The Beginning
"It is necessary for the safety of my son that he be taken out of Hogwarts immediately," Lucius said with a tone of austerity. Severus watched as his godson paled at his father's requisition and reached aimlessly for Harry—who accompanied Draco at his request. Without approval from the headmaster, Lucius straightened out his robes and turned to his son. "Come now. Draco. There is a carriage waiting for us."
"No."
The single syllable was delivered with severe mutiny. It was very much out of character for Draco to have so firm a thought that everyone, including Severus, looked to him with utter shock. Even Lucius's semblance of indissoluble will faltered ever so slightly.
"Draco, my son, you are much too young to concern yourself with your own well-being. I assure you, I do wish for you to continue as you are, but due to unforeseen circumstances, I cannot possibly keep you so far from me."
Draco stood resolutely in his spot on the carpet and turned his head away from his approaching father. "No," he said again, much louder this time. "You cannot force me to do anything. I very much wish to stay and complete the school year and the years following."
"Have you any idea how dangerous this is all becoming? My son, I am not asking you if you wish to stay; I demand you come home with me. I've already bid Miss Clarke to gather your belongings."
Severus observed ever so cautiously an inner suffering in Lucius, and he guessed it must've pained him to make his son very unhappy. Severus, too, hated to see Draco blind to the fruitlessness of his newfound courage. And Severus wished for Draco to stay too, for both his sake and the task at hand. But learning of the plots against his godson from Lucius, he knew that even the task was of secondary importance to Draco's own safety. And with that resolution, Severus stood submissive to Lucius's orders, willingly allowing his godson to be stripped of his life at Hogwarts if it meant his safety. And it drove a stake into his heart to see Draco now, shaking his head and on the verge of tears.
"Severus will let me stay, won't he?" The poor boy turned to him in a moment of pitiful desperation, and a beautifully crafted tea moved alone down the pallor of his cheek. "Please, Severus. Will you, too, rid me of my happiness? Will you, too, allow my attained bliss to become but a memory?"
"It's for your safety," began Severus before he was interrupted with an irrepressible cry from Draco's lips.
The boy grabbed the nearest vase and threw it against the wall, where a confetti of shards rained upon the nearest being—the headmaster—and from it erupted a sound so great that everyone in the room leapt from their flesh.
"Was it not you who bid me here?!" Draco scolded his father with a tone so severe, he would surely send his mother into a panic if he ever repeated it in the manor. "I haven't the age and mind to concern myself with physical safety; those were your words! Then if I am much too young to attend a school privately as I have been, then I suppose I am much too young to do the bidding of the Lord? If it is merely my well-being that concerns you, then lock me forever in a satin-cushioned room so I may rot with indecision and stupidity. Is that what you wish to make of me, father? A mule for your bidding and a vault for your inheritance? I wholly reject it, and I'll hate you both for it!" After his castigation, Draco succumbed to a pitiful surrender to his sorrow, turned to Harry, threw himself onto his friend, and wept.
Lucius did not demand proper conduct—such was always the case when Draco so much stepped a millimeter out of line—and watched with immense sadness as his son bid farewell to his only friend. Severus too regretted it. But all children failed to see the darkness of their situation, which is why Draco's age served most of mankind some of the happiest years of their existence. Albus's eyes met Severus's, and in them was a flash of panic. Panic as you wish, headmaster. If there are ministry officials here scouting opportunities to slaughter an innocent child, then your panic is ill-placed, thought Severus, looking away in an instant.
"One more night," said Lucius suddenly. Draco pulled away from Harry and faced his father with his tear-stained visage. "I will allow you to spend one more night here however you wish. Let me request Harry watches over you, my dear son, and ensure that you remain untouched and unharmed until tomorrow. A carriage will receive you promptly at seven in the morning."
Draco, still utterly mortified to have been removed from Hogwarts, seemingly held onto this offer with all that he was, for he'd begun immediately counting his seconds. Ere another minute passed, Draco raced out of the office, still weeping, hand in hand with Harry.
"Reconsider, sir," Albus said calmly, wearing his best showman smile. "Your son is happy here. There is not a place safer than Hogwarts."
"Do not lie to me," Lucius growled. "Someone has let it slip that there are certain staff members with a watchful eye and a tongue that serve the minister. Had I known you were as deceptive as you are, my son would have never stepped foot in this wretched place! Now, I bid you farewell." With that, he turned on his heel and left the room with as much anger as he'd entered.
