Title: Better The Devil You Know (Mehen)
Author: chaeldub
Team: Epilogue
Prompt: The Devil
Wordcount: ~14,800
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Infidelity, misuse of magic, self-harm(inflicted by another), angst, mentions of character death.
Summary: Any chain is freely worn. You are enslaved only because you allow it. Through the passing of time, Harry comes to realise we are each our own Devil.
Author's Note The meaning of The Devil card can be found Here Thank you to my teammates and to my betas W&W—I could not have done it without you.

It was over, finally.

Harry lay in his four-poster bed munching on a toasted cheese sandwich that Kreacher had brought him. The room was quiet even though he could hear the hustle and bustle in the common room below. Ron was doing a good job of keeping all the well wishers from getting up into the dorm room. After the battle was over, after the hugs and kisses, after the tears, Harry just couldn't take any more. He was physically and mentally exhausted. He wanted t o curl up in a place that was his own and just get his bearings.

All he wanted to do was sleep.

Sleep and forget about Tom Riddle, wands, scars.

No more nightmares, no more saving the world. Just time to be himself.

"Harry."

Ron nudged his shoulder, leaning in conspiratorially and whispering in his ear.

"Are they—y'know?"

Following Ron's gaze back to the bar, he saw that Dean's arm was hanging over Seamus shoulder and he was saying something to the barman that was obviously highly amusing.

"Don't be stupid, Ron. They're just friends."

They were in the Wolf and Sheep, a little tavern that Seamus had famously found when he had "Drunk my weight in Guinness!" and had stumbled inside. It had become their regular haunt; the Leaky had been no place for the saviour of the wizarding world and it was only a few minutes back to Diagon Alley from here. It was dark in all the right places and held the faint hint of something just breathing below the surface—almost alive and welcoming them in.

It was run by a friend of Victor Krum's. Apparently he had played for Bulgaria, even though Harry couldn't remember his name. He liked the intimacy of the pub and also the distance it gave him from the rest of wizarding Britain, even though sometimes it still felt as if someone was watching him. However with his friends nearby and his wand on the table he felt safe. With Voldemort gone and the Ministry rounding up any Death Eaters who weren't volunteering themselves, there wasn't much place for five students who hadn't completed their education. At least, five students who just wanted to be left alone to be boys and become men. So this seemed like the perfect place to hide from the world for a time.

They'd talked of going back. Dean and Neville were agreed on their return but Seamus wasn't so sure. Ron had already made his mind up—he was going to help George in whatever way he needed. Harry, well he'd had offers from just about everyone in the Ministry— from the Minister's Office wanting to know if he'd thought about the politics of magic and Kingsley asking about his thoughts on Auror training. There had even been a letter of congratulations from The Minister of Magic (Egypt) wanting to know if 'he would be free soon as they had a problem with a mummy, the curse of Ra and some sort of serpent puzzle'.

To be honest, all Harry wanted to do was be left alone, to have a chance at being normal. So that he could blend in. Most importantly he wanted to be away from all the things that reminded him of what had happened. That's why this was a boys night only.

Ginny had taken Fred's death quite hard.

As much as Harry loved her he just couldn't be there, not now. All those people dead. Families torn apart, children without parents, brothers and sisters trying to cope without their siblings.

Ron was coping in his own special way, and he plonked two more of those ways down in front of them. As for Harry, he had trouble sleeping sometimes, and there was this constant buzzing in his head, like a hundred people all talking at once.

"I dunno, I reckon something's going on," his friend said, taking a hearty chug from his glass.

Harry looked over the rim of his beer at his former room mates. Seamus and Dean were certainly close, probably as close as he and Ron in their own way. He watched as Seamus ribbed Dean about something and they broke out in fits of laughter.

Maybe.

Seamus turned from his perch at the bar and looked back at the three of them in the booth.

"Dean's got something he wants to show you!" the Irishman shouted.

"Put it away, Thomas. No one needs to see that!" Neville groaned, pretending to shield his eyes and causing Ron to spray beer across the table.

Dean swatted Seamus across the back of the head and an insignificant scuffle broke out as they pulled, shoved and dragged one another across the floor. Dean, finally seeming to realise that Seamus was not going to give up, stood up in front of them and started undoing his shirt. As he lowered the left shoulder, lines became visible, intricate and beautiful and engrossing. Then they moved and a dragon slid over Dean's shoulder.

Neville let out a yelp.

Harry couldn't take his eyes from the glowing red eye, the inky blackness that stretched across Dean's chocolate skin and the thought of someone allowing themselves to be marked in that way

Seamus patted Dean on the shoulder and, while everyone leaned further across the table, put forward his suggestion.

"I reckon we should all get one. Y'know, to commiserate."

"Commemorate." Neville corrected.

"Yeah, what Nev said. Anyway," Seamus swiped Harry's glass from the table and took a swig, "I think..."

Ron was all hands and feet as he pushed his way over and around Harry to get a better look. Harry found his view obscured for a moment and all he had was a memory. A memory clouded by ancient runes that littered the surface of Sirius's skin, by a skull and a snake on Severus's arm, a lightening scar shroud by dark, messy locks and lastly, and quite unexpectedly, by the bleeding cuts that crisscrossed Draco's chest.

"I think it's brilliant!" Ron interjected, eyes nearly popping out of his head as he eyed the tattoo carefully.

"Watch out, Ron. It might bite." Seamus grinned.

Harry wondered if this was the best thing they could do to remember this time they had spent together, to honour the dead. He looked around the table and saw the excited faces, he expectant air that they could not say 'yes' until he had agreed. It would bond them, that he knew. Bring the five of them closer together, if that was even possible.

A flash of runes. Black lines and scars.

If Sirius could do it then, even though Harry had no idea why his godfather had tattooed himself, so could he. After all he had bee through Harry felt he was made of the same mettle.

"So, do we each get our own tattoos or do we all get the same?" Harry asked, already thinking about patterns and images.

Seamus picked up Harry's drink once more, saw the slightly steely look and put it back down. Instead he picked up Ron's, downed it one long gulp and slammed it down on the table.

"Right, this is me way o' thinkin'. We each get something that reminds us— y'know, of what happened—so that we never forget."

Neville leaned back in the leather seat, kicking his boots up onto the table.

"I don't think we'll ever forget, Seamus," he said, raising his eyebrows as if to say that the whole idea, while interesting, was more amusing than anything.

"I know that, ye eejit! I'm just sayin'..."

Harry stood then; they'd all had a few and he didn't want this to fall into another drunken argument. He wasn't an Auror yet and he didn't need to be stepping in-between friends.

"I think it's a great idea," Harry said, looking at each of his friends for approval.

It was decided then, over a few more ales, that they would return the following week with a tattoo each. Ideas were hashed out, with Ron and Seamus both arguing over whether a lion or their favourite team's Quidditch colours constituted a reminder, and Neville sat with Dean as he doodled a design on a coaster for him.

"Ron, I'm going to the loo. Then I think we should make an exit," Harry said, getting up from the table and heading toward the back of the bar.

He knew that Mrs Weasley didn't really approve of their late night drinking and the earlier they got home the cheerier her mood in the morning. Harry liked his eggs over easy and his bacon crisp—last week after an all-niter, Neville had brought them back to The Burrow for fear of them getting flinched together. Breakfast had been a burnt but decidedly frosty affair and Harry didn't want to go through that again.

There was a shimmer in the darkness of the last booth before the corridor that led to the men's. Standing still, he blinked, adjusted his glasses and peered into the gloom. No one there. Thinking it must have been a reflection he continued on his way, but something didn't sit right. It was like something was still peeking around the corner of his eye. A figure, cloaked in black, huddled behind the table. Harry stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he stepped back into the bar but this time instead of looking into the booth he looked across the room toward his friends.

When his focus was sufficiently diverted he looked left.

Draco Malfoy!

His hand went immediately for his wand. Behind him the door to the toilet slammed shut. In the time it took for him to remember that his wand was sitting on the table and look back, the booth was empty. When he tried once more to glance sideways, the table and seat appeared empty.

"Malfoy?" Harry half-whispered.

Nothing.

"Malfoy?" A little louder.

Harry strained to see if there was anyone there. He stuck his hands out and waved them through the air, hoping that they would collide with something other than the upholstered leather back of the seat. Just in case he wasn't quite getting everywhere, he sat down. Not a yelp, or a cry of pain—nothing. He slid his fingers across the table, feeling for something ,anything that would betray the fact that Malfoy had been here.

Nothing.

"Malfoy, I know you're there. I saw you, so you may as well show yourself!" Harry demanded of the emptiness.

"Look a little harder, Potter."

