Snape’s lips pressed into a thin line. “For now.”
For now wasn’t reassuring in the slightest.
Draco’s breath hitched, and Harry watched as his hands curled into fists at his sides. His blond brows knit together, eyes sharp and narrowed. Even with frustration tightening his jaw and tension straining him, he was effortlessly stunning—cheekbones carved so perfectly, plump, pink lips pressed into a frown that only made him look more noble, more untouchable. Merlin, even in anger, Draco was utterly captivating.
“What does that mean?” Draco demanded. “What’s happening to them?”
Snape’s gaze flickered, unreadable as ever, but something about his posture—rigid, tense—gave Harry the impression he wasn’t one to lie. “Your father is being… persuaded to provide the Dark Lord with your whereabouts.”
Draco sucked in a sharp breath, his face draining of color.
“Tortured,” Harry said flatly, because that’s what Snape meant, and there was no point pretending otherwise.
Snape inclined his head slightly. “Yes.”
Draco took a step back, his arms wrapping around himself. “And my mother?”
“She is of no use to him,” Snape answered. “Not yet. But she is a hostage, make no mistake. Your father’s pain is as much about breaking him as it is about ensuring your mother does not attempt anything foolish.”
Draco’s face twisted, something unreadable brewing in his eyes. His jaw clenched so tightly that Harry swore he could hear his teeth grinding.
“We have to get them out,” Draco said suddenly, his voice clipped and shaking at the same time. “I have to—”
“No.” Snape and Sirius both responded.
Sirius eyed Snape before continuing. "Don't be reckless, you'll do more harm then good."
“Reckless?” Draco snapped, eyes burning with fury. “That’s my family, I can't just stand by.”
“And you are more useful to them alive and free,” Snape countered, his voice remaining steady, cold even, almost as if he didn't care. “Rushing into the manor now would be signing your own death warrant.”
Draco scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “So I should just sit here while he tears my father apart?”
“Your father knew the risks,” Snape said, his voice quieter, but firm. “And he is enduring them so that you remain safe.”
Draco let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I was willing to do anything just to protect them. I was ready to take the Dark Mark and k-kill Dumbledore just to stay safe. I don't care."
Harry stepped closer, his fingers itching to reach out but stopping just short. “Draco,” he said carefully, “I get it. But Professor Snape is right. You charging in there is exactly what Voldemort wants. He’ll use your parents to lure you out, maybe even kill them after he gets you.”
Draco squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body shaking with frustration. Harry could feel the weight pressing down on him, could see the war raging inside his head.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” Draco’s voice cracked, and it nearly broke something in Harry. “Just wait? Hope he doesn’t decide to kill them anyway?”
Snape exhaled slowly. “You trust me,” he said simply. “I will do what I can.”
Draco opened his eyes, glaring at him with nothing short of raw, burning fury. “That’s not enough.”
Snape didn’t flinch, didn’t move, but something shifted in his expression—difficult to name.
“I am responsible for you,” he said quietly. "As your godfather, your safety is what's important to me. I decide that."
"That's not fair!" Draco snapped, his voice thick with rage. "Everyone makes decisions for me! Father chose to serve the Dark Lord, without a care for the consequences, and now Mother and I have to bear the cost. She just follows whatever he does, so I can't say no because she can't refuse him anything. I'm nothing but a pawn for the Dark Lord. And then Dumbledore decides who I’m supposed to mate with and when. Everyone tells me to be a good son, a good Omega, and take it. My whole life, you all think you have the right to choose for me. I don't care anymore, not a damn bit!"
Harry’s chest tightened hearing Draco’s words. He wasn’t just angry—he was aching, drowning in a sense of helplessness that Harry knew all too well. When he saw Cedric die and almost lost Sirius as well--no, Draco was not going to experience anything like that. His fingers twitched at his sides, the Alpha in him screaming to do something, to fix this, to steady Draco before he shattered completely.
"Think for a moment." Snape snapped. "You are a Slytherin, think like one."
Draco turned away sharply, taking steps away from the group, breathing hard. “I have to do something. I won’t just sit here like a bloody coward while he—”
“Stop.” Harry’s voice rumbled low, deep, slipping into a register he hadn’t fully meant to use, but it worked. His Alpha voice.
Draco stiffened, his breath hitching and eyes widening as he looked up, and Harry took the opportunity to step forward, closing the space between them.
"What are you doing?" Draco snarled, trying to pull away from Harry's grip. No. Now was not the time for Harry to play Alpha, he had bigger concerns.
Draco clenched his jaw, willing himself to fight against the instinctive pull to submit, but Harry was already reaching for him, already pressing a firm hand just beneath his jaw—right over his scent gland--and pressed down.
Draco inhaled sharply, his body relaxing, every muscle giving out as Harry’s warmth bled into him. Harry's arms found Draco's waist and leveled him, allowing the elder to lean against him. Draco's instincts urged him to lean into the touch, to breathe in, to listen.
