CHAINS OF EARTH CHAPTER SIX
Mar. 23rd, 2010 08:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesBack to regular-sized chapters, I think. LOL! This one is about 4k. A billion thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
faithwood and alaana_fair for the beta and additional smooches to alaana_fair for formatting this bitch in HTML. *FLAILS WITH GLEE*
Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Six
It is not enough to just ride this earth.
You have to aim higher,
try to take off, even fly.
It is our duty.
-Jose Yacopi
Draco scowled down at the Auror. He had been awakened from a pleasurable, albeit disturbing, dream by Potter’s knuckles skating over his wing. The jolt of delight had blended with his dream for only a moment, until the solidity of the man in his arms brought reality back with a rush. He thought Potter might have made the movement involuntarily, but the question had spilled out regardless. Potter had snuggled closer with a teasing comment and something had awakened in Draco with frightening intensity.
He had not meant to shove the Auror away so violently, but Potter seemed to take it in stride. He grinned ruefully at Draco.
“Have you seen my glasses?” he asked.
Draco wordlessly retrieved them from the floor where he had haphazardly dropped them the night before while combing Potter’s hair from his eyes. Draco shied away from that memory and watched as Potter replaced the spectacles and then blinked at him through the familiar distortion. The Auror grinned and Draco nearly smiled back before catching himself. Damn it, he was not supposed to like the git.
“Shall we continue the exploration, or do you plan to remain here the entire day?” he asked brusquely to cover his momentary lapse. Potter looked around the room curiously. Even though Draco had seen it the previous night, the place was quite different in the light of day. Or in the light from the magical paintings, he amended. Several paintings of daylight scenes negated the weather outside. One showed a vivid summertime landscape, complete with bright flowers, warm sunlight, and glittering butterflies. Draco thought, for a Slytherin, the old fellow had chosen quite Hufflepuffish artwork.
Two very long benches sat beneath the largest landscapes, cluttered with potion-making paraphernalia. Potter wandered over and looked at the items curiously without touching anything. Several large cabinets adorned the room and Draco gravitated toward them.
“Wait, don’t open that!” Potter warned. Draco nearly did so anyway, but remembered the stairway incident at the last moment. The Auror hurried over and cast a variety of spells to test for traps and tricks. Prudently, as it turned out, because one of them would have taken off Draco’s hands and another would have destroyed half the house, according to the Super Auror.
“Paranoid sort, wasn’t he?” Potter asked rhetorically.
“If you were attempting to illegally recreate extinct beings, you would most likely be paranoid as well, Potter.”
“Yeah,” he agreed and gave the contents of the first cabinet a cursory examination. Draco was far more interested than Potter. Already he had spotted several rare potion ingredients that were worth a fortune. One of the jars was labelled Powdered Minotaur Horn. Draco’s avarice must have been obvious.
“Don’t get greedy,” Potter warned. “I promise you can come back here and filch to your heart’s content after we get what we came for.”
Draco raised a brow at him. “You’ll allow me to take these?”
Potter shrugged. “Why not? The Ministry had its chance. As long as you give me your word you won’t use them to brew dangerous potions or unleash them on an unsuspecting public...”
Draco wrinkled his nose. “As one of the previously unsuspecting public, Potter, I can seriously say I have no wish to inflict pain on the undeserving.” That much was true. On the deserving, however, Draco planned to inflict plenty. He turned his attention to the countertops. No books or notes were in evidence. He felt a hand skim over the edge of one wing and spun so quickly he nearly took out a set of vials. Draco glared at Potter, who muttered something unintelligible and moved quickly away. When the Auror was far enough across the room to avoid accidental wing touching, Draco turned and examined the containers at hand.
“Be careful,” Potter advised and wandered away to check another part of the room.
Draco snorted. The glassware was nearly as impressive as the potion ingredients. The old codger had gathered bowls and vials of every imaginable material. Draco noticed several rare porcelain vials and some that were carved from solid jade in varying colours.
“Hey, Malfoy, come look at this,” Potter called. Draco turned to find Potter standing in the far corner before a large wooden desk. One drawer was open and Potter flipped idly through the pages of a book. Draco walked across the room and leaned over the Auror’s shoulder to peer at the tome.
“It’s written in some sort of code, obviously,” Potter said. “Do you recognize any of the characters?”
Draco shifted somewhat closer and his shoulder nudged Potter’s. He froze for a moment, finding the contact far more disturbing than it should have been. It was probably just a side effect from waking up with the git in his lap. Draco tried to focus on the words instead of the scent of Potter, which was something he should definitely not focus on at any time, ever.
“Were you not trained by the Auror Division? What are you doing haphazardly reading that? Don’t you know how dangerous it is?” Draco demanded.
“I cast the proper spells,” Potter said, sounding petulant. “And a Ward of Protection. How stupid do you think I am? Don’t answer that. Now… the code?”
Draco sighed. “Of course it’s in code, Potter. No self-respecting Slytherin would ever write down anything in plain language.” Draco reached over and flipped a few pages, ignoring the fact that the movement pressed him even closer to Potter. “Then again, not many Slytherins would be stupid enough to keep a journal.”
“Do you think that’s what this is?” Potter’s voice was excited.
“It appears to be. Pokeby was probably forced to keep one if his experiments kept failing. He would have to keep track of what worked and what did not.”