Harry scowled, turned to face the bodiless voice and suddenly a hooded figure sat beside him. He flinched at the closeness, that Malfoy had managed to get this close to him without being detected.

"Nice trick," Harry said, shuffling a little to the left.

"Perception Charm. You wanted to see an empty booth, so there was one. You wanted to see me, so here I am," Malfoy replied, lowering his hood and flicking his hair back.

Harry's eyes darted over the bar, the others were still deep in conversation about their impending artwork and too busy to notice that he was gone. That feeling of being watched, of someone looking over your shoulder, had been right.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, looking down at Draco's hands which were fidgeting nervously on the table.

"It's a free world," Draco asserted, his voice cracking a little.

"For some. Most Death Eaters are in Azkaban, as I'm sure you're well aware."

Harry noticed that Draco's knuckles turned white and he tensed a little. If it was a fight that Malfoy had come here for then he certainly couldn’t hope to win, what with Ron and the others so close by.

"I'm sure if you ask my mother you'll remember there are reason's why some of us are free."

Harry snorted; it was so typical of Malfoy to be smug about something , even that which he had nothing to do with. Harry knew that had Narcissa not lied about whether or not he was alive in the Forbidden Forrest then there was a good chance that they would not be having this conversation right now.

"If I told you I was lonely, would that make you feel better about sitting with me?" Malfoy asked, a fingernail picking at a crack in the ancient wooden table.

"I'm not having this conversation. I just can't be," Harry said out loud.

"Why not?"

Harry swivelled on the leather to face the young man, to see his face.

"You're trying to tell me that you're following me around because you're lonely; what happened to all your friends?" Harry looked dubious, but kept an eye on Malfoy's expression.

There was a slight softening of Malfoy's shoulders, as if he had been finally been found out, but then they snapped back up, chest puffing out and pointy nose and chin swung around so that his steel grey eyes looked right at Harry. His hand shifted slightly and his wand appeared in his palm.

Harry almost missed what Malfoy said next.

His eyes were transfixed on the bit of Malfoy's forearm that was showing out of the cuff of his cloak. Thin wrist and pale skin, but something more. What could only be the beginning of the Dark Mark was visible, the burnt black tail of a snake, but there was something else.

Something new.

In the darkness of The Wolf and Sheep, as Malfoy drew his hand up to run his fingers through his hair, Harry's eyes were transfixed. Someone, or something, had drawn something across the top of the Dark Mark. Only the last of it was visible.

RUS

What did it mean? Realising he was staring, Harry turned away, his mind awhirl. He was wondering if Malfoy would tell him, if should he ask when he realised Ron was walking toward them.

"Pretend I'm not here and he won't see me," Malfoy said.

"Why would I do that?" Harry asked, watching Ron as he swayed in their direction.

"Because—you want to know." Draco said, his finger tracing over the last of the word that was carved over the Dark Mark.

"I..."

"If want to know, you'll make him go away, Potter." Draco said.

Ron came to a slightly unsteady halt beside the table.

"Whatcha doin' by yourself; we smell or summin?"

"Just getting my, er, bearings. You go to the loo and then we'll head off, okay?" Harry said, standing up.

Ron swayed and then staggered down the corridor toward the men's. The smell of liquor still hung in the air where he'd been and Harry had to turn his head. Malfoy was still sitting there, a wry smile on his face.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked.

"You. All of you." Malfoy gestured toward his friends across the bar. "You won yet you’re the ones that are all broken. Honestly Potter, if it wasn't so sad I'd laugh."

When Malfoy let out a small chuckle, Harry fought back the urge to hex him to within an inch of his life. Unfortunately he had to admit that a small part of him agreed with everything the young man said.

Harry watched as Malfoy absently scratched at his forearm, revealing more of the scar that now adorned the mark given to Death Eaters. The letter 'E' was revealed and Harry's eyes were drawn to the ragged redness around the black lettering.

It was as if someone had carved this onto Malfoy's arm.

But who would do such a thing?

Maybe it had been one of the Dark Lord's final acts, a message to his follower?

"You could just ask?" Malfoy's voice cut into his reverie.

Suddenly defensive, caught with his hand in the biscuit barrel, Harry glared at Malfoy as if that would have the same effect that it did in school. Apparently not. Malfoy turned away, lips slightly upturned, and slid his hand down the sleeve of his robe. Harry watched those long, thin fingers grasp the cuff. The nails were no longer impeccably maintained, there were chips and dirt under them. This didn't disturb him nearly as much as what he saw next.

Malfoy's forearm became more exposed, letter after letter was revealed. One simple word, a name, that held in it so many questions. A Head of House, a Potion's Master, a Headmaster, an Order member and a Death Eater. Severus Snape was so many things to so many people and, for many years, to Harry he had been only one thing. Enemy. Why Draco would choose his name over any other?

"Would you like one?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"One of those? You mean..."

Malfoy pulled his sleeve back down, covering his delicate wrist and leaving more questions in Harry's mind.

"You mean you did that to yourself?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Yes, actually, I think you are familiar with the spell. Sectumsem..."

Harry's hand shot out instinctively and covered Malfoy's mouth. He mustn't say those words. Those words were, well, they were a mistake. Harry searched Malfoy's eyes for meaning, then his gaze was drawn across his cheek to a hairline blemish that he had not noticed before. Starting just under the right eye a line of whiter than white skin no thicker than the finest quill penmanship carried on down over the cheek and disappeared under his hand. His breath caught in his throat as he slowly pulled his fingers away from the hot dampness of Malfoy's lips.

He knew what it was.

The line continued to the edge of top of the lip, disappeared momentarily, then continued over the point of his chin. As his collar was pulled up, Harry could not see where or if the scar continued.

But he knew, that it did. He had seen the open wounds on Malfoy's chest as he lay on the cold, wet floor.

It was like the scar on his head, on his psyche and on his soul.

Pomfrey had done her best to repair the wound, and with Snape's help they had done a remarkable job. Most people would not even notice it, and he doubted Malfoy allowed many people this close to him.

"You can't have used that spell. Look what it did to you," Harry said, his fingertips drawn to the imperceptibly fine nick in Malfoy's upper lip.

"That wasn't the spell," Malfoy said, pulling back. "That was you. The caster gives the spell meaning and any spell, well most, can have multiple uses."

Harry's eyebrows knotted; this was all a little too much.

"I overheard your talk of tattoos. If you want maybe I could return the favour?" Malfoy's thumb traced the line from his lip over his chin.

Where is Ron? Harry thought. He must have fallen into the toilet.

"Potter?"

Harry didn't remember nodding, nor did he remember saying anything that would give Malfoy any idea that he wanted this. Yet there he was, arm laid out on the table, biting down on his bottom lip waiting for the pain. Waiting for something.

"I want you to do me. Scar me," Harry said, a tremble in his voice betraying the slight tinge of fear he felt at Draco using this spell on him.

"Scarred Potter." Draco's voice was reminiscent of a time that seemed long ago.

Harry rolled his eyes, then tapped his finger on the lightning shaped scar on his forehead.

"Already am. Now get on with it, Malfoy."

The tip of Malfoy's wand, which looked suspiciously like his father's, pressed against his wrist. Harry thought that maybe this wasn't such a good idea, at least not in such a public space. Yet there was something about the closeness of Malfoy, the wand ghosting over his skin and the thought of a mark on his skin that kept him rooted to the spot.

"Any name in particular, Potter, or would you like me to pick one?"

Harry hadn't even though that far. What name should he choose, what name would he want to carry as a reminder? There were so many, so many lost in this just cause, and as far as he knew they were the ones that kept talking in his head, kept him awake at night. Maybe if he wrote them down they would...

A sallow face, raven black hair.

The name of a person who he had an indelible connection with.

The bravest man Harry had ever known.

"Snape."

"Snape?" Malfoy questioned, his voice still low.

Something told Harry that the Snape would have found some sort perverse pleasure in knowing that he would now be carrying his name around.

"Is there a problem?" Harry glared.

"No, it's just so typical of you. I have Severus and you," Malfoy paused, "you want Snape. He at least meant something to me. Snape saved me up on the Tower when... When Dumbledore..."

Harry knew exactly what Snape had done, what Dumbledore had orchestrated and what part in that Draco had played.

"Just do it, Malfoy. Before I change my mind."

Bony white fingers slid over his palm, grasping between his own, holding him down with a strength that belied the young man's slight frame. Malfoy muttered something, a different word that Harry thought sounded like 'Muto' before the dark spell. Harry was scared. Maybe it was that Ron might come back any second and catch him like this or that that he was allowing Malfoy of all people do this to him.

Then it began. He saw the skin split, felt a jolt of pain that caused the memory of a dank, wet bathroom to flash across his mind. He was on his knees trying to hold Malfoy, his shirt having split open and the blood from the wounds he had caused began to flow freely onto the tiled floor.

