Fic: Parity Transformations - Harry/Draco - 2/? - NC-17 overall
Title: Parity Transformations
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: Eleven years since he ran from Hogwarts and seven years since the end of the war, Draco has moved on. Now in his late twenties, Draco lives a reclusive life in a tiny village in Hampshire. Never in a million years does he expect to cross paths with Harry Potter again. But he does, and there are two, rather small and rather excitable, complications.
Beta done by amejisuto. Thank you, darling.
A/N: Compliant with all canon up to HBP so there may be spoilers for any of the first six books. As this fic is already planned out in full, it will not be compliant with book 7 and will therefore contain NO SPOILERS.
Previous Chapter: HERE
It was starting to get hot, Draco deduced. The midday sun was blazing and heat radiated from the pavement under Draco’s feet. It was a short journey, maybe ten minutes if you walked briskly, to the local shop, and Draco always enjoyed it no matter what the weather.
Otterbourne wasn’t a large village. The population was tiny, less than two thousand, and the properties were nicely spread out, scattered between green fields and thick, inviting woodland. Mostly, it was a quiet place. Aside from the odd car passing with its stereo pumping and the intermittent sounds of children playing or the neighbours arguing, there was just the rustling of leaves, chattering of birds and sometimes the wailing of a cat as it guarded its territory.
Draco knew how that felt. His home was his little castle, his place of retreat and safety. It belonged to him and Kasen and no one else. The very thought of someone else trying to gain access to his safe haven made Draco coil and hiss inside.
Draco picked up his pace as Kasen rounded the corner in front, disappearing behind an overgrown hedge.
‘Can I have some Flying Saucers?’ Kasen asked, looking over his shoulder as he walked.
‘Yes. Watch where you’re going.’
Kasen turned back just in time to narrowly avoid a lamppost, the same lamppost he almost walked into every single time he passed it.
‘And can we have some chocolate éclairs?’
That wasn’t a fair question. They were Draco’s favourites and he could not, under any circumstances, resist them. Kasen was well aware of this.
‘Only if you promise to behave.’
‘I promise.’ Kasen grinned. It was the expression of someone who had just executed a fiendish master plan. He always behaved and his father knew it, yet Draco still insisted on issuing the same condition every time the subject of chocolate éclairs came up.
Walking together now, they turned another corner and crossed the street at the zebra crossing. They continued down a cracked and bumpy path which had seen better days and made one last turn into a street which seemed darker than the others, muted deep green from the overhanging trees.
Oaks and birches lined and overhung the road, and Draco was glad for the shade, his bare arms already tingling and looking slightly red from the sizzling sun. How he wished he had the sort of body that would suit a vest, shorts and sandals. As it was, he made do with a t-shirt, light linen trousers and trainers. He knew he looked good, even if he couldn’t carry off the bronzed beach boy look. It was just a shame he was sweating like pig in strife.
Kasen, on the other hand, had been wearing nothing but shorts, t-shirts, and sandals all week. Slathered in SPF 50, he looked much more comfortable than Draco felt.
The village shop was situated at the end of the road, nestled between unruly but beautiful shocks of buddleia and honeysuckle.
Kasen pulled on an arching sprig of buddleia, letting it go and pinging it back to bob serenely with the rest of the shrub as he and Draco passed.
‘Good afternoon,’ said a disembodied voice as Draco held open the door for his son. A head of thinning, grey hair popped up from behind a stack of tins. ‘Ah, Draco. And Kasen! Good to see you, young fellow! How the devil are you?’
‘I’m very well. Have you got any Flying Saucers?’
The shopkeeper rolled his eyes. ‘The young. Only one thing on their minds. Sweets. I do believe we have a few bags left. Go on, you’d better grab one of them before the mad rush starts and they all go.’
Kasen gasped and dashed off up the aisle.
‘What rush would that be?’ Draco asked, laughing.
The shopkeeper nodded firmly. ‘The one in my head.’
‘You have a rush in your head? Strange, I only have voices in mine.’ Draco picked up a basket from a pile by the door. ‘Are you well, Edward? I haven’t seen you for a few days.’
Edward waved him off. ‘Bit of back trouble, that’s all. Nothing serious.’ He resumed stacking his tins as if to make a point.
‘Should you be doing that?’ Draco asked.
