CHAINS OF EARTH CHAPTER FIVE (PT TWO)
Mar. 19th, 2010 07:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrules Hermione waved them over impatiently and said, “I’m glad you’re here, Malfoy. It will save me explaining things twice. Harry, have you been drinking?”
“No. Well, I had some wine with dinner.”
“Your cheeks are red,” she said blandly and grinned. His eyes narrowed, but she gestured airily toward the kitchen. “You know where the tea is.”
Harry muttered and stalked into the kitchen to prepare tea. He heard muted conversation from the other room and wondered where Malfoy would sit—Hermione’s furniture was not exactly wing-compatible. When Harry returned with a steaming pot and three cups, he noticed Malfoy seated on the floor. His wings had been drawn in and crossed over each other. The tips rested flat on the floor in pale fans.
Harry joined them after setting the tea on a nearby table. He sat on the floor, also, positioning himself far enough from Malfoy to avoid commentary from Hermione, and yet close enough to reach out and touch the feathers of one snow-white wing if he chose. His fingers itched at the thought and he quickly Summoned a cup of tea to occupy his hands.
Hermione wasted no time. She handed Harry a flat piece of parchment. Malfoy already held one. “I searched the Archives for anything related to wings. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t much. This particular article struck me as relevant, which I’m sure you’ll agree once you’ve read it.”
Harry skimmed the parchment, which detailed the arrest of a wizard named Gunther Pokeby for experimenting with illegal potions. Apparently the old man was obsessed with creating winged beings similar to Veela, but without the vicious urges. Harry drew in a surprised breath and looked at Hermione.
“Did he succeed?”
She shook her head. “I can’t find any reference to his potions actually working. Several were seized by the Ministry and subsequently destroyed, but there is no record of him creating a successful version. In fact, he was arrested and sent to Azkaban after dosing several young wizards with ineffective potions. Three of them perished before he was apprehended.”
“Where is he now?” Malfoy asked.
Hermione sighed. “He died in Azkaban eight years ago. He was there for six years before his demise. This is all ancient history.” She swept her hands toward the parchment scattered about her. Harry picked up another. It looked to be a copy of a deed.
“Then this is all a dead end?” he asked.
“Not quite. The Ministry seized his property, since he had no heirs. All of his funds were used to make reparations to his victims, but the house was never sold. They always meant to go in and do a more thorough investigation, but then You-Know-Who returned and…”
“So his house has been sitting empty all this time?”
“Yes. I’m sure Kingsley will grant you permission to investigate, if you want to wait that long…”
Harry snorted. “Please, it will take three days just to push through a permit request.”
Hermione smiled. “I assumed you would say something like that.” She handed him another parchment, this one a map. “I’m sure you can find it. The records say standard Sealing Spells were used, so you should have no problem getting inside.”
“They never searched it?”
“A cursory investigation was made during the arrest. They seized what potions were available, but you know how Dark wizards like to hide things. There was no mention made of journals or notes, which struck me as very strange. I think it’s worth checking out, if only to see if his property has been disturbed recently. Someone could have gone in and discovered his notes, or possibly even found a potion the Aurors did not know existed.”
Harry nodded. “Well, this is definitely our most promising lead, so far. What do you say, Malfoy? Are you up for a little snooping?”
“Now?” Malfoy asked.
Harry glanced at the clock. “It’s not even 8 o’clock. Still early, unless you need your beauty sleep.”
Malfoy made a perturbed noise at that. “I’m certainly not the one in need of beauty sleep, Potter.”
“Excellent. Then you’ll come.” Harry got to his feet, smirking at Malfoy’s stymied look as he realized he had just been manipulated. He looked at the map and tried to determine the nearest place to Apparate. “I should be able to take us to this point… It’s only a short broom flight from there to Gunther Pokeby’s house. We’ll have to stop by the house first and pick up brooms…” Harry suddenly looked at Malfoy, who looked at him expressionlessly. He blushed at his faux pas, recalling that Malfoy could apparently fly quite well these days without a broom. “Actually, I’ll be right back.”
He Apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place and grabbed his broom before popping back to Hermione’s. “Ready, Malfoy?” he asked.
“No, Potter, I think I’ll just—” Malfoy began, but Harry stepped forward and took his arm in a light grip. “See you, Hermione. Thanks!” Before the blond could step away or comment, Harry Disapparated them.
Malfoy jerked away as soon as their feet touched solid ground. Or relatively solid ground, as they were ankle deep in snow. They stood next to a farmhouse that Harry remembered from a case he had worked the previous year. Smoke drifted from the chimney and mingled with the thick snowflakes falling from the clouds. Harry knew there was little chance of the resident farmer braving the weather even if he had heard them Apparate.
“Damn you, Potter! We’re not even properly dressed for an outing!”
Harry laughed. “Leave it to you to worry about your attire. If it makes you feel better, I think you look fine.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Malfoy snapped. “Obviously the weather is not going to affect me, but you are going to freeze.”
“Worried about me?” Harry teased to cover his shock. The grey eyes glared at him balefully. Harry laughed. “Never mind. I can cast a Warming Charm if I get cold.” He cast a quick Visibility Charm on his glasses to repel the snow and then mounted his broom and cocked a brow at the blond. “How fast can you fly, Malfoy?”
With that, Harry pushed off. He heard a low growl behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see Malfoy lift off with a flick of his wings. Several strong beats later and the blond flew next to him. Harry grinned and leaned low over his broom, urging it to greater speed. It only took a moment for Malfoy to catch him and then he gave Harry a derisive shout and pulled ahead, arms held out in front of himself like a Muggle superhero. Harry admired the slim form winging through the snow. He really was gorgeous, even with the wings; maybe especially with the wings. He threw a grin back at Harry, who struggled to catch up. Malfoy’s wings beat slowly—he didn’t even seem to be making an effort. Harry put on a burst of speed and pulled level with the blond. Their eyes met and Harry laughed in delight. Bloody hell, but he loved to fly and it was rare that he had a chance to fly at top speed. It was almost like playing Quidditch again, except that Malfoy was smiling, too.
Harry realized his face was burning from the cold and the sting of snow. He pulled out his wand and cast a quick Warming Charm. The motion necessitated he slow down to a near stop and Malfoy paused. He hovered in midair, flapping lazily and looking like an angel that had just descended from the heavens, although he was barely visible in the darkness. Harry cast a Directional Charm to take his mind off the sight. His wand tip was dragged downward and to the left, so he veered away. Malfoy followed, no longer racing.