He had done this.

Now Malfoy was doing it to him.

This was different. He could feel every single pore on Malfoy's skin as his fingers held him in place. The tip of the wand was moving now, creating the line that would form the top of the first letter. A searing, white hot sensation shot along his arm, his back arched and his toes curled.

It felt.

He felt like...

Downward the cut went, and his breath hitched in his throat. A light sweat broke on his brow and something stirred inside him while other things went quiet. The way that Malfoy held the wand, the silver snake head laying at the top of his forearm and the tip between his thumb and fingers, meant that magic, electric and tangible, was visible on his fingertips.

As was Harry's blood.

Where he had been out of control, Malfoy was calm, and as Harry tore his eyes away from the blood dripping from his wrist to look at him he saw a glint in the young man's eyes. The corner of Malfoy's lip curled upward and Harry knew that he was enjoying this retribution of sorts.

The wand moved, hit a soft spot and caused Harry to cough out a small cry. A tear welled in his eye as the letter 'P' was completed and he bit down once more on his lip as the last letter began. His breath quickened and he felt a heat rise about him. Oh god, Harry thought, I'm getting hard.

His head felt like fairy floss, he felt flushed and slightly confused. It was like he had woken from a dream, with his fists still balled in the sheets and semen drying on his stomach.

Merlin,he thought, that's it!

Malfoy leaned in close, his blond locks falling against the side of Harry's head.

"Intoxicating, isn't it?"

Harry managed a moan in the affirmative.

Something inside him broke, and at the same time was fixed.

Somewhere behind him he heard someone falling down.

"Harry, help a mate up will ya?" Ron shouted from the hallway.

Harry knew his time with Malfoy was at an end, that this stolen little moment, this thing was over. He looked across the table for a napkin or something to hide the bleeding. A silk handkerchief was dropped on the table.

"Here, let me," Malfoy said, tying the kerchief gently around Harry's wrist.

"Harry?" Ron's voice carried out of the hallway again.

"Coming. I'm coming, Ron."

Malfoy let out a laugh.

"Still saving the Weasel."

"Just when I think you can change, you—you —you go and stuff everything up."

Harry snatched his wrist from Malfoy's grasp, sliding his shirt back over the fresh wound. Angry with himself for believing that Malfoy could ever change, he slid out from the booth. Ron was struggling to his feet in the dimly lit space in front of the bathroom. Here was he thinking that Malfoy had changed, but it was obvious by that remark that he hadn't —not one bit. Maybe somethings were so much a part of someone that to let them go was just too hard. Malfoy calling Ron Weasel. Mrs Black's hatred of all things Muggle. Sirius and his guilt. Tom and his Horcruxes. Hermione and her books. He was surrounded by people holding onto their past like it was the only thing that defined them.

He wasn't losing sleep because people had died. It was just stress, he wasn't holding onto that.

It wasn't the thing that defined who he was.

He wasn't the sum of the dead.

Harry tugged at his cuff, pulling it lower to ensure the green silk was not noticeable. Then again, did he really want anyone seeing this? He looked from Ron to the table at the far side of the room. Neville, Dean and Seamus were laughing at some joke ,and Harry didn't think they were ready to understand the name and what it meant to him.

"How do I... This Perception Charm, how do you do it?" Harry asked looking back into the darkness.

But Malfoy was gone.

Harry slept peacefully that night for the first time in six weeks.

Surveillance was a simple task for an Auror and even easier for an Auror in the possession of an invisibility cloak. Harry slid from shadow to shadow, avoiding the witches and wizards that populated the busy street and turned into Knockturn Alley. His quarry had no idea he was being followed, nor should he.

Pushing his back against the cold stone wall, he watched Malfoy stop in front of Borgin & Burkes. The trips here had become more frequent. Mondays, Wednesdays and sometimes twice on Fridays. Many times he had been sorely tempted to just take whatever it was that Malfoy was selling to Borgin and use it as evidence against them both.

He didn't.

Malfoy was looking more and more haggard, like he hadn't eaten in days and hadn't washed in more. It was possible that he was only sustaining himself with what he could sell to the man in the shop. The Malfoy name had become like mud in the Wizarding world. As far as most people were concerned, if any one had anything to do with Voldemort then they wanted nothing to do with them. That was most of the Wizarding world, no matter what Harry did to show them that the Malfoy's had assisted him. This dark part of the wizarding world, this little black blotch on the Wizarding map, still took in its brethren, tucking them into the shadows like the folds of a skirt hiding frightened children.

The Ministry had taken it upon themselves to seize any and all assets acquired under the rule of Voldemort. They were very thorough. Vaults at Gringotts were frozen, houses were acquired under the 'Anti-Death Eater' law that was passed. Some, like Theodore Nott's father had been smart and put everything in their children's names. The law was explicit—only the assets of actual followers of Voldemort. This didn't leave Lucius or Narcissa with much choice.

Malfoy stood in front of the door, not moving, head bowed slightly. Harry had been careful as always, never following him the same way, using all the wards and charms he'd been taught. There was no way that Malfoy could know that he was there. He tried to get a better look at what the young man was carrying. It looked heavy. Sandy in colour, it appeared to be a circular board game with small squares carved into it. Malfoy had a small leather sack that probably contained the game pieces in his other hand. He really must be getting desperate, he thought, and so must Borgin if he's accepting children's games.

His attention was caught by the bell above the door ringing and Malfoy disappearing inside. It was then that he could see what had caught Malfoy's interest.

Harry waited, scratched at his wrist absentmindedly, pretending that he did not catch the scarred letters out of the corner of his eye. It can't have come to this for Malfoy, begging for work from Borgin. It wasn't as if he wasn't intelligent; he had come second to Hermione in most classes and he had fixed that Vanishing Cabinet. But he was the son of a Death Eater and Harry knew that, more than anything, damned him. Borgin appeared at the door, looking a lot older than Harry had last seen him, and pulled the sign from the glass.

"Alright, I can't take it anymore. I'm going in there," said Ron, lifting the cloak from them.

Harry's hand shot out, grasping his friend by the shoulder.

"Wait."

"Harry! How often am I going to get an opportunity like this? Ferret-features is in there on his hands and knees. 'Please Mister Borgin, I don't have any money and I need a job to pay for my next manicure.' You want me to wait here and miss that? I don't think so."

Ron started again, but this time Harry had a handful of his jacket and so he went nowhere.

"Harry, I had to put up with him calling me poor for six years. I think it's about time that I..."

"Showed him a little compassion?" Harry suggested, knowing full well that Ron would do no such thing.

Ron tugged free.

"Alright, have it your way. I'm done tailing him week in and week out. He's done nothing wrong, that we've seen, except sell stuff to that skin flint in there. I know I was hoping for something. My first bust as an Auror and it looks like I'm going to have to follow up that lead that Neville had on those people importing Patagonian Fighting Gerberas!"

Harry grinned; he'd been avoiding that case since Neville had owled him from Hogwarts.

"You go. I'll wait and, you know, just in case."

Ron gave Harry one of those looks that he'd perfected over the years when he knew that there was no dissuading him and walked back toward Diagon Alley. Harry leaned back on the wall once more, rubbing at his eyes.

The restless nights had returned.

They had gotten worse over the last six months. It had just been tossing and turning at first. Then he'd woken up in cold sweats with Ginny holding his hand telling him that everything was alright. Now unless he had a draught of some sort he couldn’t get any sleep at all. At least, not while he was in bed; work was another matter entirely.

Having your own office had its perks.

Even then it was only twenty minutes here, half an hour there.

He found himself arguing with Ginny over the littlest of things, a misplaced sock or a photograph on the wrong shelf. Even Ron had become short tempered with him and it wasn't even his fault. He never asked to be kept awake for hours on end, the incessant chattering of wind and drums rattling around in his head. They had both suggested he go to Saint Mungo's and talk to a doctor. Harry had assured them both that he would take care of it.

That was why he was following Malfoy.

That was why he dispelled all the charms and crossed the street, picking up one of the game pieces that had fallen from the leather pouch and entered the shop. It was dark and dusty, just as he remembered. Malfoy and Borgin were deep in conversation but this ceased when they turned and saw who the new customer was.

"Mister Potter, how can I help you?" Borgin asked, coming around the side of the counter to cut Harry off from entering the shop any further.

Harry ignored him, keeping his eye on Malfoy.

"We need to talk."

"No."

"What?"

Malfoy squared his shoulders.

"I said no."

"Why do you always have to make things so bloody hard?"

"I do not! You're the one that always takes the difficult route. I was going to say..."

Borgin was reaching for something behind the counter. Harry yanked his wand from its sheath and pointed it in their direction.

