Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was as it had always been-loud, garish, and absolutely exploding with whimsy. It was paradise to those young of age and heart. Draco remembered the first time he walked in. It had been shortly after Voldemort swept into the Manor and proclaimed himself its king, taking all of Draco's childhood memories and dreams along with him.

Consumed by anger and hatred he directed both outwardly and inwardly, Draco was about to enter the darkest period of his life, but he hadn't known it then. No one ever really does.

He'd been stupid enough, childish enough, to think of Voldemort's presence at first as an honour. Of all things. It didn't take long to decipher the truth-it was a punishment. And a severe one. But with his father in prison, who was Draco to turn to? Snape was, to all appearances, on Voldemort's side, and there was hardly a wealth of male figures in Draco's life. Beyond his father and Snape, there was only Voldemort.

His mother shook in quiet fear every day Voldemort walked the halls of the Manor, but his Aunt Bella-

It was a miracle of some kind he managed to survive the war at all.

When the Dark Lord tasked him with Dumbledore's murder, Draco splintered. His anger and hate-for Dumbledore and Potter and everyone else who let him fester in that darkness-took over the majority of his actions. The other part of him-his fear, his pain, and the last shreds of his innocence-only emerged at his darkest points, long enough for Draco to see the horrors he wrought and to consider ending it in the only way he thought he could. But he was even too much of a coward for that.

And then, when the plans lain out in anger required supplies, he found himself wandering along a deserted Diagon Alley and into the den of his enemies. Draco had prepared himself to be revolted, disdainful of their success and pitiful attempts at humour in the face of evil.

Instead, he felt only wonder. For the few brief moments, that first time he walked in, all the terror and pain and vengefulness were stripped away. Draco was left in awe, a child surrounded by dreams, and he forgot he was in danger.

Pushing the thought aside, Draco tried to appear nonplussed, expressionless at entering the shop. But he still felt a spark of wonder every time.

It was after closing hours, so when Potter pushed through the door, a flicker of excitement rushed through Draco. As though he was a child again, he felt some kind of perverse pleasure in entering such a place when others were not allowed. Until he walked clear into an invisible wall.

Stumbling backward, Draco nearly toppled into a couple walking down the street behind him. The pull between him and Potter stretched taught, like an elastic band, and snapped Potter to attention. He turned and opened the door, stifling at laugh at Draco's position.

"Sorry," he said, "Forgot about the wards." He reached into his robes for what Draco thought was a wand but instead pulled out a scrap of parchment. Handing it to Draco he said, "speak the words on the parchment and press the tip of your wand to the central 'W' on the door. It should let you in, then."

Lips pursed, Draco stepped warily up to the door and unfolded the parchment, wand in hand. Pressing the tip of his wand as instructed, Draco said the words aloud, though quietly.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The tip of his wand sparked at the end, three red pinpricks of light. The lettering on the shop door alighted with the sparks, and somewhere inside his head, a quiet voice said, "Messrs. Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs welcome you, Master Malfoy, to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

A chill ran down Draco's spine, a narrowing sense of dread and grief, though he could not explain from where it came. He stepped cautiously through the door, feeling the colour drain from his face.

Potter was already climbing the stairs to the second level of the shop, gesturing for Draco to follow. Draco tried to shake off the feeling the wards gave him and hurried to catch Potter.

The shop was still just as lively and delightful at night, though without all the screaming, laughing children it seemed eerily quiet. The displays perfectly ordered and stocked, the store seemed to thrum in anticipation of tomorrow's customers. Everything on the shelves begged to be picked up, played with, and used in some way. Draco's fingers itched as he passed the various sections of the shop on his way up. He did stall slightly walking by the WonderWitch section however. Love potions and the like suddenly seemed more sinister than they ever did before.

A sudden crash and a cry cut Draco's musings short, and he and Potter both ran the last few steps to the top floor of the shop. Potter swung open the door marked "Workshop-Testing In Progress" and immediately launched himself backward, knocking Draco out of the way of a massive metal sword. The sword stabbed itself into the wall where Draco's head had been, before it disintegrated into a million shimmering dust particles and vanished on the air.

