THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MEDICINE AND POISON IS IN THE DOSE

Author's Warnings: mild violence, language, M/M content, and slightly non-con towards the end of this chapter.

oOo

Harry Potter and all related content belong to J.K. Rowling; no copyright infringement intended.

oOo

In the cold light of morning while everyone sleeps, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy realize that they've spent the entire night in each other's arms. Nothing has ever felt so right. Is there such a thing as too much of a good thing?


Chapter One, Passive Aggressive


Draco Malfoy stood at the top floor of his apartment building, overlooking the street below. A lit cigarette was held loosely between his lips. There was a heavy mist hanging low over the garden that invaded the rooftop. It hung over the tulips, the calla lilies; the camellias were nearly invisible in the light fog. He inhaled, the nervousness he'd been feeling all morning slowly ebbing away.

But not quite.

There was an unpleasant knot forming in his stomach as he thought of the job interview he would be attending later that day. He supposed he shouldn't be that nervous. After all, the Malfoy's are notorious in their self-assurance. But lately Draco had come to think that his family name wouldn't get him the respect that it once would. And it was hard. This was the first time since the end of the war that he was actually seeking out employment. He knew how the magical community was going to react to him, seeing as his father was conveniently imprisoned in Azkaban for his previous ties to the Dark Lord. The community had and would naturally assume that Draco had been in league with Him. And Draco couldn't blame them. Their assumptions weren't that far off from the truth…

The attention that the Malfoy family had received had been hostile enough during the first few months after the war; the only reason Draco and his mother had gotten away with no arrest was because the Wizarding World's own Golden Boy had stepped in to deny all accusations made towards them.

The reasoning behind his defense?

Simply put, "They saved my life."

How Draco could possibly fit into that statement when all he ever did was try to make the man's life difficult, he could only guess. He hadn't caught sight of the Savior since that fateful day in the courtroom and probably never would. But he figured it had been a good thing in the end, or he wouldn't be standing here to appreciate all that had been lost. And all that remains that way…

Draco frowned, tucking away a strand of his light hair that had fallen out of place. He took a long drag, exhaling the smoke slowly from his lips. Given that it's been a two years since that time, Draco was allowing himself the hope that he was no longer in the public's radar. That they'd forgotten who his parents were and who they'd been involved with. A feeling that was not quite excitement formed in his chest, for there was something to be said when his life could be forever changed by the end of the day. Maybe he could start over again. Maybe this was his chance to change his fate, and that of his family.

Qualifying for the Auror interview hadn't been easy. The past year had been dedicated to completing the N.E.W.T.'s, which he'd neglected during his last year at Hogwarts. Just a few weeks prior he'd been proud to find out that he'd receive top marks, Outstanding. His mother would've like that. He felt a miniscule smile spreading across his face.

The crisp morning air chilled his arms, his long-sleeve shirt not being enough to keep him warm. Habitually, he glanced down at his forearm, traced a finger over the permanent mark that he knew lay just underneath the cotton material, bold against his light skin. The mark that would never fade.

"You spend way too much time up here, Drake."

Draco glanced over his shoulder. Blaise Zabini walked over, shirtless, coming to a stop close behind him. The other man took the cigarette from between Draco's lips and transferred it over to his own.

"What are you doing?" Blaise asked him, blowing a cloud of smoke directly into Draco's face.

"Just trying to get away for a bit. Leave me alone for a second will you?" Draco asked, turning his gaze back to the street below. The mist was starting to clear up. He could just make out the tops of people's heads as they strolled down the London sidewalk. Funnily enough, none of the muggles seemed to take notice of Draco's building, as if it wasn't there.

"What if I don't want to?" Blaise slid an arm around Draco's waist and pulled him closer, chest to back. "You're never in my bed in the morning, Drake. I'm always wondering where the fuck you've run off to. Gets a bit tiring, don't you think?"

