Title: Second Sight

Author: FerretMalfoy

Rating: Eventually a nice, familial R or NC-17.

Notes: Since it's been two years since I last updated this mess that I call Second Sight, my writing style has changed, I have changed where I wanted this fic to go, and now I have distaste for Draco/Harry loving. I hope those of you who really like this fic continue liking it after this chapter, which is huuuge. Thanks for being loyal and waiting so long. I'm sure since I want to wrap this up so that I can be free to write Snarry, it won't be two years until my next update. Enjoy this 3,500+ words chapter.

Summary: Due to a freak accident during Potions, Draco gains the ability of being an Empath. The catch is that he can't handle the power and Harry must help him or he will go insane or even die. Life can be so complicated for my favorite boys. Set during their seventh year.

Chapter Seven

In Which Ronald Weasley Comes Up With a Brilliant Plan to Save the Day!

Harry. Harry. Harry.

The name rang through Draco's head like the steady drip of water. He clung to the scarf he had nicked from his boyfriend. It had been under his robes at the time of the arrest, and one of the aurors, quite against policy, had let him keep it (with a well placed anti-hanging charm). The gold and crimson squares were rapidly losing their Harry smell due to Draco's unending stream of tears.

While the ministry had enough sense to place him in isolation, they didn't seem to realize the empath was dying. The constant migraine-like pain increased exponentially every minute he was away from his mate.

It had only been one night and Draco knew he'd be dead in two days.

The first time the aurors had tried to talk to or feed Draco, they were met with a mental explosion that the blond enjoyed sending their way. Only the nice, scarf-giving auror-Shacklebolt, Draco recalled-hadn't been mentally told to fuck off. He realized that the blatant misuse of his power didn't help his case, but at that point he didn't care for anything except making the pain stop. And.

Harry. Harry. Harry.

Harry tried to flatten his bangs with shaking hands. They wouldn't stay down and he had to go up to the podium in a few minutes and Draco's life depended on his ability to pull this off and-

"Harry." Someone grabbed his hands and pulled them level with his chest. Ron pulled him into a big, gangly hug. "You're going to be fine."

Hermione came up behind him, quietly casting a spell on his hair. "That ought to hold it down for the next thirty minutes. Now, I've taken it upon myself to make up some notecards-"which she thrust in his hands "-with your main points on them. And, I'd hate to say this, but really use the fact that you are the Boy-Who-Lived. Make them cognizant of the fact that they owe you." Harry hesitated before nodding. "Good. Also, work up some tears and make sure that the photographers catch them. Are you ready?" Another nod. "Okay, I'm going to go check and see if everything's ready. Good luck." She strode away briskly.

Ron sighed. "My girlfriend, the ruthless politician. I'm going to marry her one day." He turned to Harry. "Are you sure you don't want Snape up there, mate? He could glare at the Ministry until they release him." The brunette gave a nervous little titter. They walked over to the edge of the platform together as Hermione beckoned them. "Break a leg!"

It seemed not only Hermione could be ruthless. To prevent Harry from letting his nerves get to him, Ron shoved his friend onto the stage three seconds before the gentleman from The Quibbler had finished introducing him. After stumbling, the black haired boy made his way to the podium and cast sonorous on himself.

"I, I would like to begin by thanking Mr. Lovegood and The Quibbler for giving me the opportunity to address the public." Harry squinted down at his (Hermione's) note cards, then out at the audience, a thousand faces, it seemed, looking at him expectantly. How could a light be so bright? How could Harry do this? Draco's future depended solely on Harry's speech.

"I have these note cards here." He waved them at the reporters. "But I don't need them. I don't mean to offend the woman who wrote them. They're actually quite nice—well written and all. However, who needs notes to support their argument when Minister Fudge is who he is?" There were a few titters in the audience. "I don't believe I've ever publicly announced my stance on the current administration. It's rubbish. Minister Fudge has done nothing but look out for himself for the length of his career.

"When I was twelve he wrongfully removed a man from his position at Hogwarts. When I was thirteen, he couldn't bother to tell me what was then thought to be the truth about my parents. Where was he when my friends and myself fought Voldemort and his followers? He was denying the new rise of that very man. And kissing Lucius Malfoy's arse. Death Eater money has bought his favor in the past, and to compensate for the disdain of his constituents, he arrests none other than Draco Malfoy, the son of a Death Eater for breaking a law that he made up.

"Draco Malfoy, the great betrayer. The man who single-handedly brought down seven of Voldemort's top Death Eaters, including his own father. And now he's slowly dying because Minster of Magic Fudge has deemed empaths a threat to the magical world.

"The odd thing is that Draco is the one who suffers because of the empathy. Because he has to constantly shield and protect others from his power. Because he cannot process the feelings of so many others."