“I’ll take it to Hermione and see if she can decipher it,” Potter said and then turned those too-green eyes on Draco. “Unless you want to give it a go, first?”
The Auror was suddenly too close for comfort. If Draco leant forward just a bit he could kiss Potter, and that thought was so ridiculous he decided he would need to make an appointment with a Mind-Healer. Or have himself Obliviated.
“I’ll look it over when we get back to the Manor,” Draco said abruptly and nearly winced at the we. What made him assume Potter would accompany him?
“Okay,” the Auror said and shut the book. Draco moved away quickly. Potter opened the other drawers and disarmed a surprising number of traps. The old wizard had been quite the distrusting sort. Potter discovered a seemingly random stack of papers, most of them written in the same obscure code. He placed everything into a pile on the desktop. They found little else of value and Potter finally declared them ready to leave. Draco located a knapsack and they packed it full of papers and books, including a couple of interesting potion-making tomes that Draco had never seen before.
“All right, I think we’re ready,” Potter said. “To Malfoy Manor, then?”
Draco nodded. “It is well past breakfast time. Are you hungry?”
“I could eat a thestral,” Potter admitted. “Every molecule of sustenance was purged from my system last night… Thank you for that, by the way.” Potter tugged at his hair in a way that Draco was beginning to find endearing. He shut his eyes at the idea and vowed to figure out how to get laid as soon as possible. Surely some woman in the world would be willing to overlook the wings… Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He certainly could not walk around wizarding London chatting up girls.
Potter apparently misread his pained expression. “Okay, right. I’m not very good at thanking you, since I’ve never had to do it before, so let’s just say I owe you one and we’ll leave it at that, yeah?”
Draco’s eyes snapped open and fixed on the Auror. “You owe me one?” He did not bother to keep the predatory edge from his voice. Was Potter daft? Draco owed him a life-debt. How could he possibly think he owed Draco a favour? Nevertheless, he was not about to let such an opportunity slip by. Potter’s stupidity could only work to his advantage. The stupidity in question was partially belied by the look of panic that flared in the green eyes. Draco nearly laughed. The Auror was right to be worried. “Very well, Potter. I accept. I shall think long and hard on what you can do to repay me. Fear not, it will not be something frivolous.”
Potter’s throat worked nervously and he gave his hair another yank. “Um… okay. Hopefully it won’t bankrupt me… or be too humiliating. I’ll just have to trust you, yeah?” He said the last bit hopefully and Draco’s wicked grin widened.
“We will see,” he said cryptically.
~~ O ~~
Harry swallowed hard and busied himself gathering up the papers. What had possessed him to suggest he owed Malfoy a favour? Obviously he was lightheaded from hunger. Now he would have to deal with the worrisome anticipation of Draco Malfoy calling in a debt. Naturally it would not be any of the ten dozen things Harry would like to offer him. It would probably lean more toward degradation. After all, Malfoy had seven years or more of alleged torment to avenge.
“Shall we go?” Harry asked brightly.
He led the way back through the storage room and up the stairs after ascertaining the paralysis darts had all been disabled. By unspoken agreement they sealed the doors, leaving the place as they had left it. Once outside, Harry straddled his broom. Malfoy carried the knapsack without comment and Harry assumed his increased strength would make it a barely noticeable burden. They took to the air and Harry found Malfoy in flight to be an even more captivating sight in the daytime. It was a cloudy day, but at least it had stopped snowing. Harry did not fly far before he swooped down and landed beneath an overhang of evergreen trees.
“Shall we try Apparating from here?” he asked. “We should be well out of the wards by now.”
Malfoy shrugged. “I’ll meet you in the East Wing ground-floor parlour.”
“Wait!” Harry cried and grabbed Malfoy’s sleeve. He glared at the blond. “Other than the fact that I have no idea where the damned East Wing ground-floor parlour is, I don’t even know if I’m allowed to Apparate into the Manor!”
Consternation crossed Malfoy’s features for only a moment. He sighed. “I adjusted the wards—with Mother’s permission—to admit you. Just Apparate to my sitting room, then. I’m quite certain you’ll remember where that is.”
Harry let go and Malfoy disappeared with a crack. Harry followed and was soon dripping bits of melting snow from his boots onto Malfoy’s fine carpet. He quickly took them off and tossed them by the balcony doors before propping his broom next to them. Malfoy muttered a series of Unlocking Charms to open a nearby trunk. He tossed in the knapsack.
“The bath is off there,” Malfoy said with a gesture toward a nearby door. “I’ll find something for you to wear… unless you prefer your torn trousers? Do you want me to heal your arse for you?”
Harry snorted at the sarcastic tone. “I think I’ll manage. I will take you up on the clothing change, however.” With that Harry entered an immense bathing chamber that contained an impressive marble tub. It was already filled with water and Harry dipped a hand into it. It was slightly warmer than he preferred, but he decided he could deal with it this one time. He quickly stripped off his ruined trousers and his shirt, noting that his cuffs were heavily streaked with dust. He must look a fright. No wonder Malfoy kept shying away from him. Well, except when they had been looking at the book. That had been… interesting. He rubbed his shoulder slightly, remembering Malfoy’s nearness. He sighed heavily and shook it off as he climbed into the hot water. It took some time to adjust and ease himself in. He wondered if the house-elves kept the water constantly filled and at the proper temperature, or if the tub was charmed. If the latter, Harry vowed to acquire one.
