CHAINS OF EARTH CHAPTER EIGHT
Mar. 25th, 2010 08:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesI was bribed by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vaysh11 to post this. :D
Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Eight
Because the heart beats under a covering of hair,
of fur, feathers, or wings, it is, for that reason,
to be of no account?
-Jean Paul
Draco stretched across his bed and groaned. He was sick of sleeping on his stomach. It was possible to sleep on his back, of course, but it was damned uncomfortable. He was not yet used to sleeping on his side—the weight of his wings always seemed to drag him down and he ended up fighting discomfort until he gave up and rolled onto his front. At least he did not have to worry about staying warm. He no longer had need of blankets, although sometimes he slid beneath the covers just for the sense of familiarity. And to pretend he was still normal.
He burrowed deeper into his pillows and tried to go back to sleep, but his mind turned to the puzzle of the encrypted journal. He went over the symbols a few times, most of which he had memorized. So far none of his and Granger’s theories had panned out. Old Pokeby had been smarter than expected, the old Slytherin bastard. He wondered what time Granger planned to show up. Even though she had requested Draco send her an owl, he had no intention of doing so, and yet he knew that would not dissuade her. Granger was nothing if not determined. Oddly, she seemed ridiculously calm these days. He remembered when she had walloped him like a Muggle and wondered what it would take to rile her to such a stage now. He grinned. Probably not much. The mere mention of Weasley might do it.
Draco’s grin disappeared when he thought about Weasley. Something had happened there, something large that neither she nor Potter wanted to discuss. He thought back to the few recent mentions of Weasley. Potter had changed the subject and Granger had fled the premises. Was it possible the triad had been shattered? Had Weasley’s accident destroyed their impenetrable fortress of friendship?
Draco knew the Weasleys were not to be trusted. Ron Weasley had tossed Potter aside like a used sock during the beginning of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Everyone had known about it. Weasley’s raving jealousy had turned on Potter, leaving the poor Chosen One a nearly friendless wreck. Draco had almost pitied him at the time. Almost. Well, perhaps not. Actually, he had felt Potter deserved it for choosing the redheaded wanker over him. It was possible Weasley’s faithlessness had not altered over the years. Draco would have to take it up with Granger.
He sat up and slid his feet off the bed, suddenly anticipating Granger’s visit. Digging up dirt on Potter was a pastime that never got old. He called for a house-elf to bring his breakfast.
~~ O ~~
Harry slept like the dead and awoke with a crick in his neck caused by sleeping in the same position for hours on end. He rolled out of bed and rubbed it with a groan while wondering where he had put his headache potions. He would ask Kreacher, but the house-elf would most likely want to heal him, which was a bad idea, Harry knew from experience. Better to search the house for potions or suffer in silence.
He staggered to the kitchen to find a pot of steaming hot tea waiting and felt momentary guilt about having uncharitable thoughts toward Kreacher. The first cup alleviated much of his pain and the house-elf popped in a moment later with a bowl of porridge prepared just the way Harry liked it.
“Thanks, Kreacher.”
“Will Master Harry be needing anything today?”
“I don’t think so. I have to go to the Ministry and check in with Kingsley. And I will most likely stop in and see Hermione.” He ignored the house-elf’s disapproving look and added, “I will either have lunch with her or eat out, somewhere. No need to prepare anything.”
“Will Master Harry be coming home this evening?”
Harry glanced at the elf, wondering if there was a note of censure for Harry’s absence the previous night. “Yes, I should be. Do you want me to send an owl if I plan to eat elsewhere?”
Kreacher sniffed. “Master Harry is not needing to answer to Kreacher. Master Harry is to be doing whatever Master Harry is pleasing and not to be paying attention to worthless house-elves like Kreacher.”
Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, although a grin was even more difficult to suppress. “Very well, Kreacher. Expect me for dinner. I will owl you if my plans change.”
“Master Harry is doing as Master Harry chooses.”
Harry nodded and finished his porridge before he returned to his room to dress. He folded Malfoy’s robes carefully and made a mental note to drop them off at Ladrigan’s for professional cleaning. Nothing but the best for Malfoy. Harry’s fingers caressed the soft fabric for a moment, wishing he could put the robes back on. They were exceptional. He made another mental note to purchase a similar set and grinned at the thought of Malfoy’s expression if Harry should pop in to the Manor dressed in a stunning set of robes.
He sighed and reprimanded himself for caring about Malfoy’s opinion. Malfoy would always think of him as inferior and it was stupid to assume otherwise. Harry pulled on his boots, grabbed his wand, and Apparated to the Ministry.
Harry’s accumulated paperwork took a couple of hours, even though his only official case right now was Malfoy’s. Luckily, things were slow—winter was generally a lax time for crime. Even bad apples preferred to stay inside during the cold season and huddle near their fireplaces with comfort food and hot drinks.
He combated a growing sense of disquiet as he worked. Something niggled at him and he finally shoved the last piece of parchment into the file and tossed it toward his Outbox with a sigh. As if completion of his task unlocked a floodgate in his mind, he suddenly realized what had been bothering him. Malfoy. He missed Malfoy.
Harry sighed and rested his elbows on his desk while his fingers massaged his temples. Merlin. What a bloody mess. He shoved away from his desk and went to find Kingsley. It was Sunday, but the Minister had a tendency to work seven days a week, as did Harry. A search of the executive office turned out to be a waste of time. A quick Fire-call to Kingsley’s irritated Undersecretary informed Harry that the Minister had an appointment in Cornwall and would return the following day. Harry debated returning to his office, but thought it might be more productive to review the books he had received from Madam Pince. Then again, it would be smarter to hand them over to Hermione and let her do the reviewing. Research, after all, was not at all Harry’s forte. He expected her to be in her office, as Hermione tended to work through the weekend and take off a day or two midweek.
His trip to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement turned out to be yet another waste of time. One of Hermione’s Ravenclawish cohorts informed him that Hermione had taken a few days holiday. Harry scowled and wondered that she had not bothered to tell him. Had she seriously taken time off to work on Malfoy’s case? Was she with Malfoy even now? The thought nearly made Harry Apparate straight to the Manor, but he remembered at the last moment that he had left the books at home. It would be idiotic to show up without them.
He decided to Floo home rather than waste energy Apparating, and entered the lift to return to the Lobby. The elevator was nearly empty but for a boisterous group that exited on the Games and Sports Level—Quidditch was going strong in Australia right now and a big match was coming up. Harry grinned. Their excitement was contagious. His smiled froze when Ginny Weasley bypassed the exiting crowd and joined him in the lift. She smiled at him happily. “Harry! Fancy meeting you here! It must be fate. Do you have plans for lunch?”
Harry suppressed a groan of frustration and forced a smile. “No, but I am about to meet—” He barely choked back Hermione’s name, remembering their last ridiculous argument. Her eyes narrowed and he finished, “…Kingsley.”
“He’s in Cornwall. I thought everyone knew that.”
Harry nodded as if remembering. “Right. I had forgotten.”
“So, then. Lunch?”
A dozen excuses flitted through Harry’s mind and were quickly discarded one at a time. She would see through any dissembling and he would pay for it later. He frantically tried to turn the tables. “What are you doing in Games and Sports? I thought you Unspeakables did not mingle with the common folk.”
She smiled enigmatically and Harry remembered yet another reason why he had broken up with her. Ginny was entirely too fond of her secretive job and took far too much pleasure in hoarding the ambiguity of her work. “I can’t tell you that, Harry. But I will tell you it has something to do with the Australian Nationals. We’re trying to make sure the Queensland team is not cheating. There have been some anomalies reported with the brooms and we’re working with the G and S folk to prevent anything spoiling the World Cup next year.”
Harry nodded and wondered dryly if the Unspeakables had to empty their memories into a Pensieve once a week to see if they had divulged any departmental secrets. Normally Ginny was silent as the dead about her work, but if it involved Quidditch she could never resist giving out a tidbit or two. Ron had always eaten it up and pestered her mercilessly for details. Harry still loved Quidditch, but the politics behind the games held little interest for him. He dealt with too much intrigue on a daily basis. He wondered idly what Malfoy’s opinion would be on the subject and nearly smiled at the thought. No doubt he and the blond would get into a rollicking argument on the subject.
