Draco sat in McGonagall's office tapping his wand absently on his knee. This was his last tutoring lesson of the year, making up for his sixth year which he had not finished due to his trying to destroy the Wizarding world as one of Voldemort's cohorts. Next year when he returned, he'd make up his seventh which he had missed completely.

She swept into the room and sat behind her desk. She straightened her spectacles and stared down her nose at Draco. "Mr. Malfoy. Are we paying attention?"

"No, Minerva. We are not. Sorry."

"Is there something bothering you, Draco?"

He stared out the window of her tower room and sighed. "No, not really."

But something was bothering him. His birthday was fast approaching and this will have been his fourth year of doing nothing about it. It had always been a joyous occasion at Malfoy Manor. His parents adored their only son, and lavished gifts and love upon him. How he missed those days. How he missed them. They wouldn't see him turn twenty-one or see how happy he was as a teacher. Four years ago he was busy joining Death Eaters and worrying over his father in Azkaban. Three years ago his parents had both been killed by Voldemort and he was doing his best to stay alive and out of harm's way, and at the same time desperately trying to think of a way to help Harry Potter defeat the bastard. Two years ago after Voldemort was slain and after Draco's trial he was living as a Muggle, cut off from the Wizarding world and quite alone, and last year it was just more of the same. Until he ran into Harry Potter again and every last centimeter of his life went through a wrenching change.

"Dare we bother trying some Transfigurations?" she asked.

He turned to her and tried to smile. "If you'd like."

She sat back and pursed her lips. "No, I think not, Mr. Malfoy. I would certainly award you high marks for all you have achieved so far. There is little point in continuing. I plan on informing Headmaster Dumbledore that you have passed the sixth year in all competence."

He glanced down at his fingers around his new wand, the wand he bought from Ollivander's just ten months ago. "Thanks, Minerva. You've really gone out of your way to help me. Everyone has. I certainly don't deserve it."

"Oh piffle, Draco! Such nonsense! What good is Hogwarts at all if we can't help one another get back on our feet? And you have proven yourself, do not mistake it."

He shook his head. "I haven't. Not like some. Not like Snape."

"Really, Draco. No one expects you to die to prove yourself."

"Oh no? There are plenty of parents out there who wouldn't mind."

"Small-minded people. You used to be one of them."

"Yeah, I guess so. Pureblood and all."

"And you found out early enough. Some never do. Voldemort didn't. See where it got him."

"The wrong end of Harry Potter's wand."

She smiled at mention of Harry. "And you couldn't have found a better champion. Or a better…friend." He knew she couldn't bring herself to say lover, though she well knew it was true.

"Yeah. Say, his birthday is coming up in two months. What do you suppose he'd like?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. I would have thought you'd be better versed on his tastes these days."

He lowered his face at that, hiding the blush. He knew Harry's tastes, all right, but he certainly had no intention of sharing that particular information with McGonagall. No, there were many confusing emotions troubling Draco. He thought that once the term ended and he'd have more free time with Harry he'd be happier. But as the time approached, he only thought about how much time Harry would be forced to spend with him. Back at Harry's small London flat, they'd squander the rest of the summer together. Without the distraction of students and Hogwarts business, Draco was afraid Harry would have second thoughts about their relationship. After all, it was Draco's presence that had caused all the trouble this year. When Harry had time to think about it, he didn't think Harry would be overjoyed living and sleeping with the centre of all the negative attention.

"If that's all, Minerva…" he said, rising. She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and he escaped through her door and down a long stairwell. His thoughts took him all the way down to the Great Hall, and as usual, they were of Harry Potter, his lover, his only and best friend, his…everything. Should anyone really be "everything"? If he allowed it, what was really left of Draco? Of course, after thoughtlessly choosing Voldemort over the rest of the Wizarding world, hadn't he given up the right to "anything"? He'd lost it all; friends, family, liberty, magic. Harry Potter gave it all back and more. Draco had been so absorbed in Death Eaters and his father's life he had even neglected to discover he was gay. Harry Potter had awakened that, too. And it was wonderful. Because Harry engulfed him in love, a love the stubborn Gryffindor had harbored for nearly a decade, and Draco had blossomed under it. Under him. How he loved to be under him, under Harry, above Harry, curled up beside Harry…

But if he defined himself by Harry, who was Draco? Yes, he was Potions Master and damned grateful for it. The two of them had come out to the entire Wizarding world without truly meaning to. But the nagging notion kept worrying at the ragged edges of his thoughts: who was Draco Malfoy? He didn't seem much of a Slytherin these days, and the name Malfoy was still imbued with a certain amount of infamy and perhaps always would be. He was a victim of the war as much as any other, but he was also a villain of the war, being one of the major players and the only one still left alive. He felt a strange isolation with it, sensing he was somehow out of place, even though he had tried for the past year to make a place for himself at Hogwarts.

