Small Steps, 1/?
Title: Small Steps, 1/?
Author: hecticity
Rating: PG so far
Pairings: Harry/Draco, references to Neville/Luna
Warnings/Spoilers: character death (not Harry or Draco)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am not making any money.
Summary: A horrible “accident” has occurred at number four Privet Drive. The Dursleys are found dead by the Muggle firefighters, but despite the fact that Harry was staying there, there was no report of him being found. Worried for his health and sanity, the Order sends a team to investigate.
Author’s note: for maki_to13, who requested Draco being a member of the Order and seeing Privet Drive. Happy birthday, my dear Harry! Also, because it was written in February, this fic goes towards HP Quills for a Cause 2007 (hpqfac).
STRANGELY RESISTANT FIRE KILLS THREE, WOUNDS TWO
LITTLE WHINGING, SURREY- Mrs. Arabella Figg notified the Surrey Fire Service at 6:23 AM this morning, when she noticed a curl of smoke in the sky not far from her home on Wisteria Walk. “I was sitting on my porch,” Mrs. Figg told authorities in her report, “just minding my own business, petting my cat and enjoying the sunrise, when I saw it.”
The source turned out to be Number Four Privet Drive, home to Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley. Their bodies were found on the second floor, near the window, which they had apparently been trying to jump out of before the fire hit the room full force.
The fire had nearly run its course by the time authorities arrived on the scene, but there was still quite a bit of trouble bringing it entirely to a halt. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” said firefighter Brian Davis, who has been fighting fire for nearly eight years now. “Water just wasn’t working, so we tried fire blankets, but those just caught on fire too- that’s why [Susan] Curtis and [Richard] Smith are in the hospital now.”
.....
Neville stared at the house. The windows were gone, shattered in the extreme heat, and the first floor was barely standing. The roof had caved, its supports eaten away, and even at this distance he could hear water leaking from broken pipes.
Unsure what to do, he looked over at Draco, whose face had hardened into even more of a mask than usual. Neville fiddled with the strap on his bag, wondering what to say, but it wasn’t necessary.
“I’m going in.” The statement was accompanied by a tentative step in the direction of the house, followed by another, and another, growing faster and more purposeful with each moment. He pushed the door open, creaking on its hinges, and entered the living room.
Neville followed, looking around warily. “Watch it,” Draco said harshly, without even looking around, and Neville paused mid-step to see that he had nearly stepped on a large, jagged piece of glass. He set his foot down next to it, wondering how Draco always knew when he was going to make a mistake, and watched the ground carefully as he walked.
When he dared to look up again, they were in the kitchen, and Draco was gazing about in confusion.
“This is the stove,” Neville told him, touching it. “It’s cold. No one’s been cooking here.” He did the same with the other appliances, disappointed to find no evidence of someone using them recently. There was a basket hanging near the window, full of singed fruit, and there was still food in the refrigerator, but that didn’t tell them anything.
Draco frowned and whispered a spell, searching for traces of magic, but everything that flared could be attributed to the fire. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know, Longbottom,” he said tiredly. “It doesn’t look like he’s here.”
Neville still winced at his last name, but that was how Draco addressed everyone in the Order, as if he was still trying to set himself apart.
“Er,” he said shyly, “Don’t you think we should check the rest of the house?”
Draco glanced at him, sighed again, and then nodded, leading the way into the next room.
It wasn’t until nearly an hour later, when they’d completed a tour of the first floor and were standing at the foot of the stairs, contemplating whether it was safe to climb them, that they found anything of importance. Draco’s revealing spell nearly blinded them, and as they stood there blinking, Neville realised that it wasn’t the stairs themselves that had given off such a strong flash, but the cupboard beneath them.
“Draco,” he said quietly, trying to hide the excitement in his voice, and Draco froze with one foot hovering over the first step to look at him. “Over here.”
He reached out to touch the small door, but Draco grabbed his hand. “It’s covered in magic,” he hissed, “don’t be an idiot.”
Neville blushed and stepped back while Draco opened it magically. The cupboard was empty, but here there were signs of life- a rumpled blanket, still slightly warm as if it had only been left a few minutes ago, and a bag of green grapes, four of which looked as if they’d just been bitten into.
“Keep an eye out, won’t you?” Draco asked, frowning as he looked at the grapes. “None of these have gone bad, someone’s been here recently- and they might be coming back.”
“Bit late for that,” a soft voice said from behind Neville, who squeaked and nearly hit his head on the top of the cupboard when he jumped. Draco had spun around in a flash, wand out to defend them both.
