AWAKE


Notes

Inspired and influenced heavily by the E.M. Forster novel Maurice and the subsequent 1987 film, though by no means an adaption. I know hardly anything about England during the early 20th century, and what I do is taken from books, film, and the internet, so there are most likely a myriad of historical errors.

Title subject to change

* = a line I have pilfered from the book either exactly as it is or with some alterations.

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters and universe belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros., etc. Maurice and all quotes used belong to E.M. Forster. Plot belongs to me.

Warnings: slash, sexual content, infidelity, prejudice of varying natures. So far no alcohol, but seeing as it's written by me, chances are someone's going to be drinking at some point

Will update every Thursday until it ends, if all goes as planned

Thanks ever so much to my beta, Michy Drarry Shipper


"I should have gone through life half awake if you'd had the decency to leave me alone."

-E.M. Forster, Maurice


Chapter One

It had become wretchedly unfashionable to associate with anything Muggle in those days, and just so. The brutes were gaining power in the world, driving wizards to an existence in which magical folk could survive only by hiding their magic. Draco was well-versed in the pureblood maxims, having grown up completely immersed in them, even during his Hogwarts days, back when he was forced to coexist with Muggles. Well, Muggle-borns and half-bloods, if one considered them like creatures, which Draco's father did. His mother, however, generally held different views, in which half-bloods were necessary evils for expanding the Wizarding population, but evils only to be committed by the lower classes. Along these veins of thought, Draco had received explicit instructions to stay amongst his peers in Slytherin, and he had eagerly followed them, having no inclination to intermingle with such creatures from the other houses.

There was, of course, great hypocrisy in this time, as wizards put great effort into covering all Muggle ties to originally Muggle inventions and customs that wizards had taken a liking to over the centuries. Whilst scorned by the most conservative of the pureblood gentry, cigarettes were quite acceptable and even fashionable among the younger generations, though Draco had never taken a liking to them. He was well aware of this hypocrisy, and considered all those who were not aware quite inept, but publicly rejecting it was out of the question, for if one wanted to do anything of consequence in the Wizarding World, it was of the utmost importance to adhere to the intricacies and convolutions of pureblood high society.

As it happened, Blaise was experiencing some trouble at the time. His mother was 'found' to have taken a Muggle-born into her bed during her fifth marriage, the one in which Blaise himself was born, and now his legitimacy as heir was being called into question. Draco, of course, did not believe a word of it, though when confronted with the choice between someone else and himself, a Slytherin will always choose himself. Draco's career as a politician was just beginning, and he could not risk the bad press by associating with Blaise. He had owled his friend when he had made his decision, and Blaise had responded agreeably, even going as far as saying he would have done the same thing had he been in Draco's shoes. Draco had been slightly relieved, and assured Blaise that once this catastrophe blew over, things would return to how they always were.

It also happened that around this time, Blaise was having his twenty-first birthday. Draco had no intentions of going to the small luncheon Blaise was holding in celebration (most wizards had massive galas to celebrate the occasion, but Blaise's circumstances made this unrealistic), and he had told Blaise so. His mother, however, had different designs, as she had always been more liberal than the rest of the family and thought of Blaise as her own son, or at the very least a cousin (which he was, in fact, though many families over). 'Oh, come now, Draco,' she had said. 'You and Blaise have known each other since childhood. You really ought to go.'

'Mother, I cannot afford to, what with the political climate being what it is at the moment, and my reputation being so important to my future career,' he had tried to explain, but she would have none of it.

'Take Astoria,' she had suggested. 'You've done so little with her lately, only dinners at the Manor or their Estate, and tea on the weekends.'

'I don't need advice on how to treat my own fiancée,' Draco then replied. 'And so far I have gotten no complaints from Astoria herself.'

'What a surprise,' Narcissa had said with a wry smirk, and Draco had gasped and laughed despite himself.

'Mother, you're going to grow old and bitter that way.'