The water stung the gash across his buttocks quite painfully. He scrubbed it gently, hoping the wound would not get infected. He would drop by the staff Healer at the Ministry on Monday, just to be safe. Either that or Hermione could look at it for him. His head snapped up when the door opened without a knock. Malfoy tossed some black clothing on a nearby chair. “Garments for you, Potter. Don’t take all morning—your breakfast is getting cold.”
“Malfoy, wait!” Harry said as the blond turned to leave.
He cocked a pale brow. “Want me to wash your back?”
Harry gaped at him for a moment while his body reacted to the teasing words in a manner that was, thankfully, hidden by the water. Malfoy laughed. Harry recovered and said, “Actually, I was hoping you could send a message to Hermione. She’s probably going spare wondering what’s happened to us.”
Malfoy snorted and shrugged. “I’ll take care of it. Hurry up.”
When the door closed, Harry sighed and leaned his head against the marble. Bloody hell, it was getting worse. Now the mere sound of Malfoy’s voice was turning him on. Harry decided he had better get the hell away from him for a while. And possibly get laid. He stroked his erection slowly, but he did not quite dare to bring himself off in Malfoy’s tub. Instead he thought unsexy thoughts and turned his attention to the mechanics of the bath. By the time he had dried himself and donned the soft black robes Malfoy had provided, he felt more in control of his libido.
The robes fit like a damned glove and were definitely the most stylish things he had ever worn. The fabric seemed to accentuate his shoulders and slender hips, clinging somewhat before falling away in voluminous folds. Harry smoothed them over his abdomen and marvelled at the softness. They were warm, also. Harry wondered if he could bring himself to swallow his pride and ask Malfoy where he had purchased them. Probably not, he decided and grinned at his reflection in the mirror. He tugged a comb through his hair and tossed the item on the nearby dressing table before entering the sitting room.
Malfoy stood near the fireplace and he turned when Harry shut the door. His grey eyes widened and he stared at Harry for such a long time that he felt a blush creep into his cheeks as he reached up to touch his hair.
“What?” Harry asked finally.
“Damn, Potter, you actually look… almost passable.”
Harry’s blush darkened at the semi-compliment. “Thanks. Nice robes,” he said as he ran a hand over them once more.
Malfoy nodded, but surprisingly made no reference to the usual state of Harry’s manner of dress. The blond, naturally, looked amazing. He had apparently adjusted his appearance while Harry had bathed. His clothing was different—a modified set of pale blue robes that fit him nicely. Harry tried not to notice and failed. Malfoy said, “I Fire-called Granger. She demands to hear every detail, of course. I told her you would call her back.” Malfoy approached a small table that had been laden with food. Harry did not remember seeing it in the room before and assumed it had been brought in or Transfigured. He was glad they were not making the long journey to the dining room. He was famished and the smell was tantalizing.
Harry pulled up a chair and sat across from the winged blond. He was ravenous, but tried to remember his manners. Cool grey eyes measured him, as usual, and Harry decided he was tired of being found wanting.
They ate in silence and Harry drank what seemed like a gallon of pumpkin juice. He was extraordinarily dehydrated and surprised he had not stooped to eating melted snow on their way back. Malfoy finished first and nursed a glass of some sort of fancy juice—pomegranate or some such—while he waited for Harry to finish.
“So, Potter,” Malfoy said when Harry finally began to feel sated. “Not married yet? I thought you would be blissfully wed by now. Decided on a long engagement?”
Harry nearly choked and quickly set aside his glass. His mind scrambled for explanations, but in the end he settled on the truth. “We broke up.”
Malfoy looked surprised for only a moment. “Why? Did she blame you for her idiot brother’s little accident?”
Harry drew in a breath. The suggestion was so close to accurate that a shard of guilt sliced through the strange contentment he had felt while sharing a peaceable meal with the Slytherin. He pushed back his chair, hoping to turn the conversation to less volatile territory.
Malfoy smirked. “That figures. I always knew she was a perfidious, greedy little bint, but I’m rather surprised that you figured it out.”
Harry shot to his feet, annoyed. Malfoy’s opinion of the Weasleys had obviously not changed in the past few years, but Harry felt he was hardly qualified to judge Ginny when he did not even know her. Frankly, Harry’s relationship—or lack thereof—was none of Malfoy’s business. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said tightly.
The blond shrugged. “I know trash when I see it. I could have told you years ago that the Weaselette was nothing but a gold-Niffler. You’re well rid of her, Potter.”
“Must you always be such an arse?” Harry demanded.
“Must you always blind yourself to the truth?” Malfoy sneered.
“Thank you for breakfast,” Harry said sharply. “I’ll have the robes cleaned and returned to you.” Before Malfoy could speak, Harry added, “I’ll owl you later,” and Disapparated.
