lomonaaeren | Chapter Thirteen of 'The Same Species as Shakespeare'- Love Is a Familiar

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Chapter Thirteen of 'The Same Species as Shakespeare'- Love Is a Familiar

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Thirteen—Love Is a Familiar

Harry sighed as he stared at the tray of food on his lap. He had tried to negotiate with the Malfoy house-elves for some food stronger than porridge and toast—he would have killed for a good slice of bacon at the moment—but they refused to take the hint, and simply brought him new plates of the same food. At this point, he was hungry enough to eat it. He picked up his spoon, careful of the pulling motion that inflicted on the muscles in his side, and began to eat.

It wasn’t as bad as Harry had feared it would be; he didn’t think he’d eaten a bad meal since coming to the Manor, and the porridge had a sprinkling of some sweet taste he hadn’t encountered before on the top. But it still wasn’t as good as bacon would have been, Harry thought, and imagined sucking grease through the circle of his pursed lips as he swallowed.

You do have other things to think about than the food, Hermione’s voice said in his head. She had sounded considerably subdued ever since Harry woke up.

I know, but I don’t want to think about them right now. The image of Draco’s face transforming into a monster’s flashed in his mind, and Harry shook his head and buried it again. The shake of his head was a little too vigorous, and he winced as his wound opened enough to let a dribble of his blood pour out and soak the covers. He looked in several directions for the wand he could use to clean it up, but it escaped his eye. He made a disgusted sound under his breath. How do they expect me to take care of myself without a wand?

“Harry. I didn’t know you were hurt. You should have let someone know immediately that you were still in pain!”

Suddenly Draco was there, all tender hands and soothing voice and wandering wand that stopped the flow of blood and grew a new layer of skin over the wound in an instant. Harry stared at him. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

You were rather distracted by the pain. Hermione’s voice in his head was snappish, but Harry knew that sort of snappishness she used to conceal worry, and she was using it now. Oh, Harry, why aren’t you in St. Mungo’s?

I doubt the Malfoys trust the staff well enough to go there when they don’t have to, Harry said. I was the one who took Draco there. “Thank you,” he said aloud. “And I just now started hurting. You have miraculous timing.”

Draco gave him a faint, nervous smile that for a moment made Harry think he was the imposter, but no, the wand that had healed him gave off the comforting vibrations of the familiar hawthorn one. “I was waiting,” he said. “I had wards on this room to tell me when you woke. But—I didn’t know if you would want to see me, after last night.” He looked away, as though to conceal what he felt, and seemed unaware that the hand that had wandered into his hair and was wrenching at the tangles gave it away perfectly well. “What must you think of my family’s hospitality or sense, that we let an intruder through the wards?”

Harry was glad his astonishment prevented laughter. Draco would have taken laughter entirely the wrong way. And now that Harry was finally seeing some sign of what he had most craved from Draco, he didn’t want to do anything to disrupt it.

“I know it happened once before,” Harry said, when he could speak. “And I chose to stay here anyway. And I’m glad I was the one who was attacked, instead of you.” He shook his head as Draco glanced up at him, hope and misery both written clearly on his face. “Did you really think I would blame you for this misfortune, Draco?”

“He looks like me,” Draco said, voice very low. “I wouldn’t blame you if—“

“He looks like you,” Harry said firmly. He leaned forwards to clasp Draco’s hand, but his wound pulled warningly. Draco made it easy, however, by stepping across the distance between them and slipping his fingers into Harry’s. Harry grasped them tight, ignoring the formless noise of distress from Hermione, and continued speaking words from his heart. “But he isn’t you. There are differences between you too great to be concealed by a fortunate resemblance and a little wandwork.”

“Really.” Draco lifted his other hand, cradling Harry’s cheek, staring at him with devouring eyes. “You’ll let me near you even though you have to imagine his wand in the place of mine, the expression on his face as the expression on mine.”

“How many different ways can I say it?” Harry countered. “You’re not him. He’s not you. I’m sure he would have liked to kill me last night, but that doesn’t mean that you want to kill me.” He managed a faint smile when Draco’s expression of hope didn’t disappear. “I know you. No fake can ever take the place I’ve created for you in my mind.”

And then Draco leaned forwards and stroked his thumbs along his cheeks and said, “I know that you said you wanted to wait until you were off the case, but I—can’t,” and began to kiss him, and it felt as though several of Harry’s wet dreams had come true at once.