'Oh, don't spoil my fun, darling, we are only going to be living on our own together for a few weeks longer, and by the time Astoria becomes lady of the house, you shall find yourself missing my droll commentary.' Draco had pretended as though this was so, but that still did not deter her. 'Now, owl Blaise. He's your friend, for Merlin's sake!'

He had considered, once more, trying to explain the situation to his mother, but decided that agreeing with her was best, and really, it was one birthday party with a friend he had known all his life. He supposed he couldn't be slighted for that alone. So he had owled Astoria, offering her an invitation to the occasion (her reply was swift-'I would most enjoy it, thank you for thinking of me', as though he had had another choice) and then Blaise, who had not sounded bitter at all toward the sudden (but brief, Draco was sure to make clear) change of heart.

So Saturday morning, Draco reluctantly dressed for the occasion and received Astoria in the parlour, where they Flooed to Blaise's arm in arm.

They were met in Blaise's own parlour by a grey little elf who obediently took their cloaks. 'This elf's name is Wimby,' the elf reported, 'and may the Sir and Miss be welcome to call on Wimby whenever they likes.'

'How unfortunate a name,' Astoria commented lightly as they made their way from the parlour to the drawing room. 'Promise me, Draco, that when we get our own house elves we shall pick more charming names.'

'Of course.'

Blaise, now alone without his mother, had only one elf, a relic from when the Zabini name was powerful in Italy, where his father had lived and nearly ruled. The rest of Blaise's servants were human. Upon coming into Blaise's house hold for the first time, Draco had tried to expostulate against this notion, explaining that while elves were a once-and-done sort of deal, humans required wages, and yet Blaise had insisted on keeping a staff. 'Elves repel me,' he had said. 'They are ugly and squeaky and get under one's feet.'

'I suppose, but they are also much more obedient and much more efficient.'

'There is, of course, the fact that I now live alone and have no one to talk to,' Blaise then murmured grudgingly.

Draco had laughed at that. 'You must be in quite a horrible place to desire contact with the lower classes.'

'There shall be no Muggle-borns, of course,' Blaise had sniffed, somewhat defensively. 'It is bad enough that I had to see them in school, and now see them in the streets, in the shops and even serving in the businesses I frequent.'

'Appalling, yes truly,' Draco had agreed routinely, and then went on, 'Do whatever you see fit, I suppose, but mark my words, Blaise, you shall be in want of elves in a week.'

It turned out to be one of those few instances in which Draco was wrong, as it had been two years since then and Wimby remained the only elf serving in the Zabini Estate. However, now that Draco was thinking about the whole affair more thoroughly, he realised that it was a rather Muggle thing of Blaise to do, and wondered how his friend felt about it now that his blood lines were being called into question.

'What drab hues,' commented Astoria, breaking Draco from his reverie. The hallway was painted a dark blue-ish-grey and all the frames were wrought from what appeared to be iron. The portraits all wore blacks and browns and blues that contrasted severely with their pale countenances. Hardly any of the portraits were as dark as Blaise and his mother, yet Draco couldn't fathom why Madam Zabini kept so many portraits of her many husbands' relatives. 'How frightfully depressing.'

'Blaise's mother was fond of dark colours,' Draco explained.

'Perhaps because she was in mourning half her life,' Astoria deadpanned, and Draco interrupted his chuckle with a cough.

The drawing room was a casual affair, pretty and sunlit, and most importantly, it had two large, glass double doors that led to the massive lawn behind the house. Draco led Astoria through the doors, held open by a servant girl, and walked onto the grass, which was perfectly cut and exceptionally green. The yard was bordered on two sides by numerous trees trimmed meticulously into the shapes of different magical beasts, a small opening made to lead to the rest of the grounds, and the left side was made of stone. Beside the stone wall, there was a large weeping willow, and beneath the willow there stood a table occupied by Blaise's various friends that remained loyal to him even in this time of controversy.

On the lawn there was a young boy who could have only belonged to Montague, the only one of their inner circle to have a child, and a dog twice the child's size, which belonged to Nott, who had always been fond of the beasts for some inconceivable reason.

