Chapter 9.

Return of the Quartet

Going to Russia? Think about it for a second, Draco. The blonde told himself while he started pacing his small flat. The money wasn't a problem, he had more than enough reserves; since he lived only on his salary, he had all of his large inheritance intact. But taking a plane to Moscow and back would take time. He could not take time off from work, he'd only just started working. So he'd have to do it during the next weekend. Which meant he'd have to act quickly. He only had one day to prepare.

The young man stopped in his tracks. He didn't like the idea of leaving, even if just for two days. For he'd be leaving Harry behind. Who knew what could happen, and if Harry knocked on his door, he wouldn't be there to help.

SH, Draco thought again, shaking his head in disbelief. Why, of all the criminals in the world, did he have to get involved with Riddle. In any other case, Draco would have been worried about Harry, especially about the mistakes he could be making. But with Riddle, Draco was scared. There was so much to fear for Harry in this situation. And he still didn't have a clear picture of exactly where and how Harry lived. Of what he transported and when, of who he worked with, of what kind of bond existed between him and Cho Chang.

I can't leave Harry alone here. Was the only conclusion he could come to. He's way too precious to me, or was way too precious…I want him back. But that was the same reason why he had to go to Russia. He would not get the information he needed by phone. He didn't have any contacts.

This time there really seemed to be no other option. It was time to bring in two collaborators.

It was dark so early these days, Harry thought as he walked down the street, down to a building he'd come to recognise easily. How many times had he come? He couldn't precisely recall. Sometimes he'd been a little drunk, and sometimes he'd been too high to remember much. His memory faded easily, it showed gaps everywhere. But that was exactly what he wanted. He wanted to forget his life. The more he forgot, the better.

Luckily, he hadn't forgotten where Draco lived. He looked around himself inconspicuously before touching the entrance door. No one seemed to be looking, so he pushed, and started ascending the stairs in the hallway.

Draco gave him food and sometimes drinks. Draco let him smoke on the windowsill. Draco offered him a couch to sleep if he wanted. But there was a price to pay for all this kindness. Because Draco asked questions, many questions. He always wanted to know things Harry couldn't tell. Either because he didn't know, either because he shouldn't know, either because he'd get in real trouble if he let someone else know, especially police. Harry knew what Draco would do with the intelligence.

The door to the flat opened once Harry had knocked. A fleeting smile, crowned by pale hair greeted him and let him enter. He took his usual spot. But he didn't want to smoke yet. He secretly hoped Draco would offer him food. He was starving, and he could really use something that looked half decent. He needed energy, protein…

To his disappointment, Draco offered nothing of the sort. Instead he sat himself on his couch and leaned forwards in Harry's direction.

"I'm leaving for a couple of days." He said, looking very serious and grave.

Harry looked in his direction, never directly in his eyes. He waited, mainly for an explanation why this seemed such an important matter to the blond police inspector.

"I'll be gone the entire weekend." Draco continued before presenting the teenager with a key to his flat. "I guess you could pick my lock too, but this will be faster." Then he glided a piece of paper over the coffee table towards Harry.

Harry glanced at it. It was a list of phone numbers. It almost looked like he was going to do some flat-sitting. But before he could open his mouth to ask what this all meant, his eye fell on the names scribbled in Draco's hand just before the numbers. The first two on the list were Hermione and Ron.

"They don't know about me, do they?" He asked agitatedly. His stomach was constricting. The idea of facing his two old friends made him panic. It was already hard with Draco. He didn't want to show them what he'd become.

"They didn't." Draco replied with an apologetic smile.

"You told them?" Harry raised his voice and his body from the windowsill at the same time. The need to run away was creeping over him.

"I didn't have much choice!" Draco defended himself.

"Why?" Harry attacked. He felt betrayed; even if he'd never trusted the young man sitting in front of him in the first place.

"Because I'm going away." Draco answered, bewildered that his motives weren't clear.

"Who cares if you're going away!" Harry snapped. "What's all this?" He nodded to the key and list lying on the table.

This stung in the blonde's heart, he had to admit, hearing that Harry didn't care one bit whether he was present or not. "I worry that something might happen to you." Understatement. Draco thought secretly.

Harry looked for a second like he was about to retort, but then checked himself, and left Draco curious as ever to know what was on the teenager's mind. The clock went on ticking, and Draco looked. It was almost time, so he had to say it now.