‘Don’t you bloody start. Sound like the wife. I’ll be fine. I don’t want any fuss.’
Draco nodded and moved past him. ‘I see. Just old age creeping in, I suspect.’
Edward laughed. ‘Cheeky bugger! On with you, before you get a tin of baked beans wrapped ‘round your head.’
With an amused smile and a small bow, Draco moved away. He turned when he got to the end of the aisle, slipped his wand from his trouser pocket and pointed it at his friend’s back.
Edward straightened, frowned, and rubbed his back curiously. ‘Huh. Feels better,’ he muttered, smiling and going back to his display.
Pleased, Draco slipped his wand back into his pocket.
‘You should be more careful where you do magic,’ a voice whispered in his ear. ‘You never know who’s watching.’
Draco nearly jumped a mile. ‘Good Merlin, you get everywhere, don’t you?!’
Harry Potter shrugged but otherwise said nothing.
Draco regarded him carefully. He still wasn’t pleased at the information which had been blurted out in front of Kasen, but Draco’s anger and desire to beat Potter to a bloody pulp had somewhat diminished over the past two weeks. Now he only wished to burn Potter’s house to the ground.
Finally, after several seconds of stubborn silence, it was Potter who spoke again. He squatted down to his son’s level and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Why don’t you go and choose some sweets?’
Warily, little James glanced up at Draco and then back at his father.
‘Go on,’ Potter encouraged. ‘It’s fine.’
James nodded, looked spitefully up at Draco, and made his way to the back of the shop.
‘Look, Malfoy -.’
‘I wasn’t doing Dark Magic,’ Draco said, interrupting. ‘It was a healing spell. Trapped nerve. Before you go running off to your Auror pals. I didn’t think anyone else was in here.’
Potter blinked at him. ‘I know. I was only teasing.’
‘Is that so?’ Draco said, not sure if that was the truth or not. ‘I’m sure you’d like nothing more than to see me finally hang.’
Potter bowed his head and shook it. ‘You are way off the mark. Look, I just wanted to apologise - for the other week. What I said, it was thoughtless and stupid and so typically me to put my great big foot into my even bigger mouth. I’m sorry, okay?’
Draco opened and closed his mouth for a while. The very last thing he expected was an apology from the great Chosen One. Well, obviously, Potter was up to something.
‘I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, Potter, but it won’t wash.’
‘I’m not playing at anything. I’m just trying to apologise. I’m not even asking for an apology from you -’
‘I should think not!’
‘- even though you insulted my son and made him cry.’
‘I did no such thing.’
‘Yes, you did,’ Potter said wearily. ‘But it’s fine. It’s done. Can we move on?’
Draco looked confused. ‘Move on where?’ he asked. Something suddenly occurred to him. ‘Potter, what are you even doing here? Are you stalking me?!’
‘Uh, no, definitely not. I live here, actually.’
‘Here,’ Draco repeated, pointing at the ground. ‘Right here.’
‘Well, not right here, obviously. Old Parsonage Court. I just bought a cottage there.’
‘My life just keeps getting better and better. What on earth possessed you to move here?!’
‘Why, what’s wrong with it?’
‘I’m here!’
Potter smirked. ‘You may have a point.’
‘I … was that supposed to be funny?’
Potter shrugged again and grinned. ‘So, fancy showing me the sights?’
‘No, I don’t. Please leave me alone.’ Draco snatched a loaf of bread from the shelf behind Potter and stalked off down the aisle in search of eggs and washing-up liquid. He seized a large bottle of water on the way and glanced around for Kasen.
‘Kasen, hurry up,’ he called.
There was no answer.
‘Kasen, what are you doing?’ Draco could hear the murmur of little voices and he tracked them over to the crisps, biscuits and sweets.
‘It’s mine! I saw it first,’ Kasen insisted, holding firmly to one end of a large bag of Bobby’s Sherbet Flying Saucers.
‘No, you didn’t! I did. Give it to me!’ James replied, holding on to the other end just as tightly.
Kasen tugged. ‘You can have one of the other bags,’ he argued, nodding his head at the other three identical bags hanging between the Jelly Babies and the Revels. ‘These are mine.’
James tugged back. ‘They’re mine! You’re so stupid!’
‘At least I don’t smell!’
Draco felt rather at a loss. Kasen had never argued with another child before and Draco had no idea what to do.
