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“I’m not happy with these test results,” Mediwizard Smethwick said, narrowing his eyes at the parchment folder spread across his desk. “These heart palpitations are a worry. You’re fatigued, and your white blood cell count is through the roof. Frankly, you ought to be nervous. I know that I am. I’m not convinced that you even tried to take your inhibitor potions this last week.”

Draco heaved a sigh in the direction of his Healer. He’d known full well that a telling off was imminent, but he hadn’t realised quite how bad it was going to be. Smethwick – the finest bond specialist at St Mungo’s – was looking at him unsympathetically. There wasn’t going to be any weaselling out of this unwelcome conversation.

“They make me sick to my stomach,” Draco answered, knowing that his answer was weak at best. “Make my brain all cloudy. I did my best to take them properly – I genuinely did – but I felt worse on them that I did without. Isn’t there another potion – another anything – that I haven’t tried yet?”

Smethwick shook his head. There wasn’t anything they hadn’t attempted. Bond inhibiting potions were all as equally potent, and as equally vile as one another and Draco had attempted them all. None had been a success and so every day was a battle with headaches, exhaustion, and a terrible burning ache that radiated out from the bondmark that covered his shoulder.

Every day was a battle to accept the hand that fate had dealt him only two years before.

That had been when Draco had relocated to London after his wife, Astoria, had died. The two of them hadn’t been bondmates, but their arranged marriage had been happy and fruitful. Their young son, Scorpius, was the shining star at the center of Draco’s life.

Draco, wanting Scorpius to be closer to both his and Astoria’s families, had made the decision to transfer over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to become their in-house Barrister. It had been a purely practical career decision. Draco hadn’t ever expected to meet his bondmate on his very first day of work, but fate had held a different plan for him.

To his utter shock and astonishment, Draco’s bondmate was Harry Potter.

Draco’s bondmark had flared into vivid life that very same day. It was an exquisite swirling silver, like an expertly inked tattoo, depicting Harry’s stag Patronus. The bondmark had been tiny on that very first day, but it had been growing steadily ever since. The stag was now the size of Draco’s fist, and, with every day that his bond remained unsatisfied, it stripped more of his magic and his lifeforce away.

Harry could never know the truth. Draco knew Harry was still the same, stubborn Saviour that he’d been back at school and there was no doubt that he’d insist on them making a bond even though that wasn’t what Harry wanted at all.

Indeed, Harry had been nothing but clear and honest on the subject. The wizard had told The Prophet, told Robards, and even told Draco over a pint in the Leaky, that he’d never, ever take a bond. To have a bondmate was to be made vulnerable and Harry couldn’t bear the idea. “What if,” Harry had said to Draco, “some criminal takes my bondmate hostage? Hurts them? They could be used against me, and I couldn’t stand it.”

Draco could understand Harry’s reasoning, and he was determined to never let the other wizard know the truth. As far as Draco knew, Harry hadn’t a single clue that they were fated. Draco’s own Patronus – and the bondmark that Harry presumably now wore – was that of a Lipizzaner stallion. Draco hadn’t learnt to cast a Patronus until long after school had finished, and he had kept tight-lipped on the subject whenever it came up in conversation. There wasn’t any way that the other man could possibly know the identity of his bondmate.

If anything, it was ironic. Draco hadn’t wanted to find his bondmate. All he’d wanted in London was to love and look after Scorpius, rebuild the crumbs of the Malfoy family name, and to live a quiet life for as many years as Merlin allowed him. He hadn’t ever expected to bond with such ferocity that he became ill.

Harry didn’t seem to be suffering, but then his magic was legendarily strong. If he could, Draco would have swept Scorpius in his arms and run home to France, but that would have doomed him even faster. It was only the short, transitory moments that he had in Harry’s company that were keeping him as healthy as he currently was. Draco was trapped between a cauldron and the fire beneath. He feared the outcome could only be a grim one.

“Mr Malfoy,” barked Mediwizard Smethwick, pulling Draco from his reminiscences. “Please at least make the effort to look like you’re listening while I’m speaking! I understand that the potions regime for a denied bond is arduous, but it really is the only option that we currently have! You need to take this more seriously.”