Harry took this moment to pause, surveying the audience. They were playing right into his hands, judging by the sad, pitying looks.

Kingsley walked down the corridor, making his rounds in the "magical creatures" section of Azkaban. Mostly vampires who could not control their bloodlust and one blackwidow veela. They had anti-hypnosis charms up, of course. He sighed. The Order had seen to it that he was assigned to Azkaban in order to keep watch over the wrongfully imprisioned Draco Malfoy.

He had seen young Harry's anguish at losing his boyfriend...or whatever he was. Kids these days had funny concepts of dating and such. A photograph had been posted in the Quibbler that morning, and Harry had, to put it plainly, looked like shit. It reminded him of that time his girlfriend Alice had dumped him to date that Longbottom bloke. At fifteen, it had seemed like the end of the world.

But these, of course, were more extreme circumstances. A time when their being together really was a matter of life and death. When he had checked on Malfoy this morning, the boy could barely move himself and had his hands clamped over his ears, as if it would stop him from knowing the emotions and thoughts of guards and fellow inmates. He had rambled to himself, whispering in a dialect of emotions which seemed to consist of randomly strung together words.

"Killed...blood...want..." Well, Kingsley could make sense of that at least, considering they were surrounded by vampires.

And now it was noon. He walked to the cell with a tray of food in hand, knowing Malfoy would not eat, but also hoping that he might find some strength. He opened the cell, jangling the keys, and hoped the teenager would be able to string together a sentence or be lucid enough to understand what he said.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy," he said softly, knowing the young man had a constant migraine. As expected, there was no answer. Kingsley went over to the cot, lighting his wand so he could better see the prisoner's face. The eyes were closed, and although the auror wished that it was because Malfoy had finally been able to sleep, he knew that he had passed out.

He reached out to shake the blond, while he made a decision about what to do next. He'd been considering it since the order had called a meeting the night before, and he wondered if he had the balls to carry it out and openly defy the ministry. Possibly lose his position as an auror. But the boy's breathing was erratic at best and his pulse was faint. Kingsley took his hand away from the boy's neck, and looked into the hallway.

No one was around. It was lunch, and the guard for these cells was less than for other prisoners. He could do it. Cleanly. The other prisoners would not talk. The vampires never said anything straight and the veela woman-well, one could not speak with her without being entranced by her pheromones.

An innocent life was certainly worth more than a government job, Kingsley supposed as he scooped the frail Slytherin in his arms. The boy tried to struggle in his pain-induced sleep, letting out words like, "No, no, no touching. Hurts. Wrong." He could not push away from Kingsley, but it motivated the man to move faster to get the empath to Harry.

Harry sat at the dining table of Grimmauld Place, having had taken a brief leave from Hogwarts. It was Saturday anyway.

Across from him sat the ever austere Professor Snape, a bland expression on his face. But Harry knew better. He was doing the exact same thing he knew his professor was doing-trying to seem calm while planning how to break the empath out of Azkaban. Of course, they also had their minds open to each other to share ideas.

In the war, they had fought side by side against Voldemort, and had used their occlumency as non-verbal communication. They of course had a rule about rifling through memories, but it didn't matter. Harry now trusted Snape completely, and his fatherly affection for Draco only served to strengthen their friendly bond.

The rest of their small group sat around the table, Neville and Blaise softly talking to each other at one end, Hermione looking through a giant stack of books on veela mating habits and wizarding laws. Bill Weasley was in the shower-a cold shower if Harry had correctly interpreted the looks he and Snape had been exchanging. The Gryffindor rolled his eyes and got back to thinking, making eye contact with Snape and trying to keep any thoughts of his professors doing sexual things.

"I have an idea," Ron said from the stove, where he was making enough grilled cheese sandwiches to feed a small army. Apparently he had received the "cooking while under duress" gene from his mother. He had already served everyone vegetable soup (Harry hadn't even known that Grimmald Place had food during the school year).

Everyone turned toward the redhead, who, indeed, had the look of one who would have an idea.

"We could turn him into a ferret again and he could bounce right out of Azkaban."

Silence. Hermione snorted, annoyed that she had looked up from her research to hear her boyfriend's silly idea. "Yes, and while we're at it, let's just go ahead and break some more laws. Because either way we'll end up in Azkaban." Ron merely shrugged at her sarcasm, seemingly unwounded.

"Thought it was a good idea," he muttered, as Severus and Harry contemplated Ron's suggestion.

It's a good concept, Snape whispered in Harry's head. It was a creepy feeling.

"Yes," Harry responded aloud, preferring to keep things verbal. Something felt off about having someone other than Draco in his head. "He could have made it out long before now if he had the power to transfigure into his animagus form."

