CHAIN OF EARTH CHAPTER NINE
Mar. 27th, 2010 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesAnd another shortish chapter. Sorry, there is just no rhyme or reason to them, really. :D Much gratitude to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
faithwood and alaana_fair for the fab betas! *glomps*
Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Nine
I might have been born in a hovel,
but I determined to travel
with the wind and the stars.
-Jackie Cochran
Harry walked down the long, thickly-carpeted hallway, dimly aware that he was being shadowed by a house-elf, but too preoccupied to toy with it by touching the various vases and statuettes he passed as he walked. Teaching Malfoy the feather-writing spell had been almost… fun. What had changed?
For a moment he considered Flooing Kreacher and cancelling dinner, but he knew the house-elf would act put-out for days if Harry begged off so close to mealtime. And the thought of eating with Narcissa Malfoy was rather an appetite killer. She would doubtless demand to know every facet of Harry’s investigation and he had precious little to divulge.
Harry paused at the top of the stairs and glanced back down the hallway, as though expecting to see Malfoy lurking in the shadows behind him. He grimaced at his wishful thinking. The hallway was empty. Even the house-elf was invisible, having quickly hidden himself or Apparated away before Harry turned.
He sighed and headed down the long stairs, walking slowly when he noticed a large gallery of photos lining one wall of the stairwell. Most of them were pictures of Draco as a boy. Harry grinned as he perused them, knowing Malfoy would be mortified at the thought of Harry admiring his childhood memories. There was Malfoy hovering on a broom in the courtyard, waving happily; and as a baby, cooing with delight as he shook a large rattle that looked suspiciously serpentine. And Malfoy standing near the Hogwarts Express, obviously on his first day of school. Harry stared at that one for a long time as his thoughts travelled back to that long-ago day. How different would things have been if he had met Draco before Ron?
He frowned, remembering young Draco sticking out a hand in friendship while Ron stood staunchly by him, egging on his rejection of the blond. Now the tables had turned and it was Harry asking for friendship while Ron… well, Ron had pretty much left Harry adrift. He bit his lip for a moment, wondering if he was simply seeking a replacement for Ron; someone to salve the hole left by the loss of his best friend.
His thoughts returned to Draco and a surge of want nearly left him gasping. Bloody hell, apparently he wasn’t trying to replace Ron. He definitely wanted the blond in an entirely different way—friendship had little to do with it.
Harry reached into his robes and pulled out the tiny feather as he continued down the stairs. He stroked it softly, marvelling at the feel of it. At the bottom of the stairs a photo caught his eye and he paused to stare at it appreciatively.
It had to have been fairly recent, as Malfoy looked just as he did now—only without the wings, of course. He stood before a fireplace Harry had not seen before, intricately carved of dark marble. Malfoy’s pale hair stood out in bright contrast against the dark background, as well as his hand where it rested on the black mantle.
As he watched, Malfoy turned his head to look at the camera and a smile curved his beautiful lips. It was an expression Harry had never seen before, one of completely relaxed joy. Harry wondered what had made Malfoy so happy—he thought the blond might laugh before the movement stopped and then restarted with him looking into the distance.
Harry watched it several times with his heart leaping each time the silver eyes lit up. Fuck, he had it bad. He reached up and traced the edge of the photo, wishing he could step into the scene and wishing even more that he might cause such an expression to light the face of Draco Malfoy.
His fingers strayed from the frame into the photo to trace the edge of Malfoy’s face, glad that photos were more stagnant than paintings—he did not have to worry that Malfoy’s expression would turn glacial or that he would storm away to inhabit another portrait.
“Auror Potter?” he heard and snatched his hand away guiltily. He felt like a child with his hand in the sweets jar when his eyes met those of Narcissa Malfoy. He struggled not to stammer and managed it—barely.
“Mrs. Malfoy.”
“Auror Potter, is there some reason you are fondling my son’s photograph?”
Harry strove to fight off a blush while trying vainly to think of a response to her question. Luckily, he was spared when she turned with a rustle of thick robes.
“Walk with me,” she ordered.
Harry would rather have walked a tour of Azkaban, but he obediently followed. His mind whirled. Had he really been fondling Malfoy’s photo?
She led him what seemed a ridiculous distance until Harry determined she was probably taking him as far from Draco as possible. When she finally entered a dimly lit room, he actually wished the manor was a bit larger if only to put off the inevitable conversation for just a few minutes longer. She lit a fire with a murmured spell and flames flickered to life. The fireplace was larger than the one in the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts, and yet Harry wondered how long it would take the gigantic fire to warm the massive space, which had a distinct chill. The light from the flames did not begin to reach the edges of the room; it retained an air of dark foreboding.
“Please sit down, Auror Potter,” she said pleasantly and seated herself with the same grace he admired often in her son.
Harry sat. The sofa was dark, possibly even black, and he hoped he wouldn’t sit on anything hidden in the dim lighting.
