Clear
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Harry and Draco go on an Auror mission in the early stages of their relationship.
Word Count: 1,617.
Written for 2014 hd_erised
It was nearly midnight on one of the last days of December. The countryside lay white and still under a sky heavy with more snow clouds. With no more warning than a pair of simultaneous echoing crack! sounds, two figures inserted themselves into the landscape.
Draco and Harry stumbled in a rotating movement, getting their bearings.
“There it is,” Harry breathed, verbally and physically pointing out the obvious. There was the circle of standing stones they’d come to deal with, each stone topped with snow. The snow was easily ankle-deep and Draco could feel its cold through his boots. Everything was weirdly visible for night-time because of the white of the snow.
“This should be pretty straightforward,” Draco said. “Then we can get to bed.”
Harry, making his way closer to the stones, grinned at Draco over to his shoulder, acknowledging the still exciting promise contained in this reference.
Draco would have found this mission difficult just a few months ago - being alone with Potter, doing something slow and simple, with little to distract him from Potter’s strained attempts to lessen the awkwardness of the situation. Now, well. Draco found it difficult to mind what kind of mission he was sent on, when it was with Harry. How revolting.
Draco followed Harry, who was now standing in the centre of the circle, face tilted upwards. “It’s started to snow again,” he called to Draco. Draco touched one of the stones gingerly with a fingertip as he passed. It felt cold. He made it to the centre and looked up like Harry. He was going to contradict Harry’s claim it was snowing again but then he caught sight of a couple of skimpy flakes.
“It doesn’t feel wrong here,” Draco said cautiously, still doubtful whether he should claim any sensibilities for these things.
“No, I can’t feel anything. It’s not like that well me and Ron did.”
The circle was supposed to be associated with the dark arts and bad luck. Over the centuries it had been the site of occasional sacrifices and unwholesome spells. Voldemort had used it as backdrop to the execution of a Death Eater he suspected - or pretended to suspect - of disloyalty. That had been before Draco or Harry had been born. Shacklebolt had taken the time to inquire whether Draco had ever been present himself for any dark goings-on at the circle before assigning him to the case. In more recent times, though, it had become a favourite site of the Death Eater sympathisers. It had proved difficult to convince these that Voldemort was dead for real and could not be summoned by loyal followers if they went about it the right way. After a few futile rituals of this sort had been performed, there were some unfortunate incidents of Muggle violence at the site, and the Ministry decided it was a case of dark magic building up, forming a kind of residue which attracted further darkness. Draco hadn’t seen the well Harry was talking about, but he’d been to dark sites before and this didn’t have that feeling that was like Dementors but different. This just felt like being alone with Harry on a snowy night. It wasn’t a bad feeling. Draco liked contrasting the cold, wide emptiness of the space around them with Harry, warm and full of life next to him, his breath white in the air like Draco’s.
“Oh well, let’s get on with it,” Draco said. “It must be time?” He and Harry looked at their watches. They were here at night-time in order to start their work just as it turned midnight. The timing was part of the work. They had to apply a series of charms to the site with monotonous thoroughness, working on each stone, the ground inside the circle and the ground around it.
“Yes,” said Harry, in unison with Draco. It was time. They placed themselves on either side of the nearest stone.
“You pull and I’ll support,” said Draco. He was so good these days. None of the old competition and resentfulness, just mature recognition of the fact that sometimes his and Harry’s skills manifested in different ways. Not that competitiveness needed to be stifled forever. Later, when he knew Harry wouldn’t worry he meant it, he’d bring some of that friction into play.
The first step fulfilled a kind of yanking, plucking function, the caster mentally and magically reaching out into the realm of magical associations, neither wholly physical nor psychic. Draco’s role was to do much the same thing Harry was about to do, but a step behind, so that the momentum didn’t falter as Harry felt the weight of what he’d pulled free of the stone and the splinter, so to speak, of dark magic, was pulled quite free.
“Okay. Ready?” Harry said.
