Draco never saw himself ending up here. Not even before he had taken the Mark and there was still a chance for him to lead a semi-normal life. He never saw himself on his knees, joining hands with Harry Potter, preparing to take a Vow. But here he was. He used his free hand to push his hair back from his face, more of a nervous tick than a necessity. Harry’s hand was smaller than his, but broader. Draco realized he hadn’t ever touched the other boy —man, now—for this long, unless you counted the incident with the fiendfyre, which he didn’t.

“You’ll have to look at each other, if you can manage it,” McGonagall’s stern voice interrupted Draco’s musings. Draco then realized that the both of them had been avoiding the other’s gaze.

“Draco, do you remember the conditions you are to ask Harry?”

“Yes,” Draco said, studying Harry’s face as the green light that filtered through the dungeon window’s made shapes appear across it.

“And Harry, you are ready to ept them?”

Harry’s eyes darted from Draco to the dungeon floor, before finally answering, “Yes.”

“Then we shall begin,” McGonagall said. She placed the tip of her wand to their joined hands.

Draco cleared his throat.

“Will you, Harry Potter, protect me from any and all harm?” Draco asked.

“I will,” Harry whispered.

They both watched in wonder as the first ring of the Vow wove its away around their hands, glowing and permanent.

“And will you ensure my basic needs are fulfilled, that being food, clothes, shelter, once Minerva McGonagall has resigned from her current position?”

“I will.”

“And will you do everything in your power to ensure my continued existence remain a secret, discussing it only with the predesignated parties we have deemed eptable?”

“I will,” Harry confirmed, again, prompting a third ring formation.

“And will you do these things for as long as we both shall live?”

Harry’s eyes darkened as they locked with Draco’s.

“I will,” Harry said, the finality in his voice hitting Draco in the stomach like a well- landed punch.

The final ring wove around their hands.

McGonagall drew her wand away, the rings of magic fading as the moments dragged forward. Both men seemed hesitant to let the other’s hand drop, only doing so upon the headmaster’s prompting of “You can let go now, you know, you aren’t literally tied together.”

“Professor,” Harry said suddenly as he stood up. “It wouldn’t be unheard of for a wizard to have a dog as a familiar, would it?”

“Not extremelymon, but not unprecedented. Why?” McGonagall asked, narrowing her eyes at Harry.

“I was just thinking, it would give D-um, Malfoy a lot more freedom around the castle, and ease Hagrid’s mind if we pretended that I had tamed the wolf on the grounds and kept him as a familiar of sorts, wouldn’t you think?” Harry said, looking at Draco with an apologetic smile.

Draco looked at him, baffled. He could have run the idea by him first, but he supposed Harry was one to ask for iveness rather than permission.

“I suppose it would not appear too strange, but I don’t think it would be wise to allow him free range of the castle just because he belonged to someone. Too dangerous. I think…it would be fine for him to apany you around the castle in his animal form. Should he want to. Never alone, though, Mr. Malfoy. Never alone. I will leave you two to catch up, then. Not that you don’t have all the time in the world. And don’t neglect your studies, Mr. Potter. Maybe Mr. Malfoy will be so kind as to help you. He was a better student...” Professor McGonagall said, turning on her heel and heading out the door.

The boys smiled politely at her as she exited.

Draco turned to Harry the moment the entrance had closed behind her.

“I may be in a cage, Potter, but that doesn’t mean I am your pet. Your familiar, how very cute,” Draco spat, regretting it as the other boy flinched at his words.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Malfoy. I was only thinking that it the best place to hide is in plain sight. No one will snoop around after a dog they see all the time. Think about it. Hagrid has Fang all the time, and no one is curious as to know whether or not Fang is really a dog,” Harry sputtered nervously.

“Because Fang is so clearly a dog, Potter. Anyway, you’re you. Everyone thinks everything you do is interesting. You’re sudden acquisition of a white wolf won’t go unscrutinized.”

“Well, I mean, sure people will notice, but a certain allowance for entricityes with being the Boy Who Lived, especially now after all is said and done. I think you would be quite safe. Anyway, apanying me to class would be loads more interesting than just sitting around here all day for the rest of your life,” Harry said, motioning at the room around him as he fell unceremoniously into one of Draco’s armchairs. He propped his feet up on one armrest, leaning back against the other.

“Shoes,” Draco chastised, tapping Harry’s toe as he walked passed to him settle in the opposite chair, sitting upright like a civilized human being.

Harry rolled his eyes and kicked off his shoes, which bouncing haphazardly across the floor.

“Who says that would be more interesting? Who says I don’t have plenty to do here?” Draco asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

“For one, I’d be there,” Harry said.

“And you’re interesting?”

