Through Faoran's eyes Part Two
Through Faoran's eyes Part Two
Author:
chibidraco
Beta:
noscrubs12345
Through Faoran’s Eyes Part 2 of 2
Their serene life continued for another week, and with only one more week left to Draco’s holiday, Harry could honestly say he was dreading the end of their time together.
Harry grew so comfortable with the way the things were going that he almost forgot the reason why he was there in the first place. He had never felt this yearning to learn so much about something or someone that he actually applied scholarly attention to taking in as much as he could about this Draco. He only wished that he could have been in his human form so that he could respond in kind, but he knew that there was no way that he would be so forthcoming if he knew he was talking to Harry Potter.
Following tradition, as things often unfurled in his hectic young life, Harry was not too surprised when their fragile existence shattered around him.
All sorts of alarms rang as the Apparition wards were triggered on the property. Through the cacophony of the insistent ringing, Draco tried to reassure Beast, who had risen quickly from his place at Draco’s feet and made a run for the door.
Draco tried to avoid stepping on Beast as the animal insistently placed himself in front of him. A wave of the wand later and he rendered the door transparent.
Harry calmed down slightly when he recognised their visitor but was still wary. Polyjuice was not hard to make after all.
Draco reached over and released the wards, “Minister.”
Perplexed, he watched his superior turn to Beast and say “Swallowing Snitches gives bad stomach cramps” before turning to greet Draco.
“Hello, Malfoy. You’re looking well.” Shacklebolt shook his hand firmly but turned back and knelt to speak to the dog.
“I’m not so sure about paying you for this assignment, Potter, seeing as you saw no action.” He punched the canine playfully on the shoulder. “You were basically on holiday with Malfoy. All the action happened on the outside.”
Draco’s grey eyes grew wide in horrifying realisation. His downward gaze was met by the tilt of Beast--no Potter’s--head and the familiar hue of his eyes hit him dead in the chest and sunk in his stomach.
“We caught him, Malfoy,” Shacklebolt informed the silent blond, unaware of the turmoil he had unveiled with the delicacy of a drunken hippogriff. “He decided to go straight to your father.”
Draco reached out immediately for Shacklebolt grabbing a muscular forearm. “My parents?” he asked not caring one whit that his voice shook.
“Fine. Your parents are safe,” Shacklebolt assured him. “He didn’t make it past the wards, but we were there to capture him nonetheless. We’re holding him in Azkaban until his trail with the Wizengamot.It’s all unfortunate,. He lost his family in the war and needed to lash out and your family was one of the more notable ones involved with the Death Eaters, but there will be no room for vigilantes in our new regime and order will be kept,” he reassured the blond.
“Potter, what are you still doing in that form? You’ll won’t avoid doing the paperwork by saying you ate it,” he joked
“Minister?”
The man turned quickly to the young man. “Is that all you needed me for?”
“Well, yes…. Everything is fine and Potter here did his job-“
“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see my parents.”
“Draco! Wait!” Harry cried out as soon as he had the ability to speak, his body still contorting into its natural shape.
Eyes the colour of steel clashed with his and were all he saw before the other man was gone.
“What just happened here?” Kingsley asked Harry in utter bafflement, watching the other man as he agonizingly stared at where Malfoy had just Disapparated.
X x x X x x X
After Shacklebolt left, Harry remained in the cabin in hopes Draco would return. He didn’t sleep in the bed but chose to curl up in his own as Faolan just in case he returned during the night. But with each rise and set of the sun, he knew the possibility of the man returning was decreasing. On his last morning there, he awoke to long awaited sounds of activity from the living room. Transforming quickly, he ran out of the bedroom and watched as the computer packed itself away and several articles scattered throughout the room were floating through the air in an orderly manner, depositing themselves in a large trunk.
He searched wildly for a sign of Draco, trying to work out what he would say when he saw him.
“Harry Potter is awake. I must pack Master’s things,” the high-pitched comment was said from somewhere around his knees. Harry glanced down quickly to see an older, distinguished looking house-elf.
“Dwezel is to inform Mr Harry Potter sir, that the masters of this house are returning tomorrow and you must leave immediately,” the house-elf told him in a no-nonsense tone.
“Where’s Draco?” Harry asked, looking around once more.
“Master’s whereabouts are not of your concern and Dwezel is not to discuss him! No, not to discuss!” he looked a bit frantic and summoned an iron from thin air.
“That’s fine. No discussing!” Harry agreed, not wanting the elf to have to punish himself.
“So you will be leaving? Dwezel needs to be finishing, Mr Harry Potter sir,” the small elf asked again.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” Harry assured him and with a last longing look around his home for the past month, he grabbed his only possession, the collar given to him by Draco, and he Disapparated.
X x x X x x X
“Why in the bloody hell would you sign up for Malfoy duty?!” was the first thing Ron asked when Harry returned to work.
Harry simply shrugged. “I wanted to.”
“You wanted to spend a month with the ferret? Why?” Ron asked incredulously.
“Don’t call him that,” Harry corrected him distractedly. “It’s just not right that no one wanted to take the assignment.”
“He was a mini Death Eater, Harry. Of course no one wanted to help him! He and his family brought it on themselves,” Ron argued.
“He could barely count as one. Didn’t you see him in the manor? He was as functional as a log. I barely recognised him.”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t notice him, mate. I was too busy listening to his psychotic bitch of an aunt torturing Hermione,” Ron said tersely.
Harry paused a moment, hearing in his mind her brave attempts at containing her agonised screams and the painful moments when she couldn’t. He unwillingly recalled that horrible cackle and the vision of Bellatrix pushing Sirius into the Veil.
Harry quickly tried to regain his composure and just managed to shake it off enough to tell Ron softly, “He’s not her, though, and he’s not his father.”
But it seemed the memory of their horrible moments in the manor brought forth an anger and rage in Ron because he demanded an explanation.
“He’s not his father, no. He’s the Malfoy that poisoned Katie Bell and nearly killing her, the one who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, who invited Greyback to come skin Bill’s face! That’s the Malfoy he is!” Ron said loudly, breathing heavily.
Harry was glad that they were in his office and not somewhere public for what was sure to be a nasty moment.
“He was being threatened by Voldemort!” Harry shot back.
“So was everyone! It’s just like Pettigrew, isn’t it? Voldemort threatened him and he betrayed your parents! He was responsible for their deaths instead of protecting them,” Ron soon realised what he’d said, face flushing, and rushed to apologise.
Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, acknowledging his apology with a nod. “Pettigrew was a damn coward, but he had choices and had friends who could have helped him. Had he not been so bloody worried about his own thick skin he could have redeemed himself! But what choices did Malfoy have?”
“Plenty! He could have gone to Dumbledore,” Ron replied, slapping his hands down onto the desk.
“He didn’t trust him to have his and his family’s welfare in his hands. Can you really blame him? We spent seven years of our lives learning how evil Slytherin House is, how everyone is destined to either become Death Eaters--”
“They are, Harry! Everyone knows all dark wizards have come from Slytherin!” Ron insisted.
“The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin,” he confessed, deadpan.