He rubbed the Dark Mark under his sleeve absently. He knew deep down that's who he really was. A Death Eater. A proper name for what he was; someone who thrived on the misery of others. And he had done his damnedest to make Harry's life intolerable while they were at school. There was a time he might even have happily killed him and he shuddered at that horrific thought. And he often wondered why-through all they had been to each other at school-Harry was capable of loving him, and still loved him. Why should he?

He entered the Great Hall where the students had gathered for dinner. Draco made his way to his seat on the opposite end of the head table from Harry. He glanced toward his lover and Harry raised his bright green eyes to the Slytherin at the same time. Harry smiled and his face was radiant with love. Draco absorbed it, offered a smirk in return (which he knew Harry loved) and sat down.

He chatted absently with Professor Sprout and Hagrid as he ate, but his thoughts were never far from Harry. It was Friday, and the end of the day. He hoped Harry didn't have any students in detention to deal with after dinner and they could just retire for the night. It was Draco's turn to host Harry in his dungeon rooms and he had prepared it with comfortable pillows, a warm fire, and wine mulling on the hob. He was looking forward to a quiet evening and maybe a trip to London for the weekend. Anything to take his mind from this strange melancholy that seemed to have overtaken him.

Dinner was over and Draco went to his rooms, but Harry didn't appear. An hour went by. Draco's anger festered and finally in a fit state he flooed to Harry's study.

Harry jerked up from his place at his desk and scrambled to cover several parchments he'd been poring over. He shot to his feet and with a guilty blush faced Draco. Draco's glance took in his messy desk, the parchments, the books lying open, the quills, the candles burning low, and he narrowed his eyes. "I've waited over an hour," he said, allowing the annoyance to be fully conveyed by the low timbre of his voice.

Harry ran his hand through his perpetually wayward locks. "Has it been an hour? I lost track of the time. Sorry." He began shuffling parchments and Draco sidled up to the desk.

"What are you working on?"

"Nothing. Just…some stuff. For my class."

"Oh? Something I can help you with, maybe?"

"No, no." He shoved the parchments into a book which he closed over it, then he blushed and grabbed the book, holding it close to his chest. "I'll be down in a minute, okay. Just let me clear some of these things."

"Potter-er, Harry. You're looking awfully guilty about something. Just what is it you are trying to hide from me?"

"It's nothing. It's…it's…a surprise, all right. So if you don't mind-"

"A surprise? For me? Harry, I hate surprises."

"You'll like this one. Now could you just get out for a minute?"

He was tempted to grab the book out of his hand, but restrained himself. "Save yourself the bother. I really don't like surprises. You might just find yourself hexed for your trouble."

Harry smiled an outlandishly wide grin. "Oh, I don't think so."

"Sure of yourself, are you?"

"Quite. Now get out. Or do I have to Transfigure you?"

"Into what?"

"A ferret. You were quite adorable as a ferret."

"Hard to shag a ferret, isn't it? Or do your tastes run that way now?"

"Don't be crude, Malfoy. Out with you."

"All right. But I'd like to remind you that you just called me 'Malfoy' in a peak of anger."

"Oops. So I did. Sorry, Draco, my love. I will see you in a minute."

Draco turned toward the fireplace. "All right. If you insist. But you're spoiling my surprise for you."

"Oh? What?"

"Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?" He tossed down the floo powder and said, "Draco Malfoy, Potions!" and whirled away in a flourish of green flames.

* * *

Harry stepped out of the potions fireplace, spoke the password, "Salazar Slytherin!" and the potions cabinet to Draco's private rooms slid aside. After he'd gotten over his initial discomfort with these being Snape's old rooms, he and Draco had taken turns hosting the other, though they spent the most time in Harry's tower rooms, mostly because it had a lovely view, something the potions dungeons were not known for.

