[Fic] Blink (6/10)
Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 5877
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014
BLINK ON AO3
*
’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)
‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor
- CHAPTER 6 -
The Ally
Harry had awoken in a cold sweat that night, and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after. The memory was burned into his mind like the Dark Mark into the flesh of his arm. He had flung himself over the edge of the bed as another wave of nausea had hit him and had thrown up heavily on to the floor. Not wanting to stay in the room any longer, he’d got up and had roamed the dark corridors - flinching at every shadow - until the sun had been bright and shining.
Breakfast had been welcome that morning, and even though his stomach was still slightly cramping, he’d eaten a healthy amount of food. Narcissa hadn’t been there, and for that he’d been glad. He would’ve had no idea how to explain to her why he was feeling and looking the way he did, even though he guessed Azkaban nightmares would have been a reasonably believable excuse. However, he was still glad he hadn’t needed to use it; there was no point in worrying her any more than she already did.
It had been several days since that night, and even though the dreams had continued to flood him whenever he slept, he’d had no more unlucky confrontations with the mysterious man, who scared him more these days than anything had in a long while. He couldn’t help wondering time and time again what would’ve happened if he had actually managed to touch Harry, and if the reason he’d felt so very bad afterwards had been because the man had come closer to him than he’d ever had before.
He’d moved into a deeper part of the library that day: a part where the bookcases were so crammed together that no sunlight managed to get in and the walls were lit solemnly with torches, even though the day hadn’t even reached noon. Many a day he’d been spending in the library now, without news from any of his friends or Kingsley and without wand. He hadn’t received permission to leave the Manor yet either, but somehow he hadn’t been expecting that anyway. He had figured that if Draco was being supervised, so was he, and that his best course of action right now was to go back to the original plan: research.
Having taken another book about wizarding myths out of one of the high shelves, he slowly descended the old ladder he’d been standing on, the steps creaking loudly under his feet. He turned as he reached the floor, but backed away quickly - resulting in him tripping over one of the piles of books on the ground - as he thought he’d seen movement at the end of the isle.
When he looked back up he saw that his scare had been for nothing - like the last couple of times - and again he wondered if he might be going slowly mental. Brushing some of the dust off his clothes, he set out the way he’d planned to: to a little corner filled with books and references that he thought might be useful in his research. He sat down between two stacks of books - underneath one of the bigger torches - and opened the one he’d been carrying, looking for its index and word register.
Hours passed, and slowly the stacks around him were getting bigger and bigger, when he heard it: steps. He bolted upright, knocking over one of the stacks that held books he would be placing back in their rightful spots later that day, and backed up against the wall. His mouth was dry and his heart was beating heavily as the steps were getting louder. He wondered if he had blinked and if he had, why he was still able to move at his normal speed. Trying to swallow, but failing due his mouth being completely dry, he dared to call out.
‘Show yourself,’ he said, trying to sound authoritative, but heard the quiver in his voice nonetheless.
The footsteps faltered. Harry picked up the oil lamp he’d put on one of the books and lifted it high up in to the air.
Another couple of footsteps sounded, this time closer by. Harry turned quickly, making the lamp swing with the motion of his arm, its hinges creaking softly.
Harry’s breath was coming quicker now. There was nowhere to go and he had no way of defending himself except for an old lamp and a bunch of books. He thought of running, but had no idea where to. Surely the man would catch him anyway, and then he’d rather stay and fight.
When the voice of the person approaching sounded, Harry nearly laughed with relief.
‘Woldy didn’t want to scare Master Draco,’ it said softly from behind one of the bookcases. ‘Woldy is very sorry indeed.’
Harry lowered the oil lamp and took a deep and shaky breath, trying to calm his heart. ‘It’s okay, Woldy,’ Harry said, the same odd emotion hitting him as the elf stepped into sight, again with the same two mismatched socks.
Looking at the nervous elf, something else hit him. ‘Woldy,’ he asked carefully, ‘you wouldn’t have been following me around for the last few days, would you?’
The elf nodded. ‘Oh yes, Master Draco, Woldy has,’ he said happily, but his eyes quickly grew wide and his voice faltered in a soft squeak. ‘Unless Master Malfoy wouldn’t want Woldy to follow him. Then Woldy apologises of course, and Woldy will punish himself severely for making Master uncomfortable.’
‘No, no!’ Harry said quickly. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He sat down the oil lamp from where he had picked it up earlier and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Just don’t do it again, okay?’
The elf nodded uncertainly.
‘Why were you following me around anyway?’ Harry asked.
The elf’s eyes grew wide again, but this time not in fear. ‘Master called Woldy Dobby, sir. And Woldy was curious why Master would do so.’
Harry remembered the occurrence very well. The flappy ears and the socks had thrown him off completely and for a moment, just for a moment, he’d honestly believed that Dobby had returned from the dead.
He smiled sadly. ‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘I remember that,’ and then added, ‘did you know him?’
Woldy nodded happily. ‘Yes Master, sir, Woldy did!’ He waggled a little closer to Harry and pointed two long fingers at his socks. ‘Woldy got these from him, he did,’ he said happily. ‘Dobby told Woldy to always wear them, and Woldy does, sir, Woldy does.’
Harry looked more closely at the socks now and saw that the purple one indeed had the Hogwarts crest on the side of it.
‘This one,’ Woldy said as he pointed to the sock Harry had been looking at, ‘Dobby got from the headmaster. But the headmaster had accidentally given Dobby two of the same socks, so Dobby knitted this one,’ he now pointed at the yellow one, ‘all by himself, and gave one of each to Woldy. It made Woldy really happy, sir, because now Dobby and Woldy would be wearing the same socks!’
Harry had laughed at the elf’s statement. He sounded so much like Dobby it almost pained his heart, but warmed him at the same time. He’d once made the mistake to give Dobby two identical socks, and the elf had told him the exact same thing Woldy had just now. Harry wondered for the first time if Dobby had ever knitted a second pair for the pair Harry had given him, too, like he’d had with what Woldy was probably referring to as Dumbledore’s gift.
‘So you and Dobby were friends, then?’ Harry asked the elf, who immediately started shaking his head.
‘Oh no, sir. Dobby wasn’t Woldy’s friend. No, Dobby was Woldy’s father.’
It was as if a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head. Dobby had had a son. And Harry had never known; had never even asked.
‘That’s why Lady Narcissa let Woldy keep the socks, sir,’ Woldy said. ‘Lady Narcissa and Master Draco both.’
Their eyes met. Harry didn’t know what to say. Did the elf know? But before he could ask, Woldy already answered his question.
‘Woldy knows what’s been happening to Master Draco, sir, but Woldy doesn’t know you. Woldy was scared at first, yes he was, but then Master called Woldy Dobby and Woldy was curious now. So Woldy followed Master.’
‘I...’ Harry started, but stopped. Once more he had been proven that wizards kept underestimating the power of other magical creatures.
‘I’m… My name is Harry,’ he finally decided. ‘Harry Potter.’