"Oh, what a predicament," sighed Albus woefully, falling helplessly onto a sofa nearby. "Now this complicates everything!"
"Indeed! Should you have continued to hide the fact Fudge had planted spies here at this school to feed the whereabouts of my son to his cronies in hopes of being rid of him, I would soon no longer have a godson!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Severus. I wouldn't have let any of them actually hurt the boy. After all, we need him," Albus said matter-of-factly.
"Need him? Have you a heart? I do not care if the task fails and the world burns because of it; I shall not stand idly by and let you lead my boy to destruction! No, if Draco wishes to help us, then he does so on his own terms. No more testing, spying, and meddling. In him is a beating heart and a soul."
"Indeed! A soul crafted by dark magic! That boy is nothing but a casing, and the sooner you realize this, Severus, the sooner we—"
"A casing!" Severus's face boiled with rage. "A casing?! So you've reduced him to an object! It is no wonder why you could easily trample his psyche and mask it with the awe of his power!"
Albus opened his mouth to speak, but Severus stopped him with the draw of his wand against his wrinkled throat. "Let's not turn on each other, Severus. We are on the same side, mind you."
"No, we are not; it seems we never have been.
What terribly tragedy had befallen Draco's poor heart. But he could not bear to think of tomorrow when his present was entirely Harry. Oh, my dear Harry! The deep breathing of his friend and the warmth of his presence only made the now sweeter and the soon bitter. The two boys sat wordlessly beside each other—their shoulders touching and their hands eagerly adjacent—at the end of Draco's bed. Not a candle was lit save the hearth at the end of the room; the fire was nearly gone and all it could do was pop an ember. It was just the two of them in the deathly silence, swallowed partially by darkness.
Draco could not change his father's mind; he knew it the moment he'd finished his begging. When he was a child and felt for something with genuine passion, his father would falter after a single askance of his, serving him without thinking twice about it. That was how Draco understood he was of some importance to his father, for his father never listened to anyone save himself and his mother. But now, when Draco had both denied and begged, to see his father's austerity and immovable deliverance was but an odd moment where Draco was certain he'd lost. And of his fit, he was terribly embarrassed; Harry had not mentioned it, but Draco blushed to think his friend thought him ghastly. In a nasty part of his heart, Draco wondered if both this incident today and nearly ridding Harry of sanity could have perhaps produced a certain calm in the boy. Would he be glad to see me go? Draco buried his face in his hand and wept unapologetically next to Harry.
"Don't cry," said Harry in a hurried whisper. There were two firm hands placed there on Draco's tremulous shoulders. "You're acting like I'll never see you again."
"Will I?"
"Yes, of course!"
Draco removed his tear-soaked face from his hands and looked pitifully at Harry. "How am I to be certain of it? Perhaps I've deluded myself to believe I am of the same importance as you are to me. No, of it I am certain, but may I rely on the meek idea that you truly adore me? That you will not rejoice the moment I leave and burn my letters in an open fire, laughing at my naivety?"
Harry's eyes widened momentarily, and in them was an odd reticence and a horror of being discovered. The look brought upon Draco an intense confusion and anxiety so intense that he felt liable to cry again. "I must be a rubbish friend if you think I won't miss you at all."
"No! Not at all! But I find you to be infinitely better than I in all aspects of life! How could someone as great as you possibly find friendship in someone who's barely lived? My conversations are mere quotations; my entire being is nothing but a fabrication of some ideal I do not wholly understand. I have yet to become who I was supposed to be—someone who I desperately hope you wish to be friends with forever. I'm afraid my leaving will stifle the fire inside of me and extinguish it completely."
"What sort of fire?"
"The sort that could melt the skin off my bones and warm a thousand good men," Draco whispered. The power of his words seemed to lift him in an unnatural high; he felt so much hatred toward his old ways, his old life; such a feeling could not have surfaced unless he'd been threatened by it. And threatened he certainly was. "Harry, I am so afraid of all that you've taught me, but for it I also rejoice. Have I been so terribly wrong to deem you lower than I? Have I been so blind? If you are indeed lower than I and your birth a disgrace, then how come you possess a character so gallant and chivalrous? You hate me, don't you? Do you hate me or do you forgive me? Surely, you must know I hold you highest above all else."
"I know," said Harry, and he smiled handsomely. Draco wished to wrap his arms around him and kiss him senseless then and there! Maybe he shall never see him again, and his mother would force a charmless woman onto his arm. Draco would never meet another like Harry, and maybe to kiss him would cure him of everything. "I never thought you were a bad person, Draco. Really." It seemed Harry had been speaking good words of him for a while, but Draco was much too fixated on the physical handsomeness before him.
