Disclaimer : Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I just enjoy messing with her characters.

Warnings : strong language, lemon, rape (non descriptive and not H/D), dub-con, violence, drug use, hints of prostitution, multiple pairings, OCs. And this is SLASH, so expect a lot of boy on boy love.

Beta: The amazing Avenalanon and MsLefay.


CHAPTER 6 : WELCOME TO THE WHITE COTTAGE

At the end of the evening, they arrived at Weybridge, in the suburbs of South-East London. The journey had not been long, but Harry had felt each hour pass. No one had spoken a word to him and in return, Harry had kept quiet. He was cast aside, and the discussions around him consisted of whispered words and suspicious glares. Pansy was the only one who approached him but Draco kept her at bay every time she tried to talk to Harry. So she contented herself with staring at him, seemingly fascinated.

At Weybridge, the luxurious private properties formed a quiet and upmarket district, and the White Cottage was no exception. They pulled over through an imposing iron gate, a video camera pointed on the street and a security agent inside, protecting the villa from any unwanted visitors. A wide tarred path led to an impressive villa.

Harry exited the car and took his time to admire the beautiful place, so different from the Manor. The architecture was modern and simple. The White Cottage's facade, as its name indicated, was pristine white. The villa had two houses each comprising of two stories. Access to the secondary house was at the end of an alley behind the main house and opening into an inner courtyard. This house was smaller but still grandiose. As soon as they were out of the car, MacNair and his team separated from Draco to settle in there, far from the rest of the group.

Harry tried to look calm and confident, but he was starting to feel a bit nervous after having a gander at his new residence. He knew that once inside, he would have to be careful, always on the alert. And as the entrance door opened, he knew a long and dangerous road was awaiting him and there was no turning back. He crossed the threshold after Pansy, followed closely by Crabbe. The lobby directly gave way to an impressive white-tiled open space encompassing a living room, a gleaming kitchen with a fully stocked bar, and a library area with a study. The interior was elegant but cosy, unlike the other cold and lifeless "classy" houses. The decorative objects were heterogeneous: African masks were hung on the walls while statuettes representing the Hindu God Shiva displayed on a buffet table next to the front door. Apparently, Draco had travelled a lot.

Three big black couches surrounding a coffee table strewn with newspapers and magazines formed a large square section in the middle of the room; and Harry could picture the gang sitting around here during their meetings, preparing their next operation and discussing the transactions. The library was half-hidden next to a large white staircase, a hidey-hole where one could isolate himself. In the kitchen were units with chocolate brown exteriors and a white quartz countertop, high leather seats, deep brown shelves and a substantial fridge. The oven looked as though it had never been used and Harry doubted that any of these guys actually cooked.

Flint crossed the room and opened one of the sliding French windows heading into the garden, while Zabini dropped down on one of the couches.

"Ha, I missed this !" he said, letting out a loud and contented sigh.

Nott went behind the counter to the left of the entrance and opened the fridge to get a fresh lager. He grabbed another one and showed it to Zabini who gave him a nod. He threw the can at his friend who nimbly caught it. When pulled the tab, the foam flew everywhere. Zabini craned his neck forward, forced to stick his mouth on the can, and swallowed all he could.

Draco watched the boys with a detached air and noted:

"There are some things I missed more than others." And between his teeth: " Real pigs..."

Pansy was so giddy she couldn't stand still, probably thrilled to come back to such a familiar place. She climbed the stairs next to the bar at a run and disappeared from view.

Draco approached Crabbe and Goyle who were discussing something. Two men Harry had never seen joined them. It looked like they were part of the security team.

Harry was rooted in front of the two little steps separating the living-room from the bar. He stepped down and pretended to take a tour of the room when, in fact he was barely cognizant of what he was seeing. All of his attention was instead focused on the discussion that was taking place behind him. He could make out a few snatches: "…watch out… careful… not a foot in the offices. I know everything is locked… don't want any surprises." Then other instructions concerning Pansy and "no contact with the guests. " Harry was under high surveillance it seemed, and acting as if he didn't hear a thing, he glanced through the books in the library and nonchalantly crossed the room again.