The last part had merely come out in a whisper, baffled and shocked as he was by his recent discoveries.
‘Oh!’ the elf said and started bouncing on his toes. ‘But Woldy knows about Harry Potter, Woldy does! Dobby told Woldy all about him in his letters from Hogwarts.’ The elf bowed deeply, his nose touching the dusty carpet of the library. ‘Woldy is honored, sir,’
*
’So this is where you work?’ he said as he followed Dobby into the Manor’s kitchens.
Dobby shook his head, his ears flapping back and forth as he did so. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘No, Dobby works everywhere in the house, Master Draco.’ He walked steadily forwards, dancing between pots and pans, workbenches and other elves as he did so. Draco had trouble keeping up, he was bigger than the house-elf - even though not by much - and less used to the busy kitchen.
‘This is where Dobby lives, though, sir,’ Dobby said and walked through the smallest of double doors Draco had ever seen. Ducking his head, he followed the elf and gasped as he took in the scene around him.
At least a hundred tiny little beds resided against the walls, all facing each other and all neatly made. Beside each bed was a tiny lamp resting on an equally tiny table.
‘Dobby’s bed is here, Master Draco,’ Dobby said as he pointed towards one of the beds nearer the door. ‘And Woldy’s is right next to him.’
Dobby smiled from ear to ear. ‘Dobby has been taking Woldy all over the house, Master Draco, to teach him all about what he has to do,’ he nodded happily. ‘And Woldy already really likes it.’
Draco was still taking in all the little beds. He’d always wondered where the elves went after they were done for the day, or if they were ever really done at all. Now that he knew, it made a lot more sense. He walked around the room while Dobby chatted away some more about his chores and the gardens, which he liked best. Draco knew this, of course. They’d met in the Gardens one day, while chasing one of his father’s peacocks. He’d stumbled and fallen over, scraping his knee. Dobby had been the first to come to his aid and had immediately brought him to his mother.
His father hadn’t liked it. ‘They need to stay out of sight!’ he had said angrily, and Draco knew Dobby had punished himself afterwards. From that moment on they’d met in secret, on his request, and Dobby had shown him all the hidden corners and rooms around the house. He often had the feeling his mother knew, and was very happy that she didn’t tell him off for it. Sometimes Dobby had come to him with his ears or hands bandaged, but Draco never understood why. Dobby didn’t seem to want to tell him, though, so Draco had just accepted it for what it was.
Back inside the kitchen Dobby let Draco pick his favourite cakes and sweets before sneaking out into the garden and eating them - together - under one of the many Manor’s apple trees.
*
Harry started to notice that the snippets of Draco’s life he was getting were closely related to what he had done, seen or said that day and so - curious as he was - he tried to find out new things about the body he was now inhabiting. Woldy helped him with this, showing him what Dobby had shown Draco all those many years ago: the kitchens, the house-elves’ bedroom and all the secret nooks and crannies of the house. Harry quickly grew familiar with its many passageways and was often reminded of Hogwarts.
Narcissa hadn’t been seen since he’d come back from Azkaban, and Harry was starting to wonder if she was avoiding him when he ran into her in the dining room. He had just sat down for breakfast when she came walking in, travelling clothes still wet with the drizzle of that day.
‘Good morning, dear,’ she said to him and handed her things to Clifton, who had followed her in at a distance. Her hair was tied back in a bun on the back of her head. She was wearing high trousers that reached up until the middle of her stomach - a row of buttons in the front of it - and a wide blouse that was tucked inside of it. She sat down elegantly as Clifton left the room with her things.
‘Good morning,’ Harry repeated, happy to see her again and, realising he’d missed the woman, he asked her, ‘Where have you been? I haven’t seen you around.’
She smiled at him. It was a knowing sort of smile, the one she’d given him many times before when she’d understood something he had not yet completely grasped as a child.
Puzzled, he was about to ask her when Clifton returned, carrying a silver plate containing their post.
‘The Daily Prophet,’ he said, holding the plate out to Harry who grabbed the paper, ‘and a letter for Mrs Malfoy.’
Narcissa lifted the heavy envelope off the plate and opened it with a flick of her finger. Her eyes were moving quickly from left to right as a scowl appeared on her delicate features.
‘Your father’s trial has been temporarily suspended,’ she said as she folded the letter back up and returned it to the envelope, which she put down on the table.
Harry glanced at the beige parchment, the fine handwriting of one of Kingsley’s secretaries clearly visible on the front. ‘Did it say why?’ he asked, and now it was his time to unfold his post.
The front of the Prophet was - like almost every day since the beginning of the trials - littered with photographs of Death Eaters and followers of Voldemort's regime who were going to be tried that month. Harry spotted the now pale and blotchy face of Dolores Umbridge jump out at him, but indeed the photo of Lucius Malfoy was missing.
‘Because of outside circumstances,’ she said, her voice cold. She picked up one of the heavy teapots and poured herself a cup, then handed the pot to him.
Breakfast with his mother felt normal, and he went through the motions without thinking about them twice. It felt natural to talk to her, and the anger and worry that were so clear in her voice were mirrored in his stomach. Looking at his plate he felt the hunger melt away, but decided to eat something anyway, knowing that Woldy had made sure to put some of his favourites on the table that morning.
‘Your father sends his regards.’
The words seemed to snap Harry immediately out of his train of thought. She was looking at him expectantly, and his answer came before he had time to think about it.
‘How is he, is he okay?’
Her eyes were still searching his, though he didn’t understand why.
She nodded. ‘He is as well as one would expect him to be under the circumstances,’
Harry nodded in return.
‘He was sad to have missed you, Draco,’ but before Harry could open his mouth to answer her, explain why he couldn’t leave the house right now, she had already continued, ‘I know you’re angry,’ Harry blinked. He’d been angry with his father? ‘but it wasn’t…’ She let her hand rest gently on her forehead as if pained by the memory. ‘He does love you, you know.’
Harry nodded again, and decided that staring at his plate was the best course of action right now. Draco had seemed desperate when he’d cornered Harry at the Ministry. Had something happened afterwards? What was she talking about?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he put his napkin back on the table before walking out. Maybe Woldy knew what had happened.
But he didn’t. He shook his head, making his ears flap in the way Dobby’s had all those years ago.
‘Woldy was never there when Master Draco went to visit Master Lucius,’ he said as Harry handed him another book from one of the top shelves which the elf would put on the designated pile. ‘And Woldy doesn’t listen to conversations he shouldn’t listen to.’
Harry chuckled at the defiant tone the elf had taken with him.
‘Oh,’ he heard Woldy say and saw him look nervously up from him, to something else Harry couldn’t see.
He quickly climbed down the ladder - jumping from the fourth step from the bottom - and walked over to where Woldy was standing.
‘Oh,’ he repeated when he saw who was standing in the library.
‘Good afternoon yourself,’ his own voice told him. Draco walked slowly up to him and pushed a scroll inside his hands before glancing over at Woldy, who was still looking nervously from Harry to Draco, and back. An odd look settled over Draco’s face, but he quickly managed to hide it, focusing back on Harry.