Draco bristled at the Healer’s tone. “I am,” he answered in a waspish tone. “But you have to understand that it affects every part of my life. If I take the potions, then I get too sick to work, which means I can’t see my bondmate – but if I don’t take them, I get exhausted and can’t be a proper dad to my son.” Draco felt his voice lose much of its heat. “He’s already lost so much, Smethwick! He can’t lose me as well.”

The Mediwizard made a small noise of sympathy at Draco’s naked plea. “Then you need to take your potions every single day. No excuses, Mr Malfoy. None at all. You must be meticulous. I shouldn’t have to keep telling you all this.” He picked up his quill and jotted something down on the prescription pad, before shifting his whole body to look at Draco. His blue eyes were steely and they brooked no argument. Draco shifted uncomfortably, knowing what the Mediwizard would say next. “Bond magic is rare and esoteric; barely understood. The two of you were made for each other. Two sides of the same soul, broken apart. That you have found your bondmate is a rare, lucky gift. You need to talk to your intended wizard, Draco. Ask them to consider taking the bond.”

“I can’t,” Draco replied. “I already owe him my life of freedom after the war. Everything good in my life is down to him. I can’t ask him to make this sacrifice.” He took in a breath. “He’s been clear as crystal on the subject. He doesn’t want a bondmate.”

Mediwizard Smethwick seemed to accept that. “Then we must carry on, Mr Malfoy. Please be warned, though. A denied bond will only have one result. With every day that passes, it’ll strip away your magic and degrade your magical cortex until you’re a mere shadow of the wizard you once were. Is that how you want Scorpius to remember you? A bedridden, broken soul, half-demented by their incomplete nature?” Smethwick thrust a prescription into Draco’s shaking hands. “These potions only treat the symptoms. They aren’t a cure. I can’t promise how much longer they are going to work either.”

Draco shoved the roll of parchment down into his satchel. Smethwick spoke the truth. He was the best in his field and his treatment of Draco had been exhaustive. As the blond wizard pulled his shirt back over his shoulder, he winced, hating how tender and excruciating the skin of his bondmark was.

He knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be unable to work, or even function properly. It simply wasn’t fair. Harry had been oblivious when they’d first shook hands and their bond had roared into brilliant life the very same second. The power of belonging to one another had been as vivid as any hex. It had coursed through Draco’s every vein and had nearly floored him. Harry’s fingers had been warm, wand-calloused and wonderful, but the green-eyed man hadn’t shown even an iota of recognition across his handsome face.

“I’ll do what I can,” Draco answered, slowly buttoning his shirt front. “Take my medication as regularly as a charm. I’ll rest whenever I can, and I’ll keep my superiors and Mother appraised of the situation. I can’t do anything more.” He took a moment to knot his tie before he spoke again. “Robards knows how ill I’ve gotten recently, but I won’t be talking to my intended. He doesn’t deserve to have his whole steady life pitched into disarray with me asking him to take a bond he doesn’t want.”

“You don’t know that,” Smethwick replied, his voice resigned. “You can’t know unless you talk to him.”

Draco didn’t dare.

“I’ll do what I can,” he answered, sliding off the examination table. “Aren’t there any potions that I can take that make me feel less poorly? Scorpius… Well, he gets so terribly frightened. He cries whenever I get ill and asks if I’m going to leave like his mum did. I don’t want to cause him more worry than he already has.”

Smethwick narrowed his eyes.