"Oh, how handsome you are," Draco whispered. Upon his outward observation, he quickly stole his eyes away and took particular interest in his hands. "I should miss you very much," he added soon after. "Will you write?"
"Yeah," laughed Harry. "I'll write you every day. You'll come visit me someplace, right?"
"I'll break out of the manor if I have to."
"I've taught you well then."
"You've taught me everything."
Draco blushed again and glanced shyly at Harry. Those green eyes held him firmly in their gaze; its strong hand reached into his soul, seized it, and tossed it into a lofty height. There to be observed by such a handsome man, Draco believed himself to be the luckiest boy alive. Now, if he could just caress Harry's features—such that ought to have been made marble—and kiss him all over. Draco shuddered at the thought.
"I'll be so bored, you know," Harry groaned. He lay flat on the bed and stretched out his arms above his head, pulling his shirt upwards and revealing but a sliver of his bare abdomen. The sight of it sent jolts through Draco's nerves, and it took everything in him to not reach out and feel. What torture it is, thought Draco, to desperately want to touch him but bound by the invisible fetters of dogma.
"You'll have Granger and Weasley," said Draco, still staring at the exposed skin. "I think you'll be just fine."
"Just fine? I'll be insanely bored! I think I've gotten too used to having you around, and when you leave, it'll be weird."
Draco smiled adoringly. Then, struck with an idea, he stood and made for his bags that were packed and ready by the door. "I will leave you with something to remember me by," he said, thoroughly messing up the neat folding of his governess. "A sweater?"
"All of your clothes cost a fortune. If you give me your nice clothes, I'll ruin it in a day. Guaranteed," said Harry, laughing.
"Just try it, Harry." Draco tossed him a simple knitted sweater that was indeed handcrafted just for him.
"Alright." With one impressive motion, Harry removed his shirt and tossed it on the bed, seemingly uncaring about being exposed there before Draco, who now realized how it was his own stupidity that set this situation up for himself. He was sitting there on the floor beside his luggage, staring at the sun-kissed body of remarkable build. Blessed with broad shoulders and a healthy toning of muscle, Harry truly resembled the ideal of a man in his youth. There was no delicate curve of breasts and hips but rigid angles accustomed to masculine proportions. Suddenly, at such an overwhelming sight, he remembered what Granger had relayed to him just earlier. If Draco should choose to conform and reject his desires, he would indeed be very unhappy. And he dreaded to think of it now most of all: that he should never have the chance to be touched by a man the way it is expected he would a woman. In his chest was a terrible ache, and he'd become so filled with hatred towards himself for his defect and the fine consequences it came with.
So consumed by his inner turmoil, Draco did not notice for a while how shamefully small his sweater was on Harry. It was long about the arms, but the fabric pulled and stretched most unnaturally toward the shoulders. They both laughed at how foolish Harry looked standing there in such an ill-fitted sweater.
"I'd forgotten that I am thinner than you are," said Draco, looking for a better substitute for a souvenir.
"Just a bit, yeah," Harry chuckled and promptly removed the sweater, cringing every time a seam or stitch popped. "Sorry."
Draco picked a dainty silver chain from a velveteen casing and stood to present it to Harry. "A lovely piece, is it not? My father brought it back for me from a trip far off. I seldom wear it because I thought it was too plain for my liking. But I suppose that is its charm, for if one's character is romantic and ineffable, then a necklace ought not to stifle it with busy jewels and decoration. It is simple in appearance, but my image of it first perfectly with my adoration for you." Draco unclasped the silver hook, and, understanding immediately, Harry turned wordlessly.
Slowly, with a steady hand, Draco wrapped the chain around Harry's neck, his eyes hyperfixed on their proximity and how deliciously close he was to the warmth of Harry's skin. After his hands were without occupation, they hovered ever so tempted by the feel of Harry's shoulders.
"Thank you." Harry's lofty voice broke his trance, and thankfully, he'd been too preoccupied by the new accessory that he did not notice how manifestly enamored Draco had been. "I don't have anything nice to give you, though."
"May I have your sweater?" Draco asked quietly. "The red one?"