“What!” Ron shouted, completely taken back.
“Yes, Ron, it thought I had qualities to flourish in Slytherin. I kept thinking about what you said about them and asked it not to.” Harry traced circles with the feather of his quill on the wooden table.
Ron sat back heavily against the chair in a daze.
“I keep thinking that we never did it,” Harry clarified. “The Sorting Hat told us we needed to unite, all the houses, but we didn’t. We excluded the Slytherins.”
“Do you really think that they would have merrily skipped away from the Dark Lord to help us?” Ron scoffed lightly.
“No,” Harry replied honestly, “but we never gave them the choice--never gave them an alternative. For five, three-- fuck, even one person--that needed a way out, we could have helped. Instead, we forced them into a mould and they acted as we expected them too.”
Ron shook his head disbelievingly but somehow managed to reign in his temper. So much had happened during the war and it had served to make him, which he admitted ruefully, grow up quickly and his temper flair in angry explosions.
“What’s with this all of a sudden, Harry? Just what happened on this ‘assignment’ with Malfoy?” Ron asked, trying to understand his friend.
“It just opened my eyes to a lot, Ron,” Harry replied sincerely. “Malfoy is trying to change, otherwise he wouldn’t be working in the Department for Wizard/Muggle Relations for Merlin’s sake, and we should allow him the chance to. Just think about it.”
“I’ll think about it,” Ron said and Harry somehow knew it was code for ‘I’ll talk to Hermione and see what she thinks.’
“That’s all I ask,” Harry said quietly.
“All?” Ron laughed. “It’s a tall order, Harry, but I’ll try. Just remember that whatever happens, I’m not starting a SPEW for Slytherins with you, mate,” Ron warned, reaching across the desktop to punch him on the shoulder.
The comment did what he intended and both friends laughed, relieved to feel the tension that had built in the room throughout their discussion dissipate behind their long standing camaraderie.
X x x X x x X
Draco Malfoy was in mourning.
Beast had died and in his place had emerged a bumbling, treacherous Potter.
He hadn’t realised how much he had come to welcome the company of the animal and how much he’d grown to depend on him. He was, quite frankly, moping at the loss of his friend.
Returning to work, the whispers behind cupped hands and jeers that he’d anticipated did not come.
Everyone was the same as usual, going on about their lives and not looking at him anymore than they had before, pleasant or otherwise. That’s when he came to the conclusion that Potter was saving the information he’d learned for a later occasion. Or maybe for the private enjoyment of his gaggle of friends.
Potter was more annoying than he’d ever seen him. He followed him everywhere, words of apology always pursed by those damnably kissable lips and remorse screaming loudly from those emerald eyes.
But Draco would not be swayed by such dramatics, and so far he’d done an admirable job of avoiding any contact with him beside those brief encounters. Though Potter proved to be more tenacious than ever, it seemed that he had made it his mission to speak to Draco.
He finally managed to corner him in his office one afternoon. Draco had checked for him, so he was sure something underhanded was going on, it seemed when Potter came out from nowhere.
“You knew that no one wanted the assignment and you just had to be the honourable Gryffindor rushing to the rescue,” Draco said when he realised the man wouldn’t budge. “It was an assignment you fulfilled it. You even got the extra perk of invading my privacy--it’s over now and I don’t care one whit about anything you tell anybody about what you heard.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Potter protested at once.
Draco shrugged his shoulders, unconvinced.
“You think I’m going to tell people what you said in confidence? I wouldn’t do that to anyone, let alone a friend,” Potter insisted.
Draco scoffed, shaking his head incredulously “But that’s the thing, Potter. We’re not friends.”
“Draco, I felt it and you felt it too. We had a connection!” Potter argued, showing him the leather collar with the elegant inscription of the Malamute’s name.
Draco snatched it out of his hands.
“No, Potter! Beast and I had a connection. I told Him things in confidence. I trusted him,” Draco stressed, “and you killed him, Potter”
With one last glare, he pushed Harry away from him hard throwing the door open wide so he could leave.
To make a point of it, he began the preparations and informed Shacklebolt he was taking a personal day.
The funeral would be a simple affair; he would pack up the bedding, food bowls and collar in an elegant mahogany casket. Much to his parents’ consternation, he would make a plot for Beast in the family cemetery.
He would be sure to make sure the announcement was in the paper, large enough so Potter would be sure to see it.
X x x X x x X
“I think it’s great,” Hermione announced, sitting across his desk.
“Do you?” he replied smiling. “What do you think is so great?”
She gave him a look. “You know what about. Ron told me and I happen to think this is a very mature and gracious thing for you to do.”
“You’re not angry?” he asked curiously.
Hermione smiled at him gently. “We were very young then and he was very stupid, but he’s just a pure-blood. He didn’t know any better.
“Harry, if he’s trying to change then I don’t see any reason why we can’t offer him new eyes to take in this emerging person. We’re only holding him back if we keep treating him with the same distrust and distance were used to. And I for one don’t want to be responsible for reverting him to the old Malfoy. He could even be a nastier sort of fellow.”
“He could be, but I saw the man behind the nastiness and I’d like to see more of him,” Harry murmured, tapping his quill on the desk and not catching her pensive look.
“What is that you’re writing?” Hermione asked, not ready to vocalise her theory quite yet.
“A condolence letter to Malfoy,” he replied, smoothing the parchment with his callused fingertips.
“Why? Who passed away?” Hermione asked in confusion.
“His dog, Beast,” Harry replied, signing his name at the bottom of the note. “The funeral was this past weekend.”
“Harry, when did Malfoy get this dog?” Hermione asked, suspiciously.
“About a month ago.”
“Aha! And when did he or she die?” she asked, her eyebrows knitting into a v.
“He died about two weeks ago,” Harry replied, folding the letter and putting it in an envelope.
“Harry, just what happened during this last month with Malfoy?” she finally inquired.
“Ron said almost said the exact same thing,” Harry commented, sending the note through inter-office memo.
“And you didn’t tell him anything either, I gather?”
Harry shook his head but smiled to gentle his denial.
“Fine, Harry Potter, you can keep your secrets for now,” Hermione conceded before saying goodbye.
X x x X x x X
Draco caught the flying missive from the air. It was curious--all his assignments were normally delivered early in the morning and it was already mid-afternoon.
Draco,
I’m sorry to hear about the death of Beast. But remember that you also have other friends you can lean on during these hard times.
Harry P.
‘What is he playing at?’ he pondered then set the thing flying back to Potter, wondering if the paper had been reduced into ashes by the time it reached his desk or if Potter had a moment to watch it burn.
He would have though that it would have been the end of it.
But it wasn’t, not by far.
Potter personally delivered his assignments every morning when Draco stopped picking them up because the office was right in front of Potter’s.
From Draco’s knowledge, they were forms that could only be picked up by the authorised department employees but it seemed that the Boy-Who-Lived still had plenty of pull.
“Morning, Draco!” he would greet with cheer every morning as he handed the illegally appropriated documents.
“Sod off, Potter,” he would reply, but Potter would just smile and ask if he could get him a tea or coffee.