*

A kiss is the best move after a confession like that, Draco told himself coldly as he slid his tongue into Potter’s mouth. He’ll need some sign that he matters to you, and what better way can there be than physical passion? That’s overwhelming enough to sweep him off his feet and not let him question your feeling as he otherwise might.

Because Gryffindors constantly asked questions about feelings, and Draco knew the same thing would happen now if he let Potter’s mouth go, he kissed him steadily, darting his tongue in circles and probing it into crevices that Potter probably didn’t know existed, licking his teeth and learning the taste of the back of his mouth as opposed to the front.

And at some point the world shifted, and Draco found himself enjoying the kiss for what it was, instead of using it solely as a distraction technique to keep Potter from thinking about his sincerity.

He had climbed into the bed. When had that happened? He didn’t know, but from the enthusiastic whimpers and careful writhing of the man beneath him, he was not unwelcome. He had flattened his hands over Potter’s wrists and pinned them to his pillow, so that he could plunge his tongue more deeply into his mouth. Potter tilted his mouth into that plunge. Draco felt a snarl trembling up his throat, and he lowered himself, so his erection ground into the one waiting for him.

Potter had spent years waiting for him, years willing to offer himself as Draco’s prize. There was power in this moment so thick and sweet Draco found himself swallowing constantly to consume it all, like eating a meal consisting solely of molasses. He adjusted the angle of his body so he could slip a leg between Potter’s knees and nudge them open. Potter complied with an eager cry into his mouth. Draco snarled back and licked the corner of Potter’s lips, preparing to lower his head further and suck on his neck. Why shouldn’t he have sex with Potter? It would lead up nicely to his revenge.

Then Potter tore his mouth away and uttered a genuine cry of pain. Draco looked down further and saw blood spreading over the coverlets and pillows.

The sight maddened him with satisfaction. He felt as though the blood had come from the probing of his tongue into Potter’s mouth, from the bites that he’d wanted to leave on his neck. He sank his teeth into the corner of Potter’s lip one more time and then climbed gracefully off the bed, gratified to feel the blood dripping from his hair onto his shoulder.

He would have liked to bathe in Potter’s blood, the way he would have liked to hold Potter’s beating heart in his open palms. Anything to consume him, to have and own him, to get rid of him so that he couldn’t trouble Draco’s life any longer.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasped, outwardly horrified that he’d hurt Potter. He waved his wand and mended the wound once again, with the same layer of new-grown skin and pain-numbing charm that he’d used before, which made the patient feel better without permanently closing the injury. Then he Vanished the blood from the sheets, though not without a single longing glance. He would have enjoyed scooping that blood up in a vial and taking it down to his small museum of Potter memorabilia. Well, the blood in his hair would have to do. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Potter shook his head. His eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed as if even pain that brought the blood flowing from his wound was more attention than he had expected from Draco. Draco felt a touch of surprise. Of course it was more attention than he had a right to expect, but he had not thought Potter would recognize that.

“I did say,” Potter murmured, “that we should wait until after the case to become intimate with one another.”

Draco held still to conceal his impatience. Only a Gryffindor would speak of it that soppily. Really, was saying “fucking” or “having sex” beyond them? One could argue that they had already been intimate, living in the same house and eating meals together and saving each other’s lives. But that was the kind of subtlety Draco had no right to expect himself, so he nodded and said, “Yes?”

“But I want you.” Potter tipped his head a little, and his gaze was full of naked hunger. Draco bathed in the force of it. Once he had thought he would feel dirty if Potter ever looked at him with desire; he had wanted to force him to submit against his will, writhing in shame even as he did it in pleasure. But this was much more pleasant. It indicated the depth of Potter’s emotions and how deeply he would feel the wound Draco intended to inflict. “And I don’t think that wanting will go away. Perhaps we can indulge ourselves a bit once this wound is healed?”

Draco smiled and reached out to lay a lightly caressing hand on Potter’s breastbone. “Nothing would make me happier.”

He watched Potter lap up the kindness with bright eyes, and knew that he had enticed the man into the first stages of his many-layered trap. It had been essential that Potter should suggest further intimacy himself. That way, no one could blame Draco when everything went wrong, not even Potter.

Was there any greater pleasure than appearing innocent in the eyes of the world whilst getting your worst enemy in trouble?