“Are you listening, Harry?” Ginny asked, possibly for the second or third time. Harry dragged his thoughts away from Malfoy—again—and scowled at her.
“I’m sorry; I completely wandered off on a tangent there. Quidditch and all, you know. I think New South Wales will take Nationals if Queensland doesn’t cheat.”
Ginny immediately launched into a debate that occupied them until they reached the Lobby. Before Harry could escape to the nearest Floo, Ginny grabbed his arm. “Lunch, then?”
Unable to think of a reasonable excuse, Harry nodded and forced a smile. “Yeah, but in the cafeteria, if that’s okay. I have some reports that need filing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you were meeting Kingsley, why did you come down the lift?”
“Visitor check,” he lied blithely. “Routine. My turn on the queue. Be right back.”
He escaped her company and hurried to the reception desk.
“Auror Potter!” Myra gushed. “How nice to see you.”
“Hi, Myra. Can you let me see the guest catalogue, please? I’m trying to see if we had a particular visitor yesterday.”
“Of course,” she said with a serious mien and allowed him to view the book. He made a show of flipping through the pages, although not a single name registered. Harry drew out the process as long as possible, until the tapping of Ginny’s foot snared his peripheral vision. Reluctantly, he handed the book back to Myra. “Thank you. It all seems to be in order.”
Having no further stalling tactics at hand, Harry held out his arm and escorted Ginny back to the third floor where the Ministry cafeteria resided. He would rather have spent the hour shouting at Malfoy.
~~ O ~~
Granger appeared at what was normally, for Draco, an obscene hour. No self-respecting pureblood awakened before eleven in the morning and nine o’ clock was nearly ridiculous. Draco was ready for her, however, and had already breakfasted, bathed, and returned to the study to scan the journal pages. He raised a brow when the house-elf announced her.
“Granger. I expected you an hour ago.”
She laughed, damn her. “Of course you did. Have you had any luck?”
Considering Draco had only spent eight minutes preparing for her arrival, it was unlikely. He scowled and shook his head.
“Well, I have. I woke up early and approached it from a different angle. We had a case last year involving a similar set of writings, so I pulled out the case file…” Granger’s explanatory words washed over Draco and he listened with half an ear while his mind wandered. He could tell by her suppressed excitement that she had made some sort of breakthrough and would get to the revelation eventually. Draco’s mind was more occupied with wondering how to broach the subject of Potter. Had the Auror contacted her? How had his trip to Hogwarts gone? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, but he did not want to see her gaze turn calculating, as it seemed to do every time he mentioned Potter.
“…and therefore this character denotes Y and is used in several places instead of A or E. Tricky, wasn’t he?”
“Very,” Draco agreed, paying attention for the first time. He frowned and tracked back over her conversation before snatching up a piece of parchment and applying her concept. Granger did the same and they were silent for long minutes, both scribbling furiously. “Bloody hell, I think that’s it!”
They tested the theory on several journal pages and finally managed to get the translation into a workable order.
“All right, let’s start on these potions,” she suggested and pointed to several pages tacked to the wall. There were a ludicrous number of them and it took nearly an hour to translate the titles alone. Granger rubbed the small of her back and shot him an enigmatic look when a house-elf popped in with a tray of assorted drinks and meat pies.
Draco drained a glass of butterbeer and picked up a sausage pasty. Granger joined him after shooting a disapproving look at the house-elf. Draco was surprised she had not yet gifted him with a tirade about freeing his house-elves. He knew she was still an activist for “house-elf rights” even though it was patently ridiculous to try and give the creatures something they did not want. Dobby had been an aberration and was shunned by his own kind.
“I think we’re finally making some progress,” she said and took the tray from the elf to set it upon a nearby table after shoving aside the parchment. The house-elf gave Draco a questioning look and he nodded. The elf bowed and disappeared. Granger picked up a glass of lemonade and sipped at it. “Do you recognize any of these potions?”
Draco set his empty glass aside and perused the potion recipes. “Maybe. A couple of them look familiar. Somnifacia. That one induces a hypnotic state, correct?”
She nodded. “That sounds right.” She frowned. “Do you have a potions book handy? I’m certain I can find the recipe at home; we can compare the ingredients listed with those here and make certain he did not change quantities. Do any others seem familiar? I would like to spot check a few, if possible, before we try brewing.”
“Here is another. Plumafiore. I’m certain that one is in the Standard Book of Potions. I have it in the library.” Ignoring her doubtless censuring look, Draco summoned a house-elf and requested the manual in question, along with every other potions book in the Manor. Granger Transfigured a small end table into a large desk to hold them all. After several more hours of study, they located both potions and began the comparative analysis.
Draco was proud of himself for not mentioning Potter once.
~~ O ~~
Lunch was torment. Ginny thankfully kept the conversation to neutral ground, asking about some of Harry’s prior cases and discussing mutual friends. She did, however, continually reach across the table to touch his hand and laughed too loudly at even the vaguest amusing comments. Harry glanced around each time she did so and wondered which of the eagle-eyed patrons of the Ministry cafeteria would be the first to call the Daily Prophet. It would have been worse to eat at a local restaurant. Somehow the photographers always located him in public places.
“You are coming to dinner tonight, aren’t you, Harry?” Ginny asked and he nearly winced. With everything that had happened, he had completely forgotten the weekly Weasley dinner. After the last “family” dinner and his subsequent confrontation with Ron, Harry was in no mood to sit through another awkward meal.
“Um… no, actually. I have to question a witness about a case. Tonight is the only time he has available.” He was almost mortified at how smoothly the lie tripped from his tongue. “I was planning to owl your mother, unless you want to break the news for me? I doubt I will be missed.”
She frowned. “Of course you will be missed, Harry.” She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around his even though he had clenched it tightly around his water glass to prevent such an action. “You know I will miss you.”
Harry forced a smile and shook her hand free by making a show of gulping at his water. “Thanks, Gin. That means a lot.” And the lies just keep on coming. He pushed his chair back abruptly and stood. “And thanks for having lunch with me. I hate to cut this short, but I really need to do some research before I meet with my… client tonight.”
Her lips drew into a thin line that he knew denoted annoyance, but she forced a smile that stretched them into something resembling a smile. It occurred to him that she did not look especially attractive when she tried to fake emotion. The winter was also doing horrible things to her skin, making the freckles stand out in stark relief on her white skin. Harry cringed inwardly at his uncharitable thoughts. Just because he was not interested did not mean he had to demean her. “Of course, Harry. I know how busy you are.” He paused for a moment, wondering if he had imagined the sarcasm, but he shrugged it off.
“Well, thanks. And you’ll tell your mum for me, right?”
“I’ll let her know. And Ron, too.”
Harry nodded, but his jaw tightened. That had definitely been a dig to make him feel guilty. Harry was of half a mind to tell her that he would feel concern for Ron’s feelings as soon as Ron stopped acting like such a fuckwit. Naturally, that thought brought on genuine remorse and he walked as quickly as possible to the lift to escape it. He began to wonder why he had even come to the Ministry.
The question was still on his mind when a large someone jostled him as he entered the lift, nearly shoving him into the wall. Harry turned in annoyance and decided that some higher power had it in for him when he met the vapid gaze of Gregory Goyle.
“Oi, hey, Potter. Didn’t see you there,” Goyle said in a dull tone edged with maliciousness. He knew Goyle would have said the exact same phrase after “accidentally” jostling Harry off a thousand foot cliff.
“Sure, Goyle,” Harry replied. He sidled into a corner of the elevator near the door in order to make a quick escape when it opened again. “How goes the security business?”
“Fine,” Goyle grunted with a sidelong look at Harry. Goyle worked in Hermione’s department as sort of a glorified security guard. His job mainly consisted of standing around looking intimidating. Harry had to admit he was good at it. Goyle had always resembled an American football linebacker with his huge hamlike fists and simian brow. His biceps were larger around than Harry’s thighs. Other than growing even larger and scarier, Goyle looked much the same as he had at Hogwarts, except that he was missing two things: Crabbe and Malfoy. Each time Harry saw him he thought Goyle looked like a large shadow of himself. He wondered if Goyle and Malfoy were still friends.