“Are you my assistant now, Potter, and I missed the memo?”
“No, just doing what any friend would do for another,” Potter replied.
Draco glared at him for that misuse of a label.
“Beast would want you to move on,” Potter had the gall to say and left before he could say anything.
Then the notes began.
Draco,
Beast would have wanted you to know how much he appreciated the way you took care of him.
Would you like to join me for lunch?
- Harry
Draco was perplexed by the note and, against his better judgment, responded instead of just burning it.
Potter,
First of all, to you it’s Malfoy. And of course he did--he had the best of everything, but you wouldn’t know about the gentler arts of civility.
As to your request:
NO. You’d put me off my lunch.
- DM
Draco should have known better, as the next morning he received another letter from the spectacled stalker.
Draco,
Very true, although I have to say it was almost sweet, what with all the expensive things you bought for him. He wouldn’t have cared if it had been secondhand things, just that you cared enough to give them to him, he was grateful to have them.
Are you sure? I make a mean brisket and it’s not like you could not stand to gain a stone or two.
- Harry
Potter,
It’s Malfoy.
I don’t do sweet or secondhand for that matter. Do people actually buy objects that have been used by another person? That is disgraceful, Potter. It figures you would know about that disturbing practice.
I’m even more certain now that declining your invitation is in the best interest of my cultured palate .
- D. Malfoy
Draco told himself that he kept replying to the letters because it kept Potter from following him around, but he was growing used to the letter he received every morning and sent back every afternoon.
Draco,
I’m more familiar with the practice than you know. I think the thing Beast enjoyed the most was the quite peace you shared at the cabin. He felt that he really got to know you.
I’ve brushed up on my healing spells and I haven’t given anyone indigestion since Ron tried my experiment in jambalaya.
- Harry
Potter,
Malfoy. Are you so daft you can’t get that?
Have respect for the dead, Potter. What happened between Beast and I is none of your concern or business.
And strange enough as it may sound, treating a Weasley and treating me are two different situations, and I have little faith in your healing abilities.
- DM
Draco,
If you wanted, he didn’t have to be, people don’t have that choice but you do. You can have Beast back--he just comes with an extra person (more the merrier, I think).
You need him, at least to chase away the dreams.
By the way his name is Faolan. He was taken aback by your unoriginal name for him.
- Harry
Potter,
And my name was unoriginal?
Greek for Wolf? Doesn’t take too much imagination to come up with that one. No, most people do not have the ability to bring people back from the dead, otherwise they would have done it but you know better than most, don’t you, Potter?
- Malfoy
Draco watched the letter go off through the air and suddenly wanted to take it back but it was too late. The previous mumblings of impersonal talk of what happened at the cabin using Beast as a medium were bearable, but this blatant reminder of the things Potter had been witness to scared him and he couldn’t help but strike out. It was probably for the best though. Potter would be incensed and tell everyone of his behaviour at the cabin and he wouldn’t have to wonder anymore about people finding out.
He let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair heavily.
“Draco?” a soft voice came from beside him.
“Yes, Celeste?” he answered, rubbing his eyes and watching her image disappear and reappear between the space of his fingers.
“Do you want to join us for lunch?” she asked smiling.
He glanced behind her to the other co-workers waiting in the doorway; none of them were scowling or looked as if they were forced to go along with it. A few were smiling at him welcomingly.
He thought of Potter’s letters for a moment and realised that Beast would have nipped him on his fingers for this self-imposed exclusion and surprised himself by saying yes.
No letter came for a week and with the absence of reading material, regret pooled in his belly. He kept an eye out for Potter but his assignments remained at the front desk and his morning tea was no longer delivered.
Ironically, while he was losing this friendship--or whatever it was-- he was gaining new ones in his department. After lunch he’d accompanied them to Fortescue’s for an ice cream, he realised socialising had not been as painful as he had anticipated. They were amusing in their own carefree ways and some of them were pretty decent conversationalists.
The Muggle-born ones, he realised, were able to teach him so much about their way of life before entering Hogwarts and it helped clarify a lot of things he had stumbled upon himself by learning to use the computer and the internet. It was easier for him to understand Muggle customs when they were explained by people that truly understood them and had lived in that manner.
He was willing to admit he had been wrong about them. Maybe not aloud, but it felt like there was a wealth of information previously hidden away from him that he was suddenly privy to. So he threw himself into becoming an expert at his job. Although it may not have been his own idea to surpass Granger in school, he still had a drive to excel at what he did.
It also helped to keep his mind off of Beast/Potter.
Tea with Gregory was a little different that week.
They ate together as usual. Gregory drank his special mix of tea and alcohol, but Draco added something a little different to their itinerary.
“Gregory, I have my Ministry-ordered physical scheduled this afternoon. I don’t want to wait about alone, so you’re coming with me,” he ordered more than asked.
Gregory shrugged his shoulders in noncommittal agreement.
It was all pretty simple actually. He took his time undressing behind the privacy screen for the mediwitch to examine him and he heard Pomfrey offer Gregory something to drink and ask him if he was cold.
“Your hands are trembling, young man. That’s why I ask,” she clarified.
He heard his friend accept the refreshment and heard the mediwitch search drawers for her instruments.
“Mr Goyle , what do you think you are doing!” came the outraged shriek soon enough.
“What?” came the surly reply.
“That better not be Firewhisky in that flask!”
“Bloody hell, woman! It’s not milk,” Gregory replied.
“Mr Malfoy, if you don’t mind giving me a moment with this young man...” she asked.
Draco smirked in pleasure. Easily closing his robes back up, he moved out of the way so she could manhandle the large man into the space.
He sat in the seat Gregory had vacated , grateful for the allowance Shacklebolt had made for him to have his physical with the Hogwarts mediwitch and not a St Mungo’s over worked, sleep deprived lackey. He honestly did prefer to be examined by her if the truth be told. But it was perfect because the mediwizards at St Mungo’s would not have cared one bit about Gregory-- they would have hurried them out of their offices as soon as possible.
Pomfrey was different. She had taken care of them since they were eleven years old and that mothering nature of hers was exactly what he was counting on.
His grin broadened.
“Do you think this being yellowish and tiny is natural?” he caught and she went on to mutter to herself as she performed what must have been a thorough examination.
After moments of waiting, Pomfrey murmured to him softly and he heard her call his name.
He cautiously peered around the screen at the pair.
“Mr Malfoy, Gregory has a drinking problem.” She said it softly, holding a firm hand on the large man’s shoulder.
“I’m trying to tell him how important it is for him to begin a programme at St Mungo’s but he won’t listen. Maybe if he heard it from you?”
“Draco?”
Hearing the wavering sound of his name and his friend looking at him as if Draco had all the answers, trusting him not to lead him wrong, despite having done so in the past, he was taken aback.
He looked at the mediwitch. “But shouldn’t his treatment take place here”
Pomfrey looked at him with sad understanding and nodded her agreement.
He nodded decisively. “You should, Greg.”
“Oh, okay. I will then.” The other man agreed readily.
