GB's story, oh so long ...
Not my characters, JKR's, not what I'd normally be up to, not quite sure how I ended up enjoying writing this quite so much.
Some degree of shagging, tastefully ellided.
H/D, because what's the purpose of HP fic if it's not?
And it appears to be Part One ...
It was cold here. But he knew not to complain, because cold was better than dark, and anything was better than dead. Snape had left him enough food to last him through the week, and there were blankets he could huddle under, books and old letters to read.
Draco was glad of the distraction. Unoccupied, his mind kept returning to that scene on Hogwarts’ roof. The gentleness of Dumbledore … he had expected fury, rage, grief at the betrayal … but the man had offered to help him. And then Snape had … Draco picked up the nearest book at random and read intently. It was a novel, a bad one, about a friendship between a wizard and a giant. He read a few pages, then dropped it back onto the threadbare sofa, pushing himself up to walk around and warm the blood in his legs.
Giants were no more likely to befriend wizards than Dumbledore had been likely to protect him. The Dark Lord had them fighting on his side, but once the war was over, they would be on their own side, with their own list of demands. Everyone had a list of demands. Kill Dumbledore, get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, be a proper Malfoy, stay quiet, stay hidden, wait till we can find a use for you.
He smiled ruefully. Three years ago he thought that the worst of his problems was losing at Quidditch to bloody Potter. He’d pay to go back to those days, now. He had thought there was high drama in a House prize, and that a victory in Potions meant something, then. The heights of joy had been found in swanning about the Slytherin common room and making Harry Potter’s life miserable.
Potter. God, what would Potter be doing without his precious Dumbledore? Three years ago Draco would have gloated that his hero was stronger than Potter’s. Now he felt a stirring of empathy. They’d both been left abandoned in this war. Potter had lost just as much as he had. More. Every one who had ever stood as a parent to him had been taken away, one by one. Just as Draco’s father had chosen the Dark Lord over him, and his mother had chosen his father, and Snape had …
To be honest, Draco had no idea what Snape had chosen. His former teacher appeared for half a day every week, gave brief updates, restocked the larders, then left. What passed for conversation between them was lists. Lists of the living and of the dead. Of those who had declared themselves for the Dark Lord and those who had been killed by his forces. Of towns that stood, of towns that fell. Lists that described a world ever shrinking, descending into one overwhelming conflict. Draco had come to dread Snape’s visits.
At least, said a quiet voice deep inside him, at least your family is still alive.
Draco picked up the wretched book again and began to read in the light of the small lamp. Outside the wind blew fiercely, and the black curtains that covered the cottage’s windows stirred, even behind their closed windows and shutters.
With a sharp crack, the door flew inwards and Draco realised, too late, that the weather had been calm. He lunged for his wand, but as his hand closed around it, a familiar voice cried “Expelliarmus!” and it flew out of reach.
Potter stood in the open doorway, his arm outstretched, with wand at the ready. Sunlight blazed behind him and Draco couldn’t see Potter’s face clearly, but he didn’t have to. There was only one path left to him, now, and he chose to face it with dignity. With his hands open and lifted away from his sides, he stood up straight. “Finish it,” he said. “You win, just let it end.”
Potter took two swift strides towards him, there was a crash of pain, and then blackness.
II
Draco was surprised to wake up. The left side of his face throbbed and his head ached, but he was alive and otherwise unharmed. The cottage was bright with daylight, and, of all things, he could smell tea and toast.
He sat up. Potter sat at the table, looking steadily at him, with morning tea spread out in front of him. “Bloody hell …” whispered Draco.
“How’s your head?” Potter asked.
“Sore,” Draco replied, sitting up. “What spell did you use?”
Potter looked slightly abashed. “I didn’t, I punched you.”
Draco was too surprised to sneer. “I suppose that’s fair,” he admitted. “I was rather expecting you to kill me.”
“Yeah, so was I.” Potter stood up and poured another cup. He gestured towards Draco. “Come on, it’s getting cold and you look terrible.”
“Is it poisoned?” Draco asked.
“Not yet,” Harry answered, with the beginnings of a rueful smile.
Draco made his way to the table and sat at the opposite end to Harry. He realised that his sleeve was rolled up, exposing his bare arm. He held it up to Potter with a questioning eyebrow raise.
Harry shrugged. “I had to be sure.”
Draco rolled down his sleeve and took the proffered tea and buttered toast tentatively. “Potter,” he began.
“Yes?”
“This is insane. Why don’t you just kill me?”
Harry finished his cup of tea before he answered. “I’ve spent six years hating you, Malfoy. And it’s taken me that long to work out something that should have been clear to me from the moment I met you.”
There was a long pause before Draco prompted, “Which is?”
“That it’s pointless.” Harry actually smiled as he spread jam over his toast.
Draco was speechless. Had Potter finally taken permanent leave of his senses? And was that smile fresh madness or just the old Potter smugness?
“Have some jam, it’s good.” Harry slid the jar down the length of the table. “Dumbledore spent years trying to show me that I wasn’t the only one hurt by Voldemort. I could feel sympathy for Neville easily enough, but somehow I never quite worked out that he was also talking about you.” Harry swallowed his toast and waved his wand to bring the steaming kettle over from the stove to top up the teapot. Like his actions, his voice was incongruously matter-of-fact. “It took me two months to find you and all that time I was telling myself that I was looking for Snape so that I could kill him. It wasn’t until I saw you that I realised that I was also looking for you, so I could send you back.”
Draco leapt to his feet. “You poisonous little worm, you’re not sending me to Azkaban!”
Harry was standing too, his eyes a shining green against the white of his face. “Sit down,” he hissed. “Sit down!”
Draco sat, but he held onto his anger. “So you’re going to hand me over to the Ministry and be their darling Boy Who Lived again. Haven’t had enough headlines, lately? What will the Prophet say: ‘Potter Captures Dumbledore Killer’?”
“You didn’t kill him,” Harry spoke at little more than a whisper.
Draco stopped and looked at him, the pain raw on both their faces.
“You didn’t kill him, Malfoy,” Harry repeated. “I was there, I saw it. It wasn’t you.”
“I didn’t stop them.”
Harry looked down. “No, no you didn’t. And I hated you for that.” He drew in a long breath, and Draco could see the slight shudder in his chest as the breath caught. His eyes came up, and Draco flinched from the gaze in that sharp-boned face. Potter went on. “But then I asked myself, what could you have done? And it seemed that you had used up everything you had just not doing what they wanted you to. What your father wanted you to.”
Draco spread a slice of toast with jam to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. To his surprise, he found himself saying exactly what came to his mind. “I told myself that they were treating me like a man, with a man’s responsibilities. But I’ve had two months to think, too. And what I realised was that I was expendable. They could risk me and risk nothing. And my father thought up that plan.”
This time, it was Harry who looked away. He found himself concentrating very hard on the chipped flower pattern of Draco’s teacup. It turned out that there were worse things than not knowing your father. As though a switch had been thrown in his mind, his thoughts finally shifted Draco from the position of enemy to fellow victim, although he kept that to himself. He was not sure that it was a role Malfoy would feel happy in.
Draco went on, “I’ve spent the last six years hating you, Potter, because you decided that you had to fight against V-Voldemort,” he stumbled a little over the name. “And my family were fighting for him, so of course we were on opposite sides. But what I’ve realised is that we’re not so different. We’ve both been doing what our parents wanted the whole way along. The only difference is that your parents didn’t want to rule the world, they just wanted to stop my parents.”
Harry listened to Draco speak, and realised this was the first time that they had ever spoken without posturing. In six years. He was as much to blame as his schoolmate. “Malfoy,” he asked impetuously, “What do you want to do?”
Malfoy snorted, but then realised Potter was serious. He paused before answering. “Grow up. Do exams, finish school, start a relationship, get a job …”
Harry laughed involuntarily, “Get a job?”
The two boys grinned at each other. “Maybe not a very arduous job,” Draco admitted. “You?”
“Ha!” Harry’s laugh was dismissive, it startled him almost as much as Draco, and put an end to the line of conversation.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while, then Harry spoke again, this time brusquely, with none of his earlier philosophising. “I can help you, but I need you to help me. I need to find Snape, I need to stop him. Once this is all over, we can go back to Hogwarts together. I can guarantee that you will be safe. You can even go back to hating me, I can be pretty obnoxious.”
Draco laughed, “You’re beyond obnoxious, Potter.” His eyes turned serious. “How do you know you can trust me?”
“Dumbledore had faith in you.”
“Dumbledore had faith in Snape. He was wrong.”
Harry bowed his head in sorrow. When he looked up, it was with old eyes. “Then I’m asking you, between us, will you help me?”
Draco nodded his head. “Yes,” he said. He breathed deeply, then went on, with eerie conviction: “And the reason you can trust me is this: I know what will happen if you lose. I’ve seen that world where everyone is a slave, only some are more powerful slaves than the others. I don’t want to live there. It doesn’t matter how much power you have if you still live your life on the tether of your master’s leash.”
Harry was startled. He realised, anew, how very much depended on them winning. “I do trust you,” he told Malfoy. “Here, at any rate.”
Draco smiled wryly, “That will do for now.” He stood up, and tentatively reached a hand across the table. Slowly, Harry reached out and took it. They shook, once, then sat back down. “He’ll be here tomorrow, in the morning. He’s always come alone, with food. He seems unsure of things. He’s told me that he’s hiding me for a purpose, but really, I think he’s just hiding me.”
Harry was confused. “What’s he doing?”
“I don’t know.”