“Any luck findin’ the bastards did that to Draco?” Goyle asked suddenly and Harry gaped at him. Malfoy had told Goyle? Apparently they were still friends, although it quite shocked Harry to learn that Malfoy had revealed his condition to someone as seemingly witless as Gregory Goyle. He was surprised that the news of Malfoy’s wings had not hit the papers.
“You know about his…?”
“Wings. Yeah. Pretty low to do that to a pureblood.”
Harry nodded.
“No luck with the case then? Or are ya even tryin’?” The question was delivered with a sneer.
Harry’s gaze narrowed as the lift slowed and halted. “Of course I’m trying. It’s my job and I take it very seriously.”
Goyle snorted. “Sure you do, Potter. You prob’ly love seein’ Draco like he is now. I bet you’re workin’ real hard to find a cure and bring the culprits in.”
The doors opened and Harry managed to suppress the urge to hex the huge man with something like the disgusting Bat Bogey Hex Ginny used to favour.
He settled for a snarled, “Fuck you, Goyle” as he exited the lift and walked to the nearest fireplace to Floo home. It was wrapping up to be a miserable day.
~~ O ~~
Draco flexed his wings a few times and made a small moue of approval. He had to admit the things were damned handy for working out kinks near the shoulder blades. He rotated his pinions a couple of times, but stopped when he caught Granger watching him. Draco’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
She shrugged. “You look surprisingly good with wings. They suit you.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “They would suit me better if they were gone.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She turned away to jot a few more scribbles on the parchment before her. They had effectively broken Pokeby’s code by determining the verisimilitude of the potion ingredients. After that they had deciphered a number of the potions in Pokeby’s journal. Granger had made a list of ingredients. They would try brewing the more curious-looking ones to try and replicate the one Draco had ingested. With luck—notably in short supply lately—they could attempt an antidote or counter-potion.
“What happened with Weasley?” Draco asked suddenly.
Granger stiffened as though hit with a Stunner. Draco could tell she wanted to pack up her quill and leave, but she was only halfway through her current list. Her lips thinned. “I would prefer not to talk about him.”
“It was the accident, was it not? I read about it.”
A muscle twitched in her jaw and he wondered if she actually ground her teeth. Her reply was clipped. “Yes. It was the accident.”
“Did he turn on Potter?” Draco asked quietly.
Granger’s brown eyes met his and for a moment he was sorry for asking. The anger was apparent, but sorrow nearly overwhelmed it. “Yes,” she said curtly.
“And you?” Draco’s voice was a whisper. He expected her to refrain from comment at best and at worst to take her things and depart.
Granger looked away and dipped her quill in the ink several times, watching the black liquid drip back into the bottle. It reminded Draco of blood.
“Yes. It was understandable, at first. He was wounded and upset. The Healers could do nothing for him. It was normal to lash out.” Her voice was quiet but fervent. “Harry was always there, always supportive. We both did everything we could. But Ron…” Her voice broke and the quill hovered over the inkwell, dripping. Draco said nothing. “Ron became angrier. He never actually blamed Harry, but it was apparent with every word and every action. Mostly I think he resented Harry for having a normal life and…”
“And for always coming out on top,” Draco added in a soft tone.
She looked at him with a bitter sort of smile. “Yes. Ron always had difficulty understanding that nothing came easy for Harry. Ron was a bit thick when it came to seeing beyond the obvious. He never knew how much Harry envied him.”
Draco blinked at her. “Potter envied Weasley?”
She glared at him and jabbed the quill viciously back into the ink before tapping it on the glass rim. “I was right. You don’t know Harry at all.”
“What do you mean Potter envied Weasley?”
“Ron had everything Harry did not. Ron had an enormous, loving family and Harry had no one. I suppose Ron was jealous of Harry’s fame and his perceived wealth, but those things meant nothing to Harry.” She shrugged and began to write once more. “Maybe it’s true that we always want what we cannot have. For some of us the lack festers. Ron’s resentment became too much for him… and too much for me.”
Draco wished he had not pursued the question at all. He had not expected to open raw wounds. Well, perhaps he had, but he had not anticipated the pity he would feel, not only for Granger, but for Potter, as well. In a sense, Draco could sympathize with Weasley; he had also spent his Hogwart’s years envying Potter. But to turn on him like a rabid dog? Would Draco do such a thing? He realized it was a moot point, since he had never had a friendship as close as Potter’s and Weasley’s had been. He frowned.
“Now you know,” Granger said tightly when the scratching of her quill became the only sound in the room.
“I’m sorry,” Draco said, even though he was not completely sure what he apologized for—bringing up the subject, or the fact that Weasley was an arse? Possibly both.
Her head snapped around and she stared at him. “Sorry? First Harry and now you? This is a banner week for contrition.”
Draco grinned. “I have an excuse. I am not in my right mind, remember?”
She laughed. “Your mind seems to be the thing least affected by your transformation.”
Draco feigned a gasp. “Was that a compliment? From you?”
“Apparently it is a wondrous day. Harry likes you,” she said. He looked at her without comment and she laughed again at his lack of expression. “I’m serious.”
“He told you this?”
“Not in so many words, of course. But I can tell.”
Draco wondered when she had lost her wits. Perhaps it had something to do with Weasley’s defection. It had unhinged her.
A house-elf popped into the room. “Master Draco is receiving a Fire-call from Harry Potter, sir.”
Draco’s smile fled. “Is he looking for me, or Granger?”
“Harry Potter is asking for Master Draco, sir.”
He could not suppress the smirk of triumph that he threw in Granger’s direction and she actually giggled. She said, “What did I tell you? Maybe Harry wants to extend his apology in person.”
“More likely he wants to take it back.”
“Just go get him.”
Draco went.
~~ O ~~
Harry tried Hermione at home and decided she was still with Malfoy when there was no answer. The realization twisted his insides unpleasantly until he shook off the nonsensical idea. Still, Hermione had been there nearly all of yesterday and now today… Research, Harry reminded himself. She is helping Malfoy with research.
Even if she wasn’t with Malfoy for research alone, it was no business of Harry’s. Malfoy was straight, after all, and Hermione was attractive and single. He snorted softly at his ridiculous thoughts. Malfoy was a pureblood; he considered Hermione to be tainted and unworthy. Even now? Now that he admits to himself that he is no longer even human?
Harry glared at nothing and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. The house-elf answering the Fire-call took his (or her) sweet time locating Malfoy. His knees began to ache. Harry nearly gave up before Malfoy’s handsome face appeared in the flames.
“Potter,” he said noncommittally.
“Malfoy. Is Hermione with you?”
“She is back in our makeshift laboratory. If it was Granger you wanted, why did you not ask for her?”
“No, I…” Harry swallowed and barely choked back the truth. It would be the height of idiocy to admit he wanted to see the blond. “I wanted to know how you two were doing with the journal.”
“Then come through, Potter. Timidity does not become you.”
Harry scowled. “It’s not timidity, Malfoy, I just wasn’t sure I was still welcome.”
Malfoy threw back his head and laughed, looking almost demonic in the flames. Demonically beautiful. “Potter, you do amuse me, at times. Come through.”
Harry stood and threw a handful of powder into the flames. “Malfoy Manor!” he called loudly after snatching up the books Madam Pince had given him. He stepped out without staggering, for once, and stood before the winged Malfoy with a sardonic grin. Malfoy turned and gestured imperiously.
“Come along, Potter. Granger has been very productive, as I’m sure you expected.”
Harry nodded and then followed him through the halls until they reached a small room. Hermione got to her feet and ran to give Harry an exuberant hug, nearly causing him to drop the books.
“I just saw you yesterday,” Harry said dryly into her hair, surprised at the greeting.
“Shush, you. I can miss you if I please.” She stepped back, however, and then bustled around the room, picking up parchment here and there while explaining their findings. Harry had to laugh as he set his burden on a nearby desk. He was almost fascinated by her dissertation, but found himself quickly distracted by Malfoy’s occasional interjections. Soon he gave up all pretence of interest and merely watched the blond, who had launched into complex potions theory. The bottom line seemed to be that they were going to try to recreate the potion that had—possibly—been used on him. Harry’s brow wrinkled, but he decided it would be a bad idea to mention the possible futility of the effort. Even Hermione had admitted that the changes to Malfoy were likely irreversible.
