A/N: Hey all! Hurray for a new chapter! I hope this chapter makes up for how long it actually took me to write it. It would appear I'm not so great at writing mysteries so this should be interesting -_- It was really funny, too, when I uploaded this because I was going through putting all the page breaks in and realized that in a few places I spelled Charlie with a 'y' instead of and 'i'. I was like...um, wtf? Haha, yeah, I'm sure you were all fascinated by that little aside. -facepalms- Anyway, thanks to those of you who have reviewed, I really appreciate them. I know I don't typically answer them but so you all know, I adore them and the more I get, the more I am inspired to write -winks- Look at me, shamelessly groveling for reviews! teehee. Please take into consideration that this is not beta'd and I'm crap at it so for any mistakes, I do apologize! Thanks and enjoy!
Chapter 2: Uncertain Balance…
The great basement kitchen was gloomy and inhospitable, despite the large vase of flowers sitting in the middle of the long table, the red, orange and yellow flowers a bright flash of color in the dimness. Their scent, however, was drowned out by the smell of cooking and he stared at the big blossoms in an attempt to take his mind off the way his stomach cramped with hunger. The sound of rattling pots and pans came from behind him and he sternly told himself that he would not be embarrassed by being caught drooling; even if the simple soup and warm bread Mrs. Weasley was making smelled so good. He thought it probably smelled better than the food he used to get at the Manor when he was young.
When the memories of some of the dinners he'd had sitting in the Manor's dining room assaulted him, he shifted his gaze so that he would not have to remember how he had been fed nothing more than thin slops and moldy bread for the past…he didn't know how long it had been but long enough. Instead he looked to his right were the small boy with the green eyes and dark hair had been watching him since they had first sat down in the kitchen.
It had been quite the shock to be told that the boy was Potter's son. Of course, he looked almost like a carbon copy of his father but it was one thing to notice such a thing and another to be told so that there was no doubt. It had taken a little bit to swallow unexpected bile at the pronouncement because he thought the only way the dark haired man would have a child was if he had gotten married but the more he observed, he realized that there seemed to be no mother in the picture. Draco wasn't sure why that surprised him but it did. It also calmed him because he didn't think he could bear it if Potter was married. Not with the way his emotions seemed to be sliding over the surface of his being, ready to break free any moment. After being confined for so long, he hadn't needed the icy mask that he used to have perfected that concealed what he was feeling and now he couldn't seem to get it back.
Loud voices filtered in through the closed door then as if the speakers had forgotten he was there and he flinched, hunching his shoulders.
It seemed that there were very few people that wanted to have Draco there at Grimmuald place and had been arguing over his presence in the house since they had gotten back. But as Potter had kept stating over and over to a pair of irate twins and the older Weasley brothers, there was nowhere else for the blond to go. His appearance at the funeral, though he hadn't known what it was until he had gotten there, had caused a stir of animosity that he couldn't understand at first. No, the Malfoy and the Weasley families had not gotten along for generations but he did not think that he merited the business end of several wands intent to kill. When he had learned why, however, he really couldn't blame them for such a reaction.
Apparently, the funeral they had been attending was for one of the Weasley brothers and his lover who had perished by a curse from the wand of Draco's own father. When they had told him that he could hardly believe it but he did not know Lucius's condition since he had not seen the man since before the war had ended and he did not know what his father was like now. The thought, though, of the tall, stately man he had always known as his father doing such a thing made his blood run cold and at the same time he wanted to see both of his parents with such an aching intensity that he thought he might faint from it. He knew, though, that he could not go back to the Manor.
"What the hell should we do with him then?" the oldest Weasley brother's voice had been hard when he had asked the question right after Potter had told the crowd that had gathered around them in the meadow that he would not be handing Draco over to the ministry for questioning. His voice had been soft but held such command that the blond knew no one would dare refute him. He had managed to stop shaking by then, soaking in the warmth of another human body holding his own close and watched the boy in Potter's arms smiling at him while listening to the argument flying over his head. The dark haired man had held him gently, like he was about to break and did not once tense or seem like he was about to push Draco away, something which he was absurdly grateful for. The feeling of being in the taller man's arms was safe, pushing away the blonde's fear.
"I would ask him what he would like to do but I think it would be best if we took him to St. Mungo's," the name of the hospital had such terror flaring through him that for a moment he thought he had gone blind. Then he had realized he was gasping and holding onto the other man tighter than ever and somehow managed to find his voice.
"No, please! They'll find me there! Please, please don't take me there…" his voice had cracked and broken and his chest felt tight, like he couldn't draw in all the air he needed. In hindsight, he realized he must have been on the urge of a panic attack but Potter had tightened his arm around the blonde's waist and lowered his mouth so that he could murmur words only he could hear.
"Sh, it's okay. I won't take you there, I promise. You're safe now, I won't let anyone take you again," and they had eased him enough that he didn't feel like throwing up or passing out quite so much. He had sagged against the other man, feeling his solidness and trying to draw strength from it. Draco hadn't thought about how pathetic he must had looked then, emaciated and filthy while clinging to his one-time rival as if he was afraid he would drown should the dark haired man let him go. But Potter did not let him go, standing against the sharp gazes of opposition he had been receiving like the true hero he was. Saint Potter. The blond used to use that title mockingly but now he was grateful for it.
It was actually Mrs. Weasley who had pushed through the ring of angry wizards, her chin set and eyes compassionate. One of the twins had muttered something about throwing the blond on the side of a street somewhere to forget about him, making Potter stiffen and his son make a small sound before reached out and curling a small arm around the back of Draco's neck like that would offer protection only to have the Weasley matriarch slap her son upside the head. Though her eyes were red rimmed from crying and her hands clutching at a soiled handkerchief, she had faced her angry sons and husband and spoken with absolute clarity that they couldn't argue with.
"That's enough! Can't you see the poor boy is starving? I don't care who his father is or what he has done but we will not turn him away," apparently that was enough to cow the Weasley clan enough to resort them to resentful glowering but at least they had put their wands away and had let Potter Disapperate away, still holding Draco and his son both close to him. He didn't know why exactly the other man had accepted him so easily or had taken it upon himself to become the blonde's protector but he was more than grateful for it. Even when he was lead into a gloomy house that looked like it had seen better days and seemed vaguely familiar, the overwhelming feeling of being safe had not gone away and he drank it in hungrily, telling himself that if he was here then maybe he would not be found by the people who had held him captive.
He had been given a bath where he had scrubbed at the grime on his skin four times and still hadn't felt completely clean and then given clothing to wear that hung from his bony frame awkwardly. The sleeves and cuffs of the trousers had to be rolled so he wouldn't trip or get caught on them but he didn't care about that. They were clean and warm and smelled like Potter. If he just lifted his wrist to his nose and breathed deeply, he was filled with thoughts of warmth and security and he thought that just maybe he might be okay here. And when the dark haired man looked at him, there was nothing but warm kindness in his gaze.