“So. Tell me about your investigation,” she continued.
With relief, Harry launched into a babbling tale of some of the things he had done while searching for Draco’s assailants. He recounted the innocence, the alibis, and the general dead-ends of the primary list of suspects. On the verge of spilling the details of their discovery of Pokeby’s potions, Harry wisely reined in his tongue. He remembered Draco speaking of Narcissa’s obsession with locating the potion to find a counter-agent. If she knew what Draco and Hermione were working on, she would poke her nose in and drive them utterly raving mad. If Draco wanted her to know, he would surely have told her by now, would he not?
“It sounds like you’ve found nothing.”
Harry flushed. They had found something, but even Harry considered it little more than a waste of time. “It has been difficult. I’m not giving up,” he assured her.
“No, I imagine not,” she said mildly. There was a long pause and Harry tried to think of something to fill the silence, but he had used up his list of facts during the previous round of babbling. “Tell me, Auror Potter. How do you feel about my son?”
Harry flushed and looked away. He raised a hand as if to tug at his hair, but caught himself and lowered it guiltily. He splayed his fingers over his thighs, determined to keep them there, and felt uncomfortable dampness from his palms. “I… Well, I like him well enough,” Harry said lamely.
“Really? It seems you like him a bit more than that, judging by your expression when you gazed at his portrait. Do you fancy yourself in love with him?” The question was sharp and completely unexpected. Harry had always thought Slytherins were incapable of bluntness.
“Of course not!” he replied.
“What is it, then? Do you have a penchant for creatures? A weakness for oddities? I have heard of men with proclivity toward the bizarre, of attraction for mermaids and centaurs and their ilk.” Harry gaped at her, astounded by her words and the rising tone of her normally quiet voice. “Draco told me you rebuffed his attempts at friendship in school. Have your feelings changed now that he is little more than a freak?”
Harry shot to his feet as anger suffused his features. “Don’t call him that!” he snapped.
Narcissa rose and stood before him with a glower. She was intimidating despite the fact that he was taller. He knew her wand was quick to hand somewhere beneath her sleeve. Her voice was venomous. “He is a freak, Mr. Potter. He is little more than an animal and I will not stand for it!”
“I am doing all that I can!” Harry retorted.
“See that you are. Despite your attraction to my son in his current state, Mr. Potter, you had better make every possible effort to see him returned to normal and his assailants brought to justice.”
Harry made an effort to relax his clenched fists. “I will do my job, Mrs. Malfoy.”
She straightened and a cool mask seemed to settle over her angry features, smoothing them back into a calm façade. “I hope so, Mr. Potter. For your sake.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, absently noting that she seemed to have permanently dropped his title.
She shrugged and walked toward the fireplace. “I merely remind you that Lucius will be out of Azkaban before long. I have managed, so far, to keep the news of Draco’s condition from him. It will not remain secret for long. Even I know that I cannot keep Draco trapped in the Manor, caged like some sort of animal.”
Harry bit back an angry retort, nearly pointing out that she had referred to Draco as an animal mere moments ago.
“I will not be responsible for Lucius’s actions, should the news reach him in Azkaban.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What can he possibly do from Azkaban?” he asked dryly.
Narcissa Malfoy turned and fixed Harry with a steady stare. She looked like an elemental of flame standing before the flickering light of the fire, beautiful and deadly. A smile curved her lips and Harry felt a chill travel up his spine. Could Lucius wield power from his prison cell? Harry’s eyes narrowed. The Malfoy fortune certainly had not suffered during the elder Malfoy’s confinement. Harry vowed to do some investigation in to the inner workings of Azkaban.
“Good night, Mrs. Malfoy,” he said firmly.
“Good night, Mr. Potter,” she said sweetly. “I trust you can see yourself out?”
Harry nodded curtly, spun on a heel, and left Malfoy Manor as quickly as possible.
It had not been one of his better days.
~~ O ~~
Draco had little to occupy his time with both Potter and Granger in absentia. He spent half the day converting an old workroom into a makeshift potions laboratory with the help of several house-elves, of course, although he generally found it easier to pick up large pieces of furniture and move them, rather than direct the house-elves and hope they placed them in the correct places.
When the room was ready, he sent another elf to the Apothecary for ingredients, vials, jars, and other paraphernalia. Some of the items would be impossible to procure through the normal channels, hence Granger’s attempt to locate them at the Ministry or other places. She had regaled Draco with a tale of brewing Polyjuice Potion in their second year at Hogwarts—second year! He had been reluctantly impressed, although not amused to be the catalyst for their nefarious potion-making skills. However, if she had located ingredients for Polyjuice Potion as a second year student, Draco had little doubt she would find what they needed now that she was fully grown and even more devious.