Harry’s grip was steady. “Calm down,” he commanded softly, his breath brushing against Draco’s temple.
Draco shivered, hating that the tone of voice worked. He relaxed further against the Alpha, unable to help himself from laying his head near Harry's neck. Everything was so fuzzy and blurry. Nothing mattered, not when Harry's hands began to stroke his hair, brushing gently through the blond locks.
He gritted his teeth, forcing out, “I am calm.”
Harry hummed, unconvinced, his fingers applying just the slightest bit of pressure. “Then stop shaking.”
Draco swallowed hard. His hands were trembling at his sides, something he hadn’t even realized. It made him furious, knowing he was unable to hide his anger, always expressing it through pitiful actions and unnecessary whining. Weak, Bellatrix would constantly remind him after his brutal lessons. It made him want to shove Harry away just to prove a point—but he couldn’t move.
Snape’s nostrils flared in obvious irritation. “Potter, release him.”
Sirius, from where he leaned against the wall, snorted. “Oh, come off it. Let Harry do his thing.” His tone was breezy, but Harry didn’t miss the way his body had gone oddly still. "Though it is rather uncomfortable to watch what should be a private moment. . ."
Snape shot him a glare, then turned back to Harry with something close to disgust. “This is manipulative.”
“This is helping,” Harry corrected, not looking away from Draco.
"An Alpha's pheromones are the best way to calm him down." Sirius told Snape, who sneered.
"Yet the Alpha voice is too overwhelming, especially for an Omega whose instincts have been buried for years."
Sirius's gaze landed on Draco. "Is that true?" He asked, shaking his head with something akin to disbelief. "Cissy would never allow that, she knows how damaging it is."
"Scent patches," Harry supplied helpfully. His voice was thick with want, reacting to the Omega in his hold. It was hard to ignore. "Not suppressants."
Draco let out a sharp breath and closed his eyes for a second, overwhelmed by the conversation happening around him. For a moment, all Draco could focus on was the light brush of Harry's fingers against his hair and the heat radiating from the Alpha's broad chest. Draco used to fall asleep in his father's arms when he was a child, to be stroked to a peaceful sleep by his mother's touch. It was nice, a reminder, something easy to lose himself in. Yes, Harry did care. When he opened them again, the wildness had dimmed, replaced by something calmer.
Harry could see the shift—the Omega instincts settling, making way for Draco’s mind to take control. It was fast, as if nothing happened before.
Draco exhaled through his nose, shoulders rolling back. “Fine,” he said bitterly.
Harry blinked. "Fine what?"
"Are you dense, Potter?" Snape snapped. "Or do you utter things which your brain does not comprehend? You told him to stay, no?"
Sirius glared at Snape. Before he could cut in, Draco continued. “I won't go but I’m not sitting here and doing nothing.”
Harry gave a slow nod, finally releasing his hold on Draco, watching as Draco let out a sigh—but he didn’t step away. “What do you have in mind?”
Draco’s eyes darkened. “If the Dark Lord thinks my parents are still useful, he won’t kill them yet. Which means we have time. Not much, but enough.” He glanced at Snape. “You still have access to the manor?”
Snape hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “Limited.”
Draco’s lips pressed together, his mind working fast. “Then we use that. We make sure he keeps thinking my parents are valuable and that they could get to me. We feed him misinformation—keep him guessing, keep him thinking he needs them. That buys us enough time to get them out.”
"I don't get it. . ." Harry said quietly enough that only Draco heard him.
Sirius tilted his head, intrigued. “And how do you propose we do that?”
Draco’s eyes gleamed. “We give him something better.”
Harry crossed his arms, studying Draco carefully. “What kind of misinformation?”
Draco exhaled sharply, his mind racing. “The Dark Lord wants loyalty, but he values results even more. The key is making sure he believes they know something he needs—something he can’t afford to lose.”
Snape’s gaze sharpened. “And what, exactly, do you plan to convince him they know?”
Draco lifted his chin. “A false lead on Potter. Or me.”
Harry stiffened immediately. “Absolutely not—”
Draco cut him off with a glare. “It won’t be you, just the idea of you. We make him think my father has useful intelligence about your whereabouts, but he needs more time to piece it together. Or, through the letters I'd exchange with him.” Draco’s voice gained momentum as the plan solidified in his mind. “Something vague enough that the Dark Lord will want to keep him alive but not enough to make him impatient. Then, I can exchange Owls with my parents and it wouldn't be suspicious."
Snape hummed, his expression unreadable. “And how do you suggest we feed him this information?”
Draco turned to him. “You still report to him, don’t you? You can act as if you overheard my mother and father discussing something—drop a hint, make it seem like my father is deliberately withholding information until he’s certain.”
Snape narrowed his eyes. “That will only delay the inevitable. He will eventually demand proof.”
Draco smirked, sharp and cunning. “Then we give him some. Not real proof, just enough to keep him running in circles. We plant traces—false trails leading nowhere.” He turned back to Harry. “We can use the Fidelius Charm to hide Order locations, but leak fake ones. If we make it convincing, he’ll keep searching. My parents would have time to leave and Dumbledore will know the Dark Lord's location.”
