Chapter Ten

Despite his better judgment, Draco drank another potion that night. He found himself needing to, to prevent the way his face flushed at the mere thought of spending time with Harry Potter. When his logic managed to function again, he found himself rolling his eyes at the mere thought of getting worked up over Potter. He was simply lonely and in need of comfort. That was all it was. His mind was putting Potter in the place of Zacharius just because he was heartsick.

Right?

Draco leaned back on his mattress, gazing at the ceiling. When he really thought about it, it just grew more and more complicated. Smith was gone. Obviously, he was grieving that. He love Zacharius, even if Zacharius didn't share his feelings. And his whole world was falling apart. His mother was getting worse, his father was dead, and there wasn't one person in the Wizarding World who didn't think he was a bloodthirsty murderer.

Except Harry. Harry believed he was innocent.

And Harry and Draco had always had a complicated relationship. In school, Draco knew he'd done awful things to him, said even worse things to him. He had gone out of his way to make the Potter boy's life hell. Because he had rejected Draco's friendship. Merlin, they were only eleven. It was fairly childish to react in such a way. But they were children, after all. And as they grew up, Draco found himself wondering more and more why he was treating Harry so badly. Why did it matter so much?

And now he was grown, and growing rather close to him. Actually, he felt like Harry Potter was one of the only staples left in his life, even though their relationship had changed. Perhaps he'd always had a lingering need to be around Harry Potter, because, no matter what emotion he was feeling, because he'd been there. After the war, and the multitude of deaths, and his life falling apart, Harry Potter was still there. It was comforting, in a way.

He sighed. Maybe Smith was right. Maybe Draco was just that desperate for someone to care that he clung to whomever he could. And Harry was one of those whomevers. The only whomever, really. Sure, Goyle was there, and he had a few other friends, but they were at arm's length. After Draco's mother went mad, his friends backed away slightly. He understood. Madness like that was genetic. And he'd been drinking a lot of calming draughts, which warped his personality rather drastically. They probably thought he'd go insane too.

And his mother had really gone mad.

He didn't like to think of that day, and with the potion burning in his chest, he didn't have to.

…

Ashby Parker lived in Caerphilly, in a small home far back from the main roads, hidden between two large, tree studded hills. It had taken Harry a long time to find it. The Portkey to the city had left him somewhere close to the center, and Parker lived far off the west side, all on his own. The snow was deep around Harry's feet as he made his way up the footpath to his front door.

He didn't know why he was nervous, but he spent a good long moment on his stoop, his hand raised to the door. He wasn't sure of what answers he would get, what he was walking into. And Ron was lingering behind him in the snow, unsure of the situation entirely. Harry felt a little better, knowing Ron was behind him, ready to jump in if anything went awry, but he still had doubts that Ron would be of much assistance in any other way. Ron seemed a bit more convinced that Draco had killed Smith.

Either way, it was going to be a touchy subject.

He knocked on the door.

Ashby Parker was a young-looking chap with eyes so blue they were almost violet. His hair was a mess of dark curls, splayed over his forehead in perfect little ringlets. His skin was pale, and his lips were a stark contrast of nearly red against white. He was thin, but naturally so, and all together, Harry had to admit – a rather beautiful looking man.

"May I help you?" he asked, and his voice wasn't what Harry expected. A voice that he thought might be a bit timid, like the smaller boy in front of him came out a rich baritone with a small hint of arrogance and valor. Then, he paused, and his eyes grew wide. He let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh of glee. "Merlin! You're Harry Potter!"

Harry nodded, a little embarrassed. "Yes. Yes, I am. Are you Ashby Parker?"

"Oh, my," The man was practically flailing. He looked so honored. "Yes, I'm Ashby Parker. My, my, this is such a treat, Mr. Potter. I'm a big fan of yours. You've done so much for half-blood and Muggle-born wizards. I'm so grateful."

"Oh, erm… you're… welcome," Harry said, feeling a little confused. It'd been awhile since he'd dealt with the idolatry that came with being Harry Potter. Most had grown rather used to him being around.