A large bowl of fragrant soup and a plate of fresh bread were placed in front of him then, jarring him from his thoughts and his mouth watered shamelessly. Mrs. Weasley's face was lined deeply with emotions he thought was grief but it was warm and kind when she managed a smile at him.
"Here you go, dear. Eat slowly so that you don't sick it back up again," he barely heard her as he snatched the spoon and took the first sip, the warm broth sliding down his throat and making him let slip a sigh of delight. The older woman just chuckled fondly and patted his back before turning away to clean up, leaving him to his meal. It was heavenly, the best he had ever tasted he was sure and he tried to gulp it slowly like he had been instructed rather than lifting the whole thing to his lips and simply tipping it down his throat. It was a light broth with homey seasonings and the bread was warm and fluffy, encased in thick, flaky crust. With a cup of warmed pumpkin juice to wash it all down, he completely forgot his table manners. It wasn't until Sirius began to giggle, his wide emerald eyes sparkling did Draco pause in snarfing down his first real meal in what felt like forever.
"You eat just like Uncle Dog does!" he said, his voice high and sweet and the blond simply blinked at him. Uncle Dog? he wondered as he broke off another piece of bread and ate it more slowly. Mrs. Weasley laughed softly and cast the last of her cleaning spells before she sat beside Sirius, ruffling his wild curls.
"Uncle Dog is Ron," she explained as the boy climbed into her lap and allowed her to cuddle him, though his wide green eyes never left Draco, as if he was constantly reassuring himself the blond was still there. He still didn't understand why the boy was so drawn to him but it was nice to have someone so unconditionally on his side, even if he was only less than three feet tall, "He's called most people by animal names, ever since he learned how to talk," the red haired woman explained, eyes never leaving the boy sitting calmly in her lap. Draco was rather surprised at how kindly she was treating him but he supposed he was more like a project for her, someone to feed and mother because it would help take her mind off the son she had just buried. The thought made a lump rise in the back of his throat, though it had more to do with his own father's possible involvement but before he could get any further into his brooding, there was a thump and then the door to the kitchen was thrown open, making the three of them at the table jump in surprise.
Potter filled the doorway, dark and imposing, making the blonde's breath catch at his impossible beauty. He looked like he had once when he had battled Death Eaters, lines of his face fierce and set. Then Sirius had called out in a happy voice, "Daddy!" and squirmed from Mrs. Weasly's arms so that he could run over the dark haired wizard. The young boy was immediately swept into the man's arms and Potter's face softened with warm affection.
In that moment Draco knew he was lost. There had always been something about this man, even when they were very young, that he had admired and longed for. But now, watching his burning strength melt into warm radiance while he held his son, the blond ached with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
He didn't know where he fit in here but he wanted to, with a ferocity that frightened him.
Harry had never enjoyed confrontations and facing off against a very angry Bill Weasley, a concerned Charlie and Kingsley and stubborn twins was something he never wanted to do again. No matter what their reasons or arguments might be, though, all he had to do was think about the pathetic figure of Draco Malfoy clinging to him and shaking and he knew he could not turn the man away. He had loved Percy and Connor like brothers and he was blind with grief and rage when he thought about how they had been killed but he could not bring himself to hate Lusius's son. Though he had no idea what had happened to the blond, he could tell it was bad and he was reluctant to let Malfoy go, sure that he would get snatched back by whoever had held him captive and they would never see him again.
But that meant that he had to face off with half the Weasley family, protecting someone who he had thought was dead.
Surprisingly enough it was Ron who stood at his shoulder and offered his support for keeping Malfoy at Grimmuald place for the time being. It surprised him more than anyone else would have, even Hermione because out of them all, his best friend had always had a particularly strong dislike for Malfoy and his family. Harry had always thought it had a lot to do with the prestige and the money that came with the blonde's name but the war had mellowed the tall red head to the point where not much could rile him up except his partner. In the past couple years the dark haired man was grateful for his friend's level head and sometimes unexpected pragmatism. Still, it was a relief to have the tall Auror on his side because he didn't want to have to face half of his surrogate family alone.
They had left the funeral almost immediately after he managed to make everyone calm down enough to be sure they wouldn't hex the blond that had remained clinging to him the entire time. He knew they wouldn't because the risk of hitting Sirius was too high but he wondered if maybe they wouldn't have if the boy had not been with him. Harry was grateful to get out of there anyway, the grief heavy in the air and weighing down on him. Between his concern for Malfoy, the novelty of actually seeing the man still alive and the inevitable conflict with some of the Weasley family over him, the distractions were almost welcome. He didn't want to think about how much he would miss Percy and his lover's company and he didn't know how much longer he could keep the grief at bay should he continue to stay. Besides, he needed to get the blond to a place where he could be taken care of and where people weren't going to stare.
Convincing the other man to stop clinging to him had proved to be a bit of a challenge, further hindered by Sirius who seemed to have taken to the blond and kept trying to latch onto Malfoy at the most inopportune times. He didn't understand the boy's fascination, wondering if maybe he was trying to replace his lost uncles with the first opportunity that he saw and Harry didn't really have the time to try. So he was forced to keep asking his son to please leave their new guest alone so that he could get an unhindered look at his new surroundings while fending off the blond who followed him around like a puppy; though Harry was sure he had never seen any puppy with eyes as clear and as gray as the blonde's.
Finally he managed to lead the man up to the third floor bathroom, the floor that he himself used for himself and Sirius, showing him how to use the Muggle appliances he had installed while his small son watched them avidly from the doorway. He frowned a little when the blond tried to shuffle a little closer while the dark haired wizard was turning the hot water on in the shower so it could heat up and ignored the dirty, musty smell that nearly choked him. Pity that had been gnawing quietly at his mind quietly in the background had nearly overwhelmed him then and he had turned to leave so that the blond might have some privacy when a bony hand closed around his wrist, halting his retreat. The gray eyes were enormous and questioning in the skeletal face and he swallowed hard, wanting to cry every time he saw what kind of condition Malfoy was in. Once so proud and beautiful, he was nothing more than timid skin and bones, his face nearly unrecognizable and his pride laying in broken, tattered shards at his feet. The man's loss had always grated on him but now that he was back, was alive, he didn't know how he was supposed to react.
"Don't worry, I'll be right down the hall if you need anything. I know the clothes will be too big but hopefully we can change that. Are you...are you sure you sure you don't want to go someplace where they can take better care of you?" he only asked the question because he felt completely unequipped to nurse a clearly traumatized and malnourished person back to health not because he wanted Malfoy to leave but he realized his mistake as soon as he had spoken. The big, shadowed eyes grew impossibly wide and a second later, he had his arms full of trembling, dirty blond. Surprised, he took a few moments to sooth the other man before pulling back to look into the gray eyes.