III
They spent the rest of the day tidying the dank little cottage. It wasn’t the first choice on how to spend the time, but the truce between them was too fresh to stand up to much action.
Harry had tried to come up with an alternative: “What do you normally get up to with Crabbe and Goyle,” he asked.
“Plan ways to thwart you,” Draco replied with a superior grin. “What about you, Weasley and Granger?”
Harry grinned, too. “Same, except we’re thwarting you. Imagine how much work we’d have got through at school if we hadn’t had each other to hate.”
Draco rolled his grey eyes. “Even Flitwick would have loved us. We’d have been worse than Granger.” Harry noted that Malfoy hadn’t once used the familiar insult that normally accompanied Hermione’s name in his speech. “What would they all say if they could see us here?” Draco continued.
“Ron would go spare,” Harry confessed.
“He’d be puce,” Draco agreed. “Goyle would thump you one for putting a spell on me.”
“Hermione would be very understanding. She’d want to talk to you a lot to ‘understand your motivations’.”
Draco shuddered. “I’d rather Ron just hit me, to be honest.”
“You know they’re going out?” Harry wasn’t really sure why he’d volunteered this piece of information.
“Weasley and Granger? Their children won’t be able to get a comb through their hair.”
Harry felt guilty for laughing. It was still an insult, and Ron and Hermione were his best friends. The problem was that it was exactly the sort of insult he’d thought of himself.
They tidied the piles of books and letters that littered the living room and the small bedroom out the back. Harry even built a fire, over Draco’s protests.
“Snape said no fires. I was to keep everything dark so that no-one would look here.”
Harry lit the tinder and branches that he had gathered from the wilderness outside. “Too late, I’ve already found you. We may as well be warm.”
By late afternoon the cottage was a less foreboding place and the two boys were resting while finishing the last of the cheese and salami from the pantry.
“Who owns this place, anyway?” Harry asked.
“Snape, I think,” replied Draco. “I’ve found some of his letters, and some to him from Dumbledore. But most of the papers here are rubbish, orders for books and clothing, bills and reminders for meetings years past.”
“I’d like to see the ones from Snape and Dumbledore,” Harry tried to control the note of anticipation in his voice.
Draco picked up a stack from the table. “I thought you would, I’ve piled them separately. There’s nothing much in there, though. I’ve read them all. It’s as though he went through all his files and pulled out the things that didn’t mean anything, then left them here. I thought at first that there would be instructions for me, things to learn. But even the books were rubbish, novels, poetry, ethics. Twenty-three volumes of When to Hold the Wand; the modern wizard’s guide to abstaining from magic.”
“Doesn’t sound like Snape,” Harry said, skimming through the letters.
“Snape doesn’t sound like Snape anymore,” admitted Draco. “He used to talk of purpose and of keeping wizarding pure and strong, not letting it be pushed to the side of the world for the convenience of Muggles. Now it’s all who’s died and who’ll die next.” He noticed Potter’s expression. “What is it?”
“Is that what you really thought?” Harry asked.
“What?”
“That you were working to protect the wizarding world.”
Draco paused, tugging at his fringe in thought. “Yes and no. I did think that letting just anyone in was asking for trouble, and that the more Muggles knew about us the more we’d have to hide ourselves for fear of their fear,” he paused again. “But does that excuse me calling Granger a mudblood? Probably not. Before I knew that Vol…demort was really back, things were better. We were working for a world that my father wanted, where we could be proud of our traditions, even if they were what you’d call arrogant. Now he’s back, they’re all working for him. And he’s not going to uphold the great traditions of wizardry. He’s going to uphold his own needs and wants.” Draco looked seriously at Harry. “You may not like me, or what I stand for, but Voldemort will destroy my way of life as utterly as he will destroy yours. And none of them can see that.”
Harry frowned, his eyebrows dipping under the frames of his glasses. To Draco’s immense surprise, he reached into the pocket of his canvas coat, pulled out Draco’s wand and wordlessly handed it to him.
“But, I’ve lost …” Draco was confused.
“No you haven’t, you’ve found your own side.”
“But how do you know I won’t …”
Harry’s smile was open this time. “Because we’re useful to each other in this fight. I keep telling you, you can go back to hating me later.”
“Good,” said Draco, but he smiled, too.
It took Harry two hours to read his way through the correspondence, and in the end, there were only two sheets of paper that he thought worth keeping. He showed one to Draco. “What do you think this means?” he asked.
Draco left the spell sweeping the kitchen in progress and looked at the proffered note. “No matter what the cost to me - or to you - you must take care of the boy,” he read the passage that Harry pointed to, then glanced over the rest of the paper. “Dumbledore to Snape. I suppose he was talking about you, keeping you safe from Death Eaters.”
“That’s what I thought, but then he says ‘I will keep my eye on our other young friend’ further down. Dumbledore kept his eye on me. I think he was asking Snape to take care of you.”
Draco frowned. “I suppose, well, I was in his House, after all …”
“It’s more than that.” Harry was decided. “He didn’t want you hurt.”
Draco laughed bleakly. “And hasn’t that worked out well?” He waited for a curt rejoinder from Potter, but Potter sat quietly, looking at him with concern. Draco was horrified to realise that his eyes were wet, and cheeks, too. He swept up the tears with one hand and turned away. It was a little while before he trusted his voice, and then the words were quiet. “He was a good headmaster.”
“Yes,” Harry agreed, equally quiet. “The very best.”
“That could be why Snape has me here, away from the others.” He sat beside Harry on the sofa. “I know he promised my family that he would keep me from being harmed. I just always assumed that it would be your lot doing the harming, not Death Eaters.”
“If we’re being honest, I always assumed it would be my lot hurting you, too,” Harry admitted with a wry smile, replaced by a laugh as Draco responded in hand gestures.
“Bloody hell, Potter,” Draco pushed his fringe back from his eyes. “How do you tell who’s on what side? Is Snape with us or them?”
“Them.” Harry’s voice was flat. “He’s gone too far to be with us. Although he might be a bit on your side, too.”
“And now I’m a bit on yours.”
The young men exchanged bemused looks. “You’re right,” Harry said. “It’s a mess. And it’s not easy. It gets less easy every day.”
“And they all look to you to be a leader when you’re still working things out for yourself.”
Harry looked startled. “How do you know that?”
Draco shrugged. “Much as it pains me to say this, I’ve got more in common with you than either of us want to admit.” They sat, thinking, for several minutes before Draco went on. “What about you, Potter. What do you want?”
“I want to kill Voldemort, put an end to all this,” Harry replied quickly.
“But beyond that, “ Draco prompted.
Harry shrugged. “Dunno. I used to think I wanted Ginny, but that seems like it was years ago. I thought I wanted a family, but Sirius is dead, and Ron and Hermione are doing well without me. I thought I wanted to be an Auror, but I don’t know if there’ll be a Ministry of Magic when we’re through with this.”
“And now?”
Harry took a long breath before he answered. “Now I don’t think I’ll be here after all this ends.”
“Bloody hell, Potter …” Draco put out a tentative hand and patted the boy’s shoulder. “You might be.” They stayed that way for some time, Harry drawing comfort from the strong hand and the unexpected support, Draco finding equally unexpected contentment in being a … friend? Not yet. A supportive colleague would have to do for now. He was surprised to find Potter’s shoulder lean and muscled. For some reason he had never looked past the skinny boy of that first day at Hogwarts. Which was stupid; how could that skinny child have survived the last few years?
At length, Harry stood up with a chipper smile. “C’mon. Dinner, then some sleep, and we’ll nab Snape in the morning.”
Draco’s jaw dropped. “What, just us? Nab Snape? I thought you were going to call in the troops tonight.”
“They’re stretched thin enough as it is. We know that he won’t hurt you, and I’m not going to kill him. There’s too much he knows that we need. So all we need is a simple trap. You sit on sofa as he walks through the door, I stand in the kitchen and slap him with a spell while he’s looking at you, job’s all done. Easy, for once.”
“You are completely mental.” Draco stood up and poked Harry in the chest for emphasis. “Completely mental. He’ll know what’s up the moment he Apparates, he’ll work out what we’re thinking.”
“We need 30 seconds. Even you can keep your mind blank for 30 seconds.”
Draco looked worried. “I can try. But I don’t feel comfortable having the whole plan hinge on that. It’s Snape, and I am not at my shining best right now.”
Harry seemed less concerned. “If he spots me, we know he won’t hurt you, and you can stop him if he tries to hurt me.” He took in Malfoy’s uncertainty. “You can do it, Draco. You’re actually a pretty good wizard, much as it pains me to say that.”
“About time you admitted it.” Draco walked past him into the kitchen and began to assemble a meal from what remained in the pantry. “I hope you don’t mind corned beef. There are no house elves here and I’ve never felt the need to learn cookery. There’s chocolate.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Harry set the table for two. He did know how to cook, and added vegetables and a quick omelette to their meal. They both ate too much, and Harry wondered if they were subconsciously making it a good last meal.
Dessert was the chocolate and butterbeer, and they decided to have it by the fire. Draco stretched out on the sofa trying to make his way through his novel, and Harry in an armchair, holding onto a handful of letters, but really thinking his way through the day’s surprises. Before long he felt his eyes starting to close. Something landed in his lap, it was a blanket. He looked up.
“You’ll need it once the fire dies down,” Draco shrugged off the gift. “You’re welcome to the bed if you want it, but it’s freezing back there. I usually sleep here. This room doesn’t get too cold till just before dawn.”
Harry wrapped the blanket around himself. “Thanks,” he said and settled down to sleep.