‘Interesting hide-out you have here,’ he said with a snarl and walked past Harry, giving him a small shove as he did so. Harry bit his tongue, eager but not willing to raise to the bait, and unrolled the scroll instead. On it was the neat handwriting of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Dear Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy,
As Minister for Magic it is my duty and obligation to inform you of the progress concerning your current situation.
I regret to inform you that no such progress has been made. However, as the current status of both you is currently home-bound, it is my utmost pleasure that I can share with you a development in the approach to the abovementioned research.
That is why, from this day onward until we, the Auror Office and myself representing the Ministry of Magic, deem the investigation fit for closure, you’ll both be working together at Malfoy Manor, hopefully with blossoming future results.
With kind regards,
Minister for Magic
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Harry stared at the scroll a little longer than necessary before letting it roll itself back up. He looked up at Draco.
‘I got the exact same one,’ Draco said, waving an identical scroll around. ‘Oh don’t look so surprised, Potty, yes, I checked both scrolls. Same thing, word for word. It seems your dear Minister friend doesn’t seem too sure of your version of the truth, does he?’ Malfoy grinned smugly. ‘How was Azkaban?’
Harry flew forwards before he even fully realised what he was doing. His hand grabbed the hem of Malfoy’s shirt - his own shirt - and he slammed him hard into the wall.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Malfoy wheezed. ‘Not unless you want me to give the Minister a quick call.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ Harry said, but let go anyway. Malfoy straightened his shirt as if nothing had happened.
‘No, I wouldn’t. Because, quite frankly, I prefer my own bodily freedom over temporary revenge.’
Harry glared at him. How he could’ve ever sympathised with this bastard, he had no idea. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Just as slow as you were in schol, I see,’ Malfoy kept on taunting. ‘And here I thought you’d actually managed to read the letter.’
‘Do youwant me to break your nose?’ Harry almost yelled. His frustration was at its boiling point, and he knew for a fact that if he’d had his wand, he would already have hexed his own body into next Sunday, Azkaban be damned.
Draco walked around the open space Harry had claimed as his workplace, tapping several of the bookcases, torches and piles as he went.
‘I’d prefer you not to, actually,’ he said with his back to Harry, still tapping different things.
Harry heard him sigh.
‘How’s mother?’
‘What do you mean, “How’s mother”?’ Harry spluttered.
‘You really are daft, aren’t you?’ Malfoy said as he turned back around.
‘I’m not - !’ Harry started, but decided against defending himself against such a crude statement.
‘Should Woldy go?’
‘No!’ they both shouted at the same time, making the elf jump up and grab his ears.
Harry looked at Malfoy, who was looking right back at him, then at the elf.
‘How did you meet him?’ Malfoy asked, glaring, and Harry knew he meant Woldy. ‘Are you okay?’ he then asked the elf, who nodded happily.
‘Yes,’ Woldy said and let go of his ears who started flapping with the motion of his head right away. ‘Master Harry has been real kind to Woldy, Master Draco, sir. He has!’
‘You’ve told him?!’ Malfoy asked in disbelief. ‘Are you insane? What if he tells anybody else? What if he tells mother?’
Feeling oddly satisfied at Malfoy’s obvious worry, he missed his chance to taunt. Woldy had already answered for him.
‘Master Harry hasn’t told anybody!’ he said, the defiant tone he had used earlier back in his voice. ‘Woldy knew Master Draco wasn’t Master Draco. House-elves always knows these things, Master Draco should know.’ The elf nodded once as if to emphasise his point.
Malfoy’s mouth was slightly agape now.
Sighing, and hating himself for it a little bit, Harry decided to be the better person in the conversation, and answered Malfoy in the most normal tone he’d ever used with him.
‘I don’t know how he knew, either,’ he said, ‘but he’s speaking the truth.’
‘Of course he’s speaking the truth, you -’
‘Would it kill you to be polite?’ Harry interrupted him. ‘Listen, I like this situation just as little as you do, and I’m just as dissatisfied about...’ He waved from himself to Malfoy and back. ‘But if we’re going to keep arguing it’s not going to get us anywhere. And obviously Kingsley needs our help.’
He saw Malfoy grin.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Except for stuck in the wrong body and you in Azkaban, probably.’ Malfoy said, still grinning, and Harry realised that it was an actual honest smile.
He cleared his throat, not managing to suppress his own smile at the joke completely. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s do this, then.’
He told Malfoy everything he’d found out, often handing him a book or two to show him a spell, curse or myth that could’ve anything to do with their situation. He also told him about the mysterious man, but Malfoy had merely shaken his head at that. Woldy, in the meantime, was helping by bringing them fresh tea and small sandwiches, which they ate under the flickering light of the torches.
‘So, we’ve got nothing, then,’ Malfoy said after Harry had finished talking. He was lying on his back, absentmindedly nibbling on one of the last sandwiches.
‘What do you mean, we’ve got nothing?’ Harry felt offended.
Malfoy sat back up. ‘Don’t,’ he said and pointed the sandwich at Harry’s face. ‘I mean exactly what I’m saying, and you should admit it, too.’ He put the sandwich back on the plate. ‘We’ve got guesses and vague indications, but no facts.’
Harry bit his tongue. Malfoy was right.
‘So this hat bloke,’ Malfoy continued. ‘He only appears when you blink?’
Harry nodded. ‘What?’ he said when he saw Malfoy was staring at him with a very strange look in his eyes.
‘Nothing,’ he said, and before Harry could protest he yawned and got up.
‘I hope you know where to find the guest rooms,’ he said sleepily. ‘Because I’m going to sleep in my own bed. C’mon, Woldy.’
Malfoy walked off, leaving a somewhat confused Harry sitting alone in the library.
*
He clutched his purple dragon a little bit tighter against his chest. The stuffed animal was a lot more worn out than it had been many years ago, but he didn’t care. A set of voices was softly carrying up the stairs, getting closer, making Draco scrunch his eyes shut tightly.
When his bedroom door opened, his last hope of being left alone melted away.
‘Now look at that,’ the first voice said. He heard somebody laugh. ‘Ickle little Draco is still sleeping with his teddy bear.’
He recognised the voice now. It was his aunt’s Bellatrix.
‘Wakey, wakey, Draco,’ she sing-songed as she came closer, laughing again. ‘It’s time to play!’
Draco didn’t move. He wouldn’t move. He would not give her the satisfaction of his fear.
‘I know you’re not sleeping.’
Draco’s eyes flew open. Her voice had come out at a whisper, yet it was loud enough for him to understand every single word, and her breath had felt hot on his face.
‘There you are,’ she cackled and grabbed his chin with one of her long-fingered hands. He wrenched it out of her grasp and moved back against the headboard.
‘So pathetic,’ she whispered and looked back over her shoulder at the man she’d brought. Draco didn’t recognise him.
‘Will you do the honours tonight, or shall I?’ Her grin was dangerously wide now.