Draco didn't answer. Instead, he tried to move away from the breathing on his neck but Blaise wouldn't budge. Draco closed his eyes to keep his annoyance at bay; he'd grown tired of living with the other man. Two and a half years with Blaise Zabini could do that to some people, drive them mad. But Draco hadn't any other choice. He'd moved in just after the death of his mother, an event he tried hard not to dwell for the aching that filled him whenever he did. She'd been unable to face the magical community after the incarceration of his father. The Ministry had broken his family, taken their home, their possessions, everything except for the Malfoy vault which Draco would gladly give up in exchange for his mother to come back to him. Needless to say, Draco had been going through a very difficult time until Blaise had found him wandering aimlessly through muggle London, nursing him slowly back to health.

He opened his eyes and tried to pull away again. The cigarette dangled precariously close to the side of his face. Blaise didn't loosen his grip. Instead, he pressed himself against Draco, the bulge in Blaise's pants becoming apparent.

"Not right now," Draco said. He heard Blaise huff in irritation before he pushed off of him. Taking one last drag of the cigarette, Blaise twisted it into the soil of one of the potted plants that stood next to the railing. One of the leaves started to smolder.

"Fuck you, then," Blaise said, exhaling smoothly. He stepped closer, kissed Draco roughly on the lips before departing through the door at the other end of the roof deck.

Draco let out a deep breath and turned to the little ghost flower next to him. He took the crushed cigarette butt, brushing away the ashes from the flower's leaves.


oOo


There were a few hours to spare before he needed to appear at the Ministry, so Draco allowed himself a walk down the muggle streets. He breathed easy; there was no one around to recognize his face or his name, a welcome relief. This also provided him with some much needed time away from the flat, and from Blaise, who'd become insufferable to him recently.

He reached a busy shopping district that he'd never been to, and was just about to turn back and head in a different direction when he spotted someone sitting outside a coffee shop at the other side of the street. He paused. A small jolt of surprise went through him as he recognized the man's features. A thick, unruly head of dark hair. A pair of emerald eyes that were staring down at the table.

Merlin, he looks exactly the same.

His eyes narrowed to better take in the sight of Harry Potter sitting there reading what looked to be like the Daily Prophet. His mind was surprisingly blank. The days in the courtroom seemed far away, surreal, now that he was staring at the Savior once again.

Draco heard sounds of impatience from the people around him—he was blocking the sidewalk. He pushed past them and leaned against the wall of a building, out of the way, and positioned himself to better look at the man who saved him from a life of imprisonment. He found himself with a cigarette between his lips.

Draco recalled with a sense of nostalgia, how so many years ago he had met Harry Potter at the robe shop in Diagon Alley. At the time, Potter had been the most offensive looking boy Draco had ever encountered. A boy who had been too short for his age, with hair as black as a raven, sitting on the top of his head like a haphazard halo so unlike Draco's hair, which his mother would slick back without a single misplace strand. Potter had been wearing glasses which were broken and taped together, but the frames couldn't hide the vibrant emerald eyes that lay behind. Curious eyes. So curious about everything. Potter's collarbones had been prominent, sticking out of his worn shirt which hung unattractively around his small body. He'd been everything that Draco was not, but he'd attracted the blond boy's attention all the same.

Studying the young man now, Draco could see how much Potter had changed since their school years. Sure he still looked the same, but he was leaner, which was saying something since he'd always been a rather small kid. But the muscles were still apparent through the folds of his clothes, toned from all his years playing Quidditch. His hair was a bit longer, side-parted and covering the tops of his ears. Draco would be lying if he said the look didn't suit him. Potter reached a hand up to adjust his glasses, frowning possibly at one of the articles he'd been reading.

Draco waited for it. Waited for the familiar feeling of anger that would surge through him at the sight of Harry Potter. He'd wanted so badly to destroy him…or embrace him. Ever since the trials, those lines seemed to blur in that respect. He'd wanted to make everyone see that Potter wasn't as special as they thought he was. Just a weak half-blood with undeserved fame. Draco scowled and turned back towards his flat. What did he care anyway? That part in his life was over and there was no reason for them to cross paths again. No need to relive those memories.