~~ O ~~
Draco stared at the place where Potter had disappeared for a long time, mentally kicking himself for behaving like a bastard again, just when Potter had been acting like… well, like an actual friend instead of an Auror on a case. If he was perfectly honest with himself, Draco supposed he had lashed out in a subconscious effort to drive Potter away. His odd feelings of attraction seemed to be growing exponentially. Seeing Potter lounging in the bath had caused the moisture to dry up in his mouth and a strange, fluttering feeling to take up residence in his midsection. His teasing offer to wash Potter’s back had not been a joke by even a remote stretch. It was disturbing. And wrong. Disturbing and wrong.
He got to his feet and walked through the balcony doors while the house-elves cleaned up the remains of breakfast. The clouds looked to be breaking up somewhat, which meant less snow, but probably even colder temperatures.
“Mistress Narcissa is wanting Master Draco to be meeting her in the library,” a house-elf said as it hovered a couple of steps behind him. Draco sneered at it absently—it was one of a pair that looked so similar that he could never be arsed to remember which was which. He was not even sure if they were male or female… or one of each.
“Fine,” Draco said. He resigned himself to spending some time with his mother, knowing he had avoided her quite mercilessly in the last few days. “Tell her I’ll be along shortly.”
Draco checked his appearance in the mirror and tucked a hair back into place. He tried not to think about how delectable Potter had looked in his black robes. They had fit the Auror to perfection, but for a slight tightness in the shoulders that was definitely no disadvantage. The bloody idiot was actually quite handsome when he was cleaned up and decently dressed.
Draco scowled at himself in the mirror and vowed to stop thinking about Harry Potter. The Auror had been angry when he left and there was a good chance he would not bother to return. Draco needed to concentrate on deciphering the journal and severing all association with Potter.
~~ O ~~
Harry stalked through the house to the kitchen fireplace and Fire-called Hermione, who told him to call back in an hour because she was in the middle of something. Harry huffed in frustration, but used the time to draft an order for Kreacher to take to the market and replenish the pantry. Kreacher assisted by listing off ingredients, some useful and some not. Harry refused to purchase snails, regardless of how much “Master Regulus” used to enjoy them.
The mundane task did nothing to cool Harry’s ire and he was still plenty agitated when Hermione allowed him access to her living room. Her astounded expression halted his flow of words before they began.
“Harry! What happened to you?”
He looked down, wondering if he had cut himself without noticing, or run afoul of a Weasley prank left in his house.
“The robes!” she clarified. “You look absolutely gorgeous!” Hermione actually walked around him in an appreciative circle, making him feel like an animal on the auction block.
“Oh, stop it,” he said. “I borrowed these from Malfoy.” He had meant to change at Grimmauld Place, but he had simply been unwilling to take off the comfortable clothing, especially when he knew they looked good on him.
“You borrowed his clothes?” Her brows disappeared into the curls over her eyes and Harry scowled.
“Nothing happened!” he snapped and then amended that statement. “Well, something did happen, but not what you’re thinking.”
He recounted their trip to the old house and discovery of the hidden cellar. She listened intently as he glossed over the dart incident and the part about teaching Malfoy the Purging Spell. He left out entirely the whole waking up in Malfoy’s arms bit, knowing she would tease him mercilessly for days, and moved on quickly to the journal.
“So we went back to the Manor, cleaned up, had a perfectly normal breakfast, and then he had to go and turn back into the prat we all know and hate.” Harry paced in annoyance at the memory and sighed. “I suppose it’s for the best. He is just too damned attractive and he’s a victim, for fuck’s sake. He’s also Lucius Malfoy’s son, a man who will happily Crucio me the instant he is released from Azkaban and that is without any inkling that I’m interested in his son.”
“Are you?” Hermione asked. “Interested in his son?”
Harry threw himself onto the sofa and then shifted a bit to shuffle aside a few of the books whose corners dug into his hip. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I would be if it was not completely stupid and ridiculous. He doesn’t even like blokes!”
“How do you know? He seemed pretty close to Blaise Zabini in seventh year.”
“He seemed even closer to Pansy Parkinson, remember? They could be engaged for all I know.”
“They aren’t,” Hermione said confidently.
“How do you know?”
“Don’t you ever read the Daily Prophet? Pureblood families like his make a huge deal out of engagements. They host massive events and make official announcements and all of that tripe. It’s another way of showing off.”
“So… nothing like that for Malfoy?” Harry tried to quell an unexpected sense of relief and failed.
“Nothing like that. In fact, the gossip column mentions that Pansy and Blaise are currently in Switzerland. They took a selected group of cohorts with them, but there are suggestions that the two of them are an item.”
Harry contemplated that and then glared at her. “You are not honestly trying to get me to pursue Draco Malfoy? Regardless of whether or not he’s engaged and whether or not he’s straight, he’s still Malfoy! He lives to make me feel like an inferior arse. He despises my friends; he’s continuously insulting; he’s—”
“Astoundingly gorgeous, is just your type, is not ever going to be blinded by your name, and will never be boring.”
Harry shook his head. “Give it up, Hermione. He hates me. This foolish attraction is completely one-sided and I’ll get over it. I need to figure out who turned him into what he is, bring them to justice, and never see Draco Malfoy again. In fact, I plan to limit my contact with him from now on. Will you help him decipher the papers we found? I would be useless at that, anyway. Owl me if you find anything valuable. I’m going to Hogwarts to check out the Restricted Section. I’ll say hello to Hagrid for you.”