Potter stood next to him with an armful of French bread. ‘At least they’re arguments are more mature than ours.’
Draco glared.
‘You’re horrible, just like your dad!’ James wailed.
Kasen let go of the bag of sherbet like it had burned him. ‘Take that back! My dad isn’t horrible! He’s the best dad in the world! He’s better than your pooey dad.’
‘I HATE YOU!” James shouted, throwing the bag and missing Kasen by an absolute mile.
James was getting visibly upset now, his eyes watery and his face red, and Kasen looked to be on the verge of some kind of psychotic break. Draco moved to intercept.
‘He tried to take my Flying Saucers!’ Kasen defended before Draco had so much as opened his mouth.
‘Just tell me this, Kasen, is it really worth arguing over?’
‘Yes,’ Kasen said stubbornly.
‘Really? Considering there are another three bags just over there? Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well I think you’re being very silly.’
‘He started it.’
‘I really don’t care who started it, or who said or did what. I want it to stop - right now.’
Kasen crossed his arms and studiously ignored James’s wailing. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ he muttered.
Draco raised an eyebrow which meant he didn’t believe that for a second. ‘I think you’re both as bad as each other.’
‘Erm, I think I’d better just take this one home,’ Potter interrupted, putting down the loaves and hoisting his son up onto his hip. ‘It’s been a long few weeks. He’s just tired. Sorry.’
Draco nodded and swallowed down the urge to apologise back.
‘I hate it here, Daddy. I want to go home. I want to go back.’ Streams of tears fell down James’s face and he took great gulps of air trying to breathe between his sobs.
Draco was sure he could feel something like guilt gnawing away at his insides as James cried and cried, and when he looked down at Kasen he could see real upset start to creep over his son’s face, too. He looked questioningly up at Draco and Draco nodded.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kasen said, more to Potter because James had buried his face in his father’s t-shirt.
‘It’s okay. Don’t worry. Everybody argues now and again. Don’t get upset over it.’
But Kasen was going to get upset over it. He sniffed a couple of times and then the tears came. Half of Draco just wanted to comfort his son and the other half wanted to ban all children from speaking to each other in public. He settled for the first option, opening his arms and grasping Kasen tightly.
‘Don’t cry, Kasen, please.’
‘Yeah, there’s nothing to get upset over,’ Potter added. ‘Look, Draco, I’ve really got to go, but - and this probably the last thing you want to do - we should probably try to patch this up.’
Draco just nodded, taken aback by Potter’s use of his first name.
‘I’m number twenty-eight Old Parsonage Court. It’s the white cottage that’s set back further than the others. Maybe bring Kasen ‘round in a day or two?’
There was a pleading look in Potter’s eyes that Draco had never seen before and it unnerved him so much that he found himself agreeing to go over there. ‘How about tomorrow?’
‘Great,’ Potter said uneasily, looking as awkward as Draco felt. ‘Tomorrow’s great. I’ll make some lunch. One o’clock suit you?’
‘That will be fine.’
Potter said goodbye and hastened from the shop, leaving Kasen still sniffling and Draco feeling completely stunned and out of sorts.
‘What have you got me into?’ Draco muttered.
**
Draco crept slowly and carefully into the dimly lit room. ‘Mother?’ he whispered.
She slipped from the shadows, her pale hair and face like a floating apparition in the darkness. Her hands touched him, fingers and palms caressing his arms, shoulders, neck, hair …
‘Draco. My son. You must go, Draco. You must leave. He does not believe you.’
Draco lowered his gaze. ‘I tried.’ He wasn’t sure if he was referring to his failure to kill Dumbledore or his failure to conceal his cowardice from the Dark Lord.
‘I know, sweetheart. It’s okay.’ She pulled him into an embrace, holding tightly. ‘It’s okay.’
‘It isn’t okay, though, is it?’ Draco mumbled, his face pressed down onto his mother’s shoulder. ‘He’s going to kill us. And it’s all my fault.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘What have I done?’
‘No.’ His mother’s tone was sharp. She pulled away, keeping her hands firmly on Draco’s shoulders. ‘You mustn’t think like that. None of this is your fault.’
Maybe that was true.
Maybe it wasn’t.
‘What will we do?’
‘You must run, Draco.’
His lashes wet and his throat suddenly so dry he couldn’t speak, Draco couldn’t look at her. He felt sick.