"I'm arresting you on suspicion of..."

Malfoy pushed Borgin unceremoniously out of the way and stepped right in front of Harry's wand.

"I was going to say that if you come back after Borgin and I have concluded our business then I'd be more than willing to talk. Of course we could do things your way, because we always do things your way."

The tip of Harry's wand lowered slightly.

"Life is threatening enough, Potter. I don't need your wand pointing in my face." Malfoy's grasped the end of Harry's wand between thumb and forefinger and lowered it further. "Better."

"I could still take you in, " said Harry, feeling somewhat backed into a corner.

Malfoy stuck out his wrists as if to dare him. Harry felt that wasn't the only reason; he could see a new mark, new lines snaking out from under the slightly grey cuff of his shirt. A new tattoo or scar perhaps?

"I'm all yours, Auror Potter. Do with me as you will."

Malfoy took a step forward.

"Fine. I'll be back in an hour." Harry's voice was harsh and he hoped it covered the fact that he didn't really want to take Malfoy back to the Ministry, at least not for something as trivial as a child's game. "Oh, and you dropped this."

Harry placed the small stone lion on the counter then left, still milling over whether to watch from the other side of the alley or stand just outside the door. He wasn't surprised when Malfoy pulled the blind down on the door and the windows were darkened. At first he just stood there, in the same spot he had been before entering Borgin's. Then he got bored. Harry found that he got bored rather easily, probably due to all the excitement he'd had when he was younger. He scuffed his boot on the flagstones, picked at some dirt under his thumbnail and twisted the leather cuff he still wore on his right wrist to cover the first name.

It was starting to get dark and he was due home at six. Ginny had been hinting at something over the last few days and had organised a dinner with Ron and Hermione and the rest of the family back at The Burrow. This did not bode well. The two girls were a formidable team, and every time they got together Ron and he ended up agreeing to something that, were they on their own, may have been up for discussion. He still remembered the pink paint explosion that had occurred the last time. No wonder he couldn't sleep; after Ginny had moved in nearly a year ago his bedroom had taken on a hideous shade of pink. Ginny refused to change it unless Ron and he did the work themselves. Harry decided that as it made her happy then it made him happy.

Deciding enough was enough, he yawned, stretched and was about to take a step when he noticed the blind going up and Malfoy opening the door.

"Are you going to come inside or just stand there looking all... Gryffindor?" Malfoy held the door open, making a welcoming motion with his hand.

"Git," Harry mumbled as he crossed the alley and stepped inside.

"I heard that," Malfoy said, closing the door behind him and dropping the blind to ensure their privacy.

The lamps that Borgin had scattered through out the shop had been almost doused and, save for one flickering candle in the back, the shop was dark. Yet an unnatural glow seemed to permeate the murk, allowing him to see.

"Where's Borgin?"

"He had—" Malfoy seemed stuck for words, and he looked to Harry to be even more guilty now than before, but where Harry was concerned Malfoy always looked guilty. "He had to leave. Yes, bit of a shock death in the family. Said he'd catch up with you the next time you dropped by."

"What are you up to?" Harry glared.

"Me? Why, what ever could you be talking about?" Malfoy feigned shock, as he walked to the counter.

"Don't give me that, I know you too well," Harry said, making a quick note of the new products that glistened, oozed and generally gave of a bad odour that had been procured since his last visit.

"Really, you know me? You don't know the first..."

Harry saw a plush looking seat, and though the crimson material covering it looked dusty and archaic, he felt that it would be a good place to rest his weary legs.

"Your mother and father now reside in Calais. I haven't been able to work out how he's importing the texts he's getting from Cairo, but I will. Your mother snuck back into Hogwarts on the anniversary of your Aunt's death and laid a single black rose at the Memorial. You've been living at Nott's mansion, as he seems to be the only one of your friends who wants anything to do with you. The rest seem to think you had something to do with my return. Especially Goyle; though as he's in Azkaban I doubt he'll be bothering you."

Malfoy leant casually on the glass counter, eyeing him coolly.

"Shall I continue?" Harry asked, without waiting for a response. "You carry your father's wand as yours now resides within Dumbledore's tomb. You dress to the right. You like two slices of toast with your..."

"Enough!" Malfoy's hand came down with a glass-shattering thud, causing the top of the counter to implode. "Instead of doing an inventory of my life, why don't you tell me why you are here?"

Harry stood, undoing the clasp to his cloak and allowing it to fall backward onto the chair. Slowly he pushed the buttons of his jacket out then took that off as well, dropping it on top of his cloak. His shirt sleeve had rolled up as he had removed his jacket, exposing the leather cuff and the snake tattoo that encircled his wrist.

"What I want," said Harry, loosening the cuff and sliding it off revealing Snape's name, "is for you to do whatever it was you did last time."

Malfoy still had an air of suspicion about him.

"You want another tattoo?" he asked, brushing glass from his sleeve and picking slivers from his palm.

"I want you to do what you did last time."

"I don't understand, Potter. As always you're speaking gibberish."

Harry rolled up his other sleeve, revealing a matching snake—the tail wrapping around to be caught in the serpents mouth on the other side of his forearm.

"I appreciated these two, it kept them from looking at the name I keep hidden under this leather cuff."

Harry walked across the wooden boards, closing the gap between them.

"I keep having these dreams, or not having dreams maybe." Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of the cobwebs. "They keep me awake. It's like drums, or wind in trees, people talking in a crowded room. All I know is when you cut Snape's name on my wrist it went away."

Malfoy was only a few feet from him now and Harry could see that he had his wand in his hand, the anger had dissipated and was being replaced with something else.

Anticipation.

"It allowed you to sleep, that was all?"

Draco was mere inches from him now.

"Malfoy!"

"Is so formal. You may call me Draco."

Harry stepped back, not quickly enough to stop Malf... Draco's fingers from catching the top button on his shirt. Like a cascade they burst from their holes, exposing his chest, and with one more backward step he fell into the seat. Draco stood over him, looking down through hooded eyes, studying the sweat-sheened flesh of Harry's chest.

"What name do you think might quell the din?" Draco asked, tracing the tip of the wand over the tip of his tongue as if wetting a quill.

"I don't... I..." Harry stammered.

"Let's not go through this again, shall we?" Malfoy nudged apart Harry's feet with the tip of his shoe, sliding one leg between them so he was standing astride Harry's left leg.

"Cedric."

It was the first name that sprang to mind. The name of a boy that Harry felt he had killed. Some had been casualties of their own choosing but Cedric, he had been pure and innocent. He knew what getting into the Tri-Wizard tournament meant—it could be life or death, but not because of the evil machinations of a deranged psychopath. Harry had stood there helpless as Pettigrew had disposed of the spare. He'd watched as the ghost of Cedric had asked him to carry his body back to his father. Maybe if it was Cedric that was in his head then taking his name would quieten his spirit finally.

Draco arched over him, planting a hand on the soft fabric of the high back seat just to the side of Harry's head. The wand inched closer to his chest, Harry suddenly felt very small, very vulnerable.

"You did say you wanted it here?" Draco asked, the cool tip of the wand pressing against his left pectoral.

Harry nodded, the words were stuck in his throat as the only thing he could remember now was the sensation. There was also Draco's knee which was now pressed tight against his crotch.

"Muto!"

The word was said softly but not as softly as the ones that followed, they were caressed from Draco's lips like the name of a lover.

"Sectumsempra!"

Harry gasped as he felt the cut slice into his skin, the same white hot hurt burst up through his chest and into his head. Cedric was twice as long as Tom and so many more movements. A gurgled moan escaped his lips and he pushed upward from the chair. His eyes snapped open as he felt Draco's hand, cold and with uncut nails, grasp his shoulder and drive him back into the chair. He wanted it to stop, he didn't need this. Except he did.

Something in this moment, in this act, felt right.

Harry dared to look down, saw first that the work was half done and saw also a rivulet of crimson slide leisurely down his torso. Deeper red than the seat on which he sat, the blood from the word on his chest followed the valley of his muscles, down from his chest across his abdomen and pooled for a moment. It continued its path only seconds later as Harry breathed out again and a dark red line disappeared under the waist of his trousers.

That was when he became aware how painfully hard his cock was and that his crotch was lewdly grinding against Draco's thigh.

What was he doing?

His fingers had closed around Draco's wrist before he was even aware of what he was doing.

"Stop!" Harry growled.

There was a small hesitation in Draco's hand; the pain subsided and his mind clouded over. He stared into the grey eyes, trying to douse the fire that was burning in them, trying to hide behind his own insecurities. Standing above him and staring Harry down, Draco moved the wand once more. Breath hitched in his throat, causing Harry to grip Malfoy's bony wrist even tighter.