IV
For two months Harry had been dreaming of the horror of Dumbledore’s fall from the roof. Tonight, he dreamed of his Headmaster awarding Neville Longbottom ten points in their first year at Hogwarts.
It was a welcome change, but it meant that the sound of fearful crying took some time to cut through and wake him.
His eyes opened at the same time as his hand closed around his wand. Across the room, Malfoy’s hands twitched against an invisible assailant, transcribing shadows in the firelight. Harry could hear snatches of words, “No, enough, let me be …”
Harry stuck his wand up his sleeve and walked over to the sofa. “Malfoy,” he hissed. “Malfoy, it’s okay. You’re safe.” He reached down and shook the boy gently. “Malfoy, wake up.”
Draco woke with a start, lurched up, grabbed Harry’s arm and pinned it hard against the sofa.
“Malfoy!” Harry yelled.
Draco blinked. He took in the situation with a look of growing horror. He let go of Harry’s arm and, to Harry’s astonishment, burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” he gasped from between his fingers. “I didn’t know it was you. I thought you were him.”
Harry, now astonished at himself, sat on the edge of the sofa and wrapped his arms around the crying boy. He patted his back, clumsily. “There, there.” Malfoy’s sobs eased, and Harry could feel him drying his face on his cuffs. With what dignity remained to him, he leaned away, and Harry let him go.
Draco’s face made a bid for haughty, but got stuck at embarrassed. “That, Potter, is possibly the most inept comforting ever offered by one wizard to another: There, there?”
Harry tried to smile at the offered joke, but his attention was distracted by Draco’s bare chest. It was crossed by the slashes of deep scars. With deep unease, he realised what they were. “I did that, didn’t I?”
Draco pulled his shirt shut. “I tried worse.”
“I’m … I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t even know what the stupid curse would do. I didn’t think.”
Appalled, Harry moved Draco’s hands out of the way and touched the livid weals. They were tight and smooth across the young skin they marred. Harry was horrified. “I didn’t think ...” he repeated.
Abruptly, Draco swung his legs around and over the edge of the sofa to sit beside Harry. “We never thought,” he said, fiercely. “We just did things because we felt we had to. It’s the one thing I did learn from Dumbledore: we can make choices.” He frowned as he buttoned his shirt. “Is your arm all right?”
Harry flexed his fingers experimentally. “Yeah, just a bruise. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it was just a stupid nightmare.”
“I have them a lot.”
Draco nodded thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised. When I have bad dreams, I imagine that Voldemort has killed my parents and is coming for me. But when you have them, you’re remembering it.”
“Yeah.” Harry looked down at the floor. At least I never felt fear for them, he thought. Something occurred to him. “Draco, your mum, we keep an eye on her. She’s okay. And your dad is still safe in Azkaban. Nothing’s happened there.”
Malfoy breathed in and out slowly. “Thanks, Potter. Thanks for looking out for her.”
“To be honest,” Harry admitted, “Half the reason we keep an eye on her is to see what she’s up to. But we’d try to keep her safe if anything happened.”
“If I’d listened to Dumbledore, she’d be safe now.”
Harry shrugged. “If I’d listened to Dumbledore more often, he and Sirius might be alive now. I try not to think about it too much.”
Draco shook his head. “They were always prime targets for the Death Eaters. You couldn’t have saved them, no matter what you did.”
“I could have tried harder.” Harry’s voice was very small.
“No.” Draco’s voice was firm. “No, Potter. All you could have done was get yourself killed too.”
“Thought that’s what you wanted.” Harry couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone.
“I ... I ...” Draco slumped back on the sofa. “I was a bloody idiot, all right?” He took hold of Potter’s shoulders and turned his former enemy to face him, this was important. “Look, for all that you’ve spent the last six years thinking of me as some kind of shorthand for rotten, I didn’t even give you that much credit. Until last term, I don’t think I even thought of you as a person at all, you were just some ridiculous cypher for me to wage a battle against.”
He leant forward, and his hands gripped tighter. “But that was stupid. Of course you’re a person, you’re every bit as real as me, or Snape, or my mother, or any of the thousands of other people who are going to be destroyed if you can’t stop Voldermort. And just because I don’t give a fuck about most of them, it doesn’t give me the right to stop remembering they’re people.”
Harry wasn’t sure that he was following Malfoy’s logic, but he was too amazed at this declaration to care about the philosophy behind it. “So I’m a person now?” he was smiling again.
Draco smiled back. “You? You’re a fucking hero, ask anyone.”
Harry laughed, and was mortified to discover he was blushing. He ducked his head out of habit, and found that he was butted against Malfoy’s chest. From there it seemed a natural step that Malfoy’s hands moved from his shoulders to cradling him, and that his own hands moved to Malfoy’s back. Even when Malfoy kissed his forehead, it felt comforting and right. Not until one of Draco’s hands pushed back his hair and cupped his chin, lifting his face did Harry feel startled.
Immediately Malfoy disengaged. “Sorry, Potter, my mistake. Always said you were a big girl.” He moved to stand up and step away.
Harry, not even thinking why, caught his hand. “What happened last term?”
Draco didn’t look back, wouldn’t look back. “What do you mean?” he kept his tone distant.
“You said that until last term you didn’t think of me as a person. What happened last term?”
Draco’s chuckle was very dry. “You tried to kill me.”
Harry didn’t let go of Draco’s hand. He stood behind him. “And?”
“And I saw the look on your face as you realised what you’d done. You weren’t looking at a Malfoy or a Death Eater, you were looking at me. So I looked at you.” The honesty was hard-wrung, and Draco’s voice did not soften.
Harry was standing so close that he barely needed to whisper to be heard. “And you were having a much closer look than I ever suspected.”
“Yes, very funny, I can see this is going to give you years of amusement ...”
Harry’s other hand traced the line of Draco’s neck from hairline to collar, Draco’s words were choked off by the tension that ran through him. “Potter ...” he managed.
Harry stepped in front of him, still not relinquishing the captured hand; fingers now linked about each other’s. They were almost the same height, Harry raised himself onto the balls of his feet to brush his mouth against Draco’s top lip, “Shut ...” and the bottom one, “... up.” He took a half-step back and looked at the other man’s face. They were both fully clothed, but he knew that expression was the most naked anyone had ever seen Draco Malfoy.
He let go of Draco’s hand, and lifted his fingers into that silly mane of hair. It was like a mass of silk -- he realised that he had always suspected as much -- and Draco’s breath was hot against his wrist. Unhurried, Harry let one hand fall to the hollow of Draco’s throat, while the other traced the curve of his eyebrow. Draco bit his lip. Satisfied, Harry brought the other mouth against his own, and stepped forward, positioning himself against a body that was suddenly alive and pressing avidly against him; tongue darting across his lips and dancing a fine line against the back of his teeth; one hand sunk into his tangled hair, the other sweeping the length of his back, trying to crush any remaining distance between them. “Yes ...” Harry breathed. This, this was what he had missed.
For Draco, there were no words, only a wave of blood that pounded through his veins. At each revelation -- the taste of Potter; the long, lithe muscles of his back; the fine-grained skin; the shambles of his hair; the fine inscription of the scar on his forehead -- at each first moment his pulse drowned his hearing.
And then Potter’s hands were on his chest, fumbling with buttons and removing his shirt with ridiculous delicacy. Potter paused and tugged his own T-shirt off over his head. Draco could see the tatty collar and the small holes in one shoulder; Potter had not dressed for this, not planned it, and that made Draco absurdly happy. And then a kiss with bare skin warmed by the heat of the fire and of each other, and a shove that sent him back onto the sofa and that glorious body against his, hands at his belt, and finally ... finally ... a breath caught and he could speak the sentence that was laughing in his skull: “Potter, I have no idea how to go about this.”
And the imp grinned at him. Hell, he’d even call it roguish. “Me neither,” he replied. “I hear the fun’s in the finding out.”
And after that, there was no prospect of speech. Not for hours.
V
Though neither boy remembered when, at some point they fell asleep in front of the hearth, in a tumble of blankets and sofa cushions. The room was dark now, with faint streaks of grey light, the fire nothing more than embers, and goosebumps shivering them into wakefulness.
Harry wrapped himself around Draco, sharing what warmth remained. He pulled the blankets around their shoulders and would not let go when Malfoy’s eyes opened in panic. Calm washed in quickly afterwards, followed by a sardonic glint.
“Morning,” Harry spoke first.
Malfoy kissed his nose playfully. “Weasley,” he announced, “Will go utterly spare.”
“Argh!”
Draco judged the effect to be well worth his effort. He stood up and walked towards the kitchen. “It’s nearly dawn. Do you want breakfast?”
“That’d be good.” Harry watched the long form of his former enemy cross the room, marvelling again at his youthful grace. He ferreted about for his own clothes, and squirmed into them. “Thanks,” he added.
Malfoy raised an elegant eyebrow in the cool light. “For?”
And then Harry was there beside him, holding him, and being held. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t go back to being that Draco. Because even though I have no idea what happens after today, I need to know that last night happened and was real and that there is someone in the world who sees me as clearly as I see him. Even if you go back to hating me.” Harry stepped back. “And for all that rubbish that went on before, I’m sorry. I was an arse.”
Draco squeezed Harry’s hand as he stepped past to retrieve his clothes and put them on. He gathered up the bedding and tidied it. Harry had started on the tea by the time Draco spoke.
“Harry,” Draco didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry, too. But I’m not sorry about today.”