Draco, irritated by his pacing back-and-forth, barked, "Potter, Goyle will show you your room." A pause and he warned, "Don't get too cosy, you won't be staying long."

To Goyle: "I don't want him downstairs today, understood? "

Harry had no choice but to follow the bodyguard. On his way, he threw an equivocal smile at Draco who, in turn, glared daggers at him.

Once on the first floor, Goyle opened the second door to the right. The modestly sized room was charming, a great timber canopy bed with intricately carved frames and posts, a little wooden desk and chair, an enormous wardrobe and a dark mahogany chest of drawers. A little door at the side of the bed opened to reveal a small bathroom with a shower and sink. Harry had supposed they would give him a tiny and dusty room. If this was the worst room they could pick, he wondered what the other ones looked like. The door slammed behind him.

Harry was left on his own. He strolled around the bed, ran his hand over the silk cover, the material soft to the touch. He pulled open the white curtains and looked through the window. It led into the garden and an imposing swimming pool surrounded by a wooden terrace, two rows of deckchairs placed in a half-circle lay next to it. Flint was smoking a cigarette, his back to the wall. He glanced up at Harry, his cold grey eyes surveying/considering him. They both appraised each other for a long moment, pensive, Flint taking one or two puffs, and Harry observing him passively. After a while, Flint averted his eyes and Harry drew the curtains shut once more.

He turned around to the cupboard and opened it to discover his belongings already suspended on the hangers. He opened the chest drawer next to it and found his pyjamas and underwear. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. They must have had searched through his entire place. He wasn't surprised, but that didn't mean he liked their methods. In what state would he find his apartment when he got back?

He looked down the wardrobe again and found his travel bag: his papers, his agenda, his cell phone and his camera. The batteries had been removed. They must have gone through all his stuff, looking for uncompromising proof. Of course, everything had been controlled by McCarthy. They only discovered what the man wanted them to find: dates in different clubs of London, phone numbers of strangers he met with ridiculous nicknames, late parties' photos or staged clichés with anonymous people, an old dealer's number, contacts from the last years, during what he called his "dark days". Harry took care of erasing everything that could link him to the Weasleys or their research.

Harry heard voices in the living-room. Did they already have visitors? Curious, Harry unlatched the door. He found himself nose to nose with Crabbe, seated on a chair in the corridor. He started and the man got up, the movement accentuating his gigantic stature. His stance was intimidating but Harry kept an air of composure and asked demurely: "Hello. Uh, I'm a bit peckish. Is there anyway I could have access to the kitchen?"

Crabbe pressed on his ear.

"Crabbe to Peters. You can bring up a sandwich for chamber 2? Ok."

He sat down, looking at Harry as if he simply didn't belong. Harry got the message and closed the door with a small "thank you". He huffed and heavily slumped down on the bed. He looked at the ceiling. No cracks, no stain to observe. Just the void.

HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP

The next day, Harry was yet again in his room. Literally a prisoner of these walls, he began to despair when Crabbe knocked and entered to inform him he was expected downstairs.

Pansy threw herself at him as soon as he set his feet in the living room.

"Harry! I've been waiting for you for hours!"

Harry raised his brows commenting,"I wish I could have come sooner, but the ball and chain on my feet slowed me down."

He abruptly whirled around when Draco's voice made itself heard.

"Potter, playing the victim again?"

His voice came from the small library. Harry bent and could barely catch sight of Draco almost completely hidden behind the inner wall. Only the tip of his shoes poked out.

Pansy took Harry's hand and dragged him to the couch.

"Come on!"

Harry sat, his eyes still riveted to the library as if trying to pierce the wall. Pansy settled in front of him and watched him insatiably, with large eyes. She then took Harry's chin in her hand, which made him startle.

"Stay like this," she said.

Confused, Harry inspected her like he would a strange animal. Pansy just smiled at him and turned to a large sketchbook that lay on the table behind her. She took a pencil and gazed at him. Understanding her intentions, Harry gently took her wrist to stop her hand and shook his head.