"I said stop, Malfoy!"

Draco's glare cut almost as deep as the words that followed.

"Instead of asking me to stop, you should be asking yourself why you wanted me to start." Draco stepped back, adjusting the front of his trousers and straightening his shirt.

Something in the dark recesses of his mind crawled and scratched for purchase.

Harry knew it was wrong, knew it deep down inside and yet... Steeling his gaze and standing his ground on whatever it was that seemed to be overtaking him, Harry grabbed his clothes and headed for the door. Draco stood in his way, idly wiping the end of his wand on a cloth. Harry gulped when he saw the blood. The same blood that would be drying even now on his chest and stomach. The same blood that would be still seeping from the open wounds on his chest should he choose to look, which he did not. He buttoned his jacket to the collar and threw his cloak over his shoulder.

"The charm, what is it?' Harry asked, looking at his watch, already knowing he was inexcusably late.

"Charm?" Draco raised an eyebrow, looking from Harry to the stone circle and the lion figure that lay on its surface.

"Don't play funny games with me Dra... Malfoy." Harry corrected himself, falling back into the tried and true habit of calling the young man by his surname.

"Now why would you need the charm?" Draco's finger pressed onto his chest, causing Harry to wince. "I'm sure that Weaslette will..."

Harry didn't let him finish the sentence, his fist crashed into Draco's jaw, sending him hurtling back into a newish looking skeleton that hung beside the counter. There was a crash of limbs and bones and, as Malfoy struggled to extricate himself, Harry stepped around him and walked to the door.

"You'll be back," Draco growled, freeing himself.

"I don't think so," Harry replied, slamming the door behind him, causing a large crack to shoot through the glass.

Apparating home, he found the flat that he shared with Ginny to be dark and empty. He hadn't expected them to wait; really, if anything, he had hoped there would be no one home. Standing in front of the mirror, he slid his shirt from his shoulders, inspecting Draco's handiwork. Harry didn't like the light in the bathroom. It always caught him in the wrong way, making him out to be all bones and angles. It also left the half finished name on his chest in stark red, raw relief to the rest of his white skin.

How could he explain 'CED' to Ginny?

It turned out that he didn't need to. He fell asleep on the chair in the living room and awoke an hour later. Then another hour after that, and so on throughout the night. Each time, it was the shocked and confused look on Cedric's face as he lay on the still night grass of the cemetery that roused Harry.

A little after ten o'clock, Ron Apparated into the room. Harry looked up from Hogwarts: A History which was unfortunately not putting him to sleep this time around.

"How was dinner?" Harry asked, trying to judge Ron's mood.

Ron stood there looking somewhat dumbfounded.

"Dinner?" Harry asked again.

"Dinner was fantastic, thanks for asking." Ron huffed ,turned and headed toward the kitchenette.

"Hang on. What's up?" Harry jumped up from his seat and followed Ron. "Something's happened."

Ron 's head was buried in the fridge. Harry caught part of what he said but it didn't make much sense.

"Ron, will you stand up and tell me what's going on," Harry grabbed hold of the refrigerator door.

"Oh, I dunno, Harry, just the most important night of my life!" Ron grinned, finally looking at him barely able to contain his excitement.

"You didn’t!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly realising why Ginny had wanted him there.

Ron grinned so fiercely that Harry thought his head might explode.

"She said yes. Of course it would have been nice if my best mate had been there like his girlfriend had planned." Ron joked.

"I..." Harry knew that any excuse would sound hollow and the truth was just a little to much to bear right at that very moment. "Congratulations mate. So when's the big day?"

Ron grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey and poured them each a healthy glass. Harry grabbed his and they went into the living room to talk and chat about Ron's impending marriage and so he could gauge just how mad Ginny was at him for being a no show.

Three days later, after apologising to Ginny, Hermione, Ginny, Molly, Ginny and anyone else within earshot and having slept a total of five hours, Harry admitted defeat. It was just after nine in the evening and they had gathered for their now-weekly get together. Ron sat to his left, Hermione and Ginny were opposite. Neville hadn't been able to make it as he had assignments to grade.

"Harry."

Ron tapped him on the hand, beckoning him closer.

"Do you think that they are—y'know?"

Harry followed Ron's gaze and found himself looking at the bar. Dean's arm was slung around Luna's waist and he was whispering something to her that she found highly interesting by the expression on her face. Seamus sat two stools away nursing a Guinness and staring at them intently.

"Mmmh, I'm not sure. They've been friends for a long time."

"Like Hermione and me or you and Gin?" Ron said, smiling knowingly.

Harry laughed.

"Maybe, Ron. Who knows."

He left Ron at The Wooden Torch, their new bar as the old one had seemingly disappeared over night. Telling them he'd left something at the office, he made his way to Borgin & Burkes, determined to finish the tattoo and get some sleep. Harry knew the sort of clientèle that Borgin's attracted was more prone to come out at night so there was a good chance they would still be open. As he entered the dark alley, the first thing that struck him was the new sign above the shop front.

Burke obviously wasn't coming back. The small bell tinkled as he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. Peering into the semi-dark Harry could tell that he was alone, the shop was deathly quiet. The stone circle still lay atop the front bench, which had been either repaired or replaced. The lion figurine which he'd picked up outside a few days earlier had been joined by another on the circle and Harry stepped closer to see if he could work out how the game was played.

"See anything you like, sir?" Draco rose from behind the counter.

"For fuck's sake, Draco, you almost scared me half to death!" Harry yelped.

"I was right though, wasn't I?" Draco said, popping the button at the top of his shirt and loosening his tie.

Harry knew that this was not going to come easy.

"What do you want me to say?"

Draco was now standing in front of him, wand in hand and an amused look on his face. With a flick of his wrist, the blind came down, the lock was snibbed and the windows became opaque.

"Say? I don't want you to say anything," Draco said, taking Harry by the hand and leading him into the darker part of the store.

Harry didn't know how he felt, but the word cautious came to mind. Borgin was still nowhere to be seen and Draco was keeping his eyes forward as he led Harry back to the chair where they had last left off. Harry made to sit down but Draco stayed him, drawing his wand down his front, causing Harry's shirt to fly open and slip from his shoulders.

"Better," Draco said, pushing him down onto the chair and taking up the same position he had before.

Harry felt Draco's knee nestle against his crotch and remembered his reaction last time.

Was that why he was really here?

Before he could answer, magic crackled above his skin and he felt his flesh part as Draco began finishing the name. Harry's eyes locked on Draco's face, his pointy chin and pale skin lit up by the pale blue that seemed to emanate in little electrical surges from the tip of his wand. Those surges seemed, at least to Harry, to fire across his skin directly to the base of his cock and whatever part of his mind that thought about sex. Every part of him screamed to be touched, ached to be held. There was an insistent pressure building in his crotch as it moved back and forth.

It wasn't his cock that was rubbing against Draco's thigh, it was the other way around. Draco was gently rubbing his own crotch along Harry's leg, obviously turned on by this as much as he was.

"Did you think of him?" Draco asked, the cut moving languorously downward.

"Wh... Who," Harry stammered, his mind a blur of white hot pain, flashes of flesh and fantasy.

"Cedric. Did you imagine him when you took that hard cock of yours in your hand and wanked off during fourth year?"

Harry gasped.

"How dare you..."

Draco drew the wand around as he began the second to last letter, causing Harry to stop mid-sentence.

His mind cast back to sweaty night dreams of the handsome Hufflepuff. He'd been thinking of Ginny but his mind had been on other things—the Tournament—and so he'd thought nothing of it when Cedric had popped in there as well. Cedric was the boy all the girls wanted and all the boys wanted to be like. It was only natural.

Harry's breathing became hoarser, quicker as he thrust back against Draco .

The wand curled around and the letter 'C' began to appear.

Long thin fingers sliding through Cedric's hair, sodden and sweaty after Quidditch flashed before his eyes. A glimpse of a hard abdomen above tight school trousers, a faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the snowy white band of boxer shorts. The knowing smile on Cedric's face merged into Draco's when he opened his eyes. Their proximity, inches apart, grinding against one another. It was too much.

Harry arched upward, searching, needing, wanting to feel.

Draco's warm lips pressed hungrily against his, hot breath filled his lungs and the pain of the scarring faded as teeth bit down upon his lip. Harry needed this so badly that the moan that escaped his lips was almost sorrowful.

Something inside him broke

His hand reached up, clawed at Draco's shirt, tearing at the fabric as he mashed their faces together. Their movements were now in a bizarre unison as they pushed at each other on the chair. Hard cock nestled against hard cock and blonde hair fell messily amongst dark locks. Draco looked at him for a moment then, arching his back, laved a line from Harry's jaw across the crook of his neck until...

