Update:Chapter's Three through Eight have been updated thoroughly; no major plot changes.—March 2015
A/N:Thank you all so much for your support. Please continue to review and comment! To the Anonymous author of that wonderfully long and thoughtful review from last October, thank you so much. I promise to never abandon this story.
I apologize sincerely for the delay!
oOo
Warnings: language, violence, abuse, m/m content.
Chapter Eleven, The Difference Between
October 29th 2000
"Where did you learn that spell?" Harry asked, curiosity peaking.
It was mid-morning on Sunday, two weeks since Harry had started his magic training with Malfoy. They now sat opposite each other at one of the tables, in study room six, discussing a new spell that Malfoy meant to try on him.
The blonde glanced at him, hesitating before answering. "I was lucky enough to be exposed to a side of experimental magic that I wouldn't have otherwise."
"Dark magic, you mean?" Harry asked. "Voldemort's idea, I bet?"
To Malfoys credit, there was only a small flash of annoyance that crossed his face.
Holding back a smile, Harry pointedly went back to the book he was rifling through: The Magical Core: Five Things to Know Before Trying Anything.
"Did you know," Malfoy started with what Harry had soon come to realize was the tone of lecture, "they say that the Auror program is three years mainly because they have to spend almost a year teaching us to unlearn what we've learned at Hogwarts? Hogwarts doesn't even teach us where the dividing line between Dark and Light magic is."
Harry regarded a passage in the book with a frown before glancing once at Malfoy and saying, "Yes, with good reason. Do you know how many people would've misinterpreted or taken advantage of that kind of information? Even you would've found that kind of information useful."
Harry froze with his finger on the page, realizing what he'd just said. He opened his mouth to apologize, before catching sight of Malfoy's raised eyebrow.
Malfoy regarded him for a moment longer before letting out a sigh, a look of exasperation on his face. "As much as I would love to hex you for that veiled accusation, I don't think I could deny that with good conscience. Nevertheless, I think that's where the problem lies."
"What do you mean?"
Malfoy hesitated as though considering his next words.
Tentatively he said, "Well, Dark Magic has always been seen as just that. Dark." He lifted a pale, manicured hand just as Harry opened his mouth to argue. He continued, "What wizards fail to see is that any magic, even the simplest of spells, can turn dark if the caster wills it to be. All magic is inherently good, minus the intention. Does that make sense? Things don't always have to be so black and white, Potter."
With his finger still hovering over the passage of the book, Harry slowly nodded in understanding. He commended himself for not looking so surprised at Malfoy's words, at how strange they sounded coming from his lips. But Harry supposed he can agree with them. He was, of course, all too familiar with that dichotomy. The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters, Sirius' voice came to him, and the corner of Harry's lips lifted slightly.
"I can agree with that," Harry said. "Partly. But you can't tell me that there is ever a good intention behind the Killing curse or Crucio because, let me tell you, I would know—"
"Let me rephrase," Malfoy offered, leaning forward on the table and tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear. "Nearly all magic is good, if the intention is pure. It's all a very delicate topic of research. Very taboo. Most wizards can't stand to hear it."
Harry doesn't hold back his smile this time. Not when it was so plain to see how passionate Malfoy could get when speaking about these things. He gazed back down at the passage under his finger, a nervousness he has never really felt before snaking over his arms and chest. He read the words once more:
Exposure of magical cores can have differing results. As with proper nourishment, companionable cores will flourish and grow, just as negligence and opposing cores can hinder the other's development. As such, great care should be taken when—
Harry exhaled, closed the book, and set it aside. Magical cores, companionable cores, opposing cores—he crossed his arms—but nothing specific about how to know whether or not his core was actually merging with the man in front of him. Not that he really needed any more proof; he had suspicion enough that the two were…unifying, what with all the tingling and [pleasant] shocks that occasionally ran through him at contact.
But even if Harry wanted to open this up in conversation, to clarify things, he had the nagging feeling that Malfoy wouldn't take the news of their merging cores all too well. And Harry really didn't want to disrupt this growing friendship of theirs. As odd as it was, Harry was becoming attached.
Which couldn't be good for either of them.
Finally catching Malfoy's raised-eyebrow-expectant look, Harry quickly straightened himself and said with a small wave of his hand, "I would've never thought you to be so…theoretical."
Malfoy smirked and gave him a small one-shoulder shrug. "I've had a lot of time to read," he said by way of explanation. He eyed the book Harry had been reading and swallowed visibly. "Now are you going to let me help you this time, or are we just going to sit here and do nothing?"
Harry pursed his lips and resisted the urge to cross his arms again. "You know I find it very hard to trust you after that last experiment you tried on me."