“Potter?” he asked warily, taking in Harry’s disheveled appearance. “What happened to you?”
“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, ignoring the question. Draco glared defensively and opened his mouth to answer, but Neville beat him to it.
“Looking for you, Harry,” he said eagerly, looking up at him. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Harry said vaguely, still looking at Draco, who had lowered his wand and crossed his arms. “They’re not, though,” he added, and there was a maniacal hint to his smile.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Save it, Potter,” he said briskly, “unless you want to tell your story twice. You’re coming with us.”
“They deserved it,” Harry exclaimed, standing up from the table and nearly overturning it with his knee. “Is that why you came looking for me, just to scold me? I am not a child.”
“Harry,” Remus began, steadying his tea with one hand, “you could have done something else. Come back here, for example, this is still your house. Or gone somewhere on your own,” he added quickly when Harry sniffed derisively. “You could go anywhere, Harry. You can take your friends with you. But I wish you’d stop taking your anger out on innocent people.”
Draco snorted, and they both turned to look at him. “Did you have something to say, Draco?” Remus asked patiently, but his hand gripped his cup tighter.
“Innocent,” he said sarcastically. “As if that word even exists anymore. Even Longbottom here isn’t innocent.”
Neville blushed and looked away.
“I am not talking about sexual innocence, Draco,” Remus said wearily, who had seen this exchange far too many times to count.
“Neither was I,” Draco shot back. “Though I’m sure Little Miss Loony could attest to that. I was talking about the war.”
“Will you stop analyzing me,” Harry bit out, sitting down again and putting his face in his hands.
“Not everything is about you, Potter,” Draco sneered, standing gracefully. “Have fun dealing with your child, Lupin. Have I fulfilled my debt to society now?”
Remus waved him away, and Neville jumped up to follow. “Draco,” they could hear him saying, his voice and footsteps fading away into the depths of the house.
Harry stared after them, momentarily distracted from the argument. “They get along?” he asked incredulously.
“That is precisely what I’m talking about, Harry,” Remus told him, interrupting himself in the middle of a sip of tea to make a point. “You’re stuck. You think everything is the way it was before the war. This is why…”
“Finish that sentence,” Harry said angrily, when Remus showed no sign of continuing. “Finish it. This is why what?”
“Why I tried to stop you from going back to the Dursleys,” Remus replied, looking tired and defeated.
“Don’t do that.” Remus looked up, opening his mouth to ask what, but Harry pointed at him. “That. Act like the weight of the whole world is on your shoulders and I’m just making it harder. I hate it when you do that.”
“Because, quite clearly, the only one who has problems is you.” Remus shook his head and stood up. He held one hand out towards the doorway, indicating the way that Draco and Neville had gone. “Perhaps you should go talk to them. I think you’ll discover you’re not alone.”
“Absolute git,” Draco exclaimed, scorching the wall with his wand.
“Draco.”
“Thinks the whole bloody world revolves around him! Just because he’s the fucking hero!” When scorching wasn’t satisfying enough, Draco kicked the wall, then fell into a chair, holding his foot and cursing.
“Draco, honestly.” Neville knelt in front of him, pulling off his boot and taking a balm out of his bag. “Stop hurting yourself. It’s not worth it.”
“Exactly,” Draco replied, but his eyes were closed and his voice had lost most of its menace. “He’s not fucking worth it. Never mind those bloody optimistic mantras of his! ‘Draco, it isn’t as hopeless as you think. Draco, it’ll be over soon.’ Over soon, my arse. It’ll be over when the goddamned hero sings.”
“I don’t think you want me to do that,” Harry said wryly from the doorway.
“No, I’ll settle for you not barging in on a private conversation,” Draco said coldly, opening his eyes.
Harry laughed. “Conversation? More like you yelling. I could hear you on the stairs. And when did Neville become your personal podiatrist?”
“Erm,” Neville began, blushing, but Draco came to his defense. “He’s a Healer, Potter,” he told him, pulling his foot out of Neville’s hands and slipping his shoe back on so that he could stand to face Harry. “And he also happens to be my friend. Not that you’d understand that concept, I’m sure. When did you last hear from Weasley and Granger?”
Harry’s face hardened. “That is none of your business.”
“Oh, but you make it my business,” Draco sneered, advancing on him, raising his voice into a high falsetto. “’My friends are gone! Nobody loves me! Oh, poor, poor me!”
He stopped and crossed his arms, matching Harry glare for glare. “I think I speak for both of us when I say STOP WHINING, Potter. We’re all sick of it.”
“Does he really speak for you, Neville?” Harry asked, his eyes not leaving Draco’s.