After a few more minutes of flying through the snow, Harry spotted the outline of a stone house nestled against a rocky cliff. They both dropped without a word and walked through deep snow to the front door. To Harry’s practiced eye, the snow surrounding the grounds looked undisturbed, but that did not necessarily mean anything. It could have been covered up or disguised.
The spells surrounding the door were still intact, humming faintly with magic. Harry easily cast the counterspells that dispelled the locks. No alarms sounded, so he reached down and twisted the knob. He stepped inside the dark building with wand held at the ready. All was silent, so Harry cast a quick Lumos to brighten the room. The place was thick with dust, undisturbed for years, apparently. It puffed up around Harry’s feet as he walked forward. Some of the furnishings had been overturned, but the room did not look ransacked—more likely it had been knocked about during the arrest or in the subsequent search for evidence. He turned to look at Malfoy, who had entered behind him and now gazed around dubiously. He also held his wand steady, although it looked a bit incongruous with the wings. Malfoy lit his wand to join his light with Harry’s and he felt a moment of relief that at least Malfoy’s magic appeared to have been unaltered by the spell. Harry rested his broom against the wall.
They separated after exchanging a silent glance and wandered through the small house. It was a single level only, with six large rooms sprawling in a haphazard floor plan. Harry searched the dining room, kitchen, and main room while Malfoy took the two bedrooms and library/office. They met back near the front door after a fruitless search.
“There are no books or papers,” Malfoy explained. “They must have been taken by the Ministry.”
“This is useless, then,” Harry said with an explosive sigh. He was surprisingly disappointed. This entire case had been one dead-end after another. For some reason he genuinely wanted to help Malfoy.
“Not necessarily,” the blond said thoughtfully. You’re not thinking like a Slytherin, Potter.” He snorted a laugh. “Oh yes, that’s because you’re an idiot Gryffindor.”
Harry sneered. “And how is thinking like a Slytherin going to help us now, oh Slithery One?”
“Watch and learn, Potter. Watch and learn.” Malfoy wandered through the house again and Harry trailed him. He bit back a snide comment now and again as Malfoy pressed on various bricks in the fireplace, yanked at wall brackets, and rapped on the walls in various places.
Finally he asked, “What exactly are you looking for?”
“Any man crazy enough to test potions on wizards in an attempt to give them wings has to be paranoid, also. There is no way he would have left his notes lying around in the open. I’m looking for secret doors or compartments.”
Put that way, it made sense, so Harry joined him, stamping on floorboards and prying at innocuous-looking decorations. They were covered in dust before they had finished poking about half the house. Harry paused once for a brutal sneezing attack that caused Malfoy to conjure a handkerchief and hand it to him. He blew his nose and mumbled thanks through the cloth before Vanishing it. Shortly after that, Malfoy’s questing fingers paused on the rough brick of the kitchen wall.
“I think I’ve found it, Potter,” he said.
Harry left the floorboards he had been examining and hurried over.
Malfoy smiled and said, “Ah, he was Slytherin.” A tiny snake, nearly invisible to the naked eye, was etched into a corner of one brick. Pressing on it had no effect, nor did casting Alohomora.
“He was no Parselmouth, surely?” Harry asked.
“You think you’re the only one besides Salazar Slytherin to carry that gift, Potter?” Malfoy asked with a hint of his usual sarcasm.
“And Voldemort,” Harry said simply. Malfoy flinched, but Harry continued, “Actually, I meant that the Ministry would have made mention of the fact.”
“If they knew. Unless he revealed it, how would anyone know?”
Harry shrugged, unwilling to concede the point. He tried, anyway, using the word Open and all variants he could think of in the serpent tongue. To no avail. Finally he asked, “Are you sure it marks a passageway? Maybe he just felt like decorating a brick.”
“Yes, Potter, this dank kitchen corner was so dreary it needed a minute decoration that no one would ever hope to see,” Malfoy drawled. Harry remembered why he used to want to hit the blond regularly.
“Any other suggestions, then?” he snapped instead of taking bodily action.
Malfoy sighed. “Perhaps we’ve been taking this too literally. What have we cast? Open, unlock, push, pull, and slide, correct? How about something less obvious… like Reveleo!” He cast the spell and a portion of the brick seemed to shimmer and dissolve. Malfoy grinned at Harry’s stunned expression with more than a hint of smugness. “It’s all right, Potter, you don’t need to say it. I already know. I’m brilliant.”
With that, he stepped forward into the darkness of the revealed stairs. Harry gasped and reached out a hand, but it was too late. Malfoy strode down the stairs. Instinct more than sound warned Harry and he threw himself bodily at the blond just as several metallic snicks echoed in the darkness. Something skated over Harry as they both tumbled through the darkness and landed with a thump on the floor far below.
“Bloody hell, Potter! What was that about?” Malfoy yelled. Harry sprawled atop the Slytherin’s back, unmoving. His head pressed against Malfoy’s spine, but by the feel of it, the bones there had nearly broken his jaw. “Damn it, Potter, get off me!”
“I’d love to, Malfoy, but I seem to have been hit with a Paralysis Dart,” Harry said calmly. He moved his head slightly, but the rest of his body refused to respond to his commands. He felt Malfoy’s warm flesh beneath him and the root of one wing just touched the corner of his jaw. Harry restrained the urge to rub his face against the feathers, because Malfoy was tense as a board beneath him.
“What are you talking about, Potter? I demand you get off me this instant! You can’t be paralyzed; I just felt you move.”
“Tripping down the stairs the way you did triggered the trap in the wall, you idiot,” Harry snapped. “I felt a dart hit me… maybe two. I can’t tell because I can’t feel much of anything.” Except the fact that Malfoy was quite warm and rather cozy to lie against. He veered away from that thought immediately.
“So you expect me to remain here as your pillow until it wears off?” Malfoy demanded. “Besides, I think you broke my elbow.”
Harry nearly didn’t hear the last complaint because the thought of using Malfoy as a pillow had sent his mind racing back to its original heat-induced path. Fuck, if he got an erection now he wouldn’t even be able to feel it… but Malfoy would. With effort, he dragged himself back to reality and finally processed Malfoy’s latter statement.
