Draco watched in detached silence as they boarded up his shop with magical wards. The life and home he'd built for himself, erected brick by brick to make himself whole, was shattered and ruined by someone he didn't know. His eyes lingered on the closed sign in the front entrance as Potter apparated them away. The aurors had decided that the personal nature of the theft and destruction called for defensive measures. Draco wasn't to be let out of Potter's sight until the culprit was caught. Not that he could leave Potter's sight if he had wanted to.

Potter's role, now, was chiefly that of bodyguard to Draco, despite the fact that he had also been targeted by the suspect in question. But Draco found it best not to point out the obvious when it came to aurors.

They arrived back in Grimmauld Place, somewhat worse for the wear, in the bedroom they'd left that morning. The rumpled duvet, the disarranged pillows, and the discarded clothing from the previous night painted the picture of a sordid evening. His mind wandered back to the feel of Potter's skin, his hair between Draco's fingers, and the taste of him. The heat within him rose, steady and constant and not at all like the burning, raging flame from the previous times. This fire was lasting, settling in the bones-roasting embers rather than a flash fire.

"You all right?" Potter asked, his hand on Draco's back, at the place where the heat began.

Unaccustomed to answering these kinds of questions, Draco turned to Potter and studied his face. Open and compassionate, it was a Potter Draco had dreamed of in his youth, the Potter he'd wanted by his side. A friend, a loved one-not the enemy.

"Why do you care about me at all?" Draco asked, blurting out his raw thoughts without thinking. He caught his tongue at the last second, but the damage had been done. Exhaustion and stress wore on him, it was clear. He never spoke without thought. Not anymore.

Potter's face was a warzone of emotions, anger, hurt, and disbelief chasing themselves behind his eyes. He had never been good at hiding his feelings. Everyone knew that.

Draco expected a snappy retort, a condemning remark, or even a dismissive comment. But Potter never did what was expected.

"Why won't you let me?"

"What?" was all Draco could muster.

"You've been fighting me every inch of the way, and I just don't understand," Potter said. His hair was wilder than usual, his shoulders square. He was ready for a fight.

"My apologies, Potter," Draco said, "I was unaware you wanted to be forcibly bonded to your childhood rival via cursed ring."

Potter laughed a short, half-disbelieving sound. "No," he said, "it's more than that, and you know it. The ring is your excuse to ignore what else is going on here. I know a bit about bonding magic too. It can bind the body and the spirit, but not the heart. Not really. No magic can manufacture real love. Not even love potions. They're only the best approximation of love magic can offer, but the person always knows, deep down. It doesn't feel like this, it doesn't feel-"

Draco advanced, his throat tight, "feel what?" he taunted, trying for sneering. His voice fell short, breaking slightly. Potter gave him a hard look.

"Right."

Draco shook his head and turned away, walking toward the wall. Distance was what he needed. Lots of it.

"I know you can feel it too," Potter said, refusing to let him pull away. "I just don't get why you're so determined to deny it? This is what you were after when we were kids-me, my attention, my-"

"Don't," Draco said, turning. His entire body felt aflame with a different kind of tingling. It was the vibrating of fear and fury. "You don't know what I wanted then, and you don't know it now."

"Then bloody tell me!" Potter was on him now, only inches away, and Draco remembered the Potter from Hogwarts, the anger and the hatred. He remembered the face of the boy he blamed for all the ills in his life. He remembered the boy who cut him to ribbons in the toilets that day, who left him with the only visible scars Draco had.

"Why?" Draco snapped. "Why should you bloody want to know? I made your life hell in school, I insulted your friends, I endangered their lives. I'm the reason you lost your mentor; my family is the reason you lost your godfather. What could you possibly care for me?"

Potter pulled back a moment, eyebrows knitted together. "I haven't forgotten. I haven't forgotten anything. But I also don't believe you're the same person you were then. I was willing to bet you'd changed, become a different man than you were. But I was more right than I wanted to be."

Draco swallowed hard, heart racing. "What does that mean?"

Potter looked disappointed now, and Draco felt worse than when Potter was angry. Disappointment hit harder. "You aren't the bigoted child you were, but you've also lost all your fire. Where is it? Where is the Draco Malfoy who taunted me during Quidditch, who would have done anything to beat me to the Snitch? Where is the Draco Malfoy who dueled me, or the Draco Malfoy who pretended to be a Dementor, who made the bloody 'Potter Stinks' badges?" Potter pressed him against the wall, and Draco felt the coldness of it seep into his skin. "That Draco was a prat, he was annoying, but he was you. And he made me me. Where is the fire you had, then? Where did it go?"

Draco grew quiet. Potter was so close now, so insistently real and demanding answers. But that Draco was in the past, locked away somewhere he didn't dare to look. Why did Potter want him to? Why would he want that Draco back? The one that could have taken everything from Potter and never blinked. The one that wanted Potter to suffer, and made it so.

"Voldemort took it," he said after a moment. "Then aurors took some more. The rest I put out myself. It never brought me anything but pain and loss. It was the worst version of me."

"Yes. But it was also the most alive version of you," Potter said, and place his palm flat against Draco's chest to stop him moving. His eyes were trained on Draco's lips. "I came to find you yesterday because I was bored, and you make life interesting. I wanted to know if you were changed and see if we could be friends now. I found something else-someone else in your place. There's some good to this new Draco," he said and licked his lips. "But I want some of that old Draco back. And I'm going to get it."