It was obvious that Hermione wanted to argue, but Harry was finished talking about Malfoy. Before she could protest, he made his final goodbyes and fled to Hogwarts.
~~ CHAPTER SEVEN ~~
faithwood and alaana_fair for the beta and additional smooches to alaana_fair for formatting this bitch in HTML. *FLAILS WITH GLEE*Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Six
It is not enough to just ride this earth.
You have to aim higher,
try to take off, even fly.
It is our duty.
-Jose Yacopi
Draco scowled down at the Auror. He had been awakened from a pleasurable, albeit disturbing, dream by Potter’s knuckles skating over his wing. The jolt of delight had blended with his dream for only a moment, until the solidity of the man in his arms brought reality back with a rush. He thought Potter might have made the movement involuntarily, but the question had spilled out regardless. Potter had snuggled closer with a teasing comment and something had awakened in Draco with frightening intensity.
He had not meant to shove the Auror away so violently, but Potter seemed to take it in stride. He grinned ruefully at Draco.
“Have you seen my glasses?” he asked.
Draco wordlessly retrieved them from the floor where he had haphazardly dropped them the night before while combing Potter’s hair from his eyes. Draco shied away from that memory and watched as Potter replaced the spectacles and then blinked at him through the familiar distortion. The Auror grinned and Draco nearly smiled back before catching himself. Damn it, he was not supposed to like the git.
“Shall we continue the exploration, or do you plan to remain here the entire day?” he asked brusquely to cover his momentary lapse. Potter looked around the room curiously. Even though Draco had seen it the previous night, the place was quite different in the light of day. Or in the light from the magical paintings, he amended. Several paintings of daylight scenes negated the weather outside. One showed a vivid summertime landscape, complete with bright flowers, warm sunlight, and glittering butterflies. Draco thought, for a Slytherin, the old fellow had chosen quite Hufflepuffish artwork.
Two very long benches sat beneath the largest landscapes, cluttered with potion-making paraphernalia. Potter wandered over and looked at the items curiously without touching anything. Several large cabinets adorned the room and Draco gravitated toward them.
“Wait, don’t open that!” Potter warned. Draco nearly did so anyway, but remembered the stairway incident at the last moment. The Auror hurried over and cast a variety of spells to test for traps and tricks. Prudently, as it turned out, because one of them would have taken off Draco’s hands and another would have destroyed half the house, according to the Super Auror.
“Paranoid sort, wasn’t he?” Potter asked rhetorically.
“If you were attempting to illegally recreate extinct beings, you would most likely be paranoid as well, Potter.”
“Yeah,” he agreed and gave the contents of the first cabinet a cursory examination. Draco was far more interested than Potter. Already he had spotted several rare potion ingredients that were worth a fortune. One of the jars was labelled Powdered Minotaur Horn. Draco’s avarice must have been obvious.
“Don’t get greedy,” Potter warned. “I promise you can come back here and filch to your heart’s content after we get what we came for.”
Draco raised a brow at him. “You’ll allow me to take these?”
Potter shrugged. “Why not? The Ministry had its chance. As long as you give me your word you won’t use them to brew dangerous potions or unleash them on an unsuspecting public...”
Draco wrinkled his nose. “As one of the previously unsuspecting public, Potter, I can seriously say I have no wish to inflict pain on the undeserving.” That much was true. On the deserving, however, Draco planned to inflict plenty. He turned his attention to the countertops. No books or notes were in evidence. He felt a hand skim over the edge of one wing and spun so quickly he nearly took out a set of vials. Draco glared at Potter, who muttered something unintelligible and moved quickly away. When the Auror was far enough across the room to avoid accidental wing touching, Draco turned and examined the containers at hand.
“Be careful,” Potter advised and wandered away to check another part of the room.
Draco snorted. The glassware was nearly as impressive as the potion ingredients. The old codger had gathered bowls and vials of every imaginable material. Draco noticed several rare porcelain vials and some that were carved from solid jade in varying colours.
“Hey, Malfoy, come look at this,” Potter called. Draco turned to find Potter standing in the far corner before a large wooden desk. One drawer was open and Potter flipped idly through the pages of a book. Draco walked across the room and leaned over the Auror’s shoulder to peer at the tome.
“It’s written in some sort of code, obviously,” Potter said. “Do you recognize any of the characters?”
Draco shifted somewhat closer and his shoulder nudged Potter’s. He froze for a moment, finding the contact far more disturbing than it should have been. It was probably just a side effect from waking up with the git in his lap. Draco tried to focus on the words instead of the scent of Potter, which was something he should definitely not focus on at any time, ever.
“Were you not trained by the Auror Division? What are you doing haphazardly reading that? Don’t you know how dangerous it is?” Draco demanded.
“I cast the proper spells,” Potter said, sounding petulant. “And a Ward of Protection. How stupid do you think I am? Don’t answer that. Now… the code?”
Draco sighed. “Of course it’s in code, Potter. No self-respecting Slytherin would ever write down anything in plain language.” Draco reached over and flipped a few pages, ignoring the fact that the movement pressed him even closer to Potter. “Then again, not many Slytherins would be stupid enough to keep a journal.”
“Do you think that’s what this is?” Potter’s voice was excited.
“It appears to be. Pokeby was probably forced to keep one if his experiments kept failing. He would have to keep track of what worked and what did not.”