Harry shrugged and grabbed the hoodie he'd been wearing over his shirt and tossed it most unsuitably towards Draco. It was a burgundy red, work out at the cuffs, and in bright yellow letters was his last name and his Quidditch number on the back. Even if it were mere garbage at first sight with threads coming apart and a drawstring missing, Draco now deemed it the most valuable thing he owned and pressed it lovingly to his chest. Naturally, he was revisited with his previous sadness.
"I hate to give up these joys," said Draco quietly. "And perhaps it pains me just as much that you do not seem as melancholic as I am."
"Oh, believe me, I am." Harry approached him slowly. "But someone has to be optimistic, right? Could you imagine if I were sulking the same as you? We'd be wasting this moment feeling sorry for ourselves. Also, I don't expect you to disappear forever. Call me an idiot, but I half expect you to be spending the whole summer with me." When Draco did not perk up at the idea as he'd usually done—the sadness was much too intense—Harry grabbed him firmly by the waist, pulled him close, and embraced him tightly.
In an instant, the grief that had braced Draco with its bitter vigor evaporated and gave way to a tremendous bliss. Harry's arms were so tight around him, his hands gripping mightily at his shoulder and waist, Draco felt himself devoured by the affections his mind could only hope were romantic. And in that moment he felt utterly powerless, but he basked in the feeling. He wanted Harry to understand that he would do quite literally anything just to stay another second in his embrace. Draco pressed himself further into Harry's arms, trembling and unable to breathe and overcome with great emotion.
"If I should find it too unbearable, too suffocating, I will run away and find you," whispered Draco. "Will you let me?"
Harry nodded.
The evening carried on almost in ignorance of his imminent departure. Harry fell asleep beside him, sprawled out most improperly. If it hadn't been his last night, Draco would have surely kicked Harry awake and demanded he conduct himself properly. And to this, Harry would not oblige. His reasoning would be that Draco was too rigid in high society, and he'd tease him for being prissy. So, he merely watched as Harry slept, for he could not sleep; he would not dare allow slumber to steal even a second from this delicate moment with Harry.
The hours passed unbearably, and when the night was at its darkest, Draco found himself again in a deep depression. He grabbed hold of Harry's shoulder and shook him gently, whispering his name. But the boy was in no mood to wake; he turned onto his back, laid his arm out toward Draco, and muttered something incoherently.
"Pardon?"
"I said come here," he said. Draco looked with paranoia around the room and toward the windows, whose drapes were pulled shut. When he'd been reassured they were the sole occupants of the room, Draco slowly moved toward Harry and laid his head gently on his chest. With his arm, Harry pulled Draco into him, and with his other hand, he took Draco's hand and held it firmly against his chest.
If it weren't for his thundering heart, Draco would surely never sleep that night. But there was something so magical to be in Harry's arms; with the rhythmic beating of his heart and the steady rise and fall of his chest, Draco's grief-stricken insomnia was cured in an instant. That night, in the quietude of his room, Draco fell into a lovely slumber with a gentle smile of heavenly contentment upon his face. Surely Harry must adore me the very same way, thought Draco before he fell asleep. And in his dreams, he'd been the very same: entangled in the arms of his dear Harry, but this time, a kiss or two was gifted to him.
Early the next morning, Draco stood in the courtyard with his governess, who'd given him a peculiar look when he'd appeared with Harry carrying his luggage. Was it his Veiled head hung low that earned her attention? Or was it the hoodie he carried with its bright yellow letters labeling it at Harry's, or perhaps labeling himself as such? Nonetheless, Miss Clarke bowed and expressed her own sentiments on the matter. Draco was hardly listening to her and focused entirely on Harry.
"I'll write you as soon as I arrive home," promised Draco.
"Sounds good. I look forward to it." His reply was almost forced; Harry glanced wearily at Miss Clarke before he began to speak in a lower tone. "Do they read your letters?"
"No, I don't think so. But if I find that they are, I'm sure I could have Severus do my bidding," Draco promised. "He is loyal to me. Even if he is partly responsible for my misery today, I know he believes it is for my own good. You know how adults are, believing everything is justified by that sentiment."
"Yeah, I guess." Harry paused for a moment. "I'll miss you."
Draco blushed. "I shall miss you too, Harry."
From beyond the carriage came quickly; the coach, frantic to hasten Draco's onboarding, leapt from his seat before the horses had come to a full stop to begin helping Draco with his luggage. In a panic, Draco turned to Harry, and he stammered on his words, unsure what he could say to his friend with the little time they had left. Harry seemed to express the same sense of urgency, for he'd begun to fuss over the most irrelevant, trivial things.