"Don't make me go anywhere else, please," and that last word was so ragged, so desperate, like the blond would lose his sanity if his fears were to come true that Harry placed gentle hands on his frail shoulders and tried to draw himself up.
"I won't, Mal—Draco, I promise. Just go clean up and I'll be right down the hall," he wasn't very good at reassuring adults. Kids were one thing, especially after having his son but he had never had to balance that fine line between gentle compassion and coddling. He didn't want the man to feel like he was being pitied and patronized but at the same time, he wanted to wipe that lost, terrified expression from his too-thin face. Malfoy seemed to have been reassured by, out of everything, the use of his first name and he had let Harry's wrist go to step back, though he never took his eyes from the dark haired man as he gave the blond what he hoped was an encouraging smile and shut the door. Right before he did, though, he couldn't help but notice how small and lonely the other man looked, standing in the middle of his bathroom wearing nothing but the tattered remains of what were probably once fine robes and his matted hair falling about his shoulders in a messy tangle.
Harry sighed after the door clicked shut and he leaned against the wall beside the bathroom for a moment with his eyes closed. It had been a difficult couple of days and life had just thrown a complication at him that he couldn't even begin to figure out what to do with. There was an ache starting behind his eyes and he desperately wished for Percy's clam and Connor's cheerfulness. Surely they would have helped him, would have made this whole thing a little bit easier just by being there but they were gone and no amount of wishing would bring them back. Just as a lump was about to form in his throat, there was a tug on his pants and he glanced down to see his son staring solemnly up at him, small face intent.
"Daddy, are you going to let Dragon stay?" his voice was high and clear and for a moment Harry allowed it to flow over him like a healing balm. No matter what happened, as long as he had his Sirius by his side, he knew everything would be okay. He dredged up a smile and crouched beside the boy, listening to the sound of the shower door closing and the steady patter of water against the marble floor stuttered as it was disturbed while threading his fingers through the familiar, dark curls so much like his own.
"Why do you call him a Dragon, Sirius?" he asked, curious and the boy blinked at him as if his question was strange. He was ready for anything, though, used to his son's strange way of looking at the world and knowing better than to dismiss what he said as a child's delusions or a hyper-active imagination.
"Because he is like the pictures of the dragons that Uncle Charlie showed us," he explained, patient like he couldn't understand why Harry didn't already know this and then the boy drew himself up, lifting his chin and looking so proud and eerily cool that for a moment he looked like an entirely different person. It also captured what Malfoy had been five years ago that the dark haired wizard felt a chill. He ran his fingers through the boy's hair, absently enjoying its silky softness but he tried to keep a frown from his face. Sirius was as sensitive to people's moods as he was to whatever it was he saw that told him their true selves. The boy called them "the colors" and they had never once lied. Now Harry wondered just what Sirius had seen when he looked at Malfoy.
"Did the colors tell you this?" he asked softly, shifting so he was sitting on the floor in front of the young boy instead of crouching uncomfortably. The wide green gaze that was identical to his own studied him steadily for long moments and he waited, knowing Sirius would talk when he was ready. Because he had always seen more than ordinary people, it made him more thoughtful and thus prone to lapses of silence that many people found disturbing. Harry loved it though; he loved everything about his son. When Sirius finally opened his mouth to speak, his eyes were filled with that same emotion that the dark haired man couldn't identify.
"He has your colors, Daddy," he said quietly and seriously and Harry blinked at the strange statement, "They are whole, now," he didn't know what the boy meant by that, which was also not a very unusual occurrence but he knew whatever Sirius was trying to tell him, it was abnormal. He had stroked the boy's hair a few more times and studied his son, taking in the familiar, beloved features.
"Do you mean he had less than everyone else?" he tried, feeling particularly stupid, especially when the five year old simply fixed him with a patient stare and shook his dark head.
"No, I mean…" the boy compressed his lips and looked away, obviously distressed at not being able to explain what he meant to his father but just as Harry was about to reassure the boy that he didn't have to worry so much about it, the bright green gaze came back to his own and the boy tipped his head to the side, "You have your colors and so does Dragon but they are…brighter…better when you are together. They are whole," and the little boy shrugged and wrinkled his nose, probably feeling like he had not explained it better this time around. But Harry understood. At least, he thought he did and it shocked him as well as made his mouth feel oddly dry. He pressed a kiss to the round forehead but his eyes were staring off at the other side of the hall. Sirius didn't talk about his "colors" much unless he noticed something unusual and the dark haired man could not remember an instance when his son spoke about something like this.
"Do you..." Harry ground to a halt and looked down into the boy's small, earnest face and wanted to be able to not think about what it could mean that he and Malfoy might have a bond. Filled with a fascinated kind of dread, he licked his lips and tried again, "Have you seen that before? Like around Auntie Owl and her husband?" of course he must, he reasoned, because they were married but Sirius shook his dark head and then burst out into a bright grin that made Harry's chest flood with warmth no matter how many times he saw it.
"No, Daddy, just this time. I told you Dragon belonged to us!" the last words were an excited cry and Sirius giggled before taking off down the hallway, shouting something like he wanted to be the one to pick their Dragon's bedroom, leaving Harry to sit on the floor in stunned silence. He knew never to doubt his son when it came to this kind of thing but how could such a thing happen with Malfoy of all people? No, they hadn't been enemies when they parted ways during the war and he had mourned when he had heard the blonde's name on the list of suspected casualties, even though his body had never been found but this? He didn't know what it could mean and the thought frightened him. Yet even so, he felt a sudden and rather violent surge of protection for the blond using his shower and he knew that he would not turn the man away unless Malfoy decided to leave on his own terms.
By the time the other man stepped out of the bathroom, followed with a billow of warm, white steam, Mrs. Weasley had Flooed in and had taken over Harry's kitchen. She seemed willing to throw herself into the task of fattening the blond up, though considering his condition and that they didn't know how long he had been like that, he know it would probably take a long time before the man was once more what he used to be.
He had been in the room at the end of the hall next to his own and across from Sirius's, throwing open the curtains and changing the sheets on the bed when the blond stepped through the doorway, looking almost like a different person. The clothes Harry had given him hung precariously from his narrow frame as he was skeletal in his thinness but his hair had been scrubbed and brushed out neatly so that it spilled down his back and glimmered like white silk in the weak sunlight coming through the window. His skin was once again its pale peach, though it looked a bit yellow around the edges that spoke of liver problems but at least the man wasn't caked with grime anymore. Harry had made a mental note to himself to call on the private Healer he used for Sirius later so the man could look at Malfoy as he smiled at the blond, trying not to laugh at how the man looked in the too-big clothes.
