Chapter Text
“Cruci—”
“Religo!”
Malfoy collapsed like a dropped book. There was a crack as his arm hit a sink. Limp and empty-eyed he lay for a moment, a long, terrible moment where Harry froze in horror where he was crouched in the water and thought —
What have you done?
The words rang as clearly as if Malfoy had spoken them aloud, but instead they were in Harry’s mind.
Harry slid to his knees on the floor as the spell began to take effect. Malfoy was moving again, no longer lying lifeless, cradling his wrist. With each movement Harry felt another flicker of foreign thought in his head.
“Fuck,” Malfoy said. “My arm’s broken, you—”
Episkey, Harry thought.
Malfoy abruptly shut up.
“It fixed my nose,” Harry said aloud. “Episkey.” He dragged his gaze to the side and saw Moaning Myrtle. She was huddled, momentarily frightened, peering out from behind a stall door.
“Will you get someone?” he asked her.
She nodded and some of her glee began to return. “Ooh, Harry,” she said. “What did you do?” She rushed out through the wall before he could think to answer.
“Episkey,” Malfoy muttered. He’d found his wand where he’d dropped it and his bones snapped back into place with an audible crunch.
Harry’s wand was under his hand. He didn’t yet wrap his fingers around it. “Are you going to try an Unforgivable again?”
Malfoy scowled, dark and angry. “I seem to have no will to hurt you right now.”
Fear curled around Harry’s neck and he flinched from the alienness of it.
Footsteps pounded down the hall and Snape threw open the door. He scanned the room, barely sparing Harry longer than a glance before crossing through the puddle from the still-dripping water to kneel in front of Malfoy.
“What are you experiencing?” he asked quietly.
Malfoy drew away from him, back against the sink, wet robes sticking to the floor. He pulled up his wand between them. “Don’t touch me.”
“Why do you insist on such foolishness?” Snape snarled. “Who else do you know who can give you an experienced answer on curses?”
Curling away further, Malfoy brought his wand up to Snape’s face. He had his arm pressed to his chest as if it were still injured. “Move back.”
“He’s in my mind,” Harry said into the spreading tension. It was the only answer to what he was feeling, and it was a very unwelcome one.
Snape slowly turned his head. When no curse came, he pulled back entirely and drew his wand on Harry, who instinctively tightened his fingers on his own wand now. Snape held his gaze and Harry knew what was coming.
Snape riffled through Harry’s most recent memory and discarded it roughly in favor of tracking something else. He followed the shocks of fear that were rising and falling in waves through Harry’s throat. Behind him, Malfoy gasped. Wand clattering to the ground, he bent double over himself.
Just as suddenly and harshly Snape pulled free of Harry’s thoughts. “Your mind has no defenses this way, Draco,” he said coldly. “We both know your arm is fine, so you may as well cease to pretend you can hide.”
Malfoy’s panic was making Harry nauseous now. He gritted his teeth as the terror slowly changed to despair. Malfoy dropped his arm without pretense. His sleeve was torn from his fall. Harry found himself looking away.
“The question remains if the connection will be the same from your end,” Snape continued, still addressing Malfoy. “As for you, Potter, I suggest you consider your own stupidity before you use an unknown curse you found written in an out of date textbook on your next victim.”
Shock poured through Harry at Snape’s blatant reference to the Prince.
“Both of you will go to the Headmaster’s office at once,” Snape finished in a growl.
Harry pulled himself off the floor and across the room. Malfoy did the same. They filed out ahead of Snape, past Myrtle, floating anticipatorily in the hall. Snape dried their robes with a flick of his wand, but Harry still felt cold to the core. They encountered few people on the way to Dumbledore’s office, to Harry’s immense relief. Malfoy’s emotions were growing steadily number with each step they took. Harry hoped that was a good sign.
At the gargoyle that was the secret entrance to Dumbledore’s office, Snape coldly said, “Toffee eclairs.” They all stepped onto the rising staircase. Harry went to knock but Snape beat him to it.
“Enter,” Dumbledore called. They did. Dumbledore sat at his desk, surrounded by papers and books that he banished swiftly. He rose, his blackened hand mostly hidden beneath his sleeve.
“I believe Mr. Potter may have managed some sort of mental entrapment on Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said shortly. He pushed Harry into a chair. Nothing more than dull shock echoed through him from Malfoy, but Harry felt as though he’d been dunked in ice.
“I see,” Dumbledore said. There was no judgement in his words, but all the same Harry’s insides shriveled up. “Why don’t you each give me an account of what happened while Professor Snape runs some diagnostics?”
He looked to Harry, who cleared his throat as Snape drew his wand once more. “I… wanted to know what Malfoy was up to. I found him in the bathroom with Myrtle. He was… upset. We fought. He tried to—” Harry hesitated. The Unforgivables meant Azkaban, and Malfoy didn’t deserve that, no one did. “Well, I hit him with a spell and he collapsed. Since then I can feel his emotions. Oh, and I heard him speak in my head. Then… then Myrtle fetched Professor Snape.” He looked at the floor.
“And you, Draco?” Dumbledore asked quietly.