“Good man,” Pomfrey smiled, squeezing his shoulder. “Now you wait here for a moment. I’m going to bring you a cleansing potion. You’ll have to stay overnight and tomorrow we can really begin.
“You can visit him tomorrow, Mr Malfoy,” she assured him and he said goodbye to his friend.
Leaving him sitting behind the screen, Pomfrey whispered, “That was a great thing you did, Draco”
“What?” He pretended ignorance at her meaning.
“I happen to know, young man, that your physical is not due for another four months,” she told him smugly, then in all seriousness added, “and he really needed help. Now go home and get some rest. I’ll take care of him.”
Draco nodded and left the infirmary feeling a little less useless and it was a refreshing feeling.
X x x X x x X
Much to his chagrin, even with all the activity of pushing through their newly renovated procedures for Wizard/Muggle relations, helping Gregory through his recovery and trying to get his parents to understand him, the memories of Potter during moments of quiet and at times, even when he was lost in work actually, haunted him.The memories of the cabin and a friend whose presence made him feel safe were what in essence caused him to be so forthcoming.
Then, he thought of their ensuing letters, the ease that was forming through them and the chaos that erupted only to put an end to their communication.
Draco stretched his weary limbs as high as he could, working out the stiffness that gathered after hours of bending over his desk.
He collected his papers, neatly placing them in their designated folders and filed them in his cabinet, locking it with a flick of his wand. With one last look around at the darkened office, he closed the door and made his way through the silent halls of the Ministry, not surprised at the emptiness of the deserted, late evening corridors.
“Finally!”
Draco jerked his head in the direction of the voice and found Potter standing with his arms crossed over his chest in front of one of the Floo networks.
Draco stopped for a moment but then began walking in direction of a Floo in the opposite side of the room.
“Scared Malfoy?” The mocking words echoed in the empty space.
“You wish,” he replied, turning to face the challenge in a re-enactment of a duel from a long time ago.
“So you’re not running anymore?” Potter asked.
He didn’t answer but his gaze did not waver.
“Good. That was a shitty thing you said. It took awhile to work past the anger,” Potter confessed.
“Good to see those anger management classes are working for you, Potter. You always did have the nastiest temper,” Draco mocked, not being able to help himself.
“Yes, I do, and you have a habit of hurting people when they get too close by using that sarcasm to protect yourself,” Potter shot back.
“That sounds so textbook, Potter. Did Granger come up with that for you? Did you enjoy talking about all I confessed during your assignment? Did it amuse all of your little Gryffindor friends?” Draco snarled.
“I haven’t said a word about any of that to anyone. It’s personal.”
“Why not? You already made a fool of me, letting me confess to what I thought was a loyal Muggle pet!” Draco asked, opening his hands outward in agitation in a questioning motion.
“I am sorry about that. I was there to protect you. I knew you wouldn’t allow it, so it was the only way I could think of,” Potter explained, not meeting his eyes.
“Honourable Gryffindor, my arse. You took every bit of information you could about me. For what purpose I still don’t know, but the fact remains that you betrayed my confidence,” Draco accused him, “and then had the gall to try to justify it all with ‘friendship.’”
“We were friends, Draco,” Potter argued, drawing closer to him.
“No, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were not friends. Beast and Draco Malfoy were,” Draco corrected venomously.
“Fine, we weren’t. But what about after? When I sent you that letter. Didn’t you say you waited a long time for me to extend my hand? I was reaching out!” Potter nearly yelled.
“That’s the problem right there, Potter. I’m not your charity case. I’m a broken mess! I’m trying to live a life when I can barely manage more than simply breathing and moving about. My friend is an alcoholic, I’m plagued by nightmares, looked at like rubbish by the most of the wizarding world for being a former Death eater and for what?” Draco demanded. “Did you expect to race in on your Firebolt and save the poor little Slytherin? I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity,” Potter denied.
“Then what is it, Saint Potter. What could it possibly be?” Draco challenged him.
“Does this feel like pity?” was the only warning Draco had before he felt an arm wrap around his waist and a hand cup the back of his neck pulling him aggressively into a kiss.
Draco leaned into the kiss after a moment, hoping against hope he wouldn’t wake up with tears streaming down his pale cheeks and a silent scream of loss on his lips. He let his lips part against Harry’s begging tongue and ran his hands up Harry’s chest. The man’s shirt was soft against his palms, his heartbeat beating out a feral rhythm and it was suddenly all too real for this to be happening now. God, how he’d wanted this moment, dreamt of it a thousand times before. But it was too much too soon-salt on a still bleeding wound.
Draco pushed him away angrily. “Just because you learned that I fancy you, you think you can just get an easy guaranteed shag? Don’t touch me, Potter!” He spat moving away to the Floo.
“Draco!”
His feet listened to his heart and stopped.
“It’s not pity. And I’m very serious about what this is. It’s not because you confessed to Beast. I know there is something there between us. It’s palpable! If you’re brave enough to find out what it is, meet me at the cabin. I’ll be waiting there every night until you come,” Potter vowed.
Draco dropped his head to his chest but said nothing else, throwing a handful of powder and activating the Floo.
The last thing he saw was the green tinged figure of a determined Harry Potter in the middle of the lobby.
X x x x X x x X
It had been hard staying away from the cabin. It was easily visible from his resting place and it was odd to see it inhabited by the man, woman and three children.
His pseudo family were none too happy about his plans, but after Hermione took them aside for what he assumed was a stern talking to, they eased up and did not try to stop him from going.
Every now and then he would transform and sit on his haunches, looking every which way for the blond. He wasn’t alone these days, though. It seemed there was a fox that inhabited the area. Harry couldn’t recall seeing him before, but he would stare at him every evening from the top a nearby hill, watch him, and then disappear into the blooming darkness.
It was the night of the fifth day of the forth week since he had been staying at the house, but who was counting?
Harry waited patiently for Draco every night after work to show. His hopes grew slimmer as the sun set each evening but he was determined to wait it out.
Harry played with the frayed strings on his jumper, staring into the already well known landscape. He noticed the small white fox move through the snow with graceful movements nothing like the bounding motion Harry himself made across the ground. He didn’t observe him from afar this time though--he kept coming closer to where Harry sat.
Harry watched the creature curiously, wondering what caused this change in behaviour. When he drew close enough for Harry to get a good look, he let out a disbelievingly laugh.
Those silver-grey eyes were as identifiable to him as his scar must be to wizards and witches everywhere.
“Draco,” he greeted happily, reaching to pet the downy white head but the fox jumped back and snapped at him.
They remained still, staring at each other, no sound but that of the wind to fill the space between them.
The fox tilted his head in a clear command but Harry did not understand what he wanted. The small animal shook his head in what looked like exasperation and then lay down stretching his head on his joined paws, jerking his head forward in what could only be a ‘go on’ motion.
Draco could be so stubborn and refused to believe what Harry said was true, but he was a Slytherin, Harry realised, and through all this, it probably seemed to him that Harry held all the cards.
Harry remembered their last conversation vividly and then he finally understood.
Harry took a deep calming breath, preparing himself, and began in a soft but clear voice, “It all began in a cupboard....”