"Well, we'll have to find you clothes that fit better but for now I guess they'll do. Here," he moved unthinkingly to roll up the sleeves of the jumper that was too small on him but much too big on Malfoy and then bent to do the same with the trousers, muttering a mild sticking charm so that they would not unfold when the blond moved around. When he looked up again, he found the gray gaze full and searching, reminding him sharply of the conversation he'd had with his son only twenty minutes before. He had been insanely glad then that his son had opted to help out his grandmother in the kitchen so he wouldn't say something to make both adults uncomfortable. Then Malfoy reached out and touched his cheek with unsteady fingers and it burned through him.
"Thank you," the man had whispered and Harry had been unable to say a word in response. He was grateful that though Malfoy didn't leave the room while he finished making up the bed while hoping the man hadn't noticed the color warming his cheeks, he didn't touch Harry again, content to just keep the taller man in sight. The single, fleeting memory of the touch lingered when he showed the man down to the kitchen, telling him small, insignificant things about the house in which he would be staying in for the foreseeable future. Malfoy seemed to drink his words in, remaining eerily quiet the entire time. It unnerved him because he didn't know what the man was thinking but he didn't comment as he pushed into the kitchen to find Sirius setting the table one utensil at a time and Mrs. Weasley at the stove.
"Come in, dears!" her eyes shone in welcome and Harry had felt a surge of gratitude. She could have chosen to resent the person whose father had allegedly murdered one of her sons but she was going out of her way to be kind. Sirius beamed at them and Harry ruffled his hair as he moved to the bench, indicating for Malfoy to sit in the place set, "I've just started a pot of soup that should be just fine for young Mr. Malfoy's stomach," she patted his shoulder as he sat and Harry could see the confusion on the man's face at being shown such kindness, "until you can handle richer food, dear," and she moved back to the stove, swishing her wand so that a long wooden spoon would stir the broth bubbling on the stove. He looked at the blond then and realized he was probably a little overwhelmed by people who were willing to help him, his head ducked so that his hair slid forward like a curtain to cover his face and his shoulders hunched.
"Hey," he sat next to the man and pressed his palm against the material of the sweater Malfoy was wearing and earned the shining glance, wide and bright with uncertainty, "Just eat as much as you can and then I'll show you up to the room you will be using so you can rest. I'm sure you need it," he looked like he needed it, with the hard lines bracketing his lips and the heavy circles under his eyes and he looked ridiculously grateful at the suggestion. Harry had just offered him another smile and Sirius had clambered up next to the blond, face shining and content when there was the sound of the front door opening, his wards tingling along his skin, letting him know his guests were friends. It was the loud rumble of angry voices, however, that had him sighing and standing from his seat. Malfoy made a small noise, scooting closer to him and both Sirius and Molly stared at the door as if it would burst open any moment and admit an angry horde of Hippogriffs. He had known this was coming but he had hoped they would at least wait until tomorrow. Alas, that was not to be. Harry put his hand on the blonde's shoulder, wincing at how fragile it felt under his fingers and reached over to ruffle his son's hair.
"Make sure he eats, okay little man?" when Sirius nodded seriously, he turned his eyes to Malfoy's wide, frightened ones and squeezed the bony shoulder as hard as he dared, "I'll be right down the hall. I just have to take care of this, okay?" Malfoy had nodded and if the movement was a bit jerky, he didn't comment on it. Resolve had built up within him as he made his way to the door and out of the kitchen to the sitting room where it looked like half the funeral party had gathered. They wouldn't take the blond away and they wouldn't talk him into letting him go, either. Harry had taken in the crowd, taken a deep breath and stepped into the room.
Now he stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared down Bill and the twins, with Zambini and Nott making their own voices heard in the din, faces just as angry, though for different reasons. Charlie and Kingsley stood together with the twins, a united front that would probably weather any storm sent their way, something Harry had always been envious of. Mr. Weasley stood behind his sons but Harry had yet to figure out where he stood in all this. Ron stood at his side and Cormac lounged on one of the sofas, his booted feet on the armrest while Hermione watched the display with pursed lips from an armchair in neutral ground to the right of the fireplace. Voices talked over one another, making it difficult to pick out individual strands but he already knew what everyone's complains were already, having heard them three times already.
"…should come back with us! I've known him longer and…" that was Blaise, his golden eyes fierce and Harry commended his devotion to his friend even if he wouldn't give him what he wanted.
"He should be trussed up and hexed until…"
"…his a bloody pulp and then…" the twins were finishing each other's sentences even in the heat of an argument, though they seemed less angry than everyone else at the moment and he had to wonder if they were just participating because it looked like somthing to do. He still couldn't tell what the two men's intentions were half the time. It was Bill that was the angriest and he couldn't really blame the man. He'd sent Fleur home with the baby because he had probably known how this would go, his scars standing out in vivid relief on his face.
"Have you forgotten what that sniveling little twat did and you're just going to let him stay here because you feel sorry for him or something along those lines…" it was this argument that made him feel the most guilty because of course he remembered what Malfoy had done that caused Bill to get mauled by a werewolf in Harry's sixth year but he also understood the other side to that story so he would not cave under its weight. Another pressure came from Kingsley, his deep voice rumbling through all the rest and he hated the man's argument the most.
"…really take him back to the Ministry and find out is he knows anything about…" and then Harry just had enough. He dropped his hands to his sides, filled his lungs with air and bellowed.
"ENOUGH!" there was instant silence, though it did nothing to quell the glares or looks of hard concern but he didn't care about that. Everyone's emotions were on overload because of the tragedy they had all just suffered but he would be damned if he let them continue to talk at him like that. It was his house, his decision and if they didn't like it, they could leave and didn't need to come back. He tried not to think about how much that would hurt not seeing any one of them again and merely held each of their eyes for a moment to make sure they understood. Then he lifted his chin and addressed the entire lot of them, "I know all of your concerns and I have taken them into consideration. However, as of right now, Malfoy will be staying with me here while he recuperates and we try and figure out what happened to him," his voice brooked no argument but Nott was quick to jump into the space his words left behind, eyes adamant.
"Wouldn't it be better if he stayed with someone he was familiar with, like friends?" the man demanded and Harry merely looked at him, eyebrows drawn.
"It might be but he picked me and has expressly asked not to be sent anywhere else. I will respect his wishes, since he seems to feel safe enough here. You are certainly welcome to visit if you like," the other man looked at him carefully then sighed. Blaise gave a curt nod and he was thankful that at least they had backed down. Bill, however, and Kingsley still had stubborn looks on their faces that spoke of more arguments forming on their tongues.
"Harry, you can't possibly let that monster stay here," Bill growled, sounding more like a wolf than a man and the dark haired wizard listened to him only because out of everyone, Bill had the most right to protest, "After what he did at Hogwarts, how could you trust him?" the room had fallen silent and everyone watched Harry, wondering what his answer would be. He didn't shrug casually like he might have for anyone else because he knew that this was not to be addressed as such, not with Bill. Instead he looked at the other man and steeled himself, hoping that he wasn't going to lose his friendship over this.