Malfoy finally spoke. “It’s like he said. I was displeased to be caught in a vulnerable moment. We dueled, and when I attempted the cruciatus, Potter cursed me. I lost all will to make myself attack him, and I feel his mind and emotions.” He spoke in a monotone.
Dumbledore regarded them both for a moment. “Severus?”
Snape spoke from directly behind Harry, startling him. “They are both experiencing magical shock. The spell is one of mine, never perfected for refined. Still, it should not have reacted this way. There is a magical tie connecting them that I see no immediate way to sever.”
“The spell,” Harry echoed, “was… yours? But…” He didn’t finish his thought.
“Yes, Potter,” Snape said sarcastically. “Since you seem to struggle to comprehend, my mother’s maiden name was Prince.”
Harry received this information as another dull blow. Snape. Snape, the Half-Blood Prince.
“Perhaps a remedy for shock may be in order,” Dumbledore suggested. He selected two identical bottles from a cupboard and pressed one each into their hands. Harry drank it without consideration and his head cleared immediately. He felt much calmer. When he turned he found Malfoy regarding the bottle with deep suspicion. He eventually uncorked it to peer at its contents, Dumbledore seemed content to sit and wait, so Harry just watched as Malfoy decided it was safe to drink.
No sooner than he’d swallowed it did his emotions come back much clearer to Harry. Fear and suspicion and underneath a deep, calculating need to safely escape the danger Malfoy clearly felt himself to be in.
“If I may,” Dumbledore began, “I would like to make something clear. I have theories as to what might have caused such a connection to manifest rather than a more typical form of the spell. With more time, we may have specific answers to this situation. But, Draco, make no mistake. I cannot allow you to leave this room until I am sure that Voldemort will not be able to use this to destroy you both.”
Malfoy didn’t so much as glance at Harry. His gaze was fixed somewhere behind Dumbledore. The stomach-turning panic re-curled in Harry. It seemed he was about to get answers as to what malfoy had been up to all year.
“I have not approached you for many reasons,” Dumbledore said. “Foremostly, I do not wish to see you brutally murdered for my discovery of your task.”
Malfoy flinched violently. “You can’t know… How…” His voice was thin and wavering. At some point he had wound his torn sleeve around his arm, and for good measure he was keeping it pressed palm-down against his leg.
Harry was pretty sure he knew what Malfoy was trying to hide. Somehow, having his months of suspicions confirmed wasn’t gratifying. Instead, he felt steadily more sickened.
“I do know,” Dumbledore said. “I know that, on Lord Voldemort’s orders, you have been plotting to kill me with increasing desperation all year. I am also aware that you are embroiled in a plan to break the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. And I know that, should you fail, both your life and your family’s lives are forfeit.”
Malfoy bowed his head, thinking. Something burned under his tongue and wand.
“Don’t,” Harry said, too loud and sudden into the uneasiness. Everyone looked at him.
“Believe me, Potter,” Malfoy said. “I wasn’t going to. I’m not that stupid.” The look of disgust he sent him was vicious. Below it, Harry felt his shock at having his intentions plucked so neatly from his mind.
“And here is the impasse,” Dumbledore said. “I cannot allow someone who has access to Harry’s mind to return to Voldemort’s service. However, if you do not return, your family will be killed.”
“As if that matters to you,” Malfoy said.
“It does matter to me,” Dumbledore said. “It matters greatly.” He leaned forward. “We can protect you, Draco. The Order of the Phoenix has places you can hide. We can protect your mother. When your father is free of Azkaban, we can save him, too. Our resources will become your resources. All you must do is ask.”
Harry felt the tension in the room rise until it was almost palpable on his skin.
“I suppose I have no choice,” said Malfoy dully, tonelessly. “Not with Potter listening in on my every thought, or I on his.”
“There is always a choice,” Dumbledore said firmly. He stood from the desk in one smooth motion. “In that case, I am sorry to say that the both of you will have to be temporarily withdrawn from classes until the nature of your bond is better understood.”
This startled Harry. “Sir—”
“I will, of course, make every effort to ensure that you both will be able to complete school,” Dumbledore said with finality. “For now, however, I will not risk either of you coming to harm from magic we do not yet understand.”
This deflated Harry. “Ron and Hermione—”
“—Will be made aware that they should not worry for you,” Dumbledore said. “As for your mother, Draco, I will see to it that she is rescued as soon as possible, hopefully tonight. Does this satisfy you?”
Malfoy nodded despite the turmoil Harry sensed from him.
“Excellent,” Dumbledore said. He turned his wand on a quill that was lying on his desk. “Portus. Severus, please accompany them and see to it that the situation is understood by whoever is most responsible. Remus should be present, I suspect.” He turned to Malfoy once more. “The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London.”
Snape hissed dissatisfaction at the secret being shared with Malfoy, and still they all three took ahold of the Portkey and within moments were jerked away from Hogwarts to land in front of Grimmauld Place.
“Inside,” Snape said harshly, pressing at their backs.
Number 12 was the same as Harry remembered it — gloomy, oppressive, and menacing. Malfoy looked up at the house-elf heads as they passed through the hall to the kitchen.