*

Harry opened his eyes. He had finally removed the copper ring from his finger so he could get some sleep; Hermione had been very loud on the foolishness of having sex with Draco. Harry could appreciate why she might think it was a mistake, but he had to make his own decisions. And he thought he could fairly easily survive the consequences of a mistake, even if Hermione didn’t trust him to.

Draco had left him with many promises that he would be back later to look over Harry’s comfort, and with the assurance that house-elves were within call if he needed something. So Harry had expected to rest without disturbance.

Of course, Lucius Malfoy had shown a surprising persistence in talking to what must be an unwanted guest. So Harry expected to see him when he looked up, and not Snape standing motionless over his bed, staring down.

It was so surprising that Harry blinked and said nothing for long moments. Snape continued to stare, his eyes deep with some emotion Harry couldn’t name. His hands were clasped in front of him as if he’d been praying, and his face was set in rigid lines. He still had grease in his hair, Harry noted absently.

Harry wanted to roll his eyes. Of course Snape had come to taunt him as he lay helpless, probably to ask sneeringly if the Great Auror Harry Potter shouldn’t have been able to move out of the way in time. But it was strange that he should stand there and keep not doing it. Was he hoping to build up dread for the insult in Harry? It wouldn’t work.

“You’re probably being kept from an important schedule of brewing up poisons and bathing in oil,” Harry said, striving for the drawl that he had heard Draco use to insult Keller in his office. “Give me the angry words you’ve taken such trouble to prepare and then go. You can do that without too much trouble, can’t you?”

Snape still said nothing, though his fingers writhed around each other until his hands formed into a pair of clenched fists. Harry waited. He wondered, based on his experience the last time he had ventured into Snape’s lab, if he should expect a punch instead of a scowl. Or a curse? But no, Snape probably wouldn’t want to explain to Draco that he’d exaggerated Harry’s injury.

Finally, Snape said in a dry sneer, “I was considering the words you had spoken last before you fainted. You said that the imposter had been on Malfoy grounds for some time before he attacked you. It never occurred to you to mention this to Mr. Malfoy when he visited you this morning, did it? Don’t you want the attacker caught?”

Harry felt his face flare with heat. Of course he should have made sure that his information was known the moment he could speak coherently, but Draco had seemed to have other things on his mind, and Harry had let himself be distracted.

“Sorry, sir,” he murmured. “Yes, the man was there for some time. We spoke, and he actually managed to convince me that he was Draco for a few minutes.”

“Considering the general level of your intelligence, I cannot imagine that would be very difficult.”

Good. Harry was more comfortable with Snape in his familiar, hateful persona than he was with him in the persona of the man who had stood staring by his bed when he woke. “I know Draco,” he said, instead of the response he would have liked to make. “I know his behavior, the tones of his voice, the way he looks when he wants something. And I assure you that this imposter has every one of those perfect. It was the things he spoke of that finally alerted me. He treated architecture as a gift he couldn’t have, when of course Draco takes pride in his accomplishments as an architect. I think the imposter is a little mad, based on his behavior when I told him that he wasn’t Draco.”

“Then came the attack that alerted us,” said Snape.

Harry nodded.

Snape drew his wand. Harry only had time to blink before it was pointed between his eyes. “Since you would be unable to give me a satisfactory picture of the proceedings no matter how many times I asked,” he said, “I trust you are unlikely to object to my simply taking them. Legilimens!”

Harry shuddered as the spell dug into his mind, dragging his memories of the night before to the surface. It didn’t hurt quite as much as it had when Snape ripped into his mind in his fifth year, because this time he’d been too shocked to put up any resistance. And it would look childish if he tried now, he told himself, especially since the information gained this way would only help Draco. He gritted his teeth and endured the pain, watching as the imposter engaged in that magnificent snarl again and then aimed his wand at Harry and cast the spell that had ripped his side apart.

The memories abruptly stopped. Harry opened his eyes and found Snape staring at him again from near the door. Harry opened his mouth to ask if the memories had helped, but Snape turned and swirled away. Harry shut his mouth, frowning thoughtfully. The gesture of Snape’s snapping his robes behind him, which he’d seen a thousand times before, seemed different now.

As if he were running away from something.

*

Lucius was aware of someone Apparating onto the long gravel drive beyond the iron gates the moment it happened, of course, but this time the visitor didn’t try to fool the wards and walked normally towards the front door. So he had no notion of who it would be when he sent a house-elf to meet the man and escort him into his presence.