"How the hell was I supposed to know that you'd react like a little twat?"
"So you think panicking at the near fatal accident with my own magic constitutes as me being a twat? …Oh never mind, for fuck's sake," Harry said, just as Malfoy opened his mouth to answer. Harry scowled good-naturedly. "All I'm saying is that I'd really appreciate it if you don't rush me this time."
Malfoy let out a breath of amusement and raised his hands, "Fair enough." He stood.
Harry followed suit with a mumbled, "I've enough trouble trying to hold it all in with you in here."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing."
Malfoy gazed at him with suspicion before motioning for Harry to stand a few feet in front of him. He raised his wand, waving it in an intricate pattern, his pale hand flowing expertly in the air as the spell slowly opened the channels of Harry's magic, allowing them to become visible.
The spell unwound around Harry, his magic unfurling in its usual vibrant red. The sensation was peculiar, as though small, warm streams of water were flowing through his veins and out of the tips of his fingers. It took him until a few days ago to actually centralize his magic on to the palms of his hands, as opposed to it flowing freely from all of Harry's surfaces. He took a moment to familiarize himself once more to his own magic, stoking the energy gently before reaching out and, with a nod from Malfoy, moving a coil of his magic around them.
Malfoy for the most part, stood to the side, instructing Harry and giving him various tasks to complete. It was all in the effort to exercise Harry's control, and Harry had to admit that it was working fairly well. Even his nightmares seemed to have lessened, and there were a lot less mishaps during training, that he was actually quite happy to have accepted help in the first place. Soon, Malfoy had said, he wouldn't have a need for his wand.
"Your spell-work will be more powerful in its raw state," Malfoy said, eyeing as a thread of Harry's magic wormed its way past his pointed, flaw-less face. Out of curiosity it seemed, Malfoy reached out a hand, a finger to touch the thread. Before Harry could protest, it made contact.
A visible shock went through the both of them, and Harry froze as he felt a bizarrely familiar source of magic seep through his veins, as though it'd happened before. It was potent, intoxicating, and Harry knew at once that this was what Malfoy's magic felt like. It swirled inside of him, thriving, and Harry's heart clenched at the intensity. When their eyes met, emerald eyes, silver gaze, Malfoy seemed to be in a daze, shaken, out of breath, flushed, and if he had to place a word for the look on Malfoy's face…
Just as Harry was about to step forward and do Merlin knows what, the moment was broken and a paper airplane slipped noisily through the cracks of the study room door. It flew to a stop in front of the blonde. Harry, fully aware, and a bit invigorated, easily reeled in his magic, straightening his shirt as the vibrant red slowly disappeared back into his body. Malfoy cleared his throat and reached out to take the note with a shaking hand. Silver eyes scanned the page and although his face was still flushed with energy, his mouth turned into a deep frown.
Harry walked forward, curious. "What is it?"
Malfoy shook his head, folded the page neatly and slipped it into his black trouser pocket. "Nothing of consequence. But, regrettably, I'll have to leave our session earlier than usual." He picked up his onyx cloak from one of the chairs, slipped it on as gracefully as he always did and started for the door. He paused when he reached the handle and glanced back. "Meet you at the lab after Poisons tomorrow?"
Harry tried, but he couldn't stop the smile on his face. "I'll be there."
Draco's legs thankfully remained upright as he stepped out of the lift and onto the vast main floor of the Ministry. He was feeling very on the edge, jittery, and in general, as though he'd slipped a bottle or two of Ogden's into his system not five minutes before. Couple that with a shot, two shots of muggle espresso and Draco would have a very accurate interpretation of what Potter's magic felt like as it swam inside of him, through his veins and into his already over-stimulated brain.
But fuck, that did not feel like it had the first time Draco had tried it. It was as though Potter had grown stronger, but in such a drastically short amount of time that the result had been too much for Draco's body to handle. His heart was beating so erratically in his chest that if Draco hadn't known any better, he'd think he was having a fit. Which he probably was, all things considered—'all things' being the fact that this shouldn't be happening, that Draco was being stupidly reckless because he knows what will happen, and yet he couldn't find it in himself to stop; merging cores or not, the longer Harry Potter was in his presence, the more he felt himself being pulled towards the raven-haired man. Draco felt powerless to stop it.
He wasn't even sure he wanted to.
What was more, the Dark Mark, which had been burning dull and constant for weeks now, had not seized its throbbing. Instead, it burned worse than ever—so much so that the batch of Star Grass salve that he'd made only the previous week, had already run out. Which meant yet another late night at the lab.