Breakfast was a quiet affair. More toast, several pots of tea and some potted shrimp that Malfoy found in the cold store. Snape usually came around nine, so there was time to tidy away the signs of Harry’s presence. Neither boy felt much like talking. Half an hour before the guessed-at time, Draco took to his sofa with a book and Harry hid himself behind the buffet bench of the kitchen, where he would be concealed by the opening cottage door.
They waited. As nine drew closer, the looks they exchanged grew more strained. As nine passed, they descended into silliness. Draco’s worry became inventive gurning, and Harry had to pinch himself to avoid laughing out loud. At 9.23, they heard the crack of someone Apparating outside the door and the tension flooded back.
After a perfunctory knock, the door opened and Snape walked straight in, carrying a large box. “Good morning, Malfoy. You’ve tidied! This place smells like …” Harry’s two spells hit and Snape was shunted heavily to the floor, his wand flying from his pocket to Harry’s outstretched hand. Sprawled on the stone flags he looked up and saw Harry. “… hope,” he finished with a sneer. “Goodness and light and hope. So I should have expected Mr Potter.”
“Sorry, sir,” Draco looked miserable. “He wants to take you back. I wouldn’t have helped him kill you.”
“Very noble, I’m sure.”
Harry walked around the buffet, wand still outstretched. “Shut up. Get up. We’re taking you to the Order. You can come quietly or you can come unconscious, I don’t really care which.”
Snape stood up, careful to avoid the fruit that scattered over the floor and the milk that had spilled from the broken bottle in the box. “You’re an idiot, Potter. You’ll get Malfoy killed, too.”
“Shut up! Malfoy is safe. We can hide him where your master will never find him. Don’t think I wouldn’t prefer to kill you, but you have information we need.”
Snape looked at Harry appraisingly. “You’ve planned it all out very carefully, haven’t you, Potter?” he muttered. “Although, it’s typical that you overlooked the obvious.”
Harry paused. “What’s that?” he asked, reluctantly.
Snape was as close to un-nerved as Harry had ever seen him. “Why do you believe they trust me any more than you do?”
Harry and Draco exchanged worried looks. “He’s always come alone,” Draco said quickly.
Snape gave a high laugh, “I’m never alone! They’re always somewhere nearby to make sure that I stay theirs. Do whatever you’re going to do now, Potter, or you’ll be too late.”
“What do you mean?” Harry was catching Snape’s nervousness.
Before there could be any answer, the door of the cottage burst inwards from its hinges and a squat, furious figure stood framed in the sunlight with his wand pointed directly at Harry. “Cruci…” the figure began to shout, and Harry had just enough time to deflect the curse before it was completed.
Carrow, Amycus Carrow. Harry remembered him now from the muddled fight at Hogwarts. He followed up his curse deflection with an attempt at disarming, but Carrow was already mouthing his next curse and Harry was forced to put his efforts into defence instead.
From his right he heard Malfoy’s clear voice ring out: “Expelli…” and then a horrible choking cut them off. Harry’s eyes snapped right, to see Draco’s hands clawing desperately at his throat. Snape had taken a step towards him, but his face registered nothing but fear and his hands were stretched out in innocence.
Another figure suddenly stepped into the light of the doorway behind Carrow, and Harry heard the grim chuckle of Bellatrix Lestrange, he could make out her wand pointed at Draco, but before he could turn his own on her, another curse came his way from Carrow. Harry deflected it and dove to his right, shouting “Stupefy” at Lestrange as he did so.
With a gasp of breath, Bellatrix evaded the main burst of the spell, but was sent reeling by its force. Carrow turned on Harry in vengeance, but his aim was blocked by the presence of Snape. “Get down, Severus!” the Death Eater cried.
“Draco?” Harry spared a desperate look. The colour was returning to Malfoy’s face, he gave a tight nod, then raised his own wand. The two boys stepped out from behind their teacher, “Sectumsempra!” they shouted at their targets.
Harry hit his mark, Carrow, and the lumpen wizard crashed heavily to the ground, blood oozing from deep slashes. Draco’s curse was met by a fierce block and rebounded, hitting Harry at full force. As he was thrown back into the corner of the room he could hear Malfoy’s scream of “No!” and Snape’s cry of “Potter!”
The pain, in fact, was not so bad. He’d felt worse. He opened his eyes to see Draco turning towards him and Bellatrix storming triumphantly into the cottage. Behind Draco stood Snape, his brow furrowed, his hand reaching out. Harry smiled and did the only thing that made any sense to him, he threw Snape’s wand at him and then let his heavy eyelids close.
VI
“Harry. Harry?” there was a voice insisting he listen. It all seemed very hard.
Half-heartedly, he opened his eyes. “Yes?” he muttered, hoping that it would go away soon.
Draco Malfoy was looking down at him, tears in his eyes. He smiled, and looked up. Harry followed his gaze to see Snape kneeling in front of him, with concern writ across his features. As Harry focussed, Snape’s expression returned to its familiar disdain.
“Well,” he muttered. “You seem to be recovering well. You’ll be pleased to know that you have no new scars to add to your collection. mr Malfoy doesn’t have your streak of violence, it seems.”
Harry looked down. Draco was holding him, he realised happily. He felt his shoulder being patted reassuringly. “Not fair, sir, he didn’t know what he was doing,” Malfoy defended him.
Snape smiled tightly. “Thank you, Mr Malfoy, I can now die content that I have seen everything possible in this world when you stand up for Potter.” He unfolded himself and shook the dust of battle off his black clothes. Harry looked behind him to see Amycus Carrow lying bloodstained and still near the kitchen and Bellatrix Lestrange motionless across the floor, her pale face filled with fury even in unconsciousness.
Snape crossed to Carrow and repaired the damage to his skin and clothing. He tapped the wand to the side of his head and murmured, “Obliviate.” He did the same for Lestrange, but left both unconscious on the floor. He turned his attention back to the boys. “You’ll need to go. Can you take care of him?”
“Yes,” both answered. Then frowned at each other, with the start of a glare.
“I don’t need taking care of …” Harry began.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Potter, you useless git, you can’t even sit up unaided. Tell me where we’re going and I’ll get us there.”
Harry attempted to sit up, failed, and slumped back against his schoolmate. “I’ll be fine in half an hour. And then we’ll have to set about keeping you safe from his lot, you great nance.”
“Up yours, Potter.”
“You wish.”
Harry was amazed to see the smile on Draco’s face and in his eyes. He looked across to see that Snape was possibly more surprised than even he was. The potions master leant down and helped him to his feet, Draco held him upright. Snape ran an appraising eye over the both of them. “You’ll do,” he decided.
He was still for a moment, then gave Harry the most serious expression he had ever seen on the man’s sallow face. “They’re not my lot, Potter. They’re my curse. I’ve earned the curse, I brought it down on myself, but it’s not the path I would have chosen.” Having said his piece, he started to step away.
“You killed Dumbledore,” Harry said, quietly.
“Yes,” Snape answered plainly.
“Why?”
“Because I swore to.”
“Swore to whom?”
Snape turned away. “Tell Malfoy where you’re going, Potter, and keep the boy safe. You want answers I can’t give you today.” Harry began to protest, but Snape walked over to the unconscious Death Eaters and took hold of them instead. Harry fell silent. Snape looked at him. He seemed to struggle for a moment. Finally he spoke. “Potter … I’m sorry about your parents.” And with that he Disapparated, taking Carrow and Lestrange with him.
Harry sagged. Draco caught him, and held him up, concern in his eyes. “Potter … Harry, are you all right?”
Harry’s expression was raw and his grip on Draco’s arm so tight that he could feel the bruise forming. Draco kept silent, and supported him until he could feel him breathing normally again. “Harry …” Draco began, but stopped at the sight of Potter’s tear-streaked face. “Oh bloody hell.” Draco dabbed away the tears with his cuff and tousled Harry’s hair. “There, there. There, there,” he muttered.
Harry began to laugh, and Draco followed. “You’re crap,” Harry told him.
“We both are,” Draco admitted. They stood companionably for a minute.
Harry straightened up, able to bear his own weight at last. He looked thoughtful, then held out his right hand towards Malfoy. “Harry Potter,” he announced.
Draco frowned at him. “I know. What are you doing?”
“Starting over. Harry Potter,” he repeated.
Draco paused, then took Harry’s hand in his and shook it. “Draco Malfoy,” he replied. They smiled at each other, then shook their heads ruefully. “I’m not convinced this is going to work,” Draco admitted.
“Me either,” Harry agreed. “But it’s worth a try.”
“And we are in the middle of a war, not an auspicious time for new relationships.”
“Good for frantic fumblings, though.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I was neither frantic nor fumbling.”
Harry grinned, “No, you weren’t.”
“Where are we going?” Draco asked.
Harry looked thoughtful. “I suppose that will depend on all sorts of things.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Potter, you idiot, where are we going now? We’re not entirely safe here in case you’ve forgotten.”
Harry pulled a face at him. “I see your sympathy for the nearly dead lasted all of five minutes. Come on, I’ll Apparate us there.” He took hold of Draco’s arm.
“Hold on,” Draco was serious. “You’re still not the best, Harry. You shouldn’t try magic yet. You can still trust me for now, tell me where we’re going and I’ll get us there. I can get us to a staging post for the Order if you’d rather keep your big secrets.”
Harry looked at him. “I don’t trust you for now,” he said. “I trust you. We have a base at Godric’s Hollow. We should be safe there.”
Draco bit his bottom lip for a moment. He put his hand over Harry’s, and spoke in a voice that had a slight tremor: “Godric’s Hollow.”