Draco shivered. He didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to feel. Clutching his dragon even tighter to himself he pulled up his knees, bowed his head and closed his eyes, praying for it to be over soon.
‘Crucio!’
*
Draco slowly blinked against the heavy sunlight. He was lying draped over the side of his bed, his arm hanging in a loopy angle, his breath coming in short gasps. A dripping sensation alerted him that his nose had started bleeding again. It usually did these days, after…
Forcing the thought away, he tried to lift his head enough to look around for his dragon, locating it somewhat further away on the floor. A big slash had ripped open his stomach, white flocks of stuffing lying everywhere. A sob escaped his throat as something other than blood started trickling down his face.
A quiet shuffling alerted him to another presence in the room. He closed his eyes quickly, not wanting to know who else had come for him.
However, it were no human hands who lifted up his face and mumbled a continuous ‘oh no’.
He sighed and tried a smile, but failed, turning into a grimace as pain soared through his body once more. He flinched.
‘Oh no,’ the elf said again. ‘Those bad, bad people hurting Master Draco! Woldy will… Woldy shall...’
He heard the elf stomp, his tiny hands still firmly on his face. ‘Lie back, Master Draco,’ he ordered, and Draco tried to oblige, but failed. ‘Woldy is going to take care of you, yes he is. And Woldy is going to make certain Master Draco will feel like his old self again before he knows it.’
When he next opened his eyes, it was to a warm cloth on his forehead and the sobbing of somebody next to him. He opened his eyes with much more ease than he had this morning, and found his father sitting on the side of his bed, clutching some of the bedding in his hand. Something else was moving swiftly around the room, and when he looked up he saw that it was Woldy.
‘I’m so sorry,’ his father croaked. ‘It’s all my fault, Draco, all my fault.’ He let out another heavy sob.
‘I’m so, so sorry.’
Harry woke up before the sun had fully risen. It wasn’t surprising, as he’d gone to bed earlier than normal as well. The memory he’d dreamed had been disturbing, and with that thought in mind he got up to take a shower.
However, no amount of water could shake off the uncomfortable feeling of having witnessed something so incredibly cruel, and after a good hour he gave up.
He quickly put on some fresh clothes, which he suspected had been laid out by Woldy - as he had no wardrobe handy - and started towards the dining room, wondering if he could already get breakfast at such an early hour. However, when Harry came past his own bedroom - Malfoy’s bedroom - he saw that the door was slightly ajar.
He’d never been very good at resisting sudden urges of curiosity, and so he opened the door slightly further and peeked in. Draco was lying curled up on his bed, the covers having slipped off him slightly at some point during the night, and in his hand - Harry’s heart sank - there was a stuffed purple dragon. He tiptoed backwards quickly, suddenly nauseous, and decided breakfast maybe wasn’t such a good idea already after all.
After having taken a long walk through the gardens, he finally felt ready enough to get some food inside his stomach. He had expected Draco to be done eating already, guessing it had to be somewhere around ten in the morning, but he was wrong.
‘Draco,’ his mother said somewhat distantly. ‘I didn’t know you were having Mr Potter over as a guest.’
‘Neither did I,’ he said, ‘until yesterday afternoon.’
Narcissa inclined her head. ‘Mr Potter was so kind as to explain to me the situation’ She sipped slowly from her cup.
‘He did?’ Harry said uncertainly, looking from Draco to her and back.
‘Indeed he did,’ she said. ‘And as odd as I might find it that the Ministry has so suddenly decided to put us under supervision, I am grateful Mr Potter has offered to do the job.’ She nodded politely at Draco.
‘I… of course,’ Harry said. He had to admit that it was the perfect excuse.
‘For how long did you say you were staying again, then?’ Narcissa addressed Draco again as Harry swiftly sat down and poured himself a cup of tea, trying to catch Draco’s attention, but failing. Draco seemed way too focused on his mother to even grant him as much as a single glance.
‘I didn’t,’ he said with his most charming smile, which Harry made a mental note to practise in the mirror when he’d get back into his own body.
‘But I am in no doubt that the Minister will let us know when the time has come for me to leave again.’
Narcissa sipped her cup again. ‘Well,’ she said after she’d put it back down, ‘I hope you’ll be able to make yourself at home. And if you have any questions I’m sure Draco would be delighted to show you around.’
‘Oh,’ Draco said, ‘I have no doubt about that, Mrs Malfoy.’
*
They’d retreated back into the library for the afternoon, Harry still reading book after book while Draco was scribbling away in a mad fashion.
‘What was that supposed to mean, anyway?’ Harry asked. It was the first thing that either of them had said since they’d entered the gloomy room.
‘Hmm?’ Draco asked distantly, sucking on the tip of his quill. Harry looked at the odd expression it caused on his face and wondered if Draco ever thought the same about his own body.
‘What you said to m… your mother,’ he said.
‘What about it?’ Draco asked, still not looking at Harry.
‘About not having any doubts that I’d be willing to show you around.’ He was starting to feel silly. Had he heard things that hadn’t been there?
Draco sighed, put his parchment and quill down and looked up at him.
‘What are you talking about, Potter?’
‘It sounded taunting, I thought we’d established-’
‘Of course I was taunting, and we’d established fighting wouldn’t get us anywhere.’ Draco said. ‘This wasn’t fighting.’
‘Fine,’ Harry said, and he saw Malfoy roll his eyes before focusing back on his scroll.
It wasn’t until they were walking down to dinner together that they spoke again. The sun was already setting, and Harry’s stomach was grumbling loudly.
‘Can’t you stop that?’ Malfoy asked him.
‘Stop what?’
‘Your stomach. It’s annoying.’
‘My stomach is annoying?’ Harry asked confounded. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Actually, I am.’ Malfoy said and looked at him. ‘I never let it growl when I was still in there. What have you been doing with me, anyway?’
They were turning another corner away from the library, and were now able to smell the food coming from downstairs. Harry’s stomach gave another loud growl.
‘What have I…? Oh knock it off,’ he said as he saw Malfoy scowl in annoyance. ‘I really should have broken your nose when I had the chance. See how you’d have liked it.’
‘You know,’ Malfoy said, ‘for all the talking we do about fighting I’m surprised you never punched that fat cousin of yours.’
‘What?!’ Harry said, stopping. His stomach had just dropped several inches. ‘What do you know about Dudley?’
Draco turned, having taken a few more steps before realising Harry hadn’t been walking with him anymore. ‘As much as you know about my past, I imagine.’
Harry gaped at him. They’d never discussed the dreams he’d been having, nor had he ever thought of asking Draco if he was going through the same thing.
‘Close my mouth, please,’ Draco said and Harry obliged quickly. ‘Listen,’ he continued. ‘I don’t care what you’ve seen or what you’re thinking, I’m not a pity case.’
‘Well, neither am I!’ Harry said but Draco merely snorted before continuing his way towards the dining room, which Harry followed in silence.
‘I really think you should’ve punched him, though,’ Draco said before walking through the opened doors, and even though Harry couldn’t see it, he knew Draco was smiling.
Harry smiled back.