"Pansy, I think you should choose another model."

As a way of answer, the girl took his chin again to immobilize him, and peered at him straight in the eye.

"If you move, I won't manage. Stay still okay?"

Harry started again, "No, I really don't think it's a good idea, you should… "

"Potter, let her do it, if that makes her happy," Draco interrupted him.

Harry turned his head toward the library: Draco's shoes were dangling in the corner. He let out a breath and watched Pansy, completely serious with the pencil in her hand.

"Fine… if you want."

Pansy's face lightened up and she began doodling on the paper, the sound of the pencil more and more ferocious. She seemed to know what she was doing, her gestures precise and assured, picking up her head every three seconds to look at Harry. The young man felt uncomfortable at first, avoiding her eyes, his cheeks red with embarrassment and his hands joined in his lap. But little by little, he relaxed, getting used to Pansy's meticulous examination, and got caught up in it, staying perfectly still. Time went by pleasantly. Meanwhile, Draco rose to go upstairs, a notebook in hand, and was soon back with a file under his arm, looking preoccupied. He took refuge in the library again, in the same position as before.

A few minutes later, Pansy put her pencil down on the table and let out a breath. She focused on Harry, a pretty smile on her lips, and handed him the sketch pad. Harry scratched a hand through his hair, hesitant, but Pansy kept insisting with her eyes, pushing the pad into his hand for him to take. He couldn't resist her so he finally grabbed it and rotated it around. He looked at the drawing and frowned. He didn't recognize himself. The sad-looking face, the heavy look... The boy on the paper appeared as a stranger. Harry studied the drawing as if he was discovering himself for the first time, trying to decipher what was behind the picture. The more he looked at it, the more it escaped him and this miserable mirror into his own psyche was becoming unbearable.

Confounded, he shut the cover of the sketch pad and gave it back to Pansy with a nervous hand. The girl looked at him oddly. Harry thought he had vexed her, but he wasn't expecting her question.

"You saw something? Me too, sometimes I can see past the faces." Harry stared at her, intrigued. Pansy had a faraway countenance."I don't know why, I can feel the darkness. I see what people hide, the pain, the anger. My parents… they opened my eyes."

She told this without any particular emotion, a simple statement. She set her eyes on Harry's.

"Something changed you too. The war maybe… It set something free inside. Your eyes are opened too."

Harry was scrutinizing her now, his eyes lost in hers, connected.

"I wouldn't say that..." he answered darkly.

He dared hope she couldn't really see inside of him: it was not pretty. It took a few blinks for Pansy's expression to change from gloomy to joyous, as if someone pressed a button. She jumped up and went for the radio on the bar. She turned it on and a pop song flew into the room. Eyes sparkling, she turned to Harry and exclaimed:

"I looove this song !"

Her childish expression made Harry laugh, her delight contagious. The diversion was welcomed, and Harry joined her behind the counter to pour himself a glass of water.

On the other side of the room, Draco, deep in thought, was unable to concentrate, the insistent song distracting him from his work.

"Will you please stop this?" he asked, forced to raise his voice.

Pansy didn't hear him, or didn't want to, and began singing along with the song.

Passingly irritated, Draco let a minute go by and revisited his work. But apparently, he read something he didn't like. Harry heard the rustling of papers, then a file roughly slammed down.

Draco exited his hiding place, eyes slit and tired. He looked toward the counter, Pansy in front of the radio, her back to him, and glared at Harry. The brunet, who was just watching him, rapidly averted his eyes, suddenly finding his glass of water fascinating. But the movement had not escaped Draco and seemed to irritate him more. Pansy was practically dancing against the bar, oblivious to Draco behind her. Harry was waiting for the outburst, but Draco just whirled around and disappeared into the courtyard, his mobile in hand.