A few of Pokeby’s potions were relatively simple, so Draco used his excessive free time to prepare them. In truth, he had missed creating potions. The uncomplicated process of chopping ingredients, measuring them carefully, dividing them, and lining them up according to order of use… all of it was somehow satisfying and relaxing. He felt a sudden burst of kinship with Severus Snape. The man always seemed to be angry and tense, except when he was concocting potions. At those rare times, the bitter rage seemed to melt away and leave a curious, magical energy behind. Draco thought Snape had only been happy while brewing.
When one vial sat in the wooden holder and two cauldrons awaited later additions, Draco straightened and rubbed his lower back with both hands. He made a mental note to acquire more comfortable seating. Obviously his choice of hard wooden stools had been a subconscious recollection of the less-than-ergonomic standards at Hogwarts. After cleaning his hands with a quick Charm, he locked his new laboratory and climbed the stairs back to his room.
A house-elf informed him that Narcissa had gone out, much to his relief. Dinner the previous night had been surprisingly uncomfortable, made worse by his mother’s insistence on grilling him about Potter. She asked several times if Draco thought Potter was doing his job and even suggested they find someone else more suitable to handle Draco’s case. He had stared at her in amazement.
“Who can possibly be more suitable than the Chosen One, Mother? It is his life’s mission to right wrongs.”
“What if he does not see your condition as a wrong?” she had asked cryptically.
Draco frowned, thinking about it. Was it possible Potter didn’t care? It was more than likely he thought Draco deserved what had happened to him, but would his self-righteousness prevent him from doing his job?
Bizarrely, the memory of holding Potter tightly returned, bringing a flush when he recalled the Auror sleeping in his lap. Potter’s hair had been very soft where it had brushed against Draco’s throat. Taking care of Potter had felt surprisingly good. He smiled softly when he thought of the Auror brushing his knuckles over his feathers. The prat seemed nearly obsessed with touching his wings. Perhaps his mother had a point—Potter seemed to like him better as a creature.
Draco shook off the annoying musings. He trusted the Auror to do his job, regardless, especially with Granger’s help. She had thrown herself into the project with all the enthusiasm of a research-obsessed Ravenclaw. Draco had little doubt that she would have been sorted into that House if not for her penchant for throwing herself into danger like every Gryffindor in the world. Like Potter.
I will stop thinking about Potter, he admonished himself sharply.
A glance out the window showed that it was snowing again. The sight did not depress him, for once. It meant that he could fly without being seen. Hopefully the cold air would help clear his thoughts and rid his mind of the person he was not going to think about any longer.
~~ O ~~
Harry looked at the thick file and sighed. It had been sitting on his desk when he arrived, never a good sign, because it meant Kingsley had arrived early. It also meant an interoffice memo would be arriving right about… now. A red flutter sailed through Harry’s door, the colour announcing the urgency of the message.
In my office. Bring the file.
Harry looked longingly at the cup of tea he would have no chance to finish. Kingley was nothing if not blunt. And impatient. He was very impatient. Harry took a quick gulp of tea, grabbed the file, and headed for the Minister’s office.
Once there, Kingsley sent him on a mission to Oxford where several robbers had been breaking into Muggle stores. It had taken some time for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to catch on to the fact that the robbers were wizards, but it became obvious after one botched Memory Charm resulted in a Muggle claiming that robed aliens had broken into his shop and zapped him with “raybeam sticks”.
Unfortunately, the robbers had been quick and unpredictable. Aurors had been searching for them for weeks and coming up nearly empty-handed.
“The Obliviators are already there trying to clean up the mess, but this one is at Godric-forsaken Covent Garden Market. We’ve been going mental trying to contain the blasted Muggles; the more people I send in the more suspicious they become. I need someone Muggle-savvy and everyone else capable is already on assignment.”
Harry refrained from complaining. It was just the sort of mission he hated. The Muggles would be nervous, the wizards would be doing their best to blend in and thereby standing out like beacons, and any possible clues would be lost in the confusion.
To top it off, Harry had spent half the night trying to decide what to do about Narcissa Malfoy’s conversation. He was running on a pathetic amount of sleep and wanted nothing more than to look into nefarious practices at Azkaban. He also wanted to see Malfoy. He wasn’t quite sure whether or not he should mention the confrontation with his mother. Well, certain parts of it would never be revealed, of course, but it was possible Malfoy was aware that his father’s arm might reach all the way from prison…
“Are you listening, Potter?”
Harry shook off his reverie and got to his feet. “I’m on my way.”
“Buck up, Potter, at least it gets you off the Malfoy case for a bit.”
Harry bit back a retort. If he mentioned that he wanted to be on the Malfoy case it would only raise questions that he was not ready to answer. He left the Minister’s office without another word.