"Ron and Hermione…" he began to get Harry's attention again. "They're coming."

"Coming?" Harry repeated in a hoarse voice, his eyes fixed on one of the table's legs, as if hypnotised. "As in…now?"

"Yes, I think they will…"

But he was interrupted by a knock on his door. Draco grimaced a kind of awkward apology. They were already there. He should've known Hermione would've been too impatient to come at the appointed time. But the blonde had hoped to have more time to prepare his young friend.

Harry stood upright as Draco went to open the door. He badly wanted to drink or smoke, or run away. Maybe jump through the window? But no, he had to give at least the impression that he was perfectly fine.

"Is he coming? Is he here? Where is he? Is he all right?" A million questions burst into the flat in a shrill feminine voice. But before Draco could answer any of them, Hermione's eyes went over the entire space and instantly found what they were looking for.

Her mouth fell open. "Oh!" She advanced one step, followed by Ron who was showing equally widened eyes. "Oh, Harry! It's really you! Oh!"

The nineteen-year-old girl seemed to barely know what to do with herself. Her step faltered and her arms hesitated. But in the end her emotions took over and she threw herself at the young teenager, who was only barely taller than herself.

The air was slammed out of Harry's lungs when the two bodies collided. But he held fast. His arms automatically came to meet Hermione's back and waist to steady her. Even though his brain had not a clue what was happening. Then his eyes met Ron's, who looked even more uncomfortable than him. Ron was watching both his friend and Hermione, with a strange look in his eyes. Something Harry had seen before, a very long time ago. Only back then, it had been because Harry had gotten better grades than him, or had played better at football, or had scored while Ron hadn't.

The sharp glow of jealousy had made a fleeting apparition. It bewildered the young teenager, who had even less of a clue why Ron looked like this. Harry looked to Draco for some explanation, but he saw almost the same in his grey orbs.

With the hidden enmity emanating from the two boys standing back, and the open affection overflowing from the girl in his arms, Harry knew not what to do. Until finally, Hermione stepped back to look at Harry's face again.

"You've changed…" she said mysteriously.

"I grew." Harry explained, though he knew he hadn't gained nearly as many centimetres as he'd wished.

"Yes, that too but…" Hermione looked back at Ron for help, but Ron's ears were inflamed and his lips sealed. Ron had become very tall, Harry remarked. At least as tall, or even taller than his brothers.

"How…how are you doing, mate?" Ron finally asked Harry after a more than uncomfortable silence.

"Fine." Harry answered tonelessly. Then, realising he wasn't helping with the awkwardness, tried to infuse his voice with the warmth and complicity it had once held for the red-head. "A..and you?"

"Yeah…yeah, fine." Ron said, his ears still as red as if he were wearing a pair of lobster earrings.

Draco had the good sense to offer everyone to sit, and bring tea to the coffee table. For once, Harry didn't sit at the windowsill, though he craved to have his pipe between his lips right now, craved the hot fumes travelling down his throat. Instead he'd have to do with hot tea.

"Hermione…" Harry began hesitatingly.

"Yes, Harry?" She immediately answered.

"You…you got hurt?" He nodded towards a bandage she had round her left hand.

"Oh!" She raised her wounded hand. "It's nothing much. I spilled some fluorosulfonic acid at the lab today. But it wasn't a high concentration, so…"

Harry couldn't imagine Hermione, meticulous Hermione, making such a clumsy mistake. He didn't dare say anything about it, but she sensed the question in his countenance.

"It was just after Draco called me…to tell me about you." She added quickly, as if unsure it was a wise thing to say. "I spilled some hydrogen bromide too." She said, trying to take the attention away from her mention of the phone call. "So I decided to stop early."

Hermione was in such a state, just knowing that Harry was still alive. The teenager didn't know what to think or feel about that.

"What exactly did he tell you?" Harry couldn't keep himself from asking the question. He had to know what they knew. How far had Draco gone?

Said Draco seemed a little uncomfortable at this question. He made an excuse to go get a drink behind his kitchen counter, but his flat was too small for him to really be out of sight or earshot. He was back before Hermione could speak, Harry looking at the glass of whiskey with checked desire.

"Well?" Harry insisted, since no one said anything. Hermione bit her lip.