“Well, actually, Harry,” Neville said timidly, “I do think he has a point. But he could be nicer about it.”
Draco shrugged. “Nice doesn’t work. Doesn’t get through that thick skull of his. And anyway, it’s not my style.”
“No, you’re a cold, sarcastic prick,” Harry snarled, his hands clenching as they itched for his wand. “You haven’t any idea what I’ve been through.”
“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco said evenly, just as Neville shouted, “Will you stop!”
They both looked at him, surprised at his sudden outburst. “We’ve all been through hell, alright?” he said, more calmly, and held his ground even as his cheeks turned pink. “All of us. So will you quit acting like no one understands?”
“Go back to your cupboard, Potter,” Draco told him, turning away. “Forget we ever tried to help you. Just spare us, in the name of all things you hold sacred.”
It was the look on Neville’s face that finally made Harry leave the room.
It was exactly this emotion, Harry thought, stomping down the hall to a free bedroom and throwing himself onto the bed, which had caused the fire. This burning isolation- even now in his own house!- the utter loneliness, the despair and the hatred of everyone that was happy and anything or anyone that made them that way.
He glared at the ceiling for a while, and had nearly fallen asleep when he heard a soft voice.
“Harry?” it asked, and Harry recognized it as Neville’s. “Draco says that when you’re done feeling sorry for yourself he wants to talk to you.”
“He could have come and told me himself,” Harry grumbled, not moving.
“He was going to,” Neville told him, entering the room and sitting on the bed beside him. “I didn’t think that was a very good idea.”
Harry stared at him. “Since when has he actually listened to anyone? And why do you listen to him?”
“That’s very hypocritical of you, Harry,” Neville said gently. “You don’t listen to him, either. Or me, for that matter, at least until now. Maybe.” He peered at Harry through the darkness. “Are you listening?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, but he couldn’t keep the resentment out of his voice. That Neville, of all people, could be endorsing Draco Malfoy- it was simply too much for him to comprehend, let alone accept.
“I’d bet he’d understand, you know,” Neville said, looking at his hands. “He was supposed to be a hero, too, in a different way. His parents, the Death Eaters, all of them, they had such high expectations. At least you lived up to yours.”
The bed shifted, and Neville’s footsteps retreated before Harry could answer, leaving him alone in the dark with his thoughts.
Chapter 2
Author: hecticity
Rating: PG so far
Pairings: Harry/Draco, references to Neville/Luna
Warnings/Spoilers: character death (not Harry or Draco)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am not making any money.
Summary: A horrible “accident” has occurred at number four Privet Drive. The Dursleys are found dead by the Muggle firefighters, but despite the fact that Harry was staying there, there was no report of him being found. Worried for his health and sanity, the Order sends a team to investigate.
Author’s note: for maki_to13, who requested Draco being a member of the Order and seeing Privet Drive. Happy birthday, my dear Harry! Also, because it was written in February, this fic goes towards HP Quills for a Cause 2007 (hpqfac).
STRANGELY RESISTANT FIRE KILLS THREE, WOUNDS TWO
LITTLE WHINGING, SURREY- Mrs. Arabella Figg notified the Surrey Fire Service at 6:23 AM this morning, when she noticed a curl of smoke in the sky not far from her home on Wisteria Walk. “I was sitting on my porch,” Mrs. Figg told authorities in her report, “just minding my own business, petting my cat and enjoying the sunrise, when I saw it.”
The source turned out to be Number Four Privet Drive, home to Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley. Their bodies were found on the second floor, near the window, which they had apparently been trying to jump out of before the fire hit the room full force.
The fire had nearly run its course by the time authorities arrived on the scene, but there was still quite a bit of trouble bringing it entirely to a halt. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” said firefighter Brian Davis, who has been fighting fire for nearly eight years now. “Water just wasn’t working, so we tried fire blankets, but those just caught on fire too- that’s why [Susan] Curtis and [Richard] Smith are in the hospital now.”
.....
Neville stared at the house. The windows were gone, shattered in the extreme heat, and the first floor was barely standing. The roof had caved, its supports eaten away, and even at this distance he could hear water leaking from broken pipes.
Unsure what to do, he looked over at Draco, whose face had hardened into even more of a mask than usual. Neville fiddled with the strap on his bag, wondering what to say, but it wasn’t necessary.
“I’m going in.” The statement was accompanied by a tentative step in the direction of the house, followed by another, and another, growing faster and more purposeful with each moment. He pushed the door open, creaking on its hinges, and entered the living room.