After they disappeared, the cottage’s dust motes moved to fill the space their bodies had left in the golden light of late morning.
Part Two
Some degree of shagging, tastefully ellided.
H/D, because what's the purpose of HP fic if it's not?
And it appears to be Part One ...
It was cold here. But he knew not to complain, because cold was better than dark, and anything was better than dead. Snape had left him enough food to last him through the week, and there were blankets he could huddle under, books and old letters to read.
Draco was glad of the distraction. Unoccupied, his mind kept returning to that scene on Hogwarts’ roof. The gentleness of Dumbledore … he had expected fury, rage, grief at the betrayal … but the man had offered to help him. And then Snape had … Draco picked up the nearest book at random and read intently. It was a novel, a bad one, about a friendship between a wizard and a giant. He read a few pages, then dropped it back onto the threadbare sofa, pushing himself up to walk around and warm the blood in his legs.
Giants were no more likely to befriend wizards than Dumbledore had been likely to protect him. The Dark Lord had them fighting on his side, but once the war was over, they would be on their own side, with their own list of demands. Everyone had a list of demands. Kill Dumbledore, get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, be a proper Malfoy, stay quiet, stay hidden, wait till we can find a use for you.
He smiled ruefully. Three years ago he thought that the worst of his problems was losing at Quidditch to bloody Potter. He’d pay to go back to those days, now. He had thought there was high drama in a House prize, and that a victory in Potions meant something, then. The heights of joy had been found in swanning about the Slytherin common room and making Harry Potter’s life miserable.
Potter. God, what would Potter be doing without his precious Dumbledore? Three years ago Draco would have gloated that his hero was stronger than Potter’s. Now he felt a stirring of empathy. They’d both been left abandoned in this war. Potter had lost just as much as he had. More. Every one who had ever stood as a parent to him had been taken away, one by one. Just as Draco’s father had chosen the Dark Lord over him, and his mother had chosen his father, and Snape had …
To be honest, Draco had no idea what Snape had chosen. His former teacher appeared for half a day every week, gave brief updates, restocked the larders, then left. What passed for conversation between them was lists. Lists of the living and of the dead. Of those who had declared themselves for the Dark Lord and those who had been killed by his forces. Of towns that stood, of towns that fell. Lists that described a world ever shrinking, descending into one overwhelming conflict. Draco had come to dread Snape’s visits.
At least, said a quiet voice deep inside him, at least your family is still alive.
Draco picked up the wretched book again and began to read in the light of the small lamp. Outside the wind blew fiercely, and the black curtains that covered the cottage’s windows stirred, even behind their closed windows and shutters.
With a sharp crack, the door flew inwards and Draco realised, too late, that the weather had been calm. He lunged for his wand, but as his hand closed around it, a familiar voice cried “Expelliarmus!” and it flew out of reach.
Potter stood in the open doorway, his arm outstretched, with wand at the ready. Sunlight blazed behind him and Draco couldn’t see Potter’s face clearly, but he didn’t have to. There was only one path left to him, now, and he chose to face it with dignity. With his hands open and lifted away from his sides, he stood up straight. “Finish it,” he said. “You win, just let it end.”
Potter took two swift strides towards him, there was a crash of pain, and then blackness.
II
Draco was surprised to wake up. The left side of his face throbbed and his head ached, but he was alive and otherwise unharmed. The cottage was bright with daylight, and, of all things, he could smell tea and toast.
He sat up. Potter sat at the table, looking steadily at him, with morning tea spread out in front of him. “Bloody hell …” whispered Draco.
“How’s your head?” Potter asked.
“Sore,” Draco replied, sitting up. “What spell did you use?”
Potter looked slightly abashed. “I didn’t, I punched you.”
Draco was too surprised to sneer. “I suppose that’s fair,” he admitted. “I was rather expecting you to kill me.”
“Yeah, so was I.” Potter stood up and poured another cup. He gestured towards Draco. “Come on, it’s getting cold and you look terrible.”
“Is it poisoned?” Draco asked.
“Not yet,” Harry answered, with the beginnings of a rueful smile.
Draco made his way to the table and sat at the opposite end to Harry. He realised that his sleeve was rolled up, exposing his bare arm. He held it up to Potter with a questioning eyebrow raise.
Harry shrugged. “I had to be sure.”
Draco rolled down his sleeve and took the proffered tea and buttered toast tentatively. “Potter,” he began.
“Yes?”
“This is insane. Why don’t you just kill me?”
Harry finished his cup of tea before he answered. “I’ve spent six years hating you, Malfoy. And it’s taken me that long to work out something that should have been clear to me from the moment I met you.”
There was a long pause before Draco prompted, “Which is?”
“That it’s pointless.” Harry actually smiled as he spread jam over his toast.
Draco was speechless. Had Potter finally taken permanent leave of his senses? And was that smile fresh madness or just the old Potter smugness?
“Have some jam, it’s good.” Harry slid the jar down the length of the table. “Dumbledore spent years trying to show me that I wasn’t the only one hurt by Voldemort. I could feel sympathy for Neville easily enough, but somehow I never quite worked out that he was also talking about you.” Harry swallowed his toast and waved his wand to bring the steaming kettle over from the stove to top up the teapot. Like his actions, his voice was incongruously matter-of-fact. “It took me two months to find you and all that time I was telling myself that I was looking for Snape so that I could kill him. It wasn’t until I saw you that I realised that I was also looking for you, so I could send you back.”
Draco leapt to his feet. “You poisonous little worm, you’re not sending me to Azkaban!”
Harry was standing too, his eyes a shining green against the white of his face. “Sit down,” he hissed. “Sit down!”
Draco sat, but he held onto his anger. “So you’re going to hand me over to the Ministry and be their darling Boy Who Lived again. Haven’t had enough headlines, lately? What will the Prophet say: ‘Potter Captures Dumbledore Killer’?”
“You didn’t kill him,” Harry spoke at little more than a whisper.
Draco stopped and looked at him, the pain raw on both their faces.
“You didn’t kill him, Malfoy,” Harry repeated. “I was there, I saw it. It wasn’t you.”
“I didn’t stop them.”
Harry looked down. “No, no you didn’t. And I hated you for that.” He drew in a long breath, and Draco could see the slight shudder in his chest as the breath caught. His eyes came up, and Draco flinched from the gaze in that sharp-boned face. Potter went on. “But then I asked myself, what could you have done? And it seemed that you had used up everything you had just not doing what they wanted you to. What your father wanted you to.”
Draco spread a slice of toast with jam to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. To his surprise, he found himself saying exactly what came to his mind. “I told myself that they were treating me like a man, with a man’s responsibilities. But I’ve had two months to think, too. And what I realised was that I was expendable. They could risk me and risk nothing. And my father thought up that plan.”
This time, it was Harry who looked away. He found himself concentrating very hard on the chipped flower pattern of Draco’s teacup. It turned out that there were worse things than not knowing your father. As though a switch had been thrown in his mind, his thoughts finally shifted Draco from the position of enemy to fellow victim, although he kept that to himself. He was not sure that it was a role Malfoy would feel happy in.
Draco went on, “I’ve spent the last six years hating you, Potter, because you decided that you had to fight against V-Voldemort,” he stumbled a little over the name. “And my family were fighting for him, so of course we were on opposite sides. But what I’ve realised is that we’re not so different. We’ve both been doing what our parents wanted the whole way along. The only difference is that your parents didn’t want to rule the world, they just wanted to stop my parents.”
Harry listened to Draco speak, and realised this was the first time that they had ever spoken without posturing. In six years. He was as much to blame as his schoolmate. “Malfoy,” he asked impetuously, “What do you want to do?”
Malfoy snorted, but then realised Potter was serious. He paused before answering. “Grow up. Do exams, finish school, start a relationship, get a job …”
Harry laughed involuntarily, “Get a job?”
The two boys grinned at each other. “Maybe not a very arduous job,” Draco admitted. “You?”
“Ha!” Harry’s laugh was dismissive, it startled him almost as much as Draco, and put an end to the line of conversation.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while, then Harry spoke again, this time brusquely, with none of his earlier philosophising. “I can help you, but I need you to help me. I need to find Snape, I need to stop him. Once this is all over, we can go back to Hogwarts together. I can guarantee that you will be safe. You can even go back to hating me, I can be pretty obnoxious.”
Draco laughed, “You’re beyond obnoxious, Potter.” His eyes turned serious. “How do you know you can trust me?”
“Dumbledore had faith in you.”
“Dumbledore had faith in Snape. He was wrong.”
Harry bowed his head in sorrow. When he looked up, it was with old eyes. “Then I’m asking you, between us, will you help me?”
Draco nodded his head. “Yes,” he said. He breathed deeply, then went on, with eerie conviction: “And the reason you can trust me is this: I know what will happen if you lose. I’ve seen that world where everyone is a slave, only some are more powerful slaves than the others. I don’t want to live there. It doesn’t matter how much power you have if you still live your life on the tether of your master’s leash.”
Harry was startled. He realised, anew, how very much depended on them winning. “I do trust you,” he told Malfoy. “Here, at any rate.”
Draco smiled wryly, “That will do for now.” He stood up, and tentatively reached a hand across the table. Slowly, Harry reached out and took it. They shook, once, then sat back down. “He’ll be here tomorrow, in the morning. He’s always come alone, with food. He seems unsure of things. He’s told me that he’s hiding me for a purpose, but really, I think he’s just hiding me.”
Harry was confused. “What’s he doing?”
“I don’t know.”
III
They spent the rest of the day tidying the dank little cottage. It wasn’t the first choice on how to spend the time, but the truce between them was too fresh to stand up to much action.
