Entry tags:

my fic, remus/bill, ron/draco, ron/remus

FIC: Fractured and Tethered, 5/7, Ron/Draco, NC-17
Title: Fractured and Tethered 5/7 [COMPLETE]
Author: Tarie
Pairing: Ron/Remus, Ron/Draco, implied Bill/Remus
Rating: NC-17
Length: 36,500
Summary: The war may be over, but the race is on to save Harry's life.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and universe are property of JKR, Scholastic & other assorted publishers, and the WB.
A/N: Written for merry_smutmas 2006 for thrihyrne . Eternal thanks and gratitude to my beta readers, mad_maudlin and nqdonne. Without their suggestions and keen eyes, this fic would be a jumbled mess. Also thanks to inthesewalls and Maud for excellent suggestions during the pre-writing stage, to ella_bane and legomymalfoy for their unrelenting encouragement and for the late-night buddy-up writing sessions. Lastly, a huge thank you to Gina for being so incredibly accommodating and not killing me for stomping all over my deadline.
*******

The next morning, Ron stood outside Malfoy's room for a good twenty minutes, ear pressed up against the door. He didn't hear Malfoy shuffling around, so it was possible he was still sleeping. However, Ron couldn't know for certain if Malfoy was still dead to the world as the beaker of Fracta-Fluid he held was hissing, popping, spitting, and making all manner of noises.

After what had happened the night before, Ron didn't want to look at Malfoy, much less speak to him. He'd some time to think on things, and Ron decided that what happened between them was Not On.

It was all Malfoy's fault, anyway.

If Malfoy hadn't done that thing with his leg, none of the shite that followed would have happened. No, no. If Malfoy hadn't been gimping about the fucking manor and stayed in his room like he was supposed to be doing, none of all that would have happened. In fact, if Malfoy had just bloody stayed in hiding or off being dead or whatever he wanted to call it, none of all that would have happened.

Clearly Malfoy was the instigator and Ron was completely innocent. Ron had been taken advantage of. Ron had been played. It was just like Malfoy to ruin everything. Ron was a victim here, and Malfoy the fucking pretentious wanker of a criminal.

What was probably the most bloody unfair thing of all this was that Ron couldn't even tell anyone about it. Bill couldn't know. Remus couldn't know. Hermione couldn't know. No one could sodding know Malfoy was 1) alive, and 2) holed up in his family's home. Or what had once been his family's home, before the Ministry seized and auctioned it off.

Ron didn't even know why he was doing all this for Malfoy. He hated Malfoy.

"I hate Malfoy."

Yes, that sounded about right. He hated Malfoy. He did. And Ron was only hiding him because it was something Harry would have done were Harry–

Don't you act like he's dead, you arse. Harry's still alive. He's your best mate and he's still alive.

"Fuck all this for a lark," Ron muttered darkly, and then he flung open the door to Malfoy's room.
Just as Ron cleared the threshold, Malfoy awoke with a start, his arms flailing out to his sides. Once his hands found purchase on a duvet, he pushed himself to a seated position, the hair on one side of his head sticking straight up, eyes bugging slightly as he looked around wildly.

"What? Is it the Ministry? Are the–"

"Shut up, you stupid sod," Ron hissed. He shut the door and stood at the foot of Malfoy's bed, beaker in hand. "You're safe. No Ministry, no Death Eaters. Just me."

"Thank fucking Merlin," Malfoy breathed, and then he made a face. "Thank fucking Merlin for being safe. Not for you." Relaxing, he flopped back against the mattress.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Right. Of course."

There was a brief silence, and then Malfoy unexpectedly popped back up to look at him, propping himself on his elbows, glaring at Ron. "If you're here for...deviant...things...think again, perverted pillock," he sneered.

"I'm not here for that!" Ron said automatically, and then he swore; heat rose in his cheeks and that was not fucking on.

"Good," Malfoy snapped.

"Good," Ron retorted, thrusting the beaker hard against his chest.

"Christ," Malfoy complained, snatching up the beaker with one hand and rubbing at his chest with the other. "Savage."

Frustrated, Ron exhaled quickly, the breath coming out one side of his mouth in a huff. "Take your potion."

Malfoy eyed it dubiously. "How will I know if this actually works or not? Your potions work at Hogwarts was subpar at best."

He studiously ignored the jab about his potion-making skills. "Oh, you'll know, Malfoy. It'll take a few days for it to do its job, so you're going to have to be bed-bound for a time."