"It is really too bad he doesn't have one," Blaise said, entering the conversation. At the pointed looks from Snape and Harry, Blaise was sorry he'd said anything. It was bad form to make a false statement, and the fact that it was about his best friend could not have made him look more rediculous. And in front of Neville. "And of course," he added, trying to recover, "I jest. Because Draco is an animagus, and what a great animal he is."

Harry and Snape both knew the dark-skinned quiet boy was bluffing, and had no idea what he was talking about.

"Don't be rediculous," added Hermione, who never looked up from her book. "He would have to be registered. Otherwise, it would be..." Apparently it had dawned on her. "Exactly like a Malfoy to not care about the law." Ron came over to the table with his plate of sandwiches and two carafes full of pumpkin juice, as well as a triumphant smile on his face.

"I knew it was a good idea."

"Except for the fact that the dementors have been done away with and there are aurors by Draco's cell at all times." Hermione would not let Ron have this one for some reason. It just meant that he would not put out later when she was trying to get fresh.

"Even then, they wouldn't notice a ferret running out of the cell. If we could send in someone with a lot of clout with the general populace who agreed to surrender his wand at the door, which would obviously mean that he could only do magic any toddler could do, even though really he can do wandless and wordless magics so that Draco could be turned into a ferret and bounced out of Azkaban." Ron then took a hearty bite out of a still hot sandwich, the melted cheese leaving small trails around his mouth.

Neville rolled his eyes. "Gee, Ron, whomever could you be suggesting?" Blaise decided that sarcasm was a very sexy and previously unknown aspect of Neville. Also, the way he said 'whomever' drove him crazy. But pretty much everything about this boy seemed to drive him crazy lately. And it didn't help that they could not seem to catch a moment alone. Stupid best friend in Azkaban.

Blaise knew that they would save Draco. It wasn't even a question since they had the saviors of the wizarding world working on the problem. He was sure his friend wouldn't mind that he wasn't too terribly worried about the blond. After all, they were Slytherin. Draco could understand being selfish more than anyone he knew. Right now, the tall, dark boy was more concerned about the fact that Neville had moved his foot over to Blaise's own. The Gryffindor did not seem to notice that he was rubbing his ankle against the other boy's, his gaze remaining on the scroll in front of him, light brown hair hiding his eyes, face free of any blush or shy smile.

"So, this is Azkaban." The sound of Ron's loud voice interrupted Blaise's contemplation of Neville. The foot rubbing his under the table jerked away, and Neville looked up at his housemate. The redhead had somehow produced a map of the prison and had magically pinned it to the wall. And, where did he get that pointer-thingy which he suddenly slammed onto the map?

"We send Harry in at the opportune time," Ron continued. "Shacklebolt will no doubt give us the list of guards and times, so we can choose which guard would most likely fawn over Harry." Snape snorted at the fawning aspect of this prison break. Harry, who normally hated his fame, now felt no qualms at using it to his advantage. He was almost sorted into Slytherin, after all. Draco would be proud. "You forfeit your wand, and ask for some time alone with your poor, suffering lover, and when he-" Hermione glared. "Or she—leaves you turn Draco into a ferret and put him in your oversized coat. Or there could possibly be a boat outside of Draco's window that you could levitate him into. I think that would be the more entertaining solution."

Harry sighed, but in a fond way. He knew Ron actually somewhat (just a little) liked the blond now. "I'm not potentially levitating my boyfriend into who-knows-how-deep water."

"So the coat it is, then. Then, Harry would leave, reluctantly, seeming as if his heart is broken to see his lover in prison and in so much pain. And you get your wand back, then voila! Instant rescue from Azkaban. This is quit the plan, if I do-"

"You treacherous muggle-lovers!" The sound of Walburga Black emanated throughout the house, alerting the plotters to the arrival of an Order member, the only people who could get into the house without setting off the wards. The table collectively rolled their eyes. She could be describing any Order member. Whoever it was would be walking into the kitchen soon, anyway, since the smell of hot food was coming from the room. Order members tended to follow their stomachs since they actually had time to enjoy food now that the war was over.

The portrait of the Black matriarch continued to spew insults which the group did not pay attention to. "It's probably Remus," Snape said, "And his chameleon of a wife." Despite his words, Snape's voice had softened thinking of his friend and his unlikely marriage partner.

Harry took a teacup from the table and began to practice wandless transfiguration, turning it into a mouse, then a rat, then a hamster, then a gerbil. He looked up at his Potions professor for approval, shoulders slumping when he realized that the man had not even noticed.

That's when Harry paid attention Walburga's continuing slander. "A blood-traitor from the Malfoy family, my own flesh and blood, in this house." Malfoy?

"Harry!" Bill's voice rang from the hallway, where the first-floor bathroom was located. Harry stood at the same time Professor Snape did, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He ran to the foyer, the others only a step behind him; he failed to notice Bill standing at the bottom of the stairs dripping wet in only a towel, focusing all of his attention on the frail blond in Kingsley Shacklebolt's arms.