Harry had tried to come up with an alternative: “What do you normally get up to with Crabbe and Goyle,” he asked.
“Plan ways to thwart you,” Draco replied with a superior grin. “What about you, Weasley and Granger?”
Harry grinned, too. “Same, except we’re thwarting you. Imagine how much work we’d have got through at school if we hadn’t had each other to hate.”
Draco rolled his grey eyes. “Even Flitwick would have loved us. We’d have been worse than Granger.” Harry noted that Malfoy hadn’t once used the familiar insult that normally accompanied Hermione’s name in his speech. “What would they all say if they could see us here?” Draco continued.
“Ron would go spare,” Harry confessed.
“He’d be puce,” Draco agreed. “Goyle would thump you one for putting a spell on me.”
“Hermione would be very understanding. She’d want to talk to you a lot to ‘understand your motivations’.”
Draco shuddered. “I’d rather Ron just hit me, to be honest.”
“You know they’re going out?” Harry wasn’t really sure why he’d volunteered this piece of information.
“Weasley and Granger? Their children won’t be able to get a comb through their hair.”
Harry felt guilty for laughing. It was still an insult, and Ron and Hermione were his best friends. The problem was that it was exactly the sort of insult he’d thought of himself.
They tidied the piles of books and letters that littered the living room and the small bedroom out the back. Harry even built a fire, over Draco’s protests.
“Snape said no fires. I was to keep everything dark so that no-one would look here.”
Harry lit the tinder and branches that he had gathered from the wilderness outside. “Too late, I’ve already found you. We may as well be warm.”
By late afternoon the cottage was a less foreboding place and the two boys were resting while finishing the last of the cheese and salami from the pantry.
“Who owns this place, anyway?” Harry asked.
“Snape, I think,” replied Draco. “I’ve found some of his letters, and some to him from Dumbledore. But most of the papers here are rubbish, orders for books and clothing, bills and reminders for meetings years past.”
“I’d like to see the ones from Snape and Dumbledore,” Harry tried to control the note of anticipation in his voice.
Draco picked up a stack from the table. “I thought you would, I’ve piled them separately. There’s nothing much in there, though. I’ve read them all. It’s as though he went through all his files and pulled out the things that didn’t mean anything, then left them here. I thought at first that there would be instructions for me, things to learn. But even the books were rubbish, novels, poetry, ethics. Twenty-three volumes of When to Hold the Wand; the modern wizard’s guide to abstaining from magic.”
“Doesn’t sound like Snape,” Harry said, skimming through the letters.
“Snape doesn’t sound like Snape anymore,” admitted Draco. “He used to talk of purpose and of keeping wizarding pure and strong, not letting it be pushed to the side of the world for the convenience of Muggles. Now it’s all who’s died and who’ll die next.” He noticed Potter’s expression. “What is it?”
“Is that what you really thought?” Harry asked.
“What?”
“That you were working to protect the wizarding world.”
Draco paused, tugging at his fringe in thought. “Yes and no. I did think that letting just anyone in was asking for trouble, and that the more Muggles knew about us the more we’d have to hide ourselves for fear of their fear,” he paused again. “But does that excuse me calling Granger a mudblood? Probably not. Before I knew that Vol…demort was really back, things were better. We were working for a world that my father wanted, where we could be proud of our traditions, even if they were what you’d call arrogant. Now he’s back, they’re all working for him. And he’s not going to uphold the great traditions of wizardry. He’s going to uphold his own needs and wants.” Draco looked seriously at Harry. “You may not like me, or what I stand for, but Voldemort will destroy my way of life as utterly as he will destroy yours. And none of them can see that.”
Harry frowned, his eyebrows dipping under the frames of his glasses. To Draco’s immense surprise, he reached into the pocket of his canvas coat, pulled out Draco’s wand and wordlessly handed it to him.
“But, I’ve lost …” Draco was confused.
“No you haven’t, you’ve found your own side.”
“But how do you know I won’t …”
Harry’s smile was open this time. “Because we’re useful to each other in this fight. I keep telling you, you can go back to hating me later.”
“Good,” said Draco, but he smiled, too.
It took Harry two hours to read his way through the correspondence, and in the end, there were only two sheets of paper that he thought worth keeping. He showed one to Draco. “What do you think this means?” he asked.
Draco left the spell sweeping the kitchen in progress and looked at the proffered note. “No matter what the cost to me - or to you - you must take care of the boy,” he read the passage that Harry pointed to, then glanced over the rest of the paper. “Dumbledore to Snape. I suppose he was talking about you, keeping you safe from Death Eaters.”
“That’s what I thought, but then he says ‘I will keep my eye on our other young friend’ further down. Dumbledore kept his eye on me. I think he was asking Snape to take care of you.”
Draco frowned. “I suppose, well, I was in his House, after all …”
“It’s more than that.” Harry was decided. “He didn’t want you hurt.”
Draco laughed bleakly. “And hasn’t that worked out well?” He waited for a curt rejoinder from Potter, but Potter sat quietly, looking at him with concern. Draco was horrified to realise that his eyes were wet, and cheeks, too. He swept up the tears with one hand and turned away. It was a little while before he trusted his voice, and then the words were quiet. “He was a good headmaster.”
“Yes,” Harry agreed, equally quiet. “The very best.”
“That could be why Snape has me here, away from the others.” He sat beside Harry on the sofa. “I know he promised my family that he would keep me from being harmed. I just always assumed that it would be your lot doing the harming, not Death Eaters.”
“If we’re being honest, I always assumed it would be my lot hurting you, too,” Harry admitted with a wry smile, replaced by a laugh as Draco responded in hand gestures.
“Bloody hell, Potter,” Draco pushed his fringe back from his eyes. “How do you tell who’s on what side? Is Snape with us or them?”
“Them.” Harry’s voice was flat. “He’s gone too far to be with us. Although he might be a bit on your side, too.”
“And now I’m a bit on yours.”
The young men exchanged bemused looks. “You’re right,” Harry said. “It’s a mess. And it’s not easy. It gets less easy every day.”
“And they all look to you to be a leader when you’re still working things out for yourself.”
Harry looked startled. “How do you know that?”
Draco shrugged. “Much as it pains me to say this, I’ve got more in common with you than either of us want to admit.” They sat, thinking, for several minutes before Draco went on. “What about you, Potter. What do you want?”
“I want to kill Voldemort, put an end to all this,” Harry replied quickly.
“But beyond that, “ Draco prompted.
Harry shrugged. “Dunno. I used to think I wanted Ginny, but that seems like it was years ago. I thought I wanted a family, but Sirius is dead, and Ron and Hermione are doing well without me. I thought I wanted to be an Auror, but I don’t know if there’ll be a Ministry of Magic when we’re through with this.”
“And now?”
Harry took a long breath before he answered. “Now I don’t think I’ll be here after all this ends.”
“Bloody hell, Potter …” Draco put out a tentative hand and patted the boy’s shoulder. “You might be.” They stayed that way for some time, Harry drawing comfort from the strong hand and the unexpected support, Draco finding equally unexpected contentment in being a … friend? Not yet. A supportive colleague would have to do for now. He was surprised to find Potter’s shoulder lean and muscled. For some reason he had never looked past the skinny boy of that first day at Hogwarts. Which was stupid; how could that skinny child have survived the last few years?
At length, Harry stood up with a chipper smile. “C’mon. Dinner, then some sleep, and we’ll nab Snape in the morning.”
Draco’s jaw dropped. “What, just us? Nab Snape? I thought you were going to call in the troops tonight.”
“They’re stretched thin enough as it is. We know that he won’t hurt you, and I’m not going to kill him. There’s too much he knows that we need. So all we need is a simple trap. You sit on sofa as he walks through the door, I stand in the kitchen and slap him with a spell while he’s looking at you, job’s all done. Easy, for once.”
“You are completely mental.” Draco stood up and poked Harry in the chest for emphasis. “Completely mental. He’ll know what’s up the moment he Apparates, he’ll work out what we’re thinking.”
“We need 30 seconds. Even you can keep your mind blank for 30 seconds.”
Draco looked worried. “I can try. But I don’t feel comfortable having the whole plan hinge on that. It’s Snape, and I am not at my shining best right now.”
Harry seemed less concerned. “If he spots me, we know he won’t hurt you, and you can stop him if he tries to hurt me.” He took in Malfoy’s uncertainty. “You can do it, Draco. You’re actually a pretty good wizard, much as it pains me to say that.”
“About time you admitted it.” Draco walked past him into the kitchen and began to assemble a meal from what remained in the pantry. “I hope you don’t mind corned beef. There are no house elves here and I’ve never felt the need to learn cookery. There’s chocolate.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Harry set the table for two. He did know how to cook, and added vegetables and a quick omelette to their meal. They both ate too much, and Harry wondered if they were subconsciously making it a good last meal.
Dessert was the chocolate and butterbeer, and they decided to have it by the fire. Draco stretched out on the sofa trying to make his way through his novel, and Harry in an armchair, holding onto a handful of letters, but really thinking his way through the day’s surprises. Before long he felt his eyes starting to close. Something landed in his lap, it was a blanket. He looked up.
“You’ll need it once the fire dies down,” Draco shrugged off the gift. “You’re welcome to the bed if you want it, but it’s freezing back there. I usually sleep here. This room doesn’t get too cold till just before dawn.”
Harry wrapped the blanket around himself. “Thanks,” he said and settled down to sleep.
