CHAIN OF EARTH CHAPTER TEN (PART TWO)
Mar. 28th, 2010 02:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesAND the rest of Chapter Ten. Stupid posting limits. Also, LJ, I do not appreciate having to refresh my OWN PAGE 20 times before I can edit an entry. Whatever is wrong with you had better get FIXED. *snarls*
Draco was covered in snow. Granger had cleverly thrown a snowball at a white-laden tree, which had dislodged a fluffy load of the stuff onto his head. He glared at her and batted at the snow as it began to melt into his hair. He quickly patted a large snowball together with his bare hands and chased her through the garden as she ran away, shrieking with laughter.
They had located the bilberry bushes after an exhaustive search, finding them tucked away in a tiny corner of the massive garden. It turned out that they were cleverly marked with little metal signs that denoted their kingdom, phylum, genus, and class, something Draco had taken great satisfaction in pointing out to Granger after she had examined her fifteenth leafless branch.
In truth, it had been an accident. Draco had noticed the damned signs only after the edge of his wing brushed over one and unburied it from the snow. Still, victory was victory.
Even with that assistance, trying to locate the helpful labels in the banks of snow and then kicking the whiteness away from them had been nearly as time-consuming as just examining the damned plants would have been, particularly when some of the snow-capped bushes were missing signs entirely. The Muggles seemed to have no desire to be consistent.
Draco lobbed his snowball at Granger and laughed when it nailed the back of her bushy head and nearly knocked her forward into a snow bank. She turned on him with an angry expression, but broke into giggles instead. Draco expected her to retaliate, but she only batted snow from her flattening curls and asked, “How are we going to collect the roots?”
For reply, Draco pointed his wand at a bilberry and uprooted the plant. Dirt showered down from the branchlike roots and left a dark stain on the ground.
“Hey! What you doin’ there?” someone yelled and Draco turned to see a Muggle in some sort of uniform stalking toward them. Granger yelped and raced toward Draco. She grabbed him and Summoned the bilberry. Draco barely had time to think before she Disapparated them.
She released him as Draco blinked at their new surroundings. They stood outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, where it was once again snowing heavily. Granger laughed wryly as she held the bilberry away from her robes.
“Granger,” Draco said disapprovingly. “I can’t believe you did that to that poor defenceless Muggle. How will he ever explain the theft of a prized bush by a robed madwoman and a man with wings?”
“Only a robed madwoman, I think. I made certain your Disillusionment Charm was still in place. I hate to Obliviate them.”
“Yes, it’s far better to let them think they are mad.”
“Sympathy for Muggles? From you?” she asked archly.
Draco grinned. “It’s not sympathy. I am merely pointing out the shockingly unethical behaviour from a stellar employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
“I shall ignore that. Here, take this ruddy bush.” She held out the dirty thing and Draco wrinkled his nose.
“No thank you. Come inside and I’ll have one of the elves take it to the lab.”
Draco opened the gates and Granger followed, dragging the plant with her. He grinned and vowed to put that memory in a Pensieve, because her disgruntled expression was priceless. He had to admit that her company was amusing.
Draco summoned a house-elf when they reached the porch and Granger gladly handed over the dirty bush without a single disapproving glare or tirade about house-elf rights.
“I am filthy and wet. I think I will go home and soak in a hot bath.”
“Oh, come inside and clean up. I want to go over the ingredient list once more and ascertain that we are not missing anything before you jaunt off for the night. You have made us remarkably unproductive today.”
Granger glared at him, but followed Draco to his rooms. “I have been plenty productive, thank you very much. You would not have gotten half of what we need on your own.”
He ignored that as he waved her to the bath chamber and then went to his bedroom to divest himself of his wet clothing. He tossed his sodden shirt on a nearby chair. The house-elves always had a fit when he left wet clothing lying about, but he felt it gave them something to do. He threw aside his boots and damp socks, as well, before removing his trousers and tugging on a soft black pair. He Conjured a towel and used it on his hair. He had found that Drying Charms wreaked havoc on his follicles and made his hair brittle.