"Oh, uh, please, come in! Come in!" He gestured Ron and Harry inside.

His home was warm and comfortable and dressed for the holidays. Parker moved ahead of Harry and Ron, his hips carrying a light swivel that even Ron seemed to notice with a puzzled look, like he couldn't quite put two-and-two together. Parker was even thinner than Harry initially thought, and yet still so perfectly lean. There didn't seem to be a flaw on him in his dark maroon sweater and dark slacks.

"So, uh, are you… Muggle-born, Mr. Parker?" Ron asked.

"Half-blood," he replied, slipping into his kitchen to prepare tea for his guests. "My mother was a Muggle."

"And your father?" Harry asked.

Parker came walking back in, nodding for them to sit down as he set a tea set on the coffee table. "I… prefer not to talk about him, thanks. What brings you here, Mr. Potter? I mean, I'm certainly honored you're here, but why?"

"Well," Harry replied slowly, glancing at Ron for a moment. "I need to know about your relationship with… Zacharius Smith."

Parker's face went white. "Oh… my. Yes, it's such a tragedy that he passed away. We were schoolmates – not when he was at Hogwarts, mind you. I went to Durmstrang. But we went to a university together. He was quite wise, though, dare I say, a bit confused."

"Confused?" Harry asked, interested. "How so?"

"Oh, over lots of things. I was the leader of a Muggle Studies group at the university. Smith had some difficulties dealing with who he was. He discovered he was a half-blood awhile back, and he had a very hard time. I helped him realize that being a half-blood isn't a bad thing. It's a shame that he didn't really get to live his life free of his own scrutiny."

"I didn't know he was part Muggle," Ron murmured. "Sure didn't act like it in school."

"He didn't know. He discovered that he was born from a different father than the one who raised him."

"You're barking," Ron whispered, intrigued by the juicy gossip.

"Afraid not. His mother conceived him in a bout of infidelity."

"With a Muggle?"

Parker nodded.

"Well, in my… investigation, Mr. Parker, I noticed that you and Smith had been corresponding quite often before his death. What I am here for is information. I am trying to find out who was responsible for his death."

"Prophet says it was that no-good Death Eater, Draco Malfoy." Suddenly, Parker's voice sounded different, more poisonous. Harry found that it filled him with disgust.

"Well, Draco Malfoy isn't—"

"Please don't tell me he's tried to convince you otherwise, Mr. Potter. Certainly you're better than that."

Ron looked to Harry in surprise. Harry bristled.

"I'm… just trying to get the facts straight, Mr. Parker. Did you know if Smith was doing anything dangerous? Had any dangerous acquaintances?"

It was as if Ashby Parker's face had transformed. Someone who had been so handsome and charming looking before was suddenly looking very ugly, poisonous, like a creature that needed to be avoided at all costs.

"Why not ask that Death Eater he was having it off with?" he sneered. "He was doing awful things to Zacharius, corrupting his mind with those pure blood ideals."

Ron looked like he was going to faint. "Are you saying that Smith was shagging Malfoy?"

Harry felt his ears burn red, but he wasn't sure if it was because of rage or embarrassment for the Malfoy boy. "Now, I wouldn't want to jump to assumptions, Mr. Parker…"

"They always called us Mudbloods, blood traitors, you know?" Parker tried to elaborate. "When the pure bloods were the ones truly being fowl to their kind. Can you not agree?"

"I don't think anyone should be considered fowl to their kind, honestly."

Ron gripped Harry's arm. Harry knew that Ron recognized how irritated he was getting. Parker was talking ignorance. And, just like everyone else, had just assumed Draco Malfoy was guilty. It just infuriated him for some reason.

"Alright, alright," Harry coughed out, trying to keep his temper down. "Why don't we keep away from the topic of Draco Malfoy. Tell me what else you know about Smith. The night he passed away, were you going to visit him? What were you to Smith?"

"Zacharius and I were shagging, yes, if that's what you were wondering," Parker said, crossing his legs.

Ron looked completely lost, like he had no clue what to do, what to say. So he stayed silent. Which was probably for the best.