Chapter 7: Confessions
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 5877
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014
BLINK ON AO3
*
’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)
‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor
- CHAPTER 6 -
The Ally
Harry had awoken in a cold sweat that night, and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after. The memory was burned into his mind like the Dark Mark into the flesh of his arm. He had flung himself over the edge of the bed as another wave of nausea had hit him and had thrown up heavily on to the floor. Not wanting to stay in the room any longer, he’d got up and had roamed the dark corridors - flinching at every shadow - until the sun had been bright and shining.
Breakfast had been welcome that morning, and even though his stomach was still slightly cramping, he’d eaten a healthy amount of food. Narcissa hadn’t been there, and for that he’d been glad. He would’ve had no idea how to explain to her why he was feeling and looking the way he did, even though he guessed Azkaban nightmares would have been a reasonably believable excuse. However, he was still glad he hadn’t needed to use it; there was no point in worrying her any more than she already did.
It had been several days since that night, and even though the dreams had continued to flood him whenever he slept, he’d had no more unlucky confrontations with the mysterious man, who scared him more these days than anything had in a long while. He couldn’t help wondering time and time again what would’ve happened if he had actually managed to touch Harry, and if the reason he’d felt so very bad afterwards had been because the man had come closer to him than he’d ever had before.
He’d moved into a deeper part of the library that day: a part where the bookcases were so crammed together that no sunlight managed to get in and the walls were lit solemnly with torches, even though the day hadn’t even reached noon. Many a day he’d been spending in the library now, without news from any of his friends or Kingsley and without wand. He hadn’t received permission to leave the Manor yet either, but somehow he hadn’t been expecting that anyway. He had figured that if Draco was being supervised, so was he, and that his best course of action right now was to go back to the original plan: research.
Having taken another book about wizarding myths out of one of the high shelves, he slowly descended the old ladder he’d been standing on, the steps creaking loudly under his feet. He turned as he reached the floor, but backed away quickly - resulting in him tripping over one of the piles of books on the ground - as he thought he’d seen movement at the end of the isle.
When he looked back up he saw that his scare had been for nothing - like the last couple of times - and again he wondered if he might be going slowly mental. Brushing some of the dust off his clothes, he set out the way he’d planned to: to a little corner filled with books and references that he thought might be useful in his research. He sat down between two stacks of books - underneath one of the bigger torches - and opened the one he’d been carrying, looking for its index and word register.
Hours passed, and slowly the stacks around him were getting bigger and bigger, when he heard it: steps. He bolted upright, knocking over one of the stacks that held books he would be placing back in their rightful spots later that day, and backed up against the wall. His mouth was dry and his heart was beating heavily as the steps were getting louder. He wondered if he had blinked and if he had, why he was still able to move at his normal speed. Trying to swallow, but failing due his mouth being completely dry, he dared to call out.
‘Show yourself,’ he said, trying to sound authoritative, but heard the quiver in his voice nonetheless.
The footsteps faltered. Harry picked up the oil lamp he’d put on one of the books and lifted it high up in to the air.
Another couple of footsteps sounded, this time closer by. Harry turned quickly, making the lamp swing with the motion of his arm, its hinges creaking softly.
Harry’s breath was coming quicker now. There was nowhere to go and he had no way of defending himself except for an old lamp and a bunch of books. He thought of running, but had no idea where to. Surely the man would catch him anyway, and then he’d rather stay and fight.
When the voice of the person approaching sounded, Harry nearly laughed with relief.
‘Woldy didn’t want to scare Master Draco,’ it said softly from behind one of the bookcases. ‘Woldy is very sorry indeed.’
Harry lowered the oil lamp and took a deep and shaky breath, trying to calm his heart. ‘It’s okay, Woldy,’ Harry said, the same odd emotion hitting him as the elf stepped into sight, again with the same two mismatched socks.
Looking at the nervous elf, something else hit him. ‘Woldy,’ he asked carefully, ‘you wouldn’t have been following me around for the last few days, would you?’
The elf nodded. ‘Oh yes, Master Draco, Woldy has,’ he said happily, but his eyes quickly grew wide and his voice faltered in a soft squeak. ‘Unless Master Malfoy wouldn’t want Woldy to follow him. Then Woldy apologises of course, and Woldy will punish himself severely for making Master uncomfortable.’
‘No, no!’ Harry said quickly. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He sat down the oil lamp from where he had picked it up earlier and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Just don’t do it again, okay?’
The elf nodded uncertainly.
‘Why were you following me around anyway?’ Harry asked.
The elf’s eyes grew wide again, but this time not in fear. ‘Master called Woldy Dobby, sir. And Woldy was curious why Master would do so.’
Harry remembered the occurrence very well. The flappy ears and the socks had thrown him off completely and for a moment, just for a moment, he’d honestly believed that Dobby had returned from the dead.
He smiled sadly. ‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘I remember that,’ and then added, ‘did you know him?’
Woldy nodded happily. ‘Yes Master, sir, Woldy did!’ He waggled a little closer to Harry and pointed two long fingers at his socks. ‘Woldy got these from him, he did,’ he said happily. ‘Dobby told Woldy to always wear them, and Woldy does, sir, Woldy does.’
Harry looked more closely at the socks now and saw that the purple one indeed had the Hogwarts crest on the side of it.
‘This one,’ Woldy said as he pointed to the sock Harry had been looking at, ‘Dobby got from the headmaster. But the headmaster had accidentally given Dobby two of the same socks, so Dobby knitted this one,’ he now pointed at the yellow one, ‘all by himself, and gave one of each to Woldy. It made Woldy really happy, sir, because now Dobby and Woldy would be wearing the same socks!’
Harry had laughed at the elf’s statement. He sounded so much like Dobby it almost pained his heart, but warmed him at the same time. He’d once made the mistake to give Dobby two identical socks, and the elf had told him the exact same thing Woldy had just now. Harry wondered for the first time if Dobby had ever knitted a second pair for the pair Harry had given him, too, like he’d had with what Woldy was probably referring to as Dumbledore’s gift.
‘So you and Dobby were friends, then?’ Harry asked the elf, who immediately started shaking his head.
‘Oh no, sir. Dobby wasn’t Woldy’s friend. No, Dobby was Woldy’s father.’
It was as if a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head. Dobby had had a son. And Harry had never known; had never even asked.
‘That’s why Lady Narcissa let Woldy keep the socks, sir,’ Woldy said. ‘Lady Narcissa and Master Draco both.’
Their eyes met. Harry didn’t know what to say. Did the elf know? But before he could ask, Woldy already answered his question.
‘Woldy knows what’s been happening to Master Draco, sir, but Woldy doesn’t know you. Woldy was scared at first, yes he was, but then Master called Woldy Dobby and Woldy was curious now. So Woldy followed Master.’
‘I...’ Harry started, but stopped. Once more he had been proven that wizards kept underestimating the power of other magical creatures.
‘I’m… My name is Harry,’ he finally decided. ‘Harry Potter.’
The last part had merely come out in a whisper, baffled and shocked as he was by his recent discoveries.