“You seem to think so, based on those albums you’ve—”

“Don’t start with the album. et the album. I should burn the album,” Draco huffed. “It’s the reason I’m here in the first place, playing some twisted game of house where I’m the pet dog.”

Harry smiled at him, though it appeared forced.

“Unfortunately for you, I won’t be etting the scrapbook. Didn’t get obliviated, you see. Tell me, what do you have to do here that is more interesting?”

“Reading,” Draco replied shortly.

“Reading would be more fun than going to class with me? Think about it. Youe with me to the Defense class room. We’ll keep something for you to lie on up by my desk. You keep an eye on the students, and when they do something stupid, we can talk about it together instead of me having to do the funny things justice when I tell you about my day,” Harry answered.

“So I’ll be some glorified version of Mrs. Norris. Who says I want to hear about your day, Potter?” Draco sneered, trying to hide the fact that that did, in fact, sound pleasant. Nothing bredmunity quite like gossip, and Draco had always loved a good bit of gossip himself.

“The albu—”

“What do I have to do to get you to drop the album?” Draco asked, snapped out of the pleasant musings brought on by the thought of spending time around people and back into reality.

“Acknowledge the elephant in the room,” Harry said.

“Which is?” Draco tensed.

“I just vowed to protect you with my life for the rest of my existence, Malfoy.”

“I know, I was there,” Draco replied, the words as long as we both shall live echoing through his mind, his heart beat picking up again as he replayed Harry’s answer, a slow, deliberate, and above all else, incredibly confident I will.

“So. That means I—”

“Don’t hate me. I know. You’ve mentioned.”

“I was going to say don’t mind being around you. Might even go so far as to say I would like to be around you,” Harry continued.

“Thanks very much, kind of you to say,” Draco said. He didn’t want to say it. Not so plainly. Not yet.

“So I guess what I am saying, Draco, is is that album what I think it is?”

Draco suppressed the leap his heart made at Harry’s use of his given name. It wasn’t the first time he had said it, but he seemed to only reserve it for moments like this, moments that tug at Draco’s chest, threatening to make him spill every secret he’d held close for the last decade.

“What do you think it is?”

“Evidence that maybe you’d like to be around me, too.”

“Maybe I would. Seeing as we’re as good as handcuffed together forever, it seems like it would be in my best interest to like to be around you.”

“You just can’t stoop so low as to admit you don’t hate me so much, either, can you?” Harry laughed.

“To your face? Never,” Draco said, a pleasant warm feeling spreading through his stomach as he returned Harry’s smile.

So maybe the familiar idea wasn’t the best one he had ever had, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. After all, he was only trying to make sure Draco didn’t feel like a prisoner for the rest of his life. It was ironic really, that this was the life he chose when it was highly unlikely he would have ended up in Azkaban after the trials, especially when Harry would have vouched for him. Harry hated to say it, because it made him sound so self-important, but his word did go a long way in the months just after the war. They still would, if he felt the need to use them.

But he had been looked at his entire life, and he knew how difficult it was to be the center of attention, especially when it was negative. And Draco had been fragile just after the war. Hell, they all had been, but Draco had a certain amount of guilt that he was sure made the fragility all the worse. But things would have worked out.

In a way, they had worked out, because now here he was, still buzzing with the magic of the Vow, sitting across from Draco Malfoy like they were friends. They almost were, and he knew, in time, they would be. They had their whole lives to work that situation out. But part of him wondered why he had done it. Of course, there was the confession that he had made to McGonagall, the one he knew beyond a doubt was true; he was in love with Draco Malfoy. But it was hardlymon for you to go from confessing one’s love for the first time out loud to Vowing to protect them, now and forever more, in the same day. It was a bit Romeo and Juliet of him, he had to admit. And even if he knew that his feelings were not entirely unrequited, he couldn’t help but feel he had rushed.

Then again, what else was to be expected of him? His whole life had been rushed. He went from being a normal muggle kid to being the most famous wizard in the United Kingdom, and possibly the world, in less than a day. He became the youngest seeker in ages in a similar way. He went from an orphan to having Sirius to being an orphan again in what felt like the shortest time period imaginable. His whole life happened too fast, and he hadn’t learned how to make decisions in a timely, well thought out manner. He had never had to develop the skill of thinking things out well. That had always been Hermione’s job.

There was a lot on his mind, to be sure, but the thought that most upied him was how difficult he was finding it not to stare at Draco’s face. He knew he had forever and then some to memorize it all, but what he wanted right now, more than anything was to walk across to where Draco sat and hold his face between his hands and just look at him. Look at him and run his fingers over the lines of his cheekbones, his nose, his lips. Of course, he knew all too well what Draco looked like, but he never been allowed to just look like he wanted to. Like he knew now that he was

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