Refocusing his attention with a lot more difficulty than he dared to admit, Draco searched through the crowds in the main lobby, ignoring some of the blatant stares and anti-Death Eater comments of the witches and wizards ambling about. He made his way past the great fountain, disregarding the persistent solicitors with their self-printed newspapers and odd magical collections, side-stepping angry personnel with no regard to the safety of the people in front of them, and grimacing when a stray cloak or careless arm brushed too close for comfort.
Eventually, hours later it seemed though it had probably only been a minute or two, Draco spotted the little Ministry Café andShoppe and entered through its doors, watching as they closed behind him with a clink of the metal doorbell.
"Shall I find you a seat?" a young waitress offered him politely as he turned back around.
"That won't be necessary," Draco replied brusquely, and swept past her, having already caught sight of the person he was looking for.
"Oh, Merlin, Draco, why do you look as though you've just had one off?" Pansy Parkinson asked as he drew closer, looking so scandalized that Draco wanted to sink into the ground and remain there until his high had subsided. Outwardly though, he remained properly composed albeit more flushed, he figured, than when he had initially stepped off of the lift.
"Say that any louder, Pans, I doubt the Minister heard you the first time," he deadpanned. He sank gracefully into the seat across from her, shedding his cloak in almost the save movement, folding it neatly and placing it across his lap. Pansy sat in front of him, her beautifully tailored robes of deep magenta standing out in a sea of black and brown work robes, and a steaming cup of coffee on the small table in front of them.
"You did, then?" Pansy persisted, her dark eyes widening and a naughty smile grazing the corner of her light red lips.
"No, for fuck's sake," Draco said, exasperated and effectively holding back a roll of his eyes. He straightened his shirt collar around his neck in an effort to steady his still-shaky hands, relieved, as he glanced around the little coffee shop, that no one paid him and his table any particular attention.
"Hmm," Pansy replied just as the waitress from before came up to their table, a blue notepad floating in the air next to her.
"Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked rather rudely in Draco's general direction.
Draco cocked an eyebrow, decided it wasn't worth to mention her rudeness, and instead asked, "What do you have here?"
"It's a café, mister," she answered with a flip of her long black hair. "Take a wild guess."
Draco deftly chose to ignore the unladylike and half-assed muffled snort that came from across the table, and narrowed his eyes. A name tag on the girl's apron read, 'Elena.' He indicated towards the cup in front of Pansy and said, "Whatever she's having then, Elena, if it's not too much trouble."
The girl pursed her full lips, closed her notepad with a snap, and turned away in the direction of the kitchens, Draco supposed. He half-glared at the back of her head until she disappeared, before reluctantly turning his attention back to Pansy.
"What are you doing here, Pansy?" he asked after she failed to say anything for a minute.
Pansy took her time in answering, grabbing her coffee mug with both of her hands. She blew the surface of it to cool it down and took a sip. "Ministry business," she said with a smile.
"Ministry business? Since when does writing for the Spanish gossip column have anything to do with the English Ministry?"
Pansy laughed delicately. "Not my business, actually," she amended as she took another sip. "Stefan is on call here for a few days—a conference of some sort." She waved a hand. "I just asked to come along."
"Oh, you did?"
Pansy nodded, placing her mug back on the table. "Arrived just a few hours ago. Don't know if I'll see much of him, though, but Mother says it's always good to stay close by. Distance isn't good for marriage, apparently… 'You can't get pregnant on your own now, can you?!'" she imitated with a stern, slightly-accented voice.
"Your mother is a wise woman," Draco said, amused.
"She's definitely something," Pansy said fondly. Then she scowled. "You know, she sends an owl every other night asking if I've…" she glanced around for eavesdroppers and lowered her voice to a crazed whisper, "…asking if I've been having proper intercourse with my husband, and to make sure that I'm giving it all I've got!"
Draco laughed into his hand. "I can imagine how you responded to that."
"I told her to shove it and to keep her bloody nose out of my affairs!" she said, with wide-eyes as if that were the most obvious thing to say to one's prying mother. "She doesn't listen, of course…Merlin, I don't think I've tried so hard to have sex since…well…you'd know all about that wouldn't you?" she finished accusingly.
"Merlin, don't remind me," Draco laughed again, thankfully keeping a deep blush in check.
Pansy frowned. "I wasn't that awful, was I?" she asked with an underlining of insecurity that made Draco's chest surge with both amusement and protectiveness.
"No, Pans, you were brilliant," he said sincerely.
It got desired effect: Pansy beamed and settled back in her chair, reassured.
"Of course I was," she muttered.
They both looked up as the waitress, Elena, returned to their table, placing a steaming cup of black coffee in front of Draco and wiping her hands on her apron.