He left the bedroom with the towel half covering his eyes and heard a loud gasp. He pulled the cloth away with a sardonic grin, about to harangue Granger for never having seen a half-naked man before, but the words died in his throat when he saw Harry Potter standing near the outer door, gaping at Draco as though he had never seen a half-naked man before.
Potter spoke in a rush. His eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at Draco. “I Flooed in and one of the house-elves brought me here. I hope you don’t mind and I know I should have owled ahead or Fire-called. Um… I need to talk to you about something, if you’re not too busy—” Potter’s eyes widened again when the door to the bath opened and Granger stepped out wearing one of Draco’s dressing gowns with her hair wrapped up in a towel bouffant.
“That was brilliant, Draco, I feel loads better…” She trailed off when she spotted Potter.
“I… Oh, fuck. I, um… I’d better go,” Potter said and fled.
“Shit,” Granger said, shocking Draco. He would never have expected her to use such language. She hurried toward the door. “I have to go after him.”
“I’ll do it!” Draco said quickly. His mother would have apoplexy if he saw a half-naked Muggle-born girls roaming the halls. “You find something to wear that won’t stun Potter senseless. I’ll bring the idiot back.”
He hurried after the Auror, puzzled by Potter’s behaviour. The corridor was empty—Potter must taken flight like Goyle pursuing a pastry sale. Why the rush if Potter had come all the way here to talk to him? Surely he had seen Granger in even fewer clothes than a dressing gown, since they had practically been joined at the hip since first year…
Partway down the corridor, Draco got it. He frowned in annoyance. Surely Potter didn’t think there was something untoward happening between him and Granger? Draco would sooner shag Neville Longbottom. He shuddered at the thought. Perhaps not.
Potter was quick, so Draco cheated by taking to the air and flying quickly down the corridor and around the corner. He caught Potter on the stairs and dropped down in front of him, blocking his exit.
“Where are you going, Potter?” he asked casually.
Potter winced and studied the polished mahogany stair railing where one of his hands rested. Draco noticed his knuckles were very nearly white.
“You and Hermione seem to be busy,” Potter replied in the same tone. “I’ll just… um… come back later. It wasn’t important.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Potter.”
For some reason, the Auror’s eyes flashed. “I’ve been an idiot plenty of times today. Why stop now?” he snarled. He stepped forward, obviously intending to push by Draco and escape, but Draco’s hastily upraised wing stopped him. Potter walked into it and gasped as his fingers curled around the edge of it, gripping the feathers tightly. Draco’s heart nearly stopped at the contact, even as he absently noted that the visions seemed to be triggered only by the touch of skin-on-skin. Interesting.
Potter’s eyes met Draco’s and he did not release his hold on the wing. They seemed frozen there for long moments while Draco drowned in Potter’s eyes, which had always been intense, but now they seemed almost luminous. Draco was startled at the pain he read there—he always recognized pain, and there were volumes of it in Potter's eyes. Something had happened, something that Draco would never be privy to. The Auror had come to Draco to take his mind off of whatever it was, but it was Granger he needed.
He suppressed an odd sense of regret at the thought and then reached out and took Potter's--thankfully clothed--wrist. His gaze sharpened when Potter gasped and winced. Draco lifted Potter's hand and tore his eyes away from the overwhelming emerald to examine his arm. He tugged at the fabric of Potter's jumper and frowned at the sight of his bruised and swollen wrist.
“Don't you ever take care of yourself?” he demanded and sighed heavily. "Come on."
He dropped Potter's arm and started up the stairs. Potter did not move for a moment, still clutching Draco's wing like a lifeline, but then his grip relaxed and he opened his mouth to speak.
"Just come on," Draco snapped. He continued walking with the expectation that Potter would follow. Thankfully, he did, because Draco wasn't sure he could force himself to use a Full Body-Bind on the man who had slain the Dark Lord.