Neville followed, looking around warily. “Watch it,” Draco said harshly, without even looking around, and Neville paused mid-step to see that he had nearly stepped on a large, jagged piece of glass. He set his foot down next to it, wondering how Draco always knew when he was going to make a mistake, and watched the ground carefully as he walked.
When he dared to look up again, they were in the kitchen, and Draco was gazing about in confusion.
“This is the stove,” Neville told him, touching it. “It’s cold. No one’s been cooking here.” He did the same with the other appliances, disappointed to find no evidence of someone using them recently. There was a basket hanging near the window, full of singed fruit, and there was still food in the refrigerator, but that didn’t tell them anything.
Draco frowned and whispered a spell, searching for traces of magic, but everything that flared could be attributed to the fire. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know, Longbottom,” he said tiredly. “It doesn’t look like he’s here.”
Neville still winced at his last name, but that was how Draco addressed everyone in the Order, as if he was still trying to set himself apart.
“Er,” he said shyly, “Don’t you think we should check the rest of the house?”
Draco glanced at him, sighed again, and then nodded, leading the way into the next room.
It wasn’t until nearly an hour later, when they’d completed a tour of the first floor and were standing at the foot of the stairs, contemplating whether it was safe to climb them, that they found anything of importance. Draco’s revealing spell nearly blinded them, and as they stood there blinking, Neville realised that it wasn’t the stairs themselves that had given off such a strong flash, but the cupboard beneath them.
“Draco,” he said quietly, trying to hide the excitement in his voice, and Draco froze with one foot hovering over the first step to look at him. “Over here.”
He reached out to touch the small door, but Draco grabbed his hand. “It’s covered in magic,” he hissed, “don’t be an idiot.”
Neville blushed and stepped back while Draco opened it magically. The cupboard was empty, but here there were signs of life- a rumpled blanket, still slightly warm as if it had only been left a few minutes ago, and a bag of green grapes, four of which looked as if they’d just been bitten into.
“Keep an eye out, won’t you?” Draco asked, frowning as he looked at the grapes. “None of these have gone bad, someone’s been here recently- and they might be coming back.”
“Bit late for that,” a soft voice said from behind Neville, who squeaked and nearly hit his head on the top of the cupboard when he jumped. Draco had spun around in a flash, wand out to defend them both.
“Potter?” he asked warily, taking in Harry’s disheveled appearance. “What happened to you?”
“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, ignoring the question. Draco glared defensively and opened his mouth to answer, but Neville beat him to it.
“Looking for you, Harry,” he said eagerly, looking up at him. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Harry said vaguely, still looking at Draco, who had lowered his wand and crossed his arms. “They’re not, though,” he added, and there was a maniacal hint to his smile.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Save it, Potter,” he said briskly, “unless you want to tell your story twice. You’re coming with us.”
“They deserved it,” Harry exclaimed, standing up from the table and nearly overturning it with his knee. “Is that why you came looking for me, just to scold me? I am not a child.”
“Harry,” Remus began, steadying his tea with one hand, “you could have done something else. Come back here, for example, this is still your house. Or gone somewhere on your own,” he added quickly when Harry sniffed derisively. “You could go anywhere, Harry. You can take your friends with you. But I wish you’d stop taking your anger out on innocent people.”
Draco snorted, and they both turned to look at him. “Did you have something to say, Draco?” Remus asked patiently, but his hand gripped his cup tighter.
“Innocent,” he said sarcastically. “As if that word even exists anymore. Even Longbottom here isn’t innocent.”
Neville blushed and looked away.
“I am not talking about sexual innocence, Draco,” Remus said wearily, who had seen this exchange far too many times to count.
“Neither was I,” Draco shot back. “Though I’m sure Little Miss Loony could attest to that. I was talking about the war.”
“Will you stop analyzing me,” Harry bit out, sitting down again and putting his face in his hands.
“Not everything is about you, Potter,” Draco sneered, standing gracefully. “Have fun dealing with your child, Lupin. Have I fulfilled my debt to society now?”
Remus waved him away, and Neville jumped up to follow. “Draco,” they could hear him saying, his voice and footsteps fading away into the depths of the house.
Harry stared after them, momentarily distracted from the argument. “They get along?” he asked incredulously.
“That is precisely what I’m talking about, Harry,” Remus told him, interrupting himself in the middle of a sip of tea to make a point. “You’re stuck. You think everything is the way it was before the war. This is why…”
“Finish that sentence,” Harry said angrily, when Remus showed no sign of continuing. “Finish it. This is why what?”
“Why I tried to stop you from going back to the Dursleys,” Remus replied, looking tired and defeated.