"Anything else I can get you?" she asked.
Draco opened his mouth to mention that his coffee was definitely darker than Pansy's caramel-colored drink, but she was already walking away, her long black hair swinging annoyingly at her back.
Pansy snorted. "What in the world did you do to her?"
"Fuck if I know," Draco huffed. He didn't dare to take a sip of the steaming hot liquid, though his throat itched with thirst.
"I think she's fond of you."
"Please, don't."
Pansy let out a girlish giggle but relented easily, picking up her own drink again. She blinked at him expectantly and gave him an almost-smile before looking away. She placed her mug on the table.
"It worked out for the better, actually," Pansy said to him quietly, to which Draco gave her a questioning look. "My mother's advice…," she clarified, "…is always infuriatingly useful…"
Draco looked down at his cup, back up at her expectant brown eyes, and back down at his cup. Then her words sank in. Draco blanched, his eyes snapping back up at her.
"No…!" Draco stared, his mouth open in disbelief as Pansy broke into a delighted grin. She nodded, and Draco spotted her hand, resting on her stomach.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," beamed Pansy.
Draco was speechless, mixed feelings swirling: shock, happiness, protectiveness, and confusingly, an inkling of sorrow. He didn't let that show, and instead let out a breath of laughter, hesitating only a second before standing and nearly bringing her out of her seat as he embraced her.
Pansy laughed, sniffling as they pulled apart.
"How did your husband react?" Draco asked, settling back in his seat.
Pansy pursed her lips, looking almost guilty. "I've yet to tell him," she admitted.
Draco smiled, secretly humbled at the gesture she was showing him. "I'm sure he will be thrilled to hear about it."
"He will be. Stefan is very family oriented," she said happily, resting her chin on her hand and somehow managing to make that look elegant.
Soon, Pansy's cup had emptied, and she settled back in her seat, a frown on her face. She stared at Draco hard. Draco cocked an eyebrow and forced himself not to fidget under her gaze. Something was amiss, and he would bet the entire contents in his vault that he knew what Pansy would bring up next.
"Did you get my messages?" Pansy asked finally.
There goes the entire contents in his vault, Draco thought with a smile before guilt quickly made its way forward. He wasn't fast enough to keep it from showing on his face. Pansy raised her own eyebrow as if to say, 'Well?!' Draco gritted his teeth.
"I have it here," he replied, taking the carefully folded paper airplane from his black trouser pocket and showing it to her unnecessarily.
Pansy huffed and gave him a hard stare. "That's the one I sent half an hour ago, Draco." She waited for Draco to say something.
When he didn't, Pansy persisted. "Draco."
Draco sighed and resisted the urge to crumble under her gaze. He remained silent, stubborn.
"Draco, darling, you haven't replied to any of my posts since…since then…" she trailed off, and though Draco knew exactly which 'then' she's referring to, he'd much prefer to stay away from that topic of discussion for a very long time. Forever, in fact.
"Have you decided on a name for the b—"
"Don't change the subject."
Draco bit his lip. "I've been rather busy, Pans," he said offhandedly. "I'd meant to reply to you as soon as I could."
"How long does it take for you to write a simple 'I'm okay,' or 'I'll get back to you, Pansy' and send it off with an owl?" Pansy said with a frown, her polished eyebrows creased.
Inconspicuously, Draco sent a privacy spell around them.
Pansy searched his face, though he continued to remain silent. She huffed again, her eyes glassy. "I could only imagine what…what he…what Blaise did, Draco! I was worried! It would've been my fault if—"
"—No. No, Pansy, it wouldn't have," Draco said firmly.
Pansy's lip trembled. "You're not still living there, are you?"
Draco sighed again, his head now starting to throb, hating the fact that Pansy was bringing this up after her good news. The last thing he wanted to do was remember what happened that night. Much less talk about it. He swallowed with difficulty and smoothed a hand over his hair. The truth was that Draco had started to reply to her every time, and every time he would never finish his letter, feeling an ache at the thought of recounting what had happened.
When he felt Pansy's hand over his own, he was startled. He fought to not move his hand away for fear of hurting Pansy. She gave his hand a squeeze.
"I just want to know that you're safe," she said. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself if something happened to you."
Draco nodded and gently extracted his hand from hers. "I'm fine, Pans. You worry too much," he said with a smile. When her expression of worry didn't change, he continued, "I'm not living there anymore."
Pansy searched his face for a bit longer, possibly for any signs that he was lying to her, before finally breaking into a beautiful smile. "Good. You were much too good to him, love—is that Harry Potter?"