Potter trailed him for only a short distance before stepping up to walk beside him. Luckily the halls of Malfoy Manor were wide enough for Draco, Potter, and Draco's wings, although he had to take care not to brush them against the precious vases and other decorative elements that lined the walls. He noticed Potter gamely trying to conceal a limp. What had happened to leave him with a sprained wrist and a limp? A typical Auror case, or something more?
~~ O ~~
Harry walked beside Malfoy, feeling foolish. He knew he should leave, but the feel of Malfoy's soft wing seemed to have unhinged something within him. When Malfoy urged him to return, Harry hadn't the strength to disobey. He shot a sidelong glance at the blond and had to look quickly away. Malfoy was almost too beautiful, even with his hair in wild disarray from the haphazard towel-dry. Harry had nearly revealed everything at his first sight of Malfoy wet and gleaming, clad only in dark trousers. His feet were bare.
Harry's glance slipped to Malfoy's feet and watched for a few steps as they moved forward, first one and then the other, over the patterned carpet. Bare feet normally made people look vulnerable. They only made Malfoy look...
Harry shut that thought down before it took root. He closed his eyes and followed the familiar path, wondering what the hell he was doing here. He should be at the Ministry, alerting Kingsley and taking precautions against the potential shitstorm he had awakened at the Weasleys'.
Remembering the scene made his steps falter. A wing brushed against his back before Malfoy abruptly stopped. Harry shot him a quick look and started walking again. "Sorry," he mumbled.
Malfoy didn't move and after a few steps Harry stopped and glanced back.
"Look, Potter, Granger and I went to some Muggle castle garden today to harvest roots for one of the potions. We were both soaking wet when we returned and Granger was half-covered in mud, so I graciously allowed her to use the bath."
"You don't have to explain," Harry said quickly, but his relief was like a balm soothing his frazzled nerves. It must have shown on his face, because Malfoy's features tightened.
"Apparently, I do. Never fear, I understand that someone like me will never be acceptable company for your darling Granger, even without the wings. Evil Malfoy, former Death Eater and all that."
Harry blinked at his words. "Do you want to be?"
"Do I want to be what?" Malfoy snapped as he walked past Harry, who noted that the blond had drawn his wings close to his body in a protective fashion, like white armour made of feathers.
"Acceptable company for Hermione?"
Grey eyes seemed to pierce Harry's soul and a bitter smile twisted Malfoy's lips. "You really are blind, aren't you, Potter?"
With that, he entered his room and Harry was forced to follow or stand in the hallway alone.
He stepped inside Malfoy's sitting room and was enveloped in a familiar hug. "Oh, Harry! I'm so glad you've returned. I know this probably looked..."
Harry hurried to shush her before she said something that would hint of his attraction to Malfoy, who watched them curiously as he Conjured a comb and began to pull it through his blond hair. Resolutely turning his attention to Hermione, Harry said, "Never mind. Malfoy said you went to find potion ingredients. Any luck?"
Hermione had changed out of the dressing gown and towel and back into her normal clothing--light wizarding robes over jeans and a Muggle t-shirt. Her hair was still wet and looked strange in comparison to her normally curly frizz, but the ends were already beginning to twist into coils. They bobbed when she nodded and happily launched into an explanation of their day--a trip to Buckingham Palace in search of bilberry root.
"...and then Draco discovered that the ruddy plants were labelled, of all things... Harry, what's wrong?"
Harry started out of his reverie. He had been watching Malfoy comb his hair, for once without the usual rush of longing, because his mind had disturbingly returned to the memory of snow melting in Ginny's hair and the look of stunned horror on her face. And Ron’s. He kept replaying the scene over and over, wishing for it to have a different ending.
Harry forced a smile as he dragged his attention away from Malfoy. "Nothing. It's just been a bit of a rough day."
