VI

That was just what he needed, Harry silently fumed. Just when he thought that his life couldn't get any more bizare than it already was, the Fate, or what have you, decided to play with him again, it seemed. Only about an hour ago he'd gone out to have dinner in a cafe somewhere on the outskirts of unnamed Muggle village in Albania in the company of his mortal enemy turned a reluctant ally due to their magic being in a tangled knot. And at first all had been pretty uneventful: they'd made an order and been waiting for food and for a person the Dark Lord should have been meeting there.

Of course, they, or rather, Harry needed a disguise, as his face, and, more importantly, the lightning bolt scar were too recognisable. No one remembered how Voldemort had looked like before he lost all traces of humanity to his appearance, so the Dark Lord simply changed into more Muggle-like clothes he kept at his secret hideout precisely for these purposes.

As for Harry – well, they decided that they couldn't afford to spend magic for such trivialities as glamours, especially – complicated enough to hide the curse scars, as the Dark Lord put it – so the Boy Who Lived was going to do with Muggle disguise methods.

Hence Harry Potter was now wearing a long blonde curly wig with a nice fringe and bangs, which they borrowed from a mannequin in the shop on the other end of a village, along with the skirt, blouse and stockings from the other shop far enough from the first one to not raise a rucus over the repeated theft. The stilletto sandals completed the outfit, and Harry could not be more glad for the fact, that the heels of the only big enough sized pair were not too high. These they needed to actually buy, because looking for the right size had proven to be a nightmare without shop-assistant. Even then, the shoes were not Harry's exact size, although a bit more bearable, than their first try (wich Voldemort "borrowed", but in the end was forced to return back to the shop).

The issue of lightning bolt scar was dealt with, too, resulting in Harry's face painted with the use of some poor girl's makeup kit, which the Dark Lord shamelessly snatched in the yet another place they visited on their way to the cafe. All in all, the image was not bad, quite the contrary, but Harry was still shooting angry glares to his 'companion', though they were undermined by his everlasting furious blush and cute pouty lips, which, too, were painted in a nice shade of pink to match the blouse and nail polish, which the Dark Lord insisted that Harry needed in order to avert supposed qurious gazes from his not very feminine hands.

When the person Voldemort had been waiting for has arrived at last, Harry was glad to finally be somewhat hidden by their back from the rest of the cafe's visitors, with the oily and sticky gazes of males and annoyed glances of females directed his way. His joy lasted maybe a minute or so, and then all of it went to the drain: their guest took out the gun and, pointing it right into Harry's face made a threat "to shoot this pretty doll right between her beautiful eyes if the necromancer won't cooperate". After which they both were calmly led out, the gun now poking Harry between shoulder blades, and Voldemort angrilly hissing insults in Parseltongue under his breath, but not doing anything against their captor, which frankly surprised Harry a bit, before he remembered the situation with their magic.

The bald guy with a gun was at first muttering something along the lines of "Devil worshipers" and "should have burnt them on the spot", harshly shoving Harry and Voldemort in the backs, ushering them forward, but then suddenly grabbed the Dark Lord by the shoulder, turning him and intensely looking into his eyes with a pleading look and asking with urgency: "Are you really the necromancer?! You can raise them, dead, can you not? My daughter! – "

The situation could probably have still ended in their favour, Harry had mused, but then they were brought to their captor's hideout, where his comrades were waiting. And among of them Harry spotted three familiar faces, whom neither he, nor the Dark Lord were glad to meet, and neither was anticipating to face in such a company: the darkest corner of the poorly lit room was occupied by none other than Lucius Malfoy, and amidst the crowd of people, who were looking suspiciously akin to criminals of some sort, Harry spotted two identical freckled faces under identical red haircuts.

'Shit! We are screwed!' Harry exclaimed mentally. 'Those are Weasleys! And have I just seen Malfoy over there?'

'Strange combination,' Voldemort hummed pensively.

'Dangerous combination, I'd say,' Harry retorted. 'Does Malfoy know your face? He may not recognise me like this – '

'Unfortunately, he does. What of blood-tratiors? Would they recognise you?'

'Very likely. And they are not traitors!'

'That's unimportant right now, is it not?' Voldemort inquired mildly.

'What do we do?' Harry rushed to ask nervously.

'I must reluctantly admit that I do not know,' Voldemort's mental voice was still rather calm despite the situation they were landing into. 'I'd rather Lucius won't learn of our little mishap with magic, though.'