“Don’t do that.” Remus looked up, opening his mouth to ask what, but Harry pointed at him. “That. Act like the weight of the whole world is on your shoulders and I’m just making it harder. I hate it when you do that.”
“Because, quite clearly, the only one who has problems is you.” Remus shook his head and stood up. He held one hand out towards the doorway, indicating the way that Draco and Neville had gone. “Perhaps you should go talk to them. I think you’ll discover you’re not alone.”
“Absolute git,” Draco exclaimed, scorching the wall with his wand.
“Draco.”
“Thinks the whole bloody world revolves around him! Just because he’s the fucking hero!” When scorching wasn’t satisfying enough, Draco kicked the wall, then fell into a chair, holding his foot and cursing.
“Draco, honestly.” Neville knelt in front of him, pulling off his boot and taking a balm out of his bag. “Stop hurting yourself. It’s not worth it.”
“Exactly,” Draco replied, but his eyes were closed and his voice had lost most of its menace. “He’s not fucking worth it. Never mind those bloody optimistic mantras of his! ‘Draco, it isn’t as hopeless as you think. Draco, it’ll be over soon.’ Over soon, my arse. It’ll be over when the goddamned hero sings.”
“I don’t think you want me to do that,” Harry said wryly from the doorway.
“No, I’ll settle for you not barging in on a private conversation,” Draco said coldly, opening his eyes.
Harry laughed. “Conversation? More like you yelling. I could hear you on the stairs. And when did Neville become your personal podiatrist?”
“Erm,” Neville began, blushing, but Draco came to his defense. “He’s a Healer, Potter,” he told him, pulling his foot out of Neville’s hands and slipping his shoe back on so that he could stand to face Harry. “And he also happens to be my friend. Not that you’d understand that concept, I’m sure. When did you last hear from Weasley and Granger?”
Harry’s face hardened. “That is none of your business.”
“Oh, but you make it my business,” Draco sneered, advancing on him, raising his voice into a high falsetto. “’My friends are gone! Nobody loves me! Oh, poor, poor me!”
He stopped and crossed his arms, matching Harry glare for glare. “I think I speak for both of us when I say STOP WHINING, Potter. We’re all sick of it.”
“Does he really speak for you, Neville?” Harry asked, his eyes not leaving Draco’s.
“Well, actually, Harry,” Neville said timidly, “I do think he has a point. But he could be nicer about it.”
Draco shrugged. “Nice doesn’t work. Doesn’t get through that thick skull of his. And anyway, it’s not my style.”
“No, you’re a cold, sarcastic prick,” Harry snarled, his hands clenching as they itched for his wand. “You haven’t any idea what I’ve been through.”
“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco said evenly, just as Neville shouted, “Will you stop!”
They both looked at him, surprised at his sudden outburst. “We’ve all been through hell, alright?” he said, more calmly, and held his ground even as his cheeks turned pink. “All of us. So will you quit acting like no one understands?”
“Go back to your cupboard, Potter,” Draco told him, turning away. “Forget we ever tried to help you. Just spare us, in the name of all things you hold sacred.”
It was the look on Neville’s face that finally made Harry leave the room.
It was exactly this emotion, Harry thought, stomping down the hall to a free bedroom and throwing himself onto the bed, which had caused the fire. This burning isolation- even now in his own house!- the utter loneliness, the despair and the hatred of everyone that was happy and anything or anyone that made them that way.
He glared at the ceiling for a while, and had nearly fallen asleep when he heard a soft voice.
“Harry?” it asked, and Harry recognized it as Neville’s. “Draco says that when you’re done feeling sorry for yourself he wants to talk to you.”
“He could have come and told me himself,” Harry grumbled, not moving.
“He was going to,” Neville told him, entering the room and sitting on the bed beside him. “I didn’t think that was a very good idea.”
Harry stared at him. “Since when has he actually listened to anyone? And why do you listen to him?”
“That’s very hypocritical of you, Harry,” Neville said gently. “You don’t listen to him, either. Or me, for that matter, at least until now. Maybe.” He peered at Harry through the darkness. “Are you listening?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, but he couldn’t keep the resentment out of his voice. That Neville, of all people, could be endorsing Draco Malfoy- it was simply too much for him to comprehend, let alone accept.
“I’d bet he’d understand, you know,” Neville said, looking at his hands. “He was supposed to be a hero, too, in a different way. His parents, the Death Eaters, all of them, they had such high expectations. At least you lived up to yours.”
The bed shifted, and Neville’s footsteps retreated before Harry could answer, leaving him alone in the dark with his thoughts.
Chapter 2