Their presentation finally ended and Hermione asked, “How did your trip to Hogwarts go?”
Harry shrugged. “Interesting, to say the least. Hagrid says hi; and so does McGonagall. I had an enlightening conversation with Madam Pince.” He explained Gunther Pokeby’s relationship with the Hogwart’s librarian and Malfoy nearly guffawed with poorly suppressed amusement.
“I suppose that explains Pince’s sterling personality,” he said. “Unrequited love. Who knew?”
“That’s so sad,” Hermione said. “I wonder if Gunther ever knew how she felt?”
Harry shrugged. “Probably. I think his obsession just meant more to him, in the long run. She gave me several books on the Anakim.” He gestured at the books on the desk. “I glanced through them, but, as she said, they are mainly legends. I’m not sure how useful they will be.”
Hermione went through the stack curiously and Malfoy hovered over her shoulder to read the titles. They bickered over the tomes in a friendly fashion, causing Harry’s jealousy to rear its ugly head once more, but he wrestled it down and turned away to stare blindly at the journal pages tacked to the wall. In the end, Hermione and Malfoy divided the books somewhat amicably.
Hermione collected her assorted parchment with a smile, after shrinking the Anakim tomes and packing them into her bag. “Draco, I will try to locate the ingredients we agreed upon. I won’t see you tomorrow unless I happen to collect them all, which is a very remote possibility. Harry, I’m taking a couple of days off from work in order to concentrate on this. The longer we wait, the more elusive the culprits will become.”
Harry grinned at her and then felt his face freeze when Hermione paused before leaving the room. She leaned close to Malfoy and whispered in his ear. Malfoy’s features revealed nothing as Hermione’s fingers clamped lightly over his sleeved arm and squeezed. She glanced over her shoulder. “’Night, Harry.”
“Bye, Hermione,” he said in a somewhat normal tone of voice. I must not hex my friend, he chanted to himself. He tried to smile when Malfoy turned toward him, but he was sure it looked more like the painted-on grin of a clown.
“Are you staying, Potter?” Malfoy asked mildly.
“I— No. I just… I doubt I can be more helpful than Hermione and you’re probably tired…”
“I am not tired in the least. Were you not planning to teach me that spell with the owl feather?”
He blinked at Malfoy in surprise. “Do you really want to learn such a silly spell? It’s not exactly useful.”
“All spells are useful, Potter, depending on the situation.”
Harry nodded, inordinately pleased to spend more time with the blond, although he was not certain why Malfoy wanted him to stay. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right, Potter, I’m always right.”
Harry rolled his eyes in an over-exaggerated fashion, earning a smack on the arm from the tip of one wing. The movement surprised a laugh from him as he rubbed his bicep. “Do you have an owl feather handy?”
“Does it have to be from an owl, or will any feather work?”
Harry shrugged. “Any feather, I suppose. Even a quill.”
Malfoy reached up and yanked a snowy feather from one wing, startling Harry with the motion. Malfoy handed it to him wordlessly and their fingers touched briefly when he took it. Harry felt a touch of awe as he stroked the soft plume. It was a tiny thing, not quite as long as his index finger, and just as soft as he remembered. He forced himself not to caress it beyond that one initial stroke.
“Great. Um, well, then…” He moved closer to Malfoy and pulled out his wand. “The incantation is Celo Nuntius. It would be nice if more than one or two words would fit on each feather, but Hermione could never make it work.”
He demonstrated the wand movement several times and watched while Malfoy practiced it. He had nearly forgotten what a quick study the Slytherin was. The blond picked up the required motions and inflections rapidly. After a few tries, Malfoy inscribed a message on the white feather. Harry turned it over and examined it closely. Nothing was visible.
“Excellent. The revealing spell is Aperio Nuntius.”
Harry cast the spell on the feather and four dark letters appeared. PRAT. He glared at Malfoy with effort, choking back a laugh. “Very funny.” He cast a spell of his own and trained Malfoy to use the revealing spell. Malfoy uncovered the word TWIT and their messages degenerated rapidly after that.
~~ O ~~
Draco snatched the feather from Potter’s fingers with a mock glare. The Auror was laughing so hard Draco thought he might topple over.
“Plonk?” Draco asked. “What the hell is a plonk?”
Potter gasped for breath. “Plonker, obviously! It wouldn’t fit.”
“You couldn’t think of anything shorter?”
“We already used arse, twat, wanker, wally, pleb, berk, moron, and goit. Thank you for that one, by the way. Tosser wouldn’t fit, nor would pillock. I’m afraid I’m scraping the bottom of my insult barrel, although I’m certain your superior intellect can go all night.”
“Thank you for recognizing that, Potter,” Draco said with a smirk. “You acknowledge my victory, then?”
Potter snorted. “I didn’t know we were competing, but yes, if it’s that vital to your existence, I admit that you win.”
Draco stroked the feather lightly. The thing was surprisingly resilient, having survived their spells and annoyed snatching with barely a ruffle on the edges. The bloody feather had hurt like a bitch coming out, though, and he vowed never to do that again. The effects of his foolish impulse still throbbed hotly from the spot the feather had formerly occupied, sending an ache all the way down his wing and into his shoulder. Damn his wings for being so sensitive. It felt like he had gouged the pinion out with a white-hot knife.
He glanced at Potter, whose eyes were fixed on the feather in his hand. He tossed it haphazardly toward the Auror. “You can keep it,” Draco said casually. “I can’t exactly reattach it, and you should have a reminder of my superior intellect.”
Potter grabbed the fluttering bit of fluff out of the air and grinned at him before wrapping his fingers around the feather protectively and clutching it to his heart. “I will treasure it always,” he said reverently and then batted his lashes at Draco in a girlish fashion.
Draco whacked him with the edge of his wing, catching the Auror on one hip as he tried to dance out of range. Potter laughed. “Not fair!”
“All’s fair in—” Draco began and then looked away as he felt a flush tint his cheeks. “Never mind. Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Potter slipped the feather into his robes and shook his head. “I promised Kreacher I would be home for dinner. For a house-elf, he can be very demanding. If I don’t pay attention to him once in a while he sort of ‘forgets’ to clean my room. I admit I’ve grown a bit lazy having him around.”
Draco made a clucking sound. “Don’t let Granger hear you say that.”
“I know! At least she finally stopped insisting I free Kreacher. I tried it once when she was with me and he pitched such a fit I thought the house might implode. She hasn’t brought it up since. Um… you can come to dinner at my place, if you’d like.”
Draco looked at him in surprise and instantly began to filter through possible ulterior motives to the Auror’s invitation. He frowned.
“You don’t have to, of course!” Potter said quickly. “I just thought… you know… I keep eating here, so I should probably return the favour sometime and...”
Draco nodded, alternately relieved and annoyed. Repayment. A Gryffindor trait. “I have been neglecting Mother recently, so I assured her I would dine with her this evening. It’s probably better you don’t join us or she would question you mercilessly about the case.”
Potter looked guilty for a moment and Draco felt a flare of regret. He had not meant to make Potter feel inadequate for not producing faster results. Draco wanted to find the culprits, of course, but the urgency had waned somewhat with his growing enjoyment of Potter’s company. To be perfectly honest with himself, he was coming to like the git and would be less than happy to see the last of him.
“I should probably meet with her soon, anyway,” Potter said. “She deserves an update, even though I have not found much of use. I don’t know if the Pokeby angle will even produce results. Anyone could have followed his work. In fact, I should probably go back to Hogwarts and see if I can dig up some information regarding his close friends, or anyone that might have been privy to his research.”
Draco sighed at Potter’s return to Auror-mode. He nodded, picking up Potter’s cue and shrugging off nonsensical thoughts of friendship. Were his wings turning him into a Hufflepuff? “All right, then. Will you Apparate, or do you prefer to use the Floo?”
Potter seemed to stiffen slightly. “I think I’ll use the Floo, if you don’t mind. I’m rather tired.”
“Very well. Shall I see you out, or can you remember the way?”
“I can manage.”
“Good night, Potter.”
“Good night, Malfoy.”