Draco’s focus was suddenly sharp and clear. It all happened quickly after Harry lightly tapped the stone with his wand. A scorch of red briefly lit up the night. Somewhere in the flash, Draco saw a knife being passed over a throat. He could feel that like-Dementors-but-not feeling now. The red almost descended over Harry’s head but Draco raised his wand and pulled it further, walking backwards to attract it away from Harry and the stone. The red was already dwindling and Draco and Harry forced it down to shrink and melt into the snow.
“The snow’s falling properly now,” said Draco, obvious though it was. The flakes were soft on his face.
The next thing was to place a kind of protective seal on the stone, a cleansing charm, really. Draco, not to mention a few of the other new Aurors, had found this kind of thing difficult at first. It made them feel a bit silly and somehow Professor Trelawney-ish. It was like Patronuses. It involved putting a little more of themselves into their magic than they found it easy to do on demand. But either you overcame those inhibitions early in Auror training or you dropped out. Draco found it easy now to manufacture the requisite sense of deep inner peace and embrace the universe, not that he could entirely turn off his self-awareness. Now, for instance, he watched Harry’s face, somehow intensely expressive in its stillness, knowing he himself was not entering into it so wholeheartedly. Still, he felt it. For a moment he felt the selfless knowledge of abiding through time he imagined a stone might have. He couldn’t feel it for long, though; he was too glad to be himself.
“One down, six to go,” Draco said. It was slightly disorientating to go through the process several times, which made it easier to reproduce the timeless, pure stone thing.
“I’m so cold,” Harry said as they approached the last stone. Draco, whose hands and feet and face were numb, didn’t reply. He was fantasising about getting inside now.
Just before Harry began, Draco reflected that it had all gone very smoothly so far - so that in a way he almost expected the bang and flash which threw Harry some feet, sprawled on his back in the centre of the circle. The light flashed red and blue and green this time, and Voldemort prowled round the circle for brief moments which Draco knew he would remember well. Voldemort didn’t acknowledge them at all; he was clearly only memory. Harry scrambled to his feet but Voldemort and the light were gone by that time.
“You’re okay?” Draco asked.
“Yeah, fine.” He’d looked a little wild-eyed; now he was recovering the Auror’s composure.
“Ready to try again? I’ll come in right behind you this time,” said Draco. You always had to get back on the broom as an Auror and usually the best way to support your partner was to assume that was what they had in mind. Of course, with Harry, it always was.
“Yeah, hopefully it’ll have got something out of its system with that,” Harry said.
In all honesty the effects were only slightly alleviated when they tried again but they were more ready for the grim exertion this time. They both skidded in the snow but they stayed on their feet and finished the spell.
“That’s nearly it,” said Harry after the cleansing charm.
The ground spells gave no trouble and took little time. The circle of stones, veiled by dancing snowflakes, looked just the same as ever, but Harry and Draco looked around with satisfaction.
Draco held out a hand and Harry took it.
“My place?” Harry asked and Draco nodded.
They Disapparated and left the landscape empty again.
“Aah!” Draco exclaimed, flinging himself down on the sofa next to the fireplace in Harry’s living room. Harry sank down next to him. The snowflakes were still clustered in his hair, white against the black. Draco reached out to brush them away. “That wasn’t so bad. We’ve had things pretty easy so far these holidays. Nothing like that business Weasley and Harkface had on Boxing Day.” An illegal potions brewer had been keeping a dragon in the cellar where he kept his potions. Inevitably things caught fire and began to explode, and the brewer made things worse by trying to keep Ron and Harkface away when they arrived.
Harry stroked some snow out of Draco’s own hair. It was melting down Draco’s neck now. He leaned forward and kissed Draco. His lips were still cold but the inside of his mouth felt hot in contrast. Draco clasped the back of Harry’s head, not caring about the dampness. Draco felt sure this would last, him and Harry, but even if it didn’t, he thought, he would always remember times like this and be so glad that he had had them.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Harry and Draco go on an Auror mission in the early stages of their relationship.