IV
For two months Harry had been dreaming of the horror of Dumbledore’s fall from the roof. Tonight, he dreamed of his Headmaster awarding Neville Longbottom ten points in their first year at Hogwarts.
It was a welcome change, but it meant that the sound of fearful crying took some time to cut through and wake him.
His eyes opened at the same time as his hand closed around his wand. Across the room, Malfoy’s hands twitched against an invisible assailant, transcribing shadows in the firelight. Harry could hear snatches of words, “No, enough, let me be …”
Harry stuck his wand up his sleeve and walked over to the sofa. “Malfoy,” he hissed. “Malfoy, it’s okay. You’re safe.” He reached down and shook the boy gently. “Malfoy, wake up.”
Draco woke with a start, lurched up, grabbed Harry’s arm and pinned it hard against the sofa.
“Malfoy!” Harry yelled.
Draco blinked. He took in the situation with a look of growing horror. He let go of Harry’s arm and, to Harry’s astonishment, burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” he gasped from between his fingers. “I didn’t know it was you. I thought you were him.”
Harry, now astonished at himself, sat on the edge of the sofa and wrapped his arms around the crying boy. He patted his back, clumsily. “There, there.” Malfoy’s sobs eased, and Harry could feel him drying his face on his cuffs. With what dignity remained to him, he leaned away, and Harry let him go.
Draco’s face made a bid for haughty, but got stuck at embarrassed. “That, Potter, is possibly the most inept comforting ever offered by one wizard to another: There, there?”
Harry tried to smile at the offered joke, but his attention was distracted by Draco’s bare chest. It was crossed by the slashes of deep scars. With deep unease, he realised what they were. “I did that, didn’t I?”
Draco pulled his shirt shut. “I tried worse.”
“I’m … I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t even know what the stupid curse would do. I didn’t think.”
Appalled, Harry moved Draco’s hands out of the way and touched the livid weals. They were tight and smooth across the young skin they marred. Harry was horrified. “I didn’t think ...” he repeated.
Abruptly, Draco swung his legs around and over the edge of the sofa to sit beside Harry. “We never thought,” he said, fiercely. “We just did things because we felt we had to. It’s the one thing I did learn from Dumbledore: we can make choices.” He frowned as he buttoned his shirt. “Is your arm all right?”
Harry flexed his fingers experimentally. “Yeah, just a bruise. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it was just a stupid nightmare.”
“I have them a lot.”
Draco nodded thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised. When I have bad dreams, I imagine that Voldemort has killed my parents and is coming for me. But when you have them, you’re remembering it.”
“Yeah.” Harry looked down at the floor. At least I never felt fear for them, he thought. Something occurred to him. “Draco, your mum, we keep an eye on her. She’s okay. And your dad is still safe in Azkaban. Nothing’s happened there.”
Malfoy breathed in and out slowly. “Thanks, Potter. Thanks for looking out for her.”
“To be honest,” Harry admitted, “Half the reason we keep an eye on her is to see what she’s up to. But we’d try to keep her safe if anything happened.”
“If I’d listened to Dumbledore, she’d be safe now.”
Harry shrugged. “If I’d listened to Dumbledore more often, he and Sirius might be alive now. I try not to think about it too much.”
Draco shook his head. “They were always prime targets for the Death Eaters. You couldn’t have saved them, no matter what you did.”
“I could have tried harder.” Harry’s voice was very small.
“No.” Draco’s voice was firm. “No, Potter. All you could have done was get yourself killed too.”
“Thought that’s what you wanted.” Harry couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone.
“I ... I ...” Draco slumped back on the sofa. “I was a bloody idiot, all right?” He took hold of Potter’s shoulders and turned his former enemy to face him, this was important. “Look, for all that you’ve spent the last six years thinking of me as some kind of shorthand for rotten, I didn’t even give you that much credit. Until last term, I don’t think I even thought of you as a person at all, you were just some ridiculous cypher for me to wage a battle against.”
He leant forward, and his hands gripped tighter. “But that was stupid. Of course you’re a person, you’re every bit as real as me, or Snape, or my mother, or any of the thousands of other people who are going to be destroyed if you can’t stop Voldermort. And just because I don’t give a fuck about most of them, it doesn’t give me the right to stop remembering they’re people.”
Harry wasn’t sure that he was following Malfoy’s logic, but he was too amazed at this declaration to care about the philosophy behind it. “So I’m a person now?” he was smiling again.
Draco smiled back. “You? You’re a fucking hero, ask anyone.”
Harry laughed, and was mortified to discover he was blushing. He ducked his head out of habit, and found that he was butted against Malfoy’s chest. From there it seemed a natural step that Malfoy’s hands moved from his shoulders to cradling him, and that his own hands moved to Malfoy’s back. Even when Malfoy kissed his forehead, it felt comforting and right. Not until one of Draco’s hands pushed back his hair and cupped his chin, lifting his face did Harry feel startled.
Immediately Malfoy disengaged. “Sorry, Potter, my mistake. Always said you were a big girl.” He moved to stand up and step away.
Harry, not even thinking why, caught his hand. “What happened last term?”
Draco didn’t look back, wouldn’t look back. “What do you mean?” he kept his tone distant.
“You said that until last term you didn’t think of me as a person. What happened last term?”
Draco’s chuckle was very dry. “You tried to kill me.”
Harry didn’t let go of Draco’s hand. He stood behind him. “And?”
“And I saw the look on your face as you realised what you’d done. You weren’t looking at a Malfoy or a Death Eater, you were looking at me. So I looked at you.” The honesty was hard-wrung, and Draco’s voice did not soften.
Harry was standing so close that he barely needed to whisper to be heard. “And you were having a much closer look than I ever suspected.”
“Yes, very funny, I can see this is going to give you years of amusement ...”
Harry’s other hand traced the line of Draco’s neck from hairline to collar, Draco’s words were choked off by the tension that ran through him. “Potter ...” he managed.
Harry stepped in front of him, still not relinquishing the captured hand; fingers now linked about each other’s. They were almost the same height, Harry raised himself onto the balls of his feet to brush his mouth against Draco’s top lip, “Shut ...” and the bottom one, “... up.” He took a half-step back and looked at the other man’s face. They were both fully clothed, but he knew that expression was the most naked anyone had ever seen Draco Malfoy.
He let go of Draco’s hand, and lifted his fingers into that silly mane of hair. It was like a mass of silk -- he realised that he had always suspected as much -- and Draco’s breath was hot against his wrist. Unhurried, Harry let one hand fall to the hollow of Draco’s throat, while the other traced the curve of his eyebrow. Draco bit his lip. Satisfied, Harry brought the other mouth against his own, and stepped forward, positioning himself against a body that was suddenly alive and pressing avidly against him; tongue darting across his lips and dancing a fine line against the back of his teeth; one hand sunk into his tangled hair, the other sweeping the length of his back, trying to crush any remaining distance between them. “Yes ...” Harry breathed. This, this was what he had missed.
For Draco, there were no words, only a wave of blood that pounded through his veins. At each revelation -- the taste of Potter; the long, lithe muscles of his back; the fine-grained skin; the shambles of his hair; the fine inscription of the scar on his forehead -- at each first moment his pulse drowned his hearing.
And then Potter’s hands were on his chest, fumbling with buttons and removing his shirt with ridiculous delicacy. Potter paused and tugged his own T-shirt off over his head. Draco could see the tatty collar and the small holes in one shoulder; Potter had not dressed for this, not planned it, and that made Draco absurdly happy. And then a kiss with bare skin warmed by the heat of the fire and of each other, and a shove that sent him back onto the sofa and that glorious body against his, hands at his belt, and finally ... finally ... a breath caught and he could speak the sentence that was laughing in his skull: “Potter, I have no idea how to go about this.”
And the imp grinned at him. Hell, he’d even call it roguish. “Me neither,” he replied. “I hear the fun’s in the finding out.”
And after that, there was no prospect of speech. Not for hours.
V
Though neither boy remembered when, at some point they fell asleep in front of the hearth, in a tumble of blankets and sofa cushions. The room was dark now, with faint streaks of grey light, the fire nothing more than embers, and goosebumps shivering them into wakefulness.
Harry wrapped himself around Draco, sharing what warmth remained. He pulled the blankets around their shoulders and would not let go when Malfoy’s eyes opened in panic. Calm washed in quickly afterwards, followed by a sardonic glint.
“Morning,” Harry spoke first.
Malfoy kissed his nose playfully. “Weasley,” he announced, “Will go utterly spare.”
“Argh!”
Draco judged the effect to be well worth his effort. He stood up and walked towards the kitchen. “It’s nearly dawn. Do you want breakfast?”
“That’d be good.” Harry watched the long form of his former enemy cross the room, marvelling again at his youthful grace. He ferreted about for his own clothes, and squirmed into them. “Thanks,” he added.
Malfoy raised an elegant eyebrow in the cool light. “For?”
And then Harry was there beside him, holding him, and being held. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t go back to being that Draco. Because even though I have no idea what happens after today, I need to know that last night happened and was real and that there is someone in the world who sees me as clearly as I see him. Even if you go back to hating me.” Harry stepped back. “And for all that rubbish that went on before, I’m sorry. I was an arse.”
Draco squeezed Harry’s hand as he stepped past to retrieve his clothes and put them on. He gathered up the bedding and tidied it. Harry had started on the tea by the time Draco spoke.
“Harry,” Draco didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry, too. But I’m not sorry about today.”