Author:
chibidraco
Beta:
noscrubs12345
Through Faoran’s Eyes Part 2 of 2
Their serene life continued for another week, and with only one more week left to Draco’s holiday, Harry could honestly say he was dreading the end of their time together.
Harry grew so comfortable with the way the things were going that he almost forgot the reason why he was there in the first place. He had never felt this yearning to learn so much about something or someone that he actually applied scholarly attention to taking in as much as he could about this Draco. He only wished that he could have been in his human form so that he could respond in kind, but he knew that there was no way that he would be so forthcoming if he knew he was talking to Harry Potter.
Following tradition, as things often unfurled in his hectic young life, Harry was not too surprised when their fragile existence shattered around him.
All sorts of alarms rang as the Apparition wards were triggered on the property. Through the cacophony of the insistent ringing, Draco tried to reassure Beast, who had risen quickly from his place at Draco’s feet and made a run for the door.
Draco tried to avoid stepping on Beast as the animal insistently placed himself in front of him. A wave of the wand later and he rendered the door transparent.
Harry calmed down slightly when he recognised their visitor but was still wary. Polyjuice was not hard to make after all.
Draco reached over and released the wards, “Minister.”
Perplexed, he watched his superior turn to Beast and say “Swallowing Snitches gives bad stomach cramps” before turning to greet Draco.
“Hello, Malfoy. You’re looking well.” Shacklebolt shook his hand firmly but turned back and knelt to speak to the dog.
“I’m not so sure about paying you for this assignment, Potter, seeing as you saw no action.” He punched the canine playfully on the shoulder. “You were basically on holiday with Malfoy. All the action happened on the outside.”
Draco’s grey eyes grew wide in horrifying realisation. His downward gaze was met by the tilt of Beast--no Potter’s--head and the familiar hue of his eyes hit him dead in the chest and sunk in his stomach.
“We caught him, Malfoy,” Shacklebolt informed the silent blond, unaware of the turmoil he had unveiled with the delicacy of a drunken hippogriff. “He decided to go straight to your father.”
Draco reached out immediately for Shacklebolt grabbing a muscular forearm. “My parents?” he asked not caring one whit that his voice shook.
“Fine. Your parents are safe,” Shacklebolt assured him. “He didn’t make it past the wards, but we were there to capture him nonetheless. We’re holding him in Azkaban until his trail with the Wizengamot.It’s all unfortunate,. He lost his family in the war and needed to lash out and your family was one of the more notable ones involved with the Death Eaters, but there will be no room for vigilantes in our new regime and order will be kept,” he reassured the blond.
“Potter, what are you still doing in that form? You’ll won’t avoid doing the paperwork by saying you ate it,” he joked
“Minister?”
The man turned quickly to the young man. “Is that all you needed me for?”
“Well, yes…. Everything is fine and Potter here did his job-“
“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see my parents.”
“Draco! Wait!” Harry cried out as soon as he had the ability to speak, his body still contorting into its natural shape.
Eyes the colour of steel clashed with his and were all he saw before the other man was gone.
“What just happened here?” Kingsley asked Harry in utter bafflement, watching the other man as he agonizingly stared at where Malfoy had just Disapparated.
X x x X x x X
After Shacklebolt left, Harry remained in the cabin in hopes Draco would return. He didn’t sleep in the bed but chose to curl up in his own as Faolan just in case he returned during the night. But with each rise and set of the sun, he knew the possibility of the man returning was decreasing. On his last morning there, he awoke to long awaited sounds of activity from the living room. Transforming quickly, he ran out of the bedroom and watched as the computer packed itself away and several articles scattered throughout the room were floating through the air in an orderly manner, depositing themselves in a large trunk.
He searched wildly for a sign of Draco, trying to work out what he would say when he saw him.
“Harry Potter is awake. I must pack Master’s things,” the high-pitched comment was said from somewhere around his knees. Harry glanced down quickly to see an older, distinguished looking house-elf.
“Dwezel is to inform Mr Harry Potter sir, that the masters of this house are returning tomorrow and you must leave immediately,” the house-elf told him in a no-nonsense tone.
“Where’s Draco?” Harry asked, looking around once more.
“Master’s whereabouts are not of your concern and Dwezel is not to discuss him! No, not to discuss!” he looked a bit frantic and summoned an iron from thin air.
“That’s fine. No discussing!” Harry agreed, not wanting the elf to have to punish himself.
“So you will be leaving? Dwezel needs to be finishing, Mr Harry Potter sir,” the small elf asked again.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” Harry assured him and with a last longing look around his home for the past month, he grabbed his only possession, the collar given to him by Draco, and he Disapparated.
X x x X x x X
“Why in the bloody hell would you sign up for Malfoy duty?!” was the first thing Ron asked when Harry returned to work.
Harry simply shrugged. “I wanted to.”
“You wanted to spend a month with the ferret? Why?” Ron asked incredulously.
“Don’t call him that,” Harry corrected him distractedly. “It’s just not right that no one wanted to take the assignment.”
“He was a mini Death Eater, Harry. Of course no one wanted to help him! He and his family brought it on themselves,” Ron argued.
“He could barely count as one. Didn’t you see him in the manor? He was as functional as a log. I barely recognised him.”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t notice him, mate. I was too busy listening to his psychotic bitch of an aunt torturing Hermione,” Ron said tersely.
Harry paused a moment, hearing in his mind her brave attempts at containing her agonised screams and the painful moments when she couldn’t. He unwillingly recalled that horrible cackle and the vision of Bellatrix pushing Sirius into the Veil.
Harry quickly tried to regain his composure and just managed to shake it off enough to tell Ron softly, “He’s not her, though, and he’s not his father.”
But it seemed the memory of their horrible moments in the manor brought forth an anger and rage in Ron because he demanded an explanation.
“He’s not his father, no. He’s the Malfoy that poisoned Katie Bell and nearly killing her, the one who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, who invited Greyback to come skin Bill’s face! That’s the Malfoy he is!” Ron said loudly, breathing heavily.
Harry was glad that they were in his office and not somewhere public for what was sure to be a nasty moment.
“He was being threatened by Voldemort!” Harry shot back.
“So was everyone! It’s just like Pettigrew, isn’t it? Voldemort threatened him and he betrayed your parents! He was responsible for their deaths instead of protecting them,” Ron soon realised what he’d said, face flushing, and rushed to apologise.
Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, acknowledging his apology with a nod. “Pettigrew was a damn coward, but he had choices and had friends who could have helped him. Had he not been so bloody worried about his own thick skin he could have redeemed himself! But what choices did Malfoy have?”
“Plenty! He could have gone to Dumbledore,” Ron replied, slapping his hands down onto the desk.
“He didn’t trust him to have his and his family’s welfare in his hands. Can you really blame him? We spent seven years of our lives learning how evil Slytherin House is, how everyone is destined to either become Death Eaters--”
“They are, Harry! Everyone knows all dark wizards have come from Slytherin!” Ron insisted.
“The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin,” he confessed, deadpan.
“What!” Ron shouted, completely taken back.