Immediately his senses were overwhelmed by the aroma of cinnamon and spices and the warm toasty smells of the fire. The candles gave the room a cozy glow. It might have belonged to the late Severus Snape once, but Draco had made the rooms his own with long thick drapery and scattered pillows, almost like the tent of a sheik. It was entirely comfortable and sensuous with its velvets and tasteful tapestries and Persian rugs. Draco invited Harry to sink onto the floor pillows before the fire, where a goblet of mulled wine was thrust into his hand.

Harry smiled up at Draco as he sank down beside him. "This is nice, Draco. Is this your surprise?"

"I thought after a long week of dealing with the kiddies, you could use some relaxation. Take a drink of that, get your clothes off, and I'll give you a massage."

"Oh! That sounds utterly delicious!" Harry gulped the warm wine, set the goblet aside, and began to strip. "But what about you? You're week was just as long."

Draco's eyes glittered in the firelight. Their steady gaze never wavered from Harry as he peeled off each layer of clothing. "I take my pleasure in giving you pleasure, Harry. Besides, I get to get my hands all over you."

Harry shivered a bit, but it wasn't from cold. Draco was the most sensuous man he had ever known. The things he made Harry feel were beyond anything he had experienced before. He eagerly lost the last of his clothing and turned to Draco. "How do you want me?"

Draco's smile curled the edges of his mouth and his gray eyes narrowed to erotic slits. "How do I want you? Oh, all manner of ways. But if you mean for your massage, on your stomach, if you please."

Harry complied, resting his cheek on his arms. "This is really sweet of you, Draco. I don't know what I've done to deserve this treatment tonight but I'm not arguing."

"If you want to continue to receive this kind of treatment you will stop calling me 'sweet'. Slytherins are not 'sweet'. We are sensualists, hedonists, and sneaky. But we are not 'sweet' by any stretch of the imagination."

"I beg to differ."

"Oh you'll beg, but not to differ, I assure you."

Harry felt the first touch of Draco's warm hands on his shoulders. He had smeared his hands with some musky-scented oil, and the affect was intoxicating. His shoulder muscles melted under the onslaught.

"Mmmmm. Oh Draco," he murmured. "That's so nice."

"Of course it is," he purred.

The hands worked the muscles first at his shoulders and then slowly made their way down his sides and over each vertebrae of his back. Draco withdrew for a moment and when he returned, repositioned himself by straddling Harry. With a sudden intake of breath, Harry was fully aware that Draco had shed all of his clothes. His erection slid along Harry's crack and his sac pressed against the undercurve of his bum. Harry's reaction suddenly matched Draco's, though Draco had a distinct advantage in his present position that Harry did not pressed into the carpet as he was.

"You seem to be enjoying this, too," Harry observed with a shaky voice.

"I told you. My pleasure is in giving you pleasure, Harry."

"And…what sort of pleasure did you have in mind?"

"Why…a massage, of course."

Draco's deep voice sent a thrill through Harry and made him squirm against the thick rug. "But…what if I wanted something else?"

Suddenly, warm lips played at the back of Harry's neck sending a deep shiver down his spine. He groaned at the sensation. Draco pressed his lips next to Harry's ear. "I told you I'd make you beg."

Draco's hands were now kneading Harry's bum, the slick fingers dropping down teasingly into the cleft.

"Tell me want you want, Harry. Beg."

"I want you to shag me. Now. Please."

"Hmm," said Draco running his hands down the inside of Harry's thighs. Those hands teased his bollocks and ran up his legs, opening over each cheek of his bum and squeezed.

"Draco! Please!"

"All right, Harry." He pressed a kiss to the small of his back, just at the swell of his backside. He dribbled the warmed oil down his crack and pushed his legs open. Harry couldn't help but raise his hips into it, waiting for the exquisite moment when he would feel the blunt head of Draco's cock pressing at his entrance. When he felt it at last, he sighed and opened himself, receiving Draco's slickened prick.

Draco eased into Harry and just as leisurely eased out almost all the way again. He kept the slow rhythm while running his nails up Harry's sides and up over his shoulders. Harry rubbed his cock into the carpet, swaying his hips to feel more of Draco inside him.