At the other side of the street, Harry Potter frowned deeper. He tore his eyes away from the Daily Prophet in front of him. The hair at the back of his neck was prickling as though he was being watched. Never one to disregard instinct, Harry scanned the lines of people on the street, on the sidewalk. He saw no one familiar however. Only muggles walking from shop to shop, occasionally grazing his table since the sidewalk was so narrow.

Normally, he would hate the thought of being somewhere so crowded, but no one knew him here. And that was extremely refreshing. He took a sip of his coffee and turned his attention back to the paper in his hands. Harry had thought that he'd been free of all the publicity following the events at Hogwarts two years ago. It had eventually died down, but today it seemed to have resurfaced much to his dismay. The headline read, clear and bold:

Golden Boy's Guaranteed Position at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Harry folded the paper neatly, hiding the sickening picture of him only hours after the Battle at Hogwarts, and set it aside. He supposed he would have to cut his readings of the Daily Prophet short every morning. Headlines would suffice until they forgot about him again. He stood, newspaper tucked safely under his arm, and walked a few blocks down the street before turning into an empty alley. He double checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, and disapparated.

Once reaching his sitting room, he flung the paper down on the coffee table, annoyed and more nervous than ever about his interview at the Ministry. He clenched his slightly buzzing hands. If he'd known for sure that his position was guaranteed, then he wouldn't have been practicing his magic so vigorously the past few months. Of course, the article was nothing new, a way to build-up the fact that he was still the Golden Boy, able to garner anything he wanted if only because of his fame. He raised a hand to rub at his temples. "Always. Always the same damn thing," he muttered as he walked over to the mirror hanging in the sitting room. He unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off and laying on the arm of the couch.

These were the moments he despised the most. Coming home to a house that was empty and silent. Harry wondered, always wondered whether he had made the right decision in leaving the Weasley household behind. In leaving Ginny. It'd been comforting at the beginning. The Burrow was always full of the people he cared for and loved. And for a time, Harry finally felt as though he belonged. That he found what he'd always been looking for.

It was a while later after living at the Burrow that the past had begun to catch up to him. Night sweats, uncontrollable bursts of anger, cold and dark dreams that reminded him of the people that had been lost to the war. People that were never meant to die if only Harry had defeated Voldemort sooner. They'd come back to haunt him, possibly noticing that Harry had become too comfortable with his life, and filling his chest with the guilt and grief that had never truly, and would probably never leave his heart.

Harry had refused to socialize with anyone during those moments, since his magic had begun to be too much for even him to handle. He had to look for outlets, exercising his magic until he was exhausted and satisfied in believing he wouldn't lose control. But the constant disconnect from his family had started to fester, infecting not only him, but the rest of the family as well. For that reason, Harry had decided to move back into Sirius' place, back to Grimmauld Place on his own, to figure out what the hell was going on with him. He'd assured the family that he would be alright. But sometimes he wasn't quite sure of that himself.

He was just about to make his way to the bedroom when he was startled to see a head floating in the flames of the fireplace. "Fuck, Hermione, give a bloke a warning before you just pop up in my sitting room, will you?" Harry snapped, though he was very much please to see her. She beamed at him in response.

"Good luck today, Harry!"

"You saw the Prophet?"

"Yes. But I've known about that for quite some time, actually, you being my best friend and all."

Harry smiled apologetically. "Sorry. It's just that I'd finally gotten use to not being front page news for once."

"I know, Harry. It's unfortunate, but it'll—"

"Blow over. I know." Harry leaned against the side of his armchair. "You wanna come in?"

"Sure." Hermione climbed out of the fireplace, dusted herself off, and sat on the couch. Harry prepared some tea and handed her a cup. "Ron says it was only a matter of time before the Prophet caught wind. Don't worry yourself too much over it."