Word Count: 1,617.
Written for 2014 hd_erised
It was nearly midnight on one of the last days of December. The countryside lay white and still under a sky heavy with more snow clouds. With no more warning than a pair of simultaneous echoing crack! sounds, two figures inserted themselves into the landscape.
Draco and Harry stumbled in a rotating movement, getting their bearings.
“There it is,” Harry breathed, verbally and physically pointing out the obvious. There was the circle of standing stones they’d come to deal with, each stone topped with snow. The snow was easily ankle-deep and Draco could feel its cold through his boots. Everything was weirdly visible for night-time because of the white of the snow.
“This should be pretty straightforward,” Draco said. “Then we can get to bed.”
Harry, making his way closer to the stones, grinned at Draco over to his shoulder, acknowledging the still exciting promise contained in this reference.
Draco would have found this mission difficult just a few months ago - being alone with Potter, doing something slow and simple, with little to distract him from Potter’s strained attempts to lessen the awkwardness of the situation. Now, well. Draco found it difficult to mind what kind of mission he was sent on, when it was with Harry. How revolting.
Draco followed Harry, who was now standing in the centre of the circle, face tilted upwards. “It’s started to snow again,” he called to Draco. Draco touched one of the stones gingerly with a fingertip as he passed. It felt cold. He made it to the centre and looked up like Harry. He was going to contradict Harry’s claim it was snowing again but then he caught sight of a couple of skimpy flakes.
“It doesn’t feel wrong here,” Draco said cautiously, still doubtful whether he should claim any sensibilities for these things.
“No, I can’t feel anything. It’s not like that well me and Ron did.”
The circle was supposed to be associated with the dark arts and bad luck. Over the centuries it had been the site of occasional sacrifices and unwholesome spells. Voldemort had used it as backdrop to the execution of a Death Eater he suspected - or pretended to suspect - of disloyalty. That had been before Draco or Harry had been born. Shacklebolt had taken the time to inquire whether Draco had ever been present himself for any dark goings-on at the circle before assigning him to the case. In more recent times, though, it had become a favourite site of the Death Eater sympathisers. It had proved difficult to convince these that Voldemort was dead for real and could not be summoned by loyal followers if they went about it the right way. After a few futile rituals of this sort had been performed, there were some unfortunate incidents of Muggle violence at the site, and the Ministry decided it was a case of dark magic building up, forming a kind of residue which attracted further darkness. Draco hadn’t seen the well Harry was talking about, but he’d been to dark sites before and this didn’t have that feeling that was like Dementors but different. This just felt like being alone with Harry on a snowy night. It wasn’t a bad feeling. Draco liked contrasting the cold, wide emptiness of the space around them with Harry, warm and full of life next to him, his breath white in the air like Draco’s.
“Oh well, let’s get on with it,” Draco said. “It must be time?” He and Harry looked at their watches. They were here at night-time in order to start their work just as it turned midnight. The timing was part of the work. They had to apply a series of charms to the site with monotonous thoroughness, working on each stone, the ground inside the circle and the ground around it.
“Yes,” said Harry, in unison with Draco. It was time. They placed themselves on either side of the nearest stone.
“You pull and I’ll support,” said Draco. He was so good these days. None of the old competition and resentfulness, just mature recognition of the fact that sometimes his and Harry’s skills manifested in different ways. Not that competitiveness needed to be stifled forever. Later, when he knew Harry wouldn’t worry he meant it, he’d bring some of that friction into play.
The first step fulfilled a kind of yanking, plucking function, the caster mentally and magically reaching out into the realm of magical associations, neither wholly physical nor psychic. Draco’s role was to do much the same thing Harry was about to do, but a step behind, so that the momentum didn’t falter as Harry felt the weight of what he’d pulled free of the stone and the splinter, so to speak, of dark magic, was pulled quite free.
“Okay. Ready?” Harry said.