She wasn’t coming with him.
TBC…
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: Eleven years since he ran from Hogwarts and seven years since the end of the war, Draco has moved on. Now in his late twenties, Draco lives a reclusive life in a tiny village in Hampshire. Never in a million years does he expect to cross paths with Harry Potter again. But he does, and there are two, rather small and rather excitable, complications.
Beta done by amejisuto. Thank you, darling.
A/N: Compliant with all canon up to HBP so there may be spoilers for any of the first six books. As this fic is already planned out in full, it will not be compliant with book 7 and will therefore contain NO SPOILERS.
Previous Chapter: HERE
It was starting to get hot, Draco deduced. The midday sun was blazing and heat radiated from the pavement under Draco’s feet. It was a short journey, maybe ten minutes if you walked briskly, to the local shop, and Draco always enjoyed it no matter what the weather.
Otterbourne wasn’t a large village. The population was tiny, less than two thousand, and the properties were nicely spread out, scattered between green fields and thick, inviting woodland. Mostly, it was a quiet place. Aside from the odd car passing with its stereo pumping and the intermittent sounds of children playing or the neighbours arguing, there was just the rustling of leaves, chattering of birds and sometimes the wailing of a cat as it guarded its territory.
Draco knew how that felt. His home was his little castle, his place of retreat and safety. It belonged to him and Kasen and no one else. The very thought of someone else trying to gain access to his safe haven made Draco coil and hiss inside.
Draco picked up his pace as Kasen rounded the corner in front, disappearing behind an overgrown hedge.
‘Can I have some Flying Saucers?’ Kasen asked, looking over his shoulder as he walked.
‘Yes. Watch where you’re going.’
Kasen turned back just in time to narrowly avoid a lamppost, the same lamppost he almost walked into every single time he passed it.
‘And can we have some chocolate éclairs?’
That wasn’t a fair question. They were Draco’s favourites and he could not, under any circumstances, resist them. Kasen was well aware of this.
‘Only if you promise to behave.’
‘I promise.’ Kasen grinned. It was the expression of someone who had just executed a fiendish master plan. He always behaved and his father knew it, yet Draco still insisted on issuing the same condition every time the subject of chocolate éclairs came up.
Walking together now, they turned another corner and crossed the street at the zebra crossing. They continued down a cracked and bumpy path which had seen better days and made one last turn into a street which seemed darker than the others, muted deep green from the overhanging trees.
Oaks and birches lined and overhung the road, and Draco was glad for the shade, his bare arms already tingling and looking slightly red from the sizzling sun. How he wished he had the sort of body that would suit a vest, shorts and sandals. As it was, he made do with a t-shirt, light linen trousers and trainers. He knew he looked good, even if he couldn’t carry off the bronzed beach boy look. It was just a shame he was sweating like pig in strife.
Kasen, on the other hand, had been wearing nothing but shorts, t-shirts, and sandals all week. Slathered in SPF 50, he looked much more comfortable than Draco felt.
The village shop was situated at the end of the road, nestled between unruly but beautiful shocks of buddleia and honeysuckle.
Kasen pulled on an arching sprig of buddleia, letting it go and pinging it back to bob serenely with the rest of the shrub as he and Draco passed.
‘Good afternoon,’ said a disembodied voice as Draco held open the door for his son. A head of thinning, grey hair popped up from behind a stack of tins. ‘Ah, Draco. And Kasen! Good to see you, young fellow! How the devil are you?’
‘I’m very well. Have you got any Flying Saucers?’
The shopkeeper rolled his eyes. ‘The young. Only one thing on their minds. Sweets. I do believe we have a few bags left. Go on, you’d better grab one of them before the mad rush starts and they all go.’
Kasen gasped and dashed off up the aisle.
‘What rush would that be?’ Draco asked, laughing.
The shopkeeper nodded firmly. ‘The one in my head.’
‘You have a rush in your head? Strange, I only have voices in mine.’ Draco picked up a basket from a pile by the door. ‘Are you well, Edward? I haven’t seen you for a few days.’
Edward waved him off. ‘Bit of back trouble, that’s all. Nothing serious.’ He resumed stacking his tins as if to make a point.
‘Should you be doing that?’ Draco asked.
‘Don’t you bloody start. Sound like the wife. I’ll be fine. I don’t want any fuss.’