"Oh…" Harry muttered. "How long had you two been in a relationship?"

"Not long. I couldn't really give you a date."

"Well, you don't seem very worked up over his death…"

"Mr. Potter, if I may say so, we all grieve in different ways. And when Zacharius' body is released to be buried, I will be at his funeral. I hope you, as an Auror, will make sure that Death Eater isn't."

"Death Eaters are gone, Parker," Harry argued. "They went the way of Voldemort."

The kettle in the kitchen began to whistle. They all ignored it, trapped in the tension of the moment.

"Well, Mr. Potter. I really hate to hear that you believe that."

…

"I don't like him."

Harry and Ron were making their way over to the Portkey to go back to the Ministry, and Harry still had a sick feeling in his stomach over the entire conversation.

"Well, don't start making assumptions just because he's a bit loony-"

"Ah, but it's okay if I do that about Malfoy?"

"Harry, don't get snippy with me…"

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized genuinely with a sigh. "That prat put me on edge."

"Don't let him get to you, Harry. Some didn't walk away from the war like we did. Some didn't deal with it like we did."

"I know, but there's something about him that makes me really uncomfortable."

"I know what you mean, actually." Ron shuddered. "Something very strange about him."

Then, after a pause as they finished their trek to the Portkey. "Was Malfoy really… you know… with Smith?"

Harry lied. "I don't know. I don't think that really matters."

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. If he was, it would explain why Parker was so angry at him."

Ron had a point. But the nonsense that Parker had been spouting seemed to be more than just common jealousy, especially since he'd started shagging Smith decidedly after Malfoy did.

"I need to think on all of this more. Something strikes me about him. I think there's more to him than that."

They grabbed the Portkey and reappeared at the Ministry in a matter of moments.

"What's so attractive about Smith anyway?" Harry grumbled. "He was right infuriating in school. What makes him so special?... I mean, if he was with… both of them. Which we don't know for sure." Harry was a bad liar. But Ron was also fairly gullible.

"I don't know. I'm not attracted to men. Maybe it's something weird, like those insufferable girls in school. They always had boyfriends. Some people like to be in relationships with people like that, I suppose."

"It shouldn't be that complicated."

"Neither should've your relationship with Ginny, but it was."

"Touché." Harry frowned. The remark was true, and he admitted it, but a little uncalled for. It felt like a punch to the stomach.

"Every relationship is complicated," Ron tried to soften the blow after he realized the effect on Harry. "Sometimes they work; sometimes they don't."

"Yes, but… I'm just not sure about Smith…"

Because Smith's relationship with Draco seemed to be toeing the line of abuse. Draco was completely submissive to him – when he'd once been a cocky bastard. He had… changed Draco. At least, Harry thought he might have. He hadn't really spoken to Draco in a long time. All the horrible things that had happened to him could have very well have been behind his behavior, but Harry was unsure. Something really told him Smith had something to do with it. To think he deserved all the bad things that happened to him… it just didn't sit well with Harry.

"Well, Harry, he's dead. There's not much else we can do about that. Our job is to find out who did it, whether he deserved it or not."

"I know," Harry sighed. "I know."

…

"No, I never met him," Draco said with a shake of his head.

Harry looked down into the coffee Draco had made. He usually drank tea, but Draco had promptly made it when he realized he'd run out of tea.

"Why do you ask?" Draco finally asked with a puzzled look.

"Well… he's not very… fond of you, that's for sure," Harry said, gripping the mug, feeling it warm his hands.

"Not many people are, Harry. It's not shocking."

"Yes, but most of those people have met you," Harry replied with humor. Draco bowed his head with a laugh.

"So kind, Harry. So kind. So why doesn't he like me? Did he tell you?"

"Well… it's rather complicated. Tell me, what was your relationship with Smith like when you two broke it off? Was he angry? Did he ever say anything cruel to you?"

"Cruel?" Draco murmured, his eyes wide, almost childlike. "I never really thought he said anything cruel."

"Nothing? It must have been a rocky breakup. You two were rather close, right?"