“Yes, Ron, it thought I had qualities to flourish in Slytherin. I kept thinking about what you said about them and asked it not to.” Harry traced circles with the feather of his quill on the wooden table.
Ron sat back heavily against the chair in a daze.
“I keep thinking that we never did it,” Harry clarified. “The Sorting Hat told us we needed to unite, all the houses, but we didn’t. We excluded the Slytherins.”
“Do you really think that they would have merrily skipped away from the Dark Lord to help us?” Ron scoffed lightly.
“No,” Harry replied honestly, “but we never gave them the choice--never gave them an alternative. For five, three-- fuck, even one person--that needed a way out, we could have helped. Instead, we forced them into a mould and they acted as we expected them too.”
Ron shook his head disbelievingly but somehow managed to reign in his temper. So much had happened during the war and it had served to make him, which he admitted ruefully, grow up quickly and his temper flair in angry explosions.
“What’s with this all of a sudden, Harry? Just what happened on this ‘assignment’ with Malfoy?” Ron asked, trying to understand his friend.
“It just opened my eyes to a lot, Ron,” Harry replied sincerely. “Malfoy is trying to change, otherwise he wouldn’t be working in the Department for Wizard/Muggle Relations for Merlin’s sake, and we should allow him the chance to. Just think about it.”
“I’ll think about it,” Ron said and Harry somehow knew it was code for ‘I’ll talk to Hermione and see what she thinks.’
“That’s all I ask,” Harry said quietly.
“All?” Ron laughed. “It’s a tall order, Harry, but I’ll try. Just remember that whatever happens, I’m not starting a SPEW for Slytherins with you, mate,” Ron warned, reaching across the desktop to punch him on the shoulder.
The comment did what he intended and both friends laughed, relieved to feel the tension that had built in the room throughout their discussion dissipate behind their long standing camaraderie.
X x x X x x X
Draco Malfoy was in mourning.
Beast had died and in his place had emerged a bumbling, treacherous Potter.
He hadn’t realised how much he had come to welcome the company of the animal and how much he’d grown to depend on him. He was, quite frankly, moping at the loss of his friend.
Returning to work, the whispers behind cupped hands and jeers that he’d anticipated did not come.
Everyone was the same as usual, going on about their lives and not looking at him anymore than they had before, pleasant or otherwise. That’s when he came to the conclusion that Potter was saving the information he’d learned for a later occasion. Or maybe for the private enjoyment of his gaggle of friends.
Potter was more annoying than he’d ever seen him. He followed him everywhere, words of apology always pursed by those damnably kissable lips and remorse screaming loudly from those emerald eyes.
But Draco would not be swayed by such dramatics, and so far he’d done an admirable job of avoiding any contact with him beside those brief encounters. Though Potter proved to be more tenacious than ever, it seemed that he had made it his mission to speak to Draco.
He finally managed to corner him in his office one afternoon. Draco had checked for him, so he was sure something underhanded was going on, it seemed when Potter came out from nowhere.
“You knew that no one wanted the assignment and you just had to be the honourable Gryffindor rushing to the rescue,” Draco said when he realised the man wouldn’t budge. “It was an assignment you fulfilled it. You even got the extra perk of invading my privacy--it’s over now and I don’t care one whit about anything you tell anybody about what you heard.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Potter protested at once.
Draco shrugged his shoulders, unconvinced.
“You think I’m going to tell people what you said in confidence? I wouldn’t do that to anyone, let alone a friend,” Potter insisted.
Draco scoffed, shaking his head incredulously “But that’s the thing, Potter. We’re not friends.”
“Draco, I felt it and you felt it too. We had a connection!” Potter argued, showing him the leather collar with the elegant inscription of the Malamute’s name.
Draco snatched it out of his hands.
“No, Potter! Beast and I had a connection. I told Him things in confidence. I trusted him,” Draco stressed, “and you killed him, Potter”
With one last glare, he pushed Harry away from him hard throwing the door open wide so he could leave.
To make a point of it, he began the preparations and informed Shacklebolt he was taking a personal day.
The funeral would be a simple affair; he would pack up the bedding, food bowls and collar in an elegant mahogany casket. Much to his parents’ consternation, he would make a plot for Beast in the family cemetery.
He would be sure to make sure the announcement was in the paper, large enough so Potter would be sure to see it.
X x x X x x X
“I think it’s great,” Hermione announced, sitting across his desk.
“Do you?” he replied smiling. “What do you think is so great?”
She gave him a look. “You know what about. Ron told me and I happen to think this is a very mature and gracious thing for you to do.”
“You’re not angry?” he asked curiously.
Hermione smiled at him gently. “We were very young then and he was very stupid, but he’s just a pure-blood. He didn’t know any better.
“Harry, if he’s trying to change then I don’t see any reason why we can’t offer him new eyes to take in this emerging person. We’re only holding him back if we keep treating him with the same distrust and distance were used to. And I for one don’t want to be responsible for reverting him to the old Malfoy. He could even be a nastier sort of fellow.”
“He could be, but I saw the man behind the nastiness and I’d like to see more of him,” Harry murmured, tapping his quill on the desk and not catching her pensive look.
“What is that you’re writing?” Hermione asked, not ready to vocalise her theory quite yet.
“A condolence letter to Malfoy,” he replied, smoothing the parchment with his callused fingertips.
“Why? Who passed away?” Hermione asked in confusion.
“His dog, Beast,” Harry replied, signing his name at the bottom of the note. “The funeral was this past weekend.”
“Harry, when did Malfoy get this dog?” Hermione asked, suspiciously.
“About a month ago.”
“Aha! And when did he or she die?” she asked, her eyebrows knitting into a v.
“He died about two weeks ago,” Harry replied, folding the letter and putting it in an envelope.
“Harry, just what happened during this last month with Malfoy?” she finally inquired.
“Ron said almost said the exact same thing,” Harry commented, sending the note through inter-office memo.
“And you didn’t tell him anything either, I gather?”
Harry shook his head but smiled to gentle his denial.
“Fine, Harry Potter, you can keep your secrets for now,” Hermione conceded before saying goodbye.
X x x X x x X
Draco caught the flying missive from the air. It was curious--all his assignments were normally delivered early in the morning and it was already mid-afternoon.
Draco,
I’m sorry to hear about the death of Beast. But remember that you also have other friends you can lean on during these hard times.
Harry P.
‘What is he playing at?’ he pondered then set the thing flying back to Potter, wondering if the paper had been reduced into ashes by the time it reached his desk or if Potter had a moment to watch it burn.
He would have though that it would have been the end of it.
But it wasn’t, not by far.
Potter personally delivered his assignments every morning when Draco stopped picking them up because the office was right in front of Potter’s.
From Draco’s knowledge, they were forms that could only be picked up by the authorised department employees but it seemed that the Boy-Who-Lived still had plenty of pull.
“Morning, Draco!” he would greet with cheer every morning as he handed the illegally appropriated documents.
“Sod off, Potter,” he would reply, but Potter would just smile and ask if he could get him a tea or coffee.