"Are you sure you have everything?" He asked this multiple times, even after Draco assured him of it. "And your clothes? Your school supplies? Everything?"
"Worry not, Harry. I haven't forgotten anything," said Draco nervously.
"Come now, your grace." Miss Clarke beckoned him to the carriage. "Say your goodbyes. We are falling behind schedule."
Draco turned to Harry and stared at him for a while. "Tell me over and over again that you will miss me, Harry."
"I will miss you very, very much."
"With sincerity?"
"Yes. I really hate to see you go," whispered Harry, a bittersweet smile across his face. "I'll see you soon."
"Will you?"
Harry nodded. He took both of Draco's hands in his own and squeezed them tightly. "Very soon," he whispered.
"Dear Draco," Miss Clarke was saying, but Draco couldn't bear to leave the sensation that took hold of him just now.
"Come on, I'll help you up," said Harry; he led him toward the carriage and did not let go of his hand even as the door closed. Draco was half out of the window and held desperately onto his friend, wishing to say a word more about it all but simply unable.
Finally, when the coach slashed his reigns against the horses and they'd begun their march, Harry reluctantly released Draco's hand.
"Shut the window, Draco. You'll get a chill," she said, cautiously watching him.
When Harry was but a speck in the distance, Draco shut the door and leaned back in his seat, heavy with bereft. He brought the hoodie to his face, buried his senses with the scent of his friend, and wept for the entirety of the carriage ride home.
Severus knew his godson's arrival back at the manor would arouse deeply complicated feelings among the family. So, with only good intentions, he accepted dinner at the manor to palliate the heavy tension. Draco did not yet know who'd been staying with the Malfoys, and Severus could only imagine the horror that would become of him when he found out the Dark Lord reserved a special apartment in his home. According to Lucius, the Lord kept to himself, using only his study and seldom leaving his apartment. It was only during meetings did he join the master of the house at his main dining room with his subordinates. But Lucius confessed secretly to Severus that he'd been most unnerved by a particular excitement adopted by the Lord upon being notified Draco would return permanently. Lucius hadn't a clue what to do about his newfound paranoia, so he'd appointed Miss Clarke to attend to Draco at all times. She was to be in the neighboring room as he bathed and slept; other than those intimate instances, she was not to leave him unattended for a moment. Severus knew that this would drive Draco into a hysterical rage; to come back home from complete privacy and independence to being stifled with surveillance would drive any fifteen-year-old up the walls.
Severus dare not disagree with Lucius on the matter. After all, he, too, was troubled by the way the Lord spoke of the heir. It was not entirely dissimilar to the way Dumbledore would, as if the boy were a tool and easily disposable. Such could not be confirmed, however, and Lucius and Severus both knew for certain that the Lord would sooner kill both of his most loyal servants than harm the heir.
So, when his godson's carriage pulled itself up the gravel road, Severus braced himself and inwardly implored all of his strength for the evening. As expected, Draco left the carriage with expression that of immense inner suffering and dragged his feet gloomily up the drive toward his home.
"Welcome home, dear," his mother said warmly, attempting to stroke his hair, but Draco recoiled and shot her a mean look. Narcissa was visibly heartbroken but resorted to silence and a defeated look to her husband.
The couple gracefully led their son down their decorated corridors and into the drawing room, where their guest was waiting in perfect anticipation. When the Dark Lord lay his eyes on Draco, he rose quickly to his feet, and a look of awe—such an expression Severus had not seen before on him—accompanied a stifled laugh. With the clouds thick and the sun sufficiently covered, the room’s luminance came solely from the candles lit about the room, sending ominous shadows into the corners. The chiaroscuro of Draco’s features sharpened his outward dread, which exaggerated considerably when he’d seen the Lord in his own drawing room.
“What are you doing here?”
“That’s no way to speak to your Lord.” Riddle held his hands out and slowly approached the family who stood before him. “I’ve yet to get a good look at you, your grace.” He circled Draco like a lieutenant would his subordinates and nodded silently to himself. “It pulses from your flesh and sends through me an inordinate desire to flee! How remarkable that someone so visibly delicate should house the enemy of the people,” the Lord laughed with amusement.
“You haven’t the right to insult my son in his home. Remember, you are a guest. You are in debt to us,” Lucius said sternly, gripping his son’s wrist tightly and pulling him away from the inquisitive eyes of the Lord.
“Have I insulted you?” Riddle’s voice softened as he addressed Draco directly. “Do you feel hurt that I’ve observed you as delicate? Then what do you prefer, your grace?”