Breathing heavily, Draco looked up into Potter's face to find it a mere inch away from his own. Potter's entire weight was on top of him, but Draco hardly seemed to mind. His body pressed tightly to Potter's, Draco stared into Potter's eyes and found the same heated expression he'd seen earlier in his own shop. Potter swallowed hard, his hand coming up to brush a lock of hair from Draco's forehead.

"Er, you all right, mate?" Weasley asked, and Potter and Draco both jerked so violently Potter was knocked off Draco and into the railing.

"No thanks to you," Potter said, trying to sound more miffed with Weasley than embarrassed. He failed.

"It wouldn't have actually hurt anyone," the elder Weasley said, eyeing Draco cautiously from within the doorframe. He, like Longbottom, looked older than he was, but it had been years since George Weasley had aged prematurely, and everyone in the Wizarding World knew why. His hair was slightly too shaggy and streaked with wisps of grey. His once broad frame dwindled slightly, and he leaned his head perpetually to once side, compensating for his missing ear.

"Well how were we to know that?" Potter asked, frowning as he got to his feet. Without thinking, he reached out a hand to help Draco up, and similarly, Draco took it. Only once he was standing did Draco realize and drop Potter's hand.

"Sorry." The younger Weasley shrugged. He looked less like his brother than ever. Still tall, he was no longer than lanky child he once was. Instead, he'd filled out and wore his height like armour. His hair was cropped shorter than his brother's, clean-cut with just a hint of flare. The tips of his locks accentuated the strong lines of his face. Weasley had somehow turned himself into an attractive man, if Draco was being honest. Realizing this was probably entirely Granger's influence, Draco decided to stop thinking about it altogether. "We've been experimenting with Life-Size Wizard's Chess. Remember like McGonagall made in first year?"

"Ron had this idea to make spring-up, reusable illusions of it," his brother explained. "All the excitement with none of the actual danger. And no real clean up afterwards."

"But we've run into a few problems," Weasley admitted. "We still haven't come up with a reasonable solution to what happens if your piece gets knocked off the board. It's particularly bad if you play the knight. Falling five feet from a vanishing stone horse is a bit more painful than we'd like."

Potter laughed and shook his head. "Well you'd know."

Weasley laughed, and Draco remembered why it was so difficult to befriend Gryffindors. No sense of self-preservation.

"How's tricks, then?" the younger Weasley asked, and Draco vaguely wondered if he should begin to think of them by their names or just Weasley One and Weasley Two.

"You tell me," Potter said. "You're the one worried for my life."

"You got yourself soul-bonded," Weasley said, "by a cursed ring, Hermione said. She mentioned some other details, as well." And by the pointedness of Weasley's tone, Draco knew what he meant. Colouring slightly, Draco averted his gaze and glanced around the shop. The aerial view was quite interesting. "And from what I saw a moment ago, she was right. You're throwing yourselves at each other."

Draco choked on nothing. Potter frowned, and Draco contemplated the injuries one might sustain from a fall at this height. Probably not lethal.

Probably.

"We're not throwing ourselves at each other," Potter said. "There was a massive weapon coming at me, and I ducked to get out of the way."

"You threw yourself at Malfoy to protect him," Weasley amended. "That doesn't seem a bit off to you? No offense, Malfoy."

Draco made a noise of acknowledgement, but Potter made an entirely different sound.

"I'm an auror, Ron," he said. "I protect people. It's my job."

Draco turned to see Weasley giving Potter a meaningful look and, despite himself, added, "It may actually be the ring, Potter. I did mention these kinds of bonds ensure both parties do whatever it takes to protect each other."

Potter looked mildly mutinous, but Weasley only glanced between them both, an indecipherable expression on his face.

"Well, it didn't matter in the end, did it?" Potter turned his attention to the elder Weasley. "We came to ask about the case, anyway. George, you'd mentioned you were going to set up new wards to track your customers. Did you?"

"Yeah, a few months back, why?"

"There were two Wheezes products in the box sent to me," he explained, "and we thought maybe we'd get lucky and find out who bought them."