It was Ron who finally took the floor. "He told us you were in trouble." Harry began to fidget in place. "That you were forced to work with dangerous people, and that he needed our help…to get you out."

Harry waited with held breath for the rest to come, but Ron stopped speaking. Had Draco sugar-coated it for them? Or were they being gracious enough not to say anything of it in front of Harry?

"It was just a quick phone call." Draco explained, his voice piercing the silence. "I thought you might want to say it yourself?"

"What is there to tell?" Harry said coldly.

"Oh, Harry, don't be mad. He did it for your good." Hermione intervened. "And we're both happy he did."

Harry looked to Ron. Ron hadn't looked so happy. But now, his face seemed to soften, his ears faded to a deep pink. "I was worried about you." He said, his eyes darting to some object over Harry's left shoulder. He wasn't comfortable enough for eye contact yet, and neither was Harry. "All these years…and we had no idea what happened to you. It's a relief…to see you here." He smiled hesitatingly, but the warmth, the friendship, was there. "Wait till mum hears about this." He joked clumsily.

"No!" Draco suddenly barked, even though it was just a joke. All eyes turned to him in surprise. "No one can know this yet." He said more calmly. "We have to limit the people who know as much as possible. So let's keep this between all of us for now."

Harry could breathe again. Things didn't seem so bad. No one seemed to really know, no one seemed to judge. And it seemed that no one else would know anytime soon.

Hermione and Ron…it was such a pleasure to see them; a happy and nostalgic feeling at the same time. Harry longed for home. The home he'd found in the dorms of St-James. The home he'd found at Draco's, Hagrid's, or at Ron's house.

"What are those other people on the list then?" Harry wondered. If Draco intended for no one else to know, why did he give him those numbers?

"Those are colleagues of mine." Draco explained. "If anything serious happens during my absence, something Ron or Hermione can't help you with, call them. But it's only in absolute emergency cases, since the phone call you make will probably get me fired, or at least suspended."

"Where are you going? You didn't tell us that." Hermione turned to Draco.

"I'm going to Russia for the weekend."

"Russia?" Hermione and Ron repeated simultaneously.

"Blimey," Ron continued. "What the bloody hell are you going to do in Russia?"

"Just work." Draco shrugged. But he threw a swift glance in Harry's direction. Harry however didn't seem fazed by his destination. This confirmed Draco's suspicion: that Harry had no idea about this whole emigration business, that he was completely unaware that he officially was a citizen of the ex-Sovjet Union, that he was supposed to be living with relatives in Russia.

Harry looked at the clock. It was getting late already. And it was a Friday night, so he really needed to get going. He had work to do, so he excused himself from his old friends' company. Which was at once a relief, for he didn't know how to manage himself in front of them, and painful because these were people he'd known, people he'd counted on.

But they were also people he'd protected, and that desire to keep them away from trouble remained. Harry knew he could only mean trouble to anyone. Maybe Draco wanted to dip his nose in his business, it was his job. But Ron hadn't finished his training yet, and Hermione was a normal student. They could not have anything to do with this. Even if Harry was about to get killed, he still wouldn't use the paper with phone numbers he had folded into his pocket.

"We can give you a ride." Ron offered enthusiastically, seemingly warming up to Harry, step by step. "Where do you need to be?" All three of them looked at Ron, whose ears regained their beautiful vermillion colour. "What? Isn't it a good idea?"

Harry couldn't suppress a chuckle. His emotions had been strung too tight during the evening. After years in Hermione's company, Ron still hadn't learned the art of subtlety, and still barely had a clue of what happened around him. He just wanted to be useful, but didn't always know how.

"Thanks, Ron. I appreciate it." Harry answered warmly, but made it clear he denied the favour; and after a hug from both Hermione and Ron this time, he walked out the door with his stomach rumbling.

Too bad he hadn't gotten any food, for it was going to be a long night.

Yes, my dear ladies and gentleman. This is my second post already since being back! I want to thank the ones who responded, though I haven't had much feedback yet. I admit I'm a little sad, but it's normal after a long absence...

I'm sorry to have been such a bad fanfiction author (bad, bad BAD Aoiika!) but I hope so dearly that you'll forgive me and give me lots of encouragements to continue Snow :)

Thank you all, int eh past and in the present! Lots o' looove to all HP fans!

Aoiika