“Are you hurt?” he asked sharply. “Is your elbow really broken?”
He felt Malfoy shift beneath him and assumed the Slytherin moved his arms experimentally. The motion caused one wing to brush against Harry’s ear. Harry swallowed hard and dragged his head slightly, just to press against the feathers minutely. The softness was almost mind-numbing. Malfoy froze again.
“If you’re paralyzed, Potter, stop squirming,” the blond ordered.
Harry had to laugh. “Malfoy, the only thing I can move is my face. I can’t possibly hurt you unless I sink my teeth into your skin.” The statement nearly melted Harry’s brain again after the words hit the air. He buried his face in Malfoy’s back with a groan.
“That’s it, Potter, I’m out of here,” Malfoy said harshly. He half crawled, half rolled away from Harry, whose cheek slid first over the Slytherin’s back, arse, and thighs before finally coming to rest against the cold floor. He sighed, but it was partially a sound of relief. He heard Malfoy scramble to his feet and then light pierced the darkness. Harry could see nothing but a flat stone wall. With some effort, he raised his head to look for Malfoy, but could only make out the dusty black boots of the Slytherin.
“Well, this is a dingy room,” Malfoy said, apparently forgetting about Harry entirely in his zest to explore. “Looks like some sort of storage chamber… nothing but old crates. Hmmm, it must be a front. There has to be another door.”
Harry rested his face on the ice-cold floor again. He was getting a crick in his neck from trying to look forward. He shut his eyes. Harry thought about warning the blond about the possibility of more traps, but decided it would serve him right to encounter another. After a moment, the footsteps returned.
“I found another room, Potter. How long will this paralysis-thingy last?”
Harry’s jaw clenched. “That depends on how many darts I took for you. Is there any way you can check? And possibly locate one of the darts to see if I can figure out what sort of poison was used?”
Malfoy sighed as if sorely put-upon, but brightened the light. Harry felt a ghost of warmth and pressure against his lower back. Malfoy chuckled. “You caught one right across the arse, Potter. It split those peasant-like trousers of yours, which is really no loss. I wouldn’t even bother repairing them if I were you. Your arse is bleeding. Want me to heal it for you?”
Harry swallowed back a retort and strove for calm. “That won’t be necessary. The dart?”
Malfoy disappeared again and Harry heard him puttering around on the stairs for a moment. He returned and knelt next to Harry’s visage with a bit of metal in his hand. “Here you are, Potter. Your tiny assailant. It seems to be coated with a greenish material… a bit powdery. Hmmm, and it’s speckled with…” Don’t say gold, don’t say gold, Harry thought desperately.
“Gold,” Malfoy finished.
“Oh shit.”
“What? Is that bad, Potter?”
“It’s bad for me. All it means for you is that you might need to find a new Auror for your case.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Look, the green powder is pretty standard. You’re the potions expert, what is most commonly used in Sleeping Draughts?”
“Poppy seeds.”
“Right. Mixed with powdered peridot and lethifold skin, it makes a powerful paralysis drug. Now, what generally happens when you add mica flakes to a potion?”
“It conveys permanence,” Malfoy said softly.
“Permanence,” Harry repeated. “By my reckoning I have perhaps another fifteen minutes to get this potion out of my system.”
“Fuck,” Malfoy growled. “All right, Potter, what the hell do I do?”
“Perhaps you could take me to St. Mungo’s?”
“Excellent idea, Potter. I Apparate you straight to the hospital with my new adornments and they haul me away to be studied like some fascinating new species. Most likely to Azkaban after accusing me of doing this to you to begin with.”
“You’re being irrational, Malfoy,” Harry said. “I can speak for myself, you know. They will listen to me.”
Malfoy paced uncomfortably close to Harry’s face, kicking up puffs of dust. Harry felt another sneeze coming on. “Of course, because you are the mighty Savior. Well, forgive me for being the only one on the planet without perfect faith in you.”
“All right, we can debate this all night or you can just take me to Hermione’s. She can get me to St. Mungo’s and you can go home.”
Malfoy knelt next to him and his voice was thick with relief. “Excellent plan, Potter. I would have thought of it myself in a moment.”
“Just after you finished panicking?”
“Malfoys never panic,” he said and gripped Harry tightly by the shoulder. “Hold on,” he said before Harry could list every incident of Malfoy panic in his memory. Instead of the familiar lurch of Apparition, Harry felt nothing. He groaned.
“Bloody hell. Anti-Disapparition spell. It’s standard practice for places under investigation. It keeps potential accomplices from popping in and removing evidence.”
“That was years ago!” Malfoy yelped.
“Yes, but the Ministry never did anything with the house. Obviously, no one ever thought to dispel the Anti-Disapparition wards.”
“That’s just bloody fucking lovely,” Malfoy snapped. “How large is the field? Do I need to drag you upstairs and outside?”
Harry winced at the thought. He knew Malfoy was likely to be less than gentle in his current agitated state. “Actually, the field could be as large as a kilometre in a case involving murder.”
The Slytherin lurched to his feet, uttered a litany of choice curses, shattered something made of glass with an angry spell, and put his foot through a wooden crate from the sound. When his temper was under some semblance of control, he returned to Harry and knelt beside him again. “Any other brilliant ideas, Potter?”
“Just one,” Harry admitted. His jaw ached and he lifted his head to ease the discomfort of the cold floor for a moment. Without Malfoy’s warmth cushioning him, the chill of the stone began to seep into his bones. He couldn’t move, but he was not completely numb. “There is a spell that will purge poisons from the blood. It’s taught to all Aurors to use in situations such as this.”
“Yes, well. I’m hardly an Auror, am I?”
“You’re smart enough to learn a spell if I teach it to you, are you not?” Harry twisted his head to glare into the grey eyes that looked into his. They revealed anger tinged with worry.
“Let’s hope so, Potter.”
“All right, now the wand movement is similar to Wingardium Leviosa, except that instead of swish and flick, you make a swish and a quick downward jab. The incantation is Purgara Sanguinus.”
Malfoy practiced both the incantation and the wand movement for long moments, but Harry refused to allow him to cast it until he deemed it adequate. He wasn’t sure what a botched Purging Spell would do to him.