"Sure, yeah, what are they?" he answered, gesturing for them all to follow him to another room, this one marked Records.

"Er," Potter pulled out a list from his robes. "Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and a set of Protean Parchment."

"Protean Parchment?" Draco asked, filing after the second Weasley into the narrow Records room. Contrary to expectation, there were no actual records anywhere in the room. No parchment or scrolls, no files of any kind beyond a single book atop a plain desk. The elder Weasley scrolled some invisible word on the ledger with his wand-tip, and soon lists scrawled themselves across the page.

"It's parchment you give to your friends to send secret messages in class. You can maintain a whole conversation without ever turning around to look at anyone or pass actual notes," Weasley explained.

"Similar idea to the coins Hermione enchanted for Dumbledore's Army in fifth year, or-" but Potter stopped himself, and Draco knew why.

Or like the coins I used to keep in contact with Madam Rosmerta in sixth.

"We haven't sold much Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," Elder Weasley said. "Ministry put a strict control on it after-" he glanced in Draco's direction, and Draco let his head drop slightly. All his past mistakes come back to face him. All in one day. "In any case, buyers are highly regulated. Have to pass all kinds of background checks now. We usually only sell to Ministry employees or private security firms."

"Let's have a list of the names anyway," Potter said. "I'll give them to Neville to check out."

"As for Protean Parchment, we've got more, I'm afraid." The ledger scrolled through countless names. "It's a big seller with Hogwarts-age children."

"Any buyers who aren't kids? Or don't have any?" Potter asked. Weasley flicked his wand and the list of names became images whizzing by on the air. Young witches and wizards zoomed by Draco's eyes in quick succession until the images stopped and settled on a set of three customers.

There was a man, roughly their age, with uneven, dark hair and a slightly stunted look about him. The second was a woman with pinned curls, well groomed, and a house elf.

"Names?" Potter asked, studying the images.

"Protean Parchment isn't regulated," the younger Weasley answered. "We ask for names for our lists, but not everyone wants to give them."

"The woman is Drusilla Montague. She works for the Daily Prophet," the elder Weasley said. "She's come in a couple times to ask for interviews. Never agreed, of course, but she always buys something, so I stay civil.

"The house elf is listed as Kertsy," he continued. "No family name associated, but the purchase was five years ago, when we first introduced the product."

"Probably not the one then," Potter said, thinking. "Still would like to know which family she worked for."

"We had a house elf named Kertsy," Draco said, and everyone turned to him. "When I was a child. But I haven't seen her since I was still a child. I always thought she died, but I suppose she might have been freed, or sent to work for another family."

"Would your parents know where she went?" Potter asked. Draco swallowed hard, ignoring the lump in his throat.

"I supposed my mother might remember," he admitted. "Though it was a long time ago. I can owl her, if it would help."

"Can't we ask in person?"

Clearing his throat quietly, Draco said, "I'm afraid not. She left England shortly after my father passed. She travels mostly. I believe right now she is in Sweden, but I can't be sure."

Potter nodded.

"Who is the last customer then?" Potter asked. "And do any names overlap with the Peruvian Darkness Powder buyers?"

The elder Weasley shook his head. "No. Last buyer is only listed as C.L. Don't think I've seen him in here otherwise. I can barely remember him even looking at the image."

"Right, thanks anyway," Potter said. Draco nodded and turned to leave the room. The elder Weasley followed, but the younger Weasley stopped Potter with a hand.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Harry?"

Potter nodded slowly, glancing at Draco, and Draco let himself out into the main area. The elder Weasley considered Draco a moment, once they were outside the Records room.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Weasley asked him, and Draco was taken aback by the look of compassion on his face.

"What?"

"Distance," Weasley said. "From the person you care about."

Draco wasn't certain if Weasley meant his mother or Potter by that, but he realized it mattered little.

"Yes," Draco said. Weasley nodded once, then his eyes fell to the ring on Draco's finger.