"Oh God! Oh Merlin, Draco! Please! More!"

"What's your hurry, Potter?" he drawled. He kept a deliberately slow pace until Harry was driven nearly mad. Harry was more than begging, he was moaning and then screaming. He shoved his arse back into Draco, shagging himself on his lover's erection.

"My, we're impatient," Draco murmured, but soon he, too, couldn't maintain a slow pace and began thrusting with jerking hips. He squeezed Harry's arse as he pounded into him, forcing him into the rug. Harry thrust his hips and grit his teeth as he came, his cock sandwiched between his belly and the carpet. He clenched his arse and felt Draco's prick pulse and unload into him, filling him with warm wetness.

Harry groaned his satisfaction as Draco lay atop him, enveloping him with his limbs. "Oh yes," he gasped. "There's nothing like a relaxing massage."

* * *

A few days later Harry stared at the parchment in his hand. He couldn't believe it. Dumbledore had done it. He read it over for the third time.


     Dear Mr. Potter,

     It was never the intention of the Wizengamot to stand in the way of your personal happiness. We in the Wizarding world--indeed of ALL the world--are fully indebted to you for risking your life for the rest of us when very few had made that life tolerable for you. Forgive us for our past errors of judgment and gross negligence. We hope that by granting you and Mr. Malfoy the opportunity to wed that this might make up for a small portion of our ignorance and inattention. As you are surely both aware, the process may render you both with extraordinary powers, and though some on the Wizengamot were skeptical about allowing Mr. Malfoy such powers, Albus Dumbledore assured us that he is indeed reformed and that you would be in a position to rein in said powers should they become a problem. But to that end, we must insist on a few provisions to be discussed at your earliest possible convenience.

     Best wishes,
     Ariana Wiffleton
     Wizengamot Head Witch

Harry folded it up carefully and tucked it in a pocket over his heart. He couldn't believe it. Finally, he was going to be allowed a piece of happiness. Even these 'provisions' seemed of little consequence. Now he had some planning to do. First, he'd need to make a trip to Diagon Alley. He decided on a date only a week away. He wanted to plan something special, but it was difficult when they spent all their waking hours together. He decided to floo to Diagon Alley from the Three Broomsticks right away before Draco could ask many questions.

At Diagon Alley, Harry went immediately to the Goblin jewelers, Grolick's. His hood was up and he tried to shield his face with shadow as best he could and went up to the first Goblin clerk.

"Yes," growled the goblin, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I would like a ring made. An engagement ring." He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a scrap of parchment and laid it on the counter. "It's to be gold and this is to be on it." He showed the wrinkled goblin the drawing he had made. "This is the Gryffindor lion and it's being embraced by the Slytherin snake, see? The lion is to have a small ruby for an eye and the snake an emerald. Does it make sense to you?"

The goblin clutched the parchment and glared at it. "This will have to be very small for a woman's finger."

"It's not for a woman. It's for a man. And I need it in less than a week."

"Less than a week? That is quite impossible!"

"Oh? Well, then, I may have to go to a Muggle jewelers. I understand they can do it in half the time-"

The goblin growled again and stared back at the page. "Well. If it absolutely must be in a week."

"Less."

"Very well. Less. Three days. No less than that."

"Done."

"This will be very expensive."

"I've no doubt of that." Harry took out a fat pouch full of galleons. "If that isn't enough, let me know."

"What name shall I put down?"

"Er…James…er…Evans."

"James Evans?"

"Yes. And could you send it on to Hogwarts, care of…um…Defense Against the Dark Arts, and only that?"

"It shall be done…Mr. Evans."

Harry hurried out and then flooed back to Hogsmeade. He went to the kitchens to talk to Dobby, then he returned to his rooms and hastily wrote an acceptance to the invitation by Hermione for dinner that evening and gave the note to Hedwig. Everything was going well, even his research into finally defeating the Dark Mark, though he was a little stumped as to how exactly he was going to test it. He pondered briefly a trip to Azkaban to try it on the few remaining Death Eaters, but he really didn't want to reward any of them by taking it off.

He decided that he would have to first create the Dark Mark on something and then experiment trying to remove it.

It never occurred to him how much of a mistake that was going to be.


On to Chapter Three
"Marks Seen and Unseen"

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"Of Witches and Wizards"

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