“Tha… that’s g-g-g… good, M-Malfoy,” Harry stuttered and rested his head on the floor again. His teeth were chattering.
“Bloody hell, Potter, you’re freezing!”
“G-g-good of you to n-n-n-notice, Malfoy.”
“Stubborn idiot, why didn’t you say something? You know I don’t recognize cold any longer.” A sudden rush of warmth enveloped Harry as a Warming Charm swept over him. He sighed and soaked in the glorious pleasure of blessed heat.
~~ O ~~
Draco bit his lip as the Charm’s magic wafted over the chilled Auror. He had been so intent on the spell that he hadn’t realized Potter lay on an icy cold surface. Fuck, it was stone, so he couldn’t be comfortable, either, with his chin propped on the floor. Of course bloody Potter was too noble to mention it. Without allowing himself to consider the action, Draco knelt and lifted the Gryffindor by the shoulders. He dragged Potter partially upright and braced the Auror against his chest while wrapping his arms around Potter’s back. The Auror’s head rested on Draco’s shoulder.
“What are you doing, Malfoy?”
“Warming you up, for one thing,” Draco replied. “And I think there is a chair in the other room. Let’s find out, shall we?”
Draco lifted Potter, surprised to find he could hold him quite easily. He kept forgetting how much stronger he was now that he had been changed. He pulled Potter through the door and held him with one arm while he cast a Light Spell. A dusty armchair was visible near one corner, so Draco hauled Potter over and dumped him into it unceremoniously.
“Feel any different?” Draco asked as the dark head lolled. He reached out and propped Potter’s head against the back of the chair.
“My neck is killing me,” Potter said. “And I can’t move.”
“Okay, I’m going to cast the spell now. I don’t think we should wait any longer.”
Potter nodded and then said, “Wait! The effects… well, they are very unpleasant. Everything inside comes… out. You might want to find a bucket. And then stand back.”
Draco wrinkled his nose, but scanned the room until he found a suitable container. It looked like a leather rubbish bin. He dragged it over and pushed it in front of Potter. “Ready?” he asked.
“Merlin no, but I refuse to stay in this state forever. Please cast.”
Draco practiced the movement once more, held his breath, and let fly.
The result was immediate and dramatic. Potter’s face turned a spectacular shade of green and his eyes widened in alarm. Draco instinctively reached out and tipped Potter toward the bin. The Auror’s arms dropped forward, so Draco clamped them against his body to keep Potter’s hands from the vomit that fairly exploded from the Gryffindor’s mouth. It seemed to go on forever and Potter’s body trembled violently in Draco’s grip. He coughed and moaned during each brief pause, until the next spasm gripped him and his entire body stiffened once more.
Draco had never taken care of anyone in his life, but he found himself holding Potter tightly and brushing the hair back from his sweat-soaked forehead while murmuring reassuring nonsense. Every brush of his fingers against Potter’s skin caused his vision to swim for a moment as the strange dreamlike quality threatened to steal over him. “Not much more,” he whispered, hoping it was true. There could not possibly be much more in Potter’s system—he had passed dry heaves some time ago and yet still tried to reject whatever had poisoned him.
“I think you cast the spell correctly,” the Auror rasped jokingly during one interlude. Draco’s snorted. He buried his face in the thick hair at the nape of Potter’s neck and he breathed in the distinctive scent to prevent himself from heaving along with the Gryffindor. He sighed and allowed the visions to come. They swept him away in a blur of colours that faded into a pale picture of Potter holding a small white feather. His expression was pensive and he turned away as the vision changed. This time Potter was angry, yelling and gesticulating in a manner Draco had not seen since Hogwarts. Draco assumed he was the recipient of the rage, but it was hard to tell. The vision shifted again and he saw Potter lying on rumpled red sheets. A lazy grin curved his lips and his hair was tousled madly. His glasses were gone and he reached out— The mental pictures stopped abruptly, to Draco’s relief. He had not been certain if they would go on forever. He took a deep breath and brought himself back to the present.
“Can you move yet?” Draco asked, not quite willing to take his lips from Potter’s neck.
The Auror raised a hand weakly and curled his fingers around Draco’s wrist. Tremors shook Potter’s body, so Draco pulled him back into the chair and cradled the dark head against his chest. “Rest,” Draco ordered. “Just rest for a bit.”
~~ O ~~
Harry awoke to a strange combination of discomfort and ease. He was pleasantly warm, but ached in odd places, such as most of his joints, his head, and the muscles of one hip. He sighed deeply and then his eyes snapped open as he realized he rested atop a warm body. A pale blur met his eyes and he blinked to focus on the edge of a jaw. Bloody hell, he had fallen asleep on Draco Malfoy.
He processed the thought slowly and realized one hand rested against Malfoy’s hip, barely touching. His other hand was flattened over the Slytherin’s heart. His fingers twitched slightly and he closed his eyes again. His head lay on Malfoy’s shoulder, which explained the pinch in his neck. Soft blond hair tickled Harry’s nose and he had to quell the urge to taste Malfoy’s throat. The Slytherin smelled amazing, even through the dust that seemed to have turned into concrete in his nostrils.
Malfoy’s breathing was slow and even. Harry opened his eyes again and tried to determine the time. Judging by his stiffness, they could have been asleep for hours, unless the ache was merely induced by the Purging Spell. Something shifted slightly against his calf and he realized it was one of Malfoy’s wings, folded around him to provide a cocoon of warmth. He stopped worrying about the time as the urge to touch the feathers seized his imagination. Harry moved his hand from Malfoy’s chest and froze for a moment when he noticed one of Malfoy’s arms dangling loosely over his lap, with the fingers curled gently over his hip. It was almost a tender embrace and Harry was disturbed by a sudden longing even stronger than the one that made him reach out and trail his knuckles over the soft feathers of one wing.
He might as well have cast Ennervate. Malfoy was awake and tense before Harry’s hand completed the brief movement.
“What are you doing, Potter?”
Harry guiltily pulled his hand back against his own chest. “Erm, I think we fell asleep.” Before Malfoy could dredge up a sarcastic comment, Harry tucked his face closer into the blond’s neck. “You make a really nice mattress, Malfoy.”
Harry hit the floor with a yelp. Malfoy stood and stretched both arms and wings while he glared down at Harry. “I see you’ve recovered,” he said casually.