Draco blushed. “I would prefer your attention is removed from me at once,” he said meekly. Lucius’s face twitched, not with vexation but with pride of his son’s resolve.
Riddle’s excitement was for a moment threatened by Draco’s clear lack of enthusiasm, but he dare not display that the validation of his ego could be easily damaged with a single phrase from a child. Severus watched him and observed this correctly and inwardly rejoiced at the evident hold Draco had on the Lord. Without another word, Riddle obliged by moving toward the sofas and situating himself there.
“There will be a meeting tomorrow,” he began, more so addressing Lucius and Severus this time. “I expect everyone to be there promptly at eleven. Everything shall be set into motion now that the heir has returned to the manor. The moment he stepped through those oak doors, I saw our victory as clear as day.” The Lord said this with a smile, looking proudly at Draco.
Severus watched his godson’s irritability increase, and without a response, he turned and made for the drawing room doors. In a fit of panic, the Lord sat up and reached out. “Ah! Where are you going?”
“To my room. I am much too tired to listen to business that I haven’t a care for; if you force me to stay and listen to policy, I will lose my head.”
“Narcissa!” Riddle laughed and looked toward her with an expression of agitated amusement. “Have you neglected the discipline of your son? Is he not bid to ask to be excused?”
“Draco, do you wish to be excused?” Narcissa asked, blushing.
“Yes, mother. May I?”
“Of course.”
Riddle nodded. “Good boy,” he chuckled. This only amplified Draco’s irritability, for on his way out he slammed the door most unceremoniously. Severus was also dissatisfied with Riddle’s pathetic attempt to reestablish power to himself and muttered an excuse to follow Draco up to his room.
The dust covers were removed and the linen, curtains, and sheets were replaced anew; the entire room was cleaned and polished for Draco’s return, but despite the luster of the bronze, the gleam of the walnut, and the glisten of the jewels, Draco’s entire physiognomy stayed in a bleak and dull depression.
Severus desperately missed how lively his godson used to be. At this point, Severus would have heard at least eight different trivial stories, and for three of them, Draco would declare his entire life was ruined. And the silence now was much too unbearable without those dramatics. Instead, the boy stood solemnly by the window without so much of a word said to him.
"I know you believe we have wronged you, but know that—"
"I'm not ready to forgive you," Draco hissed. "You haven't a clue what you've just done to me."
"I've broken your heart," Severus said. "And you don't think I know what Potter means to you."
There was a flash of tension about the latter's shoulders, and he turned with a look of shock but more so an intense hatred. "He is the only friend I have in the world," said Draco, blushing now. "And you removed me from him."
"But if it were only a friend, a separation shouldn't hurt as much as it does for you now. Friendships can survive great distances, and even if one yearns for the other, the integrity of affection is unchanged. But in the case of love, Draco, the pain is infinitely more violent in its distance."
Draco’s whole body expressed a panic, and he rushed up to Severus, grabbed his robes tightly, and pulled him close. "How can you speak to me in that way? I who ranks far above you!” he whispered harshly. "Father would surely punish you for accusing me of so terrible a crime. I’ll have it done the moment you loosen your tongue!”
"Don't you remember that I am loyal to you most of all? Have I not told you within the walls of Hogwarts that whatever you choose or whoever you are, I will devote all that I am to you?" Severus said quietly, casting a weary look at the door. "I know of everything, Draco. Do not hide from me. I will be your ear and your messenger to Harry.”
“How? Have I made it so obvious? Am I in terrible danger? Do you believe it is known to my father?”
Severus wished he could ease his mind and tell him his father knew and would surely bend the rules just so Draco could continue on as he wished, but that was not his conversation nor his words to repeat. So, he merely shrugged and further disappointed Draco.
Draco's gray eyes fluttered, and droplets of tears formed on his long lashes. The boy looked utterly defeated, much too weak to hide himself with the shame so pitifully visible now. He released Severus from his grip. "Don't tell anyone, Severus," he whimpered. "Please, I am so scared, and I've never felt so isolated in all of my fifteen years."
"I promise I will keep silent on the matter. Does Harry know of your affections?"
Draco blushed again and shook his head. "I'm not sure. But I do love him tremendously, as you've guessed, and at the hands of my love, I am so weak. What shall I do?"
"Nothing for now," Severus told him. "You will obey your parents and remain as uncomplaining as a lamb. Everything changes now, Draco. From the moment you stepped into the manor today, everything has changed."