Harry sighed and almost rolled his eyes.

'Something tells me, neither he, nor the twins would admit to know us in front of this mob. These guys look dangerous. Maybe they are bandits of some kind?'

'Smugglers, to be precise. I might have accidentally looked into their minds,' Voldemort admitted shamelessly in response to Harry's silent question. 'And true believers in their Christian god,' he winced slightly.

'What?'

'The one who took us wants to talk to his dead daughter, but aside from that he, and the rest of them, would gladly re-enact the Witch Trials of the Dark Ages.'

'What?!'

'They want to burn us in the name of their god,' Voldemort supplied, smirking nastilly.

'You do realise, that you are on the menu, too, right?' Harry frowned.

'Well, yess – But such nonsense won't affect either of us too badly, my lovely Horcrux,' the Dark Lord purred suavely.

Harry sent him an angry glare in response:

'They're still burning us, and that must be awfully painful!'

'We'll live,' Voldemort shrugged. 'That's what matters.'

'Masochist!' Harry muttered. 'We still need a plan! How about you help that baldy to meet his daughter?'

'Potter, Necromancy is a myth!' the Dark Lord snapped. 'No one is able to raise the dead to talk to them!'

'I know, I know! Try to play it, as if you can, though. I need time to think!' Harry sent the Dark Lord a pointed look. 'And anyway, do you want Lucius to learn of our problem with magic? No? Thought so. Then act your part, goddamit!'

"Hey, doll, are you a witch, too?" their captor rumbled suddenly, his heavy hand landing on Harry's shoulder and almost bringing him to the floor with its weight.

Harry bitten into his lip nervously and minutely shook his head in negative, trying to appear as harmless as he could.

'If you speak up he'd know. Your voice is too low to be feminine,' the Dark Lord warned him.

'Get lost,' Harry muttered distractedly. 'I am thinking.'

"So, this is the necromancer you were talking about, Ben?" one of the men from the mob asked. "What's with the girl?"

"Your bedwarmer, huh?" another man snorted raising a suggestive brow at the Dark Lord and Harry felt someone pinch his buttock harshly. He let out a high-pitched yelp of indignant surprise, turning on his heels to look at the offender and promptly slapped him on the cheek, huffing in annoyance.

"That's not how you treat a lady!" his voice still painfully high in pitch, Harry exclaimed. "I am not his bedwarmer, you, brute!" he added with a hiss and narrowing of eyes, then pointed an accusing finger into the face of the man, who pinched him. "You just try this again!" he dared.

"Oh, please, do!" the Dark Lord murmured, smiling evilly. "I'd be glad to top up on the ingredients for potions," he added with a threat in his voice. "Some of them require human parts, you see," he "confided" in stage whisper.

Harry's offender blanched and jerked away from both of them.

"You sure she's not your girl?" asked someone invisible form the throng. "You certainly act like she is." A man laughed harshly. "But if you say she's available – " he trailed off meaningfully. And next second, before either Harry or Voldemort could react, they were separated by the mob.

Harry felt himself being dragged to the other room of the house they were in by several men, with Malfoy among them, which have alerted Harry even more than the last statement for some reason. The Dark Lord was led to the opposite direction by Ben and about half of the mob, the Weasley twins included. Harry didn't have time to ponder over this, though, as he was roughly manhandled by "his" part of the gang and brought into something looking suspiciosly like bedroom.

'I am done,' Harry thought weakly. 'They should know any minute – '

'Be glad,' Voldemort advised, 'they still may try to kill you, though, but at least they will not violate you – maybe – ' he finished, a bit less sure.

'Thanks for your confidence,' Harry snorted pitifully. 'Just know that I will transmit everything,' he added vindictively.

He felt a momentary surge of panic from Voldemort's end of the mental link, before the man collected himself.

'You do realise, I hope, that if you let yourself be discovered within Lucius' presence, I will be forced to act accordingly? I won't hold back on using magic then,' the Dark Lord droned. 'I shall not be seen as weak in the eyes of my subordinate at any cost.'

Harry shuddered, realising with dread that he didn't have a choice: either he will loose his virginity to the horde of horny criminals or – his magic would be gone to the Dark Lord. In the first case, he still had hope to one day finish the war by defeating the Dark Lord, but, if he lost his magic, all hope for the peace in the Wizarding World would be forfeit.