"How is he, by the way?" Harry asked.

"Good. Grumbling on about how Mrs. Weasley isn't letting him have dessert anymore. She says he needs to be strong and healthy if he's going to be an Auror," Hermione told him, a look of fondness coming over her face.

Harry let out a breath of laughter. That definitely seemed like something Ron would do. There was a small comfortable silence between them, both lost in thought.

"She misses you, you know," Hermione continued.

"What?"

"Ginny. She misses you. We all do," Hermione said, her brown eyes softening.

Harry swallowed and turned away. The guilt that he'd been feeling towards his relationship with Ginny, and the consequent break-up, came back in a rush. In all honesty, he missed her too. Her holds, her hair, her lips. If only for their familiarity. But he couldn't do it anymore. It was lie. He'd been lying to himself and to Ginny. The fact that he also fancied men hadn't been mentioned, although Harry wanted nothing more than to come out to his friends and family. But he'd bit his tongue at the last second and said nothing of his…condition. The result had been a very devastated Ginny Weasley, who more or less still thought there was a chance that they would be together again. He braced himself for the coming question.

"Won't you come back, Harry?"

"Hermione, you know full well that I can't. I need to be on my own for a while. To figure things out. I've never wanted to depend on anyone; I can't continue to do that." He bit his lip when Hermione looked down to hide her hurt. "I'm sorry, Herms. I didn't mean it in a bad way."

She shook her head. "No. I know. I understand." She placed her empty cup on the coffee table and stood up. Harry walked her to the fireplace, a few steps away.

"Besides," Harry said in an effort to cheer her up. "If Ron and I are going to be partners at the Ministry then you'll see me so often again you'll get sick of me."

Hermione laughed and Harry gave her a small smile. "You're probably right. Although," she said, eyeing his shirtless body admiringly, "if you keep looking like that, Harry, then I might very well enjoy your company again."

Harry reddened and he grabbed his shirt, throwing it at her face. It missed completely and fell into the fire where it began to smolder and burn. He put it out with a wave of his wand.

"Anyway, I just came to send a little luck to you from all of us. Ron is excited to see you again, even though he doesn't say it aloud. Floo us whenever you'd like okay, Harry?"

"Sure thing. And thanks," Harry said. He brought her close for an embrace and with a final wave, Hermione vanished from the fireplace, leaving Harry leaning against the side of the couch.


oOo


Harry took a deep breath and stepped out onto the Ministry of Magic arrival area. He straightened his cloak more securely over his shoulders. Nervousness was building up inside of him. He had no clue what to expect from this interview. He supposed he should've thought to ask someone for advice, but after a gut-wrenching moment he realized he hadn't anyone to ask. The Aurors that he'd known, Mad-Eye, Tonks…

He made his was over to the lifts, relieved as he looked over to the main plaza, that the statue of tortured Muggles from years ago was no longer its centerpiece. A grand fountain now took its place; a few witches and wizards sat at its edge.

"Coming in?" asked a voice from the elevator.

Harry turned and his hand instinctively twitched towards his wand. He stopped himself before he made a scene and looked into the cool grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. Someone he hadn't seen in years, and someone he hoped never to deal with again.

Malfoy noticed his hand movement and the corner of his mouth turned up in his trademark smirk. "Don't worry, Potter. I wouldn't dream of doing anything to the Savior of the Wizarding World."

Harry fought back a retort and stepped inside, positioning himself at the corner of the lift behind Draco. The gates closed and the lift jerked upwards at once. Silence filled the small space as they were jostled to and fro. Harry's mind raced with memories of their past and he fought to be rid of them. They hadn't necessarily parted on bad terms, or on any terms for that matter; his family just sort of disappeared after the war. That was, of course, before the Ministry had caught the family and locked Lucius up in Azkaban for his ties to Voldemort. As for Narcissa and the youngest Malfoy, Harry had stepped in, needing to repay the life debt that he owed to them. Thankfully, the Ministry had released them on account of Malfoy being too young to know what he'd been doing at the time. His mother, Harry had heard, had died a few months later, her death ruled a suicide in the Daily Prophet front page. Harry felt a small pang of sympathy, for he clearly remembered how the woman had saved his life on the forest floor the night he defeated Voldemort. How was Harry supposed to react towards the other man?