”If anything, we need to be going to more powerful potions rather than rowing backwards,” he answered. “You need to get over your pride, Mr Malfoy, and talk to your bondmate. Scorpius needs his father more than ever and you deserve to live a full, healthy lifespan.” Draco watched as he scribbled another note on the prescription block. “Try these,” the Healer said, ripping the page from his pad. “It's anti-emetic. Take the potion at midday and you should have a good couple of hours with your son each night.” He scanned his diary, frowning as he did so. “Come and see me in a fortnight, and Merlin, please: next time, bring me good news.”

~~~

Everything went wrong only three days later.

Draco had been busy collating paperwork in the small offices outside of the largest Wizengamot courtroom. He was due to complete his prosecution of several very dangerous criminals that Harry’s Auror team had arrested several months before.

The gang in the dock had been trafficking rare and precious creatures, as well as harvesting their young for illegal potion ingredients. It had been a long, arduous case for the DMLE, but Draco was delighted with the way that the prosecution case had progressed over the course of the week. The defense barrister had offered very little in the way of alibis, and the criminals had tied themselves up in knots giving evidence. They’d undermined their own stories and Draco, still the same tricky Slytherin that he’d always been, had taken full advantage of the fact.

Draco looked across his handwritten notes, grimacing only slightly at the flare of pain across his shoulder. Smethwick had been correct, as he always was. The potions regime had mitigated Draco’s symptoms, and he was beginning to feel far much happier as a result. Standing, Draco made his way to the door. He loved the adrenaline rush when trials drew to their conclusion, only to be faced with the slow wait that was the Wizengamot jury coming to their final decision.

Draco wasn’t taking much notice of his environment as he stepped into the Atrium. His mind was full of the case to come, of how he would phrase his concluding speech, and of getting sweet justice for Harry and his hardworking team.

Draco didn’t see the witch beside him quietly take out her wand from a concealed pocket or see her brandish it in his direction. All he felt was the blinding pain as the Crucio tore across his flesh. It felt like his skin was aflame; like he was being flayed alive. Draco hit the ground, his vision clouding as he made a pitiable attempt to reach for his wand. He couldn’t manage it though. His body didn’t seem to want to obey his brain. Tears ran from his eyes as the criminal’s sister cast her Unforgivable, over and over.

“Death Eater scum!” Draco heard the witch scream as the Security Wizards subdued her with an Incarcerous and dragged the wand from her hand. “How dare you question my brother, you piece of filth? Stand in his judgement? It should be you stood in that dock, not him!"

Panic seized Draco. He couldn’t stand and he could barely breathe.

As Draco tried to scream, the last of the strength left his body and he felt the burn of his bondmark merge into that of the Crucio. Draco’s last thoughts before he lost consciousness were of Scorpius’s joyous face whenever he Flooed back to the Manor.

His baby would be so bitterly upset when he failed to arrive home that evening.

~~~

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath as he looked around the ugly surroundings of the corridor outside the Janus Thickey Ward. He could neither calm his racing heart nor understand why he’d been left waiting nearly three hours.

Why wouldn’t any of the Mediwizards give him a straight answer or even meet his eyes? With a frustrated huff, Harry got to his feet for the umpteenth time and paced over the drab, utilitarian tiles.

Draco would be fine, Harry told himself repeatedly. That Crucio had been vicious, but the witch had only managed to cast for seconds at the most. He’d taken worse in the field and still managed a disarming Expelliarmus.

Draco would be fine. He had to be. The alternative was unthinkable.

Shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets, Harry padded over to the grimy window. He could see Muggle taxis and buses making their slow procession along the road beneath and a deep flare of anger rolled through his middle. What if Draco wasn’t fine? What if he never regained consciousness? That didn’t bear thinking about. The other wizard was a single father whose son was still very small. Draco was a valued member of their team. Merlin. Draco was Harry’s friend, all the antagonism of their youth had melted away into a mutual, reciprocated respect.

Harry cursed himself for getting to the Wizengamot Atrium just seconds too late. It was a tradition that he, Ron, and Millie would watch the final day of cases that they’d helped bring to trial, listening to Draco’s concluding speech from the Wizengamot’s Public Gallery. Harry’s team had heard the ruckus of shouted curses and slurs, but they’d leapt into the mêlée too late to save Draco from his fate.

Harry’s colleague – and friend – had already been sprawled on the floor.

His face had been as white as death and his emaciated body had been bent at contorted, unnatural angles. Harry had watched, aghast and helpless as the Security Wizards had side-Alonged Draco away to St Mungo’s. Draco had remained obstinately unconscious through all the hours since. Harry ground his teeth, angry at the lack of news, before pacing frustratedly back across the corridor.

Harry had told his colleagues to both go home to their wives; that there wasn’t any point in them all staying, but both Aurors had stubbornly refused. Millie was drinking her second cup of acerbic coffee, while Ron had thrown the day-old copy of The Daily Prophet to the floor in exasperation. Both Aurors had said that Draco was a fellow member of the DMLE. They were a family. Even so, the tension between the three of them was palpable. The Mediwizards had been very circumspect about Draco’s condition and had paraded into Draco’s private room without ever meeting their eyes.

After what seemed like forever, a Healer approached the three of them. Instinctively, Harry knew that he wasn’t going to be given good news. There was a stubborn, sad expression on the wizard’s face, and he cleared his throat before speaking.