‘Oh!’ the elf said and started bouncing on his toes. ‘But Woldy knows about Harry Potter, Woldy does! Dobby told Woldy all about him in his letters from Hogwarts.’ The elf bowed deeply, his nose touching the dusty carpet of the library. ‘Woldy is honored, sir,’
*
’So this is where you work?’ he said as he followed Dobby into the Manor’s kitchens.
Dobby shook his head, his ears flapping back and forth as he did so. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘No, Dobby works everywhere in the house, Master Draco.’ He walked steadily forwards, dancing between pots and pans, workbenches and other elves as he did so. Draco had trouble keeping up, he was bigger than the house-elf - even though not by much - and less used to the busy kitchen.
‘This is where Dobby lives, though, sir,’ Dobby said and walked through the smallest of double doors Draco had ever seen. Ducking his head, he followed the elf and gasped as he took in the scene around him.
At least a hundred tiny little beds resided against the walls, all facing each other and all neatly made. Beside each bed was a tiny lamp resting on an equally tiny table.
‘Dobby’s bed is here, Master Draco,’ Dobby said as he pointed towards one of the beds nearer the door. ‘And Woldy’s is right next to him.’
Dobby smiled from ear to ear. ‘Dobby has been taking Woldy all over the house, Master Draco, to teach him all about what he has to do,’ he nodded happily. ‘And Woldy already really likes it.’
Draco was still taking in all the little beds. He’d always wondered where the elves went after they were done for the day, or if they were ever really done at all. Now that he knew, it made a lot more sense. He walked around the room while Dobby chatted away some more about his chores and the gardens, which he liked best. Draco knew this, of course. They’d met in the Gardens one day, while chasing one of his father’s peacocks. He’d stumbled and fallen over, scraping his knee. Dobby had been the first to come to his aid and had immediately brought him to his mother.
His father hadn’t liked it. ‘They need to stay out of sight!’ he had said angrily, and Draco knew Dobby had punished himself afterwards. From that moment on they’d met in secret, on his request, and Dobby had shown him all the hidden corners and rooms around the house. He often had the feeling his mother knew, and was very happy that she didn’t tell him off for it. Sometimes Dobby had come to him with his ears or hands bandaged, but Draco never understood why. Dobby didn’t seem to want to tell him, though, so Draco had just accepted it for what it was.
Back inside the kitchen Dobby let Draco pick his favourite cakes and sweets before sneaking out into the garden and eating them - together - under one of the many Manor’s apple trees.
*
Harry started to notice that the snippets of Draco’s life he was getting were closely related to what he had done, seen or said that day and so - curious as he was - he tried to find out new things about the body he was now inhabiting. Woldy helped him with this, showing him what Dobby had shown Draco all those many years ago: the kitchens, the house-elves’ bedroom and all the secret nooks and crannies of the house. Harry quickly grew familiar with its many passageways and was often reminded of Hogwarts.
Narcissa hadn’t been seen since he’d come back from Azkaban, and Harry was starting to wonder if she was avoiding him when he ran into her in the dining room. He had just sat down for breakfast when she came walking in, travelling clothes still wet with the drizzle of that day.
‘Good morning, dear,’ she said to him and handed her things to Clifton, who had followed her in at a distance. Her hair was tied back in a bun on the back of her head. She was wearing high trousers that reached up until the middle of her stomach - a row of buttons in the front of it - and a wide blouse that was tucked inside of it. She sat down elegantly as Clifton left the room with her things.
‘Good morning,’ Harry repeated, happy to see her again and, realising he’d missed the woman, he asked her, ‘Where have you been? I haven’t seen you around.’
She smiled at him. It was a knowing sort of smile, the one she’d given him many times before when she’d understood something he had not yet completely grasped as a child.
Puzzled, he was about to ask her when Clifton returned, carrying a silver plate containing their post.
‘The Daily Prophet,’ he said, holding the plate out to Harry who grabbed the paper, ‘and a letter for Mrs Malfoy.’
Narcissa lifted the heavy envelope off the plate and opened it with a flick of her finger. Her eyes were moving quickly from left to right as a scowl appeared on her delicate features.
‘Your father’s trial has been temporarily suspended,’ she said as she folded the letter back up and returned it to the envelope, which she put down on the table.
Harry glanced at the beige parchment, the fine handwriting of one of Kingsley’s secretaries clearly visible on the front. ‘Did it say why?’ he asked, and now it was his time to unfold his post.
The front of the Prophet was - like almost every day since the beginning of the trials - littered with photographs of Death Eaters and followers of Voldemort's regime who were going to be tried that month. Harry spotted the now pale and blotchy face of Dolores Umbridge jump out at him, but indeed the photo of Lucius Malfoy was missing.
‘Because of outside circumstances,’ she said, her voice cold. She picked up one of the heavy teapots and poured herself a cup, then handed the pot to him.
Breakfast with his mother felt normal, and he went through the motions without thinking about them twice. It felt natural to talk to her, and the anger and worry that were so clear in her voice were mirrored in his stomach. Looking at his plate he felt the hunger melt away, but decided to eat something anyway, knowing that Woldy had made sure to put some of his favourites on the table that morning.
‘Your father sends his regards.’
The words seemed to snap Harry immediately out of his train of thought. She was looking at him expectantly, and his answer came before he had time to think about it.
‘How is he, is he okay?’
Her eyes were still searching his, though he didn’t understand why.
She nodded. ‘He is as well as one would expect him to be under the circumstances,’
Harry nodded in return.
‘He was sad to have missed you, Draco,’ but before Harry could open his mouth to answer her, explain why he couldn’t leave the house right now, she had already continued, ‘I know you’re angry,’ Harry blinked. He’d been angry with his father? ‘but it wasn’t…’ She let her hand rest gently on her forehead as if pained by the memory. ‘He does love you, you know.’
Harry nodded again, and decided that staring at his plate was the best course of action right now. Draco had seemed desperate when he’d cornered Harry at the Ministry. Had something happened afterwards? What was she talking about?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he put his napkin back on the table before walking out. Maybe Woldy knew what had happened.
But he didn’t. He shook his head, making his ears flap in the way Dobby’s had all those years ago.
‘Woldy was never there when Master Draco went to visit Master Lucius,’ he said as Harry handed him another book from one of the top shelves which the elf would put on the designated pile. ‘And Woldy doesn’t listen to conversations he shouldn’t listen to.’
Harry chuckled at the defiant tone the elf had taken with him.
‘Oh,’ he heard Woldy say and saw him look nervously up from him, to something else Harry couldn’t see.
He quickly climbed down the ladder - jumping from the fourth step from the bottom - and walked over to where Woldy was standing.
‘Oh,’ he repeated when he saw who was standing in the library.
‘Good afternoon yourself,’ his own voice told him. Draco walked slowly up to him and pushed a scroll inside his hands before glancing over at Woldy, who was still looking nervously from Harry to Draco, and back. An odd look settled over Draco’s face, but he quickly managed to hide it, focusing back on Harry.