"God!" Harry gasped, as Draco's tongue licked across the freshly cut skin, tracing the name 'Cedric' expertly.

His fingernails dug into the old fabric that covered the seat and his mouth opened, as if maybe to say 'stop'.

"Suck."

The word escaped his mouth without warning.

The wand stopped.

A trickle of blood skirted around his nipple.

"What did you just say?" Draco asked, wand hovering over the letter.

"I... Draco, please." Harry's voice quivered.

"Knees!" Draco stepped back, hand nursing the bulge in his trousers.

Harry slid forward, knees coming to rest on the dusty floorboards. He tried to avert his eyes, tried to keep himself from believing what he was about to do. The snap of the buckle and the unmistakable sound of trousers dropping and Draco 's painfully hard cock came into view. Harry swallowed, wet his lips and leaned forward.

"Necto!" Draco 's voice was soft but there was no missing the command.

Harry felt his hands drawn behind his back and the true meaning of those two bands above his wrists became apparent. He had always thought the tattoos looked like snake skin and now, as his skin stretched and turned and morphed, he began to realise that maybe that's precisely what they were. There was a low hiss from the lower part of his back and fearfully he looked up to see Draco licking his lips in anticipation.

"You wanted it, now suck it!" The sharpness in Draco 's voice cut through the dimly lit shop, and Harry obeyed.

With arms bent back, the tattoo snake writhing around his wrists, Harry parted his lips and let them envelop Draco's hardness.

There was a rasping sound from Draco's throat as Harry inched forward, taking more of him in his mouth. He felt Draco sag for a moment, going weak at the knees, and then his hand was in Harry's hair, grasping and knotting messy locks between his fingers and dragging him forward.

Shifting his knees on the hard floor, trying to find a position in which best to appease his desire, Harry sucked. Sucked harder than he had thought possible. His cock ached in his trousers, but his hands were unable to be liberated from their bonds. At least while Draco's breath laboured and his hips thrust back and forth Harry would be unable to relieve himself. He wondered if Draco had planned this moment for long, if this had been a harboured secret, a twisted desire that haunted his mind like the sinful thoughts that Harry lived with.

It was the sudden gasp and Draco's release, hot and thick pulsing down his throat, that brought Harry back from the darkness in his mind. His eyes focused on the pale abdomen in front of him, strayed upward, lingering over the threadlike scars that still crisscrossed Draco's chest. Scars not to unlike his own, only his were freely taken. The magic binding his arms behind him was gone and Harry's hand was in his trousers before his mouth had left Draco's cock.

Draco shuddered and went still, breath hitched, grey eyes looking down at Harry as if for the first time.

"Anything you want to say now?" Draco straightened and spelled himself clean.

"Fuck you." Harry's hand was a blur and he could still taste Draco on his lips, salty and bitter.

"That an offer?" Draco chuckled.

If Harry needed a further mental picture to put him over the edge then that must have been it. His grip tightened, and with his eyes locked in fierce battle with Draco's, he came.

This moment, this sliver of time, this scar, seemed to take forever to heal and become reality. Harry knew what he had just done, accepted it and knew that this was something that he had needed to do. It was out of him now, cast aside like a daemon.

Draco shuffled his feet and Harry wondered if he was as uncomfortable with this situation as he was. His hand was still down his trousers and he almost smiled when he realised how free he had just felt. He looked down at the dark patch on the front of his pants, the pool of white on the floor where his shirt lay and the red lines that crossed his chest. If Draco wanted him to say something, well, there wasn't much to say.

He stood and glared at Draco as if somehow through sheer force of will he could make the last hour disappear.

"You might want this," Draco said, tossing something through the air toward him.

Snatching it from the air, Harry found it to be a gold chain, expertly made, woven through with silver and green.

"Wear that and no-one will see what has become of you."

"Perception Charm?" Harry asked, remembering what Draco had said in the bar.

The smile that was returned was not comforting, if anything it felt predatory.

"Next time..." Draco began.

"There won't be a next time, Draco. That was a mistake and it won't happen again."

Harry slipped his shirt back on, making sure that the cuts on his chest had stopped their bleeding. The chain might hide the scars but they wouldn't hide blood stains in a white shirt. Giving Draco one last glance he Apparated home, the words 'Come again' ringing in his ears.

With his first night's sleep in months behind him, the next day Harry bit the bullet. He visited his vault in Gringotts, withdrew a hefty sum of money and then, after a few nervous hours of shopping, Apparated to The Burrow to ask Arthur for Ginny's hand in marriage.

The month before his wedding Harry asked Draco to add Sirius's name to his collection.

It cost but a kiss.

He returned later in the week when the dreams would not stop and added Remus's name, thinking that the more recently deceased may be the cause of his problems.

Draco had brought him to orgasm before the final letter was scarred forever onto his skin.

Harry knew this had to stop, he was about to become a married man. Draco seemed distant on these instances and was almost mechanical in his labours. As Harry watched him with interest, trying to decide what had changed he realised it was his impending nuptials.

It was a month after they were married that Harry had to admit to himself that the howling in his head had to be silenced. Ginny found sleeping with him unbearable and he had taken to spending his nights on the settee that Mr and Mrs Weasley had given them for a wedding present. It seemed Moony and Padfoot would not rest until they were joined by their friends. Draco listened to his impassioned plea and set about adding Prongs to the names that curled around his right shoulder.

With the third name on his shoulder and Harry lying spent on the floor after Draco had sucked him expertly to climax, he finally knew that this was something that he could not control. Whatever this was he had to let it play out, had to let it run its course.

Harry lay in the bath, the now tepid water lapping below his chin. As tired as he was, there was little chance of him falling under the surface. He had long since become accustomed to these apprehensions that seemed to overtake him. That was what he had put it all down to, apprehension. At starting a new life outside Hogwarts free from Riddle. At asking Ginny to marry him and then actually following through on it.

Though as he lay there now he was trying to rationalise this new spate of sleeplessness.

He looked up when Ginny entered the room, but his head sunk further under the water up to his nostrils.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, lowering the lid and sitting down on toilet.

Harry just nodded.

"Do you want to talk?" Ginny watched his reflection in the mirror as Harry lay there motionless. "I was thinking maybe we should discuss names. Harry, I..."

Harry pushed his wrinkled feet against the end of the bath and sat upright.

"James, James Sirius Potter." The name came out of him like it had been waiting to since the day he had found out she was pregnant.

"I was thinking maybe..."

Harry cut her off.

"His name will be James—Sirius—Potter."

"I'm sure both your father and godfather would have been proud to lend their names to our son." Ginny said, leaning over and kissing him lightly on the cheek.

Harry was still lost in thought and he didn't even notice that his wife was tracing the names James and Sirius over his left shoulder in exactly the place where they were written.

A few days later his first son was born, and by weeks end Fred Weasley's name was added to the growing list of the dead that adorned his skin.

"Do you love her?"

"Merlin, no!" Draco looked almost horrified, "Why can't you understand that? We've gone over this before. Ours is a love that dare not speak its name, at least in polite society. So to carry on the Malfoy name I married and sired a child, a son you'll notice. Astoria, well she got what she wanted from the arrangement."

"Does she know about me?" Harry asked, though he was already sure of the answer.

"She knows that I prefer the company of men and that is all she needs know." Draco replied

Harry's hand lazily trailed up Draco's thigh, tracing imaginary swirls and curves in the fine hairs. They lay on a chaise that Draco had purchased with the sole intention of never selling but to use for his own purposes. Malfoy's Dark Arts Emporium was doing a cracking business, so much so that tongues had begun to wag. Around the offices he had heard whispers that some people believed that Harry was leaving Malfoy alone, or that maybe there was some sort of deal that had been struck.

They were right on the latter. Draco was more than happy to feed Harry any information pertaining to any witch or wizard that was getting delusions of grandeur. In return Harry would turn an almost blind eye to the goings on in Knockturn Alley.

Draco rolled on his side facing him, entwining his leg with Harry's, studying him.

"Do you love her?" Draco teased, knowing full well the answer.

Harry's arm, which was now draped over his lover's waist, withdrew and Harry physically stiffened.

"A sore point, I know." Draco pursed his lips, hiding a smile.

"Why do you still have to act like you're fourteen?" Harry asked, swinging his legs around and slipping his feet into his shoes.

"Why do you have to pretend that you don't like that?" Draco grinned, sliding around so that his body fell against Harry's and his arms draped around his side.

Harry smiled; their little back and forth banter was something that he could never grow tired of. It kept him sharp and, on days like today, kept him wanting to come back for more.

"I have to get back to work, unlike some people, I make an honest living," Harry said.

Draco chuckled.