He decided to remain silent and to wait until Malfoy stepped off towards his destination. Hopefully this wouldn't be a common occurrence in the future.

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said a disembodied voice in the elevator. The gates opened and Harry made to step around Malfoy. Malfoy, bless the bloody man, went first, his charcoal black cloak billowing behind him. Harry scowled and followed a few steps behind. Why in the world did he get off on this floor?

They walked, their steps echoing lightly in the long hallway.

"Should I be worried that you're following me, Potter?" Malfoy asked, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm not following you."

"I think you might've got off on the wrong floor," Malfoy continued.

"I was just about to tell you the same thing."

They came upon a set of oak double doors and Draco opened them, revealing a large open hall, a few doors scattered across the wall, presumably leading to the other offices in the Department.

Harry recognized with a small jolt of alarm, Pius Thicknesse at the other end, speaking with another wizard. He had to remind himself that Thicknesse had been under the Imperius curse when he last fought alongside the Death Eaters. Thicknesse turned to them and walked over.

"Good to see you could make it. Pius Thicknesse, Head of Magical Law Enforcement," he said in a deep voice. He shook Harry's hand. He would've been in deeper shock that Malfoy was also going for an Auror position if he hadn't caught the menacing shake of hands that the two men shared next. Harry furrowed his brows wondering if they were trying to break each other's hands. Before he could open his mouth to comment, Malfoy caught his eye and the hands were released. Malfoy looked away from him.

"Mr. Ronald Weasley and Mr. Dean Thomas should be joining us in two minutes or they will no longer be able to walk through those double doors," Thicknesse continued as if nothing of consequence had just happened, and reached a hand up to motion for the wizard at the other end of the hall.

At that moment the double doors opened again, and Ron and Dean hurried over. Harry grinned at them. Ron shot him a questioning look, no doubt wondering what Malfoy was doing there, before accepting a friendly hand from the Head of the department.

"Good, now everyone's here. I will leave you all with Gawain Robards, currently in charge of all the Aurors here in the department. Robards, be sure to welcome them properly once you've all been acquainted. I will be having a word with Minister Shacklebolt and won't be back for a while. Until that time, please thoroughly examine each and every one of them, after which I will expect you to have made a decision concerning who will be moving on to the trial period."

Harry heard Ron swallow.

"Mr. Thomas, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," Thicknesse nodded to each of them in turn. "Good luck." With that, Pius Thicknesse disappeared through the double doors.

Robards turned to them. A long scar maimed the otherwise strong features on the man's face. He bag circling them, studying, towering over all of them. He opened his mouth, "I want you all to listen very carefully to what I say. There will be a few tests. Pay close attention and you'll have nothing to worry about.

"The first thing that you should know about being an Auror is that you can never trust a soul. Not one. You can't. You never know if the person you've grown up with your whole life, the person you've gone to school with for years, will turn their back on you the very next morning." He smirked at Ron's glance in Harry's direction. "Which is why we're always aware of who we're speaking to and who's around us while doing it."

He stopped in front of Harry and peered down at him. He took the liberty of parting Harry's hair from his forehead, exposing his old scar. Harry held back the urge to slap the hand away, affronted at Robards lack of respect. The back of his neck prickled, and he narrowed his eyes. Robards moved onwards, stopping now in front of Malfoy, close enough that their noses were nearly touching. Malfoy, to his credit, didn't move a muscle. Robards reached down and took a hold of the younger man's arm. Harry held his breath as the man pulled away the sleeve, exposing the familiar Dark Mark that flawed Malfoy's pale skin. The blonde's nostrils flared but he didn't pull away. His jaw visibly tightened.