Harry got to his feet and rubbed his sore buttocks. He made a mental note never to awaken the Slytherin again. Apparently he was quite testy in the morning.
CHAPTER SIX
“No. Well, I had some wine with dinner.”
“Your cheeks are red,” she said blandly and grinned. His eyes narrowed, but she gestured airily toward the kitchen. “You know where the tea is.”
Harry muttered and stalked into the kitchen to prepare tea. He heard muted conversation from the other room and wondered where Malfoy would sit—Hermione’s furniture was not exactly wing-compatible. When Harry returned with a steaming pot and three cups, he noticed Malfoy seated on the floor. His wings had been drawn in and crossed over each other. The tips rested flat on the floor in pale fans.
Harry joined them after setting the tea on a nearby table. He sat on the floor, also, positioning himself far enough from Malfoy to avoid commentary from Hermione, and yet close enough to reach out and touch the feathers of one snow-white wing if he chose. His fingers itched at the thought and he quickly Summoned a cup of tea to occupy his hands.
Hermione wasted no time. She handed Harry a flat piece of parchment. Malfoy already held one. “I searched the Archives for anything related to wings. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t much. This particular article struck me as relevant, which I’m sure you’ll agree once you’ve read it.”
Harry skimmed the parchment, which detailed the arrest of a wizard named Gunther Pokeby for experimenting with illegal potions. Apparently the old man was obsessed with creating winged beings similar to Veela, but without the vicious urges. Harry drew in a surprised breath and looked at Hermione.
“Did he succeed?”
She shook her head. “I can’t find any reference to his potions actually working. Several were seized by the Ministry and subsequently destroyed, but there is no record of him creating a successful version. In fact, he was arrested and sent to Azkaban after dosing several young wizards with ineffective potions. Three of them perished before he was apprehended.”
“Where is he now?” Malfoy asked.
Hermione sighed. “He died in Azkaban eight years ago. He was there for six years before his demise. This is all ancient history.” She swept her hands toward the parchment scattered about her. Harry picked up another. It looked to be a copy of a deed.
“Then this is all a dead end?” he asked.
“Not quite. The Ministry seized his property, since he had no heirs. All of his funds were used to make reparations to his victims, but the house was never sold. They always meant to go in and do a more thorough investigation, but then You-Know-Who returned and…”
“So his house has been sitting empty all this time?”
“Yes. I’m sure Kingsley will grant you permission to investigate, if you want to wait that long…”
Harry snorted. “Please, it will take three days just to push through a permit request.”
Hermione smiled. “I assumed you would say something like that.” She handed him another parchment, this one a map. “I’m sure you can find it. The records say standard Sealing Spells were used, so you should have no problem getting inside.”
“They never searched it?”
“A cursory investigation was made during the arrest. They seized what potions were available, but you know how Dark wizards like to hide things. There was no mention made of journals or notes, which struck me as very strange. I think it’s worth checking out, if only to see if his property has been disturbed recently. Someone could have gone in and discovered his notes, or possibly even found a potion the Aurors did not know existed.”
Harry nodded. “Well, this is definitely our most promising lead, so far. What do you say, Malfoy? Are you up for a little snooping?”
“Now?” Malfoy asked.
Harry glanced at the clock. “It’s not even 8 o’clock. Still early, unless you need your beauty sleep.”
Malfoy made a perturbed noise at that. “I’m certainly not the one in need of beauty sleep, Potter.”
“Excellent. Then you’ll come.” Harry got to his feet, smirking at Malfoy’s stymied look as he realized he had just been manipulated. He looked at the map and tried to determine the nearest place to Apparate. “I should be able to take us to this point… It’s only a short broom flight from there to Gunther Pokeby’s house. We’ll have to stop by the house first and pick up brooms…” Harry suddenly looked at Malfoy, who looked at him expressionlessly. He blushed at his faux pas, recalling that Malfoy could apparently fly quite well these days without a broom. “Actually, I’ll be right back.”
He Apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place and grabbed his broom before popping back to Hermione’s. “Ready, Malfoy?” he asked.
“No, Potter, I think I’ll just—” Malfoy began, but Harry stepped forward and took his arm in a light grip. “See you, Hermione. Thanks!” Before the blond could step away or comment, Harry Disapparated them.
Malfoy jerked away as soon as their feet touched solid ground. Or relatively solid ground, as they were ankle deep in snow. They stood next to a farmhouse that Harry remembered from a case he had worked the previous year. Smoke drifted from the chimney and mingled with the thick snowflakes falling from the clouds. Harry knew there was little chance of the resident farmer braving the weather even if he had heard them Apparate.
“Damn you, Potter! We’re not even properly dressed for an outing!”
Harry laughed. “Leave it to you to worry about your attire. If it makes you feel better, I think you look fine.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Malfoy snapped. “Obviously the weather is not going to affect me, but you are going to freeze.”
“Worried about me?” Harry teased to cover his shock. The grey eyes glared at him balefully. Harry laughed. “Never mind. I can cast a Warming Charm if I get cold.” He cast a quick Visibility Charm on his glasses to repel the snow and then mounted his broom and cocked a brow at the blond. “How fast can you fly, Malfoy?”
With that, Harry pushed off. He heard a low growl behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see Malfoy lift off with a flick of his wings. Several strong beats later and the blond flew next to him. Harry grinned and leaned low over his broom, urging it to greater speed. It only took a moment for Malfoy to catch him and then he gave Harry a derisive shout and pulled ahead, arms held out in front of himself like a Muggle superhero. Harry admired the slim form winging through the snow. He really was gorgeous, even with the wings; maybe especially with the wings. He threw a grin back at Harry, who struggled to catch up. Malfoy’s wings beat slowly—he didn’t even seem to be making an effort. Harry put on a burst of speed and pulled level with the blond. Their eyes met and Harry laughed in delight. Bloody hell, but he loved to fly and it was rare that he had a chance to fly at top speed. It was almost like playing Quidditch again, except that Malfoy was smiling, too.
Harry realized his face was burning from the cold and the sting of snow. He pulled out his wand and cast a quick Warming Charm. The motion necessitated he slow down to a near stop and Malfoy paused. He hovered in midair, flapping lazily and looking like an angel that had just descended from the heavens, although he was barely visible in the darkness. Harry cast a Directional Charm to take his mind off the sight. His wand tip was dragged downward and to the left, so he veered away. Malfoy followed, no longer racing.