When Harry returned, it was nearly nine p.m. and he was completely exhausted, hungry, bruised, and irritated. It had been far worse than expected. Wizards had been everywhere, some of them sent by the Ministry, others brought by the unscrupulous reporters that had recently plagued the Ministry and the Auror Division, in particular. They had had a bloody field day when Harry arrived, swarming over him and making his job that much more difficult.
The flustered Obliviators had not been much better, staring at his scar and babbling nearly incoherently. Harry wondered why the fuck Kingsley had not sent more senior members and then remembered several of them had taken early leave in order to return in time for the holidays—a notoriously busy time for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Of course, that meant Harry was stuck with the underlings and those he seldom worked with. Between the reporters, the goggling wizards, and the confused Muggles, Harry had been tempted to Stun the lot of them and drag them back to headquarters for sorting.
Naturally, he had done no such thing and instead spent eight hours acting in the most diplomatic manner possible. All of which left him a terrible headache. He had spent the last hour watching Muggle security tapes in order to hopefully catch a glimpse of the robbers, something that would never have occurred to any of the other wizards. Even though some of them were Muggleborn, those in the Ministry always seemed to have left their Muggle roots behind the instant they hit the school doors as eleven-year-olds.
That endeavour had paid off, at least. Harry had gotten a good look at two of the culprits. They were teens, which was not surprising—most adult wizards stayed firmly away from Muggle habitations and would not consider entering a Muggle mall, even to rob it. One of the boys looked enticingly familiar. Harry had printed several pictures of the culprits with intent to circulate them throughout the Ministry. Despite the oddity of non-moving photography, hopefully someone would recognize the boys. Apparently they were stealing Muggle money. The other wizards had scoffed at the idea, but Harry believed the lads were using the money to purchase goods for resale to the wizarding populace. Several Muggle items were valuable in the wizarding world, including mundane things such as paper. Although wizards extolled the virtues of parchment, nothing beat a smooth piece of Muggle-made paper, especially considering the variety of of Muggle colours and designs.
Harry dropped off the photo with a secretary and then checked in with Kingsley, who was still in his office, much to Harry’s annoyance. Harry threw himself into a chair and gave a verbal report, even though he would still be up half the night preparing a written one. He wished he had half of Hermione’s interest in writing reports. It just seemed like a tedious waste of time. Unfortunately, Kingsley didn’t see it that way.
“I’m sure you’ll have those reports on my desk by noon tomorrow. By the way, I received a request to remove you from a certain case while you were gone.”
Harry rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What case?” he asked. “I’m only on one…” He raised his head and stared at Kingsley with blurred vision. He quickly put his glasses back on and glared at the Minister, who nodded.
“Narcissa Malfoy is concerned with the lack of productivity on her son’s case.”
“It’s been a week!” Harry protested.
“I explained that to her and informed her that these things take time. She agreed not to pull you from the case, but she also requires something concrete or she plans to file a formal complaint with the Wizengamot.”
Harry paled. He had little doubt that she would do it. He wondered how merciless she would be regarding Harry’s “fondling” of her son’s photograph. Even a brief mention of it would cause a veritable avalanche of speculation from the press. Would she be willing to put Draco through that? The thought relaxed him slightly. He doubted she would do anything that would sully Draco’s name.
“We’re not entirely without leads,” Harry said reluctantly. “I just haven’t made them known to Mrs Malfoy. Draco is fully aware of everything we have discovered. I think the final decision on whether or not I remain on this case should be his.”
“We?” Kingsley asked sharply. “Please tell me you have not dragged anyone else into this nightmare? I stressed our utmost confidentiality to Narcissa Malfoy.”
“Of course not!” Harry said quickly and damned his inability to lie as his cheeks heated slightly. “I meant Draco and I. He and me. We.” Harry rubbed a hand through his hair and Kingsley looked at him owlishly.
“This had better not turn into a shitstorm, Harry. And you had better give me something concrete in the next two days or I’m pulling you from this case, myself.”
Thus dismissed, Harry returned to his office, feeling beaten. He glanced at the clock and realized it was probably too late to call on Malfoy, even if he could have concocted a valid reason. In truth, he should probably stay away from the winged blond altogether, before his strange attraction got him into even deeper trouble.
When he finally arrived home much later that night, an owl message awaited him. After coaxing it from Hermione’s evil owl—and earning a painful nip in the process—he opened it and smoothed it out for reading.
H, I found several of the ingredients we were searching for. I’ll be with our mutual friend tomorrow while we try and recreate some of the you-know-what. Owl if you need me. H
Harry crumpled the message in his hand and shooed Curie out the window without an owl treat. He remembered the jolly way Hermione and Draco had worked together the last time he saw them. He did not want them spending another moment alone together.
As he dressed for bed, Harry convinced himself he was being stupid. Hermione would never fall for Draco and even if she did, what business was it of Harry’s? It wasn’t like Malfoy would ever be interested in him. Hell, Hermione had a much better chance. Harry needed to be a good friend, step back, and forget his irrational jealousy.