Draco turned almost too quickly, following her line of sight and spotting him walking past the café windows side-by-side with Auror Wood. Draco and Pansy weren't the only ones looking: people were whispering and pointing and Draco found himself getting highly annoyed and wishing for them to mind their own bloody business for once in their insignificant lives. Distracted, he took a sip of his cold black coffee, watching as the end of Potter's dark robes disappeared past the windows. He made a face and placed the cup back on the table.
"He looks so different," Pansy said conversationally.
"I hadn't noticed," Draco said, avoiding her gaze.
"Yes, he does—more mature. Maybe it's the glasses. Finally got rid of those spello-taped monstrosities, you remember them?" Pansy asked. "They annoyed you so much, remember? 'Can't he afford some new ones, for fuck's sake?'"
"I don't recall saying that ever in my life," Draco lied. "…and watch your mouth, the baby will hear."
Pansy laughed at him. "Sure, darling. How do you cope being around him during training?"
"…It's not like it was at school, Pans. It's…different," Draco started to say, a bit horrified that he was actually saying anything at all. "I—"
He was interrupted yet again by another paper airplane shuffling in through the cracks of the doors; it stopped in front of Pansy this time.
"Oh, it's Stefan. I've got to meet him for lunch. Care to join us?" Pansy asked hopefully.
Draco smiled and shook his head. "Go on."
Pansy looked as though she would insist, but thankfully she only nodded. She stood and reached into her bejeweled bag.
"Don't be daft," Draco said sternly and waved her off.
Pansy smiled and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. "We'll continue this conversation later. Bye, darling."
He watched her leave. "Be careful!" he called after her before he could stop himself. Catching the glare from Elena-the-Waitress at the other end of the shoppe, Draco quickly lowered his privacy ward. He dropped a few sickles on to the table and left, shrugging on his cloak as he went.
oOo
With November just around the corner, Harry found himself swamped with Auror training, magic training, and Quidditch. But he had settled easily into a routine. He rarely saw Grimmauld Place if it wasn't strictly for sleeping and even then he would find himself staying more often at the Auror common room overnights. Not that Harry minded. Frankly, he enjoyed being closer to headquarters. Being busy was keeping Harry sane, keeping him from feeling the absence of his friends. Not to mention that Malfoy frequented headquarters after training hours as well. He found himself enjoying these moments the most—any moments, really, if they involved the blonde…and it was no different now as he walked through Level Two, briskly, towards the infirmary's potion lab.
It was empty when he entered the infirmary; the evening had become dark—the windows fogged from the warmth of the room. Katherine was nowhere to be seen, presumably keeping away in her office. Within seconds he'd crossed the length of the room and reached the door to the lab. He opened it.
"You're here. Pass me the conium, would you?" Draco said as soon as the door closed behind Harry. Draco was standing in front of a steaming cauldron, his hair loose, damp from the fumes. Harry felt an unwelcome flutter in the pit of his stomach, and felt it somersault as he watched the slim frame lean forward to scrutinize the notes that lay on the table. His pale fingers held up three glass vials, each a different color, likely containing the next ingredients for the potion.
"The what?" Harry asked, having forgotten what he'd been asked to retrieve.
"The conium…there," Draco motioned with his chin, "…no, there, the coni—the hemlock for Merlin's sake, Potter. Third cabinet to your right," he said, exasperated.
Harry summoned his pair of protective gloves, slipped them on, opened the cabinet and reached in, carefully grabbing a handful of hemlock for Draco to choose from. He brought it over to the table and offered it to him.
Draco picked a few healthy sprigs from Harry's hand, placing the now empty vials onto a cleaning tray.
"Why don't you ever wait for me to start our work together?" Harry asked.
"What, and risk having everything destroyed within the hour?" he responded with a sneer, clipping the sprigs into smaller sizes.
Harry leaned forward with his hands on the table, half-glaring at the blonde. "You do remember it being your fault that I have this huge scar on my shoulder, don't you?"
Draco turned to look at him and then down to his shoulder before returning to his cauldron. "I'm not going to argue with you, Potter."
Harry smirked, not really caring whose fault it was, and read over the notes that now lay in front of him. Malfoy's handwriting was small, each letter elegant on the page. "Diluted basilisk venom…" he read. "Where—"
"—Locked case in the back, at the top, by all the bottles."
Harry followed his direction, coming back to the table with the smallest stoppered flask he'd ever seen. The flask was warm to the touch even through his protective gloves, and inside was what Harry guessed to be merely three drops of basilisk venom. He grimaced, remembering with clarity his second year at Hogwarts.
"Do I even want to know how they managed to get this?"