He didn't have too much time to dwell on this, though, as he was forcefully brought down onto the bed on all fours, with his skirt-covered arse up in the air in humiliating way, one of the brutes pinning his hands to the mattress and the other – already positioning himself behind, his meaty hands sliding up under the skirt and along the fishnet of the stockings towards his underpants. Which were not feminine, Harry realised with horror. If they discover this fact alone, he was almost certainly doomed!

'I suggest you put up a fight,' drawled Voldemort. 'It would at least buy us some time. Or you enrage them enough to rip you clothes to unrecogniseable shreds at least.'

Frankly, Harry already realised as much and was violently thrashing and kicking at the men holding him down (now there were two in front and one extra at his back, trying to catch his ankles). All of this was done in relative silence, as Harry didn't dare cry out, only puffing and grunting in barely audible voice now and then.

"Argh, what a bitch – !" Harry's right foot collided with somebody's face with a distinguishable sound of their nose bone cracking.

And then Harry knew no more, as the huge cabbage-sized fist of the man he'd just wounded collided with his left temple and knocked him out senseless.

~8~8~8~

He was roughly woken up by a waterfall of icy-cold water drenching him from head to toe. With a feeling of deja-vu Harry tentatively tried to open up his left eye only to find that it refused to open. All of the left side of his face, including his temple and his eye, was in pain, his nose was numb, as if broken, as was his right wrist. His muscles were sore, but aside from that there was no tell-tale pain in his arse, for which he was grateful – the men must have stopped when he lost consciousness.

Even more carefully now Harry tried to open his right eye to peek at his surroundings. Or how he had wished to be back in Voldemort's secret house, even back in ropes and with horny Dark Lord trying to either test him or curse him again! Instead Harry saw the same shabby bedroom of the smuggler's house in which he passed out earlier. He was still on that same bed, though the room was almost empty now, aside from one man with an empty bucket in his hands. If Harry remembered correctly, this one didn't participate in the rape attempt before, but he was not too certain: there had not been too much light in the room then, and still wasn't, and Harry lost his glasses somewhere during his fight with rapists, and, beside, he now had only one working eye.

'Potter, you're alive there?' mental half-concerned jab from the Dark Lord only intensified Harry's already present headache and brought a wave of strong nausea, the sense of which was strangely doubled and detached. 'Ah, that would mine. I apologise,' Harry felt a mental wince at the other end of their connection. 'Why so silent?'

'Sod off,' Harry grumbled. 'My head hurts.'

'Probably, concussion.' Voldemort deduced. 'Did they kick you on the head?'

'Yeah.' Harry mumbled involuntarily. 'So shuddup.'

The sense of nausea suddenly intensified after Harry felt a ghostly jolt of pain in his abdomen. At the same time he heard a rather loud yawl of pain, though muffled by the door a bit, and felt the echo of the same outcry through the mental link.

'Fuck! That hurt! What's with you?' Harry tried to reach Voldemort.

'Ben learnt that myth,' somewhat cryptically responded Voldemort breathlessly.

'What?'

'Necromancy,' explained the Dark Lord in clipped tone. 'Seems, I'm bad actor.'

'Is Lucius there?' Harry suddenly remembered with the feeling of panic. ''Cause he's not here!'

'No Lucius,' Voldemort grunted. 'Only red-heads.'

'Hardly better,' Harry muttered darkly. 'I'd say – even worse. They're inventive.'

'They're busy. Trading with the leader.' Voldemort slurred weakly. Again Harry felt several short jabs of pain from his end of the link.

'What's going on there?' Harry couldn't help but be worried.

'Nothing interesting,' despite the situation Voldemort snorted. 'I'm their bloody punching bag for now – Argh!'

Harry sensed another virtual punch and a new wave of strong nausea, multiplying his own tenfolds.

'Bloody hell! – Hey – Hey, you alright?' After several calming breaths Harry called out. 'Tom? Tom?! Tom, you hear me?! – '

He now felt steady pulse of pain in his abdomen, the nausea was almost unbearable, as was headache. And he sensed no trace of Voldemort in his mind. At all. And this was quickly driving him into a fit of hysterical panic.

The man with the bucket chose this moment to approach him, and, before Harry knew it, his magic suddenly lashed out in blazingly hot surge, the bucket flew out of a man's hands in a burst of flames with a loud booming sound of a bomb going off, the door behind a man flew off its hindges and burst aflame into a firework, its splinters going off in all directions like small fire projectiles and all hell broke loose.