"He's not moving!" Harry was almost afraid to touch the empath—afraid that if he did, Draco would not have a pulse or a heartbeat or working lungs. He looked so pale (more so than usual) and there were dark circles around his eyes that Harry could never remember seeing on the meticulous boy's face before. "I—is he?" Harry put out a hand to the other boy's cheek, only to find that it was cold. Tears sprung up in his eyes, and he let out a sob before putting a hand on his mouth, refusing to break down in front of everyone.

Snape was trying to do the same. He had always felt so responsible for this boy who he had trained to be a double agent. When he consented to Narcissa's plea to be Draco's godfather, Severus had never known that the position could come with such overwhelming emotions. He loved him as his own son (which was good, considering Lucius never had), and now he was watching Harry Potter touch his godson's corpse.

Actually, he was watching Draco turn his face towards Potter's touch.

"Harry," was the one word the empath said, as he was caressed by the Boy Who Lived. Harry then let out another sob, one of happiness and relief. Draco was alive! He then wrestled with the much larger Shacklebolt to take the smaller boy into his arms, knowing that he needed contact.

"Someone go get Pomfrey. We need to get him to a bed to get him warm. He's freezing." How inexplicable. Kingsley had wrapped him in the Azkaban issued blanket and his own Auror's cloak. Harry bolted up the stairs with Draco, who seemed as light as a feather.

At the top of the stairs, he darted right into the spare bedroom he had set up for himself for the duration of the rescue mission. Placing Draco in the bed, Harry immediately took all of the spare blankets that Ron had fetched from the linens closet. Ten blankets were on top of the Slytherin before Harry slid into the bed with him, making sure to create skin to skin contact. Under the blankets, he began to strip himself and the blond, hoping that the contact would cure the empath's malady.

Ron watched from beside the wardrobe where he had stationed himself after helping with the quilts and duvets. He turned red, but decided that he could be adult about the whole nakedness thing between his best friend and his former nemesis. After all, he had helped to bring down Voldemort and was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Ronald Weasley was maturity. And this was a life or death situation.

"I think I'm going to vomit." Ron made his way to the door, where everyone else had gathered. He then hid behind his girlfriend and studied her frizzy curls while listening to his surroundings.

Harry, meanwhile, was trying not to get an erection at the feel of Draco's naked flesh on his. And in front of so many people (including professors!). This really was not how he imagined his first time getting naked with someone else. Thankfully, his worry was overcoming his hormones.

"He's still so cold," he muttered to himself, wondering what was taking Pomfrey so long. Draco had started to move a bit, but had not opened his eyes, and was only making breathy noises that almost sounded like syllables. "Draco, love, please wake up." The pleading in Harry's voice almost gave way to sobs as he said, "Please, please. I need you. I…I-" He could not bring himself to finish his confession as he began to cry.

"Harry." It was there, but it was faint. Draco's voice sounded strained, unused. Harry's eyes went to his boyfriend's, which suddenly shot open. The look in his silvery-blue eyes reminded him of something he had read or seen a while ago. The pupils were completely dilated and there was a tinge of danger that warned the Gryffindor that he should probably back away while he could. Alas, Harry was not known for his willingness to do what was sensible, and vowed silently that he would stay with Draco through whatever this was.

"Harry…I feel you. Your mind. You…love me." Draco's voice was entrancing, as were his eyes. Something about this was all wrong. The empath seemed like a predator going in for the kill, and Harry could not look away. "I need…"

"What do you need?" Harry voiced his question at such a low volume that he could barely hear himself. He leaned in closer, his black hair falling into Draco's face, brushing that paler-than-usual skin. Draco responded by pushing his nose into the other's neck, smelling, sighing. Wrapped in the feeling of Draco naked, pressing against him, Harry did not notice the odd pin pricks at his neck until the fangs were already within him, drawing his blood from where it had pooled around his erection up to the bite.

Harry tried to flail to get assistance, but it felt so good to have Draco's teeth in him, to feel the other boy's sudden erection grind into his hip. He wondered if he would die like this, and then he wondered if he cared. Absently, he also wondered where everyone else had gone and why they weren't helping.

Then he didn't think anything at all as his eyelids grew heavy and he fell into unconsciousness.

Severus Snape, one of the three most powerful wizards in the world, swore loudly as he tried, and failed, to break through the invisible barrier that had suddenly gone up to prevent anyone from nearing the bed that Draco and Potter shared.

Longbottom had yelled in warning, the first to see Draco attack Potter's neck.

Now they all watched as the empath sucked the life out of the Boy Who Lived.

Where the hell was that wretched Headmaster when he was actually needed?

TBC…

I'll wrap it up in the next chapter, I think. I felt like a cliff-hanger, but you guys should know how I end things.