After a few more minutes of flying through the snow, Harry spotted the outline of a stone house nestled against a rocky cliff. They both dropped without a word and walked through deep snow to the front door. To Harry’s practiced eye, the snow surrounding the grounds looked undisturbed, but that did not necessarily mean anything. It could have been covered up or disguised.
The spells surrounding the door were still intact, humming faintly with magic. Harry easily cast the counterspells that dispelled the locks. No alarms sounded, so he reached down and twisted the knob. He stepped inside the dark building with wand held at the ready. All was silent, so Harry cast a quick Lumos to brighten the room. The place was thick with dust, undisturbed for years, apparently. It puffed up around Harry’s feet as he walked forward. Some of the furnishings had been overturned, but the room did not look ransacked—more likely it had been knocked about during the arrest or in the subsequent search for evidence. He turned to look at Malfoy, who had entered behind him and now gazed around dubiously. He also held his wand steady, although it looked a bit incongruous with the wings. Malfoy lit his wand to join his light with Harry’s and he felt a moment of relief that at least Malfoy’s magic appeared to have been unaltered by the spell. Harry rested his broom against the wall.
They separated after exchanging a silent glance and wandered through the small house. It was a single level only, with six large rooms sprawling in a haphazard floor plan. Harry searched the dining room, kitchen, and main room while Malfoy took the two bedrooms and library/office. They met back near the front door after a fruitless search.
“There are no books or papers,” Malfoy explained. “They must have been taken by the Ministry.”
“This is useless, then,” Harry said with an explosive sigh. He was surprisingly disappointed. This entire case had been one dead-end after another. For some reason he genuinely wanted to help Malfoy.
“Not necessarily,” the blond said thoughtfully. You’re not thinking like a Slytherin, Potter.” He snorted a laugh. “Oh yes, that’s because you’re an idiot Gryffindor.”
Harry sneered. “And how is thinking like a Slytherin going to help us now, oh Slithery One?”
“Watch and learn, Potter. Watch and learn.” Malfoy wandered through the house again and Harry trailed him. He bit back a snide comment now and again as Malfoy pressed on various bricks in the fireplace, yanked at wall brackets, and rapped on the walls in various places.
Finally he asked, “What exactly are you looking for?”
“Any man crazy enough to test potions on wizards in an attempt to give them wings has to be paranoid, also. There is no way he would have left his notes lying around in the open. I’m looking for secret doors or compartments.”
Put that way, it made sense, so Harry joined him, stamping on floorboards and prying at innocuous-looking decorations. They were covered in dust before they had finished poking about half the house. Harry paused once for a brutal sneezing attack that caused Malfoy to conjure a handkerchief and hand it to him. He blew his nose and mumbled thanks through the cloth before Vanishing it. Shortly after that, Malfoy’s questing fingers paused on the rough brick of the kitchen wall.
“I think I’ve found it, Potter,” he said.
Harry left the floorboards he had been examining and hurried over.
Malfoy smiled and said, “Ah, he was Slytherin.” A tiny snake, nearly invisible to the naked eye, was etched into a corner of one brick. Pressing on it had no effect, nor did casting Alohomora.
“He was no Parselmouth, surely?” Harry asked.
“You think you’re the only one besides Salazar Slytherin to carry that gift, Potter?” Malfoy asked with a hint of his usual sarcasm.
“And Voldemort,” Harry said simply. Malfoy flinched, but Harry continued, “Actually, I meant that the Ministry would have made mention of the fact.”
“If they knew. Unless he revealed it, how would anyone know?”
Harry shrugged, unwilling to concede the point. He tried, anyway, using the word Open and all variants he could think of in the serpent tongue. To no avail. Finally he asked, “Are you sure it marks a passageway? Maybe he just felt like decorating a brick.”
“Yes, Potter, this dank kitchen corner was so dreary it needed a minute decoration that no one would ever hope to see,” Malfoy drawled. Harry remembered why he used to want to hit the blond regularly.
“Any other suggestions, then?” he snapped instead of taking bodily action.
Malfoy sighed. “Perhaps we’ve been taking this too literally. What have we cast? Open, unlock, push, pull, and slide, correct? How about something less obvious… like Reveleo!” He cast the spell and a portion of the brick seemed to shimmer and dissolve. Malfoy grinned at Harry’s stunned expression with more than a hint of smugness. “It’s all right, Potter, you don’t need to say it. I already know. I’m brilliant.”
With that, he stepped forward into the darkness of the revealed stairs. Harry gasped and reached out a hand, but it was too late. Malfoy strode down the stairs. Instinct more than sound warned Harry and he threw himself bodily at the blond just as several metallic snicks echoed in the darkness. Something skated over Harry as they both tumbled through the darkness and landed with a thump on the floor far below.
“Bloody hell, Potter! What was that about?” Malfoy yelled. Harry sprawled atop the Slytherin’s back, unmoving. His head pressed against Malfoy’s spine, but by the feel of it, the bones there had nearly broken his jaw. “Damn it, Potter, get off me!”
“I’d love to, Malfoy, but I seem to have been hit with a Paralysis Dart,” Harry said calmly. He moved his head slightly, but the rest of his body refused to respond to his commands. He felt Malfoy’s warm flesh beneath him and the root of one wing just touched the corner of his jaw. Harry restrained the urge to rub his face against the feathers, because Malfoy was tense as a board beneath him.
“What are you talking about, Potter? I demand you get off me this instant! You can’t be paralyzed; I just felt you move.”
“Tripping down the stairs the way you did triggered the trap in the wall, you idiot,” Harry snapped. “I felt a dart hit me… maybe two. I can’t tell because I can’t feel much of anything.” Except the fact that Malfoy was quite warm and rather cozy to lie against. He veered away from that thought immediately.
“So you expect me to remain here as your pillow until it wears off?” Malfoy demanded. “Besides, I think you broke my elbow.”
Harry nearly didn’t hear the last complaint because the thought of using Malfoy as a pillow had sent his mind racing back to its original heat-induced path. Fuck, if he got an erection now he wouldn’t even be able to feel it… but Malfoy would. With effort, he dragged himself back to reality and finally processed Malfoy’s latter statement.