"Mal—Draco is not a monster," he returned quietly, using the blonde's first name because it made him seem more human that way, "I already know why he did that and though I'm not saying it excuses his actions at that time, I can say that he is sorry for what he has done and has more than paid for his crimes. I do trust him, at least enough to allow him to stay here. He has no wand and he looks as if he has been living on nothing but bread and water for the entire five years he has been missing. Would you deny anyone else sanctuary?" there was still that stubborn tilt to Bill's jaw, though he had taken a step back and allowed his father to put a hand on his shoulder. Harry ducked his head then took another deep breath, "If it would make all of you feel better, Draco doesn't wear a Dark Mark. He never did," there was a shuffle around the room but still the argument would not be laid to rest. The twins stepped into their older brother's previous place, identical in their dark expressions, though Harry thought they were more thoughtful than angry.
"How do you know so much about him, Harry?" George asked and he blinked for a minute. Thankfully he did not have to come up for an answer to the unexpected question because Ron, previously a silent, strong figure beside him spoke up.
"Malfoy came to us for asylum after Dumbledore was killed but he disappeared before we could get him to safety. He had to tell us those things or we would hardly have trusted him," the twins seemed to realize that if Ron was sticking up for Harry's decision than the effort to change the dark haired man's mind was a lost cause. They shrugged and stepped a few paces back, content to watch what would happen next. As he thought, Kingsley took his turn. Harry couldn't resent him for it, not really. He was the head of the Auror department and he was merely thinking like one.
"Harry, that boy might know something about—" Harry turned to the tall man, eyes blazing and hard and crossed his arms again. Usually he liked Kingsley, especially when he was with Charlie but sometimes he thought with the Ministry's brain rather than his own.
"No," he said, voice flat and watched the way the dark eyebrows drew down. The older man opened his mouth to try again but barely got any farther.
"Harry, you must know that this—"
"No," this time Charlie laid a hand on his lover's arm and drew the dark skinned man's attention long enough to shake his head at Kingsley. At least the red head knew when it was pointless to argue with him.
"Now, Harry, maybe you should hear the man out," Arthur had been quiet all this time but now he seemed to be siding with the majority of his sons and Harry huffed through his nose, turning away. He wanted to get away from there, away from the arguments he could still festering like old wounds in the room and back to the quiet kitchen where his son and a thin blond man were waiting. He met Ron's sharp blue eyes and he friend nodded shortly with a small, warm smile before stepping forward, looking every inch the formidable Auror, unmovable and strong.
"Any more complaints will be fielded by Ron," he said before slipping quickly from the room. There was the sound of protests but he didn't care. He had fought and reasoned and riled most of his life and just when he thought he had escaped it, finally, here he was, back fighting another battle against people he loved. His heart ached as he allowed himself to miss Percy but he barely had time to assemble his grief before a warm, small hand slipped around his elbow. Hermione stood between Blaise and her husband, face warm and approving.
"Don't worry, Harry, they'll come around," and he felt himself almost sagging in relief at her implied agreement with his decision. They shared a swift hug and then Nott and Zambini promised to stop by tomorrow to talk to Malfoy, as he would probably be overwhelmed if they were to speak to him now, before they were all out the door. Only then he was permitted to take a slow, steadying breath, push the dark thoughts of the two best friends he had just lost and step back into the kitchen.
He knew as soon as Draco lifted his eyes from the blow of soup set in front of him to meet Harry's own that he had made the right decision. Warmth and gratitude and a tumult of other emotion swirled in the clear, gray depths and if he could do that for the blond after whatever hell he had been through in the past five years, it was the least he could do. That mixed with the enthusiastic greeting from his son who had launched himself across the kitchen and into Harry's arms warmed him and made him forget about his grief for a little while. With the words spoken only a few minutes before sliding away like mud from his skin in a cool rainstorm, he made his way to the table so that he might sit beside the blond and Molly while cuddling Sirius and he thought that just maybe everything would be alright.
Now that he was clean and fed, he could feel the fatigue pulling on his limbs and making his mind fuzzy as he sat beside Potter at the table. It was all he could do not to let his eyes slide shut and let his head rest on the hard surface. He had taken care of the wound from the curse that had grazed him while he was in the bathroom, the process taking longer than usual since he had to shuffle through the cabinets and try to figure out the Muggle way to clean himself up. Thankfully, the goop from the tube that had promised to keep away pain and infection actually seemed to be working, though he had been doubtful at first. But with the pain in his side eased and the cramping of his stomach occupied with the excellent soup prepared by Mrs. Weasley, he had nothing but the present company to keep away his exhaustion.
Fleeing from his prison as weak and as desperate as he had been had used up all of the little bit of strength he did have and now he was ready to collapse. Yet for some reason he didn't want to close his eyes and potentially miss time with Potter. He didn't understand the impulse, not really, since he knew the man wouldn't go anywhere but he was half afraid that he would open his eyes again and find this had all been a dream. If he could have stayed sitting at that kitchen table forever with Harry and his son while Mrs. Weasley asked worriedly about the confrontation with her family that had just taken place, he would have and he didn't have it in him anymore to think that was strange. It felt like peace, sitting there and listening to them talk while the little boy sitting on Potter's lap watched him with a shining contentment. That he didn't understand either but he tried to smile at the child, which earned him such a bright, beaming grin that it stole his breath. It seemed Sirius smiled with the same shining abandon that his father did.
Potter noticed when he stopped eating, pushing his bowl away that he had not managed to finish as it seemed his stomach had shrunk alarmingly and the bright green gaze was gently concerned when it settled on him.
"I'm sorry about all that, by the way," Potter started, hugging the slender form of his son close in his lap and the boy leaned his head back against his father's shoulder while reaching out and curling a hand into one of Draco's oversized sleeves. The gesture took his by surprise, as did the slight coloring it prompted in the dark haired man's cheeks but no one seemed inclined to explain it to him so he didn't question it. Besides, it was rather nice to have someone trust him like that so unquestioningly, "Um, so you don't need to worry. No one will do anything while you're in my house," there was a burning confidence in the man's voice that Draco knew he could trust. Mrs. Weasley huffed on his other side, drawing his gaze and he saw in the set of her face the trouble anyone would be should they prove Potter's words false.
"Of course they won't. I'll make them sorry they were born if they even think about it," and he had to smile a little at how such a short, plump woman could seem so intimidating. She returned the smile with one of her own before completely shocking him when she leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead and fussing with his hair for a moment as if he was another one of her sons, "Don't worry, dear. Everything will work out, you'll see," and then she got up in search of the rest of her family whom he could still hear down the hall, leaving him alone with Potter and his son. The green eyes were sparkling when they met his own and he had to look away for fear of getting lost in them.