Draco’s focus was suddenly sharp and clear. It all happened quickly after Harry lightly tapped the stone with his wand. A scorch of red briefly lit up the night. Somewhere in the flash, Draco saw a knife being passed over a throat. He could feel that like-Dementors-but-not feeling now. The red almost descended over Harry’s head but Draco raised his wand and pulled it further, walking backwards to attract it away from Harry and the stone. The red was already dwindling and Draco and Harry forced it down to shrink and melt into the snow.
“The snow’s falling properly now,” said Draco, obvious though it was. The flakes were soft on his face.
The next thing was to place a kind of protective seal on the stone, a cleansing charm, really. Draco, not to mention a few of the other new Aurors, had found this kind of thing difficult at first. It made them feel a bit silly and somehow Professor Trelawney-ish. It was like Patronuses. It involved putting a little more of themselves into their magic than they found it easy to do on demand. But either you overcame those inhibitions early in Auror training or you dropped out. Draco found it easy now to manufacture the requisite sense of deep inner peace and embrace the universe, not that he could entirely turn off his self-awareness. Now, for instance, he watched Harry’s face, somehow intensely expressive in its stillness, knowing he himself was not entering into it so wholeheartedly. Still, he felt it. For a moment he felt the selfless knowledge of abiding through time he imagined a stone might have. He couldn’t feel it for long, though; he was too glad to be himself.
“One down, six to go,” Draco said. It was slightly disorientating to go through the process several times, which made it easier to reproduce the timeless, pure stone thing.
“I’m so cold,” Harry said as they approached the last stone. Draco, whose hands and feet and face were numb, didn’t reply. He was fantasising about getting inside now.
Just before Harry began, Draco reflected that it had all gone very smoothly so far - so that in a way he almost expected the bang and flash which threw Harry some feet, sprawled on his back in the centre of the circle. The light flashed red and blue and green this time, and Voldemort prowled round the circle for brief moments which Draco knew he would remember well. Voldemort didn’t acknowledge them at all; he was clearly only memory. Harry scrambled to his feet but Voldemort and the light were gone by that time.
“You’re okay?” Draco asked.
“Yeah, fine.” He’d looked a little wild-eyed; now he was recovering the Auror’s composure.
“Ready to try again? I’ll come in right behind you this time,” said Draco. You always had to get back on the broom as an Auror and usually the best way to support your partner was to assume that was what they had in mind. Of course, with Harry, it always was.
“Yeah, hopefully it’ll have got something out of its system with that,” Harry said.
In all honesty the effects were only slightly alleviated when they tried again but they were more ready for the grim exertion this time. They both skidded in the snow but they stayed on their feet and finished the spell.
“That’s nearly it,” said Harry after the cleansing charm.
The ground spells gave no trouble and took little time. The circle of stones, veiled by dancing snowflakes, looked just the same as ever, but Harry and Draco looked around with satisfaction.
Draco held out a hand and Harry took it.
“My place?” Harry asked and Draco nodded.
They Disapparated and left the landscape empty again.
“Aah!” Draco exclaimed, flinging himself down on the sofa next to the fireplace in Harry’s living room. Harry sank down next to him. The snowflakes were still clustered in his hair, white against the black. Draco reached out to brush them away. “That wasn’t so bad. We’ve had things pretty easy so far these holidays. Nothing like that business Weasley and Harkface had on Boxing Day.” An illegal potions brewer had been keeping a dragon in the cellar where he kept his potions. Inevitably things caught fire and began to explode, and the brewer made things worse by trying to keep Ron and Harkface away when they arrived.
Harry stroked some snow out of Draco’s own hair. It was melting down Draco’s neck now. He leaned forward and kissed Draco. His lips were still cold but the inside of his mouth felt hot in contrast. Draco clasped the back of Harry’s head, not caring about the dampness. Draco felt sure this would last, him and Harry, but even if it didn’t, he thought, he would always remember times like this and be so glad that he had had them.