He heard shouts of "Whitch! She is a bloody witch!", "Put it off! Its burning my hand!" and "Shoot her!", "Off him!".

And then someone bellowed at the top of their lungs "Out! Everyone out! We're on fire!!!", turning it all into a madhouse, which was merrily lightened by a roraring fire, steadily spreading all around, black smoke quickly clouding all the possible exits, the unbearable heat from the wooden walls and furniture, cracking under leaks of flames, trying to knock out people, who already started running around, trying fruitlessly to find an escape out of the burning building.

Harry had leapt to his feet even before that, seconds after the fire had started. His legs were wobbly, head – spinning from dizziness and magical fatigue, he hardly saw anything with his only one good eye, but still went into the main room, the sound of his stiletto heels adding to the crazy cacophony which erupted around him in mere seconds. In this chaos it was almost impossible to find not only the door or window which were not blocked by the flames or smoke, but even navigate around. Several times already Harry came nose to nose with either Ben, who was still holding a loaded gun, or one of the rapists, who tried to jump him or knock him down, more possibly. And now he was facing Lucius, who just a second ago Apparated back right into the middle of this all after his suspicious absence. Malfoy cursed under his breath and dis-Apparated away. Harry dismissed the slimy coward immediately, and went to his right, thinking he saw a glimpse of a door there. Instead he suddenly came face to face with Ben again, but before the man registered him, Harry dodged off to the side, successfully loosing the armed brute in the smoke. Only to stumble upon roped Voldemort and almost knock him off the stool on which the later sat, or rather was tied to, his head lowered onto his chest, obviously unconscious.

"Shit!" Harry whispered and quickly moved away, trying to make as few sounds with his shoes as he could.

Surprisingly, he still managed to find the door wich was only partly blocked by a small bonfire. At that moment he felt enormous gratitude towards the guy who woke him with the use of a bucket of water, as his still somewhat wet clothes helped him escape the most severe burning, while they even managed to stay almost fully intact despite the whole ordeal.

He was awed, still, to find Lucius outside, directing the crowd of neighbours with water-filled buckets, hoses and the like, leading the fire-distinguishing process like a professional.

Harry quickly make himself scarce, again grateful for that blow to his face, which made him almost totally unrecogniseable.

He didn't get too far, though, before he felt a weak tug inside his mind.

'Someone promised to not run off, no?' Voldemort's mental jab was quivering. 'Or did you hope that I perish in that fire? Did you forget about my Horcruxes? Come hither.'

"Fuck!" Harry grumbled, but turned on his stillettos, silently cursing the blasted things, and went back to the burning building.

'How did you manage to get out?' Harry inquired with interest.

'Red-heads,' came short reply.

Harry stumbled, hearing this, at last breaking one of his heels on some piece of burnt wood which happened to get under his feet.

'They don't know who I am. Don't you dare – ,' Voldemort's threat was cut short by already familiar wave of nausea. 'Sweet Morgana – Urgh – Don't come yet – '

'What? – '

'Wait – where you are – ' Another intense wave of sickness managed to drop Harry to his knees, when added to his own weakness and wobbly feet in high-heeled shoes (with one still broken to add insult to injury). After several long moments of simply breathing in and out to calm his own stomach, Harry stood back up and continued on his path towards the place, where he sensed Voldemort.

Going around the former house turned into bonfire, Harry at last came to a trully bizare sight: Voldemort was heavily leaning onto one of the Weasley twins, half-folded on himself, clutching his abdomen and dry-heaving, the ugly puddle of vomit mixed with blood under his feet. The other twin carefully tried to support the Dark Lord from the other side, the clumsy looking glass of water in his hand, held out towards Voldemort: "Here, have some water, mate."

"Oh, here's your girlfriend! See, she's alright, too!" another twin exclaimed, pointing to the approaching Harry.

"I am no – "

Harry was cut off by Voldemort, muttering inside their interlinked minds 'You better play along' and at the same time, as he slurred almost incomprehensively aloud "You'lright, dear?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled hoarsely, trying to make his voice higher, but faling and coughing instead from the smell of burning coming from the smoking remnants of the building.

"We better take you, guys, to our place," one of the twins suggested and motioned towards the slowly subduing fire, "before they remembered who started all this."