"She's a good person to have as an ally," he confided, leaning forward as if they were plotting a conspiracy and making Draco feel like he was included in something, "I would hate to get on her bad side; she can be quite scary at times," and his smile was as bright as his eyes. Sirius seemed to have had enough of being held and squirmed from Potter's lap to the bench, where he scooted over to the blond and wrapped his arms around the man's neck, his small warmth oddly comforting. Startled, he looked over the boy's shoulder at the dark haired wizard and found his gaze contemplative as he observed his son hugging a man he had only just met. Then the boy pulled back and grabbed a fistful of his long hair, running it through his small fingers.
"Pretty hair," he said with a giggle, "Can I play with it?" and because Draco had no idea what to say, he merely nodded, astonishment and confusion roiling within him like an anxious caldron of raw emotion. Potter seemed somewhat embarrassed and about to call the boy back but he shook his head and then turned to Sirius, whose eyes were wide as they observed the way the long, pale strands slid over his wrists.
"Yes, if you'd like," he had actually wanted to cut it all off, the length and heavy fall of it reminding him painfully of the time he had spent locked away and unable to keep it trimmed but there had been no scissors in the bathroom when he looked. The small tugs on the roots, however, actually were rather soothing and he didn't mind as the boy began to part it and with a look of deep concentration started to braid it. Potter's eyes were unreadable when he looked at the man again and the air felt heavy around them, though he couldn't think why. It occurred to him that showing back up in the other wizard's life had probably been a rather nasty shock, on top of the manner and timing of his appearance which he realized probably didn't look very good, but for the first time he felt safe and as long as Potter was around, he knew nothing terrible could happen to him.
"Is it…is it true that my…that my father killed your friends?" he finally managed to ask and nearly flinched when Potter's face darkened at the reminder. The green eyes flickered to the boy who had not faltered in his braiding of Draco's hair before moving back to the blond. There were lines of grief and loss in the man's face but the blond didn't murmur the never mind that lingered on the back of his lips because he had to know.
"That is what the witnesses claimed; that a man of Lucius's description cornered them in a shop in Diagon Alley and shouted something about…well, the claims vary but everyone says they saw the killing curse he used," the man's voice had choked up in the middle but his eyes remained steady and hard, making Draco swallow nervously. And then he realized there was something wrong with that. Frowning, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Sirius finished off the braid and tied it off with a piece of twine that was sitting on the nearby counter and tried to figure out why that sounded strange.
"Are they sure it was my father?" he finally asked and couldn't meet the blazing color of the other man's eyes, instead pushing his used spoon across the table with fingers that didn't look like his own they were so thin. Sirius, seemingly obvious to their conversation slid back onto the bench and this time leaned against the blond, his head a solid weight against his arm. He didn't comment but smiled when the boy lifted his eyes to look into his face.
"All the accounts are consistent according to Ron and no one had really heard much from him or Mrs…your mother since the end of the war. Why? Do you know something?" there was a sharp edge to Potter's voice that made him glance up and he swallowed hard at the steel that stared back at him. He shook his head, feeling the braid thump against his back and the steady warmth of the boy pressed against him.
"No, not about that. I do know my father, though, or I did, and I know he would not murder someone in the middle of the day in public where everyone could see him. It's not…" he wrinkled his nose and hunted for the right word, "…elegant to do things in such a…crass manner. At least, he wouldn't have when I knew him," he ignored the painful reminder that he had probably lost several years with his parents, whom had thought he was dead along with everyone else. Potter seemed to sag with his words and he ran a hand through his wild curls, making them stand on end. He still looked nearly the same as he once had, if a little taller and broader then he'd been when Draco had known him and the gesture was so familiar it was almost like no time had passed at all.
"Yeah, I thought as much too. It just doesn't seem like something Lucius would do. It just doesn't…make any sense!" and he scrubbed his hands over his face in such a dejected way that Draco found himself leaning over and catching one of the dark haired man's hands in his own, drawing all the weight and attention of the bright green gaze.
"Do you…have you heard anything else about my parents?" he asked and his voice was a throaty rasp of desperation. He had missed them every single day he was trapped in those rotting dungeons and the thought of being able to see them again made his heart pound. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for them thinking their only son was dead and he wanted to go to them and assure them he was fine, if a little malnourished. However, the very thought of leaving Harry's house nearly choked him with panic and he had to shut it down before it drowned him. The other man shifted, looking at where their hands touched with a frown but he didn't make Draco let go.
"As soon as you were announced dead they disappeared from the wizarding society and no one had heard from them in years. I could see if I can contact them, though that might be difficult with the murder investigation now on your father," hope surged through him along with heavy, breathless longing and he dropped his hand to his lap, unable to look at the other man anymore. He wanted to see his parents more than anything else but he didn't see how that was possible, with his terror of leaving the house should he be captured again and the danger of his father being wrapped up in a murder case. Draco realized then just how much he had lost, more than pride and freedom and the confidence it took to step into the real world, and he despaired. Even when small arms wrapped around his waist in a reassuring hug did he keep his gaze averted as bitterness tried to swallow his heart.
Then there were warm, strong hands on his chin, making him look up into familiar green eyes that had never looked so gentle or warm and he nearly sobbed aloud.
"I'll see what I can do to contact them tomorrow, alright? In the mean time you look exhausted. I have a room set up for you…" and all he could do was nod and allow the two Potters to guide him up the steps, back to the third floor and to the room where he had met Harry after his shower. The sun was setting and the skies outside of the window were grey with twilight, offering very little light but the bed looked welcoming and he had barely tumbled into it when the fatigue slammed into him, making his entire body feel heavy. He felt Potter gently covering him with warm blankets and click off the light but he could barely open his eyes to watch as the man shushed his son who was asking a question that Draco couldn't piece together and then step towards the door.
It wasn't until he realized he was about to be left alone in the dark did fear override his exhaustion and he called out in a rough voice, suddenly terrified. The dark had been constant and drowning in the cell and he was afraid to be lost to it as soon as he was by himself. Harry was back by the side of the bed almost as once, eyes concerned and questioning and Draco latched onto his wrist, once again forgetting all about pride in the face of his fear.
"Please, don't leave me alone in the dark. Please," he barely even recognized his own voice as he pleaded but the dark haired man was kind, crouching next to the bed so that their faces were level. Understanding shone in the green depths of his eyes and it almost immediately made him feel a little bit better. But he didn't let the man's wrist go and he still shook with terror. The dark was where loneliness lurked and where nightmares dwelt and no matter how much his body ached for it, he knew he would go wild with fear before he ever managed to fall asleep.