“I’ll take it to Hermione and see if she can decipher it,” Potter said and then turned those too-green eyes on Draco. “Unless you want to give it a go, first?”
The Auror was suddenly too close for comfort. If Draco leant forward just a bit he could kiss Potter, and that thought was so ridiculous he decided he would need to make an appointment with a Mind-Healer. Or have himself Obliviated.
“I’ll look it over when we get back to the Manor,” Draco said abruptly and nearly winced at the we. What made him assume Potter would accompany him?
“Okay,” the Auror said and shut the book. Draco moved away quickly. Potter opened the other drawers and disarmed a surprising number of traps. The old wizard had been quite the distrusting sort. Potter discovered a seemingly random stack of papers, most of them written in the same obscure code. He placed everything into a pile on the desktop. They found little else of value and Potter finally declared them ready to leave. Draco located a knapsack and they packed it full of papers and books, including a couple of interesting potion-making tomes that Draco had never seen before.
“All right, I think we’re ready,” Potter said. “To Malfoy Manor, then?”
Draco nodded. “It is well past breakfast time. Are you hungry?”
“I could eat a thestral,” Potter admitted. “Every molecule of sustenance was purged from my system last night… Thank you for that, by the way.” Potter tugged at his hair in a way that Draco was beginning to find endearing. He shut his eyes at the idea and vowed to figure out how to get laid as soon as possible. Surely some woman in the world would be willing to overlook the wings… Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He certainly could not walk around wizarding London chatting up girls.
Potter apparently misread his pained expression. “Okay, right. I’m not very good at thanking you, since I’ve never had to do it before, so let’s just say I owe you one and we’ll leave it at that, yeah?”
Draco’s eyes snapped open and fixed on the Auror. “You owe me one?” He did not bother to keep the predatory edge from his voice. Was Potter daft? Draco owed him a life-debt. How could he possibly think he owed Draco a favour? Nevertheless, he was not about to let such an opportunity slip by. Potter’s stupidity could only work to his advantage. The stupidity in question was partially belied by the look of panic that flared in the green eyes. Draco nearly laughed. The Auror was right to be worried. “Very well, Potter. I accept. I shall think long and hard on what you can do to repay me. Fear not, it will not be something frivolous.”
Potter’s throat worked nervously and he gave his hair another yank. “Um… okay. Hopefully it won’t bankrupt me… or be too humiliating. I’ll just have to trust you, yeah?” He said the last bit hopefully and Draco’s wicked grin widened.
“We will see,” he said cryptically.
Harry swallowed hard and busied himself gathering up the papers. What had possessed him to suggest he owed Malfoy a favour? Obviously he was lightheaded from hunger. Now he would have to deal with the worrisome anticipation of Draco Malfoy calling in a debt. Naturally it would not be any of the ten dozen things Harry would like to offer him. It would probably lean more toward degradation. After all, Malfoy had seven years or more of alleged torment to avenge.
“Shall we go?” Harry asked brightly.
He led the way back through the storage room and up the stairs after ascertaining the paralysis darts had all been disabled. By unspoken agreement they sealed the doors, leaving the place as they had left it. Once outside, Harry straddled his broom. Malfoy carried the knapsack without comment and Harry assumed his increased strength would make it a barely noticeable burden. They took to the air and Harry found Malfoy in flight to be an even more captivating sight in the daytime. It was a cloudy day, but at least it had stopped snowing. Harry did not fly far before he swooped down and landed beneath an overhang of evergreen trees.
“Shall we try Apparating from here?” he asked. “We should be well out of the wards by now.”
Malfoy shrugged. “I’ll meet you in the East Wing ground-floor parlour.”
“Wait!” Harry cried and grabbed Malfoy’s sleeve. He glared at the blond. “Other than the fact that I have no idea where the damned East Wing ground-floor parlour is, I don’t even know if I’m allowed to Apparate into the Manor!”
Consternation crossed Malfoy’s features for only a moment. He sighed. “I adjusted the wards—with Mother’s permission—to admit you. Just Apparate to my sitting room, then. I’m quite certain you’ll remember where that is.”
Harry let go and Malfoy disappeared with a crack. Harry followed and was soon dripping bits of melting snow from his boots onto Malfoy’s fine carpet. He quickly took them off and tossed them by the balcony doors before propping his broom next to them. Malfoy muttered a series of Unlocking Charms to open a nearby trunk. He tossed in the knapsack.
“The bath is off there,” Malfoy said with a gesture toward a nearby door. “I’ll find something for you to wear… unless you prefer your torn trousers? Do you want me to heal your arse for you?”
Harry snorted at the sarcastic tone. “I think I’ll manage. I will take you up on the clothing change, however.” With that Harry entered an immense bathing chamber that contained an impressive marble tub. It was already filled with water and Harry dipped a hand into it. It was slightly warmer than he preferred, but he decided he could deal with it this one time. He quickly stripped off his ruined trousers and his shirt, noting that his cuffs were heavily streaked with dust. He must look a fright. No wonder Malfoy kept shying away from him. Well, except when they had been looking at the book. That had been… interesting. He rubbed his shoulder slightly, remembering Malfoy’s nearness. He sighed heavily and shook it off as he climbed into the hot water. It took some time to adjust and ease himself in. He wondered if the house-elves kept the water constantly filled and at the proper temperature, or if the tub was charmed. If the latter, Harry vowed to acquire one.