Lupin looked up from the table. He was terribly drawn and thin. He set down the cloak he was patching and stood in astonishment. “Severus, what’s happened?” His gaze lingered on Malfoy in surprise before he turned a weak smile on Harry.
“They will be staying here for now,” Snape said. “Potter has managed to use an underdeveloped spell on Draco.” He pushed Harry further into the room and Malfoy followed him. “They’ve developed a mental connection and for obvious reasons must remain out of sight until the damage has been corrected. We will be staging a rescue mission for Narcissa Malfoy tonight.”
Lupin took the news in stride. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll see to it that they are kept safe.”
Snape nodded curtly and, with his usual sneer, departed.
“Hi,” Harry said to Lupin, who managed another smile.
“Hello, Harry,” he said. “And you, Draco. It’s been a long time since we met.”
“Professor Lupin,” Malfoy said uneasily. He was looking around the dusty kitchen. “If I can ask… where are we?”
“Why, you’re in Harry’s house,” Lupin said.
Malfoy looked (and felt) incredulous.
“Formerly,” Lupin continued, “this was the House of Black.”
“Oh,” Malfoy said. “That explains the…”
“It’s fallen into disrepair somewhat,” Lupin agreed. “The Order doesn’t use all the rooms.”
“I was going to say it explained the distinct aura of the Dark Arts,” Malfoy said. Harry sensed he was uncomfortable around Lupin.
“With the departure of Kreacher, it’s been harder to guess what in the house will attack us,” Lupin said apologetically to Harry. “Otherwise, your house remains the same, Harry.”
Harry, who deeply hated Number 12, said nothing to that.
“If you’re hungry, there’s food in the cupboards,” Lupin said. “I suspect Dumbledore will send along your things soon enough. Harry, maybe you could show Draco the room you and Ron used two summers ago? That room I know for sure to be safe.”
The dismissal was clear enough. Harry suspected Lupin had work to do. He looked at Malfoy to see if he would follow.
“Let’s go, then,” Malfoy said impatiently.
Harry tried not to be annoyed. “Just be quiet until we get up there, okay?”
“Why?” Malfoy asked.
“The portraits like to scream.” Harry still shuddered to remember Sirius’s mother’s terrible shrieks. They left Lupin to his mending and silently marched through the house to the room that had once been his and Ron’s. (He crept past Mrs. Black as quietly as possible.) The room was much the same, albeit dustier. Harry went to look out the window before turning back. “Kreacher.”
With a sudden bang, Kreacher appeared. Malfoy jumped back.
“Master calls Kreacher back to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black,” Kreacher croaked. “Master is unworthy to set foot in the Most Noble and—”
“Yeah, I get it,” Harry said. “Look who’s here.”
Kreacher then saw Malfoy and his whole demeanor changed to obsequious.
“Do you really want Draco Malfoy living in a dusty house?” Harry asked, blatantly manipulatively. He didn’t like the thought of Lupin living in a place that was slowly disintegrating around him.
“Kreacher will see to it that the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is worthy to have someone respectable set foot in it,” Kreacher said with a nose-scraping bow.
“Great,” Harry said. “Please do that. And don’t let anyone know that Malfoy’s here, alright?”
“Kreacher lives to serve,” Kreacher said, more sourly. With a look of loathing to Harry and another furtive glance at Malfoy, Kreacher disappeared again.
“You have a house-elf?” Malfoy asked, somehow turning his surprise into disdain.
“He came with the house.” Harry didn’t really want to talk more about how he’d come to own Number 12. He was beginning to realize he’d missed dinner. “Are you hungry or anything?”
“No,” Malfoy said curtly. He sat down on one of the beds.
“Fine,” Harry said. He hesitated for a moment, wondering as to the wisdom of leaving Malfoy alone, but in the end he was more exhausted and hungry than concerned with Malfoy’s safety, so he left.
Partway through digging out some of the random food items currently stored in the pantry — beans, cauliflower, bread — the situation began to sink in. Alone now that he’d found Lupin to have vacated, presumably to his room, Harry sat down at the table, clutching a slice of bread. The details grabbed him in a uselessly upsetting order. The Prince, Harry’s clever friend who’d abandoned his Potions textbook, was none other than Severus Snape. Malfoy had indeed been up to something — he had been trying to kill Dumbledore. Harry had cast some sort of spell on him that had tied their minds together. Even now he could sense Malfoy’s hopeless discontent from across the house.
Beneath it all, Harry found what was most upsetting him. He had another person in his head. Malfoy was no Voldemort, but Harry found that he had unconsciously pressed one hand to his scar. His throat closed up and Harry swallowed down the sudden surge of emotion roughly.
Malfoy flickered uncertainly in a corner of his mind. He’d noticed that Harry was upset.
Pushing down everything that threatened to well up, Harry made himself stand. He’d crushed the one slice of bread, but there were more. Harry made himself dinner in silence. When he went back up to his bed, he found Malfoy pretending to sleep. It was early, only a little past eight, but Harry had no reason to stay awake.
“Don’t kill me in the night,” he said. Malfoy didn’t reply, so Harry let himself fall into a restless doze that was as close as he got to sleeping that night.