“Are you hurt?” he asked sharply. “Is your elbow really broken?”
He felt Malfoy shift beneath him and assumed the Slytherin moved his arms experimentally. The motion caused one wing to brush against Harry’s ear. Harry swallowed hard and dragged his head slightly, just to press against the feathers minutely. The softness was almost mind-numbing. Malfoy froze again.
“If you’re paralyzed, Potter, stop squirming,” the blond ordered.
Harry had to laugh. “Malfoy, the only thing I can move is my face. I can’t possibly hurt you unless I sink my teeth into your skin.” The statement nearly melted Harry’s brain again after the words hit the air. He buried his face in Malfoy’s back with a groan.
“That’s it, Potter, I’m out of here,” Malfoy said harshly. He half crawled, half rolled away from Harry, whose cheek slid first over the Slytherin’s back, arse, and thighs before finally coming to rest against the cold floor. He sighed, but it was partially a sound of relief. He heard Malfoy scramble to his feet and then light pierced the darkness. Harry could see nothing but a flat stone wall. With some effort, he raised his head to look for Malfoy, but could only make out the dusty black boots of the Slytherin.
“Well, this is a dingy room,” Malfoy said, apparently forgetting about Harry entirely in his zest to explore. “Looks like some sort of storage chamber… nothing but old crates. Hmmm, it must be a front. There has to be another door.”
Harry rested his face on the ice-cold floor again. He was getting a crick in his neck from trying to look forward. He shut his eyes. Harry thought about warning the blond about the possibility of more traps, but decided it would serve him right to encounter another. After a moment, the footsteps returned.
“I found another room, Potter. How long will this paralysis-thingy last?”
Harry’s jaw clenched. “That depends on how many darts I took for you. Is there any way you can check? And possibly locate one of the darts to see if I can figure out what sort of poison was used?”
Malfoy sighed as if sorely put-upon, but brightened the light. Harry felt a ghost of warmth and pressure against his lower back. Malfoy chuckled. “You caught one right across the arse, Potter. It split those peasant-like trousers of yours, which is really no loss. I wouldn’t even bother repairing them if I were you. Your arse is bleeding. Want me to heal it for you?”
Harry swallowed back a retort and strove for calm. “That won’t be necessary. The dart?”
Malfoy disappeared again and Harry heard him puttering around on the stairs for a moment. He returned and knelt next to Harry’s visage with a bit of metal in his hand. “Here you are, Potter. Your tiny assailant. It seems to be coated with a greenish material… a bit powdery. Hmmm, and it’s speckled with…” Don’t say gold, don’t say gold, Harry thought desperately.
“Gold,” Malfoy finished.
“Oh shit.”
“What? Is that bad, Potter?”
“It’s bad for me. All it means for you is that you might need to find a new Auror for your case.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Look, the green powder is pretty standard. You’re the potions expert, what is most commonly used in Sleeping Draughts?”
“Poppy seeds.”
“Right. Mixed with powdered peridot and lethifold skin, it makes a powerful paralysis drug. Now, what generally happens when you add mica flakes to a potion?”
“It conveys permanence,” Malfoy said softly.
“Permanence,” Harry repeated. “By my reckoning I have perhaps another fifteen minutes to get this potion out of my system.”
“Fuck,” Malfoy growled. “All right, Potter, what the hell do I do?”
“Perhaps you could take me to St. Mungo’s?”
“Excellent idea, Potter. I Apparate you straight to the hospital with my new adornments and they haul me away to be studied like some fascinating new species. Most likely to Azkaban after accusing me of doing this to you to begin with.”
“You’re being irrational, Malfoy,” Harry said. “I can speak for myself, you know. They will listen to me.”
Malfoy paced uncomfortably close to Harry’s face, kicking up puffs of dust. Harry felt another sneeze coming on. “Of course, because you are the mighty Savior. Well, forgive me for being the only one on the planet without perfect faith in you.”
“All right, we can debate this all night or you can just take me to Hermione’s. She can get me to St. Mungo’s and you can go home.”
Malfoy knelt next to him and his voice was thick with relief. “Excellent plan, Potter. I would have thought of it myself in a moment.”
“Just after you finished panicking?”
“Malfoys never panic,” he said and gripped Harry tightly by the shoulder. “Hold on,” he said before Harry could list every incident of Malfoy panic in his memory. Instead of the familiar lurch of Apparition, Harry felt nothing. He groaned.
“Bloody hell. Anti-Disapparition spell. It’s standard practice for places under investigation. It keeps potential accomplices from popping in and removing evidence.”
“That was years ago!” Malfoy yelped.
“Yes, but the Ministry never did anything with the house. Obviously, no one ever thought to dispel the Anti-Disapparition wards.”
“That’s just bloody fucking lovely,” Malfoy snapped. “How large is the field? Do I need to drag you upstairs and outside?”
Harry winced at the thought. He knew Malfoy was likely to be less than gentle in his current agitated state. “Actually, the field could be as large as a kilometre in a case involving murder.”
The Slytherin lurched to his feet, uttered a litany of choice curses, shattered something made of glass with an angry spell, and put his foot through a wooden crate from the sound. When his temper was under some semblance of control, he returned to Harry and knelt beside him again. “Any other brilliant ideas, Potter?”
“Just one,” Harry admitted. His jaw ached and he lifted his head to ease the discomfort of the cold floor for a moment. Without Malfoy’s warmth cushioning him, the chill of the stone began to seep into his bones. He couldn’t move, but he was not completely numb. “There is a spell that will purge poisons from the blood. It’s taught to all Aurors to use in situations such as this.”
“Yes, well. I’m hardly an Auror, am I?”
“You’re smart enough to learn a spell if I teach it to you, are you not?” Harry twisted his head to glare into the grey eyes that looked into his. They revealed anger tinged with worry.
“Let’s hope so, Potter.”
“All right, now the wand movement is similar to Wingardium Leviosa, except that instead of swish and flick, you make a swish and a quick downward jab. The incantation is Purgara Sanguinus.”
Malfoy practiced both the incantation and the wand movement for long moments, but Harry refused to allow him to cast it until he deemed it adequate. He wasn’t sure what a botched Purging Spell would do to him.
“Tha… that’s g-g-g… good, M-Malfoy,” Harry stuttered and rested his head on the floor again. His teeth were chattering.