Draco watched as Potter strode to the door and left without looking back. For some reason, he felt something had gone fundamentally awry.
~~ CHAPTER NINE ~~
vaysh11 to post this. :DMiss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Eight
Because the heart beats under a covering of hair,
of fur, feathers, or wings, it is, for that reason,
to be of no account?
-Jean Paul
Draco stretched across his bed and groaned. He was sick of sleeping on his stomach. It was possible to sleep on his back, of course, but it was damned uncomfortable. He was not yet used to sleeping on his side—the weight of his wings always seemed to drag him down and he ended up fighting discomfort until he gave up and rolled onto his front. At least he did not have to worry about staying warm. He no longer had need of blankets, although sometimes he slid beneath the covers just for the sense of familiarity. And to pretend he was still normal.
He burrowed deeper into his pillows and tried to go back to sleep, but his mind turned to the puzzle of the encrypted journal. He went over the symbols a few times, most of which he had memorized. So far none of his and Granger’s theories had panned out. Old Pokeby had been smarter than expected, the old Slytherin bastard. He wondered what time Granger planned to show up. Even though she had requested Draco send her an owl, he had no intention of doing so, and yet he knew that would not dissuade her. Granger was nothing if not determined. Oddly, she seemed ridiculously calm these days. He remembered when she had walloped him like a Muggle and wondered what it would take to rile her to such a stage now. He grinned. Probably not much. The mere mention of Weasley might do it.
Draco’s grin disappeared when he thought about Weasley. Something had happened there, something large that neither she nor Potter wanted to discuss. He thought back to the few recent mentions of Weasley. Potter had changed the subject and Granger had fled the premises. Was it possible the triad had been shattered? Had Weasley’s accident destroyed their impenetrable fortress of friendship?
Draco knew the Weasleys were not to be trusted. Ron Weasley had tossed Potter aside like a used sock during the beginning of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Everyone had known about it. Weasley’s raving jealousy had turned on Potter, leaving the poor Chosen One a nearly friendless wreck. Draco had almost pitied him at the time. Almost. Well, perhaps not. Actually, he had felt Potter deserved it for choosing the redheaded wanker over him. It was possible Weasley’s faithlessness had not altered over the years. Draco would have to take it up with Granger.
He sat up and slid his feet off the bed, suddenly anticipating Granger’s visit. Digging up dirt on Potter was a pastime that never got old. He called for a house-elf to bring his breakfast.
Harry slept like the dead and awoke with a crick in his neck caused by sleeping in the same position for hours on end. He rolled out of bed and rubbed it with a groan while wondering where he had put his headache potions. He would ask Kreacher, but the house-elf would most likely want to heal him, which was a bad idea, Harry knew from experience. Better to search the house for potions or suffer in silence.
He staggered to the kitchen to find a pot of steaming hot tea waiting and felt momentary guilt about having uncharitable thoughts toward Kreacher. The first cup alleviated much of his pain and the house-elf popped in a moment later with a bowl of porridge prepared just the way Harry liked it.
“Thanks, Kreacher.”
“Will Master Harry be needing anything today?”
“I don’t think so. I have to go to the Ministry and check in with Kingsley. And I will most likely stop in and see Hermione.” He ignored the house-elf’s disapproving look and added, “I will either have lunch with her or eat out, somewhere. No need to prepare anything.”
“Will Master Harry be coming home this evening?”
Harry glanced at the elf, wondering if there was a note of censure for Harry’s absence the previous night. “Yes, I should be. Do you want me to send an owl if I plan to eat elsewhere?”
Kreacher sniffed. “Master Harry is not needing to answer to Kreacher. Master Harry is to be doing whatever Master Harry is pleasing and not to be paying attention to worthless house-elves like Kreacher.”
Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, although a grin was even more difficult to suppress. “Very well, Kreacher. Expect me for dinner. I will owl you if my plans change.”
“Master Harry is doing as Master Harry chooses.”
Harry nodded and finished his porridge before he returned to his room to dress. He folded Malfoy’s robes carefully and made a mental note to drop them off at Ladrigan’s for professional cleaning. Nothing but the best for Malfoy. Harry’s fingers caressed the soft fabric for a moment, wishing he could put the robes back on. They were exceptional. He made another mental note to purchase a similar set and grinned at the thought of Malfoy’s expression if Harry should pop in to the Manor dressed in a stunning set of robes.
He sighed and reprimanded himself for caring about Malfoy’s opinion. Malfoy would always think of him as inferior and it was stupid to assume otherwise. Harry pulled on his boots, grabbed his wand, and Apparated to the Ministry.
Harry’s accumulated paperwork took a couple of hours, even though his only official case right now was Malfoy’s. Luckily, things were slow—winter was generally a lax time for crime. Even bad apples preferred to stay inside during the cold season and huddle near their fireplaces with comfort food and hot drinks.
He combated a growing sense of disquiet as he worked. Something niggled at him and he finally shoved the last piece of parchment into the file and tossed it toward his Outbox with a sigh. As if completion of his task unlocked a floodgate in his mind, he suddenly realized what had been bothering him. Malfoy. He missed Malfoy.
Harry sighed and rested his elbows on his desk while his fingers massaged his temples. Merlin. What a bloody mess. He shoved away from his desk and went to find Kingsley. It was Sunday, but the Minister had a tendency to work seven days a week, as did Harry. A search of the executive office turned out to be a waste of time. A quick Fire-call to Kingsley’s irritated Undersecretary informed Harry that the Minister had an appointment in Cornwall and would return the following day. Harry debated returning to his office, but thought it might be more productive to review the books he had received from Madam Pince. Then again, it would be smarter to hand them over to Hermione and let her do the reviewing. Research, after all, was not at all Harry’s forte. He expected her to be in her office, as Hermione tended to work through the weekend and take off a day or two midweek.
His trip to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement turned out to be yet another waste of time. One of Hermione’s Ravenclawish cohorts informed him that Hermione had taken a few days holiday. Harry scowled and wondered that she had not bothered to tell him. Had she seriously taken time off to work on Malfoy’s case? Was she with Malfoy even now? The thought nearly made Harry Apparate straight to the Manor, but he remembered at the last moment that he had left the books at home. It would be idiotic to show up without them.
He decided to Floo home rather than waste energy Apparating, and entered the lift to return to the Lobby. The elevator was nearly empty but for a boisterous group that exited on the Games and Sports Level—Quidditch was going strong in Australia right now and a big match was coming up. Harry grinned. Their excitement was contagious. His smiled froze when Ginny Weasley bypassed the exiting crowd and joined him in the lift. She smiled at him happily. “Harry! Fancy meeting you here! It must be fate. Do you have plans for lunch?”
Harry suppressed a groan of frustration and forced a smile. “No, but I am about to meet—” He barely choked back Hermione’s name, remembering their last ridiculous argument. Her eyes narrowed and he finished, “…Kingsley.”
“He’s in Cornwall. I thought everyone knew that.”
Harry nodded as if remembering. “Right. I had forgotten.”
“So, then. Lunch?”
A dozen excuses flitted through Harry’s mind and were quickly discarded one at a time. She would see through any dissembling and he would pay for it later. He frantically tried to turn the tables. “What are you doing in Games and Sports? I thought you Unspeakables did not mingle with the common folk.”
She smiled enigmatically and Harry remembered yet another reason why he had broken up with her. Ginny was entirely too fond of her secretive job and took far too much pleasure in hoarding the ambiguity of her work. “I can’t tell you that, Harry. But I will tell you it has something to do with the Australian Nationals. We’re trying to make sure the Queensland team is not cheating. There have been some anomalies reported with the brooms and we’re working with the G and S folk to prevent anything spoiling the World Cup next year.”
Harry nodded and wondered dryly if the Unspeakables had to empty their memories into a Pensieve once a week to see if they had divulged any departmental secrets. Normally Ginny was silent as the dead about her work, but if it involved Quidditch she could never resist giving out a tidbit or two. Ron had always eaten it up and pestered her mercilessly for details. Harry still loved Quidditch, but the politics behind the games held little interest for him. He dealt with too much intrigue on a daily basis. He wondered idly what Malfoy’s opinion would be on the subject and nearly smiled at the thought. No doubt he and the blond would get into a rollicking argument on the subject.