The water stung the gash across his buttocks quite painfully. He scrubbed it gently, hoping the wound would not get infected. He would drop by the staff Healer at the Ministry on Monday, just to be safe. Either that or Hermione could look at it for him. His head snapped up when the door opened without a knock. Malfoy tossed some black clothing on a nearby chair. “Garments for you, Potter. Don’t take all morning—your breakfast is getting cold.”
“Malfoy, wait!” Harry said as the blond turned to leave.
He cocked a pale brow. “Want me to wash your back?”
Harry gaped at him for a moment while his body reacted to the teasing words in a manner that was, thankfully, hidden by the water. Malfoy laughed. Harry recovered and said, “Actually, I was hoping you could send a message to Hermione. She’s probably going spare wondering what’s happened to us.”
Malfoy snorted and shrugged. “I’ll take care of it. Hurry up.”
When the door closed, Harry sighed and leaned his head against the marble. Bloody hell, it was getting worse. Now the mere sound of Malfoy’s voice was turning him on. Harry decided he had better get the hell away from him for a while. And possibly get laid. He stroked his erection slowly, but he did not quite dare to bring himself off in Malfoy’s tub. Instead he thought unsexy thoughts and turned his attention to the mechanics of the bath. By the time he had dried himself and donned the soft black robes Malfoy had provided, he felt more in control of his libido.
The robes fit like a damned glove and were definitely the most stylish things he had ever worn. The fabric seemed to accentuate his shoulders and slender hips, clinging somewhat before falling away in voluminous folds. Harry smoothed them over his abdomen and marvelled at the softness. They were warm, also. Harry wondered if he could bring himself to swallow his pride and ask Malfoy where he had purchased them. Probably not, he decided and grinned at his reflection in the mirror. He tugged a comb through his hair and tossed the item on the nearby dressing table before entering the sitting room.
Malfoy stood near the fireplace and he turned when Harry shut the door. His grey eyes widened and he stared at Harry for such a long time that he felt a blush creep into his cheeks as he reached up to touch his hair.
“What?” Harry asked finally.
“Damn, Potter, you actually look… almost passable.”
Harry’s blush darkened at the semi-compliment. “Thanks. Nice robes,” he said as he ran a hand over them once more.
Malfoy nodded, but surprisingly made no reference to the usual state of Harry’s manner of dress. The blond, naturally, looked amazing. He had apparently adjusted his appearance while Harry had bathed. His clothing was different—a modified set of pale blue robes that fit him nicely. Harry tried not to notice and failed. Malfoy said, “I Fire-called Granger. She demands to hear every detail, of course. I told her you would call her back.” Malfoy approached a small table that had been laden with food. Harry did not remember seeing it in the room before and assumed it had been brought in or Transfigured. He was glad they were not making the long journey to the dining room. He was famished and the smell was tantalizing.
Harry pulled up a chair and sat across from the winged blond. He was ravenous, but tried to remember his manners. Cool grey eyes measured him, as usual, and Harry decided he was tired of being found wanting.
They ate in silence and Harry drank what seemed like a gallon of pumpkin juice. He was extraordinarily dehydrated and surprised he had not stooped to eating melted snow on their way back. Malfoy finished first and nursed a glass of some sort of fancy juice—pomegranate or some such—while he waited for Harry to finish.
“So, Potter,” Malfoy said when Harry finally began to feel sated. “Not married yet? I thought you would be blissfully wed by now. Decided on a long engagement?”
Harry nearly choked and quickly set aside his glass. His mind scrambled for explanations, but in the end he settled on the truth. “We broke up.”
Malfoy looked surprised for only a moment. “Why? Did she blame you for her idiot brother’s little accident?”
Harry drew in a breath. The suggestion was so close to accurate that a shard of guilt sliced through the strange contentment he had felt while sharing a peaceable meal with the Slytherin. He pushed back his chair, hoping to turn the conversation to less volatile territory.
Malfoy smirked. “That figures. I always knew she was a perfidious, greedy little bint, but I’m rather surprised that you figured it out.”
Harry shot to his feet, annoyed. Malfoy’s opinion of the Weasleys had obviously not changed in the past few years, but Harry felt he was hardly qualified to judge Ginny when he did not even know her. Frankly, Harry’s relationship—or lack thereof—was none of Malfoy’s business. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said tightly.
The blond shrugged. “I know trash when I see it. I could have told you years ago that the Weaselette was nothing but a gold-Niffler. You’re well rid of her, Potter.”
“Must you always be such an arse?” Harry demanded.
“Must you always blind yourself to the truth?” Malfoy sneered.
“Thank you for breakfast,” Harry said sharply. “I’ll have the robes cleaned and returned to you.” Before Malfoy could speak, Harry added, “I’ll owl you later,” and Disapparated.
Draco stared at the place where Potter had disappeared for a long time, mentally kicking himself for behaving like a bastard again, just when Potter had been acting like… well, like an actual friend instead of an Auror on a case. If he was perfectly honest with himself, Draco supposed he had lashed out in a subconscious effort to drive Potter away. His odd feelings of attraction seemed to be growing exponentially. Seeing Potter lounging in the bath had caused the moisture to dry up in his mouth and a strange, fluttering feeling to take up residence in his midsection. His teasing offer to wash Potter’s back had not been a joke by even a remote stretch. It was disturbing. And wrong. Disturbing and wrong.
