Leave the Past Behind, H/D [R] - Part 1/3
Title: Leave the Past Behind
Author: sesheta_66
Betas/Brit-pickers: winnett, rickey_a, raitala and cleo_jay ♥ ♥ ♥
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: When Harry is sent undercover to get Draco's testimony against two suspected Death Eaters, he finds Draco living as a Muggle with no memory of his past. Harry, determined to find out who did this to Draco, finds himself enthralled by the magic of the Isle of Skye and fascinated by the stranger he thought he knew.
Word Count: ~25K
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Leave the Past Behind
Harry and Draco stood companionably, looking out at the expanse of sea and the land mass in the distance. The rest of the world, their lives - well, Harry's at least - were over there, beyond the sea, not here on this island. Harry knew that, but couldn't bring himself to broach the topic. The tension between them had lessened since the night before and they'd had a wonderful afternoon. Harry was loath to ruin it now.
Another thought had haunted Harry during the night, and it haunted him again now. He would have to leave soon and return to the Aurors, his friends, the Weasleys. And Draco had ... well, he had his life here now. No matter what Draco's reaction, Harry knew he was happy here and he might not want to leave. Harry also knew that he couldn't stay.
But before he left, he had a promise to keep.
He glanced at Draco, the breeze blowing his hair around his face, his cheeks pink from the chill, his features relaxed. Harry wondered how long that would last after he told Draco everything. For a moment, Harry considered not keeping his word.
After all, how could Harry take this life, this peace away from Draco? How could he expect this Draco to go back to the world he'd left behind? A life where he would face contempt and pain. A life of loss, in which he had no family remaining. Harry didn't even know if Parkinson or Zabini still considered Draco their friend, and they were the only two of Draco's old classmates that weren't dead, in jail, or in another country. But he'd promised Draco an explanation. He owed the man that much. Even if it meant he'd never speak to Harry again.
Draco turned and caught Harry looking. "You're staring," he said. His twinkling eyes belied his reproachful tone. "Again."
Harry smiled and reached for Draco's hand. Behind them tires screeched. A car came hurtling towards them. Too close. Harry knew they had no chance.
"Draco!"
He grabbed Draco's coat and leapt from the cliff, pulling Draco over the edge. Apparating them mid-fall, he caught the look of utter bewilderment on Draco's face.
They landed with a thud in Harry's room at the hotel. Draco moaned and ran his hand through his hair. He clenched his eyes shut and rubbed the spot on the back of his head that had hit the floor. When he opened his eyes, they widened in shock.
"What the --?" He scampered away from Harry until his back hit the end of the bed. Like a caged animal, his eyes shot frantically around the room. "How? What?" He shut his eyes again and shook his head, hands on either side as if to hold in the thoughts bouncing around. "This isn't happening," he mumbled.
"It's okay," Harry said.
"That car was coming straight for us, and you pulled me over the cliff with you." He examined his arms, then patted his legs to be sure they were still there. "We should be dead." He looked up at Harry. "Are we dead?"
"No," Harry assured him. When he moved closer, Draco raised a hand to stop him. His eyes narrowed and he looked straight through Harry.
"And you called me Draco," he accused. "Who the hell is Draco?"
~ * ~ * ~
Three weeks earlier ...
"Potter, Weasley!" Kingsley's voice reverberated off the walls of the Auror office, remaining long after his form disappeared down the hall. Harry and Ron dropped everything and made their way towards their boss's office.
"What d'you think is up?" Ron asked.
"Dunno. He hasn't done a drive-by call out in months. Must be something important."
Kingsley's assistant waved them in and shut the door behind them. Harry and Ron traded a meaningful look. Either they were in trouble - not completely out of the question, though Harry couldn't think of anything they'd done recently to land them in that predicament - or this was a sensitive matter.
Kingsley wasted no time. "We've had a sighting."
"Death Eater?" Ron asked. Even four years post-war there lingered a few open cases.
"Not exactly," Kingsley said. "Well, not proven anyway."
Harry frowned. It couldn't be ...
"Draco Malfoy, or someone looking an awful lot like him, was seen in a pub in Portree."
"On Skye?" Harry asked.
"The very same."
"Surely he's gone by now," Ron offered.
"Apparently not." Kingsley opened a file and pulled out a grainy picture. It didn't move.
"A Muggle spotted him?" Harry asked.
Kingsley eyed the photograph. "No, no. One of our staff from Accounting happened to be on holiday and noticed this picture among several in an old edition of the local newspaper. Apparently Malfoy had been photographed months ago."
"So how do we know it's him?" Ron asked. Harry looked back at the picture and doubted that anyone else looked quite like Draco Malfoy. "And who's to say he hasn't left. It's been months, you say?"
"It's him," Harry said.
Kingsley nodded. "Quite." He passed a piece of parchment to Ron. "Sampson remains in Portree, and assures us that Malfoy is still there. He's living under the name Thomas Peterson."
"And you want us to relieve Sampson?"
"Just you, Harry. You can go in undercover, and Ron can support you from here. We can't afford to send both of you now, with the mountains of paperwork on your desks." Ron groaned. "But we do have to monitor the situation. Malfoy is not officially wanted, but I would like to get him in for questioning about the latest two cases that Fletchley is working on."
"They're suspected Death Eaters?"
"We think so. Either way, they're known to have associated with Lucius Malfoy, so they might have been to Malfoy Manor at some point. Draco may have been at school for much of the war, but he still could have seen things when he was home."
Harry frowned. "Didn't the Ministry already interview Draco at the end of the war?"
"Yes, but these names hadn't come up."
"So you don't know if he knows anything at all?"
"That's why we want to talk to him."
There must be more to it if they're sending Harry in undercover. "Why me?" he asked. "Couldn't you send anyone to collect him and bring him in for questioning?"
"You know him better than most."
Ron sniggered. "Yeah, mate. You can stalk him all over again, like you did in school."
Harry glared at Ron. He didn't want to follow Draco all over again. He'd left that behind after the war.
Then something clicked. A distant conversation held in the corridor following Draco's trial. You testified for him. He's your responsibility now. Harry caught Kingsley's eye and understood that he too was back in that corridor. He knew Kingsley wouldn't repeat the words, didn't have to. Malfoy was Harry's job. Always would be.
Kingsley started shuffling some papers around his desk. "Since we technically don't have any reason to suspect Draco," he began, not looking Harry in the eye, "he isn't obligated to come in."
Ah. "And you think he'll run or hire counsel if he gets wind of this."
Kingsley looked up, evidently surprised that Harry managed to put things together. He nodded. "See if you can get anything out of him we can use, even if it doesn't directly relate."
"I understand," Harry said. In other words, try to get Draco to unwittingly incriminate himself and give the Ministry reason to hold him.
Harry left Kingsley's office more than a little disillusioned at the man's tactics. There was no love lost between Malfoy and Harry, but Kingsley's request didn't sit well. No doubt, it would sit just fine with any number of other Aurors, including Ron who didn't seem bothered at all. So ironically, Harry was probably the best shot Malfoy had at being treated fairly.
Not that he'd ever see it that way.
~ * ~ * ~
The next day Harry checked into his hotel in Portree. He settled himself in the room, tested out the temporary Floo connection they'd set up ahead of time, then checked his glamours in the mirror before heading out. Even after years of stealth training and assignments, he couldn't help but be wary of a reflection that looked so little like himself. He altered his height and stature only slightly - they were the hardest to maintain when distracted, and clothing could help mask a person's size readily enough. He'd played with various hair colours in the past, but he always returned to a medium brown. His skin, darkened to a golden bronze, gave the appearance of someone who'd recently been away somewhere warm, which worked well with his cover. And his now blue eyes were close enough to his natural green that, should the glamour waver slightly, it would most likely go unnoticed.
Harry made his way to the downstairs bar - one in which Malfoy had been spotted. He and Sampson met for lunch, and Harry planned to take most dinners there, in the hopes Malfoy might frequent the place. Looking around at the cosy setting, it reminded Harry of the warmth of the Burrow. A little too crowded, a little too noisy, and altogether too lowbrow for the haughty Malfoy, the bar was just the place for Harry.
He smiled as the barmaid blew past him, rushing off somewhere. "Take a seat wherever you wish, dear. Menus on the table, beer up at the bar. I'll send someone over in a tick."
Harry didn't get a chance to let her know he was meeting someone before she was gone. Ah, well. No doubt Harry would recognise Sampson from the photograph Kingsley gave him.
He needn't have worried, since a rotund and rumpled blond walked in while Harry was at the bar. Harry approached the newcomer. "Sampson?"
The man nearly jumped out of his shoes. He levelled a bewildered look at Harry. "I'm sorry," he said nervously. "Do I know you?"
Harry leaned in and whispered, "Harry Potter."
"Oh!" The man's watery eyes widened then shot to Harry's forehead, no doubt trying to see his scar through the wisps of hair. Then he looked Harry over again.
"Glamours," Harry explained. "Mr Malfoy and I have a history, and it's no secret that I'm an Auror. It wouldn't do to have him up and leave before I've even had a chance to speak with him."
"Oh, of course," Sampson said, recovering himself. "It's just ... wow. You're really good at that. I'd never have recognised you." He scrutinised Harry some more. "Even now that I know."
Harry shrugged. "Hogwarts trained me well," he said. "And the Aurors trained me further."
Sampson continued to stare, so Harry turned away. "Can I interest you?" Harry lifted his pint, and after Sampson agreed, Harry bought him one as well, then motioned him towards a table.
"Thanks for meeting with me," Harry said, taking his seat. "Especially since I know you were on holiday when you first saw Mr Malfoy."
Sampson grinned. "No bother. It's not every day a quill-pusher like myself gets a chance to do reconnaissance for the Aurors." He seemed rather tickled by the task.
Harry smiled in encouragement. "What prompted you to contact the Ministry?"
Sampson took a long pull from his pint and sighed happily. "I'd seen a few articles in the Prophet," he explained.
Harry cringed internally, wondering which articles Sampson meant. "You do know Mr Malfoy isn't actually wanted by the Aurors." Harry didn't want to mislead him.