“Are you listening, Harry?” Ginny asked, possibly for the second or third time. Harry dragged his thoughts away from Malfoy—again—and scowled at her.
“I’m sorry; I completely wandered off on a tangent there. Quidditch and all, you know. I think New South Wales will take Nationals if Queensland doesn’t cheat.”
Ginny immediately launched into a debate that occupied them until they reached the Lobby. Before Harry could escape to the nearest Floo, Ginny grabbed his arm. “Lunch, then?”
Unable to think of a reasonable excuse, Harry nodded and forced a smile. “Yeah, but in the cafeteria, if that’s okay. I have some reports that need filing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you were meeting Kingsley, why did you come down the lift?”
“Visitor check,” he lied blithely. “Routine. My turn on the queue. Be right back.”
He escaped her company and hurried to the reception desk.
“Auror Potter!” Myra gushed. “How nice to see you.”
“Hi, Myra. Can you let me see the guest catalogue, please? I’m trying to see if we had a particular visitor yesterday.”
“Of course,” she said with a serious mien and allowed him to view the book. He made a show of flipping through the pages, although not a single name registered. Harry drew out the process as long as possible, until the tapping of Ginny’s foot snared his peripheral vision. Reluctantly, he handed the book back to Myra. “Thank you. It all seems to be in order.”
Having no further stalling tactics at hand, Harry held out his arm and escorted Ginny back to the third floor where the Ministry cafeteria resided. He would rather have spent the hour shouting at Malfoy.
Granger appeared at what was normally, for Draco, an obscene hour. No self-respecting pureblood awakened before eleven in the morning and nine o’ clock was nearly ridiculous. Draco was ready for her, however, and had already breakfasted, bathed, and returned to the study to scan the journal pages. He raised a brow when the house-elf announced her.
“Granger. I expected you an hour ago.”
She laughed, damn her. “Of course you did. Have you had any luck?”
Considering Draco had only spent eight minutes preparing for her arrival, it was unlikely. He scowled and shook his head.
“Well, I have. I woke up early and approached it from a different angle. We had a case last year involving a similar set of writings, so I pulled out the case file…” Granger’s explanatory words washed over Draco and he listened with half an ear while his mind wandered. He could tell by her suppressed excitement that she had made some sort of breakthrough and would get to the revelation eventually. Draco’s mind was more occupied with wondering how to broach the subject of Potter. Had the Auror contacted her? How had his trip to Hogwarts gone? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, but he did not want to see her gaze turn calculating, as it seemed to do every time he mentioned Potter.
“…and therefore this character denotes Y and is used in several places instead of A or E. Tricky, wasn’t he?”
“Very,” Draco agreed, paying attention for the first time. He frowned and tracked back over her conversation before snatching up a piece of parchment and applying her concept. Granger did the same and they were silent for long minutes, both scribbling furiously. “Bloody hell, I think that’s it!”
They tested the theory on several journal pages and finally managed to get the translation into a workable order.
“All right, let’s start on these potions,” she suggested and pointed to several pages tacked to the wall. There were a ludicrous number of them and it took nearly an hour to translate the titles alone. Granger rubbed the small of her back and shot him an enigmatic look when a house-elf popped in with a tray of assorted drinks and meat pies.
Draco drained a glass of butterbeer and picked up a sausage pasty. Granger joined him after shooting a disapproving look at the house-elf. Draco was surprised she had not yet gifted him with a tirade about freeing his house-elves. He knew she was still an activist for “house-elf rights” even though it was patently ridiculous to try and give the creatures something they did not want. Dobby had been an aberration and was shunned by his own kind.
“I think we’re finally making some progress,” she said and took the tray from the elf to set it upon a nearby table after shoving aside the parchment. The house-elf gave Draco a questioning look and he nodded. The elf bowed and disappeared. Granger picked up a glass of lemonade and sipped at it. “Do you recognize any of these potions?”
Draco set his empty glass aside and perused the potion recipes. “Maybe. A couple of them look familiar. Somnifacia. That one induces a hypnotic state, correct?”
She nodded. “That sounds right.” She frowned. “Do you have a potions book handy? I’m certain I can find the recipe at home; we can compare the ingredients listed with those here and make certain he did not change quantities. Do any others seem familiar? I would like to spot check a few, if possible, before we try brewing.”
“Here is another. Plumafiore. I’m certain that one is in the Standard Book of Potions. I have it in the library.” Ignoring her doubtless censuring look, Draco summoned a house-elf and requested the manual in question, along with every other potions book in the Manor. Granger Transfigured a small end table into a large desk to hold them all. After several more hours of study, they located both potions and began the comparative analysis.
Draco was proud of himself for not mentioning Potter once.
Lunch was torment. Ginny thankfully kept the conversation to neutral ground, asking about some of Harry’s prior cases and discussing mutual friends. She did, however, continually reach across the table to touch his hand and laughed too loudly at even the vaguest amusing comments. Harry glanced around each time she did so and wondered which of the eagle-eyed patrons of the Ministry cafeteria would be the first to call the Daily Prophet. It would have been worse to eat at a local restaurant. Somehow the photographers always located him in public places.
“You are coming to dinner tonight, aren’t you, Harry?” Ginny asked and he nearly winced. With everything that had happened, he had completely forgotten the weekly Weasley dinner. After the last “family” dinner and his subsequent confrontation with Ron, Harry was in no mood to sit through another awkward meal.
“Um… no, actually. I have to question a witness about a case. Tonight is the only time he has available.” He was almost mortified at how smoothly the lie tripped from his tongue. “I was planning to owl your mother, unless you want to break the news for me? I doubt I will be missed.”
She frowned. “Of course you will be missed, Harry.” She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around his even though he had clenched it tightly around his water glass to prevent such an action. “You know I will miss you.”
Harry forced a smile and shook her hand free by making a show of gulping at his water. “Thanks, Gin. That means a lot.” And the lies just keep on coming. He pushed his chair back abruptly and stood. “And thanks for having lunch with me. I hate to cut this short, but I really need to do some research before I meet with my… client tonight.”
Her lips drew into a thin line that he knew denoted annoyance, but she forced a smile that stretched them into something resembling a smile. It occurred to him that she did not look especially attractive when she tried to fake emotion. The winter was also doing horrible things to her skin, making the freckles stand out in stark relief on her white skin. Harry cringed inwardly at his uncharitable thoughts. Just because he was not interested did not mean he had to demean her. “Of course, Harry. I know how busy you are.” He paused for a moment, wondering if he had imagined the sarcasm, but he shrugged it off.
“Well, thanks. And you’ll tell your mum for me, right?”
“I’ll let her know. And Ron, too.”
Harry nodded, but his jaw tightened. That had definitely been a dig to make him feel guilty. Harry was of half a mind to tell her that he would feel concern for Ron’s feelings as soon as Ron stopped acting like such a fuckwit. Naturally, that thought brought on genuine remorse and he walked as quickly as possible to the lift to escape it. He began to wonder why he had even come to the Ministry.
The question was still on his mind when a large someone jostled him as he entered the lift, nearly shoving him into the wall. Harry turned in annoyance and decided that some higher power had it in for him when he met the vapid gaze of Gregory Goyle.
“Oi, hey, Potter. Didn’t see you there,” Goyle said in a dull tone edged with maliciousness. He knew Goyle would have said the exact same phrase after “accidentally” jostling Harry off a thousand foot cliff.
“Sure, Goyle,” Harry replied. He sidled into a corner of the elevator near the door in order to make a quick escape when it opened again. “How goes the security business?”
“Fine,” Goyle grunted with a sidelong look at Harry. Goyle worked in Hermione’s department as sort of a glorified security guard. His job mainly consisted of standing around looking intimidating. Harry had to admit he was good at it. Goyle had always resembled an American football linebacker with his huge hamlike fists and simian brow. His biceps were larger around than Harry’s thighs. Other than growing even larger and scarier, Goyle looked much the same as he had at Hogwarts, except that he was missing two things: Crabbe and Malfoy. Each time Harry saw him he thought Goyle looked like a large shadow of himself. He wondered if Goyle and Malfoy were still friends.