With that cheerful thought, Harry crawled between the sheets and thankfully fell into an exhausted sleep.
~~ CHAPTER TEN ~~
faithwood and alaana_fair for the fab betas! *glomps*Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Nine
I might have been born in a hovel,
but I determined to travel
with the wind and the stars.
-Jackie Cochran
Harry walked down the long, thickly-carpeted hallway, dimly aware that he was being shadowed by a house-elf, but too preoccupied to toy with it by touching the various vases and statuettes he passed as he walked. Teaching Malfoy the feather-writing spell had been almost… fun. What had changed?
For a moment he considered Flooing Kreacher and cancelling dinner, but he knew the house-elf would act put-out for days if Harry begged off so close to mealtime. And the thought of eating with Narcissa Malfoy was rather an appetite killer. She would doubtless demand to know every facet of Harry’s investigation and he had precious little to divulge.
Harry paused at the top of the stairs and glanced back down the hallway, as though expecting to see Malfoy lurking in the shadows behind him. He grimaced at his wishful thinking. The hallway was empty. Even the house-elf was invisible, having quickly hidden himself or Apparated away before Harry turned.
He sighed and headed down the long stairs, walking slowly when he noticed a large gallery of photos lining one wall of the stairwell. Most of them were pictures of Draco as a boy. Harry grinned as he perused them, knowing Malfoy would be mortified at the thought of Harry admiring his childhood memories. There was Malfoy hovering on a broom in the courtyard, waving happily; and as a baby, cooing with delight as he shook a large rattle that looked suspiciously serpentine. And Malfoy standing near the Hogwarts Express, obviously on his first day of school. Harry stared at that one for a long time as his thoughts travelled back to that long-ago day. How different would things have been if he had met Draco before Ron?
He frowned, remembering young Draco sticking out a hand in friendship while Ron stood staunchly by him, egging on his rejection of the blond. Now the tables had turned and it was Harry asking for friendship while Ron… well, Ron had pretty much left Harry adrift. He bit his lip for a moment, wondering if he was simply seeking a replacement for Ron; someone to salve the hole left by the loss of his best friend.
His thoughts returned to Draco and a surge of want nearly left him gasping. Bloody hell, apparently he wasn’t trying to replace Ron. He definitely wanted the blond in an entirely different way—friendship had little to do with it.
Harry reached into his robes and pulled out the tiny feather as he continued down the stairs. He stroked it softly, marvelling at the feel of it. At the bottom of the stairs a photo caught his eye and he paused to stare at it appreciatively.
It had to have been fairly recent, as Malfoy looked just as he did now—only without the wings, of course. He stood before a fireplace Harry had not seen before, intricately carved of dark marble. Malfoy’s pale hair stood out in bright contrast against the dark background, as well as his hand where it rested on the black mantle.
As he watched, Malfoy turned his head to look at the camera and a smile curved his beautiful lips. It was an expression Harry had never seen before, one of completely relaxed joy. Harry wondered what had made Malfoy so happy—he thought the blond might laugh before the movement stopped and then restarted with him looking into the distance.
Harry watched it several times with his heart leaping each time the silver eyes lit up. Fuck, he had it bad. He reached up and traced the edge of the photo, wishing he could step into the scene and wishing even more that he might cause such an expression to light the face of Draco Malfoy.
His fingers strayed from the frame into the photo to trace the edge of Malfoy’s face, glad that photos were more stagnant than paintings—he did not have to worry that Malfoy’s expression would turn glacial or that he would storm away to inhabit another portrait.
“Auror Potter?” he heard and snatched his hand away guiltily. He felt like a child with his hand in the sweets jar when his eyes met those of Narcissa Malfoy. He struggled not to stammer and managed it—barely.
“Mrs. Malfoy.”
“Auror Potter, is there some reason you are fondling my son’s photograph?”
Harry strove to fight off a blush while trying vainly to think of a response to her question. Luckily, he was spared when she turned with a rustle of thick robes.
“Walk with me,” she ordered.
Harry would rather have walked a tour of Azkaban, but he obediently followed. His mind whirled. Had he really been fondling Malfoy’s photo?
She led him what seemed a ridiculous distance until Harry determined she was probably taking him as far from Draco as possible. When she finally entered a dimly lit room, he actually wished the manor was a bit larger if only to put off the inevitable conversation for just a few minutes longer. She lit a fire with a murmured spell and flames flickered to life. The fireplace was larger than the one in the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts, and yet Harry wondered how long it would take the gigantic fire to warm the massive space, which had a distinct chill. The light from the flames did not begin to reach the edges of the room; it retained an air of dark foreboding.
“Please sit down, Auror Potter,” she said pleasantly and seated herself with the same grace he admired often in her son.
Harry sat. The sofa was dark, possibly even black, and he hoped he wouldn’t sit on anything hidden in the dim lighting.