Draco took a long time drinking his coffee, then set his mug gently down on the table. "Have you ever been in a relationship with another man, Harry?"

Harry's face went bright red. "What? N-no."

"Men are hormonally programmed to be more interested in sex than romance. Our relationship started out as strictly sexual. He wanted it to remain that way. I didn't. So he broke it off. I can only imagine that the only thing that really made him angry would be losing the partner – but I'm sure he made up for in my absence. I can't imagine I was his greatest lay."

Harry shrunk back a little in his chair. There it was again, the beating-himself-up when it came to Smith. Harry still had to force himself past the initial question.

"So you're saying that… all he wanted from you was sex?"

"I'm not as foolish as I seem."

"You don't seem foolish," Harry argued.

Draco softened a little. "Now you're actually being kind. Can't say I'm used to it."

"Just from me or from everyone? Including Smith?"

"What are you implying?"

Harry bothered at his lip then took a sip of coffee. It was a little bitter.

"I'm just saying that… that I'm concerned… with… how he treated you."

Draco stared at him for a long moment. Then, his voice was barely audible:

"Concerned? Over me?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. I'm concerned."

"…Why?"

The word actually hurt Harry. Did he really think he didn't deserve anyone's concern? "Because… because you're… my friend."

"Oh," Draco stammered. "That… that's strange, isn't it? Don't you think that's strange?"

"Maybe when I was a child, but not now. You're different now. We're both different now."

Draco took a shuddering breath. "Oh, you have no idea."

"What do you mean?"

Draco's cheeks flushed pink and he went back to his coffee. "It doesn't matter. So this chap doesn't care for me, hm? Do you… do you think he killed Zacharius?"

"I… I can't make any assumptions with him. But… I don't care for him. Something in my gut doesn't trust him. He's far too scathing to certain subjects, a bit too secretive in others. I'm going to have a full investigation."

"You can't give me any more than that?" Draco argued.

"It's an investigation. As much as I don't like it, you're still a suspect. I can't just spill all the details I know…"

"But you know I didn't do it!"

"I think you didn't do it. I don't have the proof to say either way. But my instinct and my interactions with you say that you didn't. Unfortunately, that's not enough to win a court case."

Draco looked strung out. He ran his hands through his hair, some pieces falling out of place. His hands were shaking. Harry swallowed.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded rather hastily. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm fine. I just need to… to brew a—a potion." He headed over to his cauldron and turned on the burner. "Merlin, Zacharius must have been sleeping with him. I don't li-like to think about things like that."

He began chopping ingredients hastily.

"Calm down," Harry started, though Draco was ignoring him.

"And if he did kill Zacharius and he finds out you're my friend, he'll probably kill you too—" He was just yammering on and on, nonsense and worry.

Then, with his hands still shaking, his hand slipped in dropping the ingredients into the cauldron, burning his hand on the heated copper. He wailed, pulling away, clutching his hand. Harry rushed across the kitchen and grabbed Draco by the wrist, dragging him to the sink and putting his hand under the cold water from the tap. He held it there for a matter of minutes, both their chests heaving in the adrenaline of the moment.

"He's not going to kill me. I'm not going to leave. I'm going to solve this case," Harry stated, trying to make eye contact with Draco, but he was too busy staring at his hand. "Did you hear me?"

He nodded, still not lifting his head. The water was still running. Harry was holding his wrist.

"Yes, yes, I heard you." He lifted his head and his eyes looked lost and terrified. "I wish I could believe you."

"Why can't you believe me, Draco?"

"I don't know. Patterns, I suppose. Everyone I care about is ripped away from me. It's not always in their control…" His voice trailed away and he was staring at Harry with fear in his eyes.

"Well, trust me in that I'll do everything in my power to prevent that."

Draco nodded shakily again. He was visibly trembling.

"What are you so afraid of, Draco? What is it?" Was it Smith? Had Smith dug that deep into his skin and made him so insecure? Was it Parker? Was it the entire bloody Wizarding World?

Harry didn't know, because he was too distracted by the fact that Draco Malfoy was kissing him.