“Are you my assistant now, Potter, and I missed the memo?”
“No, just doing what any friend would do for another,” Potter replied.
Draco glared at him for that misuse of a label.
“Beast would want you to move on,” Potter had the gall to say and left before he could say anything.
Then the notes began.
Draco,
Beast would have wanted you to know how much he appreciated the way you took care of him.
Would you like to join me for lunch?
- Harry
Draco was perplexed by the note and, against his better judgment, responded instead of just burning it.
Potter,
First of all, to you it’s Malfoy. And of course he did--he had the best of everything, but you wouldn’t know about the gentler arts of civility.
As to your request:
NO. You’d put me off my lunch.
- DM
Draco should have known better, as the next morning he received another letter from the spectacled stalker.
Draco,
Very true, although I have to say it was almost sweet, what with all the expensive things you bought for him. He wouldn’t have cared if it had been secondhand things, just that you cared enough to give them to him, he was grateful to have them.
Are you sure? I make a mean brisket and it’s not like you could not stand to gain a stone or two.
- Harry
Potter,
It’s Malfoy.
I don’t do sweet or secondhand for that matter. Do people actually buy objects that have been used by another person? That is disgraceful, Potter. It figures you would know about that disturbing practice.
I’m even more certain now that declining your invitation is in the best interest of my cultured palate .
- D. Malfoy
Draco told himself that he kept replying to the letters because it kept Potter from following him around, but he was growing used to the letter he received every morning and sent back every afternoon.
Draco,
I’m more familiar with the practice than you know. I think the thing Beast enjoyed the most was the quite peace you shared at the cabin. He felt that he really got to know you.
I’ve brushed up on my healing spells and I haven’t given anyone indigestion since Ron tried my experiment in jambalaya.
- Harry
Potter,
Malfoy. Are you so daft you can’t get that?
Have respect for the dead, Potter. What happened between Beast and I is none of your concern or business.
And strange enough as it may sound, treating a Weasley and treating me are two different situations, and I have little faith in your healing abilities.
- DM
Draco,
If you wanted, he didn’t have to be, people don’t have that choice but you do. You can have Beast back--he just comes with an extra person (more the merrier, I think).
You need him, at least to chase away the dreams.
By the way his name is Faolan. He was taken aback by your unoriginal name for him.
- Harry
Potter,
And my name was unoriginal?
Greek for Wolf? Doesn’t take too much imagination to come up with that one. No, most people do not have the ability to bring people back from the dead, otherwise they would have done it but you know better than most, don’t you, Potter?
- Malfoy
Draco watched the letter go off through the air and suddenly wanted to take it back but it was too late. The previous mumblings of impersonal talk of what happened at the cabin using Beast as a medium were bearable, but this blatant reminder of the things Potter had been witness to scared him and he couldn’t help but strike out. It was probably for the best though. Potter would be incensed and tell everyone of his behaviour at the cabin and he wouldn’t have to wonder anymore about people finding out.
He let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair heavily.
“Draco?” a soft voice came from beside him.
“Yes, Celeste?” he answered, rubbing his eyes and watching her image disappear and reappear between the space of his fingers.
“Do you want to join us for lunch?” she asked smiling.
He glanced behind her to the other co-workers waiting in the doorway; none of them were scowling or looked as if they were forced to go along with it. A few were smiling at him welcomingly.
He thought of Potter’s letters for a moment and realised that Beast would have nipped him on his fingers for this self-imposed exclusion and surprised himself by saying yes.
No letter came for a week and with the absence of reading material, regret pooled in his belly. He kept an eye out for Potter but his assignments remained at the front desk and his morning tea was no longer delivered.
Ironically, while he was losing this friendship--or whatever it was-- he was gaining new ones in his department. After lunch he’d accompanied them to Fortescue’s for an ice cream, he realised socialising had not been as painful as he had anticipated. They were amusing in their own carefree ways and some of them were pretty decent conversationalists.
The Muggle-born ones, he realised, were able to teach him so much about their way of life before entering Hogwarts and it helped clarify a lot of things he had stumbled upon himself by learning to use the computer and the internet. It was easier for him to understand Muggle customs when they were explained by people that truly understood them and had lived in that manner.
He was willing to admit he had been wrong about them. Maybe not aloud, but it felt like there was a wealth of information previously hidden away from him that he was suddenly privy to. So he threw himself into becoming an expert at his job. Although it may not have been his own idea to surpass Granger in school, he still had a drive to excel at what he did.
It also helped to keep his mind off of Beast/Potter.
Tea with Gregory was a little different that week.
They ate together as usual. Gregory drank his special mix of tea and alcohol, but Draco added something a little different to their itinerary.
“Gregory, I have my Ministry-ordered physical scheduled this afternoon. I don’t want to wait about alone, so you’re coming with me,” he ordered more than asked.
Gregory shrugged his shoulders in noncommittal agreement.
It was all pretty simple actually. He took his time undressing behind the privacy screen for the mediwitch to examine him and he heard Pomfrey offer Gregory something to drink and ask him if he was cold.
“Your hands are trembling, young man. That’s why I ask,” she clarified.
He heard his friend accept the refreshment and heard the mediwitch search drawers for her instruments.
“Mr Goyle , what do you think you are doing!” came the outraged shriek soon enough.
“What?” came the surly reply.
“That better not be Firewhisky in that flask!”
“Bloody hell, woman! It’s not milk,” Gregory replied.
“Mr Malfoy, if you don’t mind giving me a moment with this young man...” she asked.
Draco smirked in pleasure. Easily closing his robes back up, he moved out of the way so she could manhandle the large man into the space.
He sat in the seat Gregory had vacated , grateful for the allowance Shacklebolt had made for him to have his physical with the Hogwarts mediwitch and not a St Mungo’s over worked, sleep deprived lackey. He honestly did prefer to be examined by her if the truth be told. But it was perfect because the mediwizards at St Mungo’s would not have cared one bit about Gregory-- they would have hurried them out of their offices as soon as possible.
Pomfrey was different. She had taken care of them since they were eleven years old and that mothering nature of hers was exactly what he was counting on.
His grin broadened.
“Do you think this being yellowish and tiny is natural?” he caught and she went on to mutter to herself as she performed what must have been a thorough examination.
After moments of waiting, Pomfrey murmured to him softly and he heard her call his name.
He cautiously peered around the screen at the pair.
“Mr Malfoy, Gregory has a drinking problem.” She said it softly, holding a firm hand on the large man’s shoulder.
“I’m trying to tell him how important it is for him to begin a programme at St Mungo’s but he won’t listen. Maybe if he heard it from you?”
“Draco?”
Hearing the wavering sound of his name and his friend looking at him as if Draco had all the answers, trusting him not to lead him wrong, despite having done so in the past, he was taken aback.
He looked at the mediwitch. “But shouldn’t his treatment take place here”
Pomfrey looked at him with sad understanding and nodded her agreement.
He nodded decisively. “You should, Greg.”
“Oh, okay. I will then.” The other man agreed readily.