“So. Tell me about your investigation,” she continued.
With relief, Harry launched into a babbling tale of some of the things he had done while searching for Draco’s assailants. He recounted the innocence, the alibis, and the general dead-ends of the primary list of suspects. On the verge of spilling the details of their discovery of Pokeby’s potions, Harry wisely reined in his tongue. He remembered Draco speaking of Narcissa’s obsession with locating the potion to find a counter-agent. If she knew what Draco and Hermione were working on, she would poke her nose in and drive them utterly raving mad. If Draco wanted her to know, he would surely have told her by now, would he not?
“It sounds like you’ve found nothing.”
Harry flushed. They had found something, but even Harry considered it little more than a waste of time. “It has been difficult. I’m not giving up,” he assured her.
“No, I imagine not,” she said mildly. There was a long pause and Harry tried to think of something to fill the silence, but he had used up his list of facts during the previous round of babbling. “Tell me, Auror Potter. How do you feel about my son?”
Harry flushed and looked away. He raised a hand as if to tug at his hair, but caught himself and lowered it guiltily. He splayed his fingers over his thighs, determined to keep them there, and felt uncomfortable dampness from his palms. “I… Well, I like him well enough,” Harry said lamely.
“Really? It seems you like him a bit more than that, judging by your expression when you gazed at his portrait. Do you fancy yourself in love with him?” The question was sharp and completely unexpected. Harry had always thought Slytherins were incapable of bluntness.
“Of course not!” he replied.
“What is it, then? Do you have a penchant for creatures? A weakness for oddities? I have heard of men with proclivity toward the bizarre, of attraction for mermaids and centaurs and their ilk.” Harry gaped at her, astounded by her words and the rising tone of her normally quiet voice. “Draco told me you rebuffed his attempts at friendship in school. Have your feelings changed now that he is little more than a freak?”
Harry shot to his feet as anger suffused his features. “Don’t call him that!” he snapped.
Narcissa rose and stood before him with a glower. She was intimidating despite the fact that he was taller. He knew her wand was quick to hand somewhere beneath her sleeve. Her voice was venomous. “He is a freak, Mr. Potter. He is little more than an animal and I will not stand for it!”
“I am doing all that I can!” Harry retorted.
“See that you are. Despite your attraction to my son in his current state, Mr. Potter, you had better make every possible effort to see him returned to normal and his assailants brought to justice.”
Harry made an effort to relax his clenched fists. “I will do my job, Mrs. Malfoy.”
She straightened and a cool mask seemed to settle over her angry features, smoothing them back into a calm façade. “I hope so, Mr. Potter. For your sake.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, absently noting that she seemed to have permanently dropped his title.
She shrugged and walked toward the fireplace. “I merely remind you that Lucius will be out of Azkaban before long. I have managed, so far, to keep the news of Draco’s condition from him. It will not remain secret for long. Even I know that I cannot keep Draco trapped in the Manor, caged like some sort of animal.”
Harry bit back an angry retort, nearly pointing out that she had referred to Draco as an animal mere moments ago.
“I will not be responsible for Lucius’s actions, should the news reach him in Azkaban.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What can he possibly do from Azkaban?” he asked dryly.
Narcissa Malfoy turned and fixed Harry with a steady stare. She looked like an elemental of flame standing before the flickering light of the fire, beautiful and deadly. A smile curved her lips and Harry felt a chill travel up his spine. Could Lucius wield power from his prison cell? Harry’s eyes narrowed. The Malfoy fortune certainly had not suffered during the elder Malfoy’s confinement. Harry vowed to do some investigation in to the inner workings of Azkaban.
“Good night, Mrs. Malfoy,” he said firmly.
“Good night, Mr. Potter,” she said sweetly. “I trust you can see yourself out?”
Harry nodded curtly, spun on a heel, and left Malfoy Manor as quickly as possible.
It had not been one of his better days.
Draco had little to occupy his time with both Potter and Granger in absentia. He spent half the day converting an old workroom into a makeshift potions laboratory with the help of several house-elves, of course, although he generally found it easier to pick up large pieces of furniture and move them, rather than direct the house-elves and hope they placed them in the correct places.
When the room was ready, he sent another elf to the Apothecary for ingredients, vials, jars, and other paraphernalia. Some of the items would be impossible to procure through the normal channels, hence Granger’s attempt to locate them at the Ministry or other places. She had regaled Draco with a tale of brewing Polyjuice Potion in their second year at Hogwarts—second year! He had been reluctantly impressed, although not amused to be the catalyst for their nefarious potion-making skills. However, if she had located ingredients for Polyjuice Potion as a second year student, Draco had little doubt she would find what they needed now that she was fully grown and even more devious.