"Yes, you might ask Potter how he acquired his new limp. And his wand hand is going to be utterly useless if he doesn't have it tended soon."
Hermione gasped and grabbed at his arm. Harry felt a rush of gratitude for Malfoy's unwitting comment. It had excellently drawn Hermione's attention away from his mental anguish. He would tell her about the scene with Ginny and Ron, but... not now. Not now and especially not here.
"What happened?" she cried.
"It was stupid," Harry admitted. "I was chasing down a suspect and slipped on the ice.”
A bark of laughter from Malfoy nearly made Harry smile, but Hermione shot him a glare. “It’s not funny, Draco. He could have broken something! Harry, why didn’t you see a Healer? This is serious! Look how swollen it is.” She frowned and prodded at Harry wrist.
He clenched his teeth against a cry of pain and glared at her. “Ouch, Hermione! Bloody hell, it’s a good thing you didn’t become a medi-witch!”
“Don’t be such a baby. Draco, do you have any Nicato Salve?”
“Of course.”
A house-elf fetched a crystal jar filled with bright purple salve. Hermione opened it and smeared the substance over Harry’s arm, twisting his limb painfully in order to reach the underside.
“Do you think you can leave my elbow in the socket?” he asked dryly.
“Shush, you.”
The ointment took effect almost immediately and Harry flexed his hand gratefully. He decided he would have to invest in a quantity of the salve to take with him on his more dangerous missions.
“Now, Draco mentioned that you are limping?”
Harry shot a glare at the blond, who gave him an amused look before dismissing him to stare back into the fire again, still tugging at his locks with the comb. Harry studied his profile for long moments until Hermione nudged him. “Oh. Sorry, it’s nothing. Just a bruise. No, I will not strip down for you to tend it. Just… leave the salve with me and I’ll do it later.” At her obstinate look, he added, “I promise.”
She looked at Draco and then quickly back at Harry before rising. “I’ll be off, then, Draco, but I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow to get started on those potions.”
Malfoy scowled at her. “By bright and early, do you mean one in the afternoon?”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “If you don’t watch it I’ll show up at dawn.”
He waved her away and she gave Harry a knowing look before disappearing into the corridor and closing the door softly behind her.
“All right, Potter. What is it you wanted to discuss?”
Harry plucked at the edge of his sleeve and tried not to look at the blond. It was torture to be so close to something he could never have, especially when he was feeling emotionally wrecked. “Um… I had a talk with Kingsley, earlier,” Harry began, fumbling for words and wondering how much he should tell Malfoy. There suddenly seemed to be too much. Between Narcissa’s threats and Harry’s job, and his stupid attraction, and now Ginny and Ron and his revelation... Harry got to his feet and walked to the balcony doors. The room seemed stifling with the heat from the fire blazing and the light of it turning Malfoy into a gleaming, untouchable jewel.
Harry wrenched open one of the French doors and stepped into the lightly falling snow. He moved across the white-covered stone and stopped at the railing to look out over the silent grounds of the Malfoy estate.
“Potter, what is it?” Malfoy demanded from the doorway behind him.
“I don’t think I can work on this case any longer,” Harry admitted without looking at him.
“What?”
Harry tried to ignore the sound of outrage in Malfoy’s voice.
“I don’t seem to be doing a very good job of it, and some things have happened recently and… and I’m certain Kingsley will find someone competent to take my place, possibly Angstrom, he’s Icelandic and hadn’t even heard of Voldemort, so he won’t have any prejudice against you—”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Potter? What things have happened? You’re not making any bloody sense.”
Harry turned toward him angrily, irritated that he was making it more difficult than it needed to be. Malfoy didn’t like him, anyway, so why wouldn’t he jump at the chance to be rid of him? He was shocked to find Malfoy standing ridiculously close, still barefoot and wearing only trousers. Harry had nearly forgotten Malfoy was immune to cold. Snowflakes landed and then melted on his pale skin, giving evidence of human warmth despite the wings and resistance to the elements.