Lucius put his book down slowly when the door opened into the library he’d chosen as a receiving room. The book was not one of Narcissa’s diaries, because Lucius never chose to read those in semi-public, where they might be interpreted as a show of sentimental weakness by anyone who noticed them. And now Lucius was doubly glad of his caution against people in general, because he could never have known that this person would appear in Malfoy Manor, and weakness in front of him would have been inexcusable.

Ron Weasley smiled politely at Lucius and stepped forwards with his hand extended, exactly as if their families had not spent generations feuding and a whole war trying to kill each other. “Hullo, Mr. Malfoy. I’m the newest Auror assigned to your son’s case by Shacklebolt.” At least he didn’t try to pretend that they’d never met each other before and therefore Lucius needed his name, Lucius thought through his shock as they shook. Weasley had rough, callused hands, of course, used to doing heavy work. “Since Harry’s been wounded,” Weasley continued, “Shacklebolt thought it only right that your son should have double the protection.”

“Of course,” Lucius said, taking his hand back from Weasley as soon as it seemed reasonably polite to do so, “Potter cannot protect him at all right now.”

“Hence why the Minister thought he could use protection, sir.” Weasley seemed determined to act pleasant despite the edge to Lucius’s voice, and he followed him when Lucius walked briskly out of the library into the entrance hall. “The criminal still hasn’t been caught, after all, and he’s proven himself capable of hurting a distinguished Auror.” Despite his annoyance, Lucius admired the earnest tone to Weasley’s voice. “His main target is your son. Head Auror Shacklebolt thinks that he only hurt Harry to get at Draco.” There wasn’t even any distaste when he said the name. Lucius would have to give the Weasleys credit for teaching more tact and discretion to their children than he had thought they knew existed. “So we want to make sure that he can’t take advantage of Harry’s lamentable condition and get to Draco that way.”

Lucius opened his mouth to deny Weasley a place within his home—despite the polite fiction they were keeping up, Weasley had to know that he couldn’t really expect to be entertained by the Malfoys—and then paused. In his mind he saw the obsessed look on his son’s face when he closed with Potter, and Potter’s smooth, forbidding expression, shutting out the warning Lucius had tried to give him.

Lucius still no chance of making an impression on Potter or keeping his son away from him. Weasley could.

He made sure to keep a faint smile on his face as he turned around and nodded. “Mr. Potter is resting in one of the guest bedrooms. If you’ll come with me, I’ll escort you to him. I think my son is with him as well.”

*

Harry was listening to Draco’s words in a half-drugged trance. What he said didn’t matter as much as the tone with which he spoke the words, soft and lulling and full of wonder, as if he himself couldn’t believe he had the chance to associate with Harry under circumstances like these.

He wants me. There’s a good chance that he’s falling in love with me, though he doesn’t realize it yet. People who aren’t in love don’t sound like that. Harry only had to think back on the day that the note had faded out of Penelope’s voice to realize that. He had kept dating her because he trusted that it would come back, but it hadn’t, and then she had betrayed him to the Daily Prophet.

He felt a tremble of disquiet, but banished it. He was going to make sure the note had no reason to fade for Draco. Harry would keep him entertained and occupied; he would show him how fulfilling it could be, to stay with one person, when that one person offered you endless companionship and devotion.

Draco smiled at him. Harry’s breath caught. Yes, it had been the right decision to remove his ring. He could only imagine what Hermione would have to say about the thoughts that crowded his mind right now.

A sharp knock on the door made Draco look up, but not retract his hand, which lay on Harry’s. “That must be Severus with more healing potions,” he said, and he sounded unconcerned. A brief jolt of triumph made Harry’s heart speed up. Draco was unafraid of looking sentimental in front of his mentor, then.

Draco looked back as if he had felt the jolt. His eyes were soft and shining, allowing Harry to see the light in them as flame instead of the blank reflection of the sun on expensive glass. He leaned forwards, and Harry was sure he was about to receive another kiss.

Then the door opened, and Lucius stepped in, followed by Ron. Harry’s mouth dropped open. Draco glanced over his shoulder casually, then straightened so fast that it looked as if he’d hurt his neck. His hand clenched furiously on Harry’s, and Harry made a muffled noise of pain, still caught in his best friend’s bright gaze.