Malfoy glowered. "A few days? I will not be an invalid. I'm not taking it."

"You are going to take it or you really will be an invalid – for life. That limp's only going to get worse if you don't correct it now. No potion, no safe house. I'll have your arse Portkeyed right into the Ministry of Magic, or perhaps into the haunting grounds of your old colleagues." Ron shook his head a little, a bit disbelieving at Malfoy's cheek but more cross than anything. How could Malfoy be so...so Malfoyish about the whole thing? Ron had gone out of his fucking way to collect the ingredients and brew the potion, and now he wasn't going to take it?

"You wouldn't." Malfoy made a noise of disgust and smoothed his hair.

"Try me."

Malfoy's upper lip curled slightly, but he did take up the beaker in both hands and raise it to his mouth, drinking deeply. Satisfied, Ron turned toward the door.

Then he promptly froze when Malfoy began screaming and convulsing.

Fuck.

"Malfoy," Ron gasped, flying to his bedside.

Christ, Malfoy was all over the place, completely spastic. His limbs jerked and shuddered, his head lolled from side to side, and his mouth gaped open and shut like an oxygen-deprived fish.

"Malfoy," Ron bellowed, fingers desperately trying to get a hold of part of him. Any part of Malfoy, but he was flailing wildly all over the place and Ron couldn't find purchase.

Then there was a terrible groan as the entire bed actually moved, scooting forward each time Malfoy's back slammed against the mattress.

"Bugger this," Ron breathed, propelling himself forward, ending up in a heap across Malfoy's middle. Beneath him, Malfoy's back bowed up, held, and then fell.

The screaming stopped, and Ron slowly slid off of Malfoy and onto the floor. Breathing heavily, Ron climbed to all fours before slowly standing. Malfoy's pale skin was flushed and glistened with sweat, while his eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling. His bad leg trembled, and then his chin dropped against his chest. The potion had taken its toll.

Malfoy was asleep.

That was a fucking nightmare. Ron pressed trembling hands to his temples and cursed.

**********

The first thing Ron saw when he opened the door to Harry's room was Hermione's tear-stained face.

"What? What is it?" he asked quickly, forcing himself to keep focussed on her face and not glance over at Harry. He couldn't look at Harry lying in that narrow bed, not if the unimaginable had actually, finally happened.

"I can't take it anymore!" Hermione sniffled, then scowled and wiped at her eyes.
Ron's stomach did a slow flip; so Harry was all right then. Thank Merlin.

"I know," Ron said lamely, raising himself on the balls of his feet slightly to get a glimpse of his best mate. Harry looked no better than he had yesterday, although he did not look any worse. At least he seemed to be stable today, even if the Healers still did not have a clue as to what was truly wrong with him. "It's hard to see him like this."

"It is," Hermione agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "But I didn't mean this." She gestured toward Harry, her mouth turning down a little.

"What did you mean, then?"

"It's Mum and Dad. They don't understand."

Ron's brows knitted together. "Our best mate's in a coma-like thingy! What's so bloody hard to understand about that?"

"It's not that they don't understand about Harry...." Her voice trailed off, and Ron watched as several different emotions flashed across her face. Finally settling on a look of discontent, Hermione worried her lower lip and smoothed non-existent wrinkles out of Harry's turned-down sheets.

"Well then?"

"They don't understand why I won't go to university now that the war's over."

Ron blinked. "Uni– that Muggle school thingy? But you've finished school; you've long left Hogwarts."

"Yes, but they feel it's important for me to attend university and prepare for a Muggle job in case a magical one doesn't–"

"Hermione," Ron broke in, "you are a witch. Not only that, but you are probably one of the most brilliant people around, with magic and other stuff. D'you really think you'd be happy doing Muggle work?"

Hermione fixed him with a pointed look. "No," she said, and then sighed. "I wouldn't. But it isn't fair of me to stay there and keep their hopes up that I will go on to uni."

"Then move in with me," Ron said simply.

"Oh, Ron, I–" The pointed look faded, giving way to a confused one.

"You know full well I don't mean it like that. We've not been us in...since just after Harry's nineteenth birthday party."
The corners of her mouth quirked. "That was some time ago."

"Yeah, it was. So it's not like that. 'sides, you're not a bloke, so..."

"No," Hermione said with a slight shake of her head, her tone the lightest it'd been in days, "I'm not a bloke. So...."

"You'd be abso-bloody-lutely perfect if you were," Ron teased, "instead of just plain perfect."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "You're terrible," she told him, though Ron knew from the gleam in her eyes that she was secretly pleased.