'Malfoy!' Blaise called when he caught sight of his friend. 'Ah, and Miss Greengrass the younger.' He came up from his seat as they walked across the lawn and met them at the edge of the shade. 'Glad you could come, mate, quite glad indeed.'

'I would not miss it for the world,' Draco said wryly, and Blaise laughed at the irony as he shook his hand. There were many things that could be said of Blaise, but a lack of humour was not one of them.

Blaise then turned to Astoria. 'What a joy it is to see you again, Astoria.' He took her fingers in his hand and kissed them politely.

'Likewise,' Astoria replied.

Blaise led them to the table and Draco scanned the guests. At the table sat Montague, his wife, Tracey, Nott with Pansy, and Astoria's spinster of a sister, Daphne. Daphne was, admittedly, the same age as Blaise and Draco, but her glaring lack of husband, or even prospect of a husband, was a constant source of gossip. It was not that she was averse to men; simply that she had no inclination to settle down with one, which was unreasonable and strange for many reasons. She lived on her own, which served only to stir more gossip, in a small estate she had inherited when her mother's grandfather had passed away three years ago.

Pleasantries were exchanged to the annoyance of Draco, who never enjoyed sitting through them, and he took a seat beside Blaise, on his right. From there, it went Astoria, Daphne, Pansy, Tracey, Montague, and Nott. To the great amusement of the circle of friends, Nott and Pansy could hardly stand to be beside each other for more than a few minutes, hence the odd seating arrangements. Blaise, Montague, and Draco often joked about the name of the pair's prospective daughter-Miracle, because it would have been one to conceive her.

'I hope you don't mind too terribly that we started lunch without you,' Blaise said. 'Pansy was complaining quite viciously against your lack of punctuality and we thought your irritation would be suffered better than her wrath.'

'I do not blame you for that,' Draco conceded. 'You will find no irritation from me.'

'Miss Abbott, if you would procure another cup of tea for Mister Malfoy and Miss Greengrass, and-would you like wine, Draco?'

'I suppose I wouldn't mind a drop,' Draco said, slightly startled when Miss Abbott, the serving girl, seemed to suddenly Apparate behind him and curtsy.

'Merlin, Blaise, are they always like that?'

'Like what?'

'Invisible.'

'The good ones know how to make themselves... blend in,' Blaise said. 'Some even use Disillusionment charms, so they can keep out of view while still being perfectly able to jump in whenever we may need assistance.'

The serving girl returned with the tea and wine in hand, placing them delicately on the table. Draco took a sip of his before asking, admittedly curious, 'Do you allow them their wands?'

'For a small number of things. There are restrictions as to what spells they may or may not use on the grounds, and those who disregard them shall be dismissed immediately.'

'Has it happened yet?'

'No, not yet, though I keep a sharp eye on them.'

'How many do you have?'

'I don't have them,' Blaise said. 'I don't own them the way you would a house elf. They are under my service.'

'Yes, yes, alright, how many do you have under your service?'

'One cook, two maids that attend to the household chores and the guests, when I have them, a valet who is currently attending to some financial matters, and a groundskeeper, whom I hired not too long ago, as a matter of fact. Whatever is left is done by Wimby.'

'A good elf,' Draco commented pointedly to his friend.

'I suppose, but don't get that look in your eye, Draco, I shall not be swayed. If you must know, I've become fond of my staff. They have a sense of humour and talk to me in a way that Wimby is terrified to.'

'They talk to you?'

'Occasionally. The maids, not so much. But the cook is a rather friendly fellow and my groundskeeper is amiable enough, if a bit timid.'

'You ought to get married, if it's company you're seeking.'

'Perhaps, but that is impossible at the moment, as you know, and there are so few ladies left in Britain who hold the same status as us.'

'Go abroad,' Draco suggested. 'You still speak Italian, do you not?'

'Yes, though I doubt anyone of our sort would welcome me there. They are still quite prejudiced against my mother and all of her brood, though I can't imagine why,' he said, somewhat acerbically.

'Speaking of which, I don't see a single one of them attending.'

