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Harry gasped as pain coursed through him, the tent blurring around him. Dimly he registered Hermione grabbing onto his arm, her voice worried as she called his name, and Ron sounding much calmer in the background. Disgust and shame and fear filled him, but they were distant, the way Voldemort’s emotions had been when he’d still been able to feel them, but he hadn’t felt that for over a year, since Voldemort had slammed their connection shut, and beside it didn’t feel like Voldemort. There was no pain in his scar, for one thing, and for another underneath all of the horror there was…compassion, there was remorse, there was longing for peace…and there was magic, wild, impulsive magic flowing through it all. Harry blinked as the wave of emotion at last began to subside, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked up at the other two.
“Bloody hell of a time for that,” Ron remarked. “Any idea who?”
Harry stared at him, but it was Hermione who asked the question. “What do you mean, ‘who’?”
Ron looked somewhat taken aback. “That was a soulbonding, wasn’t it?” he asked, starting to look less sure of himself. “You connected to someone?”
Harry blinked again. “What’s a soulbonding?”
Ron looked between him and Hermione, who was also looking perplexed. “Well, it’s when your soul bonds to someone else’s, isn’t it?” he said. “Something happens, usually, that makes sure your destinies or whatever are going to cross, and then after that you have this bond, and you can get glimpses of their emotions, sometimes, or track where they are, and call for help if you really need it. There’s other things it can do too, I think, if you know what you’re doing. Mum used some of her bond with Dad to make our clock somehow.”
“And this is just…just common knowledge?” Hermione said, gaping at him. “And no one thinks to tell the muggle-borns about it?!”
Ron’s ears went bright red. “I…I thought you at least knew, ‘Mione,” he said.
“Why would I know?” she exclaimed. “How was I supposed to have known even if it happened to me?”
Ron’s whole face went the way of his ears. Hermione’s eyes widened. “Did you…have you…?”
“How do I figure this out?” Harry interjected desperately. “If they can track me, that could be bad. How do I know who it is?”
“I don’t think there’s a way to tell, at least from a distance,” Ron said thoughtfully. “You’d have to figure it out from being around them, unless something drastic happens and you need them.”
“But you said something happens to trigger it,” Hermione said. “And we were just sitting here.”
“Yeah, so something probably happened on their end,” Ron said. He shrugged. “I know you can fight it, kind of. I don’t think they’ll be able to use it to track you unless you let them, unless you trust them already.”
“You don’t seem very sure,” Hermione admonished.
Ron shrugged again.
“It’s the best we’ve got,” Harry sighed. “I guess we’ll deal with it when we have to.”
“Your father would not be pleased to hear of this,” Snape said silkily from across the Headmaster’s desk.
Draco bit back a retort. What he’d give to never have to worry about his father’s approval again. “I’m sure I could get it with a few more tries,” he said, pushing back the nausea at the thought of trying to crucio another first year. “There was…it was hard to focus.”
“Are you so sure?” Snape asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “This is not the first time you have demonstrated a…shall we say, lack of predisposition, for the methods of the Dark Lord.”
Maybe that’s because I shouldn’t be serving him! Draco snapped mentally, though he kept his face impassive and his occlumency shields firmly in place. “Yes,” he said stubbornly.
“Hmm.” Snape’s gaze bored into his, and Draco met it defiantly, feeling the mental war beginning. He used his disgust and outrage and horror at the things he’d done and was still expected to do to shore up his defenses, trying to poison Snape’s attacking thoughts. If I had any way to be free, I’d take it, Draco thought harshly. If I could keep him from tracking my Mark, from finding me again or hurting my mother…suddenly something deeper than any legilimency he’d ever known pierced him, filling him with exhaustion and desperation but something warm, too, like people suddenly cared about him, worried that something bad might be happening to him. He gasped for breath, clutching the arms of his chair, and looked up to see Snape eyeing him curiously.
“Are you aware of what has just happened?” Snape asked evenly.
“What did you do to me?” Draco snarled.
Snape’s eyebrows rose. “I did nothing,” he said. “But it appears your resolve is genuine, if it has tied your soul to another’s.”
“My soul?” Draco repeated indignantly. “But soulbonds are children’s tales!”
A flicker of amusement crossed Snape’s face before he regained his composure. “They are beneath the acknowledgement of most of our kind, at least in public,” he corrected. “They do not take into account values such as status or blood purity, and even when a match is otherwise favorable, it is considered vulgar for such a bond to play a role in a betrothal contract.”
“It doesn’t matter, then,” Draco said.
Snape inclined his head. “It can be suppressed so that it does not, yes, beyond an annoyance,” he said. “Your skills in occlumency should make such suppression an easy task. It will, after all, supersede any other magical bonds you possess, including those in your blood that tie you to your family, and that of your Mark that ties you to the Dark Lord, if you do not keep it in check. I trust I do not have to say anything further about why it is then essential that you do so.”
“No, sir,” Draco said, his mind racing with the possibilities. “I understand.”
Snape eyed him critically for a long moment, and then nodded sharply. “See that you do. You are dismissed. Steer clear of Alecto for the rest of the day, if you can.”