“Any luck findin’ the bastards did that to Draco?” Goyle asked suddenly and Harry gaped at him. Malfoy had told Goyle? Apparently they were still friends, although it quite shocked Harry to learn that Malfoy had revealed his condition to someone as seemingly witless as Gregory Goyle. He was surprised that the news of Malfoy’s wings had not hit the papers.
“You know about his…?”
“Wings. Yeah. Pretty low to do that to a pureblood.”
Harry nodded.
“No luck with the case then? Or are ya even tryin’?” The question was delivered with a sneer.
Harry’s gaze narrowed as the lift slowed and halted. “Of course I’m trying. It’s my job and I take it very seriously.”
Goyle snorted. “Sure you do, Potter. You prob’ly love seein’ Draco like he is now. I bet you’re workin’ real hard to find a cure and bring the culprits in.”
The doors opened and Harry managed to suppress the urge to hex the huge man with something like the disgusting Bat Bogey Hex Ginny used to favour.
He settled for a snarled, “Fuck you, Goyle” as he exited the lift and walked to the nearest fireplace to Floo home. It was wrapping up to be a miserable day.
Draco flexed his wings a few times and made a small moue of approval. He had to admit the things were damned handy for working out kinks near the shoulder blades. He rotated his pinions a couple of times, but stopped when he caught Granger watching him. Draco’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
She shrugged. “You look surprisingly good with wings. They suit you.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “They would suit me better if they were gone.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She turned away to jot a few more scribbles on the parchment before her. They had effectively broken Pokeby’s code by determining the verisimilitude of the potion ingredients. After that they had deciphered a number of the potions in Pokeby’s journal. Granger had made a list of ingredients. They would try brewing the more curious-looking ones to try and replicate the one Draco had ingested. With luck—notably in short supply lately—they could attempt an antidote or counter-potion.
“What happened with Weasley?” Draco asked suddenly.
Granger stiffened as though hit with a Stunner. Draco could tell she wanted to pack up her quill and leave, but she was only halfway through her current list. Her lips thinned. “I would prefer not to talk about him.”
“It was the accident, was it not? I read about it.”
A muscle twitched in her jaw and he wondered if she actually ground her teeth. Her reply was clipped. “Yes. It was the accident.”
“Did he turn on Potter?” Draco asked quietly.
Granger’s brown eyes met his and for a moment he was sorry for asking. The anger was apparent, but sorrow nearly overwhelmed it. “Yes,” she said curtly.
“And you?” Draco’s voice was a whisper. He expected her to refrain from comment at best and at worst to take her things and depart.
Granger looked away and dipped her quill in the ink several times, watching the black liquid drip back into the bottle. It reminded Draco of blood.
“Yes. It was understandable, at first. He was wounded and upset. The Healers could do nothing for him. It was normal to lash out.” Her voice was quiet but fervent. “Harry was always there, always supportive. We both did everything we could. But Ron…” Her voice broke and the quill hovered over the inkwell, dripping. Draco said nothing. “Ron became angrier. He never actually blamed Harry, but it was apparent with every word and every action. Mostly I think he resented Harry for having a normal life and…”
“And for always coming out on top,” Draco added in a soft tone.
She looked at him with a bitter sort of smile. “Yes. Ron always had difficulty understanding that nothing came easy for Harry. Ron was a bit thick when it came to seeing beyond the obvious. He never knew how much Harry envied him.”
Draco blinked at her. “Potter envied Weasley?”
She glared at him and jabbed the quill viciously back into the ink before tapping it on the glass rim. “I was right. You don’t know Harry at all.”
“What do you mean Potter envied Weasley?”
“Ron had everything Harry did not. Ron had an enormous, loving family and Harry had no one. I suppose Ron was jealous of Harry’s fame and his perceived wealth, but those things meant nothing to Harry.” She shrugged and began to write once more. “Maybe it’s true that we always want what we cannot have. For some of us the lack festers. Ron’s resentment became too much for him… and too much for me.”
Draco wished he had not pursued the question at all. He had not expected to open raw wounds. Well, perhaps he had, but he had not anticipated the pity he would feel, not only for Granger, but for Potter, as well. In a sense, Draco could sympathize with Weasley; he had also spent his Hogwart’s years envying Potter. But to turn on him like a rabid dog? Would Draco do such a thing? He realized it was a moot point, since he had never had a friendship as close as Potter’s and Weasley’s had been. He frowned.
“Now you know,” Granger said tightly when the scratching of her quill became the only sound in the room.
“I’m sorry,” Draco said, even though he was not completely sure what he apologized for—bringing up the subject, or the fact that Weasley was an arse? Possibly both.
Her head snapped around and she stared at him. “Sorry? First Harry and now you? This is a banner week for contrition.”
Draco grinned. “I have an excuse. I am not in my right mind, remember?”
She laughed. “Your mind seems to be the thing least affected by your transformation.”
Draco feigned a gasp. “Was that a compliment? From you?”
“Apparently it is a wondrous day. Harry likes you,” she said. He looked at her without comment and she laughed again at his lack of expression. “I’m serious.”
“He told you this?”
“Not in so many words, of course. But I can tell.”
Draco wondered when she had lost her wits. Perhaps it had something to do with Weasley’s defection. It had unhinged her.
A house-elf popped into the room. “Master Draco is receiving a Fire-call from Harry Potter, sir.”
Draco’s smile fled. “Is he looking for me, or Granger?”
“Harry Potter is asking for Master Draco, sir.”
He could not suppress the smirk of triumph that he threw in Granger’s direction and she actually giggled. She said, “What did I tell you? Maybe Harry wants to extend his apology in person.”
“More likely he wants to take it back.”
“Just go get him.”
Draco went.
Harry tried Hermione at home and decided she was still with Malfoy when there was no answer. The realization twisted his insides unpleasantly until he shook off the nonsensical idea. Still, Hermione had been there nearly all of yesterday and now today… Research, Harry reminded himself. She is helping Malfoy with research.
Even if she wasn’t with Malfoy for research alone, it was no business of Harry’s. Malfoy was straight, after all, and Hermione was attractive and single. He snorted softly at his ridiculous thoughts. Malfoy was a pureblood; he considered Hermione to be tainted and unworthy. Even now? Now that he admits to himself that he is no longer even human?
Harry glared at nothing and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. The house-elf answering the Fire-call took his (or her) sweet time locating Malfoy. His knees began to ache. Harry nearly gave up before Malfoy’s handsome face appeared in the flames.
“Potter,” he said noncommittally.
“Malfoy. Is Hermione with you?”
“She is back in our makeshift laboratory. If it was Granger you wanted, why did you not ask for her?”
“No, I…” Harry swallowed and barely choked back the truth. It would be the height of idiocy to admit he wanted to see the blond. “I wanted to know how you two were doing with the journal.”
“Then come through, Potter. Timidity does not become you.”
Harry scowled. “It’s not timidity, Malfoy, I just wasn’t sure I was still welcome.”
Malfoy threw back his head and laughed, looking almost demonic in the flames. Demonically beautiful. “Potter, you do amuse me, at times. Come through.”
Harry stood and threw a handful of powder into the flames. “Malfoy Manor!” he called loudly after snatching up the books Madam Pince had given him. He stepped out without staggering, for once, and stood before the winged Malfoy with a sardonic grin. Malfoy turned and gestured imperiously.
“Come along, Potter. Granger has been very productive, as I’m sure you expected.”
Harry nodded and then followed him through the halls until they reached a small room. Hermione got to her feet and ran to give Harry an exuberant hug, nearly causing him to drop the books.
“I just saw you yesterday,” Harry said dryly into her hair, surprised at the greeting.
“Shush, you. I can miss you if I please.” She stepped back, however, and then bustled around the room, picking up parchment here and there while explaining their findings. Harry had to laugh as he set his burden on a nearby desk. He was almost fascinated by her dissertation, but found himself quickly distracted by Malfoy’s occasional interjections. Soon he gave up all pretence of interest and merely watched the blond, who had launched into complex potions theory. The bottom line seemed to be that they were going to try to recreate the potion that had—possibly—been used on him. Harry’s brow wrinkled, but he decided it would be a bad idea to mention the possible futility of the effort. Even Hermione had admitted that the changes to Malfoy were likely irreversible.