He nodded. "I do now. But truth be told, the paper made it sound like he was a fugitive. And I couldn't believe I'd just bumped into him here. I mean, if he really wanted to get away from the authorities, you'd think he'd pick somewhere outside the UK."
Harry had thought the same thing. "You haven't approached him, have you?"
Sampson shook his head. "Just kept an eye on him whenever I saw him, but didn't follow him in any obvious way." Kingsley had been clear on that; he was to casually observe only. "Hasn't done anything out of the ordinary in town. Goes into shops here and there, chats up a few of the locals, and spends a good deal of time walking about." He leaned in to whisper, "And I haven't seen him do magic either." Harry let that settle. Draco Malfoy living as a Muggle. Who'd have thought?
"Kingsley tells me you saw him in here."
"This very bar." Sampson gazed into the distance, as though he saw Malfoy again. "Hard to miss that pale hair."
Harry agreed. In all the years he'd known Malfoy, he'd always been easy to pick out of a crowd. Harry recalled his mealtime ritual at school: entering the Great Hall, getting his bearings by locating Malfoy at the Slytherin table, then proceeding to the Gryffindor side of the room to eat with his friends. Not only hadn't Malfoy left Britain, but he hadn't concealed such a distinguishing feature. Strange if someone wanted to hide himself away. Well, all the easier to find him.
Harry reached for a menu. "I'm famished. Shall we eat?"
They spent the next two hours reviewing the comings and goings of Malfoy, discussing what was what about town, and eating possibly the best steak and ale pie Harry had ever had.
"And that's about it," Sampson said. "Sorry I didn't get much, but Head Auror Shacklebolt told me explicitly not to get too close." It wasn't much to go on, but Harry supposed it was better to have a little information and Malfoy still around, than to have had an untrained Ministry employee tip him off.
"That's great, Sampson. Really." The man looked unsure. "Remember, if it weren't for you, we wouldn't even know he was here."
Sampson beamed.
~ * ~ * ~
Harry spent the next few days wandering about town and poking around in the shops Malfoy had visited. He spent his evenings enjoying the delicious meals and pleasant company in the hotel's bar. He scribbled notes to enable him to prolong his time at the table, without having to order a ridiculous amount of food or beer.
"What are you writing, love?" Madge asked. She reminded Harry of Molly Weasley, only she had brown hair and a Scottish accent. An efficient and friendly barmaid, she'd taken a shining to Harry on his first night, and he'd sat in the same area since so he could chat to her. This was the first time she'd asked about his work.
"I'm a travel writer," Harry lied. He pointed to the stack of pamphlets he'd brought with him. "I'm trying to figure out where to go first."
"You mean you haven't stepped out of here yet?"
"Not really," he said. "I've just puttered about town so far. I needed time to relax first. Get my bearings."
"How long are you here, then?"
"A few weeks," he said. "Maybe a month."
She laughed. "Not that much to see, I'm afraid."
He motioned to the papers on the table. "These tell a different story."
"Tourists," she mumbled. She rifled through the papers then rolled her eyes. "You can probably see all that in a week."
He frowned. The few people he'd spoken to about Skye over the years had insisted a week was the least amount of time one should dedicate to visiting the island. Luna in particular had said she'd have loved to spend a couple of months here.
"Unless you're one of them new-age people that fancies himself at one with nature and earth magic and all that rot."
Harry cleared his throat, keeping his expression blank. "No, no. I just need to capture all perspectives when I write, so there's a bit of something for everyone in my articles." He winked conspiratorially. "Even the new-age people."
She snorted. "That makes sense, I suppose." She looked visibly relieved that Harry wasn't about to start burning incense and chanting on the spot.
~ * ~ * ~
On the fourth night, Harry lucked out. He'd taken up his usual spot, spread the papers over the table, and settled in with a pint. A half hour later, a casual but well dressed Malfoy entered.
He looked good. Too good, in fact. His hair remained its signature blond, but a little longer than he'd worn it in school, wisps falling over his eyebrows. His skin was pale as ever but lacking the grey pallor it had acquired during the war. Overall, he looked healthier, for lack of a better word. His shoulders had broadened slightly and he no longer looked like he hadn't eaten for some time. And when had all those angles filled out? Harry remembered him being pointy, but now he looked more chiselled. It suited him. As did his relaxed demeanour.
Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Malfoy at ease. Even at school with his friends, he always seemed to be on. Being in Slytherin, he probably had to be on guard, sure to never show weakness. How exhausting. Between that and living with Lucius as a father - Harry recalled the terrifying command the man had over his son during the few interactions they'd had - Draco would have been hard pressed to relax around anyone, except maybe Narcissa. That realisation struck Harry as very sad. He knew what it was like to have to pretend to be someone you're not, but at least he got relief around his friends.
He shook off the odd feeling of having something in common with Malfoy, then polished off the rest of his pint. With determination, he crossed to the bar, edging in next to Malfoy. "Another pint, Reg, if you please."
The barman nodded and collected Harry's empty glass, placing it in the sink and pulling out a fresh one.
"Excuse me," Malfoy said, tilting his head as though to get a better look at Harry. "Do I know you?"
Harry's heart sped up. Could Malfoy see through his disguise? He thought not; he'd been honing his skills for years. They'd come in handy for not only his undercover work, but for avoiding - much to Seamus's amusement - the inevitable attention the Saviour received when out in public. "Why do you ask?"
"You were staring at me."
"Was I?"
Malfoy's gaze scanned Harry, head to foot. "It's rather unnerving."
"Sorry." He squinted at Malfoy. "What did you say your name was?"
Malfoy regarded him shrewdly and Harry noticed that his eyes were nearly the shade of the charcoal jacket he wore. "I didn't."
"No, of course not," Harry said. What was wrong with him? Seeing Malfoy in such unfamiliar surroundings, relaxed and seemingly happy, not to mention looking so good, had really thrown him. "I --"
Malfoy smirked. "It's Thomas." His slightly crooked smile seemed so genuine, Harry nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
"No, Thomas, I don't believe we've met before." Harry reached out his hand in greeting. "I'm James."
Malfoy considered his hand, and Harry was reminded of the reverse circumstance so many years ago. He wondered if Malfoy planned to refuse, but before he had a chance to withdraw the offer, Draco's hand grasped his own and they shook.
Harry smiled, relieved that he hadn't figured out who Harry was. Or so he hoped. Malfoy returned the gesture. "You here for business or pleasure?"
"Bit of both, I hope." At least that wasn't a lie. He'd heard so much about the island that he couldn't imagine wasting the trip.
"Will you be staying long?" he asked.
"A few weeks for now. Maybe longer."
Malfoy nodded. "Well, if you like misty mountains, you'll enjoy your time here."
Harry chuckled. "So it would seem." The clouds had hung heavily over the tops of the mountains since he'd arrived, and gave off a mystical feeling. Harry made a mental note not to mention that little observation to Madge. "Do the clouds ever lift?"
"Occasionally," Malfoy said. "But you have to catch those opportunities quickly, or you might miss them."
"I'll keep that in mind."
The barman brought Harry his pint. "Thanks, Reg."
"Enjoy."
Harry lifted his glass in salute to Malfoy. He wanted to continue their conversation, but didn't want to be too forward, especially since Malfoy had already caught him staring. "Have a nice evening."
He felt Malfoy's gaze on him as he manoeuvred his way to his usual table. He sat facing the bar - he'd chosen his spot well - and picked up the menu. He'd memorised the thing by now, but wanted to have something to give him an excuse to stay facing in that direction.
He watched as Malfoy talked to the barman, and if Reg's occasional glances in Harry's direction were anything to go by, he had a good idea what - or rather who - they were discussing.
When Harry finished his meal and walked up to the bar for a final pint, Malfoy was still there. As Harry approached, Malfoy took his last swig. Harry watched, mesmerised by the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed the last drop of liquid before placing the glass on the counter.
"Well, that's me," Malfoy said to Reg. "Time to call it a night."
Harry chuckled. "Clearly this isn't London."
Reg snorted and muttered something indistinguishable.
"Thank goodness," Malfoy said.
Harry motioned for another pint and turned to Malfoy. "Oh? Not a fan of London?"
Malfoy scowled, then seemed lost in thought for a moment before responding. "I don't like crowds."
Reg handed Harry a glass and Harry tilted it in Malfoy's direction. "Well London certainly has more than its fair share of those, that's for sure."
Malfoy gave a distant smile before standing up. "It's been a pleasure," he said to Reg, then turned his attention to Harry. "Enjoy your stay here, James. I'm sure you'll discover that what the island lacks in culture and crowds it more than makes up for in beauty."
As Harry caught the reflection of the fire in the grey of Malfoy's eyes, he thought he might just agree. Unwilling to ponder that revelation further, but reluctant to see Malfoy leave, he asked, "Any tips on what I should see first?"
Malfoy considered Harry for a moment - perhaps determining whether he was up to something nefarious - then returned to his seat. "What did you have in mind?"
Reg chimed in. "James here is a travel writer. Says he likes to see the tourist attractions, then mix 'em up with some of the local gems, I believe were his word."
"Exactly." Harry nodded towards Reg. "I like to get different points of view, a little something for everyone. And I thought you might give me an Englishman's perspective." Harry grinned. "So what do you like about the place?"
"I like it all," he said without hesitation, his eyes animated. "The island has its own personality, if you know what I mean."
Harry sipped his beer. "Not really, no."
"I suppose I got the feeling that the place welcomed me," he said, struggling to come up with the right words to describe his experience. "The people are friendly and the food and drink are wonderful, but it's more than that. The place itself has a feel, especially certain spots. There's something here that pulses with energy. But it's a calming, welcoming sort of energy."
Reg laughed. "You sound like those hippie types." He walked away muttering energy under his breath.
"Silly, really." Draco hung his head, looking rather put out.
"I don't think it sounds silly at all." Draco looked up. "In fact," Harry confided, "don't tell Madge this, but I've been to a number of places where I've felt the earth's energy." He shuddered as he recalled one such place he'd attended on a particularly nasty case. "Sometimes it's not so pleasant. I'd love to go somewhere that felt welcoming."