“Bloody hell, Potter, you’re freezing!”
“G-g-good of you to n-n-n-notice, Malfoy.”
“Stubborn idiot, why didn’t you say something? You know I don’t recognize cold any longer.” A sudden rush of warmth enveloped Harry as a Warming Charm swept over him. He sighed and soaked in the glorious pleasure of blessed heat.
Draco bit his lip as the Charm’s magic wafted over the chilled Auror. He had been so intent on the spell that he hadn’t realized Potter lay on an icy cold surface. Fuck, it was stone, so he couldn’t be comfortable, either, with his chin propped on the floor. Of course bloody Potter was too noble to mention it. Without allowing himself to consider the action, Draco knelt and lifted the Gryffindor by the shoulders. He dragged Potter partially upright and braced the Auror against his chest while wrapping his arms around Potter’s back. The Auror’s head rested on Draco’s shoulder.
“What are you doing, Malfoy?”
“Warming you up, for one thing,” Draco replied. “And I think there is a chair in the other room. Let’s find out, shall we?”
Draco lifted Potter, surprised to find he could hold him quite easily. He kept forgetting how much stronger he was now that he had been changed. He pulled Potter through the door and held him with one arm while he cast a Light Spell. A dusty armchair was visible near one corner, so Draco hauled Potter over and dumped him into it unceremoniously.
“Feel any different?” Draco asked as the dark head lolled. He reached out and propped Potter’s head against the back of the chair.
“My neck is killing me,” Potter said. “And I can’t move.”
“Okay, I’m going to cast the spell now. I don’t think we should wait any longer.”
Potter nodded and then said, “Wait! The effects… well, they are very unpleasant. Everything inside comes… out. You might want to find a bucket. And then stand back.”
Draco wrinkled his nose, but scanned the room until he found a suitable container. It looked like a leather rubbish bin. He dragged it over and pushed it in front of Potter. “Ready?” he asked.
“Merlin no, but I refuse to stay in this state forever. Please cast.”
Draco practiced the movement once more, held his breath, and let fly.
The result was immediate and dramatic. Potter’s face turned a spectacular shade of green and his eyes widened in alarm. Draco instinctively reached out and tipped Potter toward the bin. The Auror’s arms dropped forward, so Draco clamped them against his body to keep Potter’s hands from the vomit that fairly exploded from the Gryffindor’s mouth. It seemed to go on forever and Potter’s body trembled violently in Draco’s grip. He coughed and moaned during each brief pause, until the next spasm gripped him and his entire body stiffened once more.
Draco had never taken care of anyone in his life, but he found himself holding Potter tightly and brushing the hair back from his sweat-soaked forehead while murmuring reassuring nonsense. Every brush of his fingers against Potter’s skin caused his vision to swim for a moment as the strange dreamlike quality threatened to steal over him. “Not much more,” he whispered, hoping it was true. There could not possibly be much more in Potter’s system—he had passed dry heaves some time ago and yet still tried to reject whatever had poisoned him.
“I think you cast the spell correctly,” the Auror rasped jokingly during one interlude. Draco’s snorted. He buried his face in the thick hair at the nape of Potter’s neck and he breathed in the distinctive scent to prevent himself from heaving along with the Gryffindor. He sighed and allowed the visions to come. They swept him away in a blur of colours that faded into a pale picture of Potter holding a small white feather. His expression was pensive and he turned away as the vision changed. This time Potter was angry, yelling and gesticulating in a manner Draco had not seen since Hogwarts. Draco assumed he was the recipient of the rage, but it was hard to tell. The vision shifted again and he saw Potter lying on rumpled red sheets. A lazy grin curved his lips and his hair was tousled madly. His glasses were gone and he reached out— The mental pictures stopped abruptly, to Draco’s relief. He had not been certain if they would go on forever. He took a deep breath and brought himself back to the present.
“Can you move yet?” Draco asked, not quite willing to take his lips from Potter’s neck.
The Auror raised a hand weakly and curled his fingers around Draco’s wrist. Tremors shook Potter’s body, so Draco pulled him back into the chair and cradled the dark head against his chest. “Rest,” Draco ordered. “Just rest for a bit.”
Harry awoke to a strange combination of discomfort and ease. He was pleasantly warm, but ached in odd places, such as most of his joints, his head, and the muscles of one hip. He sighed deeply and then his eyes snapped open as he realized he rested atop a warm body. A pale blur met his eyes and he blinked to focus on the edge of a jaw. Bloody hell, he had fallen asleep on Draco Malfoy.
He processed the thought slowly and realized one hand rested against Malfoy’s hip, barely touching. His other hand was flattened over the Slytherin’s heart. His fingers twitched slightly and he closed his eyes again. His head lay on Malfoy’s shoulder, which explained the pinch in his neck. Soft blond hair tickled Harry’s nose and he had to quell the urge to taste Malfoy’s throat. The Slytherin smelled amazing, even through the dust that seemed to have turned into concrete in his nostrils.
Malfoy’s breathing was slow and even. Harry opened his eyes again and tried to determine the time. Judging by his stiffness, they could have been asleep for hours, unless the ache was merely induced by the Purging Spell. Something shifted slightly against his calf and he realized it was one of Malfoy’s wings, folded around him to provide a cocoon of warmth. He stopped worrying about the time as the urge to touch the feathers seized his imagination. Harry moved his hand from Malfoy’s chest and froze for a moment when he noticed one of Malfoy’s arms dangling loosely over his lap, with the fingers curled gently over his hip. It was almost a tender embrace and Harry was disturbed by a sudden longing even stronger than the one that made him reach out and trail his knuckles over the soft feathers of one wing.
He might as well have cast Ennervate. Malfoy was awake and tense before Harry’s hand completed the brief movement.
“What are you doing, Potter?”
Harry guiltily pulled his hand back against his own chest. “Erm, I think we fell asleep.” Before Malfoy could dredge up a sarcastic comment, Harry tucked his face closer into the blond’s neck. “You make a really nice mattress, Malfoy.”
Harry hit the floor with a yelp. Malfoy stood and stretched both arms and wings while he glared down at Harry. “I see you’ve recovered,” he said casually.
Harry got to his feet and rubbed his sore buttocks. He made a mental note never to awaken the Slytherin again. Apparently he was quite testy in the morning.
CHAPTER SIX