Inside his chest, Harry’s heart galloped. His hands closed into fists. He knew that he had to rein in his emotions, whatever this Smethwick might say. He was the highest-ranking Auror and a Gryffindor. Harry gathered his nerves. He had to be courageous.

“Deputy Head Auror Harry Potter?” Smethwick asked, giving his hand a firm shake. He nodded towards one of the side rooms. “I’m Mr Malfoy’s Healer, and it’s imperative that we talk about his treatment as soon as possible. Can we talk in private please?”

Frowning, Harry shook his head. “Ron, Millie, Draco, and I are a team,” he answered, hating how his voice betrayed his nervousness. “A family. Anything that needs to be said can be said in front of them too.” Harry hoped that he sounded convincing. The truth was, he wanted Ron and Millie’s support. Smethwick’s expression was terribly sombre. Harry felt his nerves jangle at the sight.

The Healer took a moment to weigh up his options before he nodded. “Fine,” he answered, holding open a nearby door. The three Aurors traipsed into a tiny side room and then Smethwick spoke without preamble. “Auror Potter, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but part of Gawain Robards’s responsibilities is to act as medical proxy for any members of the Auror Team injured in the field and as Auror Robards isn’t currently in the country–”

“He’s at the Dusseldorf International Conference,” interrupted Harry, not understanding what Smethwick was talking about.

“And that means, as his Deputy, you automatically take on that mantle,” Smethwick finished. “For all intents and purposes, Mr Malfoy took a curse in the line of duty. So, according to Ministry law, you have become Mr Malfoy’s proxy.”

“This is nonsense,” Harry spat out, incredulously. “Draco has a family. A son. Shouldn’t they be the ones making medical decisions on his behalf?”

“They’ve been informed,” Smethwick replied crisply. “Now, might we please carry on? Time is, I’m afraid, of the essence.” Harry watched as the Healer squinted down at the parchment notes he held. “The Crucio that Mr Malfoy received wasn’t, by itself, enough to have wrought the nerve and magical cortex damage that it has done. Although grotesquely painful, several seconds of Unforgivable curse damage should only incapacitate.” The Healer fixed Harry with a resigned glance. “The following information is private so I must ask for your sensitivity. Mr Malfoy was already gravely ill and, as a result, the Unforgivable has exacerbated the progress of his illness.”

Harry could only shake his head. Smethwick was speaking, but his words weren’t making a smidgen of sense. Draco was certainly reedy, pale too, but he’d always been on the willowy side, even back when they both attended Hogwarts. It couldn’t be true. Draco had been prosecuting Wizengamot cases as recently as yesterday. Surely it was impossible that Draco was ill?

“You look doubtful, Auror Potter, but I’m afraid that you’ll have to take my word on the matter,” Smethwick continued after a short pause. “His magical cortex had already begun to fragment as a result of a denied bond, and his ability to cast spells had already become inconsistent. Mr Malfoy has only managed thus far because of intermittent meetings with his intended. I’m afraid that this Unforgivable has placed Mr Malfoy in a perilous position.” Smethwick placed his sheaf of notes down before Harry, but the words swam on the page and Harry found he couldn’t make any sense of them. “I’ll speak plainly. Mr Malfoy is hovering between life and death. I’ve placed him in a magically induced coma to reduce the pressure on his body, but it’ll be virtually impossible to bring him back to consciousness without making a full bond.”

Ron cut in. “Surely it doesn’t need the full bond? If we could find the wix – bring them back here – wouldn’t that work? That’d wake Draco up at least? There must be something you haven’t tried.”

“I’m afraid not,” Smethwick answered. “Nothing can stave off the progress of Mr Malfoy’s denied bond. I’m not hopeful for a happy ending. Even if you were to find the witch or wizard, then I doubt they would even agree. In all of our conversations, my patient was remarkably consistent. He’d spoken to his intended – spoken to them on multiple occasions – and they were adamant that they didn’t want to ever be bonded. It would be a betrayal of Mr Malfoy’s wishes to drag them here, even if you did manage to identify them. And Mr Malfoy never gave me the first clue about who they were.”