“Yes, sir,” Draco said automatically, and slipped away towards the Slytherin dorms, thinking hard.
Draco was sitting in front of the common room fire when he next felt the bond. He couldn’t explain how, exactly, he knew that it was the bond, but it was. It was panic and desperation and Draco’s magic flared up, wanting to lash out to do everything it could to lay that panic to rest. Hurriedly, he stood, mumbling an excuse to Blaise’s questioning look, and nearly sprinted to his dormitory and shut himself in his curtains. Shaking, he tried to feel the bond with his magic, and discovered that it was tugging on him, and growing stronger by the second. Maybe this is it, he thought, maybe this is how I escape. If I can rescue them, whoever they are, then they’ll owe me, and they can override my other bonds, and…desperation flared again through the bond, and Draco gave himself over to it. The world warped around him, and he was hurdling and contorting through dark space, and then he hit icy water on the other side.
He clamped his mouth shut as he tried to take in what was happening around him. There was someone else in the water, flailing, with a glowing gold chain around their--his, Draco realized, taking in the figure’s shirtless form, neck. There was a sword near his feet, and Draco dived for it, wondering vaguely at the red gems that glittered in the light from the glowing chain, and thrust it through the loop of chain and yanked. The chain broke, and Draco threw the sword backward into the water behind him before scooping up the figure in front of him, who had gone limp, and kicking off and upwards. They broke the surface with a sputter, and Draco pushed the other man out and up, facedown onto the snowbank, catching his own breath and feeling relief course through him as he heard him begin to splutter and cough. Wordlessly, he summoned both the sword and the necklace, carefully not touching either as he directed them into the snow.
A great gasp sounded behind him, and Draco turned, hurrying back to the figure, who was trying unsuccessfully to brace himself and get up. “Don’t be stupid,” Draco snapped. “More stupid than you’ve already been, I mean. You nearly got both of us killed!”
The figure froze, and Draco frowned, mentally berating himself. He took a deep breath. “At least don’t push yourself until you’re actually recovered,” he said, trying to put a softer edge into his voice, but it didn’t ease any of the tension in the other man’s shoulders.
“Oh, just lie still,” Draco huffed, marching over and pushing him onto his side.
Wide green eyes underneath a pale scar stared up at him, and it was Draco’s turn to freeze.
Harry scrambled back, his coughs redoubling.
“Wait!” Draco called. “I don’t want to go back, you have to help me!”
Harry stopped, a range of emotions flickering across his face.
Draco stumbled forward. “I know I’ve messed up, Potter, I know I’ve done awful things, and I was even proud of some of it, but I didn’t…Father never made it sound like…Merlin, I’m just…I’m doomed, aren’t I? It’s too late for me, and you’re right, you can’t keep me around, and I have to go back, he can track me…”
“Wait,” Harry called softly, and Draco turned back to him, scarcely daring to hope. Harry was looking at him anguishedly. “I believe you,” he said. “I can feel it, feel you, but you’re right, the risks, if he can track you through that…” his eyes fell on Draco’s exposed arm, and Draco fought the urge to hide it, knew that hiding it wouldn’t stop it from being the one thing in his way, now, the one thing stopping him from escaping into those bright green eyes…He twitched as the Mark on his arm grew red hot, but it wasn’t burning black the way it normally did when he summoned them…no, he thought, looking at it, he could feel the soulbond, his bond to Potter, he reminded himself now, surging, and there was a sickly gray haze rising from his arm, and the edges of the Mark looked they were fraying, and then the Mark was disintegrating before his eyes, and then it was gone, leaving nothing but an angry red welt, but even that was paling now, healing over as he watched. He let out a breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and looked up.
Green eyes, much closer than they had been the last time Draco had seen them, met his, a mixture of defiance and triumph and something else intense in them. They flicked downwards, and Draco felt a thin, cold hand close around his arm, its fingers rubbing gently over the spot where his Mark had been. The top of Harry’s fringe brushed against Draco’s forehead as he tilted his head to study the area. Draco’s breath caught at the closeness, and Harry looked back up at him at the sound, eyes wide as though surprised to find Draco’s face so close to his, even though he had been the one to close the distance between them. The magic between them felt like it was beating, driving both of their hearts to a single rhythm, and Draco closed the remaining distance.
He felt Harry’s breath hitch as their lips touched, but then his hand around Draco’s arm tightened, and his lips were pushing back, and their bond was alive, both of their magics flowing freely between them. What felt simultaneously like forever and too soon they broke apart, and Draco panted slightly as he caught his breath, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face.
Harry stared back at him, eyes wondering. “You mean it?” he breathed, his voice barely audible above the sounds of the breeze and of Draco’s heart pounding in his ears. “You’re with us now? With me? For…”
“For good, as long as you’ll have me,” Draco whispered. He turned the arm that Harry was still holding, sliding it back to hold Harry’s hand in his.
Harry smiled, and Draco nearly melted with relief. “Of course I will,” he said. “We're in this together now.”