‘Interesting hide-out you have here,’ he said with a snarl and walked past Harry, giving him a small shove as he did so. Harry bit his tongue, eager but not willing to raise to the bait, and unrolled the scroll instead. On it was the neat handwriting of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Dear Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy,
As Minister for Magic it is my duty and obligation to inform you of the progress concerning your current situation.
I regret to inform you that no such progress has been made. However, as the current status of both you is currently home-bound, it is my utmost pleasure that I can share with you a development in the approach to the abovementioned research.
That is why, from this day onward until we, the Auror Office and myself representing the Ministry of Magic, deem the investigation fit for closure, you’ll both be working together at Malfoy Manor, hopefully with blossoming future results.
With kind regards,
Minister for Magic
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Harry stared at the scroll a little longer than necessary before letting it roll itself back up. He looked up at Draco.
‘I got the exact same one,’ Draco said, waving an identical scroll around. ‘Oh don’t look so surprised, Potty, yes, I checked both scrolls. Same thing, word for word. It seems your dear Minister friend doesn’t seem too sure of your version of the truth, does he?’ Malfoy grinned smugly. ‘How was Azkaban?’
Harry flew forwards before he even fully realised what he was doing. His hand grabbed the hem of Malfoy’s shirt - his own shirt - and he slammed him hard into the wall.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Malfoy wheezed. ‘Not unless you want me to give the Minister a quick call.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ Harry said, but let go anyway. Malfoy straightened his shirt as if nothing had happened.
‘No, I wouldn’t. Because, quite frankly, I prefer my own bodily freedom over temporary revenge.’
Harry glared at him. How he could’ve ever sympathised with this bastard, he had no idea. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Just as slow as you were in schol, I see,’ Malfoy kept on taunting. ‘And here I thought you’d actually managed to read the letter.’
‘Do youwant me to break your nose?’ Harry almost yelled. His frustration was at its boiling point, and he knew for a fact that if he’d had his wand, he would already have hexed his own body into next Sunday, Azkaban be damned.
Draco walked around the open space Harry had claimed as his workplace, tapping several of the bookcases, torches and piles as he went.
‘I’d prefer you not to, actually,’ he said with his back to Harry, still tapping different things.
Harry heard him sigh.
‘How’s mother?’
‘What do you mean, “How’s mother”?’ Harry spluttered.
‘You really are daft, aren’t you?’ Malfoy said as he turned back around.
‘I’m not - !’ Harry started, but decided against defending himself against such a crude statement.
‘Should Woldy go?’
‘No!’ they both shouted at the same time, making the elf jump up and grab his ears.
Harry looked at Malfoy, who was looking right back at him, then at the elf.
‘How did you meet him?’ Malfoy asked, glaring, and Harry knew he meant Woldy. ‘Are you okay?’ he then asked the elf, who nodded happily.
‘Yes,’ Woldy said and let go of his ears who started flapping with the motion of his head right away. ‘Master Harry has been real kind to Woldy, Master Draco, sir. He has!’
‘You’ve told him?!’ Malfoy asked in disbelief. ‘Are you insane? What if he tells anybody else? What if he tells mother?’
Feeling oddly satisfied at Malfoy’s obvious worry, he missed his chance to taunt. Woldy had already answered for him.
‘Master Harry hasn’t told anybody!’ he said, the defiant tone he had used earlier back in his voice. ‘Woldy knew Master Draco wasn’t Master Draco. House-elves always knows these things, Master Draco should know.’ The elf nodded once as if to emphasise his point.
Malfoy’s mouth was slightly agape now.
Sighing, and hating himself for it a little bit, Harry decided to be the better person in the conversation, and answered Malfoy in the most normal tone he’d ever used with him.
‘I don’t know how he knew, either,’ he said, ‘but he’s speaking the truth.’
‘Of course he’s speaking the truth, you -’
‘Would it kill you to be polite?’ Harry interrupted him. ‘Listen, I like this situation just as little as you do, and I’m just as dissatisfied about...’ He waved from himself to Malfoy and back. ‘But if we’re going to keep arguing it’s not going to get us anywhere. And obviously Kingsley needs our help.’
He saw Malfoy grin.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Except for stuck in the wrong body and you in Azkaban, probably.’ Malfoy said, still grinning, and Harry realised that it was an actual honest smile.
He cleared his throat, not managing to suppress his own smile at the joke completely. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s do this, then.’
He told Malfoy everything he’d found out, often handing him a book or two to show him a spell, curse or myth that could’ve anything to do with their situation. He also told him about the mysterious man, but Malfoy had merely shaken his head at that. Woldy, in the meantime, was helping by bringing them fresh tea and small sandwiches, which they ate under the flickering light of the torches.
‘So, we’ve got nothing, then,’ Malfoy said after Harry had finished talking. He was lying on his back, absentmindedly nibbling on one of the last sandwiches.
‘What do you mean, we’ve got nothing?’ Harry felt offended.
Malfoy sat back up. ‘Don’t,’ he said and pointed the sandwich at Harry’s face. ‘I mean exactly what I’m saying, and you should admit it, too.’ He put the sandwich back on the plate. ‘We’ve got guesses and vague indications, but no facts.’
Harry bit his tongue. Malfoy was right.
‘So this hat bloke,’ Malfoy continued. ‘He only appears when you blink?’
Harry nodded. ‘What?’ he said when he saw Malfoy was staring at him with a very strange look in his eyes.
‘Nothing,’ he said, and before Harry could protest he yawned and got up.
‘I hope you know where to find the guest rooms,’ he said sleepily. ‘Because I’m going to sleep in my own bed. C’mon, Woldy.’
Malfoy walked off, leaving a somewhat confused Harry sitting alone in the library.
*
He clutched his purple dragon a little bit tighter against his chest. The stuffed animal was a lot more worn out than it had been many years ago, but he didn’t care. A set of voices was softly carrying up the stairs, getting closer, making Draco scrunch his eyes shut tightly.
When his bedroom door opened, his last hope of being left alone melted away.
‘Now look at that,’ the first voice said. He heard somebody laugh. ‘Ickle little Draco is still sleeping with his teddy bear.’
He recognised the voice now. It was his aunt’s Bellatrix.
‘Wakey, wakey, Draco,’ she sing-songed as she came closer, laughing again. ‘It’s time to play!’
Draco didn’t move. He wouldn’t move. He would not give her the satisfaction of his fear.
‘I know you’re not sleeping.’
Draco’s eyes flew open. Her voice had come out at a whisper, yet it was loud enough for him to understand every single word, and her breath had felt hot on his face.
‘There you are,’ she cackled and grabbed his chin with one of her long-fingered hands. He wrenched it out of her grasp and moved back against the headboard.
‘So pathetic,’ she whispered and looked back over her shoulder at the man she’d brought. Draco didn’t recognise him.
‘Will you do the honours tonight, or shall I?’ Her grin was dangerously wide now.
Draco shivered. He didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to feel. Clutching his dragon even tighter to himself he pulled up his knees, bowed his head and closed his eyes, praying for it to be over soon.