Draco nodded and moved past him. ‘I see. Just old age creeping in, I suspect.’
Edward laughed. ‘Cheeky bugger! On with you, before you get a tin of baked beans wrapped ‘round your head.’
With an amused smile and a small bow, Draco moved away. He turned when he got to the end of the aisle, slipped his wand from his trouser pocket and pointed it at his friend’s back.
Edward straightened, frowned, and rubbed his back curiously. ‘Huh. Feels better,’ he muttered, smiling and going back to his display.
Pleased, Draco slipped his wand back into his pocket.
‘You should be more careful where you do magic,’ a voice whispered in his ear. ‘You never know who’s watching.’
Draco nearly jumped a mile. ‘Good Merlin, you get everywhere, don’t you?!’
Harry Potter shrugged but otherwise said nothing.
Draco regarded him carefully. He still wasn’t pleased at the information which had been blurted out in front of Kasen, but Draco’s anger and desire to beat Potter to a bloody pulp had somewhat diminished over the past two weeks. Now he only wished to burn Potter’s house to the ground.
Finally, after several seconds of stubborn silence, it was Potter who spoke again. He squatted down to his son’s level and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Why don’t you go and choose some sweets?’
Warily, little James glanced up at Draco and then back at his father.
‘Go on,’ Potter encouraged. ‘It’s fine.’
James nodded, looked spitefully up at Draco, and made his way to the back of the shop.
‘Look, Malfoy -.’
‘I wasn’t doing Dark Magic,’ Draco said, interrupting. ‘It was a healing spell. Trapped nerve. Before you go running off to your Auror pals. I didn’t think anyone else was in here.’
Potter blinked at him. ‘I know. I was only teasing.’
‘Is that so?’ Draco said, not sure if that was the truth or not. ‘I’m sure you’d like nothing more than to see me finally hang.’
Potter bowed his head and shook it. ‘You are way off the mark. Look, I just wanted to apologise - for the other week. What I said, it was thoughtless and stupid and so typically me to put my great big foot into my even bigger mouth. I’m sorry, okay?’
Draco opened and closed his mouth for a while. The very last thing he expected was an apology from the great Chosen One. Well, obviously, Potter was up to something.
‘I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, Potter, but it won’t wash.’
‘I’m not playing at anything. I’m just trying to apologise. I’m not even asking for an apology from you -’
‘I should think not!’
‘- even though you insulted my son and made him cry.’
‘I did no such thing.’
‘Yes, you did,’ Potter said wearily. ‘But it’s fine. It’s done. Can we move on?’
Draco looked confused. ‘Move on where?’ he asked. Something suddenly occurred to him. ‘Potter, what are you even doing here? Are you stalking me?!’
‘Uh, no, definitely not. I live here, actually.’
‘Here,’ Draco repeated, pointing at the ground. ‘Right here.’
‘Well, not right here, obviously. Old Parsonage Court. I just bought a cottage there.’
‘My life just keeps getting better and better. What on earth possessed you to move here?!’
‘Why, what’s wrong with it?’
‘I’m here!’
Potter smirked. ‘You may have a point.’
‘I … was that supposed to be funny?’
Potter shrugged again and grinned. ‘So, fancy showing me the sights?’
‘No, I don’t. Please leave me alone.’ Draco snatched a loaf of bread from the shelf behind Potter and stalked off down the aisle in search of eggs and washing-up liquid. He seized a large bottle of water on the way and glanced around for Kasen.
‘Kasen, hurry up,’ he called.
There was no answer.
‘Kasen, what are you doing?’ Draco could hear the murmur of little voices and he tracked them over to the crisps, biscuits and sweets.
‘It’s mine! I saw it first,’ Kasen insisted, holding firmly to one end of a large bag of Bobby’s Sherbet Flying Saucers.
‘No, you didn’t! I did. Give it to me!’ James replied, holding on to the other end just as tightly.
Kasen tugged. ‘You can have one of the other bags,’ he argued, nodding his head at the other three identical bags hanging between the Jelly Babies and the Revels. ‘These are mine.’
James tugged back. ‘They’re mine! You’re so stupid!’
‘At least I don’t smell!’
Draco felt rather at a loss. Kasen had never argued with another child before and Draco had no idea what to do.
Potter stood next to him with an armful of French bread. ‘At least they’re arguments are more mature than ours.’