"It's okay, Draco," the man soothed before uttering an unfamiliar spell that sent small, winking faerie lights wheeling and glittering in a purple lighted canopy around the bed. They illuminated the room so that all the shadows were efficiently banished and he could see into all of the corners where nothing lurked but empty space or innocent pieces of furniture. The green eyes were kind when he looked at the taller man, "I used to have to do this for myself after the war and Sirius still needs them sometimes. They will follow you should you need to get up for something and they will last through the night. My room is down the hall if you need anything else, okay?" the reassurances were murmured in a calm tone that soothed him without making him feel like he was being treated like a child and he let the man's wrist go, telling himself he could handle being alone as long as it wasn't dark. Harry smiled at him and straightened, leaving behind the sparkling lights to keep Draco safe. Just before the man could leave, however, a question came to the blond and he gave voice to it in a soft tone, not sure if Harry would even hear him.
"How long was I gone?" and he almost feared the answer. The other man paused in the doorway, back stiff and tense but when his answer came, it was unwavering.
"Five years…goodnight, Draco," and then he was gone, closing the door on his way out. The blond lay there, battling his exhaustion for another moment as he tried to digest that. Five years stuck in that dungeon, given just enough to eat so that he wouldn't die but otherwise forgotten about. Five years…
When he finally fell asleep, the dreams did not accost him at once like they usually did, and the lights Harry had set for him glowed softly about his bed like a warm net. Though they could do nothing for the seeping darkness still coiled in his soul, he felt warm and safe for the first time in five years…
Long after night had fallen, well past Sirius's bed time, Harry sat on one of his plush couches feeling and thin, like jam spread out over too much bread. The house felt too quiet once the remaining people returned back to their respective houses, shadows still crowded on their faces brought on by the loss of a brother, son, friend and he found himself straining to hear Percy's calm voice like a gentle undercurrent to Connor's naturally loud bass. But there was nothing save the sound of the television in the parlor from where Sirius was watching cartoons, his small face intent in the flickering of the light from the screen. He sat in with the boy but ignored the images on the screen, instead staring at the far wall with blank disinterest.
The first few nights after Percy and Connor's deaths had been surreal, the quiet nonthreatening because he could easily convince himself it was as if they had gone on a trip and would be back in a few days. But the funeral had given it a finality that made his chest ache and the silence that much more lonely. He knew that he had his son and could Floo either Ron or Hermione if he needed to but he had lost part of his family and he then knew this was what it felt like to have your heart break. Never again would he hear Sirius and Connor laughing together over something silly or Percy talking about work as he prepared them all dinner, filling the house with the fragrant scents of his cooking. Instead of four people occupying the parlor, playing a game, watching the TV (something that had never stopped fascinating Connor who had been raised in a wizarding household) or just enjoying each other's company, there was just two now and the space seemed so big he thought it might swallow him.
Then something struck him as he struggled with the dark well of grief eating away at him; there were three people in the house. He wasn't a replacement for the two that they had lost but he wondered if maybe Malfoy's presence could help keep away some of the bottomless pain. Though he was hurting and probably sick, the blond was here and in need of healing. His gray eyes had held a depth of loneliness that Harry had never seen before and he found himself wanting to erase all traces of it until there was nothing there but happiness. The thought was sudden and alarming but once it had made itself known, he couldn't shake it. He didn't know what would happen or what the future held but he thought that just maybe he could give the other man a home.
Harry was surprised, however, how readily he had accepted the blond and he found himself wondering if it had to do with the compatible colors Sirius was talking about. The question plagued him as he herded the sleepy dark haired boy up to bed, ignoring his halfhearted protests and he could see the darkness swirling in his own eyes as he helped the dark haired boy brush his teeth and then climb into his pajamas. He wanted to ask, wanted to make sure but he didn't know how much of a burden he could put on one five-year-old's shoulders. The green eyes identical to his own were dull with weariness and he took a moment to cuddle the small form as he tucked his son into bed.
"Daddy," the clear voice was a low mumble but Sirius had his eyes opened and watching his father as he sat on the edge of the bed, "I miss them," it was so sad a statement that it made his heart trip and ache fiercely. It hurt to see his son grieving but he knew there was nothing to he could do about it. He wanted to kiss it all away, wanted to it disappear when the green eyes opened in the morning but short of the dead rising again from their graves, he knew the grief would hold onto his son just like it would to Harry for a long time to come. But he still hugged the slender boy close and pressed gentle kisses over his forehead and small, pert nose until the tears spilled over and ran down both of their faces. In that moment, he was never more grateful to have someone like Sirius at his side.
The tears, though, had a way of cleansing and though the loss was still there in his heart, when he lifted his head and let small fingers wipe away the salty tracks on his cheeks while he did the same for the boy, he felt just a little lighter. Then Sirius gave him a tremulous smile with his eyes still shining wetly and wiggled a little under the covers.
"I figured something out today, at the funeral," Harry blinked, wondering for a moment if the boy was talking about Malfoy's appearance but the way he was smiling, peacefully and hinting at withheld excitement, made him realize that couldn't be it, "When you asked me about if I had seen anything like the colors you and Dragon share before, I think I lied," this time he blinked in confusion because Sirius had never lied once in his life.
"What do you mean, you lied, little man? We don't share similar colors?" Sirius gave him one of those looks he reserved for when Harry was being particularly thick and shook his head.
"No, I mean I think I've seen it, or felt it before. With me," this time he sat back in shock and stared at the dark haired boy, knowing very well that his mouth was hanging open but not really caring. As far as he knew, Sirius couldn't see the colors around himself, just other people so he didn't quite understand how the boy could know something like that. Then he looked away, plucking at his blanket as if he had done something wrong but he continued talking anyway, "The colors…they can be really pretty, like yours and Dragon's but…Cousin Teddy's…they feel…right…" he tapered off, looking up at his father from under the mop of his curls and Harry wondered if he looked as white as he felt. The very thought of his five year old son being already connected with someone in the way only soul mates were made him feel like there was a lance piercing his chest, making it difficult to breathe. The only thing that made it better was that he loved Teddy nearly as much as he loved Sirius and if he thought about it rationally, it nearly made sense. The two boys were inseparable when they were together. He just didn't realize that it might have been because of something more than friendship. Of course, they were only still children but one day they wouldn't be. Harry took a deep breath and reached out to run his fingers through his son's curls.
"Why are you telling me this now?" he asked quietly and was shocked when Sirius bit his lip and looked away again, his slender shoulders shivering as if he was cold. When he saw the tears welling up in the green gaze again though he realized it was something else.
"I just…I wanted you to know that I won't be alone. If you…if you follow Uncle Bird and Uncle Bear…" he hiccupped then sobbed softly and Harry's heart constricted. The boy was afraid that he would lose everyone, including his father. The dark haired wizard lay down beside his son and wrapped him in his arms, holding him close as tears soaked the front of his shirt and tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.