"Speaking of fourteen, I think I can still fit into my school uniform."

Harry felt a void behind him as Draco got up, but nevertheless he pulled on his shirt and stood up preparing to go back to work. The cotton dragged over the fresh scar under his ribcage, causing him to wince. He pulled back the fabric, inspecting Draco's work. He had certainly mastered this art over time.

Albus.

The name was etched in fine scroll work under his ribcage. Harry found it comforting that Dumbledore was happy hanging in his office as well as Hogwarts, and although he had queried Harry about his inclusion had accepted it with a worried look. They still talked all the time, little things mostly—the weather, Quidditch scores, the comings and goings at the school and Ministry Sometimes they agreed to disagree on his relationship with Draco, and they both soon realised that the less said about it the better. The only reason Albus knew of the scars was because Harry had chosen to change into Muggle clothing in his office on the way to meet Ginny for a dinner date. It had taken some explaining and he had ended up being nearly an hour late to his own surprise anniversary party, but it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Sliding into his overcoat, he walked toward the door, skirting past the game board that Draco now kept in the centre of the shop. Harry noticed that the lions pieces had moved since last time and he wondered who it was that Draco played with.

Until he had arrived here the morning had seemed to drag on. Ron was in Cardiff with Sloper looking into some strange goings on—he'd promised not to worry when Ron had said 'Nothing I can't take care of'. Neville had blown off lunch, as he was more interested in spending time with his new wife, and to be honest Harry didn't blame him. Seamus was uncontactable like he always seemed to be these days, as were Dean and Luna. Come to think of it, whenever he couldn't get in touch with any one of the three the others seemed to be unreachable also. He'd rifled through all the papers on his desk three or five times, signing where necessary and initialling where it wasn't. There had even been enough time for him to fire call the house and play a game with Al.

The door swung easily open, the bell was now gone and the Alley seemed quiet.

Harry had come to realise that Head Auror wasn't all it was cracked up to be, especially with all the tips Draco was giving him. It seemed like there was never anything...

"Did you just say you can still fit into your school uniform?" Harry's hand had almost left the ornate handle, but he swivelled and looked back into the shop.

Draco stood a few feet away, dress pants creased, grey sweatshirt draped over his arm, the silver and green house tie lying flatly over a pressed white shirt. His cloak, clasped at the top, had his prefects badge sitting just below the Slytherin insignia. Harry was sure that Draco could not possibly fit into his old uniform, he'd grown a few inches at the very least. Knowing Draco, where anything didn't quite fit a spell would rectify that forthwith.

"Potter, you're out of your office without a pass. I wonder how many House points I should deduct?" Draco raised an eyebrow, and tapped his wand on his palm like a riding crop.

A riding crop!

Now there's an idea.

"I'm not sure how many points Umbridge took. How many points would you take for ravishing a member of the Inquisitorial Squad ?" Harry said, stepping back inside and locking the door behind him.

"Dad."

"Mmmh?"

"Who's Regulus?"

Harry looked at where James was prodding his arm. He had been scratching at the new scar, and had left it exposed not thinking. The necklace he wore had made him complacent as it did not allow anyone to see the scars.

A beat skipped.

Time tripped.

Harry never could hide anything from James.

"Remember how I told you how I got the scar on my forehead," Harry pulled his son up onto his lap. "Regulus was a part of that."

"Was he on your side, is that why you have his name on your arm?" James asked, looking up at him.

Harry had many answers for that question—he was on Voldemort's side and was only trying to save his own skin, he was a Black and Black's do as Black's do, he was a brave and selfless person who gave his life trying to right a wrong.

Then there was the other answer, the one that Harry kept from himself. That it was the act in and of itself. The scarring done by Draco Malfoy, usually accompanied by some sort of sex act, was the real reason. That in that moment, in that time, he felt a connection. As the wand hovered above his skin and the magic cut through his flesh—he felt alive.

Alive like he did before the forest.

Before the white place.

Before.

"He was my godfather's brother and he was very brave, but James, we must keep this between ourselves."

The boy's eyes lit up—a secret.

Harry knew that James liked secrets, that was why he had already let him use the Invisibility cloak.

"Maybe when you're older, if you want, you can get a tattoo."

James smiled and kicked his feet off the chair; running to the box of pencils Dean had given him for his birthday he started scribbling madly. Harry chuckled as he watched his eldest draw.

"When I grow up, I want one just like this," James declared.

The boy held up the piece of paper and Harry's breath caught in his throat. The torn piece of paper had only two colours on it, green and red, and a familiar but heart stopping symbol. The skull was a little misshapen but the snake that James had drawn with the two ruby eyes was staring out at Harry like it wanted to bite him.

"I wouldn't let you mother see that. It's a very bad thing." Harry stood up and used his wand to levitate and then vanish the tarnished piece of paper.

"But Mister Malfoy has..."

"James! That's enough. Go to your room."

"But..."

"Room! Now!"

Harry watched his son skulk away toward his bedroom, and contemplated following him and Obliviating the last five minutes from his memory. The thought was soon gone, as the burning sensation on his arm returned and he looked down at Regulus's name.

Draco's shop, dark and dusty as always.

This visit has two purposes. He needs a new name. Work was driving him insane, there were elements within the Ministry working to further their own ends and Harry has been charged with setting up the new Department of Ministerial Integrity. That he was considering asking Draco to be a part of this, an outside voice with connections in all the right places, did not trouble him as much as he thought it should. The sleepless nights had returned, the constant thrumming in his head, the voices that were becoming fewer had begun talking again.

Then there was the other matter; the death in the family that Harry was here to talk about.

Harry's fingernail, traced along the letters. They are more ragged than any of the other names.

Draco is angry and when he sees Harry he thrusts him against the wall, pinning him. Draco's eyes are red, as if, understandably, he has been crying. Bottles fall to the ground, shards of glass splinter across the floorboards in a rainbow of fragmented colour. Dangerous potions seep between the cracks.

In the half light of the living room Harry collapsed back in his chair. His throat tightening as he undoes the buttons on his shirt, revealing the other new scar.

His shirt is torn roughly from his shoulders,. Draco's hand is shoved roughly into his trousers grasping his cock.

Mimicking the actions in his mind, glancing toward the hall to make sure that he is alone in the room, he slides his hand down into his underwear.

"Name?" Draco demands.

"Reg... Regulus," he stammers.

"Muto!" Draco spits the word out venomously, "Sectumsempra!"

The wand is cutting into his flesh at hard angles, without the finesse of the practiced hand he had become accustomed to. The letter 'R' is sharp, deep and brutal. It is the first time Harry has cried out from pain that is not linked to pleasure in a very long time. Draco silences him with a kiss so full of hurt, so full of sorrow, that Harry bites back tears.

There is no respite. This is but a prelude.

As the final letter is magically cut into him Harry is pushed roughly backwards. Draco rips Harry's belt from the buckle, yanks his trousers down as he backs him onto the chaise, kicking his shoes across the floor. Harry gasps as Draco enters him, hard and raw, and the wand is drawn across his chest.

'L'

The darkness in the living room does little to hide the moan that comes from Harry's mouth. To him it's as real now as it was two days ago.

"It's your fault," Draco growls, his eyes burning with emotion.

Harry holds his gaze.

'U'

The magic cuts deeper, and Harry is reminded that it is the caster that gives the spell purpose.

"Deeper."

His hand works feverishly on his cock. That at any moment Ginny may come and see what's taking him so long is not relevant. The word 'Deeper' still rings in his ears and Harry isn't sure if he wanted Draco further inside him or for him to push harder with the magic. All he knows is that when he is with Draco things make sense in a crazy, mixed up, sort of way. He knows that he loves Ginny and his kids more than anything and he just can't seem to reconcile the two.

"Harry," Draco's lips crush against his own.

This is the first name that Harry has not chosen. It does not belong, of that he is sure. His hips rock in time to Draco's thrusts. Somehow he knows that this name —if it can take Draco's hurt away, if he can take the pain away then...

"Harry? Do you want me to bring you a blanket?"

Ginny's voice cuts into his reverie and Harry feared that he had been caught with his hands in his trousers. Harry tidied himself quickly before his wife entered the room.

"Maybe it's better I sleep out here tonight. You've got that reunion thing tomorrow and you need your sleep."

Ginny smiled as she Accio'ed a blanket and pillow from their room.

"It's the ten year anniversary of the Harpies winning the cup. I have to play for the all-star team and then sign a few autographs. You'll be along for the dinner though won't you?"

"Yes, I told you I will. I'll drop the kids of with Hermione and meet you there about eight —"

"Seven," Ginny corrected, laying the blanket over him.

"Seven, yeah. I'll be there Gin, trust me."