"I think Malfoy solves this for us, though," the other twin retorted, "He can Obliviate them or even kill, for all I care," he huffed. "They're done with this business, anyway." He smirked and hold a hand to Harry. "May I offer you a ride, miss?"

"A ride?" Harry blinked.

"Apparition," the twin explained. "Don't you know the thing?"

"Ah, of course," Harry mumbled lowering his head and blushing in shame.

He sensed a weak laugh of Voldemort inside his mind.

"I'll take you, mate," the other twin offered, and as Vodlemort already was clinging to his arm like a lifeline, they promptly disappeared with a crack after the red-head turned on his heels.

"Don't you worry, sweetie, we are right behind them," Harry was promised, before they, too, Dis-Apparated away.

~8~8~8~

And that was how Harry found himself in even more bizare situation.

He was sitting on the couch in the Weasley twins flat above their joke shop on Diagon Alley, talking to George and Fred, while Voldemort was sleeping in their other room, probably bedroom, Hary mused.

Well, at first, after they Apparated here, the Dark Lord started vomiting again and Harry himself almost done the same, as Voldemort's nausea leaking through their mental link only made things worse on his side: he'd never really felt for any of the means of magical tramsportation aside from the flights on the broom, and after all of the events of this long day the Apparation made him a bit dizzy and sick to his stomach. He managed to hold it down in the end with much diffficulty.

The twins fussled over Voldemort, tended to his most prominent injuries, as he seemed much worse for wear than Harry after the impromptu bonfire at the smuggler's headquaters. When they finally put him to sleep (though reluctantly on his part), the twins turned to Harry. And then everything fell apart. Meaining, they healed his mild concussion and brusies on his face. After which he was enveloped in double bear-hug from both twins simultaneously, them roaring in unison "Harry, that's you, mate! We were worried!!!"

Then George (or maybe Fred, it was hard to tell) naturally asked why Harry was in Muggle girl's dress and Fred (or was it George, again?) interrupted with the question of where Harry disappeared to from the Ministry of Magic a month ago.

Harry gaped at that.

They'd been absent for a whole month?! For him it felt only a day or two at most, though with all these swooning it was hard to tell exactly, but that certainly didn't feel like the whole bloody month!

While he was trying to come to terms with this information the twins inquired about the identity of his companion. Harry froze, the wheels in his head stopping with almost audible screech of brakes. But before he could come up with at least somewhat plausible lie, one of the twins was already suppling him with the possible explanation.

"Was it him? The one who helped you escape, I mean. From You-Know-Who's hands. You were there, right?"

Harry nodded fervently several times.

"Yes."

"That's why you both were pretending to be a couple, no? Or are you two – ?"

Harry couldn't help it, he blushed so violently, that he was afraid he'd burst from the heat creeping up his cheeks and going as far as to his ears' tips, although still trying to shook his head in negative response.

The twins sniggered with a knowing look on their faces.

"We don't blame you, mate!" One of them waved a hand off. "The guy's hot as sin!"

"So, what d'you think, Forge, that's alright then, if we tell him?" the other twin nudged his brother in the side. "About that."

"Oh, that!" the other exclaimed. "Yeah, I suppose, Gred, he's right to know that. Definitely!"

"Guys! Guys, what's up?" Harry interrupted, nervous for some reason.

"Don't worry, Harrikins, we won't tell!" promised one of the twins, the other nodding in agreement and echoing "Won't tell a soul!"

"What are you talking about?" Harry was trully afraid now. The facial expressions they wore were very suspicious, and these cryptic talks didn't help matters.

"You'd better sit tight, mate," one of the twins suggested threateningly, his tone serious all of a sudden. It was even scarier coming from ever-cheerful red-head than it could be from anyone else.

Harry gulped, flattening himself against the back of the sofa he was sitting at.

"It's best if you saw for yourself, Harry," the other twin said, his tone, too, going thick with undecipherable felling, and held out a shimmering scroll.

"Wh-what's that?" not trusting the twins not to pull some ultimate joke of the centrury on him, Harry didn't rush to touch the scroll.

"That won't do, Fred," George muttered darkly. "He won't believe us like this."

Fred hummed in thought.

"Right, I imagine no one in their right mind would," his smile was crooked. "Though I still think he needs to know, but – " he trailed off pensively.

"Hey, guys, I'm still here, you know," Harry waved a hand. "Don't talk over my head, like I am a bloody kid!"