'Yes, well, none of them wanted to be seen with me at the moment, except for Maggie, bless her, who was otherwise engaged.'

Maggie was three years older than Blaise and born from his mother's third marriage to a politician from the Irish Ministry of Magic. She was, by far, the most agreeable of Blaise's half-siblings and Draco was a tad fond of her. 'How unfortunate.'

'Quite. Anyway, I thought I ought to mention that Nott, Montague and I are engaging in a pick-up Quidditch match to-morrow. No doubt Daphne shall try to butt in, as she does every game. You are, of course, welcome to join us, though I quite understand if you decide not to.'

Draco frowned. 'I shall have to think on it.'

'Do, please. Your presence is missed,' Blaise said lightly, but the implication was unmistakeable.

Their conversation turned to politics, by which time they involved Montague and Nott. Montague was clever where Nott was educated, and the pair of them made good partners for such a discussion. All the while, Draco's hand lay over Astoria's, who was chattering quietly with the other women.

'Odgen must be stepping down from the Wizengamot quite soon,' Nott was saying. 'There is too much controversy around his inclination toward half-bloods and Muggle-borns. He has been blatantly rejecting the rules of high society for the past decade, and I am quite eager for the day when he is sacked.'

'What an amusing suggestion,' Montague said haughtily. 'Not a chance, Theo, Odgen is too respected by the masses. It would cause too great an uproar if he were to be removed.'

'Well I did not say removed, did I? They would have him step down himself.'

'Despite what we may wish, the common people are much smarter than they appear, and at the same time willing to believe whatever their comrades say, trusting as they are. The whole of London's worth of them would sniff out such a move in less than a day,' Blaise interjected. 'The chances of Odgen stepping down are as slim as Draco and Pansy eloping in America.'

Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought while Montague laughed.

'Did you hear that, Pans?' Nott said. 'This fellow dares to impugn your good name!'

'Oh, do shut up, dear,' Pansy replied without look up from her conversation. 'You are making more of a fool of yourself than you do naturally.'

Montague hooted uproariously and Draco barely restrained a smile. 'It's a wonder you two haven't tried for a child yet,' he said.

'It's not for lacking of trying,' Nott muttered sourly, and then yelped suddenly, clutching his face.

'You act as though I don't have ears, love,' Pansy said from across the table, tucking her wand back into her robes, and they all laughed.

'Blaise, dear,' said Tracey through the break in conversation, 'Pansy was telling me about the roses you are growing in the garden. Could I perhaps see them?'

'Of course,' Blaise said congenially. 'Do not worry yourself with getting up, though, I shall have a bouquet brought to you. Miss Abbott, please go and tell Mister Potter to gather a bouquet of roses for the Lady Montague.'

'Yes, Mister Blaise.' The girl curtsied and withdrew.

'Potter, did you say? Now there is a name I haven't heard in a while,' Montague commented.

'Yes, well, they did fade, didn't they? That's what happens when you support wizard-Muggle liaisons,' Nott said. 'And then there was that trouble with the assassin...'

'Both of them killed in one night, how utterly dreadful,' Astoria said, clicking her tongue.

'Yes, well, the Potters had always had pro-Muggle ideas, and I suppose the radicals decided it was simply too much when Mister Potter married that Muggle girl.'

'She was not truly Muggle,' Tracey said. 'Muggle-born, wasn't she?'

'Well, it's all the same to the radicals,' Blaise interjected.

'And all the same to me, in my humble opinion, though that's no excuse to go killing someone in any case,' Montague said.

'Anyway, their son survived somehow,' Blaise said. 'And that old bat Dumbledore became involved. Sent him to live with the Muggles on his mother's side, where he supposed Potter would be safe from the radicals. Of course, Dumbledore died nearly a decade ago, and the Potter boy had no idea he was a wizard until the Ministry found him, nearly ready to be committed into a Muggle sanatorium.'

'The poor dear,' Tracey said sympathetically.

'Yes, well, he is just about our age now, and I found him in Diagon Alley, working for the Weasleys.'