Harry resumed his furtive observations, watching the blond pace on the lawn past the swimming-pool. Draco's lips were moving very quickly and pursed whenever he stopped talking. A disagreement was obviously taking place between him and the receiver. Despite the soundproofed windows, music and Pansy's singing, his shouts still pierced the room, indistinctly. Now, Draco left no respite to his interlocutor, speaking without a rest. He yelled one last time before furiously flipping the phone closed. He pushed open the sliding French window, stopped inside for a second, and met Harry's eyes. He then stepped forward, his chest puffed out, not the least bit calm.

"Can you stop this awful noise!" he stormed, but Pansy didn't comply, enraptured by the song. "Pansy, turn off this radio now!"

Reacting to the indifference of the girl, Draco lost his temper. He went to the worktop and unplugged the power cable with a sharp tug. Pansy snapped her head to Draco, looking bereft. The sudden interruption of the music cast a chill through the room and Harry instinctively stepped back.

The blonde shouted, taking his anger out on Pansy, "Are you deaf or what? I asked you a hundred times to turn off that damn racket! What's wrong with you?"

Pansy's face fell under his harsh tone and her lips started trembling. Her reaction told Harry that Draco's attitude was unusual.

Harry intervened in a low voice,"Draco, take it easy."

He was trying to cool things down, but the blonde didn't acknowledge him and kept on bellowing, "Can't you see I am trying to work, here? Yes, Pansy, that's right, people do, in fact have to work! Not all of us can fool around, singing and dancing all day long. Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

At this point, Pansy had collapsed in on herself. Draco had gone too far, and Harry felt the urge to protect the girl. He raised his voice this time, "She got the message, Draco! Would you cut it out?"

The blonde froze on the spot and threw him a murderous scowl.

"Pansy, would you leave us alone, please," he said not even looking at her.

The girl was stunned and without further ado, scurried away to her room in tears.

His eyes still pinning Harry, Draco resumed, "Potter, did you just give me an order?"

Harry remained stoic. Draco stole closer and started stalking in circles around him.

"No, because for a split second, I thought you asked me to shut it! Under my own roof! I think you're forgetting what your place is here."

Harry stared defiantly at him and tilted his head to the side, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Oh and what is my place exactly?"

Harry was looking for a fight, and Draco wasn't stupid, he knew what he was trying to do. But judging by the gleam in the blonde's eyes, Harry was sure that Draco was just waiting for this. Draco curled his lips in a vicious smile.

"I think we already established that Potter. You belong on the streets. "He paused for the dramatic effect and stated, "I know everything about your past, all your scams, your sordid affairs. See, I like to know who I'm dealing with. And I must say I wasn't that surprised by your police record. You've been involved with some interesting activities… But even back at Hogwarts, I knew you were scum. Your 'title' was nothing but a smokescreen and, now that destiny has decided to put us on equal footing, it is I who has come out on top..." He held up both of his arms as if he were addressing an assembly, "… and you've hit rock bottom. All is now as it should be."

Harry was seething, his eyes sparkling with rage, and he tightened his fists, ready to launch himself at the blonde. Oh, how he craved to wipe that idiotic grin off his face.

"I noted you associated yourself with Remus," Draco stated in an anecdotal way, passing his fingers over the back of one of the high chairs. He beheld absently his hand sliding over the wood.

Harry frowned at the reminder of his friend, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And slowly, Draco looked up at him and spat his poison, "Was he one of your regulars ?"

This did the trick: Harry jumped with a roar onto Draco, making him topple over under his weight. Harry grabbed the blonde wherever he could, pulling on his shirt, making the collar buttons fly off, and squeezed his neck with one hand. Draco kicked him in the groin, winding him, and made them roll over, the brunet landing flat on his back. Draco, his locks in disarray, eyes full of rage, hit Harry centre of the face, then another blow, and another. In a trance, Harry summoned all his energy and pushed back Draco's face, his hand on his chin, the blonde's face all scrunched up, his neck bared. Both boys were trembling now. Harry lost his grip and settled for the blond hair he pulled with all his strength. The blond wailed and his body slackened, granting Harry the upper hand. The brunet pushed Draco off him and made him fall backwards. The blonde collapsed onto his elbows while Harry got up on his knees. The brunet bent forward to hit Draco in the temple, but Draco was quicker: he took advantage of his position to throw his foot into Harry's stomach, propelling him on the floor.