"Won't do," George muttered again. Then his face lit up. "I think I know!"

And before either Fred or Harry could even open their mouths, George Dis-Apparated.

"Hey, Fred, what's going on?" Harry tried.

Fred just shook his head.

"He is right, you need to know, but better not from us," he told. "I'd never believe myself in this, too!" he snorted. "I hope he won't be too long, though," Fred added. "We are all tired and tomorrow, I am afraid, will be even more eventful."

"No need to worry, brother!" George chirped, Apparating back in, Lucius Malfoy hot on his heels.

Fred tried to shield Harry from view while simultaneously hitting his twin on the head.

"Are you out of your mind, George?!" he exclaimed, pointing towards Malfoy. "You do know, that you have a bloody tail, don't you?!"

"Yes, oh brother mine, I do know this!" George responded in kind. "As you probably see he is wearing blindfold at this moment, and not just any blindfold for that matter, but one of my own invention, you know the one," he wiggled his brows meaningfully.

Fred let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head, muttering "Idiot!" under his breath.

"Just a moment, Mr. Malfoy," George promised, then came up to Harry and with quick motions rightened his outfit, the wig included, then bended down to him and muttered into his ear almost inaudibly "Only the girl part was disguise. Play along." Then George proceeded back to Malfoy and removed the blindfold from his eyes. "Sorry about that, Mr. Malfoy, but I hope you understand, that we need to be cautious."

Malfoy nodded almost regally.

"Naturally. So what was that small favour you've asked me of?"

"Well," George sighed. "You see, we have certain reputation, not that we don't like it in general, but right now it does not help to be seen as pranksters and jokers, when there is important information we need to share."

Fred huffed in annoyance and brought a hand to his twin's mouth, shutting him up, then interjected:

"What my brother is trying to say, is that we need to tell of something serious but are afraid that we would not be believed. I understand that my brother brought you here to relay that information in our stead."

Malfoy hummed and raised an inquiring brow.

"And what that might be?"

"Our friend here needs to learn the result of the diagnostic spell performed on our other guest. Usually such matters are confidential, of course, but this matter is concerning both of them, so – " he motioned towards the door to the other room. "Shall we? I hope you know how to cast the spell?"

"I've already confirmed that," grumbled George. "It's the Diagnozicum one, Mr. Malfoy. I asked you about it just now," he clarified. Then turned to Harry and ushered him to tag along, "You'd better come with us to watch, too, so there won't be any misunderstandings later."

Frowning, Harry complied and went with the other three into the next room, where he saw Voldemort sprawled on the bed with his eyes closed, either sleeping or unconscious.

George looked at Malfoy and motioned towards the bed: "Here."

Malfoy, who at that moment suddenly acquired the nervous tick under his right eye, pursed his lips and with a nod finally brought out his wand, then swished it in a complicated pattern while uttering the necessary incantation of "Diagnozicum Revelio Maxima".

Bright lime-green beam sprang out of the tip of his wand, washing the form, lying on the bed, in shimmering glow momentarily, then assimilated into a ghostly cloud above the bedridden man. The cloud formed into a distinguishable shape of the scroll, similar to the one Harry had been offered to look at earlier. The scroll became more solid after several seconds, hovered above the sleeping man for a moment and finally landed on the blanket he was covered with a soft rustling of parchment, still emitting the soft glow and shimmer.

"It is safe to take it now," Malfoy clarified, watching the sleeping man warily, and hid his wand.

Harry eyed the rolled-up parchment on the blanket with suspicion evident in his features.

Malfoy sighed exasperatedly and hold out the hand to pick the scroll up.

"Shall I have the honors?" he raised a brow.

"Please," muttered Harry, his eyes never leaving Malfoy's wand hand.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, that's ridiculous!" George exclaimed. "Do you think us three can conspire agains you?!" He huffed. "Pick the damn thing up for yourself so that you won't pin it on us later on!"

Harry made a grimace, but carefully touched the scroll with his fingertips. When nothing happened, he pickd it up in honest and unfolded the parchment.

The reason behind this all charade became obvious pretty quickly after his eyes scanned the not very long list of vitals and injuries and came upon the single line at the very bottom.

Dropping the parchment back on the bed, Harry threw his head back and let out a sardonic bark of laugh. Immediately followed by a whole string of hysterical giggles and guffaws of merriment, tears strimming down his cheeks from all the mirth.