Draco bit his lower lip and appraised Harry, as though convincing himself Harry wasn't having him on. He looked incredibly young all of a sudden. Young and reserved. "I could show you, if you'd like. I have a few favourite spots that have some good stories to go along with them."
Harry grinned. "I'd like that very much," he said. And he was surprised to find that he meant it.
~ * ~ * ~
The next day, Draco arrived promptly at nine in the morning, as they'd agreed, and they set off. Harry didn't react when he took in the incongruous sight of Draco Malfoy behind the wheel of a Muggle car, though he did keep his wand handy, in case they got into a crash. He needn't have worried, as Draco's skills behind the wheel were more than adequate for the task.
"You brought the sun with you today," Harry noted, pleased to see the mist had finally lifted.
Malfoy pointed into the distance where grey clouds hovered over the mountain tops. "Not for long, I'm afraid." He picked up a map and handed it to Harry. "Fortunately, we're heading in the other direction and our destination is nearby, so we should be able to make it to Faerie Glen while the sun remains."
Not for the first time, Harry wondered who this person really was. Besides his physical appearance and unmistakable voice, he didn't remotely resemble the boy Harry had known at Hogwarts. He smiled at people, was friendly and relaxed. The Malfoy he knew from school walked rigidly or swaggered, according to the circumstances, and when they weren't glaring daggers at Harry, his eyes darted around to take in everything. Forever on guard, maybe. Or soaking up information. His laid back attitude unnerved Harry. It was like he'd taken on a whole new personality. But why, if no one here knew him from before?
A half hour later, they pulled off the road into a remote clearing and Malfoy got out, pulling a rucksack from the back and hoisting it on. "I've got water for the both of us," he said, "in case we decide to stay a while."
Despite his misgivings, Harry found he liked Thomas. This new and improved Malfoy.
"Thanks." Harry pulled on his own rucksack, packed with notebooks, pens, a digital camera, and the various pamphlets he'd spread on the table each evening. He'd tossed in a single bottle of water and a few cereal bars he'd picked up at the local supermarket when he'd been poking about town.
He felt it immediately - the faint thrum of magic in the air. If Malfoy noticed, he didn't remark on it; instead, he marched ahead to the path.
They walked in companionable silence along one path, then another, Harry doing his best, but failing, to focus strictly on the beauty of the surroundings and not the curve of Malfoy's arse in his well-fitting jeans. How had he not noticed Malfoy's arse before? Quite apart from Malfoy's acerbic personality, Harry was sure he could have appreciated that on at least one occasion over the years. He allowed himself another glance, noting the way the denim hugged Malfoy's backside in all the right ways.
Ah, yes. Robes. That explains it. Even though many of the students dressed in Muggle clothing when classes let out, Malfoy hadn't been one of them. The only occasions Harry had seen him dressed otherwise, he was in Quidditch gear, and Harry's mind had been focussed more on knocking Malfoy's arse off the broom than appreciating its appearance atop it. More's the pity.
"Well," Malfoy said, coming to an abrupt stop, nearly causing Harry to walk right into him. He caught himself just in time and willed his thoughts to return from the direction in which they'd wandered. Malfoy swept his arm in a grand gesture, indicating the beauty that surrounded them. "What do you think?"
Harry closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply. The scent of nature - a heady mix of grass, trees and flowers, mingled with the richness of the soil, crispness of the air, and ever-present moisture - flowed in and through him, and Harry could almost taste it. The magic resonated through his every pore. He felt it as an energy, neither definable nor tangible, but there. His own magic coursed through his veins, more perceptible than usual, and he felt very much alive.
He opened his eyes and allowed himself to absorb the majesty spread out before them. He smiled and turned to Malfoy. "I love it."
Malfoy's smile stunned Harry, causing his breath to catch. On second thought, it was more than his smile. He almost had a glow about him. Not something Harry saw, but felt. It must be Malfoy's magic, attuned to the raw power of the earth, and projected outwardly in cascades of soft energy. "It's faerie magic," Draco whispered, like children might when telling tales. "Or so the stories go." His smile faltered. "Never mind."
"No, really. I'm interested." Harry was. As a child, he was never allowed to speak of magic, not even that from fairy tales. He imagined he would always love to hear stories that had been passed down through generations. Being Muggle-raised, he often found the Muggle folklore to be even more interesting than the factual versions of the same events told by wizards. Particularly when the wizards telling the stories were as interesting as Binns.
"Well, the stories of the island speak of magical creatures, witches, magicians, and earth magic. The whole island was thought to be magical, and some people still believe that to be the case. But there are certain places that have special stories associated with them, places where the magic is supposedly stronger."
Harry nodded. "And this is one of them?"
Malfoy nodded and looked to the ground, biting his lip, obviously torn between saying what Harry knew to be the truth, and hiding what he probably thought was a sign of insanity. When he looked up again, apprehension in his eyes, Harry gave him an encouraging smile.
"I don't know how true the stories are - I've heard quite a few since I've been here, and some of them admittedly sound rather far-fetched - but there's something about this place, something that feels ... different."
Harry nodded. "There's an energy here, something that is alive and powerful."
"You feel it too?"
"Mm hmm. And it's a good feeling."
Malfoy grinned and sat down on the ground, looking out over the vastness of the land. "It's a wonderful feeling." He patted the ground next to him, and Harry sat too.
"So what's the story of the Faerie Glen?" Harry asked.
Malfoy shrugged. "No specific story as such, except it's the faeries' meeting place." They sat enjoying the sounds of nature and the quiet thrum of the magic. After a time, Draco pointed into the distance. "See that castle?" Harry followed his gaze to the end of a winding path and nodded. Atop one of several mounds, not quite substantial enough to call hills, a stone formation jutted out of the ground, grass growing haphazardly around the structure. "That's Castle Ewan, only it's not man-made."
Harry squinted to focus on the castle. "It's faerie-made?"
"So I'm told. Shall we?"
Harry grinned. "Absolutely."
~ * ~ * ~
"How do you know so much about this stuff?" Harry asked over dinner.
Draco shrugged. "I went on a number of tours when I first arrived here."
"When was that?"
Draco frowned, as if trying to recall. "Earlier this year," he said. He pushed his pie around his plate before reverting to their prior topic. "You know, much of the history of this place was handed down verbally. No written records."
"Really?" In the current digital age, Harry found that curious.
Draco nodded and his eyes danced again, like they had that afternoon. "It's Gaelic tradition, and you don't get much more Gaelic than Skye."
Harry nodded. Skye housed the only college in the world where Gaelic was not only taught, but was the primary language. "So I hear."
"Anyway, as you can imagine, that doesn't make for the most accurate records." He popped a piece of steak and ale pie in his mouth and washed it down with some water. "So I tried looking up some facts. You know, search using some of the key points of the stories." He shrugged. "Not a whole lot of anything to be found."
"That must have been frustrating," Harry said.
Draco grinned and shook his head. "Not really. I think it's part of the mystery of the place."
Harry pondered that, then nodded. "Is that what drew you here?"
The sparkle in his eyes faded slightly and he began pushing his food around again. He shrugged. "I suppose it's what keeps me here."
"Are you planning to stay?" Harry asked.
"I have no plans to leave."
"Fair enough." Harry scooped up his rucksack and took out some brochures. "So, what do you recommend next, oh wise tour guide?"
Draco relaxed once more and shuffled through the pages, sorting them into piles. There seemed to be no logical order that Harry could discern, but Draco seemed satisfied when he was done, leaving no brochure out.
He placed one pile in front of Harry. "These are places recognised as centres of magic." He placed a second pile beside the first. "These are places said to have known magic, but weren't necessarily hubs of it." He placed the remaining papers alongside the others. "These are beautiful places to see."
Harry frowned as he leafed through the first pile. "I didn't know all of these places were magical."
Draco smirked. "I told you the stories were passed down verbally."
"So which of the magical places should I see next?"
Draco chuckled. "What happened to the man who likes to see a mix of different things?" he asked. "All things for all people?"
"I've got a few weeks," Harry said. "Plenty of time to fit in the standard fare later on. According to Madge, I could see all of this in one week."
"Madge clearly doesn't appreciate what she's got here," Draco said. "You could probably see it all quickly, but I get the sense that you'd want to take in all that each place has to offer. Soak it up, as it were."
Harry nodded enthusiastically. "If the rest of the places are anything like what we saw today, I could see myself being here for quite a while."
He might have imagined it, but Draco looked pleased with the idea. And if Harry were being honest with himself, he'd admit it had very little to do with his current assignment, and more than just the magic, that had him feeling pleased with the idea himself. It was odd that, away from their world, Harry and Draco could connect in this one. Well, Thomas and James could connect. Harry and Draco still hated each other.
Over pudding, Draco said, "You know, I don't happen to be busy over the next few days." His voice wavered slightly. "If, you know, you'd like some company."
Harry's eyes widened. Was Draco asking him out? And, more to the point, was he actually considering it? Today was one thing, but ... Harry felt drawn to Draco. No, that wasn't right. He felt drawn to Thomas, and that presented a slippery slope Harry suspected would be far too easy to slide down. Draco Malfoy - snarky, entitled, prejudiced - he could handle. This man? Harry was in very real danger of falling for someone like him.
"Never mind," Draco said, disappointment clear on his features, though he tried to mask it. "You have work to do, and I'd just get in the way."
"No!" Harry said, before he could stop himself. Damn it. What the hell was he doing? His job, he reminded himself. Right. He had a job to do. Even if it left a sour taste in his mouth. "You were a lot of help today," he said. Did that come out sounding as lame as it did in his head? "I mean, I'd really appreciate that."
Draco smiled hesitantly, then grabbed the first bundle of pamphlets back.
"But I'm going to pay you," Harry added. Then amended, "As a tour guide."
Draco frowned. "I'm no tour guide. I'll just take you to the places I'd end up going to see anyway."