Harry tumbled down the two steps separating the bar from the living-room. He took a few breaths to recover, giving time for Draco to get back on his feet. Once he faced Harry, he sent him a kick to the ribs. Harry doubled over and staggered back to escape him but Draco kept booting him wildly. With a sudden move, Harry caught Draco's foot, throwing him off balance. The blonde started to fall but managed to catch himself at the last moment on the back of the couch. Harry rose and launched at him again, brutally seizing his wrist, both rolling above and over the couch. They ended up on the cushions, groaning, scratching, tearing and beating everywhere. The fight was wild and clumsy.

They barely noticed when a hand grabbed each of them by the shoulders. Harry was propelled upwards, next to the couch, Goyle's hand on his shoulder; but his body was still high on adrenaline, refusing to submit, and he moved back on the attack. Goyle's other hand came around his waist to secure him firmly. Harry was wiggling madly but he tired quickly, unable to break Goyle's hold. Draco was in a similar state but he settled almost immediately. He shoved Crabbe's hand off him and took a few steps back to pull himself together.

The two young men were standing on opposite sides of the room, utterly ragged, marks on their arms, hair dishevelled and faces red and puffy. Draco's shirt-tail was out of his pants, collar wide open, and Harry's tee-shirt collar was ripped. Harry grimaced, closing his swollen eye and Draco massaged his wrist, grinding his teeth. They threw heated eyes at each other, heaving loudly.

Draco put his collar straight with a shrug to tidy himself up, but the missing buttons didn't help. Turning his head towards the windows, he reassured Crabbe and Goyle.

"It's okay, it's okay." He cleared his throat, still gathering himself, and commanded in a disdainful voice, "Take him back to his quarters, I don't want to see him again before tomorrow morning."

Draco was clearly avoiding any eye contact with Harry. The brunet knew he had no say in this. He removed Goyle's hand with a hard jerk, and without a word, climbed up the stairs. The episode was over.

HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP

Following their altercation, Harry and Draco tried to keep their distance. Although their interactions hadn't changed much since Harry's first days in the house, Draco now took care never to speak directly to Harry. The latter was often confined to his room, and he suspected Draco left him there for the simple pleasure of tormenting him. Everything happened out of his sight, and Harry didn't know how to handle this new situation. Even when he was authorized to join them downstairs for the meals, he felt he was on slippery ground, Draco allowing no remark from him.

Harry might have been sidelined but he put this exclusion to good use, sharpening his sense of observation, and quietly analyzing the dynamic of the group whenever he was around. Draco was distant with his team. Whereas a frank camaraderie united Zabini, Nott and Flint, Draco kept his reserve, barely laughing at their jokes and often refusing to join them on their nights out. He was shutting himself out. As for MacNair and his jolly fellows, Harry had yet to see them in the Cottage. Since he had arrived, they hadn't set foot in the main house. Were they out on a mission or did they stay away from the prying eyes in their own quarters? Maybe they had well marked territories. This was still to be defined. The rules of the residence were so unclear to Harry.

Draco was often alone, in a corner of the house. He stayed like this for hours, just gathering his thoughts. On forced quarantine, Harry's situation was quite similar to his, and it was not rare that both men found themselves silently isolated in a corner of the living-room, each on his own side, even though the team was in the room. Sometimes, Draco stared at him openly, eyes piercing, as he found more interest in appraising Harry than in joining the conversations around. Harry withstood his inspection but Draco always overstepped the limits, his eyes so penetrating that he imparted discomfort. Harry didn't understand what it meant. Was it intimidation or simple observation: something else was in play, but he couldn't see what.