"I'm not going anywhere, love. Nothing is going to happen to me. I'm going to stay by your side until I'm old and you're sick of me because I could never leave you," and he prayed desperately in his heart that his words were proven to be the truth because he didn't want his son to lose even more. He wanted to see the boy grow up, go to school, fall in love and become the person he was meant to be and he couldn't do that if he was dead. Harry lay there on the bed with the boy with those wishes burning like bright beacons in his soul until Sirius had fallen asleep and watched the dreams flickering behind gently closed eyelids.
Though how the boy had come to him was unfortunate and he wished that Sirius could have had a good mother, the mother Ginny was supposed to have been, he had never loved anyone so intensely in his life and he would never wish that things had happened differently. The house might be quiet and nearly empty now but he knew was not alone.
Sometimes, however, his heart didn't listen to his brain because despite Sirius curled in his arms, the bitter bite of aching loneliness continued to eat away at his heart…
It was the middle of the night when Harry was awakened again by someone slipping quietly into his bedroom. He had left Sirius's room long after midnight, having watched the boy sleep and taking comfort in his small, warm presence so he was still tired when familiar purple lights tumbled into his room, banishing every last shadow from their corners. Being a light sleeper, he was awake as soon as the door was pushed open and for a moment he thought it was his son, frightened by a nightmare.
A second later he caught his breath and sat up, staring at the blond leaning against his doorway, looking terrified and lost amid the dancing faerie lights that surrounded him. They stared at each other for a long moment, the silence of the house nearly solid and then Malfoy looked down at his feet and shuffled them, something the proud boy he had once been would never have done.
"I…I'm sorry to wake you but…" he hunched his skinny shoulders a bit and tilted his chin towards his chest as if he was pained by what he was about to say, "Would you mind if…if I stayed in here?" his voice was almost too quiet but Harry heard them anyway and he had to blink a few times in shock, something he realized he had done entirely too much that day. He thought about refusing but the man just looked so dejected that he swallowed the words that would send Malfoy back to the other room. How could he refuse when the gray eyes were so dark they looked opaque and when he really wanted nothing more than to drag the man into his embrace and never let him go? He wanted to protect him and chase away all of his fears; he didn't understand it but it was there and he wouldn't push it away. So he shuffled towards the right side of the bed and folded back the blankets, a clear invitation for Malfoy to join him. It was a big bed, anyway, and he had always felt like it sometimes wanted to drown him with its size.
The blond must have thought that Harry would refuse because he took in a huge gulp of air and his eyes went so wide, they looked ready to fall out of his head but then he walked forwards, looking uncertain and hopeful all at once. Harry watched quietly as the blond slipped under the covers and laid back, pale head resting on the pillow while his gray eyes watched the dark haired wizard closely. Around them danced the purple canopy of lights.
"Thank you," Malfoy finally whispered and his lips curled upwards in a small smile. Harry looked at him for a second longer before laying down himself and reached out to clasp one frightfully thin hand in his own. The blond blinked then looked at their joined hands in surprise and the dark haired man squeezed his fingers gently.
"You're welcome," That night, neither of them had any nightmares and for once, the ever-lingering loneliness had disappeared…
The sound of the front door opening on the first floor jarred him awake and he lay there for a moment as he listened to the person who had just entered his flat moved around. Then he scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to rid himself of the rest of his sleep and slipped from the bed. The confrontation at Harry's still lingered in his mind, dragging at his limbs like lead weights. On one hand, he agreed with the dark haired man, that helping Malfoy was the right thing to do but he had lost a brother to the man's father and nearly lost another to something Malfoy himself had done so his sympathy was tempered with anger. Even so, he wished he could have given more of his support to Harry. The man had been very close to Percy and was now virtually alone in that big house of his, left to raise his son by himself with yet another burden shoved upon him. Though Charlie spent much of his time away, working with the dragons, he wondered if maybe he should have offered to take one of the many empty rooms. Had it not been for Kingsley, he might have.
He knew his lover was concerned for Harry and Sirius's wellbeing but he thought too much like an Auror for his own good. That was probably what happened when it is one's occupation for nearly ten years but sometimes he wished the man could be a little more sensitive. Not that he didn't love him, of course, because he did. Still…
He had been planning on informing Kingsley that he would be going back to help Harry out for as long as he was in town but before he could, the older man had gotten a call nearly as soon as they had arrived home and he hadn't had the chance. He didn't want to start an argument but he did think that there was a time and a place for everything and to start demanding to question a man who had been missing for five years and looking like he had been locked in a cellar with nothing to eat about a murder case had been insensitive to the extreme. He had wanted to tell the older man to be quiet before he had even gotten started but he couldn't bring himself to openly dispute him. There had been so many times when Kingsley had supported him when he didn't want to that Charlie felt he should at least keep quiet in front of other people. Now, though, he itched to voice his thoughts. It was probably well after two in the morning now, though and he supposed he could save it for later. Besides, Kingsley would probably be unwilling to speak very much and would undoubtedly be exhausted.
Charlie sighed as he pulled on a pair of sleep trousers and slipped downstairs, wishing things weren't such a mess, that none of this had ever happened, that Percy was still alive.
When he stepped into the bright kitchen, though, blinking through the sharp light and caught sight of his lover's face, he knew at once something had happened. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room, making sure the other man heard him and sure enough, his lover turned to look at him, his dark eyes looking shadowed and haunted. The older man was only in his early thirties, one of the youngest wizards to ever make Head Auror but no one would ever dare say he didn't deserve it. The man was one of the hardest working, most determined people Charlie had ever met and it was one of the reasons why they had even gotten together. And while it seemed like their relationship couldn't work, with the older man nearly always in the office and Charlie away half the year with his dragons, the times apart made the moments they did have together that much more special. Now, though, he could see whatever it was Kingsley had been called away for swirling like dark mist in his gaze and the red head immediately crossed the space separating them to wrap his arms around the taller man's waist.
"What happened?" he whispered, holding on tight and waited until the strong arms curled around his shoulders before titling his head back to see the Auror's face. The full lips were pulled in a frown, causing lines to appear around their edges and the handsome face was troubled and weary.
"We found the Malfoys," he said, his deep voice gruff and Charlie tensed, swirling emotion rising up within him until it nearly choked him. Despite his pity for the Malfoy boy, his dislike for the blonde's parents had only been anchored and aggravated by the death of his brother. Whether it had been Malfoy Sr. who had killed Percy or not, his name was still tied up within it and he doubted anything could fix that. Or, at least that was what he thought, "They have been living in France since the end of the war. They…" the older man cut off and his frown deepened before he pulled away and began to pace. Charlie held his breath as he waited for his lover to continue but Kingsley had gone quiet, caught within his thoughts.
"They, what?" he finally prompted and didn't like the worried shadows flickering across the older man's features. When Kingsley spoke again, Charlie went blank with shock.
"Whoever it was that killed Percy, it was not Lucius Malfoy. The real one died more than four months ago,"
...To be continued
Yay for cliffies! MUUUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