“What has happened?” he demanded again.
Harry sighed. “This. This has happened.” With that, Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips to Malfoy’s.
~~ CHAPTER ELEVEN ~~
Draco was covered in snow. Granger had cleverly thrown a snowball at a white-laden tree, which had dislodged a fluffy load of the stuff onto his head. He glared at her and batted at the snow as it began to melt into his hair. He quickly patted a large snowball together with his bare hands and chased her through the garden as she ran away, shrieking with laughter.
They had located the bilberry bushes after an exhaustive search, finding them tucked away in a tiny corner of the massive garden. It turned out that they were cleverly marked with little metal signs that denoted their kingdom, phylum, genus, and class, something Draco had taken great satisfaction in pointing out to Granger after she had examined her fifteenth leafless branch.
In truth, it had been an accident. Draco had noticed the damned signs only after the edge of his wing brushed over one and unburied it from the snow. Still, victory was victory.
Even with that assistance, trying to locate the helpful labels in the banks of snow and then kicking the whiteness away from them had been nearly as time-consuming as just examining the damned plants would have been, particularly when some of the snow-capped bushes were missing signs entirely. The Muggles seemed to have no desire to be consistent.
Draco lobbed his snowball at Granger and laughed when it nailed the back of her bushy head and nearly knocked her forward into a snow bank. She turned on him with an angry expression, but broke into giggles instead. Draco expected her to retaliate, but she only batted snow from her flattening curls and asked, “How are we going to collect the roots?”
For reply, Draco pointed his wand at a bilberry and uprooted the plant. Dirt showered down from the branchlike roots and left a dark stain on the ground.
“Hey! What you doin’ there?” someone yelled and Draco turned to see a Muggle in some sort of uniform stalking toward them. Granger yelped and raced toward Draco. She grabbed him and Summoned the bilberry. Draco barely had time to think before she Disapparated them.
She released him as Draco blinked at their new surroundings. They stood outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, where it was once again snowing heavily. Granger laughed wryly as she held the bilberry away from her robes.
“Granger,” Draco said disapprovingly. “I can’t believe you did that to that poor defenceless Muggle. How will he ever explain the theft of a prized bush by a robed madwoman and a man with wings?”
“Only a robed madwoman, I think. I made certain your Disillusionment Charm was still in place. I hate to Obliviate them.”
“Yes, it’s far better to let them think they are mad.”
“Sympathy for Muggles? From you?” she asked archly.
Draco grinned. “It’s not sympathy. I am merely pointing out the shockingly unethical behaviour from a stellar employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
“I shall ignore that. Here, take this ruddy bush.” She held out the dirty thing and Draco wrinkled his nose.
“No thank you. Come inside and I’ll have one of the elves take it to the lab.”
Draco opened the gates and Granger followed, dragging the plant with her. He grinned and vowed to put that memory in a Pensieve, because her disgruntled expression was priceless. He had to admit that her company was amusing.
Draco summoned a house-elf when they reached the porch and Granger gladly handed over the dirty bush without a single disapproving glare or tirade about house-elf rights.
“I am filthy and wet. I think I will go home and soak in a hot bath.”
“Oh, come inside and clean up. I want to go over the ingredient list once more and ascertain that we are not missing anything before you jaunt off for the night. You have made us remarkably unproductive today.”
Granger glared at him, but followed Draco to his rooms. “I have been plenty productive, thank you very much. You would not have gotten half of what we need on your own.”
He ignored that as he waved her to the bath chamber and then went to his bedroom to divest himself of his wet clothing. He tossed his sodden shirt on a nearby chair. The house-elves always had a fit when he left wet clothing lying about, but he felt it gave them something to do. He threw aside his boots and damp socks, as well, before removing his trousers and tugging on a soft black pair. He Conjured a towel and used it on his hair. He had found that Drying Charms wreaked havoc on his follicles and made his hair brittle.