Four days after their fight, Harry found Draco seated at the edge of the heated swimming-pool, the legs of his trousers rolled up to his knees, calves immersed in the water. It was night. The LED illuminations at the bottom of the pool and the misty fog all around created a lunar ambiance, the water mirroring at its edge and little light rays twinkling on the surface. Draco was wiggling his legs in the water, making a soothing to-and-fro sound with each of his movements, the water lapping against the side. Harry stayed behind him by the window, observing the reflection of the misty light on the blond hair, the laid back posture. He had the feeling he was catching a rare image, to witness one of Draco's hidden faces.

The blonde's head suddenly jerked to the side in a little start. Without looking at Harry, he said, "Rules, Potter. I think I need to clear some things up: you are forbidden to leave your quarters without the permission of one of the security guys. Understood?"

Harry quipped in a trice, "I'm not sure, could you repeat that?"

Draco turned to Harry, his back to the light, and his eyes shone with fury on his dark face.

"Potter, you're on an ejection seat. Push me even just a bit, and no matter what Pansy wants, I'll kick your arse out, is that clear?"

Harry wasn't discouraged, quite the contrary in fact. He wanted to break Draco's defenses, so he pushed his luck.

"Irritable, much?" he smirked, tilting his head aside, with a puppy face.

Draco barely reacted, murmuring a "I think I preferred when you didn't talk at all." And louder: "Get the fuck out now. I'll have a little conversation with Crabbe et Goyle."

Harry answered as quick as a flash, "Crabbe is right at my heels, watching us. Don't fret yourself, you trained your watchdogs well."

"Well, they should know you're not authorized to come and disturb me when I'm alone."

Harry, a bit nonplussed by his elusive attitude, provoked him again, searching for a reaction.

"Why Draco, what are you afraid of?" His voice filled with sarcasm, "This little 'nice' treatment here, what is it? A paranoia crisis?"

Draco viewed him again with clear eyes.

"Knock it off Potter, I know what you're doing, but you blew it. Now we're stuck together for Pansy's sake, but it's a matter of a few days before her bearings return, and then you can crawl back to the hole you came from. Just stop all this pretence, okay? Save you and me this pain."

He gazed down, his eyes lost again in the motion of his legs in the water.

Harry was getting impatient. He came forward, standing just at Draco's side so that he could see his face, and yelled, "But how many times do I have to tell you, I'm not a fucking spy!"

Draco shrugged. "If you want to play it like that…"

"Listen, this is getting ridiculous, why would I do such a thing? I… I don't understand what's going on inside your head."

Draco turned his eyes back to Harry and said very quietly :

"I know the method of Division 8, I know how they work. You're not the first one. I've already seen their agents in action. They come to you, all innocent, they worm their way in your life, they win your trust…" His voice turned bitter: "… to finally stab you in the back."

Draco had all Harry's attention then, and Snape's words came back to his memory:

"Someone betrayed him, someone who was close to him, intimate even."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. He knew he had to be persuasive. He allowed the agitation to seep into his voice, "Yes, but I have nothing to do with them! I know those scavengers. In the interest of full disclosure, Remus was trapped by the division as well. "He continued, his air fierce, "So you see, I have as much, if not more reason to hate them than you do."

He slowly sat on the edge next to Draco, his legs folded so they wouldn't touch the water. The blonde was listening to him attentively. Harry put his hands on the sode of the pool and spat with a bitter laugh, "Those bastards decided that Remus was in over his head, one of too many "risky" cases. You should have seen him then... He was so skinny, emaciated..." His eyes were filled with bitter memory. "He could barely stand up. Some fucking threat..."

He scratched his nose and went on in a factual tone, "He'd been denounced by some of his muggle friends." He shook his head, "I never understood why Division 8 was so interested in the former werewolves. And then I made contact with someone working in their detention center, someone who had access to their files. In fact, they had everything all wrong." Harry gestured with his arms to illustrate what he was saying. "They believe that, for us, the magic is exterior, something we just… tap into, but that for the werewolves, the magic comes from inside, from within their blood and flesh… When they realized that very few werewolves survived the shockwave, it just confirmed their hypothesis! It just made them more precious. They began to segregate the ones they caught, and then they built their bunkers… "

Harry's shoulders were tense and he found that he was rocking himself to and fro, in a soothing rhythm.