Their presentation finally ended and Hermione asked, “How did your trip to Hogwarts go?”
Harry shrugged. “Interesting, to say the least. Hagrid says hi; and so does McGonagall. I had an enlightening conversation with Madam Pince.” He explained Gunther Pokeby’s relationship with the Hogwart’s librarian and Malfoy nearly guffawed with poorly suppressed amusement.
“I suppose that explains Pince’s sterling personality,” he said. “Unrequited love. Who knew?”
“That’s so sad,” Hermione said. “I wonder if Gunther ever knew how she felt?”
Harry shrugged. “Probably. I think his obsession just meant more to him, in the long run. She gave me several books on the Anakim.” He gestured at the books on the desk. “I glanced through them, but, as she said, they are mainly legends. I’m not sure how useful they will be.”
Hermione went through the stack curiously and Malfoy hovered over her shoulder to read the titles. They bickered over the tomes in a friendly fashion, causing Harry’s jealousy to rear its ugly head once more, but he wrestled it down and turned away to stare blindly at the journal pages tacked to the wall. In the end, Hermione and Malfoy divided the books somewhat amicably.
Hermione collected her assorted parchment with a smile, after shrinking the Anakim tomes and packing them into her bag. “Draco, I will try to locate the ingredients we agreed upon. I won’t see you tomorrow unless I happen to collect them all, which is a very remote possibility. Harry, I’m taking a couple of days off from work in order to concentrate on this. The longer we wait, the more elusive the culprits will become.”
Harry grinned at her and then felt his face freeze when Hermione paused before leaving the room. She leaned close to Malfoy and whispered in his ear. Malfoy’s features revealed nothing as Hermione’s fingers clamped lightly over his sleeved arm and squeezed. She glanced over her shoulder. “’Night, Harry.”
“Bye, Hermione,” he said in a somewhat normal tone of voice. I must not hex my friend, he chanted to himself. He tried to smile when Malfoy turned toward him, but he was sure it looked more like the painted-on grin of a clown.
“Are you staying, Potter?” Malfoy asked mildly.
“I— No. I just… I doubt I can be more helpful than Hermione and you’re probably tired…”
“I am not tired in the least. Were you not planning to teach me that spell with the owl feather?”
He blinked at Malfoy in surprise. “Do you really want to learn such a silly spell? It’s not exactly useful.”
“All spells are useful, Potter, depending on the situation.”
Harry nodded, inordinately pleased to spend more time with the blond, although he was not certain why Malfoy wanted him to stay. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right, Potter, I’m always right.”
Harry rolled his eyes in an over-exaggerated fashion, earning a smack on the arm from the tip of one wing. The movement surprised a laugh from him as he rubbed his bicep. “Do you have an owl feather handy?”
“Does it have to be from an owl, or will any feather work?”
Harry shrugged. “Any feather, I suppose. Even a quill.”
Malfoy reached up and yanked a snowy feather from one wing, startling Harry with the motion. Malfoy handed it to him wordlessly and their fingers touched briefly when he took it. Harry felt a touch of awe as he stroked the soft plume. It was a tiny thing, not quite as long as his index finger, and just as soft as he remembered. He forced himself not to caress it beyond that one initial stroke.
“Great. Um, well, then…” He moved closer to Malfoy and pulled out his wand. “The incantation is Celo Nuntius. It would be nice if more than one or two words would fit on each feather, but Hermione could never make it work.”
He demonstrated the wand movement several times and watched while Malfoy practiced it. He had nearly forgotten what a quick study the Slytherin was. The blond picked up the required motions and inflections rapidly. After a few tries, Malfoy inscribed a message on the white feather. Harry turned it over and examined it closely. Nothing was visible.
“Excellent. The revealing spell is Aperio Nuntius.”
Harry cast the spell on the feather and four dark letters appeared. PRAT. He glared at Malfoy with effort, choking back a laugh. “Very funny.” He cast a spell of his own and trained Malfoy to use the revealing spell. Malfoy uncovered the word TWIT and their messages degenerated rapidly after that.
Draco snatched the feather from Potter’s fingers with a mock glare. The Auror was laughing so hard Draco thought he might topple over.
“Plonk?” Draco asked. “What the hell is a plonk?”
Potter gasped for breath. “Plonker, obviously! It wouldn’t fit.”
“You couldn’t think of anything shorter?”
“We already used arse, twat, wanker, wally, pleb, berk, moron, and goit. Thank you for that one, by the way. Tosser wouldn’t fit, nor would pillock. I’m afraid I’m scraping the bottom of my insult barrel, although I’m certain your superior intellect can go all night.”
“Thank you for recognizing that, Potter,” Draco said with a smirk. “You acknowledge my victory, then?”
Potter snorted. “I didn’t know we were competing, but yes, if it’s that vital to your existence, I admit that you win.”
Draco stroked the feather lightly. The thing was surprisingly resilient, having survived their spells and annoyed snatching with barely a ruffle on the edges. The bloody feather had hurt like a bitch coming out, though, and he vowed never to do that again. The effects of his foolish impulse still throbbed hotly from the spot the feather had formerly occupied, sending an ache all the way down his wing and into his shoulder. Damn his wings for being so sensitive. It felt like he had gouged the pinion out with a white-hot knife.
He glanced at Potter, whose eyes were fixed on the feather in his hand. He tossed it haphazardly toward the Auror. “You can keep it,” Draco said casually. “I can’t exactly reattach it, and you should have a reminder of my superior intellect.”
Potter grabbed the fluttering bit of fluff out of the air and grinned at him before wrapping his fingers around the feather protectively and clutching it to his heart. “I will treasure it always,” he said reverently and then batted his lashes at Draco in a girlish fashion.
Draco whacked him with the edge of his wing, catching the Auror on one hip as he tried to dance out of range. Potter laughed. “Not fair!”
“All’s fair in—” Draco began and then looked away as he felt a flush tint his cheeks. “Never mind. Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Potter slipped the feather into his robes and shook his head. “I promised Kreacher I would be home for dinner. For a house-elf, he can be very demanding. If I don’t pay attention to him once in a while he sort of ‘forgets’ to clean my room. I admit I’ve grown a bit lazy having him around.”
Draco made a clucking sound. “Don’t let Granger hear you say that.”
“I know! At least she finally stopped insisting I free Kreacher. I tried it once when she was with me and he pitched such a fit I thought the house might implode. She hasn’t brought it up since. Um… you can come to dinner at my place, if you’d like.”
Draco looked at him in surprise and instantly began to filter through possible ulterior motives to the Auror’s invitation. He frowned.
“You don’t have to, of course!” Potter said quickly. “I just thought… you know… I keep eating here, so I should probably return the favour sometime and...”
Draco nodded, alternately relieved and annoyed. Repayment. A Gryffindor trait. “I have been neglecting Mother recently, so I assured her I would dine with her this evening. It’s probably better you don’t join us or she would question you mercilessly about the case.”
Potter looked guilty for a moment and Draco felt a flare of regret. He had not meant to make Potter feel inadequate for not producing faster results. Draco wanted to find the culprits, of course, but the urgency had waned somewhat with his growing enjoyment of Potter’s company. To be perfectly honest with himself, he was coming to like the git and would be less than happy to see the last of him.
“I should probably meet with her soon, anyway,” Potter said. “She deserves an update, even though I have not found much of use. I don’t know if the Pokeby angle will even produce results. Anyone could have followed his work. In fact, I should probably go back to Hogwarts and see if I can dig up some information regarding his close friends, or anyone that might have been privy to his research.”
Draco sighed at Potter’s return to Auror-mode. He nodded, picking up Potter’s cue and shrugging off nonsensical thoughts of friendship. Were his wings turning him into a Hufflepuff? “All right, then. Will you Apparate, or do you prefer to use the Floo?”
Potter seemed to stiffen slightly. “I think I’ll use the Floo, if you don’t mind. I’m rather tired.”
“Very well. Shall I see you out, or can you remember the way?”
“I can manage.”
“Good night, Potter.”
“Good night, Malfoy.”
Draco watched as Potter strode to the door and left without looking back. For some reason, he felt something had gone fundamentally awry.