"And a complete bastard," Ron said, which only made him think about Malfoy. He hadn't realised he'd been frowning until Hermione touched his hand and looked at him questioningly. "'s nothing." And then: "Did you ever think you'd live to see the day when you moved into Malfoy Bloody Manor?"

She shook her head, bushy hair bouncing about her shoulders. "Not in this lifetime."

One corner of his mouth turned up. "Me neither."

Malfoy, Ron knew, would not be pleased about Hermione moving in.

**********

Malfoy was certainly not pleased about Hermione moving in. He found out about it when Ron checked on him that evening.

"You're joking," he said flatly, grunting as he sat upright, pressing against the backboard of the bed for support.

"No," Ron said shortly, shoving a plate of bangers and mash at him. "Now eat up."

"You expect me to eat this shit? How am I to keep anything down when you've just foisted upon me the knowledge that a fucking Mudblood will be sullying my family's home?" Malfoy snarled, and Ron saw fucking red.

Lunging forward, he took up the plate and threw it hard against the wall. It shattered, shards of porcelain and food exploding everywhere. After wiping his hands on the sides of his trousers as calmly as he could manage, he leant in to Malfoy, their noses bumping. "If I ever hear you call Hermione that again, I will end you." Gnashing his teeth, he added, "Understand?"

Malfoy stared back, saying nothing.

Ron poked him in the chest. "Answer me."
"Yes, I understand," Malfoy said after the silence nearly became too much to bear. "God, give a man his personal space, will you?"

Scowling, Ron moved back, his eyes still fixated on Malfoy. Sneering, pointy, pratfuck Malfoy.

"This isn't your family's home anymore. Kind of getting tired of reminding you about that, actually." Producing his wand, Ron got rid of the mess and Summoned another plate of dinner. After presenting it to Malfoy, Ron added, "It's not going to be a home for much longer anyway, so just shut up about it, yeah?"

In the midst of pushing a bit of potatoes on his fork, Malfoy stilled. "Explain, please."

"S.P.E.W."

"Excuse me?"

"Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare or summat. It's coming here."

"What exactly does that mean?" Malfoy asked, his face pinched.

"Harry bought this place to do something good with it, and Hermione's going to be doing the Something Good while Harry's in St Mungo's."

"How," Draco asked slowly, gritting his teeth, "does my family home fit into Elvish Welfare?"

"Not your family home," Ron said, holding up a hand. "And it fits because it's going to be a halfway house for displaced and needy elves. 'Least, that's what she said. I just live here."

"She can't do that!" Malfoy exclaimed, tossing back the duvets. "And I won't stand f– FUCKING HELL!" Malfoy had tried to stand in the middle of his tirade, which was incredibly daft. The potion had been in his system since that morning and already it was working to undo the shoddy healing in Malfoy's thigh, his bone slowly splitting apart.

"No standing. Bedrest, remember?"

Malfoy glared at him, and Ron presented the prat with his palm. "I don't want to hear it. This place belongs to Harry, and we'll do with it exactly what we know he'd want done. And Harry'd want Hermione to do this, so sod the hell off. You don't get a vote."

That was enough to make Malfoy's mouth set in a thin line. "Then give me back my wand and I'll be on my way, Weasley," he said through clenched teeth.

"You're not going anywhere with your leg like that, twat," Ron said. Honestly, he was a stubborn, idiotic dolt.

"While it's awfully endearing of you to be so concerned about my health," Malfoy scoffed, "I am a more than competent wizard. I've stayed alive this long without detection, haven't I?"

Ron snorted. "Think again. I detected your sorry arse."

Malfoy sulked.

"Oh, come off it. And here, have a look." Remembering himself, Ron pulled the Daily Prophet he'd been perusing earlier out of his pocket.

Malfoy caught it easily, unfolding it to study the front page. The longer he read, the more the sulk gave way into a frown, and then an outright glare.

"The Ministry's mad," Malfoy said, tone clipped as he began to flip quickly through the paper.

"Yeah. Twelve people locked up yesterday alone for connections to Voldemort, seven the day before. Forty-three this month so far, mate."

"Fuck."

"Seeing as how you had more than an acquaintance with Voldemort, I'm thinking you'd be in queue for a Dementor's Kiss not long after they'd catch you." Ron folded his arms and waited, fully expecting Malfoy to tell him to fuck off. From what Ron knew, Malfoy had been forced into doing some of Voldemort's dirty work because his family had been threatened, but none of the loonies at the Ministry would take that into consideration, nor would most of the general population these days. It was ridiculous how hive-minded the lot of them had become.