"I'll not take no for an answer," Harry said. Maybe if he paid Draco to take him round the island, it would feel less like friends spending the day together. Friends. What an odd thought.
Draco narrowed his eyes and seemed to consider. "Fine," he agreed. "You buy dinner each night and we'll call it even."
That's not what Harry meant when he'd suggested payment. One look at Draco, however, and he knew it would be pointless to argue. "Deal," he said, wondering how he'd ended up with plans to spend not only the next few days but the evenings with a man he found himself inexplicably attracted to. And how on earth was he going to keep that in check?
~ * ~ * ~
Ron Flooed for an update that night. Harry gave him the particulars, starting from the events of the day, leading to Malfoy's non-answers, and ending with their plans for the next few days.
"That's brilliant!" Ron said, choking on his laughter. "You're seeing Malfoy!"
Harry scowled. "It's not funny, Ron. I didn't even know he was gay."
"You're pulling my leg," he said. "How could you not know?"
"I don't know." Harry tossed his t-shirt onto the floor, scooped a clean one from his suitcase, and pulled in on. "I didn't know I was gay until a year ago."
Still chuckling, Ron shook his head. "Yeah, well, you've never been very perceptive in matters of the heart, have you?"
Harry gaped at his friend. "That's rich, coming from you."
Ron snorted. "Point. But at least I knew which team I played for."
"Piss off."
Ron's face turned serious. "So where's Malfoy taking you?" he asked in a sultry voice. The grin returned and he waggled his eyebrows for emphasis.
"Right. That's it. Tell Kingsley I'll be in touch in a couple of days. Meanwhile, I'll see if I can find out anything else."
~ * ~ * ~
The few days turned into a couple of weeks, since each site required a full day to truly appreciate. And enjoy each other's company. That last fact continued to take Harry by surprise. Perhaps it was a result of the magic, or maybe the absence of their history, divisions, prejudices and war weighing them down, but they got along famously. Harry found himself wishing this had been the person he'd met all those years ago in Madame Malkin's. How might their lives have been different.
They followed up the first trip with a drive to the Faerie Pools, which felt much like the Faerie Glen. Next on their agenda was the Old Man of Storr, followed by the healing well at Lake Shianta, both of which had a noticeable magical energy, but not as vibrant as the Faerie Glen.
When Harry asked what Thomas did or where he was from, Draco always answered vaguely. He did this and that, but was taking a year off. He was from here and there in England. Whenever Harry managed to slip in a question or two about the past, Draco said he wanted to look forward, not back.
After a day off, they visited Cuillin, a special request of Harry's. He'd read about the rocky mountain range in his brochures. They'd been named after Cúchulainn, reportedly a student of the vampire warrior Scáthach, who'd had a training facility on Skye. The magic in this area hung heavily in the air, but lacked the welcoming feel of the previous three places.
It struck Harry as odd that Draco didn't seem to be hiding anything. Sure, he evaded questions, but he gave no sign that they were troublesome. He didn't tense up, look suspicious, or stammer over an explanation. He just looked ... lost. He seemed to be exactly who he claimed: a young man taking a year off from life, and enjoying it. And after all Draco had been through, Harry thought he deserved that much, even if he had to pretend to be someone else to accomplish it.
The more time Harry spent with Draco, the more he began to wonder if this wasn't exactly who Draco was, beneath all the Slytherin and Malfoy camouflage. Could it be that Harry had missed the opportunity of a friendship when he'd chosen Ron over Draco all those years back? Not that he'd trade his friendship with Ron for anything. And not that it mattered now anyway, because Harry was an Auror and Kingsley wanted Draco to come in for questioning and Harry had been lying to Draco for weeks. They could never be friends. Or anything else. How could they be?
They took a day off here and there to go about their own business - Harry supposedly to write up about the attractions, but really to check in with work, and Draco to do whatever it was he did. Harry didn't like those days, partly because it gave him time to dwell on his deception, and partly, he had to admit, because he enjoyed his time with Draco. Thomas. Definitely Thomas. He'd have thought Kingsley would have called him back by now, but for some reason, his boss was convinced that Harry could somehow get Draco to talk. But how could that happen when the man never even hinted at his previous life?
They also travelled to a couple of locations where one might describe the magic as foreboding, though not necessarily evil. According to legend, a headless ghost named Colann gun Chean called Trotternish his home, and would kill trespassers by throwing his head at them. Creepy. And a kelpie, a shape-shifting water horse, presumably lived in Loch Coruisk, and had been the cause of numerous seamen's deaths.
"The energy here makes me feel uncomfortable," Draco said as they'd left Trotternish.
Harry agreed. "You seem fascinated by the folklore of the island," he observed as they sat having a picnic lunch, before heading out for a trip to Dunvegan Castle to see the legendary Faerie Flag.
"Aren't you?"
Harry nudged him. "It's my job to be interested." Actually, my real job is spying on you right now. Impressive, isn't it? Harry bit his tongue.
Draco pondered that for a moment. "I don't know," he said sceptically. "You haven't taken many notes, and only a handful of photos."
Shit. "I make notes when I get back each night." At least that was true.
Draco raised an eyebrow and Harry found the words flowing out of him. "Truth be told, I tend to lose myself in the moment and don't want to break that connection by scribbling down my observations." He omitted the fact that he'd been distracted by Draco. More specifically by his growing attraction to the man he knew as Thomas.
Draco rested a hand on Harry's and Harry didn't pull away. "I know the feeling."
"Besides," Harry added, trying not to stare into Draco's grey eyes, for fear they might draw him in further, "you're a wealth of information. I can just ask you to help me fill in the blanks."
"This is true," he agreed with a grin.
Harry pushed back his feelings and focussed once again on his task. "So tell me, have you always been fascinated by stories of magic?"
Draco pulled away and wrung his hands together in a protective motion, as though erecting a barrier between him and the world. Every muscle tensed.
"Hey," Harry said. "What's wrong?" A stupid question, really, since he knew the horrors that lay in Draco's past. Still, it seemed an odd reaction to a simple question.
"I don't know."
"Sorry. Listen, we don't have to talk about it."
"No," he interrupted. "I mean I don't know. I can't remember."
"You --"
Draco drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. His breathing picked up slightly.
"I haven't told anyone this," he said. "And I can't believe I'm about to tell you. I only met you a short time ago. But I feel like I can trust you."
Harry winced. "It's okay," he said, barely resisting the urge to take Draco's hands in his own or put a comforting hand on his back. Only his guilt kept him in check.
"I can't remember anything before coming to this island." What? "In fact, I don't even remember getting here."
"How?" Harry tried to reconcile this. If that were true, it shed a new light on everything. It all seemed to make sense. Draco knowing but not knowing about magic. Could it be that his seemingly feigned innocence about it all wasn't an act? His evasive answers to questions and that lost look whenever Harry asked something about his past. Merlin, he didn't know anything.
"I don't know. I just woke up one morning, and I remember having a bit of a panic attack because I didn't know where I was. Then I couldn't recall who I was. There was nothing there. In my head, I mean. I found a journal, some identification and some Barclays' bank statements. I've read the journal through, but there's little in the way of information."
"What about personal items?"
Draco shook his head. "Lots of clothes, but not a single photograph, letter, or anything that dates back before this year."
"That's terrible." Who had done this to Draco?
Draco rested his head on his knees. "I have no idea what happened. I just know that every time I think about leaving the island to find out, my heart races and I feel ill. I figure my mind must have it all locked up and it's telling me to stay put."
That would certainly make sense, given his past. But Harry couldn't believe anyone would want to live like that. "Don't you want to know?"
"Of course I do." He turned towards Harry, his head still resting on his knees. He looked so vulnerable like that. "I just need to work up the nerve first." He took a deep breath and sat up again. "I suppose telling you was my first step."
Harry placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, unable to hold back. "We'll figure this out."
When Draco rested his own hand upon Harry's and whispered a pained, "Thanks," Harry's heart ached for him. When he lifted Harry's hand to his cheek, Harry knew he was in trouble.
~ * ~ * ~
Harry Flooed Ron that night and told him Draco's story. He'd not wanted to - he'd wanted to keep Draco's confidence, and spent hours weighing his options - but it came down to what was best for Draco, and Harry needed Ron's help. At least that's how he justified it in his own mind. He wasn't doing it for the Ministry's sake. Not that Ron needed to know Harry's motivations. And he definitely didn't need to know that Harry was falling for Draco.
"And you believe him?" Ron asked incredulously.
"What reason would he have to lie?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Harry. Who knows why he does anything? He's hiding out, maybe from the Death Eaters as much as from us. Besides, it's Malfoy. To him, lying is like breathing."
Harry refrained from lashing out at his partner. Ron only knew the old Draco, not this one. It wasn't his fault he was being obstinate. "No, Ron, this was different. I've watched him."
Ron snorted. "Nothing new there."
Harry ignored the remark. "I mean it. He's fascinated by the folklore, anything magical about the place. And there's a lot. He feels magic in the air, and in himself, but doesn't know what to make of it. He knows there's something under the surface, but he can't quite grasp it."
Ron frowned. "That sounds ... enlightened of you."
"I have my moments." Harry shrugged. "He hasn't performed any magic, and he's been consistent all along. Not once has he wavered, hesitated, or exhibited any signs of someone lying." He spared a moment to wonder if he had shown any signs of lying. If Draco had picked up on anything out of the ordinary. Of course not, he realised. Because he'd never have opened up if he had. A part of Harry wished he weren't quite so good at his job. But if he weren't, he wouldn't be in a position to help Draco now. He just had to keep reminding himself of that.
Ron let out an exasperated sigh. "All right, mate. Whatever you say. You are the resident expert on all things Malfoy after all," he said.
"What do you mean by that?" Harry snapped.
Ron raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing. Just that you know the git probably better than anyone. Maybe even better than himself."
I do now, Harry realised with a fresh pang of guilt. "Just ... get whatever information you can, yeah?"
"Will do."
"Thanks."
"Oh, and Harry?"
"Hmm."
"Be careful," he warned. "This is Malfoy we're talking about here. Prepare for the worst and all that rubbish."