Breakfast was a quiet affair. More toast, several pots of tea and some potted shrimp that Malfoy found in the cold store. Snape usually came around nine, so there was time to tidy away the signs of Harry’s presence. Neither boy felt much like talking. Half an hour before the guessed-at time, Draco took to his sofa with a book and Harry hid himself behind the buffet bench of the kitchen, where he would be concealed by the opening cottage door.
They waited. As nine drew closer, the looks they exchanged grew more strained. As nine passed, they descended into silliness. Draco’s worry became inventive gurning, and Harry had to pinch himself to avoid laughing out loud. At 9.23, they heard the crack of someone Apparating outside the door and the tension flooded back.
After a perfunctory knock, the door opened and Snape walked straight in, carrying a large box. “Good morning, Malfoy. You’ve tidied! This place smells like …” Harry’s two spells hit and Snape was shunted heavily to the floor, his wand flying from his pocket to Harry’s outstretched hand. Sprawled on the stone flags he looked up and saw Harry. “… hope,” he finished with a sneer. “Goodness and light and hope. So I should have expected Mr Potter.”
“Sorry, sir,” Draco looked miserable. “He wants to take you back. I wouldn’t have helped him kill you.”
“Very noble, I’m sure.”
Harry walked around the buffet, wand still outstretched. “Shut up. Get up. We’re taking you to the Order. You can come quietly or you can come unconscious, I don’t really care which.”
Snape stood up, careful to avoid the fruit that scattered over the floor and the milk that had spilled from the broken bottle in the box. “You’re an idiot, Potter. You’ll get Malfoy killed, too.”
“Shut up! Malfoy is safe. We can hide him where your master will never find him. Don’t think I wouldn’t prefer to kill you, but you have information we need.”
Snape looked at Harry appraisingly. “You’ve planned it all out very carefully, haven’t you, Potter?” he muttered. “Although, it’s typical that you overlooked the obvious.”
Harry paused. “What’s that?” he asked, reluctantly.
Snape was as close to un-nerved as Harry had ever seen him. “Why do you believe they trust me any more than you do?”
Harry and Draco exchanged worried looks. “He’s always come alone,” Draco said quickly.
Snape gave a high laugh, “I’m never alone! They’re always somewhere nearby to make sure that I stay theirs. Do whatever you’re going to do now, Potter, or you’ll be too late.”
“What do you mean?” Harry was catching Snape’s nervousness.
Before there could be any answer, the door of the cottage burst inwards from its hinges and a squat, furious figure stood framed in the sunlight with his wand pointed directly at Harry. “Cruci…” the figure began to shout, and Harry had just enough time to deflect the curse before it was completed.
Carrow, Amycus Carrow. Harry remembered him now from the muddled fight at Hogwarts. He followed up his curse deflection with an attempt at disarming, but Carrow was already mouthing his next curse and Harry was forced to put his efforts into defence instead.
From his right he heard Malfoy’s clear voice ring out: “Expelli…” and then a horrible choking cut them off. Harry’s eyes snapped right, to see Draco’s hands clawing desperately at his throat. Snape had taken a step towards him, but his face registered nothing but fear and his hands were stretched out in innocence.
Another figure suddenly stepped into the light of the doorway behind Carrow, and Harry heard the grim chuckle of Bellatrix Lestrange, he could make out her wand pointed at Draco, but before he could turn his own on her, another curse came his way from Carrow. Harry deflected it and dove to his right, shouting “Stupefy” at Lestrange as he did so.
With a gasp of breath, Bellatrix evaded the main burst of the spell, but was sent reeling by its force. Carrow turned on Harry in vengeance, but his aim was blocked by the presence of Snape. “Get down, Severus!” the Death Eater cried.
“Draco?” Harry spared a desperate look. The colour was returning to Malfoy’s face, he gave a tight nod, then raised his own wand. The two boys stepped out from behind their teacher, “Sectumsempra!” they shouted at their targets.
Harry hit his mark, Carrow, and the lumpen wizard crashed heavily to the ground, blood oozing from deep slashes. Draco’s curse was met by a fierce block and rebounded, hitting Harry at full force. As he was thrown back into the corner of the room he could hear Malfoy’s scream of “No!” and Snape’s cry of “Potter!”
The pain, in fact, was not so bad. He’d felt worse. He opened his eyes to see Draco turning towards him and Bellatrix storming triumphantly into the cottage. Behind Draco stood Snape, his brow furrowed, his hand reaching out. Harry smiled and did the only thing that made any sense to him, he threw Snape’s wand at him and then let his heavy eyelids close.
VI
“Harry. Harry?” there was a voice insisting he listen. It all seemed very hard.
Half-heartedly, he opened his eyes. “Yes?” he muttered, hoping that it would go away soon.
Draco Malfoy was looking down at him, tears in his eyes. He smiled, and looked up. Harry followed his gaze to see Snape kneeling in front of him, with concern writ across his features. As Harry focussed, Snape’s expression returned to its familiar disdain.
“Well,” he muttered. “You seem to be recovering well. You’ll be pleased to know that you have no new scars to add to your collection. mr Malfoy doesn’t have your streak of violence, it seems.”
Harry looked down. Draco was holding him, he realised happily. He felt his shoulder being patted reassuringly. “Not fair, sir, he didn’t know what he was doing,” Malfoy defended him.
Snape smiled tightly. “Thank you, Mr Malfoy, I can now die content that I have seen everything possible in this world when you stand up for Potter.” He unfolded himself and shook the dust of battle off his black clothes. Harry looked behind him to see Amycus Carrow lying bloodstained and still near the kitchen and Bellatrix Lestrange motionless across the floor, her pale face filled with fury even in unconsciousness.
Snape crossed to Carrow and repaired the damage to his skin and clothing. He tapped the wand to the side of his head and murmured, “Obliviate.” He did the same for Lestrange, but left both unconscious on the floor. He turned his attention back to the boys. “You’ll need to go. Can you take care of him?”
“Yes,” both answered. Then frowned at each other, with the start of a glare.
“I don’t need taking care of …” Harry began.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Potter, you useless git, you can’t even sit up unaided. Tell me where we’re going and I’ll get us there.”
Harry attempted to sit up, failed, and slumped back against his schoolmate. “I’ll be fine in half an hour. And then we’ll have to set about keeping you safe from his lot, you great nance.”
“Up yours, Potter.”
“You wish.”
Harry was amazed to see the smile on Draco’s face and in his eyes. He looked across to see that Snape was possibly more surprised than even he was. The potions master leant down and helped him to his feet, Draco held him upright. Snape ran an appraising eye over the both of them. “You’ll do,” he decided.
He was still for a moment, then gave Harry the most serious expression he had ever seen on the man’s sallow face. “They’re not my lot, Potter. They’re my curse. I’ve earned the curse, I brought it down on myself, but it’s not the path I would have chosen.” Having said his piece, he started to step away.
“You killed Dumbledore,” Harry said, quietly.
“Yes,” Snape answered plainly.
“Why?”
“Because I swore to.”
“Swore to whom?”
Snape turned away. “Tell Malfoy where you’re going, Potter, and keep the boy safe. You want answers I can’t give you today.” Harry began to protest, but Snape walked over to the unconscious Death Eaters and took hold of them instead. Harry fell silent. Snape looked at him. He seemed to struggle for a moment. Finally he spoke. “Potter … I’m sorry about your parents.” And with that he Disapparated, taking Carrow and Lestrange with him.
Harry sagged. Draco caught him, and held him up, concern in his eyes. “Potter … Harry, are you all right?”
Harry’s expression was raw and his grip on Draco’s arm so tight that he could feel the bruise forming. Draco kept silent, and supported him until he could feel him breathing normally again. “Harry …” Draco began, but stopped at the sight of Potter’s tear-streaked face. “Oh bloody hell.” Draco dabbed away the tears with his cuff and tousled Harry’s hair. “There, there. There, there,” he muttered.
Harry began to laugh, and Draco followed. “You’re crap,” Harry told him.
“We both are,” Draco admitted. They stood companionably for a minute.
Harry straightened up, able to bear his own weight at last. He looked thoughtful, then held out his right hand towards Malfoy. “Harry Potter,” he announced.
Draco frowned at him. “I know. What are you doing?”
“Starting over. Harry Potter,” he repeated.
Draco paused, then took Harry’s hand in his and shook it. “Draco Malfoy,” he replied. They smiled at each other, then shook their heads ruefully. “I’m not convinced this is going to work,” Draco admitted.
“Me either,” Harry agreed. “But it’s worth a try.”
“And we are in the middle of a war, not an auspicious time for new relationships.”
“Good for frantic fumblings, though.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I was neither frantic nor fumbling.”
Harry grinned, “No, you weren’t.”
“Where are we going?” Draco asked.
Harry looked thoughtful. “I suppose that will depend on all sorts of things.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Potter, you idiot, where are we going now? We’re not entirely safe here in case you’ve forgotten.”
Harry pulled a face at him. “I see your sympathy for the nearly dead lasted all of five minutes. Come on, I’ll Apparate us there.” He took hold of Draco’s arm.
“Hold on,” Draco was serious. “You’re still not the best, Harry. You shouldn’t try magic yet. You can still trust me for now, tell me where we’re going and I’ll get us there. I can get us to a staging post for the Order if you’d rather keep your big secrets.”
Harry looked at him. “I don’t trust you for now,” he said. “I trust you. We have a base at Godric’s Hollow. We should be safe there.”
Draco bit his bottom lip for a moment. He put his hand over Harry’s, and spoke in a voice that had a slight tremor: “Godric’s Hollow.”
After they disappeared, the cottage’s dust motes moved to fill the space their bodies had left in the golden light of late morning.
Part Two