"It wasn't without difficulty I can assure you," Draco said. He took the flask from his hand, motioning Harry closer. "You see how dark the potion is right now?" Harry nodded as he took off his gloves. Draco tilted the tiny flask into the cauldron and they watched as the basilisk venom sizzled dangerously as it reached the surface. Draco vanished the now empty flask and motioned for Harry to pay close attention.
Harry watched, fascinated, when the potion swirled, its color growing lighter and lighter until all that was left was a crystal clear surface, as though it had turned to water.
"In theory, the potion is already finished," Draco was telling him, his eyes alight with contained excitement. "It has all the properties of one of the most dangerous poisons known to wizards, which is ultimately what most people are working towards when they start this potion. But what's fascinating about this is that it can also be a medicine to cure most poisons!"
Harry's eyebrows rose, "Your kidding. And how does one distinguish…" He motioned towards the cauldron. "How?"
Draco made a face, clearly holding back a comment about his lack of proper speaking skills. Harry ignored it. "As I've said, most people who brew this potion are brewing it for a poison. But they lack the proper knowledge of its most basic ingredients. And that is what distinguishes the master brewer," Draco said with a lift of his finger.
Harry held back a smile and waited to hear more. When Draco didn't talk further, Harry drew closer, their shoulders and elbows touched as they looked down at their work. "So…so how could we live through it?" Harry pressed.
"Thought you'd never ask," Draco said with a smirk, ignoring Harry's eye roll, and turning to summon an empty vial. With his wand, Draco carefully extracted the potion and filled the vial halfway. He stoppered it and turned to face Harry, who still stood next to him, the smile still playing at the corner of his lips. "The benefit of having had a potion's master as a godfather is all the indispensable information about potions that they don't teach you at Hogwarts," he told him. "Or anywhere else for that matter."
"You're a lucky man," Harry said, trying not to concentrate on the strand of platinum blonde hair that had fallen in front of Draco's eyes; trying not to think of how those pale, grey eyes were lit up and how Harry, in all his years at Hogwarts, had never even noticed them before. Because they were brilliant. And he was definitely trying hard not to concentrate on the fact that Draco was within touching distance—closer, in fact, than they'd ever been…not counting the times when they'd tried to kill each other in the past…and that time in September when he'd saved Draco from drowning…oh, he should really be paying attention to what Draco was saying.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
Draco sighed, exasperated. "You know how I always say that you have a hearing problem? Please, I'm begging you. Have it checked out."
Harry laughed, shaking his head and grabbing the edge of the table to steady himself. His magic was just under the surface of his skin, as if waiting. His face grew warm, and he suddenly had no idea where to look.
Draco cleared his throat loudly, and tucked the strand of hair behind his ear. "What I had said was…" he seemed to wait until Harry had looked at him again, and held his gaze, "that the difference here…Harry…between this vial being the medicine to cure your symptoms and it being the poison that would cause your premature death…" Draco held the tiny vial up to catch the light of the room, "…is in the dose." He took Harry's hand and gently placed the vial in the palm of his hand.
Harry took it, but his ears were ringing. His mind was strangely blank, having lost all coherent thought at the sound of his first name on Draco's lips. He shivered as Draco's hand lingered on his own for a second too long, their gazes locked on each other.
Somehow the two had gotten closer. Inches now separated them and Harry marveled at the fairness of Draco's skin, unblemished, perfect. "You're…really brilliant, you know that?" Harry said without thinking. His body felt warm, hot, his heart beginning to race as his magic stirred keenly at being so close to the blonde. He would only need to lean forward, and so he did, slowly, he was so close—Draco exhaled, shaky, nervous maybe, his grey eyes darkening as they trailed down to watch Harry's mouth—and Harry felt the warmth of Draco's breath on his face, caressing, closer, closer until there was nothing, and then the softest, lightest brush of lips against lips, the sharp intake of breath from Harry or Draco before Harry moved forward, pressing his mouth fully against the other, grabbing his hips—the vial safely on the table—his magic now free over his skin, wrapping itself around the both of them and sending tremors of pure pleasure and power down their spines, and Harry didn't think he'd felt so overwhelmed; he wanted more. He slid his tongue over Draco's bottom lip, seeking entrance, not expecting the small sound of desperate need it elicited from the blonde, before pushing him gently towards the counter, all the while exploring his mouth, tasting mint, their tongues entwined and Draco finally reached up, his hands at Harry neck and in his hair. Harry's hands where gentle, careful when he felt the counter against Draco's back, pressing their bodies flushed together and startling himself at the feeling of Draco's arousal against his own. He pulled away from the kiss, breathless, and opened his eyes. Draco looked absolutely beautiful: his face was flushed and his eyes were unfocused, glazed with need. Unable to resist, Harry leaned forward again, but froze as he heard footsteps just outside the door to the lab.