‘Crucio!’
*
Draco slowly blinked against the heavy sunlight. He was lying draped over the side of his bed, his arm hanging in a loopy angle, his breath coming in short gasps. A dripping sensation alerted him that his nose had started bleeding again. It usually did these days, after…
Forcing the thought away, he tried to lift his head enough to look around for his dragon, locating it somewhat further away on the floor. A big slash had ripped open his stomach, white flocks of stuffing lying everywhere. A sob escaped his throat as something other than blood started trickling down his face.
A quiet shuffling alerted him to another presence in the room. He closed his eyes quickly, not wanting to know who else had come for him.
However, it were no human hands who lifted up his face and mumbled a continuous ‘oh no’.
He sighed and tried a smile, but failed, turning into a grimace as pain soared through his body once more. He flinched.
‘Oh no,’ the elf said again. ‘Those bad, bad people hurting Master Draco! Woldy will… Woldy shall...’
He heard the elf stomp, his tiny hands still firmly on his face. ‘Lie back, Master Draco,’ he ordered, and Draco tried to oblige, but failed. ‘Woldy is going to take care of you, yes he is. And Woldy is going to make certain Master Draco will feel like his old self again before he knows it.’
When he next opened his eyes, it was to a warm cloth on his forehead and the sobbing of somebody next to him. He opened his eyes with much more ease than he had this morning, and found his father sitting on the side of his bed, clutching some of the bedding in his hand. Something else was moving swiftly around the room, and when he looked up he saw that it was Woldy.
‘I’m so sorry,’ his father croaked. ‘It’s all my fault, Draco, all my fault.’ He let out another heavy sob.
‘I’m so, so sorry.’
Harry woke up before the sun had fully risen. It wasn’t surprising, as he’d gone to bed earlier than normal as well. The memory he’d dreamed had been disturbing, and with that thought in mind he got up to take a shower.
However, no amount of water could shake off the uncomfortable feeling of having witnessed something so incredibly cruel, and after a good hour he gave up.
He quickly put on some fresh clothes, which he suspected had been laid out by Woldy - as he had no wardrobe handy - and started towards the dining room, wondering if he could already get breakfast at such an early hour. However, when Harry came past his own bedroom - Malfoy’s bedroom - he saw that the door was slightly ajar.
He’d never been very good at resisting sudden urges of curiosity, and so he opened the door slightly further and peeked in. Draco was lying curled up on his bed, the covers having slipped off him slightly at some point during the night, and in his hand - Harry’s heart sank - there was a stuffed purple dragon. He tiptoed backwards quickly, suddenly nauseous, and decided breakfast maybe wasn’t such a good idea already after all.
After having taken a long walk through the gardens, he finally felt ready enough to get some food inside his stomach. He had expected Draco to be done eating already, guessing it had to be somewhere around ten in the morning, but he was wrong.
‘Draco,’ his mother said somewhat distantly. ‘I didn’t know you were having Mr Potter over as a guest.’
‘Neither did I,’ he said, ‘until yesterday afternoon.’
Narcissa inclined her head. ‘Mr Potter was so kind as to explain to me the situation’ She sipped slowly from her cup.
‘He did?’ Harry said uncertainly, looking from Draco to her and back.
‘Indeed he did,’ she said. ‘And as odd as I might find it that the Ministry has so suddenly decided to put us under supervision, I am grateful Mr Potter has offered to do the job.’ She nodded politely at Draco.
‘I… of course,’ Harry said. He had to admit that it was the perfect excuse.
‘For how long did you say you were staying again, then?’ Narcissa addressed Draco again as Harry swiftly sat down and poured himself a cup of tea, trying to catch Draco’s attention, but failing. Draco seemed way too focused on his mother to even grant him as much as a single glance.
‘I didn’t,’ he said with his most charming smile, which Harry made a mental note to practise in the mirror when he’d get back into his own body.
‘But I am in no doubt that the Minister will let us know when the time has come for me to leave again.’
Narcissa sipped her cup again. ‘Well,’ she said after she’d put it back down, ‘I hope you’ll be able to make yourself at home. And if you have any questions I’m sure Draco would be delighted to show you around.’
‘Oh,’ Draco said, ‘I have no doubt about that, Mrs Malfoy.’
*
They’d retreated back into the library for the afternoon, Harry still reading book after book while Draco was scribbling away in a mad fashion.
‘What was that supposed to mean, anyway?’ Harry asked. It was the first thing that either of them had said since they’d entered the gloomy room.
‘Hmm?’ Draco asked distantly, sucking on the tip of his quill. Harry looked at the odd expression it caused on his face and wondered if Draco ever thought the same about his own body.
‘What you said to m… your mother,’ he said.
‘What about it?’ Draco asked, still not looking at Harry.
‘About not having any doubts that I’d be willing to show you around.’ He was starting to feel silly. Had he heard things that hadn’t been there?
Draco sighed, put his parchment and quill down and looked up at him.
‘What are you talking about, Potter?’
‘It sounded taunting, I thought we’d established-’
‘Of course I was taunting, and we’d established fighting wouldn’t get us anywhere.’ Draco said. ‘This wasn’t fighting.’
‘Fine,’ Harry said, and he saw Malfoy roll his eyes before focusing back on his scroll.
It wasn’t until they were walking down to dinner together that they spoke again. The sun was already setting, and Harry’s stomach was grumbling loudly.
‘Can’t you stop that?’ Malfoy asked him.
‘Stop what?’
‘Your stomach. It’s annoying.’
‘My stomach is annoying?’ Harry asked confounded. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Actually, I am.’ Malfoy said and looked at him. ‘I never let it growl when I was still in there. What have you been doing with me, anyway?’
They were turning another corner away from the library, and were now able to smell the food coming from downstairs. Harry’s stomach gave another loud growl.
‘What have I…? Oh knock it off,’ he said as he saw Malfoy scowl in annoyance. ‘I really should have broken your nose when I had the chance. See how you’d have liked it.’
‘You know,’ Malfoy said, ‘for all the talking we do about fighting I’m surprised you never punched that fat cousin of yours.’
‘What?!’ Harry said, stopping. His stomach had just dropped several inches. ‘What do you know about Dudley?’
Draco turned, having taken a few more steps before realising Harry hadn’t been walking with him anymore. ‘As much as you know about my past, I imagine.’
Harry gaped at him. They’d never discussed the dreams he’d been having, nor had he ever thought of asking Draco if he was going through the same thing.
‘Close my mouth, please,’ Draco said and Harry obliged quickly. ‘Listen,’ he continued. ‘I don’t care what you’ve seen or what you’re thinking, I’m not a pity case.’
‘Well, neither am I!’ Harry said but Draco merely snorted before continuing his way towards the dining room, which Harry followed in silence.
‘I really think you should’ve punched him, though,’ Draco said before walking through the opened doors, and even though Harry couldn’t see it, he knew Draco was smiling.
Harry smiled back.
Chapter 7: Confessions