Harry simply couldn’t believe the frightening turn that the conversation had taken. He felt his Saviour instincts slicing through his shock. Who was this callous, cold-hearted person that had denied Draco the bond that would have saved his life? Draco – his friend – was young and brilliant, and the most talented Barrister Harry had ever seen speak within the walls of the Wizengamot. Moreover, Draco was a widower and the father of a small son. He’d been dealt some awful hands of luck during his short life, and now this?

The unfairness of the situation burned through Harry, and he pushed the open file back towards Smethwick with a dismissive finger. “I’ve got all the resources of the DMLE behind me,” Harry answered. “You might have given up, but Merlin, I promise that we haven’t.”

Smethwick frowned.

“What are you planning to do?” the Healer asked, his tone curt. “Drag every wix in London to St Mungo’s like some demented parody of Sleeping Beauty to see if their kiss is the one that wakes him from his slumber? It’s an unfeasible plan. Besides,” Smethwick huffed, “you’re an experienced Auror, and you know the law as well as I do. Nobody can be compelled to make a bond. It’s a lifetime commitment and not something to be taken on without deep consideration. To have a swarm of red-coated Aurors dragging reluctant witches and wizards to the hospital stinks of intimidation and is a mockery of Mr Malfoy’s dignity. I think you need to consider what his own wishes were.”

“Draco would have wanted a full long life with Scorpius,” Millie answered angrily. Harry knew the witch was in a state of shock equal to his own. She directed her voice to Harry, ignoring Smethwick’s implorations completely. “And I, for one, intend for that to happen! We need to look at the evidence, Harry. It had to be a person that Draco saw regularly or he would have gotten sicker before now. Do you think it was someone Draco was ashamed of? Someone that he knew from the war, perhaps, or one of his Father’s associates? For all we know, it could be a prisoner at Azkaban. Somebody that Draco met during a Wizengamot case.”

Had Draco’s intended been one of the Dark Wizards that the DMLE had locked away since Draco had joined the department? A few of their vile, scornful faces flashed through Harry’s brain, and he felt his belly flip queasily.

Would he have to go to Azkaban and plead for Draco’s life? The idea was sickening, but Harry knew that he’d see it was done if need be. He’d negotiate the criminal’s release with Hermione himself if his hand was forced.

“All this talking isn’t getting us anywhere,” Harry replied, rubbing the back of his neck. He was full of haste and impatience. He couldn’t believe that Draco had kept this secret from their team. He felt like the world had shifted on its axis. “We need to be let in to see Draco straight away. The DMLE has multiple records of Patronuses collected in our Records Bureau. A quick spell will discover if any of them match Draco’s bondmark. Now, please. If you would take us to Draco’s bedside.”

Smethwick looked aghast, and Harry knew his conduct was well below the expected standards of the DMLE. The laws about bonding were strict and undisputable. He didn’t give a single Sickle, though. He’d take criminal charges if it meant finding Draco’s mysterious wix. He’d get on his knees if he had to. Merlin, he’d even see the inside of an Azkaban cell.

“Please,” Millie asked, sounding more reasonable and rational than Harry thought he could manage. “Draco means a great deal to all of us. All we want is to see him. Spend a moment with him.”

Huffing angrily, Smethwick finally conceded their request with a nod. “If you’ll follow me,” he said, spelling the entrance back open with a twist of his wand. “Please don’t raise your expectations. Mr Malfoy isn’t currently conscious. He won’t know you’re there.”

Harry bristled. He knew that somewhere, deep below the surface, Draco was still with them. He swore to all the deities above them that he’d save his friend’s life; for Scorpius, and for himself too.