He got to his feet and walked through the balcony doors while the house-elves cleaned up the remains of breakfast. The clouds looked to be breaking up somewhat, which meant less snow, but probably even colder temperatures.
“Mistress Narcissa is wanting Master Draco to be meeting her in the library,” a house-elf said as it hovered a couple of steps behind him. Draco sneered at it absently—it was one of a pair that looked so similar that he could never be arsed to remember which was which. He was not even sure if they were male or female… or one of each.
“Fine,” Draco said. He resigned himself to spending some time with his mother, knowing he had avoided her quite mercilessly in the last few days. “Tell her I’ll be along shortly.”
Draco checked his appearance in the mirror and tucked a hair back into place. He tried not to think about how delectable Potter had looked in his black robes. They had fit the Auror to perfection, but for a slight tightness in the shoulders that was definitely no disadvantage. The bloody idiot was actually quite handsome when he was cleaned up and decently dressed.
Draco scowled at himself in the mirror and vowed to stop thinking about Harry Potter. The Auror had been angry when he left and there was a good chance he would not bother to return. Draco needed to concentrate on deciphering the journal and severing all association with Potter.
Harry stalked through the house to the kitchen fireplace and Fire-called Hermione, who told him to call back in an hour because she was in the middle of something. Harry huffed in frustration, but used the time to draft an order for Kreacher to take to the market and replenish the pantry. Kreacher assisted by listing off ingredients, some useful and some not. Harry refused to purchase snails, regardless of how much “Master Regulus” used to enjoy them.
The mundane task did nothing to cool Harry’s ire and he was still plenty agitated when Hermione allowed him access to her living room. Her astounded expression halted his flow of words before they began.
“Harry! What happened to you?”
He looked down, wondering if he had cut himself without noticing, or run afoul of a Weasley prank left in his house.
“The robes!” she clarified. “You look absolutely gorgeous!” Hermione actually walked around him in an appreciative circle, making him feel like an animal on the auction block.
“Oh, stop it,” he said. “I borrowed these from Malfoy.” He had meant to change at Grimmauld Place, but he had simply been unwilling to take off the comfortable clothing, especially when he knew they looked good on him.
“You borrowed his clothes?” Her brows disappeared into the curls over her eyes and Harry scowled.
“Nothing happened!” he snapped and then amended that statement. “Well, something did happen, but not what you’re thinking.”
He recounted their trip to the old house and discovery of the hidden cellar. She listened intently as he glossed over the dart incident and the part about teaching Malfoy the Purging Spell. He left out entirely the whole waking up in Malfoy’s arms bit, knowing she would tease him mercilessly for days, and moved on quickly to the journal.
“So we went back to the Manor, cleaned up, had a perfectly normal breakfast, and then he had to go and turn back into the prat we all know and hate.” Harry paced in annoyance at the memory and sighed. “I suppose it’s for the best. He is just too damned attractive and he’s a victim, for fuck’s sake. He’s also Lucius Malfoy’s son, a man who will happily Crucio me the instant he is released from Azkaban and that is without any inkling that I’m interested in his son.”
“Are you?” Hermione asked. “Interested in his son?”
Harry threw himself onto the sofa and then shifted a bit to shuffle aside a few of the books whose corners dug into his hip. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I would be if it was not completely stupid and ridiculous. He doesn’t even like blokes!”
“How do you know? He seemed pretty close to Blaise Zabini in seventh year.”
“He seemed even closer to Pansy Parkinson, remember? They could be engaged for all I know.”
“They aren’t,” Hermione said confidently.
“How do you know?”
“Don’t you ever read the Daily Prophet? Pureblood families like his make a huge deal out of engagements. They host massive events and make official announcements and all of that tripe. It’s another way of showing off.”
“So… nothing like that for Malfoy?” Harry tried to quell an unexpected sense of relief and failed.
“Nothing like that. In fact, the gossip column mentions that Pansy and Blaise are currently in Switzerland. They took a selected group of cohorts with them, but there are suggestions that the two of them are an item.”
Harry contemplated that and then glared at her. “You are not honestly trying to get me to pursue Draco Malfoy? Regardless of whether or not he’s engaged and whether or not he’s straight, he’s still Malfoy! He lives to make me feel like an inferior arse. He despises my friends; he’s continuously insulting; he’s—”
“Astoundingly gorgeous, is just your type, is not ever going to be blinded by your name, and will never be boring.”
Harry shook his head. “Give it up, Hermione. He hates me. This foolish attraction is completely one-sided and I’ll get over it. I need to figure out who turned him into what he is, bring them to justice, and never see Draco Malfoy again. In fact, I plan to limit my contact with him from now on. Will you help him decipher the papers we found? I would be useless at that, anyway. Owl me if you find anything valuable. I’m going to Hogwarts to check out the Restricted Section. I’ll say hello to Hagrid for you.”
It was obvious that Hermione wanted to argue, but Harry was finished talking about Malfoy. Before she could protest, he made his final goodbyes and fled to Hogwarts.