He left the bedroom with the towel half covering his eyes and heard a loud gasp. He pulled the cloth away with a sardonic grin, about to harangue Granger for never having seen a half-naked man before, but the words died in his throat when he saw Harry Potter standing near the outer door, gaping at Draco as though he had never seen a half-naked man before.
Potter spoke in a rush. His eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at Draco. “I Flooed in and one of the house-elves brought me here. I hope you don’t mind and I know I should have owled ahead or Fire-called. Um… I need to talk to you about something, if you’re not too busy—” Potter’s eyes widened again when the door to the bath opened and Granger stepped out wearing one of Draco’s dressing gowns with her hair wrapped up in a towel bouffant.
“That was brilliant, Draco, I feel loads better…” She trailed off when she spotted Potter.
“I… Oh, fuck. I, um… I’d better go,” Potter said and fled.
“Shit,” Granger said, shocking Draco. He would never have expected her to use such language. She hurried toward the door. “I have to go after him.”
“I’ll do it!” Draco said quickly. His mother would have apoplexy if he saw a half-naked Muggle-born girls roaming the halls. “You find something to wear that won’t stun Potter senseless. I’ll bring the idiot back.”
He hurried after the Auror, puzzled by Potter’s behaviour. The corridor was empty—Potter must taken flight like Goyle pursuing a pastry sale. Why the rush if Potter had come all the way here to talk to him? Surely he had seen Granger in even fewer clothes than a dressing gown, since they had practically been joined at the hip since first year…
Partway down the corridor, Draco got it. He frowned in annoyance. Surely Potter didn’t think there was something untoward happening between him and Granger? Draco would sooner shag Neville Longbottom. He shuddered at the thought. Perhaps not.
Potter was quick, so Draco cheated by taking to the air and flying quickly down the corridor and around the corner. He caught Potter on the stairs and dropped down in front of him, blocking his exit.
“Where are you going, Potter?” he asked casually.
Potter winced and studied the polished mahogany stair railing where one of his hands rested. Draco noticed his knuckles were very nearly white.
“You and Hermione seem to be busy,” Potter replied in the same tone. “I’ll just… um… come back later. It wasn’t important.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Potter.”
For some reason, the Auror’s eyes flashed. “I’ve been an idiot plenty of times today. Why stop now?” he snarled. He stepped forward, obviously intending to push by Draco and escape, but Draco’s hastily upraised wing stopped him. Potter walked into it and gasped as his fingers curled around the edge of it, gripping the feathers tightly. Draco’s heart nearly stopped at the contact, even as he absently noted that the visions seemed to be triggered only by the touch of skin-on-skin. Interesting.
Potter’s eyes met Draco’s and he did not release his hold on the wing. They seemed frozen there for long moments while Draco drowned in Potter’s eyes, which had always been intense, but now they seemed almost luminous. Draco was startled at the pain he read there—he always recognized pain, and there were volumes of it in Potter's eyes. Something had happened, something that Draco would never be privy to. The Auror had come to Draco to take his mind off of whatever it was, but it was Granger he needed.
He suppressed an odd sense of regret at the thought and then reached out and took Potter's--thankfully clothed--wrist. His gaze sharpened when Potter gasped and winced. Draco lifted Potter's hand and tore his eyes away from the overwhelming emerald to examine his arm. He tugged at the fabric of Potter's jumper and frowned at the sight of his bruised and swollen wrist.
“Don't you ever take care of yourself?” he demanded and sighed heavily. "Come on."
He dropped Potter's arm and started up the stairs. Potter did not move for a moment, still clutching Draco's wing like a lifeline, but then his grip relaxed and he opened his mouth to speak.
"Just come on," Draco snapped. He continued walking with the expectation that Potter would follow. Thankfully, he did, because Draco wasn't sure he could force himself to use a Full Body-Bind on the man who had slain the Dark Lord.