Potter captured Draco's mouth in a kiss, his splayed hand pinning Draco to the wall. Draco grabbed him and kissed back, his hands at Potter's neck, angling his head back. Draco kissed him because he couldn't not. He couldn't deny Potter and couldn't ignore how much he wanted him. Worse, he couldn't deny how good it felt to have Potter want him, care for him, demand of him.

It did feel right, but that only scared him more. This would never work out.

Potter's hand slid down Draco's chest and stomach and settled insistently between his legs, cupping his erection and massaging it with his palm. Draco moaned and bucked into the movement, drawing his own hands downward, slipping beneath Potter's robes to get at his bare skin.

"I want you," Potter breathed into his mouth. "Hear me, damn it; I want you."

Draco groaned and sucked on Potter's lower lip, his fingers finding the length of Potter's erection and stroking awkwardly under his pants. His mind was buzzing with thoughts and sensations, but Potter's words echoed loudly against the din.

Bringing one hand around Potter's waist, he drew down and lifted Potter's leg to wrap around him, tight against his hip. Potter angled himself into the motion, thrusting against Draco against the wall. It was painful and fantastic, and Draco wanted to pretend the bond wasn't responsible for anything, that there was no case, no robbery or attack. He wanted to pretend this was everything there would ever be-just Potter.

"Now," Potter said, husky and heaving. "Want you now. Don't care how."

Draco nodded, leading Potter backward to the bed as they kissed each other hungrily. They toppled and fell into the mattress, Draco landing atop Potter. Potter snaked his leg around Draco's, arcing his hips. Stroking Potter's thigh with one hand, Draco relished the sensation of Potter beneath him.

A tap at the window broke through the haze in Draco's mind, but he dismissed it. He nibbled on Potter's jaw and neck, pulling his robes open bit by bit. Potter raked his hands down Draco's back and moaned as Draco sucked on his collarbone.

The tapping at the window came back, insistent and constant. There was a loud hoot, more tapping, a crack, and finally a crashing sound.

"You are fucking kidding me," Potter said to the ceiling as Draco pulled back, looking over his shoulder. An owl had broken through the window carrying its message. The large, elegant barn owl was one Draco immediately recognized.

After a tense moment of indecision and internal warring, Draco extricated himself from Potter's legs and took the message from the owl. Potter pushed himself up on his elbows, glaring at the bird. Draco scanned the letter with a sigh. The mood was effectively ruined.

"I take it you aren't coming back here," Potter said, studying his face.

"It's from my mother," he said, and Potter sat up more fully. "She's back in England and wants me to meet with her." He stared at the owl, preening itself before it took off without a word. His mother did not anticipate any response other than 'yes.' The pull inside him called him back to Potter, but he sighed. "Perhaps it's for the best, Potter," he said, adjusting his clothing. "Evident by the constant interruptions, this bond just isn't meant to be."

Potter gave him a strange look. "That's what you think?"

"We've had numerous chances to fulfill the bond," Draco said, remembering them all in sudden, vivid detail, "and each time something has intervened. Almost seems definitive. Maybe the curse is working to our advantage."

"Not the way I see it." Draco gave him a look, and he said, "Think about it. These rings belong to Perseus and Helena. They were made for them. Perseus and Helena wanted nothing more than to be together, but they were killed the moment they had that. If these rings are cursed, that curse was meant to destroy a love that was greater than death. If you think about it, there's only one reason a curse would constantly intervene to stop us."

Draco froze, eyes trained on Potter. Potter's expression was clouded by unyielding. There was nothing in him that implied he was taking the piss. Not for a moment. He really believed it.

A chord struck in Draco's heart, but he had no idea what to say. Speechlessness was not common for him, so he looked away. The ring on his finger weighed heavily on him. There were many things Draco told himself he'd never have, after the war. Love was at the top of that list. He didn't believe he'd ever find love like his parents had, once. Even less likely would it be to find a love like Perseus and Helena.

It didn't exist in the real world anymore. Not after Voldemort. Not for Draco.

But here Potter was, asking him to believe in a love story that defined his youth. Asking him to be bonded forever. And Draco couldn't let himself believe.

"We should go," he said, after a while. "My mother will have answers we need, and she hates tardiness."

With a sigh and a hand through his hair, Potter got to his feet and adjusted his robes. He encircled Draco in his arms, eyes tracing the lines of Draco's face, and then nodded for Draco to apparate them away. Draco's hands tightened around Potter, trying to push aside all the things said.

They appeared in a small alleyway outside a quiet tea shop, one of his mother's favourites. Hidden in the heart of Edinburgh, the shop was known for it's fantastic teas, elegant atmosphere, and private patrons. Draco stepped inside, Potter following behind, and found his mother sitting at a secluded table. He stopped beside her.

She took a sip of her tea, placed the cup on the saucer, then finally looked up at Draco and Potter. "Draco, darling," she said, rising to her feet in one fluid motion. She wrapped her arms around her son, squeezing him close in a short but loving embrace, and then gestured for them both to sit, picking up the teacup.

Draco barely made it into his seat before she dropped the teacup on the table.

"Draco," she said sharply, her eyes on his ring.

"Welcome back, Mother," he said. "I got married."