They looked at one another in panic before Draco shoved Harry towards the table, nearly flinging him into the cauldron. Luckily, Harry caught himself just in time. He threw Draco a dirty look, who responded with a guilty shrug, and quickly looked away again as the door to the lab opened.
Oliver stood at the doorway. "Harry, I…" Oliver started, but paused, looking slowly from Harry to Draco and back again. Harry was mortified, and he hoped beyond hope that he didn't look as disheveled as he felt. He'd managed to reign in his magic, but it was restless, and it swirled around his lower regions, doing nothing to alleviate his arousal. He swallowed and managed a smile of question towards the Auror.
"Er…Harry…I have…I have something I wanted to show you," he said, motioning awkwardly out into the infirmary.
Harry, wanting nothing more than to stay in the potion's lab with Draco, held back his irritation. A glance behind him towards Draco though, showed the blonde having no qualms about making his annoyance apparent, scowling openly before turning away to rummage inside the cabinets.
Amused, Harry nodded. "Okay," he said to Oliver. "I'll see you tomorrow for Concealment." Draco looked at him disbelievingly, and Harry, feeling quite bold, shot him a wink.
oOo
Draco tried to keep as silent as possible, breathing heavily, is pulse pounding frantically at his neck and at his temple. The cold night air filled his lungs, cooling down his body as he recovered from a sprint. There was a sudden movement beside him and he reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around Harry's forearm. A question formed on Harry's lips but Draco shook his head for him to keep silent. He peeked around the corner of the building where they stood, hiding.
From his position Draco could see the two rows of Auror barracks—the living quarters that the ATs used during their Stealth and Tracking sessions in the middle of the week. Further down from the barracks, in a clearing, he spotted a flag pole at least thirty feet high, and the navy blue banner fastened at the top which they were tasked to collect in order to complete their mission. Below it, guarding their prize, were Auror's Robards and Ezra Wilkerson.
There was a huff of impatience behind them and Draco turned around to glare at their other two companions. Unfortunately for Draco, this exercise required for their cohort to complete it together. And so the four of them (Draco, Harry, Weasley, and Thomas) waited semi-quietly, trying to figure out their plan of attack.
"Did you want to take the lead again, Weasley?" Draco hissed, releasing his hold on Harry. "Because we all know how well that turned out last week."
"Shut up," Harry whispered at the pair of them as he eyed the flag pole. He cast a tempus charm for the time. "We only have twenty minutes to figure out how to get the banner. From what we gathered last week, running straight at it was the worst mistake anyone could make—sorry—why don't we split up? Make a proper ambush?" There were noises of agreement (some reluctant) and Harry nodded. He pointed towards the right and said, "Dean, Ron, you two go that way. Your target is Wilkerson. Dra-Malfoy, stay to your left. Keep Robards occupied. I'll try to get the banner from the roofs."
They broke off, Draco hesitating only a fraction of a second as he watched Harry climbing the pipes towards the roof of the building. He refocused his attention and crouched low to the ground, slipping away from the safety of the building and onto open ground. Thankfully, he had the night on his side and the darkness shielded him easily from the Auror's view. He slipped cautiously from barrack to barrack and cursed silently as his foot caught on a loose pebble and grabbed the Auror's attention.
He threw his disillusionment charm on just in time, pressing himself against the wall as much as possible. Robards illuminated the area with his wand. Not daring even to breathe, Draco waited a minute, two minutes before Robards finally turned away, mouthing something to Wilkerson and motioning the far side of the clearing. Wilkerson nodded and went to inspect. Draco breathed finally in relief and scanned the outside boundaries of the flagpole. There was no sign of Weasley or Thomas.
He sank once more to the ground, amongst the high grass which was cold and wet. He inched closer and closer, Robards now only ten feet away, the pole just behind the Auror. Then, from the darkness on the other side, Draco caught Thomas amongst the shrubs, signaling to Weasley. The pair maneuvered themselves closer to Wilkerson, who was unaware and walking right towards them. Draco nearly cursed all of them. It was too soon— Harry wasn't even halfway to the flagpole.
Wilkerson, of course, soon spotted them hiding in the shrubs, and raised a powerful shield against the spells that flew his way. Thomas and Weasley stepped out, engaging the Auror in a duel. Out of the corner of his eye Draco spotted Harry silhouetted on the roof of one of the barracks, racing forward now after presumably figuring out that they'd run out of time. Thinking he should spare Harry all the minutes he could, Draco dropped his disillusionment charm and stood, sending a powerful hex in Robards direction. Robards turned to him in an instant, the remains of his protective shield dropping as he sent the same hex back in Draco's direction. The hex only just missed him as he side-stepped, grazing his cheek and burning the side of his face. He groaned, and raised a variety of shield and reflective spells in an effort to keep the Auror at bay. He nearly lost his wand when, in his peripheral vision, Harry flung himself from the roof of the building and onto the pole, a feat even Draco wouldn't have tried without the help of magic.