"Good night, Ron."
Part 2
Author: sesheta_66
Betas/Brit-pickers: winnett, rickey_a, raitala and cleo_jay ♥ ♥ ♥
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: When Harry is sent undercover to get Draco's testimony against two suspected Death Eaters, he finds Draco living as a Muggle with no memory of his past. Harry, determined to find out who did this to Draco, finds himself enthralled by the magic of the Isle of Skye and fascinated by the stranger he thought he knew.
Word Count: ~25K
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Leave the Past Behind
Harry and Draco stood companionably, looking out at the expanse of sea and the land mass in the distance. The rest of the world, their lives - well, Harry's at least - were over there, beyond the sea, not here on this island. Harry knew that, but couldn't bring himself to broach the topic. The tension between them had lessened since the night before and they'd had a wonderful afternoon. Harry was loath to ruin it now.
Another thought had haunted Harry during the night, and it haunted him again now. He would have to leave soon and return to the Aurors, his friends, the Weasleys. And Draco had ... well, he had his life here now. No matter what Draco's reaction, Harry knew he was happy here and he might not want to leave. Harry also knew that he couldn't stay.
But before he left, he had a promise to keep.
He glanced at Draco, the breeze blowing his hair around his face, his cheeks pink from the chill, his features relaxed. Harry wondered how long that would last after he told Draco everything. For a moment, Harry considered not keeping his word.
After all, how could Harry take this life, this peace away from Draco? How could he expect this Draco to go back to the world he'd left behind? A life where he would face contempt and pain. A life of loss, in which he had no family remaining. Harry didn't even know if Parkinson or Zabini still considered Draco their friend, and they were the only two of Draco's old classmates that weren't dead, in jail, or in another country. But he'd promised Draco an explanation. He owed the man that much. Even if it meant he'd never speak to Harry again.
Draco turned and caught Harry looking. "You're staring," he said. His twinkling eyes belied his reproachful tone. "Again."
Harry smiled and reached for Draco's hand. Behind them tires screeched. A car came hurtling towards them. Too close. Harry knew they had no chance.
"Draco!"
He grabbed Draco's coat and leapt from the cliff, pulling Draco over the edge. Apparating them mid-fall, he caught the look of utter bewilderment on Draco's face.
They landed with a thud in Harry's room at the hotel. Draco moaned and ran his hand through his hair. He clenched his eyes shut and rubbed the spot on the back of his head that had hit the floor. When he opened his eyes, they widened in shock.
"What the --?" He scampered away from Harry until his back hit the end of the bed. Like a caged animal, his eyes shot frantically around the room. "How? What?" He shut his eyes again and shook his head, hands on either side as if to hold in the thoughts bouncing around. "This isn't happening," he mumbled.
"It's okay," Harry said.
"That car was coming straight for us, and you pulled me over the cliff with you." He examined his arms, then patted his legs to be sure they were still there. "We should be dead." He looked up at Harry. "Are we dead?"
"No," Harry assured him. When he moved closer, Draco raised a hand to stop him. His eyes narrowed and he looked straight through Harry.
"And you called me Draco," he accused. "Who the hell is Draco?"
~ * ~ * ~
Three weeks earlier ...
"Potter, Weasley!" Kingsley's voice reverberated off the walls of the Auror office, remaining long after his form disappeared down the hall. Harry and Ron dropped everything and made their way towards their boss's office.
"What d'you think is up?" Ron asked.
"Dunno. He hasn't done a drive-by call out in months. Must be something important."
Kingsley's assistant waved them in and shut the door behind them. Harry and Ron traded a meaningful look. Either they were in trouble - not completely out of the question, though Harry couldn't think of anything they'd done recently to land them in that predicament - or this was a sensitive matter.
Kingsley wasted no time. "We've had a sighting."
"Death Eater?" Ron asked. Even four years post-war there lingered a few open cases.
"Not exactly," Kingsley said. "Well, not proven anyway."
Harry frowned. It couldn't be ...
"Draco Malfoy, or someone looking an awful lot like him, was seen in a pub in Portree."
"On Skye?" Harry asked.
"The very same."
"Surely he's gone by now," Ron offered.
"Apparently not." Kingsley opened a file and pulled out a grainy picture. It didn't move.
"A Muggle spotted him?" Harry asked.
Kingsley eyed the photograph. "No, no. One of our staff from Accounting happened to be on holiday and noticed this picture among several in an old edition of the local newspaper. Apparently Malfoy had been photographed months ago."
"So how do we know it's him?" Ron asked. Harry looked back at the picture and doubted that anyone else looked quite like Draco Malfoy. "And who's to say he hasn't left. It's been months, you say?"
"It's him," Harry said.
Kingsley nodded. "Quite." He passed a piece of parchment to Ron. "Sampson remains in Portree, and assures us that Malfoy is still there. He's living under the name Thomas Peterson."
"And you want us to relieve Sampson?"
"Just you, Harry. You can go in undercover, and Ron can support you from here. We can't afford to send both of you now, with the mountains of paperwork on your desks." Ron groaned. "But we do have to monitor the situation. Malfoy is not officially wanted, but I would like to get him in for questioning about the latest two cases that Fletchley is working on."
"They're suspected Death Eaters?"
"We think so. Either way, they're known to have associated with Lucius Malfoy, so they might have been to Malfoy Manor at some point. Draco may have been at school for much of the war, but he still could have seen things when he was home."
Harry frowned. "Didn't the Ministry already interview Draco at the end of the war?"
"Yes, but these names hadn't come up."
"So you don't know if he knows anything at all?"
"That's why we want to talk to him."
There must be more to it if they're sending Harry in undercover. "Why me?" he asked. "Couldn't you send anyone to collect him and bring him in for questioning?"
"You know him better than most."
Ron sniggered. "Yeah, mate. You can stalk him all over again, like you did in school."
Harry glared at Ron. He didn't want to follow Draco all over again. He'd left that behind after the war.
Then something clicked. A distant conversation held in the corridor following Draco's trial. You testified for him. He's your responsibility now. Harry caught Kingsley's eye and understood that he too was back in that corridor. He knew Kingsley wouldn't repeat the words, didn't have to. Malfoy was Harry's job. Always would be.
Kingsley started shuffling some papers around his desk. "Since we technically don't have any reason to suspect Draco," he began, not looking Harry in the eye, "he isn't obligated to come in."
Ah. "And you think he'll run or hire counsel if he gets wind of this."
Kingsley looked up, evidently surprised that Harry managed to put things together. He nodded. "See if you can get anything out of him we can use, even if it doesn't directly relate."
"I understand," Harry said. In other words, try to get Draco to unwittingly incriminate himself and give the Ministry reason to hold him.
Harry left Kingsley's office more than a little disillusioned at the man's tactics. There was no love lost between Malfoy and Harry, but Kingsley's request didn't sit well. No doubt, it would sit just fine with any number of other Aurors, including Ron who didn't seem bothered at all. So ironically, Harry was probably the best shot Malfoy had at being treated fairly.
Not that he'd ever see it that way.
~ * ~ * ~
The next day Harry checked into his hotel in Portree. He settled himself in the room, tested out the temporary Floo connection they'd set up ahead of time, then checked his glamours in the mirror before heading out. Even after years of stealth training and assignments, he couldn't help but be wary of a reflection that looked so little like himself. He altered his height and stature only slightly - they were the hardest to maintain when distracted, and clothing could help mask a person's size readily enough. He'd played with various hair colours in the past, but he always returned to a medium brown. His skin, darkened to a golden bronze, gave the appearance of someone who'd recently been away somewhere warm, which worked well with his cover. And his now blue eyes were close enough to his natural green that, should the glamour waver slightly, it would most likely go unnoticed.
Harry made his way to the downstairs bar - one in which Malfoy had been spotted. He and Sampson met for lunch, and Harry planned to take most dinners there, in the hopes Malfoy might frequent the place. Looking around at the cosy setting, it reminded Harry of the warmth of the Burrow. A little too crowded, a little too noisy, and altogether too lowbrow for the haughty Malfoy, the bar was just the place for Harry.
He smiled as the barmaid blew past him, rushing off somewhere. "Take a seat wherever you wish, dear. Menus on the table, beer up at the bar. I'll send someone over in a tick."
Harry didn't get a chance to let her know he was meeting someone before she was gone. Ah, well. No doubt Harry would recognise Sampson from the photograph Kingsley gave him.
He needn't have worried, since a rotund and rumpled blond walked in while Harry was at the bar. Harry approached the newcomer. "Sampson?"
The man nearly jumped out of his shoes. He levelled a bewildered look at Harry. "I'm sorry," he said nervously. "Do I know you?"
Harry leaned in and whispered, "Harry Potter."
"Oh!" The man's watery eyes widened then shot to Harry's forehead, no doubt trying to see his scar through the wisps of hair. Then he looked Harry over again.
"Glamours," Harry explained. "Mr Malfoy and I have a history, and it's no secret that I'm an Auror. It wouldn't do to have him up and leave before I've even had a chance to speak with him."
"Oh, of course," Sampson said, recovering himself. "It's just ... wow. You're really good at that. I'd never have recognised you." He scrutinised Harry some more. "Even now that I know."
Harry shrugged. "Hogwarts trained me well," he said. "And the Aurors trained me further."
Sampson continued to stare, so Harry turned away. "Can I interest you?" Harry lifted his pint, and after Sampson agreed, Harry bought him one as well, then motioned him towards a table.
"Thanks for meeting with me," Harry said, taking his seat. "Especially since I know you were on holiday when you first saw Mr Malfoy."
Sampson grinned. "No bother. It's not every day a quill-pusher like myself gets a chance to do reconnaissance for the Aurors." He seemed rather tickled by the task.
Harry smiled in encouragement. "What prompted you to contact the Ministry?"
Sampson took a long pull from his pint and sighed happily. "I'd seen a few articles in the Prophet," he explained.
Harry cringed internally, wondering which articles Sampson meant. "You do know Mr Malfoy isn't actually wanted by the Aurors." Harry didn't want to mislead him.