“Good man,” Pomfrey smiled, squeezing his shoulder. “Now you wait here for a moment. I’m going to bring you a cleansing potion. You’ll have to stay overnight and tomorrow we can really begin.
“You can visit him tomorrow, Mr Malfoy,” she assured him and he said goodbye to his friend.
Leaving him sitting behind the screen, Pomfrey whispered, “That was a great thing you did, Draco”
“What?” He pretended ignorance at her meaning.
“I happen to know, young man, that your physical is not due for another four months,” she told him smugly, then in all seriousness added, “and he really needed help. Now go home and get some rest. I’ll take care of him.”
Draco nodded and left the infirmary feeling a little less useless and it was a refreshing feeling.
X x x X x x X
Much to his chagrin, even with all the activity of pushing through their newly renovated procedures for Wizard/Muggle relations, helping Gregory through his recovery and trying to get his parents to understand him, the memories of Potter during moments of quiet and at times, even when he was lost in work actually, haunted him.The memories of the cabin and a friend whose presence made him feel safe were what in essence caused him to be so forthcoming.
Then, he thought of their ensuing letters, the ease that was forming through them and the chaos that erupted only to put an end to their communication.
Draco stretched his weary limbs as high as he could, working out the stiffness that gathered after hours of bending over his desk.
He collected his papers, neatly placing them in their designated folders and filed them in his cabinet, locking it with a flick of his wand. With one last look around at the darkened office, he closed the door and made his way through the silent halls of the Ministry, not surprised at the emptiness of the deserted, late evening corridors.
“Finally!”
Draco jerked his head in the direction of the voice and found Potter standing with his arms crossed over his chest in front of one of the Floo networks.
Draco stopped for a moment but then began walking in direction of a Floo in the opposite side of the room.
“Scared Malfoy?” The mocking words echoed in the empty space.
“You wish,” he replied, turning to face the challenge in a re-enactment of a duel from a long time ago.
“So you’re not running anymore?” Potter asked.
He didn’t answer but his gaze did not waver.
“Good. That was a shitty thing you said. It took awhile to work past the anger,” Potter confessed.
“Good to see those anger management classes are working for you, Potter. You always did have the nastiest temper,” Draco mocked, not being able to help himself.
“Yes, I do, and you have a habit of hurting people when they get too close by using that sarcasm to protect yourself,” Potter shot back.
“That sounds so textbook, Potter. Did Granger come up with that for you? Did you enjoy talking about all I confessed during your assignment? Did it amuse all of your little Gryffindor friends?” Draco snarled.
“I haven’t said a word about any of that to anyone. It’s personal.”
“Why not? You already made a fool of me, letting me confess to what I thought was a loyal Muggle pet!” Draco asked, opening his hands outward in agitation in a questioning motion.
“I am sorry about that. I was there to protect you. I knew you wouldn’t allow it, so it was the only way I could think of,” Potter explained, not meeting his eyes.
“Honourable Gryffindor, my arse. You took every bit of information you could about me. For what purpose I still don’t know, but the fact remains that you betrayed my confidence,” Draco accused him, “and then had the gall to try to justify it all with ‘friendship.’”
“We were friends, Draco,” Potter argued, drawing closer to him.
“No, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were not friends. Beast and Draco Malfoy were,” Draco corrected venomously.
“Fine, we weren’t. But what about after? When I sent you that letter. Didn’t you say you waited a long time for me to extend my hand? I was reaching out!” Potter nearly yelled.
“That’s the problem right there, Potter. I’m not your charity case. I’m a broken mess! I’m trying to live a life when I can barely manage more than simply breathing and moving about. My friend is an alcoholic, I’m plagued by nightmares, looked at like rubbish by the most of the wizarding world for being a former Death eater and for what?” Draco demanded. “Did you expect to race in on your Firebolt and save the poor little Slytherin? I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity,” Potter denied.
“Then what is it, Saint Potter. What could it possibly be?” Draco challenged him.
“Does this feel like pity?” was the only warning Draco had before he felt an arm wrap around his waist and a hand cup the back of his neck pulling him aggressively into a kiss.
Draco leaned into the kiss after a moment, hoping against hope he wouldn’t wake up with tears streaming down his pale cheeks and a silent scream of loss on his lips. He let his lips part against Harry’s begging tongue and ran his hands up Harry’s chest. The man’s shirt was soft against his palms, his heartbeat beating out a feral rhythm and it was suddenly all too real for this to be happening now. God, how he’d wanted this moment, dreamt of it a thousand times before. But it was too much too soon-salt on a still bleeding wound.
Draco pushed him away angrily. “Just because you learned that I fancy you, you think you can just get an easy guaranteed shag? Don’t touch me, Potter!” He spat moving away to the Floo.
“Draco!”
His feet listened to his heart and stopped.
“It’s not pity. And I’m very serious about what this is. It’s not because you confessed to Beast. I know there is something there between us. It’s palpable! If you’re brave enough to find out what it is, meet me at the cabin. I’ll be waiting there every night until you come,” Potter vowed.
Draco dropped his head to his chest but said nothing else, throwing a handful of powder and activating the Floo.
The last thing he saw was the green tinged figure of a determined Harry Potter in the middle of the lobby.
X x x x X x x X
It had been hard staying away from the cabin. It was easily visible from his resting place and it was odd to see it inhabited by the man, woman and three children.
His pseudo family were none too happy about his plans, but after Hermione took them aside for what he assumed was a stern talking to, they eased up and did not try to stop him from going.
Every now and then he would transform and sit on his haunches, looking every which way for the blond. He wasn’t alone these days, though. It seemed there was a fox that inhabited the area. Harry couldn’t recall seeing him before, but he would stare at him every evening from the top a nearby hill, watch him, and then disappear into the blooming darkness.
It was the night of the fifth day of the forth week since he had been staying at the house, but who was counting?
Harry waited patiently for Draco every night after work to show. His hopes grew slimmer as the sun set each evening but he was determined to wait it out.
Harry played with the frayed strings on his jumper, staring into the already well known landscape. He noticed the small white fox move through the snow with graceful movements nothing like the bounding motion Harry himself made across the ground. He didn’t observe him from afar this time though--he kept coming closer to where Harry sat.
Harry watched the creature curiously, wondering what caused this change in behaviour. When he drew close enough for Harry to get a good look, he let out a disbelievingly laugh.
Those silver-grey eyes were as identifiable to him as his scar must be to wizards and witches everywhere.
“Draco,” he greeted happily, reaching to pet the downy white head but the fox jumped back and snapped at him.
They remained still, staring at each other, no sound but that of the wind to fill the space between them.
The fox tilted his head in a clear command but Harry did not understand what he wanted. The small animal shook his head in what looked like exasperation and then lay down stretching his head on his joined paws, jerking his head forward in what could only be a ‘go on’ motion.
Draco could be so stubborn and refused to believe what Harry said was true, but he was a Slytherin, Harry realised, and through all this, it probably seemed to him that Harry held all the cards.
Harry remembered their last conversation vividly and then he finally understood.
Harry took a deep calming breath, preparing himself, and began in a soft but clear voice, “It all began in a cupboard....”