"Funny. I thought it'd fade," Robards muttered to himself. He let go of Malfoy's hand and barred his teeth slightly in disgust. For a second Harry believed that Malfoy would attack, as insulting as Robards was being to him, to all of them. But nothing happened, and Harry was left puzzled.

"The second thing you will learn," Robards repeated, as he resumed his circling, "is to never, ever, close your eyes."

"Ever?" Ron asked.

"Weasley, is it?"

Ron nodded.

"Well, you see, Weasley. You never know who might be lurking behind you."

They all turned to look behind them. Harry was unsettled. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He was sure that the others felt something amiss, too.

"Or who might be lurking in plain sight." Robards' voice became quieter. "There are ways, you see. To conceal. And to disguise…that make easy prey." Robards stood in front of them, about two yards away. His voice was nearly inaudible. "So you…" He took a step back. "…always…" He took another. "…have to be ready."

Harry saw it before the others. Robards' hand flew to grab his wand, and Harry did the same. He flung it up swiftly, calling for a defensive spell just as a jet of red light flew towards them. Harry was thrust backwards at the force of the spell, his electric blue shield nearly shattering in the process. The others reacted quickly after that. They pulled out their wands, just as figures materialized around the room, surrounding them. Five in all, wearing dark cloaks and hoods, their wands shooting spells directly into their group.

A jet of red whistled right past Harry's right ear and he turned to see who had cast it.

"Harry, your left!" Ron shouted.

Harry twisted his body just in time, shielding himself from a spell cast in his direction. Immediately he sent two stunning spells in a row, successfully hitting one of the cloaked figures, who crumpled to the ground. Shot after shot was sent in his direction and he deflected each one. He managed to hit another attacker after the man had unsuccessfully shot at Harry from behind. There was no place to hide; the room was an open field. He heard Dean groan as his body crashed into the wall. He fell to the ground unmoving. Risking a quick look towards Ron, Harry saw with panic that the redhead had been overpowered by one of the figures and was now on the ground, body-bound by magic. Furious, Harry rushed forward, tackling Ron's aggressor and managed to disarm him. The cloak fell and he was startled to see his own face looking back at him. Harry retreated. The clothes of his attacker quickly transformed to match what Harry was wearing. Harry stared in disbelief.

The other Harry opened his mouth, "Draco!"

Malfoy, who had just managed to disarm his own opponent, turned to the scene: Harry pointing his wand to the person on the ground, who was also Harry.

"Draco, help," the attacker said.

Harry tensed, his voice caught in his throat. Malfoy had pointed his wand directly at his chest. They looked at one another. Harry's emerald eyes, filled with anxiety, and Malfoy's cold silver ones, unreadable.

The attacker took the opportunity to grab his wand from the floor, raising it for a curse. Harry braced himself for a double hit, his mouth opening to call for his shield, but just then a flash of light lit up the entire room. Harry was blind for moment. When his vision cleared, the attacker was laying on the floor, unconscious; his body and face slowly turned back to their original form.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His hair was drenched in sweat, his muscles still tensed after the fight. Malfoy still had his wand raised.


A wave if relief stole through Draco. He hadn't been al too sure that he was hitting the right person. The split second that he'd looked into Potter eyes…those clear green eyes…Draco shivered. It was the first time he'd actually looked into Potter's eyes and hadn't seen hate in them. He hoped never look at them that closely again. It was all that and the fact that Potter would never address him by his first name that he'd chosen to aim his spell at the other wizard. It all worked out, he supposed.

Draco took in the scene around them. The ordeal had lasted not ten minutes. The cloaked men were slowly stirring on the ground. Potter had run over to Weasley and Thomas, who were dusting themselves off shakily. He wondered whether he should go and help but thought better of it. He remained where he was, his wand still clenched in his hand. He raised it when he saw Robards stand up and straighten his robe.