He nodded. "I do now. But truth be told, the paper made it sound like he was a fugitive. And I couldn't believe I'd just bumped into him here. I mean, if he really wanted to get away from the authorities, you'd think he'd pick somewhere outside the UK."
Harry had thought the same thing. "You haven't approached him, have you?"
Sampson shook his head. "Just kept an eye on him whenever I saw him, but didn't follow him in any obvious way." Kingsley had been clear on that; he was to casually observe only. "Hasn't done anything out of the ordinary in town. Goes into shops here and there, chats up a few of the locals, and spends a good deal of time walking about." He leaned in to whisper, "And I haven't seen him do magic either." Harry let that settle. Draco Malfoy living as a Muggle. Who'd have thought?
"Kingsley tells me you saw him in here."
"This very bar." Sampson gazed into the distance, as though he saw Malfoy again. "Hard to miss that pale hair."
Harry agreed. In all the years he'd known Malfoy, he'd always been easy to pick out of a crowd. Harry recalled his mealtime ritual at school: entering the Great Hall, getting his bearings by locating Malfoy at the Slytherin table, then proceeding to the Gryffindor side of the room to eat with his friends. Not only hadn't Malfoy left Britain, but he hadn't concealed such a distinguishing feature. Strange if someone wanted to hide himself away. Well, all the easier to find him.
Harry reached for a menu. "I'm famished. Shall we eat?"
They spent the next two hours reviewing the comings and goings of Malfoy, discussing what was what about town, and eating possibly the best steak and ale pie Harry had ever had.
"And that's about it," Sampson said. "Sorry I didn't get much, but Head Auror Shacklebolt told me explicitly not to get too close." It wasn't much to go on, but Harry supposed it was better to have a little information and Malfoy still around, than to have had an untrained Ministry employee tip him off.
"That's great, Sampson. Really." The man looked unsure. "Remember, if it weren't for you, we wouldn't even know he was here."
Sampson beamed.
~ * ~ * ~
Harry spent the next few days wandering about town and poking around in the shops Malfoy had visited. He spent his evenings enjoying the delicious meals and pleasant company in the hotel's bar. He scribbled notes to enable him to prolong his time at the table, without having to order a ridiculous amount of food or beer.
"What are you writing, love?" Madge asked. She reminded Harry of Molly Weasley, only she had brown hair and a Scottish accent. An efficient and friendly barmaid, she'd taken a shining to Harry on his first night, and he'd sat in the same area since so he could chat to her. This was the first time she'd asked about his work.
"I'm a travel writer," Harry lied. He pointed to the stack of pamphlets he'd brought with him. "I'm trying to figure out where to go first."
"You mean you haven't stepped out of here yet?"
"Not really," he said. "I've just puttered about town so far. I needed time to relax first. Get my bearings."
"How long are you here, then?"
"A few weeks," he said. "Maybe a month."
She laughed. "Not that much to see, I'm afraid."
He motioned to the papers on the table. "These tell a different story."
"Tourists," she mumbled. She rifled through the papers then rolled her eyes. "You can probably see all that in a week."
He frowned. The few people he'd spoken to about Skye over the years had insisted a week was the least amount of time one should dedicate to visiting the island. Luna in particular had said she'd have loved to spend a couple of months here.
"Unless you're one of them new-age people that fancies himself at one with nature and earth magic and all that rot."
Harry cleared his throat, keeping his expression blank. "No, no. I just need to capture all perspectives when I write, so there's a bit of something for everyone in my articles." He winked conspiratorially. "Even the new-age people."
She snorted. "That makes sense, I suppose." She looked visibly relieved that Harry wasn't about to start burning incense and chanting on the spot.
~ * ~ * ~
On the fourth night, Harry lucked out. He'd taken up his usual spot, spread the papers over the table, and settled in with a pint. A half hour later, a casual but well dressed Malfoy entered.
He looked good. Too good, in fact. His hair remained its signature blond, but a little longer than he'd worn it in school, wisps falling over his eyebrows. His skin was pale as ever but lacking the grey pallor it had acquired during the war. Overall, he looked healthier, for lack of a better word. His shoulders had broadened slightly and he no longer looked like he hadn't eaten for some time. And when had all those angles filled out? Harry remembered him being pointy, but now he looked more chiselled. It suited him. As did his relaxed demeanour.
Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Malfoy at ease. Even at school with his friends, he always seemed to be on. Being in Slytherin, he probably had to be on guard, sure to never show weakness. How exhausting. Between that and living with Lucius as a father - Harry recalled the terrifying command the man had over his son during the few interactions they'd had - Draco would have been hard pressed to relax around anyone, except maybe Narcissa. That realisation struck Harry as very sad. He knew what it was like to have to pretend to be someone you're not, but at least he got relief around his friends.
He shook off the odd feeling of having something in common with Malfoy, then polished off the rest of his pint. With determination, he crossed to the bar, edging in next to Malfoy. "Another pint, Reg, if you please."
The barman nodded and collected Harry's empty glass, placing it in the sink and pulling out a fresh one.
"Excuse me," Malfoy said, tilting his head as though to get a better look at Harry. "Do I know you?"
Harry's heart sped up. Could Malfoy see through his disguise? He thought not; he'd been honing his skills for years. They'd come in handy for not only his undercover work, but for avoiding - much to Seamus's amusement - the inevitable attention the Saviour received when out in public. "Why do you ask?"
"You were staring at me."
"Was I?"
Malfoy's gaze scanned Harry, head to foot. "It's rather unnerving."
"Sorry." He squinted at Malfoy. "What did you say your name was?"
Malfoy regarded him shrewdly and Harry noticed that his eyes were nearly the shade of the charcoal jacket he wore. "I didn't."
"No, of course not," Harry said. What was wrong with him? Seeing Malfoy in such unfamiliar surroundings, relaxed and seemingly happy, not to mention looking so good, had really thrown him. "I --"
Malfoy smirked. "It's Thomas." His slightly crooked smile seemed so genuine, Harry nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
"No, Thomas, I don't believe we've met before." Harry reached out his hand in greeting. "I'm James."
Malfoy considered his hand, and Harry was reminded of the reverse circumstance so many years ago. He wondered if Malfoy planned to refuse, but before he had a chance to withdraw the offer, Draco's hand grasped his own and they shook.
Harry smiled, relieved that he hadn't figured out who Harry was. Or so he hoped. Malfoy returned the gesture. "You here for business or pleasure?"
"Bit of both, I hope." At least that wasn't a lie. He'd heard so much about the island that he couldn't imagine wasting the trip.
"Will you be staying long?" he asked.
"A few weeks for now. Maybe longer."
Malfoy nodded. "Well, if you like misty mountains, you'll enjoy your time here."
Harry chuckled. "So it would seem." The clouds had hung heavily over the tops of the mountains since he'd arrived, and gave off a mystical feeling. Harry made a mental note not to mention that little observation to Madge. "Do the clouds ever lift?"
"Occasionally," Malfoy said. "But you have to catch those opportunities quickly, or you might miss them."
"I'll keep that in mind."
The barman brought Harry his pint. "Thanks, Reg."
"Enjoy."
Harry lifted his glass in salute to Malfoy. He wanted to continue their conversation, but didn't want to be too forward, especially since Malfoy had already caught him staring. "Have a nice evening."
He felt Malfoy's gaze on him as he manoeuvred his way to his usual table. He sat facing the bar - he'd chosen his spot well - and picked up the menu. He'd memorised the thing by now, but wanted to have something to give him an excuse to stay facing in that direction.
He watched as Malfoy talked to the barman, and if Reg's occasional glances in Harry's direction were anything to go by, he had a good idea what - or rather who - they were discussing.
When Harry finished his meal and walked up to the bar for a final pint, Malfoy was still there. As Harry approached, Malfoy took his last swig. Harry watched, mesmerised by the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed the last drop of liquid before placing the glass on the counter.
"Well, that's me," Malfoy said to Reg. "Time to call it a night."
Harry chuckled. "Clearly this isn't London."
Reg snorted and muttered something indistinguishable.
"Thank goodness," Malfoy said.
Harry motioned for another pint and turned to Malfoy. "Oh? Not a fan of London?"
Malfoy scowled, then seemed lost in thought for a moment before responding. "I don't like crowds."
Reg handed Harry a glass and Harry tilted it in Malfoy's direction. "Well London certainly has more than its fair share of those, that's for sure."
Malfoy gave a distant smile before standing up. "It's been a pleasure," he said to Reg, then turned his attention to Harry. "Enjoy your stay here, James. I'm sure you'll discover that what the island lacks in culture and crowds it more than makes up for in beauty."
As Harry caught the reflection of the fire in the grey of Malfoy's eyes, he thought he might just agree. Unwilling to ponder that revelation further, but reluctant to see Malfoy leave, he asked, "Any tips on what I should see first?"
Malfoy considered Harry for a moment - perhaps determining whether he was up to something nefarious - then returned to his seat. "What did you have in mind?"
Reg chimed in. "James here is a travel writer. Says he likes to see the tourist attractions, then mix 'em up with some of the local gems, I believe were his word."
"Exactly." Harry nodded towards Reg. "I like to get different points of view, a little something for everyone. And I thought you might give me an Englishman's perspective." Harry grinned. "So what do you like about the place?"
"I like it all," he said without hesitation, his eyes animated. "The island has its own personality, if you know what I mean."
Harry sipped his beer. "Not really, no."
"I suppose I got the feeling that the place welcomed me," he said, struggling to come up with the right words to describe his experience. "The people are friendly and the food and drink are wonderful, but it's more than that. The place itself has a feel, especially certain spots. There's something here that pulses with energy. But it's a calming, welcoming sort of energy."
Reg laughed. "You sound like those hippie types." He walked away muttering energy under his breath.
"Silly, really." Draco hung his head, looking rather put out.
"I don't think it sounds silly at all." Draco looked up. "In fact," Harry confided, "don't tell Madge this, but I've been to a number of places where I've felt the earth's energy." He shuddered as he recalled one such place he'd attended on a particularly nasty case. "Sometimes it's not so pleasant. I'd love to go somewhere that felt welcoming."