Harry frowned. “That’s risky. If he realizes the information is false—”
“He won’t, not if we do it right.” Draco’s jaw was set, unyielding. “We use Death Eater movements against them. Place traces of your magic in abandoned safe houses—make it look like you’ve been there. My letters will seem normal because the Malfoys have phrases only they understand. I can convey what I want without being understood.”
Sirius let out a low whistle. “Merlin, you really are a Slytherin through and through.”
Draco ignored that. “This won’t buy us forever, but it will buy us time. Enough time to smuggle my parents out before Voldemort catches on.”
Harry exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. It was reckless, it was dangerous—but it was clever. And Draco was right: Voldemort wouldn’t kill Lucius or Narcissa as long as he thought they were still valuable and had leads.
Snape, too, seemed to come to the same conclusion. He crossed his arms, his expression sour. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing.”
Draco met his gaze evenly. "There's nothing else to do."
===
Draco sat at a desk in the dim candlelight, quill poised between his fingers. Kreacher had supplied him with parchment paper and an envelope, assuring him that it would hide any magical trace. Every word had to be precise—coded just enough to slip past prying eyes, yet unmistakable to the ones who mattered. The faint scrape of the quill against parchment was the only sound in the room, save for Harry’s steady breathing behind him.
He started writing.
Dearest Mother,
I hope you are well and trust that Father continues to uphold the family’s legacy, even in difficult circumstances. You have always taught me that patience is the key to navigating treacherous waters, and I have taken your lessons to heart. While I cannot return home at present, know that I have found shelter among those who hold me in high regard.
The peacock must be restless with the change in weather, but I know Father would not let them grow too bold. It is best to keep them preoccupied with misdirection, lest they start looking for food where none exists. If I were there, I might suggest moving them to the east garden—they always seem to linger there longer when there’s something worth watching.
As always, our family motto remains close to my heart. I hope to see you soon.
Draco
Draco leaned back, eyes scanning the letter critically. The wording was subtle but unmistakable. His father would understand the reference to the peacock—an old term Draco had used to discretely describe the Dark Lord in front of overeager Death Eaters. Keeping them preoccupied with misdirection? That was the key message. The east garden was a private space where, as a child, Draco had often gone to hide and listen to his parents when they needed to speak in confidence. It was code for a plan is in motion—wait for my signal. And, of course, our family motto—"Sanctimonia Vincet Semper." Purity will always conquer.
It was a way of saying We endure. We survive.
A deep exhale came from behind him. “Wow,” Harry muttered.
Draco turned, raising a brow. “What?”
Harry was watching him like he was something insane, dangerous and brilliant all at once. He shook his head, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re terrifying when you do that.”
Draco smirked. “When I do what?”
“When you’re smart like that. Calculated.” Harry leaned against the desk, eyes glinting in the candlelight. “It’s kind of hot.”
Draco’s smirk deepened. “I've always been a genius, took you long enough to find that out.”
Harry watched as Draco carefully melted wax over the envelope, pressing his family crest into the seal with practiced ease. There was something mesmerizing about it—how his fingers moved so precisely, how his mind worked so damn fast.
“You’re like Hermione,” Harry blurted, tilting his head. “Always making plans, sprouting random information, nose buried in a book. But, like, you're way more bratty.”
Draco turned, eyes narrowing in playful offense. “Oh? You have a type then?”
Harry wrinkled his nose immediately, as if the thought physically pained him. “Not like that,” he scoffed, and before Draco could make another snarky remark, Harry leaned in and kissed him—fast and firm
Draco barely had a second to react before Harry pulled back, eyes soft but amused. “Only you,” he murmured, watching the way Draco blinked at him, slightly dazed.
Merlin, that never got old.
Draco cleared his throat, regaining composure. “Right. Well. I am better than Granger, obviously.”
Harry huffed a small laugh. “Speaking of,” he said, shifting slightly, “is it alright if Hermione and Ron visit?”
Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. “Absolutely not.”
Harry gave him a look. “Draco.”
“No,” Draco repeated, nose wrinkling. “I already have to tolerate you—why should I willingly subject myself to Granger’s insufferable intellect and Weasley’s tragic table manners?”
"You do more than tolerate me," Harry huffed, stepping closer. “What if I make it worth your while?”
Draco raised a skeptical brow. “Bribery, really? Have some dignity.”
Instead of answering, Harry leaned in, fingers ghosting over Draco’s waist before tilting his chin up. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his lips—just enough to make Draco inhale sharply.
When he pulled back, Draco’s eyes were half-lidded, his breath uneven.
“Fine,” he muttered, barely managing to sound annoyed. “But if Weasley says one thing, I’m hexing him.”
Harry grinned. “You’ll survive.” Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he kissed him again.
Draco sniffed. “Doubtful. But if you kiss me like that again, I might be persuaded to endure it.”
Harry didn’t need telling twice.