They all sniffed at this, of course, for the Weasleys were a lower class of pureblood, one that dabbled in the Muggle world much more than could ever be proper.

'I saw him moving crates, you see, massive crates packed with cauldrons, and I realised that he was not using a wand at all. I had no idea who he was, then, but I decided instantly that I needed that sort of power in my household, under my command. A rather superficial reason, of course, but I hired him as quickly as I could-he was quite fond of the Weasleys, though I can't imagine why.'

'What risk, Blaise!' Tracey said, aghast. 'Suppose he was slow or impudent, what would you have done then?'

'I would have sent him to do some other, menial task that would drain him to compliance, but as it happens I was quite lucky. He is hardworking, obedient, and precise. Even a tad artistic. In fact, he did all the trees you see before you. Every design is his and carried out by him.'

'Quite marvellous,' Astoria said.

'Mm, that's what I thought. And he has a way with plants. They flourish under his care in a way that I have never seen.'

'Perhaps it is his magic they're drawn to,' Montague suggested. 'Plants are rather receptive towards powerful magic.'

'That may be,' Blaise conceded. 'Anyway, I'm thankful for him. And here he comes now!'

Draco looked up to see a man, not much younger than himself, walking towards the house with a large bundle of roses in his hand. Potter could not have been much shorter than Draco, and he had frightfully unruly black hair that twisted and twirled in all sorts of directions, more bird's nest than hairstyle. Beneath his black locks, his eyes shone a piercing, unnatural green. Upon first sight, there was a queer reaction in Draco's chest, a sort of twinge that he could not place, and he blinked and looked again. Potter wore simple clothes-a roughly-made jacket, shirt, trousers, boots-and yet in that moment he seemed finer than any of them at the table.

Draco coughed and looked away, suddenly and unbearably mortified with his reaction. Such thoughts ruined marriages, ruined careers, and he was appalled at himself for even brushing the idea.

'What a fine creature,' Daphne said as Potter passed the Montague child on the lawn. Little Montague got up from the grass and followed the groundskeeper, dragging the dog along with him. Astoria swatted her sister with her glove.

'Don't be coarse, Daphne,' Astoria admonished. 'He's beneath you.'

'That doesn't mean I cannot appreciate him.'

The Montague boy tugged on Potter's trouser leg and said something. The groundskeeper stopped and looked to their table for direction.

'Tom, do leave the man alone,' Tracey called to her son.

'No, dear, let the boy speak,' Montague said.

Potter knelt down before the child and words were exchanged. Draco and the others watched on with curiosity.

A few more moments passed and then Potter smiled widely, causing Draco's heart to stutter distressingly in his chest. Get a grip on yourself, man! he chided himself, distraught. These unnatural reactions were ghastly on their own, but Draco would be damned if he let them show. They all watched as Potter handed the Montague boy the bouquet.

He abandoned the dog, who looked quite relieved at this, and toddled over on his short little legs and walked around the table to his mother. 'What've you got there, Tom?'

'You see Mum, it, it went like this,' said Tom matter-of-factly. 'The mister was walking with this bouquet in his hands and I saw it, didn't I, and I thought... I thought to m-myself Mum would quite like flowers. So I called him and I asked him, "say, sir, where... er, where are you going with those flowers?" And he says, well he says to me, "to Lady Montague, little fellow!" And I thought, I'm a Montague and Mum is a lady. So I asks him,'-'Ask,' Tracey corrected-'I ask him, "if you please sir, could I take the, the er, the flowers to Lady Montague herself?" So here they are. The mister picked them out, but I delivered them to you,' the boy said, finishing his tale with a proud smile.

'Quite right you did, love.' Tracey took the roses-they were all white-and smelled them delicately. 'They really are lovely, Blaise!' she said when she emerged.

'Thank you, Tracey. That'll be all, then, Potter. Do continue with the gardens, won't you please?'

'Right away, Mister Blaise,' Potter said, and Draco nearly shivered at the sound of his voice. Surely it was a sin for any man's voice to sound like that? Potter inclined his head towards his master and then, just as he was turning back towards the gardens, his eyes met with Draco's.