Draco bit his lower lip and appraised Harry, as though convincing himself Harry wasn't having him on. He looked incredibly young all of a sudden. Young and reserved. "I could show you, if you'd like. I have a few favourite spots that have some good stories to go along with them."
Harry grinned. "I'd like that very much," he said. And he was surprised to find that he meant it.
~ * ~ * ~
The next day, Draco arrived promptly at nine in the morning, as they'd agreed, and they set off. Harry didn't react when he took in the incongruous sight of Draco Malfoy behind the wheel of a Muggle car, though he did keep his wand handy, in case they got into a crash. He needn't have worried, as Draco's skills behind the wheel were more than adequate for the task.
"You brought the sun with you today," Harry noted, pleased to see the mist had finally lifted.
Malfoy pointed into the distance where grey clouds hovered over the mountain tops. "Not for long, I'm afraid." He picked up a map and handed it to Harry. "Fortunately, we're heading in the other direction and our destination is nearby, so we should be able to make it to Faerie Glen while the sun remains."
Not for the first time, Harry wondered who this person really was. Besides his physical appearance and unmistakable voice, he didn't remotely resemble the boy Harry had known at Hogwarts. He smiled at people, was friendly and relaxed. The Malfoy he knew from school walked rigidly or swaggered, according to the circumstances, and when they weren't glaring daggers at Harry, his eyes darted around to take in everything. Forever on guard, maybe. Or soaking up information. His laid back attitude unnerved Harry. It was like he'd taken on a whole new personality. But why, if no one here knew him from before?
A half hour later, they pulled off the road into a remote clearing and Malfoy got out, pulling a rucksack from the back and hoisting it on. "I've got water for the both of us," he said, "in case we decide to stay a while."
Despite his misgivings, Harry found he liked Thomas. This new and improved Malfoy.
"Thanks." Harry pulled on his own rucksack, packed with notebooks, pens, a digital camera, and the various pamphlets he'd spread on the table each evening. He'd tossed in a single bottle of water and a few cereal bars he'd picked up at the local supermarket when he'd been poking about town.
He felt it immediately - the faint thrum of magic in the air. If Malfoy noticed, he didn't remark on it; instead, he marched ahead to the path.
They walked in companionable silence along one path, then another, Harry doing his best, but failing, to focus strictly on the beauty of the surroundings and not the curve of Malfoy's arse in his well-fitting jeans. How had he not noticed Malfoy's arse before? Quite apart from Malfoy's acerbic personality, Harry was sure he could have appreciated that on at least one occasion over the years. He allowed himself another glance, noting the way the denim hugged Malfoy's backside in all the right ways.
Ah, yes. Robes. That explains it. Even though many of the students dressed in Muggle clothing when classes let out, Malfoy hadn't been one of them. The only occasions Harry had seen him dressed otherwise, he was in Quidditch gear, and Harry's mind had been focussed more on knocking Malfoy's arse off the broom than appreciating its appearance atop it. More's the pity.
"Well," Malfoy said, coming to an abrupt stop, nearly causing Harry to walk right into him. He caught himself just in time and willed his thoughts to return from the direction in which they'd wandered. Malfoy swept his arm in a grand gesture, indicating the beauty that surrounded them. "What do you think?"
Harry closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply. The scent of nature - a heady mix of grass, trees and flowers, mingled with the richness of the soil, crispness of the air, and ever-present moisture - flowed in and through him, and Harry could almost taste it. The magic resonated through his every pore. He felt it as an energy, neither definable nor tangible, but there. His own magic coursed through his veins, more perceptible than usual, and he felt very much alive.
He opened his eyes and allowed himself to absorb the majesty spread out before them. He smiled and turned to Malfoy. "I love it."
Malfoy's smile stunned Harry, causing his breath to catch. On second thought, it was more than his smile. He almost had a glow about him. Not something Harry saw, but felt. It must be Malfoy's magic, attuned to the raw power of the earth, and projected outwardly in cascades of soft energy. "It's faerie magic," Draco whispered, like children might when telling tales. "Or so the stories go." His smile faltered. "Never mind."
"No, really. I'm interested." Harry was. As a child, he was never allowed to speak of magic, not even that from fairy tales. He imagined he would always love to hear stories that had been passed down through generations. Being Muggle-raised, he often found the Muggle folklore to be even more interesting than the factual versions of the same events told by wizards. Particularly when the wizards telling the stories were as interesting as Binns.
"Well, the stories of the island speak of magical creatures, witches, magicians, and earth magic. The whole island was thought to be magical, and some people still believe that to be the case. But there are certain places that have special stories associated with them, places where the magic is supposedly stronger."
Harry nodded. "And this is one of them?"
Malfoy nodded and looked to the ground, biting his lip, obviously torn between saying what Harry knew to be the truth, and hiding what he probably thought was a sign of insanity. When he looked up again, apprehension in his eyes, Harry gave him an encouraging smile.
"I don't know how true the stories are - I've heard quite a few since I've been here, and some of them admittedly sound rather far-fetched - but there's something about this place, something that feels ... different."
Harry nodded. "There's an energy here, something that is alive and powerful."
"You feel it too?"
"Mm hmm. And it's a good feeling."
Malfoy grinned and sat down on the ground, looking out over the vastness of the land. "It's a wonderful feeling." He patted the ground next to him, and Harry sat too.
"So what's the story of the Faerie Glen?" Harry asked.
Malfoy shrugged. "No specific story as such, except it's the faeries' meeting place." They sat enjoying the sounds of nature and the quiet thrum of the magic. After a time, Draco pointed into the distance. "See that castle?" Harry followed his gaze to the end of a winding path and nodded. Atop one of several mounds, not quite substantial enough to call hills, a stone formation jutted out of the ground, grass growing haphazardly around the structure. "That's Castle Ewan, only it's not man-made."
Harry squinted to focus on the castle. "It's faerie-made?"
"So I'm told. Shall we?"
Harry grinned. "Absolutely."
~ * ~ * ~
"How do you know so much about this stuff?" Harry asked over dinner.
Draco shrugged. "I went on a number of tours when I first arrived here."
"When was that?"
Draco frowned, as if trying to recall. "Earlier this year," he said. He pushed his pie around his plate before reverting to their prior topic. "You know, much of the history of this place was handed down verbally. No written records."
"Really?" In the current digital age, Harry found that curious.
Draco nodded and his eyes danced again, like they had that afternoon. "It's Gaelic tradition, and you don't get much more Gaelic than Skye."
Harry nodded. Skye housed the only college in the world where Gaelic was not only taught, but was the primary language. "So I hear."
"Anyway, as you can imagine, that doesn't make for the most accurate records." He popped a piece of steak and ale pie in his mouth and washed it down with some water. "So I tried looking up some facts. You know, search using some of the key points of the stories." He shrugged. "Not a whole lot of anything to be found."
"That must have been frustrating," Harry said.
Draco grinned and shook his head. "Not really. I think it's part of the mystery of the place."
Harry pondered that, then nodded. "Is that what drew you here?"
The sparkle in his eyes faded slightly and he began pushing his food around again. He shrugged. "I suppose it's what keeps me here."
"Are you planning to stay?" Harry asked.
"I have no plans to leave."
"Fair enough." Harry scooped up his rucksack and took out some brochures. "So, what do you recommend next, oh wise tour guide?"
Draco relaxed once more and shuffled through the pages, sorting them into piles. There seemed to be no logical order that Harry could discern, but Draco seemed satisfied when he was done, leaving no brochure out.
He placed one pile in front of Harry. "These are places recognised as centres of magic." He placed a second pile beside the first. "These are places said to have known magic, but weren't necessarily hubs of it." He placed the remaining papers alongside the others. "These are beautiful places to see."
Harry frowned as he leafed through the first pile. "I didn't know all of these places were magical."
Draco smirked. "I told you the stories were passed down verbally."
"So which of the magical places should I see next?"
Draco chuckled. "What happened to the man who likes to see a mix of different things?" he asked. "All things for all people?"
"I've got a few weeks," Harry said. "Plenty of time to fit in the standard fare later on. According to Madge, I could see all of this in one week."
"Madge clearly doesn't appreciate what she's got here," Draco said. "You could probably see it all quickly, but I get the sense that you'd want to take in all that each place has to offer. Soak it up, as it were."
Harry nodded enthusiastically. "If the rest of the places are anything like what we saw today, I could see myself being here for quite a while."
He might have imagined it, but Draco looked pleased with the idea. And if Harry were being honest with himself, he'd admit it had very little to do with his current assignment, and more than just the magic, that had him feeling pleased with the idea himself. It was odd that, away from their world, Harry and Draco could connect in this one. Well, Thomas and James could connect. Harry and Draco still hated each other.
Over pudding, Draco said, "You know, I don't happen to be busy over the next few days." His voice wavered slightly. "If, you know, you'd like some company."
Harry's eyes widened. Was Draco asking him out? And, more to the point, was he actually considering it? Today was one thing, but ... Harry felt drawn to Draco. No, that wasn't right. He felt drawn to Thomas, and that presented a slippery slope Harry suspected would be far too easy to slide down. Draco Malfoy - snarky, entitled, prejudiced - he could handle. This man? Harry was in very real danger of falling for someone like him.
"Never mind," Draco said, disappointment clear on his features, though he tried to mask it. "You have work to do, and I'd just get in the way."
"No!" Harry said, before he could stop himself. Damn it. What the hell was he doing? His job, he reminded himself. Right. He had a job to do. Even if it left a sour taste in his mouth. "You were a lot of help today," he said. Did that come out sounding as lame as it did in his head? "I mean, I'd really appreciate that."
Draco smiled hesitantly, then grabbed the first bundle of pamphlets back.
"But I'm going to pay you," Harry added. Then amended, "As a tour guide."
Draco frowned. "I'm no tour guide. I'll just take you to the places I'd end up going to see anyway."
"I'll not take no for an answer," Harry said. Maybe if he paid Draco to take him round the island, it would feel less like friends spending the day together. Friends. What an odd thought.