Potter trailed him for only a short distance before stepping up to walk beside him. Luckily the halls of Malfoy Manor were wide enough for Draco, Potter, and Draco's wings, although he had to take care not to brush them against the precious vases and other decorative elements that lined the walls. He noticed Potter gamely trying to conceal a limp. What had happened to leave him with a sprained wrist and a limp? A typical Auror case, or something more?
Harry walked beside Malfoy, feeling foolish. He knew he should leave, but the feel of Malfoy's soft wing seemed to have unhinged something within him. When Malfoy urged him to return, Harry hadn't the strength to disobey. He shot a sidelong glance at the blond and had to look quickly away. Malfoy was almost too beautiful, even with his hair in wild disarray from the haphazard towel-dry. Harry had nearly revealed everything at his first sight of Malfoy wet and gleaming, clad only in dark trousers. His feet were bare.
Harry's glance slipped to Malfoy's feet and watched for a few steps as they moved forward, first one and then the other, over the patterned carpet. Bare feet normally made people look vulnerable. They only made Malfoy look...
Harry shut that thought down before it took root. He closed his eyes and followed the familiar path, wondering what the hell he was doing here. He should be at the Ministry, alerting Kingsley and taking precautions against the potential shitstorm he had awakened at the Weasleys'.
Remembering the scene made his steps falter. A wing brushed against his back before Malfoy abruptly stopped. Harry shot him a quick look and started walking again. "Sorry," he mumbled.
Malfoy didn't move and after a few steps Harry stopped and glanced back.
"Look, Potter, Granger and I went to some Muggle castle garden today to harvest roots for one of the potions. We were both soaking wet when we returned and Granger was half-covered in mud, so I graciously allowed her to use the bath."
"You don't have to explain," Harry said quickly, but his relief was like a balm soothing his frazzled nerves. It must have shown on his face, because Malfoy's features tightened.
"Apparently, I do. Never fear, I understand that someone like me will never be acceptable company for your darling Granger, even without the wings. Evil Malfoy, former Death Eater and all that."
Harry blinked at his words. "Do you want to be?"
"Do I want to be what?" Malfoy snapped as he walked past Harry, who noted that the blond had drawn his wings close to his body in a protective fashion, like white armour made of feathers.
"Acceptable company for Hermione?"
Grey eyes seemed to pierce Harry's soul and a bitter smile twisted Malfoy's lips. "You really are blind, aren't you, Potter?"
With that, he entered his room and Harry was forced to follow or stand in the hallway alone.
He stepped inside Malfoy's sitting room and was enveloped in a familiar hug. "Oh, Harry! I'm so glad you've returned. I know this probably looked..."
Harry hurried to shush her before she said something that would hint of his attraction to Malfoy, who watched them curiously as he Conjured a comb and began to pull it through his blond hair. Resolutely turning his attention to Hermione, Harry said, "Never mind. Malfoy said you went to find potion ingredients. Any luck?"
Hermione had changed out of the dressing gown and towel and back into her normal clothing--light wizarding robes over jeans and a Muggle t-shirt. Her hair was still wet and looked strange in comparison to her normally curly frizz, but the ends were already beginning to twist into coils. They bobbed when she nodded and happily launched into an explanation of their day--a trip to Buckingham Palace in search of bilberry root.
"...and then Draco discovered that the ruddy plants were labelled, of all things... Harry, what's wrong?"
Harry started out of his reverie. He had been watching Malfoy comb his hair, for once without the usual rush of longing, because his mind had disturbingly returned to the memory of snow melting in Ginny's hair and the look of stunned horror on her face. And Ron’s. He kept replaying the scene over and over, wishing for it to have a different ending.
Harry forced a smile as he dragged his attention away from Malfoy. "Nothing. It's just been a bit of a rough day."
"Yes, you might ask Potter how he acquired his new limp. And his wand hand is going to be utterly useless if he doesn't have it tended soon."