"Once the werewolves were at their mercy, those bastards conducted tests on them, using them as guinea pigs!"

He tried to contain his rage, teeth clenched and eyes bright, remembering the scars of torture he had witnessed on his friend, his body broken.

"Remus was part of the first imprisonment wave."

Harry took a break and looked away slightly. He tried to keep the same emotion in his voice when he announced, "They used him to the core. He died in their center three weeks ago. My contact disappeared a few days later. I guess they got rid of him too."

Draco stared at him carefully, taking his words in and said, "I got the report in hand, but I didn't know he had passed."

Harry summoned tears to his eyes. He didn't have to go very far to find them. Eyes wet, he maintained a tone of confession, "That's why I had to get in touch with you. I couldn't do it without Remus. I can't go on alone…"

He buried his face in his hands, completely huddled up. Draco watched him a long moment, studying him as if trying to take a decision, then he said, "Greyback's been through it too, but once with us, he was untouchable."

He looked down to the water, eyes staring wide open as if in standby mode, and with a sad voice,
"I wish I could have done something for our people… I wish I could have helped…" He blinked his eyes then, and added on a more objective note: "… but even with my contacts, I don't have much leeway as far as Division 8 is concerned. A few years ago maybe, but now, the game has become too risky. I've been in their sights for quite some time now."

Harry was surprised by Draco's words and turned his head back towards him, eyes shiny.

"I didn't know you to be this altruistic."

"Not altruistic. Vindictive, yes... Consistent too. My despise for muggles is nothing new, you know that. Everything that happened just confirmed my convictions. These last six years have been revealing, even you can't deny it."

Harry lowered his eyes. He had to admit that the climate of hatred that hit them had shaken his certitudes. The denunciations, the anti-wizard groups, he would never have expected such a reaction from the muggles. Harry had become bitter and suspicious, but, at the same time, he didn't want to let himself be invaded by a similar hatred.

Draco kept on, "I'm only defending my beliefs, and our people."

Harry smiled to that and watched the blond with amusement.

"You're trying to be the new saviour?"

Draco swept this idea aside with a sneer, "There's only one Harry Potter."

Unsettled by the declaration, Harry stared deep into Draco's eyes. Both looked at each other in a peaceful silence, their hands close to one another on the wooden floor, no discomfort between the two young men. The lights made the moment surreal, patches of their skin glowing in the dark and making them different for a moment. It was like they were discovering each other faces. The soft sound of the water wrapped around them, the moment intimate.

"Uh, am I interrupting something ?"

Draco and Harry glanced back at once with a puzzled look: Zabini was leaning on the French window and looking at them, his arms crossed and his smile suggestive. He kept teasing them, pretending to go back in the house,

"Because if I am, I can come back later…"

Draco lifted his legs out of the water, feet wet, and came to the window, now at the same height as his friend.

"Zabini," he said warningly, eyes narrowed.

"Really, all this sexual tension here, it's too much for my little heart," answered his friend mockingly, his hand on the chest.

Harry blushed at those unexpected words. Draco, offended, retorted loudly, "Zabini, would you like me to move you to Greyback's room? One more word and it's an immediate transfer."

Zabini continued jokingly, as teasing as possible, "Oh, Draco, you know I love manly men, but the hair on the back is really not my thing…"

Draco negligently waved his hand as if to push him away.

"I've heard enough for today."

He dried his feet with a towel lying on one of the deckchairs and rolled the leg of his pants back in place. He squinted at his sidekick with a authoritative air and said, "Tomorrow, 9 :00 a.m., Zabini."

He glanced back at Harry, suddenly very cold, "Crabbe will fetch you tomorrow as usual. And make sure you don't dawdle all night, understood?"

The brunet got up in turn and nodded, back into the role of the prisoner on probation. The truce couldn't last for long.

Inside, Draco shared a few words with Crabbe who eyed Harry from a distance before ascending the stairs. Draco raised his voice to Zabini : "Keep an eye on him," and then left the room.