Draco narrowed his eyes and seemed to consider. "Fine," he agreed. "You buy dinner each night and we'll call it even."
That's not what Harry meant when he'd suggested payment. One look at Draco, however, and he knew it would be pointless to argue. "Deal," he said, wondering how he'd ended up with plans to spend not only the next few days but the evenings with a man he found himself inexplicably attracted to. And how on earth was he going to keep that in check?
~ * ~ * ~
Ron Flooed for an update that night. Harry gave him the particulars, starting from the events of the day, leading to Malfoy's non-answers, and ending with their plans for the next few days.
"That's brilliant!" Ron said, choking on his laughter. "You're seeing Malfoy!"
Harry scowled. "It's not funny, Ron. I didn't even know he was gay."
"You're pulling my leg," he said. "How could you not know?"
"I don't know." Harry tossed his t-shirt onto the floor, scooped a clean one from his suitcase, and pulled in on. "I didn't know I was gay until a year ago."
Still chuckling, Ron shook his head. "Yeah, well, you've never been very perceptive in matters of the heart, have you?"
Harry gaped at his friend. "That's rich, coming from you."
Ron snorted. "Point. But at least I knew which team I played for."
"Piss off."
Ron's face turned serious. "So where's Malfoy taking you?" he asked in a sultry voice. The grin returned and he waggled his eyebrows for emphasis.
"Right. That's it. Tell Kingsley I'll be in touch in a couple of days. Meanwhile, I'll see if I can find out anything else."
~ * ~ * ~
The few days turned into a couple of weeks, since each site required a full day to truly appreciate. And enjoy each other's company. That last fact continued to take Harry by surprise. Perhaps it was a result of the magic, or maybe the absence of their history, divisions, prejudices and war weighing them down, but they got along famously. Harry found himself wishing this had been the person he'd met all those years ago in Madame Malkin's. How might their lives have been different.
They followed up the first trip with a drive to the Faerie Pools, which felt much like the Faerie Glen. Next on their agenda was the Old Man of Storr, followed by the healing well at Lake Shianta, both of which had a noticeable magical energy, but not as vibrant as the Faerie Glen.
When Harry asked what Thomas did or where he was from, Draco always answered vaguely. He did this and that, but was taking a year off. He was from here and there in England. Whenever Harry managed to slip in a question or two about the past, Draco said he wanted to look forward, not back.
After a day off, they visited Cuillin, a special request of Harry's. He'd read about the rocky mountain range in his brochures. They'd been named after Cúchulainn, reportedly a student of the vampire warrior Scáthach, who'd had a training facility on Skye. The magic in this area hung heavily in the air, but lacked the welcoming feel of the previous three places.
It struck Harry as odd that Draco didn't seem to be hiding anything. Sure, he evaded questions, but he gave no sign that they were troublesome. He didn't tense up, look suspicious, or stammer over an explanation. He just looked ... lost. He seemed to be exactly who he claimed: a young man taking a year off from life, and enjoying it. And after all Draco had been through, Harry thought he deserved that much, even if he had to pretend to be someone else to accomplish it.
The more time Harry spent with Draco, the more he began to wonder if this wasn't exactly who Draco was, beneath all the Slytherin and Malfoy camouflage. Could it be that Harry had missed the opportunity of a friendship when he'd chosen Ron over Draco all those years back? Not that he'd trade his friendship with Ron for anything. And not that it mattered now anyway, because Harry was an Auror and Kingsley wanted Draco to come in for questioning and Harry had been lying to Draco for weeks. They could never be friends. Or anything else. How could they be?
They took a day off here and there to go about their own business - Harry supposedly to write up about the attractions, but really to check in with work, and Draco to do whatever it was he did. Harry didn't like those days, partly because it gave him time to dwell on his deception, and partly, he had to admit, because he enjoyed his time with Draco. Thomas. Definitely Thomas. He'd have thought Kingsley would have called him back by now, but for some reason, his boss was convinced that Harry could somehow get Draco to talk. But how could that happen when the man never even hinted at his previous life?
They also travelled to a couple of locations where one might describe the magic as foreboding, though not necessarily evil. According to legend, a headless ghost named Colann gun Chean called Trotternish his home, and would kill trespassers by throwing his head at them. Creepy. And a kelpie, a shape-shifting water horse, presumably lived in Loch Coruisk, and had been the cause of numerous seamen's deaths.
"The energy here makes me feel uncomfortable," Draco said as they'd left Trotternish.
Harry agreed. "You seem fascinated by the folklore of the island," he observed as they sat having a picnic lunch, before heading out for a trip to Dunvegan Castle to see the legendary Faerie Flag.
"Aren't you?"
Harry nudged him. "It's my job to be interested." Actually, my real job is spying on you right now. Impressive, isn't it? Harry bit his tongue.
Draco pondered that for a moment. "I don't know," he said sceptically. "You haven't taken many notes, and only a handful of photos."
Shit. "I make notes when I get back each night." At least that was true.
Draco raised an eyebrow and Harry found the words flowing out of him. "Truth be told, I tend to lose myself in the moment and don't want to break that connection by scribbling down my observations." He omitted the fact that he'd been distracted by Draco. More specifically by his growing attraction to the man he knew as Thomas.
Draco rested a hand on Harry's and Harry didn't pull away. "I know the feeling."
"Besides," Harry added, trying not to stare into Draco's grey eyes, for fear they might draw him in further, "you're a wealth of information. I can just ask you to help me fill in the blanks."
"This is true," he agreed with a grin.
Harry pushed back his feelings and focussed once again on his task. "So tell me, have you always been fascinated by stories of magic?"
Draco pulled away and wrung his hands together in a protective motion, as though erecting a barrier between him and the world. Every muscle tensed.
"Hey," Harry said. "What's wrong?" A stupid question, really, since he knew the horrors that lay in Draco's past. Still, it seemed an odd reaction to a simple question.
"I don't know."
"Sorry. Listen, we don't have to talk about it."
"No," he interrupted. "I mean I don't know. I can't remember."
"You --"
Draco drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. His breathing picked up slightly.
"I haven't told anyone this," he said. "And I can't believe I'm about to tell you. I only met you a short time ago. But I feel like I can trust you."
Harry winced. "It's okay," he said, barely resisting the urge to take Draco's hands in his own or put a comforting hand on his back. Only his guilt kept him in check.
"I can't remember anything before coming to this island." What? "In fact, I don't even remember getting here."
"How?" Harry tried to reconcile this. If that were true, it shed a new light on everything. It all seemed to make sense. Draco knowing but not knowing about magic. Could it be that his seemingly feigned innocence about it all wasn't an act? His evasive answers to questions and that lost look whenever Harry asked something about his past. Merlin, he didn't know anything.
"I don't know. I just woke up one morning, and I remember having a bit of a panic attack because I didn't know where I was. Then I couldn't recall who I was. There was nothing there. In my head, I mean. I found a journal, some identification and some Barclays' bank statements. I've read the journal through, but there's little in the way of information."
"What about personal items?"
Draco shook his head. "Lots of clothes, but not a single photograph, letter, or anything that dates back before this year."
"That's terrible." Who had done this to Draco?
Draco rested his head on his knees. "I have no idea what happened. I just know that every time I think about leaving the island to find out, my heart races and I feel ill. I figure my mind must have it all locked up and it's telling me to stay put."
That would certainly make sense, given his past. But Harry couldn't believe anyone would want to live like that. "Don't you want to know?"
"Of course I do." He turned towards Harry, his head still resting on his knees. He looked so vulnerable like that. "I just need to work up the nerve first." He took a deep breath and sat up again. "I suppose telling you was my first step."
Harry placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, unable to hold back. "We'll figure this out."
When Draco rested his own hand upon Harry's and whispered a pained, "Thanks," Harry's heart ached for him. When he lifted Harry's hand to his cheek, Harry knew he was in trouble.
~ * ~ * ~
Harry Flooed Ron that night and told him Draco's story. He'd not wanted to - he'd wanted to keep Draco's confidence, and spent hours weighing his options - but it came down to what was best for Draco, and Harry needed Ron's help. At least that's how he justified it in his own mind. He wasn't doing it for the Ministry's sake. Not that Ron needed to know Harry's motivations. And he definitely didn't need to know that Harry was falling for Draco.
"And you believe him?" Ron asked incredulously.
"What reason would he have to lie?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Harry. Who knows why he does anything? He's hiding out, maybe from the Death Eaters as much as from us. Besides, it's Malfoy. To him, lying is like breathing."
Harry refrained from lashing out at his partner. Ron only knew the old Draco, not this one. It wasn't his fault he was being obstinate. "No, Ron, this was different. I've watched him."
Ron snorted. "Nothing new there."
Harry ignored the remark. "I mean it. He's fascinated by the folklore, anything magical about the place. And there's a lot. He feels magic in the air, and in himself, but doesn't know what to make of it. He knows there's something under the surface, but he can't quite grasp it."
Ron frowned. "That sounds ... enlightened of you."
"I have my moments." Harry shrugged. "He hasn't performed any magic, and he's been consistent all along. Not once has he wavered, hesitated, or exhibited any signs of someone lying." He spared a moment to wonder if he had shown any signs of lying. If Draco had picked up on anything out of the ordinary. Of course not, he realised. Because he'd never have opened up if he had. A part of Harry wished he weren't quite so good at his job. But if he weren't, he wouldn't be in a position to help Draco now. He just had to keep reminding himself of that.
Ron let out an exasperated sigh. "All right, mate. Whatever you say. You are the resident expert on all things Malfoy after all," he said.
"What do you mean by that?" Harry snapped.
Ron raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing. Just that you know the git probably better than anyone. Maybe even better than himself."
I do now, Harry realised with a fresh pang of guilt. "Just ... get whatever information you can, yeah?"
"Will do."
"Thanks."
"Oh, and Harry?"
"Hmm."
"Be careful," he warned. "This is Malfoy we're talking about here. Prepare for the worst and all that rubbish."
"Good night, Ron."
Part 2