Hermione gasped and grabbed at his arm. Harry felt a rush of gratitude for Malfoy's unwitting comment. It had excellently drawn Hermione's attention away from his mental anguish. He would tell her about the scene with Ginny and Ron, but... not now. Not now and especially not here.
"What happened?" she cried.
"It was stupid," Harry admitted. "I was chasing down a suspect and slipped on the ice.”
A bark of laughter from Malfoy nearly made Harry smile, but Hermione shot him a glare. “It’s not funny, Draco. He could have broken something! Harry, why didn’t you see a Healer? This is serious! Look how swollen it is.” She frowned and prodded at Harry wrist.
He clenched his teeth against a cry of pain and glared at her. “Ouch, Hermione! Bloody hell, it’s a good thing you didn’t become a medi-witch!”
“Don’t be such a baby. Draco, do you have any Nicato Salve?”
“Of course.”
A house-elf fetched a crystal jar filled with bright purple salve. Hermione opened it and smeared the substance over Harry’s arm, twisting his limb painfully in order to reach the underside.
“Do you think you can leave my elbow in the socket?” he asked dryly.
“Shush, you.”
The ointment took effect almost immediately and Harry flexed his hand gratefully. He decided he would have to invest in a quantity of the salve to take with him on his more dangerous missions.
“Now, Draco mentioned that you are limping?”
Harry shot a glare at the blond, who gave him an amused look before dismissing him to stare back into the fire again, still tugging at his locks with the comb. Harry studied his profile for long moments until Hermione nudged him. “Oh. Sorry, it’s nothing. Just a bruise. No, I will not strip down for you to tend it. Just… leave the salve with me and I’ll do it later.” At her obstinate look, he added, “I promise.”
She looked at Draco and then quickly back at Harry before rising. “I’ll be off, then, Draco, but I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow to get started on those potions.”
Malfoy scowled at her. “By bright and early, do you mean one in the afternoon?”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “If you don’t watch it I’ll show up at dawn.”
He waved her away and she gave Harry a knowing look before disappearing into the corridor and closing the door softly behind her.
“All right, Potter. What is it you wanted to discuss?”
Harry plucked at the edge of his sleeve and tried not to look at the blond. It was torture to be so close to something he could never have, especially when he was feeling emotionally wrecked. “Um… I had a talk with Kingsley, earlier,” Harry began, fumbling for words and wondering how much he should tell Malfoy. There suddenly seemed to be too much. Between Narcissa’s threats and Harry’s job, and his stupid attraction, and now Ginny and Ron and his revelation... Harry got to his feet and walked to the balcony doors. The room seemed stifling with the heat from the fire blazing and the light of it turning Malfoy into a gleaming, untouchable jewel.
Harry wrenched open one of the French doors and stepped into the lightly falling snow. He moved across the white-covered stone and stopped at the railing to look out over the silent grounds of the Malfoy estate.
“Potter, what is it?” Malfoy demanded from the doorway behind him.
“I don’t think I can work on this case any longer,” Harry admitted without looking at him.
“What?”
Harry tried to ignore the sound of outrage in Malfoy’s voice.
“I don’t seem to be doing a very good job of it, and some things have happened recently and… and I’m certain Kingsley will find someone competent to take my place, possibly Angstrom, he’s Icelandic and hadn’t even heard of Voldemort, so he won’t have any prejudice against you—”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Potter? What things have happened? You’re not making any bloody sense.”
Harry turned toward him angrily, irritated that he was making it more difficult than it needed to be. Malfoy didn’t like him, anyway, so why wouldn’t he jump at the chance to be rid of him? He was shocked to find Malfoy standing ridiculously close, still barefoot and wearing only trousers. Harry had nearly forgotten Malfoy was immune to cold. Snowflakes landed and then melted on his pale skin, giving evidence of human warmth despite the wings and resistance to the elements.
“What has happened?” he demanded again.
Harry sighed. “This. This has happened.” With that, Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips to Malfoy’s.