"Those bonding spells are nasty business," he said. "Can easily end in death and dismemberment or worse if they go wrong. Love potions were about as far as Fred and I were ever willing to go. Ethics, and all that. Couldn't be selling complex and powerful magic to hormonal teenagers, could we? I'd say no one would let themselves get wrapped up in that kind of serious magic anymore. Not unless they were mad or didn't know. I don't take you for mad," he said, considering Draco. "So I reckon Harry was right. You didn't know what would happen any more than Harry did."

Draco inclined his head, his tongue stilled in his mouth. Like Longbottom, George Weasley was someone Draco hadn't been keen on seeing again. He was a walking reminder of the war, of the losses and the mistakes. The ruined side of his head was a mark of the unbearable requirements of war.

"I've got something for you," he said, pulling Draco out of his thoughts. "It might help you and Harry. Hold on a minute."

Weasley went off into a room labeled Overstock, and Draco was left alone.

"No, of course, I didn't," Potter's voice said, carrying through the door. It was slightly muffled, but still clear enough to understand. "That's completely mental."

"Yeah, it is," Weasley said. "But you can't blame me, can you? You've been obsessed since I've known you. And I know you get bored easily at work, and you're lonely-"

"Merlin, Ron!" Potter snapped, but Weasley continued doggedly.

"Since Ginny and Anton, and-" There was a pause during which Draco realized his heart was pounding. "Hermione and I are just worried about you, mate.

"Yeah, well, don't be," Potter answered. "I've not become a complete nutter that I'd-"

"Here it is," Elder Weasley said, offering Draco a bottle of something smoking a soft blue and effectively talking over the two arguing in the other room. Draco stared blankly at the bottle for a moment, and when he took it, it crackled under his fingers, cold to the touch.

"Cool-Down Cordial?" Draco asked. Weasley shrugged.

"We developed it briefly for a while as a way to counter the effects of love potions and lust potions," he explained with a sheepish look. "Until we realized that most of the time people would not be interested in countering those effects, and if they did, they'd want a permanent solution, not a temporary one. We sold a few before pulling it. I figured it might help a bit with your situation, though. Hermione mentioned some of the side-effects of the bond and how you and Harry would need to try and avoid them."

Draco, jaw tight with embarrassment, slipped the bottle into his robes. "Thanks," he said, trying to ignore the slightly disappointed feeling in his stomach.

"Position noted," Potter said, swinging open the door. "Thanks, George, for all your help. We best get going now." Potter smiled but looked harried. He gestured to Draco and began down the stairs without waiting. The elder Weasley followed him out, but this time, the younger Weasley stopped Draco.

"Malfoy," he said, looking about as uncomfortable as Draco felt. He tried to speak several times, opening his mouth only to say nothing, then sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I know this isn't the kind of thing people do for kicks, getting wrapped up in bonding spells, so I believe Harry when he says you're as much the victim here as he is." Draco wondered if he'd walked into a parallel world this morning, having so many of his old school rivals suddenly showing faith in him. "And Harry says you're different than you were. After seeing you, and talking to Hermione before, I reckon he's probably right. You are different. We all are." Weasley paused again, apparently fighting with himself.

"What is it you'd like to say, Weasley?" Draco asked.

After another moment of fighting with himself, the words finally burst from Weasley's mouth, "don't hurt him."

Shocked, Draco stared. "Hurt him?"

Weasley looked away. "You heard me. I don't know how this is going to end, but if you're not a willing participant in the bond, then there are only a few options left. Either you manage to dissolve the bond and go your separate ways, or you don't and end up bonded forever. Or-"

"Or one or both of us die horribly from the curse," Draco finished for him. Weasley nodded.

"Whatever happens, Harry is in a vulnerable position, whether he wants to admit it or not," he said. "Just don't-take advantage or hurt him."

Draco's eyebrows knitted together, the frustration from the day's events showing on his face. "Weasley, as you said, I don't want to be in this situation. I didn't ask for this. And between the two of us, I'm the one who seems more alarmed by the whole thing. In fact, half the time Potter seems almost pleased about being unwillingly bonded to me."

Weasley gave Draco another indecipherable look.

"That's what worries me."