Draco nearly gasped-they were so, so green, intense and soft at the same time-when there was a sudden sound, coarse and loud and grating. Draco looked up and cried out as he saw a massive portion of the stone wall behind them tumble off the side, falling toward them. Time seemed to slow down, and yet Draco intrinsically knew there would not enough time for him to shield them, not with a stone that large and his wits completely fled, so he lunged for Astoria, shielding her body with his, and then waited, waited for the large chunk of stone to crash into his back, slice his shoulder blades, cave his head in, rend his body into two-

'E-e-excuse me,' said a rough voice through gritted teeth. Draco, realising he was still alive and uninjured, slowly straightened, and saw the others do the same. His eyes turned back to Potter, whose hands were outstretched and shaking with effort, his face red and scrunched up from chin to forehead. 'If the good sirs and misses could p-please step away from the t-t-table I'd be... most obliged-'

Draco looked up to find a great hulking hunk of rock and various debris hovering precariously directly over his head, and immediately grabbed Astoria-who was crowing in surprise-by the hand, leading her away while the rest of the party followed suit. When they were all safely away from the table, Potter finally released his magic with a great cry of effort, and the stones crashed onto the table and the chairs Draco, Blaise, and Astoria had been sitting on not moments before. That entire side of the table was in splinters, no piece of it larger than his hand. He swallowed as he imagined the outcome had he still been sitting there when the rocks fell.

'Merlin and Morgana,' Tracey gasped, and that seemed to break the spell of silence that had held them all captive.

'Good show, Potter!' Montague barked, turning toward the groundskeeper. Draco turned as well, and saw that Potter was bent over his knees and breathing very heavily, as though he had just run a race. When Montague extended his hand to the man, Potter straightened with a gasp and then clasped Montague's hand calmly, as though nothing of importance had happened at all.

Meanwhile, the two serving girls appeared out of nowhere, flitting from person to person to ensure that they were alright.

'Miss Abbott,' Blaise said, 'Do fetch Mister Snape from Gringotts. Tell him we need his expertise. Though it's very unlikely, I'd like to be sure that this was a mere accident and not a plot against my well-being. You may Disapparate off the grounds.'

'Very good, sir,' Miss Abbott said, and then disappeared.

'Tom?' Tracy was saying in the background, clutching her son by the shoulders. 'Tom, are you quite alright?'

'I'm fine, Mother,' the boy replied earnestly. 'Mister Potter saved us!'

'He saved our lives,' Draco parroted disbelievingly, still trying to regain his breath.

'Yes, quite so. Thank you ever so much, Mister Potter,' Astoria said, leaving Draco's side to approach the groundskeeper herself. She eagerly took one of his hands in both hers and held it firmly. 'Thank you a hundred times over.'

'See, all, I knew it was a good idea to hire him,' Blaise said, now grinning from ear to ear. He clapped Potter on the back. 'Quite good of you, Potter, thank you.'

'It were nothing, sir,' Potter said, looking red and self-conscious.

'Draco, dear, we must find a way to repay him.'

The words were out of Draco's mouth in a second, slipping out without his permission: 'Why don't you spend the weekend at the Manor as my personal guest.' He regretted them at soon as they flew from his mouth-how could he invite this man into his home when his mere presence risked his career?-but found he could not take them back. 'If that's alright with you,' he added, towards Blaise.

'I'm sure my roses can survive a few days without him,' he conceded.

'And a hundred galleons from Daphne and me, of course,' said Astoria.

The others began to offer their own rewards, and Draco turned to Blaise.

'Have him Floo over for tea Thursday, and I'll send him back Monday morning, how does that sound?'

'Perfectly alright.'

'You're too kind, sir's and misses.' Potter was stared at the ground rather determinedly, red all over.

They all began to protest profusely.

'Not at all, Potter, not at all,' Draco said. And despite his better judgement, he stepped forward and offered his own hand. 'Thank you, truly.'

Then Potter took Draco's hand, and it felt as though the ground had slipped out from underneath his feet.