The idea of a world without Draco Malfoy was one that he refused to countenance. He followed Smethwick and his colleagues out of the door, swallowing his angry reply like a bezoar stone. They couldn’t afford to annoy the Healer any further. If it pleased him, the Healer could set excluding spells so that they were barred from entering the Janus Thickey Ward.

~~~

Draco looked ghastly.

Narcissa was sitting by Draco’s bedside, but she stood when Harry entered. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she left without a word, pressing a lace handkerchief to her cheek. Harry took Draco’s cold fingers in his own. His friend’s skin was waxy and grey.

Somehow, Draco seemed withered, as if he’d aged a dozen years in just the few short hours he’d been unconscious. Blue shadows sat beneath Draco’s long eyelashes, and his usually impeccable hair was a mussy, knotted mess. Before Harry realised exactly what he was doing, he’d leant over and brushed a loose tuft of hair behind Draco’s ear.

Different tubes had been introduced to the veins of Draco’s lean arms and powerful, opaque potions fed through them slowly as the room shimmered with the faint sparkles of different Healing spells. The only audible sound was the faint rasp of Draco’s breath, rattling and weak. Harry thought it was the small softness of the sound that drove home how desperate his friend’s situation truly was.

“I’m not going to allow you to cast a copying spell,” Smethwick said, his disapproval evident in every syllable. “That would be an affront to Mr Malfoy’s dignity. I will only allow you to cast your eyes upon his bondmark a single time, and that’s only because Auror Potter here is his proxy.”

It was with reluctance that Harry let go of Draco’s hand, and he watched carefully as Smethwick began to unwrap the bandages wrapped around his friend’s shoulder. The tension in the room rose with every second, and Harry could feel, rather than see the anxiety radiating from both Millie and Ron. To see another wix’s bondmark was usually intensely private and sacrosanct, reserved only for one’s intended and their close family.

Harry felt his own bondmark – an iridescent blue stallion – prickle and sting in response to the magic. His mark had unexpectedly appeared two years before. Harry had kept it a secret ever since. His breath hitched as Smethwick cautiously pulled away the dressing. Despite the dire circumstances, Harry still felt shamefaced about taking this choice away from Draco and, for a brief second, he wondered whether he really was making the right decision.

It was only as the Mediwizard pulled away the last bandage that Harry was given his answer. His heart skipped a beat, his eyes watered, and he felt his legs wobble dangerously beneath him. The rest of the world seemed to vanish in an instant. Draco’s bondmark was a swirling silver stag; it was Harry’s Patronus, and that could mean only one thing.

Draco was his bondmate; they were meant to be together.

They were two sides of the same soul, broken apart. Powerful waves of recognition rolled through Harry’s body, and he felt an intense heat begin to build across his own bondmark.

Gasping, Harry reached over and seized hold of Draco’s fingers once more as shudders shook his body. Competing emotions stole the breath from his lungs. Harry knew his claims had left Draco in this condition. His stupid, impetuous words, spoken entirely without thinking, had placed his intended in mortal danger. They had nearly stolen a father away from his son.

“Harry?” Ron asked, breaking the moment. His voice was confused. “Mate, you’ve gone all pale. You okay? You look like you’ve been hexed or–”

“I haven’t been hexed,” Harry cut in, dragging his eyes away unwillingly from Draco to look at his best friend. “And we don’t need to race back to the DMLE, Ron. Look at Draco’s bondmark. It’s a silver stag–”

“Your Patronus,” Millie interrupted, her face clouded by shock.

“Draco is my bondmate,” Harry said, certain as the words left his mouth that they were true. “And he’s sick because I was always so vehement that I wouldn’t bond with anyone.” He shook his head. “I was ignorant, and I let my mouth run off before I’d engaged my brain. If I’d ever have dreamt Draco was sick, I’d never have…” Harry let his words trail off to nothing. Shame sat in his stomach like a stone. He’d saved Draco twice, from Azkaban after the war and from Fiendfyre. He’d be damned if he was going to let him die now.

Draco was his intended. His bondmate. Draco was the other side of his very soul.

Millie, Ron, and Smethwick looked at Harry, their faces disbelieving. It didn’t matter what they thought. The evidence was incontrovertible, and he was going to save Draco’s life. “I’m going to take the bond,” Harry said, speaking to the silent room. “Save Draco’s life. That’s what you said before, wasn’t it, Smethwick? That was the only course of action that could save him?”

The Mediwizard looked reluctant.

“Yes,” he answered, “a full bond will reverse the damage that the denied bond has wrought. Draco will wake, and he’ll be able to live a full life… But it’ll be a full life with you beside him. This is a lifetime’s commitment! Your magic will combine and will become one entity. You’ll become ill without each other’s presence. Draco made it very clear that you weren’t available. Mr Malfoy and I spoke but three days ago, and he said that your ‘whole steady life would be pitched into disarray’ were he to ask you to bond. I’m not sure I should sanction this. Is this a whim that you’ll come to regret?”

It was hard for Harry not to lose his temper. Precious seconds were being wasted and Draco was living on borrowed time.

“We’ve got a complicated history,” Harry answered, struggling to stay polite. “And I fully admit that I told him that I’d never willingly bond when he first began working at the Wizengamot. Draco…well, he’s a proud man. He’s worked hard to rehabilitate his reputation and give Scorpius a full, happy life.”

Harry heard his voice start to harden, but he didn’t care.

“Draco wouldn’t have wanted to force my hand, or be beholden to me, but he was wrong. I’d never, ever have let him become ill. Now, if you please. You said it yourself: according to Ministry law, I’m Draco’s proxy, responsible for making medical choices on his behalf.” Harry gave his best friend a smile. “Ron, if you and Millie could step outside and take Mediwizard Smethwick with you? Bonding is the most significant moment in a person’s life, and I’d like a bit of privacy.”

Ron nodded his agreement and Harry watched as he and Millie escorted Smethwick from the room. The older wizard was spluttering, and Harry didn’t doubt that Robards, or even Hermione, would be getting a serious complaint about his behaviour later tonight. Harry didn’t care though. He had far more important things to consider.

Harry looked down at Draco’s skinny, broken figure and tried to calm his racing heart. In a few minutes time, their magic and souls would be entwined for the rest of their lives. Harry thought he ought to be nervous or experience some hesitation, but there wasn't any. He felt joyful and at peace.

As soon as Harry had decided to make this bond, he’d known it was the right decision.

There’d never been anyone else like Draco in Harry's whole existence. Even as schoolboys, they’d been like yin and yang; different in every way, but only truly complete when they were together. Harry kissed his fingers and brushed them gently across Draco’s lips.

“You daft git. I wish you’d been honest with me from the very first day,” Harry murmured, laying his palm across the hot, swollen bondmark. The silver stag frolicked beneath his touch, and Harry felt the stallion on his own shoulder throb in recognition. “I love you. Have been forever. I’m in love with you. This… It isn’t just to save your life. It’s what I want. We’ve wasted so much time.”

Cradling Draco’s head in his hands, Harry pressed a kiss onto Draco’s lips. It was a small, chaste thing, barely there at all, but the effect was instantaneous and fierce. A powerful rush of magic coiled through Harry’s body, warm and somehow familiar. It was like finding out he was a wizard or riding his broomstick through the dawn sky. It was Treacle Tart, laughing with friends, and cuddling with Teddy.

It was love.

It was finding yourself when you hadn’t even known you were lost.