"I suspected something like thi-is!" he managed to issue in between his laughs and sobs of hysteria. "No fucking way he belie-eves i-it!!" he started hiccuping from laughing so hard. "That's bloody hilario-ous!!!"

"What's got into your friend?" Malfoy inquired mildly from the two frowning red-heads.

"I didn't anticipate this reaction," muttered Fred.

"Neither did I," George agreed. "That's just hysteria, I suppose."

"Right," Fred nodded, then raised a brow, "Do we have some Calmning Draught here, bro?"

"Nope," the other twin shook his head. "We've ran out awhile ago."

"That's bad," not moving a muscle to calm his friend, muttered Fred.

After almost full five minutes of laghing, though, one of the twins at last took out a wand and simply casted an "Aguamenti" on Harry, successfully stopping the hysterical giggles.

"Argh! I hate that spell!" Harry exclaimed, once again drenched from head to toe in icy-cold water.

Malfoy raised an unimpressed brow at that, while the twins smiled sheepishly.

"So, umm, are you okay with this, mate?" Fred asked Harry after a long pause, motioning towards the sleeping man on the bed and the scroll, lying at his feet.

Harry shrugged.

"I didn't know that was possible, you know, even with magic and all. Though, come to think of it, I did really expected something like this, what's with his symptoms and your melodrama just now," he smirked.

Malfoy pointed towards the half-opened scroll and issued the tentative "May I?" looking first at Harry, then on each of the twins in turn.

Harry shrugged and huffed.

"Yes you may. Anyway, it was your spell and he is – " he cut himself off, wincing. "Oh, just go ahead!" he grumbled, waiving his hand towards the scroll.

Malfoy carefully picked up the parchment and peeked inside it with curiousity. He pulled a long face almost immediately, when his eyes fell on the most vital part of the diagnosis.

"That's – That's highly rare!" he breathed out in surprise. "The only question is, how this young lady is concerned?" he looked at Harry pointedly.

"'m not a 'lady'!" Harry huffed. "That's disguise," he grumbled, tugging on the long blond lock, which fell into his eyes right then.

Before he could explain himself further though, Malfoy squinted his eyes and closed the distance between them to scrutinise Harry's face better.

Harry gulped.

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock.

"Potter?!" he murmurred in disbelief.

Harry yelped and jumped away from him, rushing to get his wand out, though he doubted he had an ounce of magic left in him for anything even as light as "Wingardium Leviosa".

Instead of assaulting him, though, Malfoy only raised his hands in surrender and shook his head.

"Mr. Potter, you do not need to fear, I shall not attack you in any way."

"Huh?"

"First, I had the mutual agreement with these gentlemen not to harm a person when on their territory. Also we share business, and you fall under their notion of 'close friensds and family to whom no harm can come by my hand directly or by proxy', if I remember this clause of the contract correctly. And lastly this predicament," he motioned towards the scroll and the man on the bed, "makes you the untouchable by any and all due to a rare occurrence of such a case in our society in general, and due to the sacred nature of it, too. Not even counting both of your identities," his nervous tick returned for a moment.

"Hold on!" Harry raised a hand up. "What do you mean 'share business'?!"

"That's hardly matters right now, Harry," George muttered.

Harry huffed and shook his head.

"You're something, guys!" he smirked. "Though, I hardly blame you. That bloody feud of yours was a stupid thing!"

"So, Mr. Potter, shall I congratulate you on the matter?" Malfoy inqured with a mild smirk.

Harry only glared in response.

"Now, now, no need to be so impolite, Harrikins," one of the twins chastised him. "I am sure, Mr. Malfoy meant well," he smiled.

"Don't want to hear it from bloody Malfoy," he grumbled. "What should I do now, though? Cart him to St. Mungo?" he pointed to the sleeping form on the bed.

"I don't think it is neccesary at this stage," mused Malfoy. "If there won't be complications, he may evade the hospital all toghether, though I suggest to organise a safe place for both of you and a private Healer for him anyway. I would offer my own home for this purpose, though I doubt you'll agree," he frowned.

Harry let out a long tired sigh.

"I think we'd better sleep this over and then think on the issue some more," he mumbled. "And anyway my word would hardly matter here. He's too stubborn for his own good," he winced. Then took the scroll back into his hands and looked at it again, eyes immediately falling on the most disturbing point of the diagnosis:

"Pregnant, five weeks".