“Harry, hullo.” Ron grinned at him. “Shacklebolt sent me over when he heard that you’d been wounded. He thought it was only fair that the Malfoys should be protected, whilst you couldn’t do it, from someone so persistent that he’d come straight through the wards.” He looked at the clasp of Draco’s hand on Harry’s as if he had expected it, not even raising his eyebrows, but Draco promptly pulled back as if he had been stung.

Harry scowled. He knew the real reason Ron was here. Hermione must have persuaded him to go when Harry removed the ring and she couldn’t hear his thoughts anymore. They thought he needed protection from Draco, which was ridiculous. If he was going to make a mistake, why not let him make it, as had happened with Penelope and Joshua? “I don’t think you’ll be an effective protection when your family and the Malfoys don’t get on,” he managed to say, with a bare snap of ice in his voice. “Didn’t you tell Shacklebolt that he should choose someone else?”

Ron’s mouth widened into a satisfied grin. “No,” he said. “Why would I? I’m sure that we’re all adults here, and that his life being in danger—“ he nodded to Draco “—is more than enough reason to behave like them.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Lucius. “I can guarantee my own good behavior and welcome, and I will undertake to guarantee the same for my son.”

Draco’s face was so dark that Harry winced. Apart from everything else, Draco now had to endure the intrusion of someone he still obviously hated into his home. It was stress he didn’t need.

“You could have said—“ Harry began.

“No, I couldn’t.” Ron flopped down on the edge of the bed, between Draco and Harry, and raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t have made a clearer statement of his intentions if he’d shouted them from the rooftops.

Harry glared at his best friend. His best friend smiled back.

Chapter 14.

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Ron to the rescue! I LOVE Ron. Now if only Harry will start to see sense.

Oh, come on... It wouldn't be Harry/Draco if they both saw sense, now, would it. :)

No, no, it certainly wouldn't. ^^ Though I'm beginning to think that won't be such a great lost after all. I don't find this Draco endearing.

Maybe we ought to hope that *Draco* starts to see some sense, instead...

Sorry! It takes quite some time for Harry to learn that maybe Draco isn't everything he's thought he was.

Sneaky, sneaky man! Ron you devil, who really sent you? But far more importantly, what did Snape see that had him turning tail?

Ron did decide to come of his own free will, but he might have had some 'encouragement' from Hermione.

What Snape saw is deliberately kept quiet for a while, at least as far as its full extent goes.

Ah, poor deluded Draco! I'm so looking forward to his (hopefully eventual) fall.

Well, it depends how long you consider eventual...

YES! Finally someone who might force Draco to break. Thank goodness for Ron! I can't wait to read the rest of this story. Please update soon!

Thank you! But I'm afraid that you've reckoned without Draco's stubbornness and Harry's assurance that he knows Draco.

I want to know what Snape is thinking about the accident.

Yeah, Ron is to the rescue!

Well, we don't get his POV, but he lets it out in dribs and drabs over the next few chapters.

And thank you!

Hahaha! I love Ron being all intrusive and aggressively good-natured. And Lucius helping was too funny. Poor Harry denied the snuggles from his favorite OCD carrier.

I do wonder what Snape saw in that moment that made him panic. Am I being slow?

Thank you! Ron and Lucius in an alliance is something I honestly never would have thought I'd be writing.

You're not being slow about Snape. Although he mentions part of it in the next chapter, he's keeping it so private, and his thoughts are so different from anyone else's in this fic, that it's hard to determine what he thinks.

I'm going to hop on the paranoid bus here and take a guess that this isn't really Ron. Canon-Ron is many things, but subtle and tactful isn't one of them. I don't think he's a good enough actor to not flinch when he shakes Lucius' hand or scowl when he says Draco's first name (without stumbling and automatically going for the last name, either). And since lomonaaeren does such a good job of capturing these character's quirks and foibles, I'm going to say this Ron = the impostor!

(I'm probably totally wrong, but it wouldn't be as much fun without the theories, right????)

You have a good argument there! But getting Ron's hair - I don't know - maybe it's Hermione. It would be like her to insinuate herself in between the boys. The vocabulary is more Hermione ("Harry's lamentable condition") and that would fit the other things you list. Could we have a run on Polyjuice at this house? As well as time travel? Do we even know that the real Draco IS the real Draco,and not an impostor? Oh my.

If the impostor knows Draco so well, it could be Lucius, Snape, Harry, or Draco himself. But he sounds rather insane, so my money is on Lucius. And Hermione.

