. He needed to feel more of Harry, but knew that, if he asked, Harry would deliberately take things even slower, so he bit his lip and drowned in the sweet torture of being prepared like this. Finally, when Draco thought he could not take any more, Harry pulled away. Draco heard him shuffling, and as he opened his eyes again, Harry was kicking off his trousers and pants, clumsily settling between his legs, aligning himself.

Draco let go of the sheets to grab Harry’s shoulders and pull him in for a kiss, making Harry nearly lose his balance, but he quickly gathered Draco up in his arms and kissed him back. While Draco’s lips were pleading, desperate, Harry’s were gentle, loving, and though usually Draco loved being kissed that way, right now, it frustrated him just as much. So he caught Harry’s bottom lip in between his teeth and bit down, slightly less than gentle, in a clear warning, and that seemed to make Harry snap out of it at last, for he pressed into Draco without missing a beat.

Draco sighed into his mouth as Harry slid into him with one swift push, bottoming out, balls pressing against his butt. Draco crossed his ankles behind Harry’s back, trying to keep his lover - his husband, Draco thought with a wave of warmth flooding his mind - deep inside of him. He took a shaky breath, just feeling their physical connection as well as the emotional one their bond provided.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry whispered against Draco’s lips. “This-”
“Yes,” Draco nodded, knowing that Harry felt all of this with the same intensity he did.

“Draco,” Harry whimpered, pulling out a bit, as far as Draco’s grasp allowed him, before pushing right back in with a gasp of pleasure. “Draco!”

Draco smiled and gently reached up to remove Harry’s glasses. He carefully placed them out of the way before hauling him back into the kiss and rocking against Harry’s hips, needing the friction, and that prompted Harry to move with more intent, at last. The moan that vibrated through his chest left his mouth almost as a sob, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the noises he was making. It all felt too good, too bloody perfect.

Harry’s movements were far from rhythmical, deep and slow, and Draco enjoyed the way he could feel Harry trembling beneath his fingers, overwhelmed by the sensations. He soon needed more, though, so he shoved at Harry’s shoulders until the other sat back, looking down at him expectantly.

Draco quickly assumed an upright position, only wobbling slightly as he moved to straddle Harry’s hips. His partner got the hint, then, angling his legs so that they supported Draco’s position, hands finding his hips. Draco shifted a little, using his knees for leverage and holding onto Harry’s shoulders until he could lower himself back onto his waiting shaft. His eyes snapped shut at the surge of pleasure, and he began to rock his hips, moaning when Harry retaliated by thrusting into him in turn.

This was perfection, Draco thought fuzzily. Harry was holding him firmly and pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all over his chest, all the while hitting Draco’s prostate just right on Harry’s upwards strokes. His erection was brushing against Harry’s stomach, and while it was a weak stimulation, it was enough to drive him mad. Anything more would have bordered on overstimulation.

Draco cried out as Harry hammered into his prostate with more intent, clinging to Harry’s shoulders, the pleasure making him weak.

“I’m close,” Harry whispered.

“Me too,” Draco muttered. “Just keep doing this. Just-” Draco broke off when Harry pushed into him in an abrupt motion, long and deep, knowing just how to angle himself to hit Draco just right, and it made Draco lose grasp of his feeble control. He shivered as waves of pleasure closed down on him and washed him over the edge, spurting his release onto Harry’s stomach. Harry followed close after, and the sensations of his orgasm prolonged Draco’s own, stringing him along into a world all of their own, where only they existed.

When he came to himself again, he was resting against Harry’s chest, arms wrapped tightly around him for support. Harry’s breathing was still rough and fast, as was Draco’s, and a satisfied smile spread over his lips.

“No one ever told me that the bond would feel like this,” Harry whispered. “It’s brilliant.”

Draco chuckled, turning his head to press a soft kiss of agreement to Harry’s neck.

“Thank you,” Harry breathed, squeezing down on Draco in his embrace affectionately. “Thank you for giving this to me.”

“Thank you,” Draco murmured, closing his eyes. “I’ve never been this happy in my life.”

“Me neither,” Harry returned, and Draco could hear the emotion in his voice.

They stayed like this for a while longer, still connected and entwined, until Harry started to shift. He kissed Draco’s hair, his temple, and nuzzled his ear before he asked softly: “Are you tired already…?”

Draco smirked, pressing his hips down against Harry, earning a gasp and a twitch where the other was still buried deep inside of him.

“You must be kidding,” Draco drawled, catching Harry’s eyes. “We’re just getting started.”

As Draco came to, he felt warm and safe. Strong, familiar arms were wrapped around his waist, and the chest pressed against his back radiated a comforting heat, raising and falling evenly with each breath. Little puffs of air hit the back of Draco’s neck, and he smiled without opening his eyes, just enjoying the peaceful moment.

When he did blink his eyes open, he found himself tugged away under scarlet sheets, the curtains of a four-poster bed drawn shut around them. Sunshine filtered through the curtains. Draco frowned.

Carefully he slid out of Harry’s embrace and opened the curtains. They were in a circular dormitory of five beds, with only theirs occupied. All beds were made up of scarlet and golden linens, curtains and pillows. Sunlight momentarily blinded him as it hit him through the windows, and Draco tip toed across the cold stone floor to take a look outside.

From the tower, he had a stunning look across Hogwarts. In the distance, he could make out Hagrid’s hut, and he smiled when he saw figures moving about in the garden. Ginny was floating through the air, her pink-red fur jumping to the eye even from afar. She seemed to be handing out cups of tea to everyone sitting at a large table: Weasley, in his ginger fur and white suit, with what he suspected was a mousy Granger right next to him (she was too tiny to recognize from afar), Luna the March Hare, blue-feathered Pansy, chubby Greg and Vince, Blaise the Bloodhound, his mother, and Hagrid, who was following in Ginny’s wake and pouring them all tea.

Only then did Draco spot the huge banner spread over Hagrid’s entrance door.

Congratulations, Draco!

Draco smiled, shaking his head as he turned away from the window and returned to the bed he had left Harry in. The other boy was still sleeping soundly, so Draco just slid back under the covers with him and closed his eyes.

There was nothing to be afraid of any longer.