Draco glared.
‘You’re horrible, just like your dad!’ James wailed.
Kasen let go of the bag of sherbet like it had burned him. ‘Take that back! My dad isn’t horrible! He’s the best dad in the world! He’s better than your pooey dad.’
‘I HATE YOU!” James shouted, throwing the bag and missing Kasen by an absolute mile.
James was getting visibly upset now, his eyes watery and his face red, and Kasen looked to be on the verge of some kind of psychotic break. Draco moved to intercept.
‘He tried to take my Flying Saucers!’ Kasen defended before Draco had so much as opened his mouth.
‘Just tell me this, Kasen, is it really worth arguing over?’
‘Yes,’ Kasen said stubbornly.
‘Really? Considering there are another three bags just over there? Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well I think you’re being very silly.’
‘He started it.’
‘I really don’t care who started it, or who said or did what. I want it to stop - right now.’
Kasen crossed his arms and studiously ignored James’s wailing. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ he muttered.
Draco raised an eyebrow which meant he didn’t believe that for a second. ‘I think you’re both as bad as each other.’
‘Erm, I think I’d better just take this one home,’ Potter interrupted, putting down the loaves and hoisting his son up onto his hip. ‘It’s been a long few weeks. He’s just tired. Sorry.’
Draco nodded and swallowed down the urge to apologise back.
‘I hate it here, Daddy. I want to go home. I want to go back.’ Streams of tears fell down James’s face and he took great gulps of air trying to breathe between his sobs.
Draco was sure he could feel something like guilt gnawing away at his insides as James cried and cried, and when he looked down at Kasen he could see real upset start to creep over his son’s face, too. He looked questioningly up at Draco and Draco nodded.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kasen said, more to Potter because James had buried his face in his father’s t-shirt.
‘It’s okay. Don’t worry. Everybody argues now and again. Don’t get upset over it.’
But Kasen was going to get upset over it. He sniffed a couple of times and then the tears came. Half of Draco just wanted to comfort his son and the other half wanted to ban all children from speaking to each other in public. He settled for the first option, opening his arms and grasping Kasen tightly.
‘Don’t cry, Kasen, please.’
‘Yeah, there’s nothing to get upset over,’ Potter added. ‘Look, Draco, I’ve really got to go, but - and this probably the last thing you want to do - we should probably try to patch this up.’
Draco just nodded, taken aback by Potter’s use of his first name.
‘I’m number twenty-eight Old Parsonage Court. It’s the white cottage that’s set back further than the others. Maybe bring Kasen ‘round in a day or two?’
There was a pleading look in Potter’s eyes that Draco had never seen before and it unnerved him so much that he found himself agreeing to go over there. ‘How about tomorrow?’
‘Great,’ Potter said uneasily, looking as awkward as Draco felt. ‘Tomorrow’s great. I’ll make some lunch. One o’clock suit you?’
‘That will be fine.’
Potter said goodbye and hastened from the shop, leaving Kasen still sniffling and Draco feeling completely stunned and out of sorts.
‘What have you got me into?’ Draco muttered.
**
Draco crept slowly and carefully into the dimly lit room. ‘Mother?’ he whispered.
She slipped from the shadows, her pale hair and face like a floating apparition in the darkness. Her hands touched him, fingers and palms caressing his arms, shoulders, neck, hair …
‘Draco. My son. You must go, Draco. You must leave. He does not believe you.’
Draco lowered his gaze. ‘I tried.’ He wasn’t sure if he was referring to his failure to kill Dumbledore or his failure to conceal his cowardice from the Dark Lord.
‘I know, sweetheart. It’s okay.’ She pulled him into an embrace, holding tightly. ‘It’s okay.’
‘It isn’t okay, though, is it?’ Draco mumbled, his face pressed down onto his mother’s shoulder. ‘He’s going to kill us. And it’s all my fault.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘What have I done?’
‘No.’ His mother’s tone was sharp. She pulled away, keeping her hands firmly on Draco’s shoulders. ‘You mustn’t think like that. None of this is your fault.’
Maybe that was true.
Maybe it wasn’t.
‘What will we do?’
‘You must run, Draco.’
His lashes wet and his throat suddenly so dry he couldn’t speak, Draco couldn’t look at her. He felt sick.
She wasn’t coming with him.
TBC…