~~~

It took Draco three days to begin to improve.

At first, the blond wizard drifted in and out of consciousness, without really being coherent of his environment. But Harry’s presence and the magic of their bond had done the trick.

On the fourth day, Harry awoke from a ten-minute bedside doze to find Draco fully awake. His bondmate looked tired, and his face was pinched, but Draco managed to give Harry a wan smile.

Lifting the water glass, Harry helped Draco to take a sip through the straw. “It’s good to see you finally awake,” Harry said. “Had us all worried for a while there.”

“You saved my life,” Draco answered, his voice rough with lack of use. “Bonded with me. I-I can feel the strength of your magic. You’re a part of me now, and I, you. You don't regret it?”

“Not for a moment,” Harry said, “I already loved you, but I was so busy waiting for you to come to me first that I nearly lost you. We were foolish, Draco, but none of that matters now. We’re a family now. You, me and Scorpius.”

Draco’s face brightened at the sound of his son’s name.

“That first day, when we shook hands?” Draco replied, sitting up a little straighter. “Harry, I nearly fainted. It was as if I’d been hexed. I was plucking up the courage to tell you, but then you told everyone you’d never bond. That you couldn’t risk the vulnerability. It didn’t feel fair to tell you after that. I felt like I’d be pressuring you, and I couldn’t abide the idea. I’m…well, I’m Draco Malfoy. I couldn’t believe that you’d break your vow. Not for me.”

Harry took Draco’s hands in his own and pulled his bondmate close. Their lips met for a long, passionate kiss and Harry hoped that it gave Draco the reassurance he was looking for.

“How could I not?” Harry said, reluctantly breaking their embrace. “I love you.”

Draco seemed to accept that and lay back down on the pillow, worn-out by their conversation. Harry watched Draco close his eyes, satisfied that he was falling into a deep, natural sleep.

It wouldn’t be long until Draco could leave St. Mungo’s, and then their happy ending could finally begin.