"Weasley?"

Malfoy's voice jolted Ron out of his reverie. "Yeah?"

"You'd better look at this," Malfoy said grimly, showing Ron the back page of the Prophet.

The headline screamed: HARRY POTTER: SYMBOL OF FUTURE HIBERNATES, WAITS FOR DAWN OF NEW DAY FOR VICTORY CELEBRATION

"What the bloody fuck is that?!" Ron roared, snatching the paper out of Malfoy's hands. His eyes skimmed the article quickly:

HARRY POTTER: SYMBOL OF FUTURE HIBERNATES, WAITS FOR DAWN OF NEW DAY FOR VICTORY CELEBRATION
Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, remains fast asleep in the most hallowed of halls at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London. Ever since he conquered the Dark Lord, aka Voldemort, aka Tom Marvolo Riddle, Potter has been a resident of the Siegried Grunnion Ward at the prestigious hospital.

"Harry's such a fine, upstanding boy. He's recuperating nicely, for a Sleeping Beauty. When the time is right, he'll awaken, but not until then. When order has been restored to the wizarding world, the Ministry has tightened every cog, and every witch and wizard remembers their place, Harry will rise again and, oh, we'll have such a celebration!" one St Mungo's Healer, whom asked to be anonymous, said.

Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour declared in a press conference yesterday that Potter is the paradigm to whom all witches and wizards must aspire to be, for his unflinching loyalty to the Ministry is (ctd page 137 ½, column 2)

Not bothering to turn to page 137 ½, Ron balled up the paper and threw it against the wall. It bounced off and fell to the floor, coming to rest in a pile of sausages.

"A bunch of shit," Malfoy said flatly.

Ron grunted in agreement, sinking down onto the mattress' edge.

"It is," he muttered, and he didn't even care that he and Malfoy had just actually agreed on something.

**********

The next few days were packed full. Although Bill, Remus, Dobby, and himself had been finished cleaning the manor some time ago, they had plenty to do around the estate since Hermione agreed to move in. It wasn't that they had to make things homey for her, but rather they had to transform an entire wing of the estate into what would serve as her S.P.E.W. shelter. The transformation wasn't hard work, but it was quite time consuming, making human-sized environments more comfortable for elves. While the Ministry, and later Harry, had done a bang-up job of ridding the manor of Lucius Malfoy's wards and charms, occasionally they happened upon difficulties with suits of armor being stubborn or portraits talking cheek. Fortunately, Dobby was there and knew how to deal with most of the situations that arose.

Ron also had Malfoy's presence to conceal, which was difficult at times as every time Remus or Bill or Hermione would volunteer to go to the manor's lower levels for something to assist with the transformation, Ron had to find an excuse so he could go and do it for them. None of them were daft and Ron was sure they were suspicious of his motivations.

During dinner that evening, Ron could barely concentrate on his meal; he had the distinct feeling he was being watched.

"What?" he asked finally, the tines of his fork clanging as they hit the tabletop.

Hermione looked at Remus, who looked at Bill.
Bill dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his serviette, and then dropped it onto the table beside his plate. "Ron, you've not been yourself lately."

His eyes narrowed as he set his elbows on the table, leaning in toward his brother. "Of course I've been myself. Who else would I be?"

"That isn't what I meant and you know it," Bill frowned.

"We're concerned about you, Ron," Remus added, sitting up straighter. His smile faltered. "You've been unusually quiet."

"I've a lot on my mind," Ron said automatically.

"You know you can talk to any of us at any time, don't you?" Flicking her wand, Hermione refilled his goblet of pumpkin juice.

Ron couldn't quite look her in the eye. "I know," he mumbled, taking a long pull of juice.

"If this is about Harry–" Bill started, and Ron pushed his chair back.

"Not everything's about Harry."

It was time for Ron to get out of there. They were all looking at him with that scrutinizing glimmer in their eyes and he wasn't going to stick around to endure more of their questions. Tucking the chair back in, he said, "Dinner was brilliant, but I've got to dash."

And dash Ron did, all the way down to Malfoy's room. He made a slight detour into a cloak room along the way, prying up a floorboard to retrieve the flask of Skele-gro he'd stashed there.

Before Ron could open Malfoy's door, it burst open before him.