This is fun on top of being a great read.

oh no! i hadn't even thought of that! i hope it's really ron. i like when ron's strategist skills are played up, and harry is definitely in need of them in this story. :)

Actually, it is Ron. I promise that the impostor cannot imitate everyone. (In fact, when you learn the full truth about him, you'll see why that would be impossible). Ron was sent by Hermione as well as deciding to come himself, and coached by her on how to relate to the Malfoys so he would secure Lucius's good opinion, at least. After all, without that, there's an excellent chance that he wouldn't be able to stay in the house at all.

Go Hermione!

Hee!

I raised an eyebrow when I read, "He would have enjoyed scooping that blood up in a vial and taking it down to his small museum of Potter memorabilia. Well, the blood in his hair would have to do."

Hmmm, Draco has "Potter memorabilia?" Fascinating.

Oh yeah, now this is going to get interesting with Ron encased in Malfoy Manor.

*claps hands in glee*

Yes, he was referring to the room mentioned at the start of the fic, where he keeps the portrait of Harry and the food he's half-eaten and all the other creepy little trophies he's chosen to substitute for the fact that he can't actually have Harry.

And thank you!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this chapter was PERFECT. every. last. word.

No fake can ever take the place I’ve created for you in my mind.

omg, that just sums it up, doesn't it?

There was power in this moment so thick and sweet Draco found himself swallowing constantly to consume it all...

love that line!

He would have liked to bathe in Potter’s blood, the way he would have liked to hold Potter’s beating heart in his open palms. Anything to consume him, to have and own him, to get rid of him so that he couldn’t trouble Draco’s life any longer.

!!!! just as that first quote perfectly summed up harry's obsession, this one completely captures draco's.

that entire scene with the blood was so disturbingly fantastic. and then the scene with snape? omg, i have no idea what's going on but i am totally enthralled and absolutely loving it. lucius grows on me more and more and i loved his calculated decision to team up with ron. and ron!!! i'm so excited he's coming into the picture, clearly with an agenda and absolutely no apologies about it.

again, fabulous, fabulous chapter!!!

Thank you!

Writing Draco's perspective is oddly fun for me. He's so wrong and so short-sighted, but I know exactly how he thinks. (What comes next in his dialogue and thoughts, I mean; I don't understand that level of obsession myself).

Snape is going to be more of a factor in this fic, a more important character, than I had originally planned on.

Ron has an agenda, but so does Harry...

alright. i was laughing for a good five minutes - my initial reaction to all this...

but now.
im a wee bit worried. as if ron's presence will only heighten draco's hatred - like applying peroxide to a gaping wound.

yet still.
i cant seem to take him too seriously. i havent the faintest idea why. as im sure he is capable of a fair amount of nastiness and damage.
but his little machinations are almost... cute.

or perhaps im just thoroughly confident in harry's ability to survive anything.

I think you're probably right about the effect Ron's presence will have on Draco's hatred. Of course, without Ron there, matters might be even worse.

And yes, I know what you mean about Draco. I spend half my time rolling my eyes at him, even when I'm writing in his POV.

I love how you're using Ron and Lucius to rescue them! You don't see that everyday!

Thank you! The minute I realized I could propose this as a reasonable alliance to save both Draco and Harry, I was excited about writing this chapter.

OH I LOVE YOU RON WEASLEY!!! SO SO MUCH!

i hope he knocks some sense into harry's befuddled mind. with the assistance of lucius of course.

He was going to make sure the note had no reason to fade for Draco. Harry would keep him entertained and occupied; he would show him how fulfilling it could be, to stay with one person, when that one person offered you endless companionship and devotion.

oh harry :( i can't believe how deluded he is about this entire draco situation.

and i wonder what exactly snape saw that scared him so much? off to read the next chapter!

Lots of new, fascinating twists and turns in the plot. Draco is indeed mental in his obsessive hatred of Harry, seems to me now. That he would revel so in seeing Harry bleed, it's creepy, it's haunting, it makes me worry for Draco. And for Harry, obviously. Like everybody else I wonder what Snape had seen in Harry's memories. Is it Narcissa, using Draco's form and personality? Wild guessing into the blue, I know :-).
The odd alliance between Lucius and Ron makes so much sense. Brilliant plot point! Thanks for writing this!

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Chapter Thirteen of 'The Same Species as Shakespeare'- Love Is a Familiar

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re: Same Species as Shakespeare 13