"Adrian, please take Ronan to the infirmary. Your team is dismissed."

"Yes, sir." Adrian, a tall and slender man with short brown hair, got up quickly, limping and waved his wand at the shape-shifter on the floor, who had yet to wake up from the spell Draco had shot at him.

"What the hell was that?" Weasley demanded, holding onto his arm, which had turned purple. "You could've killed us!"

"That's enough, Weasley," Robards said. Weasley scowled in response.

"Looks like they wanted to see how well we fight," Draco said, lowering his wand and walking over to the group. Strength in numbers after all.

"You are correct, Malfoy. And what an impressive ability you have. None of my Aurors have ever been knocked down quite so powerfully."

"Good thing you're looking for new ones then. Out with the old, in with the new."

Robards narrowed his eyes but didn't respond. He waited until all the cloaked Aurors had left the hall before addressing them again.

"Although you have survived your interview, I expect a greater deal of work to be done regarding your fighting abilities. Mr. Thomas, I think we will have to work on your periphery. It will not fare well if you are focusing only on one target. You have to be aware of everything that is happening in your surrounding all at once. It is vital and it means the difference between living and being at the receiving end of an Unforgivable. It is something that can be worked on. I would like to invite you to join us back here tomorrow morning for your trial period."

The trial period, Draco thought as the adrenaline slowly left his body, would last approximately one month and would determine whether they would qualify to move on to actual Auror training, which would take another three years to complete.

Robards continued talking to Thomas, "I suggest you visit the infirmary before heading home. You are free to go," Robards said. Thomas thanked him, shook his hand and made his way carefully through the double doors.

"Mr. Weasley, being a part of this organization means that you are not looking after yourself anymore. You have your team, and in the future you'll have other people's lives at your hands as well. You have showed me that you are aware of the fact by calling out to your team member before he could be hit. I will see you tomorrow morning to begin your trial period. Stop by the infirmary so Katherine can have a look at your arm. You are free to go."

Weasley left, looking extremely pleased with himself. Draco nearly scoffed. He glanced at Potter, who had a foolish grin on his face as he watched the lanky, ginger-haired man walk out of the room. Seriously, how could he smile with so much freedom? Draco found himself wondering about the last time he'd ever smiled that way. He couldn't remember.

"Mr. Potter, you have an astounding fighting ability. Your magic seems to come almost naturally to you. That being said, you're not using your abilities at your full potential. You hesitate, afraid even of your power, and that kind of thing will get you killed. Trust yourself, Potter. I will see you in the morning."

Draco watched the younger man walk away without a second look in his direction. Draco clenched his teeth. He could've at least shown some sort of gratitude towards him for saving his life. Granted, the fight hadn't been deadly. Draco shook a stray hair away from his face. Still. The double doors shut with a loud thud. He turned back to Robards.

Robards spoke, "Have you been training with anyone, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco blinked and was quiet for a moment.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't expect Ronan to be up for a few hours after what you threw at him. I was inquiring of your previous training, if any, that you've done."

Draco frowned internally. Why hadn't Robards asked the others the same question?

Out of habit, he reached for his forearm and realized what the other man must have meant. He had taken particular interest in Draco's dark mark earlier during the inspection. "I thought it'd fade…" Robards had said. Did the guy really expect him to talk about the Dark Lord? Perhaps, to explain the various things he learned from the darkest wizard of recent times? He struggled to keep a straight face, though he felt his anger rising.

"I've never had any formal training, besides my schooling, if that's what you mean. I follow my instincts and nothing more."

Robards studied him for a moment longer. "Fair enough. I will see you in the morning. You're dismissed."


oOo


"Where were you today, Drake?"

Draco was at the kitchen table, a plate of food sitting uneaten in front of him. He didn't have much of an appetite. There was too much to think about after his interview. The fact that he'd actually made it, actually passed. The fact the he will now be working with his former enemy, Harry Potter.