"I've been waiting all blasted day," Malfoy griped, pulling Ron in by the hem of his sleeve. The door slammed shut, and Malfoy wobbled on one leg, his balance giving out, and he slumped against Ron.

"Malfoy, are you thick? You took a potion that re-broke your bloody leg. What the hell are you doing hopping about your room on one leg like you're Mad-Eye Moody's evil, daft twin?"

Malfoy waved Ron's questions away, gesturing to the goblet at his bedside. "Fill that and let's get on with it."

"I'm not a house-elf," Ron complained. " A simple 'please' and maybe even a 'thank you' would be ace, Malfoy."

"Fine. Fill that and let's get on with it, please."

"Much better," Ron said in a deliberately patronizing tone. Then he jerked his thumb toward the bed. Malfoy leered, but he did hobble over and take a seat, wincing. Ron had no sympathy for him; prat brought it upon himself.

Pouring a steaming gobletful of Skele-Gro, Ron warned, "It'll burn," as he pressed the cup into Malfoy's awaiting hand. "I've had the Cruciatus Curse cast upon me more than once; I'm sure I can handle this," Malfoy sneered before knocking back the entire contents of the goblet. A beat, and then he began to sputter and cough. "I'm on fucking fire! It burns! It burns!" he choked, hands clutching at his throat.

Rolling his eyes, Ron Conjured a glass of water, which Malfoy accepted and drained in a matter of seconds.

"'I've had the Cruciatus Curse cast upon me more than once; I'm sure I can handle this'," Ron mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

"Shut up," Malfoy said petulantly. And then he did something entirely infantile, which Ron should have expected from the likes of him but really hadn't, actually. Malfoy crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at Ron. Granted, he framed the expression with a rude gesture on either side of his head, but still. Manky, miserable Malfoy made a fucking face at him.

And Ron laughed. Ron laughed and laughed, clutching his belly. Malfoy imitated Ron, grabbing melodramatically at his own stomach, and Ron actually heard Malfoy snicker. The snicker turned into an honest-to-Godric laugh when Ron flung his arm out to cuff Malfoy's shoulder, and Ron thought it was the best thing he'd heard all day. It was real, probably the most real thing Malfoy had done during his entire stay at the manor, and it sounded quite nice, low yet light, tinged with amusement.

After some time had passed and they'd both remembered themselves (straightening and being sure to leave plenty of mattress between them), Malfoy turned in slightly, looking at Ron. "I want to see Potter," he said suddenly.

Ron wiped a few tears of laughter from his eyes. "Huh?"

"I want to see Potter," Malfoy repeated slowly, and Ron goggled at him.

"Why?"

"Because I just do, all right?"

That sobered Ron right up. "No," he said firmly. "'Because I just do' isn't enough, and it's a stupid idea anyway. We've Order members guarding his ward, and don't forget you've to pass through the reception queue and– NO."

"Fine," Malfoy huffed. "I want to see Potter for myself. You said the Healers didn't know what was wrong with him, which is rather curious. Do they know about the wands and the Horcruxes?"

Ron shook his head.

"I thought so."

"Huh?"

"Weasley," Malfoy said through gritted teeth, "you are trying my patience. Let me look at Potter. What can it hurt?"

"Your scrawny neck if you get caught, that's what," Ron returned. "Why would you want to help Harry anyway?" It wasn't as though Malfoy had ever expressed concern for anyone other than himself before. Maybe the Skele-Gro had side effects which included becoming mentally incompetent in a matter of minutes.

"I wouldn't be doing it for Potter," Malfoy said with disbelief. "I'd be helping myself!"

Now that made sense. Of course Malfoy would risk his freedom, and quite possibly his life, for himself. Why would he do anything for anyone else? "Go on, then."

"If I can fix Potter, Potter will recover and come back to the manor – and then all this fucking nonsense with Mu– Muggleborns and werewolves and house-elf shelters will stop."

Personally, Ron thought that even if – when – Harry would wake up, the house elf shelter would still be a go. Sure, Hermione was persuasive as all hell, but Harry had an uncontrollable urge to just help. He'd more than likely be all for housing needy elves, but Ron kept his thoughts selfishly to himself. Besides, if Malfoy could be a selfish prig about things, so could he.

Extending a hand, Ron said, "Malfoy, if you can fix Harry, I'll give you your wand back and you can go where ever the merry fuck you please."

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment, the corners of his mouth quirking. His fingers were long and thin, and they were rather warm when they curled around Ron's. "Weasley, it's a deal."