Harry thumped the pillow with his fist and buried his head in the soft down. Pulling the blanket up tight around his chin, he hoped that tonight he might get some sleep. As he heard Ginny retreat to their bedroom he slipped his hand inside his shirt. The scar was still sore to the touch, and he could feel the outline of the name under his fingertips.

'Lucius'

With the all the children now steaming their way toward a new school year the platform seemed rather quiet. Deep in contemplation Harry followed silently along behind Ginny and Hermione. Ron was talking by his side but Harry couldn't hear him, couldn't concentrate on anything other than that which was bubbling just beneath the surface of his thoughts.

The lightning scar on his forehead had not troubled him for nineteen years. Voldemort was long gone. All was well.

Harry chuckled.

"You say something mate?" Ron asked.

"Just thinking."

"No, don't tell me that," Ron looked horrified, "The last time you said you were 'just thinking' we ended up traipsing around in the desert just outside Luxor. I don't care what Bill says about Egypt—cursed mummies and tombs are not my idea of fun."

"We're not going to Egypt, Ron."

"Good. I was still getting sand out of my ar..."

"Ron, we're not going."

"Good, I don't care if I hear the names Ra, Set or that snake one ever again."

"Mehen," Harry said, suddenly realising where he had seen that snake before.

On a ancient wooden table, taking pride of place in Malfoy's Dark Arts Emporium sat a small circular board game. The circles carved into its surface, each getting smaller and smaller. The lion game pieces sitting beside. A simple game with no rules

"Mehen? Whatever. Anyway, are we going to tell Neville about those Mutating Mongolian Magnolia's that have been spotted outside Edinburgh?" Ron asked

"Try saying that ten times fast," Harry joked, patting Ron on the shoulder as he pondered what it all meant.

Yes all was well; he had a loving family, a great job and wonderful friends. Everything was just the way it should be. What more could he ask for?

"Malfoy. What's he still doing here?" Ron groaned, as they reached the top of the stairs.

Draco stood alone by the entrance to the station, it was one of the few times that Harry could remember that hey had all been in the same place at the same time since Hogwarts.

"Potters, Weasleys."

"What do..." Ron began, but Draco quickly cut him off.

"Auror Potter, if I may have a word in private."

Ginny gave his hand a squeeze, gentle at first then hard enough to let Harry know she was not happy.

"I'll see you at home tonight, I think we need to have that talk."

Harry stared after her as she and Hermione walked up the street on their way to Diagon Alley.

"What did she mean by that talk?" Ron asked.

"No idea," Harry replied, quietly dreading whatever it was.

"Potter, when you're quite ready." Draco said, looking decidedly put out by having to be there.

After a 'don't trust him' look from Ron, Harry crossed the pavement to where Draco stood.

"I was going over the files that you sent me and I..." Draco lowered his voice, "was wondering if you'd like to go back to your office and fuck me over your desk."

"You what!" Harry spluttered.

"Alright, Harry?" Ron asked, starting to move towards them.

"Yes, everything is okay, Ron," Harry said, shying him away.

Ron glared, not so much at him but at Draco.

"My wife was just standing over there," Harry said, through clenched teeth.

"So she was," Draco said, raised a hand and waved up the street in the direction of a rapidly disappearing Ginny, "and you are still under the delusion that she does not know about us."

"I am not delusional." Harry hissed.

Harry heard footsteps.

"I'm fine Ron. Nothing I can't take care of."

"You're sure; cause I can hex him if you want?"

"I can take care of myself, Ron." Harry said, tapping his wand sheath.

Ron glanced from him to Draco.

"Well hurry up, we've got to get to work and there's those reports and the Magnolia's and the, er, the..."

"Don't let your mind wander Weasley; it's too small to be let out on its own." Draco said, pulling his wand from its sheath.

"Alright, this has been a long time coming, Malfoy. You and me, right here, right now!" Ron said, his hand also reaching for his wand.

"Ron! Stop!" Harry yelled.

"Harry, if he wants to dance—let him." Draco stepped backward, wand drawn in an offensive stance.

For the briefest of moments Harry considered letting them go at it, but people were beginning to stare. People do not point sticks at each other in the Muggle world, and they most certainly do not attempt to hex one another or cast any other type of spell. Well at least they don't do it in a busy street in London.

"Will you two look where at you are. I'm going to have to have Murray and his team come down here and adjust all these memories," Harry said, looking around the busy street then glaring back at them. "I'll also have to explain to the Minister why I had to do it; I don't like explaining anything to Percy— ever."

"But Harry, I want to wipe the smirk of that smarmy git's face once and for all." Ron pleaded, putting his wand away.

"I'd like to see you try." Draco said, turning up the corner of his lip making Ron go a curious shade of red and begin fumbling for his wand once more.

"Draco!" Harry exclaimed, getting tired of this childishness.

"What?" Draco tried his best 'but I'm innocent look' whilst trying to hide a smile.

"Can you please..."

"What?" Draco asked again, stepping right up to Harry, grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him close. "Can I please what? Kiss you?"

"Draco, don't..."

"Harry," Ron gulped.

"Only if you want me too?" Draco said.

"Please." Harry repeated, unsure now what exactly he was trying to stop or start.

"My pleasure," Draco said, leant forward and gently pressed his lips against Harry's

They were right there, in the middle of the street, where everyone could see—Muggles, Wizards and best friends.

And it was wonderful, Harry felt this dull ache in his chest and curled his arms around Draco's waist, falling into the kiss like he had done many times before. Only this time it was different. There was no pretense over naming the dead, no, this was most certainly different. There was no need for magic or scars because it was all right here. No need for stupid necklaces or hiding in plain sight. This was out of the shadows, out in the open. Free of whatever shackles were holding him, Harry's hands slid up Draco's back. Fingers knotted in blond hair, as the kiss is returned with fervour.

"Harry." Draco murmured, as if the mere mention of his name could hold him in place.

"Harry?" Ron 's voice cracked and splintered through the air.

Pulling back, seeing the blush spread across Draco's perfect white skin, watching him smile —actually smile, Harry realised that now would be a good time to leave.

"I'll see you at work, Ron." Harry grinned.

"But... But... Kiss—Malfoy—you—kiss... But..." Ron's mouth was moving and sounds were coming out but clearly what he had just witnessed had caused his brain to shut down.

Before Ron could take any drastic measures, like hex Draco into the next century, Harry grasped Draco's and Apparated them into the toilets above the Ministry. As Draco began to argue they were flushed down to the Atrium and Harry began dragging him through the crowd of Ministry workers and officials toward the lift that descended to his office. The ride in the down was one of the more enjoyable ones that Harry had taken, he'd never thought it possible that you could get hard between the ground floor and second floor but he did. Bursting out into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement they did a weird sort of push, pull, drag, as they both fought for the upper hand.

"You alright, Mister Potter?" Sloper shouted from his desk.

"Fine, I'm—oh, fuck!" Harry gasped as Draco's hand slid inside the front of his trousers, and he kissed him just three feet from the door to his office in plain view of his entire Department.

"I'm fine, Jack. Just hold all my calls and cancel all my meetings for the next hour," Harry said.

"Three hours," Draco corrected, giving him a playful squeeze.

"I'm busy the rest of the day." Harry shouted, barelling them through the door.

The smell of parchment and coffee filled the room, and whatever cologne it was that Draco was wearing which, Harry admitted, was quite pleasant.

"Just what the fuck was that all about?" Harry demanded, pressing Draco up against his table, loosening his tie and undoing his shirt buttons.

"I just wanted to see where my boundaries are," Draco smiled, sliding a stack of files onto the floor and sitting back on Harry's oak desk.

"Boundaries?"

"If I'm going to become Minister for Magic—"

"You are not going to become the Minister—" Harry interjected, hands now roaming freely over Draco's smooth chest, tracing spider web like lines down over his torso.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"When I become Minister I just want you to know, I'm keeping you on as Head Auror."

Harry found that he now had his leg between Draco's and his fists were balled in his shirt, silk as usual. For two years now Draco had been heading the Department of Ministerial Integrity, reporting to no one but Harry. As the only people who knew who consisted that Department and of Draco's whereabouts in the Ministry at any given time, Harry could not understand why he insisted on dressing like he was going to a night at the opera. Fur-trimmed knee-length coat, silk shirt and cravat, leather gloves—it was all just show. It seemed that everything Draco did, every step he took, every scar he made, it was all just for...

Him?

"Where do you get off..." Harry began, mouth mere inches from Draco's

"I was imagining right here." Draco said, without a hint of sarcasm.

"You arrogant—"

"—git?" Draco smiled, took Harry by the back of the neck and pulled him down onto the desk.

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and other Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her associated businesses. The Harry/Draco World Cup and its participants make no claim upon them.