Former?

He reached into his pocket for his Camel pack, in need of a smoke, but found the package empty. He cursed.

Blaise, who was sitting opposite him, tapped on the table to grab his attention. "Hey. I'm talking to you."

Draco took his time in answering. After all, he wasn't just some lowly servant to be tapped to attention. "What is it?"

"Where. Were you. Today."

"Around," Draco responded.

"Around," Blaise repeated.

Draco avoided the man's eyes. Did he always have to keep a tab on where he was? Can't Draco have a little privacy in his life?

"Well, where is 'around' exactly?" Blaise asked loudly. He raised his flask and took a long swig. If he kept at it he would be incomprehensible by the end of the night.

Draco felt an argument coming along. He could just answer the question. Calm the man down. Blaise was a stubborn, controlling bastard who always needed things done his way. It'd been like that ever since their school days. And even more so if he was inebriated. Draco liked to think that during the worst instances, that Blaise's temper could even rival that of the Dark Lord. Probably an exaggeration, but it would spike Draco's amusement all the same. Lucky for Draco, he was exactly the same way.

Draco stood up from the table and made his way to the living room in search of a cigarette. He heard Blaise following behind.

Draco checked the cabinet drawers and the top of one of the bookshelves. There! He pulled down a fresh pack and took a cigarette out, lit it, and took a long drag. He let his breath out slowly, feeling his nerves calm. He didn't turn around to face Blaise.

"Why can't you just answer my fucking question, Drake? It's a simple fucking question."

"I'm really not in the mood for your shit tonight, Blaise. So back the fuck off my dick, will you?"

Before he could take in another drag he was thrown forcefully onto the couch, his cig and his pack falling from his hand.

"Blaise, what the fuck—" A hand closed around his throat. Not choking him, but hard enough to hold him in place. "Blaise-" Draco reached for his waistband.

"Oh, no you don't you little bitch," he hissed. Blaise threw his wand out of reach. The hand that wasn't on Draco's throat closed around his hands and held them still. Despite Draco's efforts to pry him off his body, the other man was taller and much stronger. "I'll teach you to talk to me like that."

Draco was having trouble breathing and when his throat was finally released he hadn't enough time to take a breath before Blaise's mouth was over his own, his tongue intruding forcefully in between his lips. He reeked of fire whiskey and he tried in vain to push him off again. Draco's hands were placed over his head and Blaise moved his mouth down to Draco's jaw line. He felt an unwelcome twinge below his navel. He was breathing hard, and he closed his eyes as Blaise bit a particularly sensitive spot near his earlobe, eliciting a gasp from Draco's lips. Blaise laughed softly. Fucking bastard.

oOo


A while later Draco slipped back into his trousers and carefully stooped to pick up his pack from the floor. The lit cigarette had burned out, leaving a small scorch mark on the shiny wooden floor. He vanished the mark with a wave of his wand.

Inhaling a newly lit fag, he went to grab a blanket from one of the cupboards in the hallways and threw it over the young man the couch, who lay passed out. He watched him for a moment, not really knowing what he was feeling, preferring to ignore the dull ache somewhere in his chest.

He made his way to the shower and turned it on. After closer inspection, Draco found five fresh bruises on his body. He rubbed at a particularly nasty purple bruise on his hip bone, willing it to disappear. It wasn't the first time Blaise had been violent. At the start, Draco had found his roughness sort of appealing, something familiar. Something that he could handle. But now it had taken over their friendship and Draco found it difficult to remember the last proper conversation they'd had.

He undressed, stepping into the shower, and forced himself under the scalding hot water that was spraying against his skin. He clenched his teeth, rubbing away at the skin on his arms, his chest, his legs, willing for the water to wash away the filth that he could feel eating away at him slowly, slowly.


oOo


End Chapter One

Passive Aggressive—Placebo