**********

The Skele-Gro mended Malfoy's bone overnight. When Ron went to collect him for their trip to St Mungo's, he couldn't help but grin as Malfoy walked, sans limp, down the corridor toward the Floo. As Malfoy pinched into the container of Floo Powder, he caught Ron staring at him. "What is it, Weasley?"

Ron shook his head. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Two pale brows lifted.

One corner of Ron's mouth twitched. "It's good to see you walking like that. That's all."

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. His brow furrowed, and then he said, "Thank you, Weasley" before ducking into the Floo and shouting "Knockturn Alley!"

In an instant he was gone, and Ron stood stock-still until the green flames died. Had Malfoy just thanked him? Surely he'd misheard.

Starting, he snatched up some Floo Powder, following suit.

They'd ended up in the back of a musty-smelling shop with shrunken heads hanging about. After pulling the hoods of their robes down enough to considerably conceal their faces, they made their way out into the crowded street. Winding around hags and gnarled-looking warlocks, they came to the end of the alley to an out-of-the-way apothecary. Malfoy waited outside while Ron went in, paying more for a flask of Polyjuice Potion than he would have liked, but he hadn't any time to brew it on his own.

They skulked back to the basement, where Malfoy took the potion. Ron shuddered as he watched Malfoy down it, remember the awful taste it'd had when he'd taken it during his second year. In a matter of moments, Malfoy no longer looked like Malfoy. Rather, he looked like an elderly witch with a hunched back, and Ron sporfled.

"Shut up," Malfoy said, thwapping Ron up the side of his head with the flask. "We've not got much time, so let's not waste it."

Soon enough they were at St Mungo's, where Ron found it was quite easy to smuggle Malfoy in to see Harry. Dedalus Diggle was on guard again, and Ron was bloody relieved when he said Hermione had stepped out to have a cuppa on the fifth floor. After introducing Malfoy as his great-aunt Tessie, whom was terribly concerned about her nephew's best friend, they found themselves all alone with Harry's prone form.

Malfoy didn't say a damned thing the entire time they were at St Mungo's. He leant in close to Harry, walked around the perimeter of the bed, and leant in close to Harry on the opposite side, eyes flickering up and down Harry's frame. All he did was nod to himself and tilt his head, as though he were searching through his memory for scraps of information. After a few minutes of this, Ron started to get nervous; Hermione was probably due back from the tea shop any moment.

"C'mon, before it's too late," he muttered. Malfoy didn't even put up a fuss when Ron led him by the elbow out the ward.

**********

They returned to the manor just in time; Malfoy had no sooner shut the door to his room when the Polyjuice wore off.

Shrugging off his robe, Ron flopped onto the foot of the bed, stretching his legs out front.

"The Healers can't help him," Malfoy said as calm as you please, hanging his robes up in the wardrobe.

Ron sat up. "Malfoy?"

"You said they don't know about the Horcruxes or the connections between Potter and Voldemort's wands."

"Right."

"Horcruxes are Dark Magic to begin with, and with the twin wands, it doesn't look good."

"Malfoy," Ron said impatiently, rising. "Out with it already, okay? If you know something, then just say it. That's my best mate laying in that ward and if you're holding out on–"

"Potter's still connected to Voldemort, that's what I know." Malfoy held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

Ron boggled. "How can that be possible? Voldemort's fucking dead, mate. I saw it myself. I got some of him on me." Picking tiny pieces of Dark Lord off his skin was not a moment Ron cared to remember, but it was also one he could not seem to forget.

"Doesn't matter if Voldemort's dead or not– Potter's connected to him, tethered to his soul."

The more Ron thought about it, the less ridiculous it began to sound and the more he became worried. "So," he said slowly, "what will that mean for Harry if he's got ties to Voldemort still?"

"You see him, Weasley. He's deteriorating, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"He's got nowhere to go – he can't move toward life or death."

Ron did not like where this was going. "So what's happening to him, do you reckon?

"If Potter is tied to a dead soul, what does that say about his own soul?" Malfoy looked at him expectantly, though the usual superior air was nowhere to be found.

"His soul's leaving his body." Ron blanched. "Isn't it?"

Malfoy inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring slightly. He nodded. "Yes. He won't die, though, because his body is still functioning."

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed. "So if he wakes up, it'll be like a fucking Dementor got him."

"So the savior of the wizarding world sacrificed himself for the Greater Good, and the Ministry will still have their fucking poster boy, only he can't contradict them anymore," Malfoy said solemnly.

Ron felt fucking ill.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter