HP Fic: Out of Ashes (Harry/Draco) (PG)
Title: Out of Ashes
Pairing: Harry/Draco (preslash)
Rating: PG
Beta(s): trialia and maja_li
Era: Post-Hogwarts, EWE
Word Count 4,014
Warning(s): none
Summary: Draco never thought he'd be grateful to an arsonist.
Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.
Author’s Notes: Written for the lovely brinimc 's birthday, earlier in the week. She asked for flangst and left me the prompt "forgotten". Much thanks goes to maja_li , as she gave me the general premise for this fic, and to kayoko for helping me nail down some of the finer points. I had planned a little fic of 500 words. I did not realise this bunny was so LONG. He was deceptively tiny when I picked him up!
As Harry poked through the charred rubble at his feet, he couldn't help but feel awful. Even if they caught the perpetrators of this crime, things would never be the same for the victim. He supposed it was nearly ironic-Harry had saved Draco Malfoy's life from enchanted fire once before, years ago, but it was another variation of that substance that had destroyed much that remained of the man's life. Well, maybe it wasn't irony-it was just fate being fickle.
~*~
Harry hadn't been on the initial emergency call, the one that had been dispatched to control the flames as they ravaged Malfoy Manor. He'd been finishing up some reports at the office, trying desperately to finish so he could get home and get some decent sleep. After flicking his wand and guiding the last one into the correct file, he stood, stretched, and moved to say goodnight to the witch at the front desk. Instead of nodding her goodnight back, as was their routine, Glenda waved him over. With a deep sigh, he put his belongings back down and walked over.
"Auror Potter," she began, and Harry cringed. She had finally started calling him Harry around the office, but if she was calling him by his official title, it was for the benefit of the person standing on the other side of the desk, just hidden from Harry's view by a thin privacy barrier. "There's someone here who needs to file a report with the Auror Division. There's already an emergency squad on the scene, but they're...well..." She glanced over her shoulder and dropped her voice when she turned back to Harry. "They're too busy trying to control the situation to take all the details."
Harry nodded. He'd heard the call that sent a good number of his colleagues out into the field-fire resistant to basic quenching spells-but had missed nearly all the other details. "Of course. I'll take the statement." He stepped around the corner and locked eyes with the man standing at the counter. "Draco?"
"Potter." His tone was clipped, and once upon a time, Harry would have called it rude or even difficult. But besides the fact that he and Malfoy had put most of their immature behaviour behind them during the trials, Harry had been an Auror too long to miss the obvious-this was a self-preservation technique.
"I've told you before, it's Harry," Harry said, scanning Malfoy from head to toe. He looked wretched, and the smudge of soot on his chin stood out starkly on his pale skin.
"Well, Harry, I hope you'll forgive me the lack of social conventions. I'm a bit preoccupied." His hands gripped the counter tightly, and Harry could see that Malfoy was trying his hardest to stay composed. Harry had the very clear feeling that it would be best to tread lightly, lest he be the catalyst that cracked Malfoy's determined composure.
"Right, sorry. Why don't we head into Room Three? I'll take your statement." Malfoy gave him a curt nod and walked stiffly into the room Harry had indicated. "Please, sit," he said, glad to have official protocol to follow. It had been years since he and Malfoy had had so much as a mild disagreement, mostly due to the fact that they didn't see much of each other these days. But seeing Malfoy in this state made him feel a bit off-kilter. It happened whenever he was forced into a professional position around people he knew.
Malfoy sat carefully in the light wooden chair across from the desk. It was a small room, and as Harry rummaged in the drawer for a good, reliable quill and a pot that contained more than a few drops of gummy ink, he became aware of the smell of smoke that clung to the other man. "Please, Mr Malfoy," he said, slipping into his 'official business' voice, "whenever you're ready."
Malfoy ignored the title, simply biting his lower lip and looking up toward the ceiling. For a brief moment, Harry worried Malfoy was trying to keep back tears, and wondered what, exactly, he would do if the other man started to cry. Weren't there usually tissues in these rooms or something?
And then, instead of quietly breaking down, Malfoy clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. Ah, there it was. Victims often exhibited one of two main sets of emotion in these situations: desperate sadness, helplessness, and disbelief, or frustration and anger to the point of rage. While Malfoy might have initially seemed to lean toward the former, Harry knew there was at least a bit of the latter within him. Still, he didn't talk.
Harry waited. He was used to this. Malfoy wasn't a suspect. It wouldn't do to push him. When he found the words, he'd share them, whether they were calm and a result of shock, or angry and bitter. In the meantime, Harry concentrated on not appearing impatient. He did want to get home, yes. He was dead tired. But this was his job, and he'd taken oaths. And it was obvious Malfoy was legitimately in need of someone to take his report.
"I got off work late," Malfoy finally began, his eyes firmly fixed on his hands, which rested in his lap. "I was finishing up the documentation on a potion we've been developing since last year. I Apparated home, as usual. Made myself a late dinner and settled into the study to do some research on the properties of wormwood in potions. I don't know how long I was at it-I think I dozed off. But at some point, I became aware of strange noises. When I went out to look over the balcony and into the entrance of the manor, I saw smoke. I know it was stupid, but I ran towards it. By the time I got downstairs, several rooms were in flames. All I could hear was the roaring of fire."
"Fiendfyre?" Harry asked sharply, his quill flying over the parchment as he wrote as quickly as possible.
Malfoy shuddered. "No. I don't think so. No dragons, no chimeras, no snakes. But Aguamenti didn't work. Nor did any of the other water or Extinguishing charms I tried. I sent my Patronus here, where I assume someone received it, as Aurors arrived shortly after. I tried to Apparate onto the grounds, outside the Manor, but I couldn't concentrate sufficiently. Too much smoke. So I found my way out through one of the passages the house-elves used to use. I tried to speak to someone on the scene about what had happened and got shoved aside, so I made my way here."
Harry wrote down the last of Malfoy's statement. "Did you see anyone? You mentioned noises."
"I...no. I mean, there might have been something as I headed down the stairs. I thought I saw three figures through the smoke, but I could have just been confused."
"Any features you remember? Heights? Weights? Body shapes?"
There was a moment of hesitation. "One male, tall and broad. Another average height, slight build."
"And the third?"
Malfoy let out a harsh laugh. "Potter, I can't even guarantee I saw the first two figures. If there was a third, I didn't register anything significant. Any more questions?"
Harry sighed. "Yes. Several. First, you said you made yourself dinner. Is that typical for you, or do your house-elves normally do that?"
Malfoy gave him a look Harry couldn't quite read. "Potter, the Malfoys haven't owned a house-elf since you freed ours back in second year."
"Oh," Harry said, genuinely surprised. With as large as the Manor was, he assumed there had to be scores of them. "I just assumed you-"
"Well, perhaps you should make fewer assumptions. It might make you a better Auror, you know."
Harry resolutely kept his mouth shut. Much as he hated to admit it, Malfoy was right. He said two of the words that were always hardest around his old rival: "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Malfoy said tersely, and Harry thought he saw the beginnings of a crack in Draco's composure. "Next question."
Harry went down every last avenue Malfoy's statement led him. Half an hour later, he had exhausted everything protocol and his instincts suggested. He stood and offered Malfoy his hand at the doorway as he assured him he would be in contact if anything developed. Malfoy nodded and shook Harry's hand with a wince. "Thank you."
Harry nodded, and then another question hit him. "Do you have somewhere to go tonight? I mean, since you can't…"
Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Potter. I get that making sure people are safe is your job. I appreciate that. But I'll be fine. I'll survive."
"I know, I just wanted to-"
"I said, drop it, okay? Yes, I have somewhere to go. You won't find me sleeping on the street. It's very hard to handle everything that's happened tonight, and though I know it's what you do, having to deal with you-of all people-appearing genuinely concerned, almost as if I'm more than just your average victim…It might just send me over the edge, okay? So you get bonus points for being a caring, supportive member of this office, but we'll both be better off if you don't fake anything for my benefit, okay?"
Harry didn't even have a chance to respond before Malfoy turned on his heel and left. Watching Malfoy walk determinedly out of the Auror's office, Harry felt himself deflate. He might never be incredibly close to the other man, but this... He didn't even have words for it.
~*~
Harry was still thinking about that meeting with Malfoy, about his accusation that Harry was only playing a role and wasn't asking out of (an admittedly unexpected) concern, when he poked at something that didn't crumble at his touch. He pushed through a thick layer of ash to find a small wooden box that was only slightly charred. Whatever was in there must be quite valuable-the charms that had protected it from the enchanted fire had to be incredibly complex.
Harry cast a series of spells over the box, for safety's sake. No curses, no hexes, no poisons or booby-traps. Whatever had been protecting the box hadn't meant to keep anyone out, but simply functioned to keep the contents unharmed. Harry cast a gentle Tergeo on the box, surprised to see that instead of an ornate carving with the Malfoy family crest (or even the Black family crest, which they'd found traces of on other damaged items), this was a hand-painted box, almost like a small chest.
The paint was a chipped silver, with dulled green and red dragons surrounding a now-bronze Snitch in the centre. Casting a quick protective spell on himself, just in case (because Harry could never quite forget some of the items the Malfoy family had handled and passed over to others before the end of the war), Harry held his breath and attempted to lift the lid.
It came off easily, and Harry set it aside and peered into the box. There was a small, thick book on top, and as Harry lifted it out, he realised it had Draco's name on it in delicate, feminine script. He flipped through it idly for a moment, taking in the photographs of a laughing infant, of a much younger Narcissa Malfoy cradling a newborn in her arms, of a small blond child on a training broom or chasing a distressed looking house-elf around a nursery. He closed the book quickly, feeling as if he was intruding on something very private.
Without wanting to invade Malfoy's privacy any further, Harry looked at the other items in the box-he caught sight of a cuddly toy, a few picture books, some slightly faded drawings and other papers covered in a young child's handwriting, a pair of bronze--no, gold--baby shoes, and some other things below that before he replaced the baby book on top and sealed the lid.
"Potter?"
Harry turned his face towards the sound of Auror Feldman's voice. Acting quickly, he shrank the wooden box and stuffed it into an inner pocket of his robes. Evidence protocol be damned, this was going straight into Malfoy's hands. He couldn't imagine having this sit around in an evidence container for months on end, or perhaps longer. Besides, as far as every other bit of evidence and Malfoy's own testimony indicated, nothing significant had happened in this room. It had simply been in the path of destruction.
He exited the decimated room and nearly ran straight into Feldman. "Nothing in there. Total destruction."
Feldman sighed. "I always thought the Malfoys were a bunch of pricks, you know. But this... I mean, he was cleared during the trials, wasn't he? And both the parents are dead."
"I know," Harry said, stomach twisting. "Draco's...well. No one deserves this." In truth, being in that room, and the things he had found hiding amongst the rubble, had reminded him a bit too much of his visit to his old home in Godric's Hollow, that Christmas Eve.
"Right. Bloke never even took the Dark Mark, did he?" Feldman shook his head. "Well, we have enough evidence. Hayden thinks he's got a lead on the identity of the bastards who did this-relatives of a Death Eater Malfoy put away with his testimony after the war. We'll get them. Too bad we can't save this place, though. Must have really been something, before all this."
Harry tried not to think of the first time he had been here, in favour of the few times he had come of his own free will. "Yeah."
He lingered behind the other Aurors as they logged the final bits of evidence away and took a last look around. How long until the war's effects were no longer felt?
~*~
Harry waited outside the Potions Patent Office, shifting uncomfortably as he leaned against the wall. It was after ten in the evening, and the Ministry felt deserted. He knew Malfoy was inside, possibly in one of the laboratories, or one of the quiet rooms he knew the researchers used when they needed room to spread out. He had heard of them from Hermione, who spoke in the hushed, reverent tones of a devout believer discussing a holy relic. He could just see a dim light inside the main office. Now, if only Malfoy would step outside.
Twenty minutes later, Harry was tired of waiting. With a deep sigh, he raised a fist and knocked on the door. He'd already tried the handle nearly an hour ago, but found it locked from the inside. As this wasn't official business, he'd decided against a simple Alohomora. He was starting to wonder if this was where Malfoy had been staying since the fire destroyed the manor and the light had been left on while he slept, when a shadow moved, temporarily obscuring the light. The sound of a lock being undone clicked in the silence, and the door cracked open, Malfoy standing with his face pressed to the crack. "Potter? What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" His face went from astonished and suspicious to openly curious. "Is there a development in the case? Have you found who-"
Harry cut him off, sorry he hadn't foreseen that line of questioning. He didn't want to get Malfoy's hopes up unnecessarily, though the Aurors heading Malfoy's case did seem to think they were quite close to arresting the perpetrators. "No, I'm sorry, it's not that."
"Then what is it?" The guarded look replaced the bit of hope and curiosity that had been there just a moment ago.
"May I come in?"
Malfoy seemed to think it over for a moment before he stepped back and opened the door wide. "Be my guest. I was just working." He walked back toward a lit room-his office, Harry realised as he saw the nameplate on the door-and gestured Harry to follow him inside. "Mind the books and papers, if you please."
Harry tried to find a place to stand inside the office that wasn't covered in some sort of research material. This place probably looked like Hermione's favourite daydream. The walls were covered in full bookshelves, and there were (admittedly tidy) stacks of paper everywhere. It smelled like parchment, ink, and leather, which fitted Malfoy in some way. "Right. I'll make this quick. I don't want to interrupt your work."
Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "A bit late for that, isn't it, Potter?" But there was no real bite to the words, and Harry wondered if he might actually be thankful for a distraction. No doubt he was using the work itself as a distraction from what had happened the other night. Malfoy still looked exhausted, even more pale and pinched than Harry remembered him being before. As Malfoy reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead, Harry saw the smudge of black ink that stained the outside of Malfoy's hand, darkening the crescent from little finger to wrist. It somehow made him look very real, more of an actual person, with dreams and hopes and aspirations, than he had ever seemed to Harry before. He had no idea why a bit of ink made him realise all of this, but that didn't change the fact.
"Potter? Harry?" Draco waved a hand in front of Harry's face. "Having a fit or something I should know about?"
Harry shook himself mentally. "Sorry, was just thinking. Yes, yes, I know, shouldn't hurt myself trying that or anything, should I?"
Incredibly, Malfoy laughed. "Beat me to it. Really, Potter-what brings you down to the Potions Patent Department this late at night? Did you need to fill out forms for assistance on a case, or is there something else I can help you with?"
"No, I came to see you." He swallowed hard. Malfoy had laughed, cracked an actual smile at him, and Harry hoped that meant Malfoy wasn't going to decide to report him for his breach of protocol. "I have something for you."
Malfoy looked at him curiously. "A message?"
"No, not a message. Something in my pocket."
This time, Malfoy smirked. Harry replayed his words in his head and cringed. "Potter, if you're going to flirt, that's one thing. But that has to be one of the worst pick-up lines in history."
Feeling the heat in his face, Harry fumbled in his robes. "No! I mean, I really have something for you. Here, hold on." He located the shrunken box in his pocket and pulled it out. "Is there somewhere I can set this so I can return it to its normal size?" Flirting with Malfoy had never really crossed his mind before, but it didn't seem unappealing, either, now he thought about it.
"Oh," Malfoy said, looking a bit more serious now that he saw Harry actually did have something to hand over. "Right, just a moment." He moved various books and piles of things off his desk and onto other piles of things. "Right there should do, unless it's something large."
Harry set the chest, currently no bigger than a matchbox, on the centre of the desk and raised his wand. He saw the hesitation on Malfoy's face. "Yes, I know, mind the papers and such. Honestly, Malfoy. It's not like I'm going to destroy anything of yours." He heard the words leave his mouth and wanted to kick himself. This was a man who'd just lost nearly everything he owned.
On the other side of the desk, Malfoy slumped a little. "Just get on with it, so I can get back to work, please."
Harry nodded and cast the spell to restore the chest to its normal size. "I found this at the Manor. I thought…I thought you might want it."
Malfoy looked up at him, grey eyes inquisitive. "I thought everyone said there wasn't much that survived the fire. And everything that was is currently in evidence. I got a letter…"
Harry blushed. "I might not have exactly followed protocol on this one." His stomach twisted a bit. He could get into serious trouble with this, if Malfoy had the inclination to bring this up to someone else in the Auror department.
"You broke the rules?" Malfoy said with a slightly snotty air that made Harry feel a little more grounded. This was familiar, at least. "How utterly unlike you." But then he looked down at the chest and paused. "Wait. What is this, exactly?"
With a small snort he could not seem to help, Harry just shrugged. "It's yours. I kind of figured you'd know."
Malfoy moved closer to the desk and gazed down at the painted lid. He ran a thumb over one of the chips in the paint. "This can't be what I think it is." He said it in a whisper that was more to himself than to Harry. Hesitantly, he placed his hands on the sides of the lid. He stayed like that for a moment before taking a deep breath and lifting the top, setting it aside.
"Potter…" he murmured after a moment. "What…? Where…?" He picked up the album and flipped through it slowly, stopping at the photograph of his mother holding a newborn with light blond hair. Finally, he looked up, fixing Harry with his gaze. "Why?"
Harry looked straight into Malfoy's eyes. "I figured this was one thing that didn't need to be logged into evidence. And you should have it."
Malfoy's face softened. "I didn't even know this still existed. I haven't seen it since I was a child. I assumed it was just one more childish thing to be tossed aside when I was grown." He pulled out the stuffed animal, a dragon so faded the green was nearly grey, and brought it up to his face. "Still smells the same," he whispered.
Feeling like he was intruding, Harry moved back toward the door. "That's all I had for you, Malfoy. I'm sorry it wasn't more."
Malfoy whipped his head around to glare at Harry. "Don't be fucking ridiculous, Potter. Harry. This is unexpected, and really more than I had hoped for at this point. I'm…" He sighed and put the dragon back in the box. "I'm really, truly grateful. Words don't express it right now."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush again. Malfoy's face was unexpectedly open and warm, and Harry could see in his eyes that what he was saying was completely genuine. "I'd appreciate it if you expressed your gratitude by not mentioning the rule-breaking?" It was a question, absolutely.
Malfoy gave him another look like he thought Harry was an idiot. Harry was quite used to that look. "I understand you broke a rule to give this to me. It's a gesture that means more than you know. There's no way I'd mention your indiscretion, Potter. I'm not that petty any more."
"I never said you were," Harry said quietly. "I know better than that. I have for years."
With a small smile, Malfoy nodded. "In fact, if you're willing, I'd like to show my appreciation other ways."
"What ways?" Harry wondered if the wariness was in his voice, or just his head.
Malfoy laughed, a sound that said he knew exactly what Harry had been thinking. After the earlier comment about flirting, Harry wasn't sure. "Relax, Potter. I don't mean I'm going to just give you a thank-you shag. I was thinking about buying you dinner, or maybe a pint. A very simple thank you, with some possible conversation."
"Oh," Harry said, massively relieved and surprisingly a bit disappointed. "I see."
"Great. We'll meet in the Atrium, after work. Say, seven, tomorrow night?"
"Sure."
"Great," Malfoy said, shooing Harry out the door. "It's a date." The door closed behind Harry, leaving him to stand there, wondering how a little box in a bit of charred rubble could have changed his expectations so much.
Pairing: Harry/Draco (preslash)
Rating: PG
Beta(s): trialia and maja_li
Era: Post-Hogwarts, EWE
Word Count 4,014
Warning(s): none
Summary: Draco never thought he'd be grateful to an arsonist.
Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.
Author’s Notes: Written for the lovely brinimc 's birthday, earlier in the week. She asked for flangst and left me the prompt "forgotten". Much thanks goes to maja_li , as she gave me the general premise for this fic, and to kayoko for helping me nail down some of the finer points. I had planned a little fic of 500 words. I did not realise this bunny was so LONG. He was deceptively tiny when I picked him up!
As Harry poked through the charred rubble at his feet, he couldn't help but feel awful. Even if they caught the perpetrators of this crime, things would never be the same for the victim. He supposed it was nearly ironic-Harry had saved Draco Malfoy's life from enchanted fire once before, years ago, but it was another variation of that substance that had destroyed much that remained of the man's life. Well, maybe it wasn't irony-it was just fate being fickle.
~*~
Harry hadn't been on the initial emergency call, the one that had been dispatched to control the flames as they ravaged Malfoy Manor. He'd been finishing up some reports at the office, trying desperately to finish so he could get home and get some decent sleep. After flicking his wand and guiding the last one into the correct file, he stood, stretched, and moved to say goodnight to the witch at the front desk. Instead of nodding her goodnight back, as was their routine, Glenda waved him over. With a deep sigh, he put his belongings back down and walked over.
"Auror Potter," she began, and Harry cringed. She had finally started calling him Harry around the office, but if she was calling him by his official title, it was for the benefit of the person standing on the other side of the desk, just hidden from Harry's view by a thin privacy barrier. "There's someone here who needs to file a report with the Auror Division. There's already an emergency squad on the scene, but they're...well..." She glanced over her shoulder and dropped her voice when she turned back to Harry. "They're too busy trying to control the situation to take all the details."
Harry nodded. He'd heard the call that sent a good number of his colleagues out into the field-fire resistant to basic quenching spells-but had missed nearly all the other details. "Of course. I'll take the statement." He stepped around the corner and locked eyes with the man standing at the counter. "Draco?"
"Potter." His tone was clipped, and once upon a time, Harry would have called it rude or even difficult. But besides the fact that he and Malfoy had put most of their immature behaviour behind them during the trials, Harry had been an Auror too long to miss the obvious-this was a self-preservation technique.
"I've told you before, it's Harry," Harry said, scanning Malfoy from head to toe. He looked wretched, and the smudge of soot on his chin stood out starkly on his pale skin.
"Well, Harry, I hope you'll forgive me the lack of social conventions. I'm a bit preoccupied." His hands gripped the counter tightly, and Harry could see that Malfoy was trying his hardest to stay composed. Harry had the very clear feeling that it would be best to tread lightly, lest he be the catalyst that cracked Malfoy's determined composure.
"Right, sorry. Why don't we head into Room Three? I'll take your statement." Malfoy gave him a curt nod and walked stiffly into the room Harry had indicated. "Please, sit," he said, glad to have official protocol to follow. It had been years since he and Malfoy had had so much as a mild disagreement, mostly due to the fact that they didn't see much of each other these days. But seeing Malfoy in this state made him feel a bit off-kilter. It happened whenever he was forced into a professional position around people he knew.
Malfoy sat carefully in the light wooden chair across from the desk. It was a small room, and as Harry rummaged in the drawer for a good, reliable quill and a pot that contained more than a few drops of gummy ink, he became aware of the smell of smoke that clung to the other man. "Please, Mr Malfoy," he said, slipping into his 'official business' voice, "whenever you're ready."
Malfoy ignored the title, simply biting his lower lip and looking up toward the ceiling. For a brief moment, Harry worried Malfoy was trying to keep back tears, and wondered what, exactly, he would do if the other man started to cry. Weren't there usually tissues in these rooms or something?
And then, instead of quietly breaking down, Malfoy clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. Ah, there it was. Victims often exhibited one of two main sets of emotion in these situations: desperate sadness, helplessness, and disbelief, or frustration and anger to the point of rage. While Malfoy might have initially seemed to lean toward the former, Harry knew there was at least a bit of the latter within him. Still, he didn't talk.
Harry waited. He was used to this. Malfoy wasn't a suspect. It wouldn't do to push him. When he found the words, he'd share them, whether they were calm and a result of shock, or angry and bitter. In the meantime, Harry concentrated on not appearing impatient. He did want to get home, yes. He was dead tired. But this was his job, and he'd taken oaths. And it was obvious Malfoy was legitimately in need of someone to take his report.
"I got off work late," Malfoy finally began, his eyes firmly fixed on his hands, which rested in his lap. "I was finishing up the documentation on a potion we've been developing since last year. I Apparated home, as usual. Made myself a late dinner and settled into the study to do some research on the properties of wormwood in potions. I don't know how long I was at it-I think I dozed off. But at some point, I became aware of strange noises. When I went out to look over the balcony and into the entrance of the manor, I saw smoke. I know it was stupid, but I ran towards it. By the time I got downstairs, several rooms were in flames. All I could hear was the roaring of fire."
"Fiendfyre?" Harry asked sharply, his quill flying over the parchment as he wrote as quickly as possible.
Malfoy shuddered. "No. I don't think so. No dragons, no chimeras, no snakes. But Aguamenti didn't work. Nor did any of the other water or Extinguishing charms I tried. I sent my Patronus here, where I assume someone received it, as Aurors arrived shortly after. I tried to Apparate onto the grounds, outside the Manor, but I couldn't concentrate sufficiently. Too much smoke. So I found my way out through one of the passages the house-elves used to use. I tried to speak to someone on the scene about what had happened and got shoved aside, so I made my way here."
Harry wrote down the last of Malfoy's statement. "Did you see anyone? You mentioned noises."
"I...no. I mean, there might have been something as I headed down the stairs. I thought I saw three figures through the smoke, but I could have just been confused."
"Any features you remember? Heights? Weights? Body shapes?"
There was a moment of hesitation. "One male, tall and broad. Another average height, slight build."
"And the third?"
Malfoy let out a harsh laugh. "Potter, I can't even guarantee I saw the first two figures. If there was a third, I didn't register anything significant. Any more questions?"
Harry sighed. "Yes. Several. First, you said you made yourself dinner. Is that typical for you, or do your house-elves normally do that?"
Malfoy gave him a look Harry couldn't quite read. "Potter, the Malfoys haven't owned a house-elf since you freed ours back in second year."
"Oh," Harry said, genuinely surprised. With as large as the Manor was, he assumed there had to be scores of them. "I just assumed you-"
"Well, perhaps you should make fewer assumptions. It might make you a better Auror, you know."
Harry resolutely kept his mouth shut. Much as he hated to admit it, Malfoy was right. He said two of the words that were always hardest around his old rival: "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Malfoy said tersely, and Harry thought he saw the beginnings of a crack in Draco's composure. "Next question."
Harry went down every last avenue Malfoy's statement led him. Half an hour later, he had exhausted everything protocol and his instincts suggested. He stood and offered Malfoy his hand at the doorway as he assured him he would be in contact if anything developed. Malfoy nodded and shook Harry's hand with a wince. "Thank you."
Harry nodded, and then another question hit him. "Do you have somewhere to go tonight? I mean, since you can't…"
Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Potter. I get that making sure people are safe is your job. I appreciate that. But I'll be fine. I'll survive."
"I know, I just wanted to-"
"I said, drop it, okay? Yes, I have somewhere to go. You won't find me sleeping on the street. It's very hard to handle everything that's happened tonight, and though I know it's what you do, having to deal with you-of all people-appearing genuinely concerned, almost as if I'm more than just your average victim…It might just send me over the edge, okay? So you get bonus points for being a caring, supportive member of this office, but we'll both be better off if you don't fake anything for my benefit, okay?"
Harry didn't even have a chance to respond before Malfoy turned on his heel and left. Watching Malfoy walk determinedly out of the Auror's office, Harry felt himself deflate. He might never be incredibly close to the other man, but this... He didn't even have words for it.
~*~
Harry was still thinking about that meeting with Malfoy, about his accusation that Harry was only playing a role and wasn't asking out of (an admittedly unexpected) concern, when he poked at something that didn't crumble at his touch. He pushed through a thick layer of ash to find a small wooden box that was only slightly charred. Whatever was in there must be quite valuable-the charms that had protected it from the enchanted fire had to be incredibly complex.
Harry cast a series of spells over the box, for safety's sake. No curses, no hexes, no poisons or booby-traps. Whatever had been protecting the box hadn't meant to keep anyone out, but simply functioned to keep the contents unharmed. Harry cast a gentle Tergeo on the box, surprised to see that instead of an ornate carving with the Malfoy family crest (or even the Black family crest, which they'd found traces of on other damaged items), this was a hand-painted box, almost like a small chest.
The paint was a chipped silver, with dulled green and red dragons surrounding a now-bronze Snitch in the centre. Casting a quick protective spell on himself, just in case (because Harry could never quite forget some of the items the Malfoy family had handled and passed over to others before the end of the war), Harry held his breath and attempted to lift the lid.
It came off easily, and Harry set it aside and peered into the box. There was a small, thick book on top, and as Harry lifted it out, he realised it had Draco's name on it in delicate, feminine script. He flipped through it idly for a moment, taking in the photographs of a laughing infant, of a much younger Narcissa Malfoy cradling a newborn in her arms, of a small blond child on a training broom or chasing a distressed looking house-elf around a nursery. He closed the book quickly, feeling as if he was intruding on something very private.
Without wanting to invade Malfoy's privacy any further, Harry looked at the other items in the box-he caught sight of a cuddly toy, a few picture books, some slightly faded drawings and other papers covered in a young child's handwriting, a pair of bronze--no, gold--baby shoes, and some other things below that before he replaced the baby book on top and sealed the lid.
"Potter?"
Harry turned his face towards the sound of Auror Feldman's voice. Acting quickly, he shrank the wooden box and stuffed it into an inner pocket of his robes. Evidence protocol be damned, this was going straight into Malfoy's hands. He couldn't imagine having this sit around in an evidence container for months on end, or perhaps longer. Besides, as far as every other bit of evidence and Malfoy's own testimony indicated, nothing significant had happened in this room. It had simply been in the path of destruction.
He exited the decimated room and nearly ran straight into Feldman. "Nothing in there. Total destruction."
Feldman sighed. "I always thought the Malfoys were a bunch of pricks, you know. But this... I mean, he was cleared during the trials, wasn't he? And both the parents are dead."
"I know," Harry said, stomach twisting. "Draco's...well. No one deserves this." In truth, being in that room, and the things he had found hiding amongst the rubble, had reminded him a bit too much of his visit to his old home in Godric's Hollow, that Christmas Eve.
"Right. Bloke never even took the Dark Mark, did he?" Feldman shook his head. "Well, we have enough evidence. Hayden thinks he's got a lead on the identity of the bastards who did this-relatives of a Death Eater Malfoy put away with his testimony after the war. We'll get them. Too bad we can't save this place, though. Must have really been something, before all this."
Harry tried not to think of the first time he had been here, in favour of the few times he had come of his own free will. "Yeah."
He lingered behind the other Aurors as they logged the final bits of evidence away and took a last look around. How long until the war's effects were no longer felt?
~*~
Harry waited outside the Potions Patent Office, shifting uncomfortably as he leaned against the wall. It was after ten in the evening, and the Ministry felt deserted. He knew Malfoy was inside, possibly in one of the laboratories, or one of the quiet rooms he knew the researchers used when they needed room to spread out. He had heard of them from Hermione, who spoke in the hushed, reverent tones of a devout believer discussing a holy relic. He could just see a dim light inside the main office. Now, if only Malfoy would step outside.
Twenty minutes later, Harry was tired of waiting. With a deep sigh, he raised a fist and knocked on the door. He'd already tried the handle nearly an hour ago, but found it locked from the inside. As this wasn't official business, he'd decided against a simple Alohomora. He was starting to wonder if this was where Malfoy had been staying since the fire destroyed the manor and the light had been left on while he slept, when a shadow moved, temporarily obscuring the light. The sound of a lock being undone clicked in the silence, and the door cracked open, Malfoy standing with his face pressed to the crack. "Potter? What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" His face went from astonished and suspicious to openly curious. "Is there a development in the case? Have you found who-"
Harry cut him off, sorry he hadn't foreseen that line of questioning. He didn't want to get Malfoy's hopes up unnecessarily, though the Aurors heading Malfoy's case did seem to think they were quite close to arresting the perpetrators. "No, I'm sorry, it's not that."
"Then what is it?" The guarded look replaced the bit of hope and curiosity that had been there just a moment ago.
"May I come in?"
Malfoy seemed to think it over for a moment before he stepped back and opened the door wide. "Be my guest. I was just working." He walked back toward a lit room-his office, Harry realised as he saw the nameplate on the door-and gestured Harry to follow him inside. "Mind the books and papers, if you please."
Harry tried to find a place to stand inside the office that wasn't covered in some sort of research material. This place probably looked like Hermione's favourite daydream. The walls were covered in full bookshelves, and there were (admittedly tidy) stacks of paper everywhere. It smelled like parchment, ink, and leather, which fitted Malfoy in some way. "Right. I'll make this quick. I don't want to interrupt your work."
Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "A bit late for that, isn't it, Potter?" But there was no real bite to the words, and Harry wondered if he might actually be thankful for a distraction. No doubt he was using the work itself as a distraction from what had happened the other night. Malfoy still looked exhausted, even more pale and pinched than Harry remembered him being before. As Malfoy reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead, Harry saw the smudge of black ink that stained the outside of Malfoy's hand, darkening the crescent from little finger to wrist. It somehow made him look very real, more of an actual person, with dreams and hopes and aspirations, than he had ever seemed to Harry before. He had no idea why a bit of ink made him realise all of this, but that didn't change the fact.
"Potter? Harry?" Draco waved a hand in front of Harry's face. "Having a fit or something I should know about?"
Harry shook himself mentally. "Sorry, was just thinking. Yes, yes, I know, shouldn't hurt myself trying that or anything, should I?"
Incredibly, Malfoy laughed. "Beat me to it. Really, Potter-what brings you down to the Potions Patent Department this late at night? Did you need to fill out forms for assistance on a case, or is there something else I can help you with?"