A few of Pokeby’s potions were relatively simple, so Draco used his excessive free time to prepare them. In truth, he had missed creating potions. The uncomplicated process of chopping ingredients, measuring them carefully, dividing them, and lining them up according to order of use… all of it was somehow satisfying and relaxing. He felt a sudden burst of kinship with Severus Snape. The man always seemed to be angry and tense, except when he was concocting potions. At those rare times, the bitter rage seemed to melt away and leave a curious, magical energy behind. Draco thought Snape had only been happy while brewing.
When one vial sat in the wooden holder and two cauldrons awaited later additions, Draco straightened and rubbed his lower back with both hands. He made a mental note to acquire more comfortable seating. Obviously his choice of hard wooden stools had been a subconscious recollection of the less-than-ergonomic standards at Hogwarts. After cleaning his hands with a quick Charm, he locked his new laboratory and climbed the stairs back to his room.
A house-elf informed him that Narcissa had gone out, much to his relief. Dinner the previous night had been surprisingly uncomfortable, made worse by his mother’s insistence on grilling him about Potter. She asked several times if Draco thought Potter was doing his job and even suggested they find someone else more suitable to handle Draco’s case. He had stared at her in amazement.
“Who can possibly be more suitable than the Chosen One, Mother? It is his life’s mission to right wrongs.”
“What if he does not see your condition as a wrong?” she had asked cryptically.
Draco frowned, thinking about it. Was it possible Potter didn’t care? It was more than likely he thought Draco deserved what had happened to him, but would his self-righteousness prevent him from doing his job?
Bizarrely, the memory of holding Potter tightly returned, bringing a flush when he recalled the Auror sleeping in his lap. Potter’s hair had been very soft where it had brushed against Draco’s throat. Taking care of Potter had felt surprisingly good. He smiled softly when he thought of the Auror brushing his knuckles over his feathers. The prat seemed nearly obsessed with touching his wings. Perhaps his mother had a point—Potter seemed to like him better as a creature.
Draco shook off the annoying musings. He trusted the Auror to do his job, regardless, especially with Granger’s help. She had thrown herself into the project with all the enthusiasm of a research-obsessed Ravenclaw. Draco had little doubt that she would have been sorted into that House if not for her penchant for throwing herself into danger like every Gryffindor in the world. Like Potter.
I will stop thinking about Potter, he admonished himself sharply.
A glance out the window showed that it was snowing again. The sight did not depress him, for once. It meant that he could fly without being seen. Hopefully the cold air would help clear his thoughts and rid his mind of the person he was not going to think about any longer.
Harry looked at the thick file and sighed. It had been sitting on his desk when he arrived, never a good sign, because it meant Kingsley had arrived early. It also meant an interoffice memo would be arriving right about… now. A red flutter sailed through Harry’s door, the colour announcing the urgency of the message.
In my office. Bring the file.
Harry looked longingly at the cup of tea he would have no chance to finish. Kingley was nothing if not blunt. And impatient. He was very impatient. Harry took a quick gulp of tea, grabbed the file, and headed for the Minister’s office.
Once there, Kingsley sent him on a mission to Oxford where several robbers had been breaking into Muggle stores. It had taken some time for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to catch on to the fact that the robbers were wizards, but it became obvious after one botched Memory Charm resulted in a Muggle claiming that robed aliens had broken into his shop and zapped him with “raybeam sticks”.
Unfortunately, the robbers had been quick and unpredictable. Aurors had been searching for them for weeks and coming up nearly empty-handed.
“The Obliviators are already there trying to clean up the mess, but this one is at Godric-forsaken Covent Garden Market. We’ve been going mental trying to contain the blasted Muggles; the more people I send in the more suspicious they become. I need someone Muggle-savvy and everyone else capable is already on assignment.”
Harry refrained from complaining. It was just the sort of mission he hated. The Muggles would be nervous, the wizards would be doing their best to blend in and thereby standing out like beacons, and any possible clues would be lost in the confusion.
To top it off, Harry had spent half the night trying to decide what to do about Narcissa Malfoy’s conversation. He was running on a pathetic amount of sleep and wanted nothing more than to look into nefarious practices at Azkaban. He also wanted to see Malfoy. He wasn’t quite sure whether or not he should mention the confrontation with his mother. Well, certain parts of it would never be revealed, of course, but it was possible Malfoy was aware that his father’s arm might reach all the way from prison…
“Are you listening, Potter?”
Harry shook off his reverie and got to his feet. “I’m on my way.”
“Buck up, Potter, at least it gets you off the Malfoy case for a bit.”
Harry bit back a retort. If he mentioned that he wanted to be on the Malfoy case it would only raise questions that he was not ready to answer. He left the Minister’s office without another word.
When Harry returned, it was nearly nine p.m. and he was completely exhausted, hungry, bruised, and irritated. It had been far worse than expected. Wizards had been everywhere, some of them sent by the Ministry, others brought by the unscrupulous reporters that had recently plagued the Ministry and the Auror Division, in particular. They had had a bloody field day when Harry arrived, swarming over him and making his job that much more difficult.