Zabini headed to the bar. Harry didn't know if he should join him or not, so he simply stayed aside. Zabini opened one of the shelves and removed a bottle of scotch. He unscrewed the cap and dropped it on the table. The noise attracted Harry's attention. He turned his head to Zabini, waiting for some signal. Then, Zabini took two glasses and set them atop the table. Harry came closer, surveying the tiled floor, trying to touch the lines with each step. He didn't feel comfortable alone with the dark-skinned man. The truth was, Zabini looked like a buffoon, always joking with Nott, making crude comments, but Harry knew better. The man was no fool, it was just a façade. Harry just didn't know what to expect from him. Zabini considered him, amused.

"So, what's the story ?"

Harry raised his brows. "What ?"

Zabini leisurely poured the alcohol in both glasses and watched him. "What're you doing here?"

Harry gave him an acerbic laugh. "You're not going to start on me too… "

Zabini answered with an equal tone, "I'm not talking about your presence here, I'm talking about your little interaction with Draco."

"I don't know what you're talking about, we were just talking…"

Zabini nodded, not convinced. "Hm hm, if you say so."

Zabini pushed Harry's glass to his side of the table and took a gulp of his own. Harry stood closer and watched Zabini downing his shot, trying to gauge the man. What was he getting at? Nothing had happened after all.

Zabini put his tumbler down and sat behind the counter, inviting Harry to do the same.

"You're here for what… one week? And Draco is already baring his soul to you."

Harry balked. "What are you talking about? He didn't bare a thing. We were just having a conversation..." he continued defensively.

Twisting his beverage right and left in his hand, Zabini quietly told him:

"When Draco isolates himself, it's best everyone leaves him alone. Believe me, I'm talking from experience here. He just has these times when he needs to stay alone, to collect himself… He distances himself more and more from us." He brought his face closer to Harry's, his arms on the table, eyes intent. "And you, you come here with your big green eyes and your innocent smile, and he melts like snow under the sun."

Harry took his drink and shifted on his seat, brows furrowed.

"You're deluded, Draco is the most distant, the coldest man I've ever met! He hasn't said a word to me for days. He's treated me like a prisoner since the beginning and has certainly made it clear that I am not welcome here."

Zabini's face was completely serious now.

"You don't get it: Draco never confides in anyone, hasn't for a long time… But you, he talked to you… really talked."

Harry searched Zabini's face, thinking about what he was implying. Had he overcome an obstacle without even realizing it?

"I don't know how you did it, but he opened up to you. So I can only encourage you to keep doing…whatever you're doing," Zabini stared at his drink, looking preoccupied. "Draco needs help. The others might not care, but I do. He's my friend. And he needs someone. Even if it's you."

With this, he swallowed his scotch in one gulp and pushed away from the bar. He bent close to Harry's ear and whispered his final sentiments, darkly, "But don't you dare hurt him, or else I'll hunt you down to the end of the earth and kill you."

The threat was less than monumental, though Harry realized the truth behind his words. Zabini straightened up, tilted his head toward the staircase and asked him with a beaming smile:

"Shall I walk you back to your room?"

Lost in thought, Harry took a pause before putting his glass down in the sink and following him. Crabbe was already posted in the corridor next to his door. Zabini kept walking, leaving Harry alone.

Once the door of his room opened, Harry caught sight of a silhouette on his bed: Pansy. The girl was lying on top of the covers, asleep. Harry sighed, turned on the bathroom light, threw on an old tee-shirt and carefully joined the girl on the bed, trying not to weigh on the mattress. He angled towards her, eyeing the contours of her face in the dark room. She was lying on her back, her hands rested on her belly and her legs folded to the side, her body strangely twisted.

Harry settled down on his back and shifted his head to watch the rays of light piercing through the blinds from the terrace outside. He recalled Draco's silhouette at the edge of the pool, his blond hair stark before the clear blue water.

"There's only one Harry Potter."

Harry smiled in the translucent glow, the light tracing thin stripes on his face. He stayed like this, listening to Pansy's soft breathing, eyes lost in the blond rays filtering in through the blinds.