"No, I came to see you." He swallowed hard. Malfoy had laughed, cracked an actual smile at him, and Harry hoped that meant Malfoy wasn't going to decide to report him for his breach of protocol. "I have something for you."
Malfoy looked at him curiously. "A message?"
"No, not a message. Something in my pocket."
This time, Malfoy smirked. Harry replayed his words in his head and cringed. "Potter, if you're going to flirt, that's one thing. But that has to be one of the worst pick-up lines in history."
Feeling the heat in his face, Harry fumbled in his robes. "No! I mean, I really have something for you. Here, hold on." He located the shrunken box in his pocket and pulled it out. "Is there somewhere I can set this so I can return it to its normal size?" Flirting with Malfoy had never really crossed his mind before, but it didn't seem unappealing, either, now he thought about it.
"Oh," Malfoy said, looking a bit more serious now that he saw Harry actually did have something to hand over. "Right, just a moment." He moved various books and piles of things off his desk and onto other piles of things. "Right there should do, unless it's something large."
Harry set the chest, currently no bigger than a matchbox, on the centre of the desk and raised his wand. He saw the hesitation on Malfoy's face. "Yes, I know, mind the papers and such. Honestly, Malfoy. It's not like I'm going to destroy anything of yours." He heard the words leave his mouth and wanted to kick himself. This was a man who'd just lost nearly everything he owned.
On the other side of the desk, Malfoy slumped a little. "Just get on with it, so I can get back to work, please."
Harry nodded and cast the spell to restore the chest to its normal size. "I found this at the Manor. I thought…I thought you might want it."
Malfoy looked up at him, grey eyes inquisitive. "I thought everyone said there wasn't much that survived the fire. And everything that was is currently in evidence. I got a letter…"
Harry blushed. "I might not have exactly followed protocol on this one." His stomach twisted a bit. He could get into serious trouble with this, if Malfoy had the inclination to bring this up to someone else in the Auror department.
"You broke the rules?" Malfoy said with a slightly snotty air that made Harry feel a little more grounded. This was familiar, at least. "How utterly unlike you." But then he looked down at the chest and paused. "Wait. What is this, exactly?"
With a small snort he could not seem to help, Harry just shrugged. "It's yours. I kind of figured you'd know."
Malfoy moved closer to the desk and gazed down at the painted lid. He ran a thumb over one of the chips in the paint. "This can't be what I think it is." He said it in a whisper that was more to himself than to Harry. Hesitantly, he placed his hands on the sides of the lid. He stayed like that for a moment before taking a deep breath and lifting the top, setting it aside.
"Potter…" he murmured after a moment. "What…? Where…?" He picked up the album and flipped through it slowly, stopping at the photograph of his mother holding a newborn with light blond hair. Finally, he looked up, fixing Harry with his gaze. "Why?"
Harry looked straight into Malfoy's eyes. "I figured this was one thing that didn't need to be logged into evidence. And you should have it."
Malfoy's face softened. "I didn't even know this still existed. I haven't seen it since I was a child. I assumed it was just one more childish thing to be tossed aside when I was grown." He pulled out the stuffed animal, a dragon so faded the green was nearly grey, and brought it up to his face. "Still smells the same," he whispered.
Feeling like he was intruding, Harry moved back toward the door. "That's all I had for you, Malfoy. I'm sorry it wasn't more."
Malfoy whipped his head around to glare at Harry. "Don't be fucking ridiculous, Potter. Harry. This is unexpected, and really more than I had hoped for at this point. I'm…" He sighed and put the dragon back in the box. "I'm really, truly grateful. Words don't express it right now."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush again. Malfoy's face was unexpectedly open and warm, and Harry could see in his eyes that what he was saying was completely genuine. "I'd appreciate it if you expressed your gratitude by not mentioning the rule-breaking?" It was a question, absolutely.
Malfoy gave him another look like he thought Harry was an idiot. Harry was quite used to that look. "I understand you broke a rule to give this to me. It's a gesture that means more than you know. There's no way I'd mention your indiscretion, Potter. I'm not that petty any more."
"I never said you were," Harry said quietly. "I know better than that. I have for years."
With a small smile, Malfoy nodded. "In fact, if you're willing, I'd like to show my appreciation other ways."
"What ways?" Harry wondered if the wariness was in his voice, or just his head.
Malfoy laughed, a sound that said he knew exactly what Harry had been thinking. After the earlier comment about flirting, Harry wasn't sure. "Relax, Potter. I don't mean I'm going to just give you a thank-you shag. I was thinking about buying you dinner, or maybe a pint. A very simple thank you, with some possible conversation."
"Oh," Harry said, massively relieved and surprisingly a bit disappointed. "I see."
"Great. We'll meet in the Atrium, after work. Say, seven, tomorrow night?"
"Sure."
"Great," Malfoy said, shooing Harry out the door. "It's a date." The door closed behind Harry, leaving him to stand there, wondering how a little box in a bit of charred rubble could have changed his expectations so much.