The flustered Obliviators had not been much better, staring at his scar and babbling nearly incoherently. Harry wondered why the fuck Kingsley had not sent more senior members and then remembered several of them had taken early leave in order to return in time for the holidays—a notoriously busy time for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Of course, that meant Harry was stuck with the underlings and those he seldom worked with. Between the reporters, the goggling wizards, and the confused Muggles, Harry had been tempted to Stun the lot of them and drag them back to headquarters for sorting.
Naturally, he had done no such thing and instead spent eight hours acting in the most diplomatic manner possible. All of which left him a terrible headache. He had spent the last hour watching Muggle security tapes in order to hopefully catch a glimpse of the robbers, something that would never have occurred to any of the other wizards. Even though some of them were Muggleborn, those in the Ministry always seemed to have left their Muggle roots behind the instant they hit the school doors as eleven-year-olds.
That endeavour had paid off, at least. Harry had gotten a good look at two of the culprits. They were teens, which was not surprising—most adult wizards stayed firmly away from Muggle habitations and would not consider entering a Muggle mall, even to rob it. One of the boys looked enticingly familiar. Harry had printed several pictures of the culprits with intent to circulate them throughout the Ministry. Despite the oddity of non-moving photography, hopefully someone would recognize the boys. Apparently they were stealing Muggle money. The other wizards had scoffed at the idea, but Harry believed the lads were using the money to purchase goods for resale to the wizarding populace. Several Muggle items were valuable in the wizarding world, including mundane things such as paper. Although wizards extolled the virtues of parchment, nothing beat a smooth piece of Muggle-made paper, especially considering the variety of of Muggle colours and designs.
Harry dropped off the photo with a secretary and then checked in with Kingsley, who was still in his office, much to Harry’s annoyance. Harry threw himself into a chair and gave a verbal report, even though he would still be up half the night preparing a written one. He wished he had half of Hermione’s interest in writing reports. It just seemed like a tedious waste of time. Unfortunately, Kingsley didn’t see it that way.
“I’m sure you’ll have those reports on my desk by noon tomorrow. By the way, I received a request to remove you from a certain case while you were gone.”
Harry rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What case?” he asked. “I’m only on one…” He raised his head and stared at Kingsley with blurred vision. He quickly put his glasses back on and glared at the Minister, who nodded.
“Narcissa Malfoy is concerned with the lack of productivity on her son’s case.”
“It’s been a week!” Harry protested.
“I explained that to her and informed her that these things take time. She agreed not to pull you from the case, but she also requires something concrete or she plans to file a formal complaint with the Wizengamot.”
Harry paled. He had little doubt that she would do it. He wondered how merciless she would be regarding Harry’s “fondling” of her son’s photograph. Even a brief mention of it would cause a veritable avalanche of speculation from the press. Would she be willing to put Draco through that? The thought relaxed him slightly. He doubted she would do anything that would sully Draco’s name.
“We’re not entirely without leads,” Harry said reluctantly. “I just haven’t made them known to Mrs Malfoy. Draco is fully aware of everything we have discovered. I think the final decision on whether or not I remain on this case should be his.”
“We?” Kingsley asked sharply. “Please tell me you have not dragged anyone else into this nightmare? I stressed our utmost confidentiality to Narcissa Malfoy.”
“Of course not!” Harry said quickly and damned his inability to lie as his cheeks heated slightly. “I meant Draco and I. He and me. We.” Harry rubbed a hand through his hair and Kingsley looked at him owlishly.
“This had better not turn into a shitstorm, Harry. And you had better give me something concrete in the next two days or I’m pulling you from this case, myself.”
Thus dismissed, Harry returned to his office, feeling beaten. He glanced at the clock and realized it was probably too late to call on Malfoy, even if he could have concocted a valid reason. In truth, he should probably stay away from the winged blond altogether, before his strange attraction got him into even deeper trouble.
When he finally arrived home much later that night, an owl message awaited him. After coaxing it from Hermione’s evil owl—and earning a painful nip in the process—he opened it and smoothed it out for reading.
H, I found several of the ingredients we were searching for. I’ll be with our mutual friend tomorrow while we try and recreate some of the you-know-what. Owl if you need me. H
Harry crumpled the message in his hand and shooed Curie out the window without an owl treat. He remembered the jolly way Hermione and Draco had worked together the last time he saw them. He did not want them spending another moment alone together.
As he dressed for bed, Harry convinced himself he was being stupid. Hermione would never fall for Draco and even if she did, what business was it of Harry’s? It wasn’t like Malfoy would ever be interested in him. Hell, Hermione had a much better chance. Harry needed to be a good friend, step back, and forget his irrational jealousy.
With that cheerful thought, Harry crawled between the sheets and thankfully fell into an exhausted sleep.