"Potter!" Wilkerson yelled, catching sight of the raven-haired wizard.
Draco and Robards glanced upwards and Harry waved recklessly from twenty-five feet in the air, clinging to the pole with his legs and arm wrapped around it. He nearly slipped when Robards spell hit the spot where his hand had been, and Draco quickly returned his attention to the Auror.
Their duel was nearly matched with Draco miraculously keeping pace with Robards' curses and spells, returning them with just as much force until a sharp enduring pain shot up from his forearm and to his chest. He flinched and, unable to deflect Robards curse, was flung backwards onto the hard wet ground.
"Did you really think you could out-duel me, Malfoy?"
Draco was breathing hard with exertion, his insides burning as both the curse and pain from the Dark Mark spread through his limbs. He struggled and managed to get on all fours when Harry's voice drifted down to them.
"Robards, look out!" Potter shouted as he sent his signature disarming spell towards him. It was all the distraction needed for Robards to glance away and for Draco to send the Auror off his feet and into the air, dropping back to the ground yards away.
Draco's small victory was short lived as a small explosion also sent Weasley and Thomas flying, their cries echoing through the clearing. Wilkerson had now raised his wand towards the pole and Draco was running, tackling the tall man around the waist and bringing him down, but the spell had already been fired. The pole wobbled dangerously and Harry was separated from it, his hands scrabbling for purchase.
Draco tore himself away from Wilkerson and threw himself forward once more. He felt all his breath leave him as Harry crashed heavily down on top of him. They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. Pain shot up through Draco's spine and the back of his head, but the distraction was nothing compared to feeling the weight of Potter lying on top of him, chest to chest, his heavy breathing mixing with his own. For one heart stopping second, Harry's eyes locked on him, eyes that were bright with adrenaline, slowly traveling across Draco's face, and down to his mouth which lay only an inch away. Draco was shivering. Whether it was from the pain or anticipation, he didn't know. But with his right arm wrapped loosely around Harry's waist, he figured it was the latter; and his heart fluttered.
"Are you alright, Draco?" Harry asked breathlessly, his eyes thankfully (and regrettably) locking back on Draco's own. His dark hair was gathered on his forehead, on the sides of his face. His glasses were gone, having disappeared sometime in the last minute, and Draco didn't think he'd seen lashes as long as his, so dark against the flush of Harry's skin.
Draco could only nod, overwhelmed as he was with the feel of Harry on top of him and the sound of his name on the other man's lips. The pain in his body was nothing; he felt Harry's magic inside of him, once again dizzying in its intensity, and he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between their lips…
"Can you stand?" Harry asked him. He was still as close as ever.
"Well…considering that I have an enormous weight holding me down, I'll have to say no to that one."
Harry laughed, apologizing, before extracting himself carefully away from him. He helped Draco to his feet, fussing at his robes and at his visible injuries, each touch sending a warm shiver through his veins before Draco gently snapped, "Potter, get a hold of yourself."
And not too soon, for the others were also beginning to stand. Weasley and Thomas walked over and Harry reached into his pocket, waving the blue banner up in victory.
Draco couldn't help the smile forming on his face, or the warmth that was suddenly filling his chest. The feeling lingered even after their debriefing, and when they apparated back to Headquarters, he readily agreed to accompany Harry to the infirmary.
oOo
"Severus, you don't understand," Draco said heatedly to the portrait of Severus Snape at Spinner's End a few hours later. He rubbed at his face tiredly and waved the note he'd received from Blaise only ten minutes prior in front of him. "Don't you see what it says? Things are getting pretty fucking serious and if I don't go to this meeting, they'll figure I sided with the Aurors. Not to mention that if I don't go I'll lose some possibly valuable information that Headquarters could use!" Draco paced around the sitting room, the note clenched in his fist.
"Then go back."
Draco rounded on the portrait. "But if I go back, then I'll end up in Azkaban quicker than I can say 'Death Eater!'"
When Severus merely stared at him with a critical eye, Draco sighed and sank into one of the rather stiff armchairs next to him, scanning the sitting room as though he would find some answers amongst the dust filled furniture and unused books strewn about.
It's not like Draco hadn't seen this coming. Eventually he would've had to inform the Department about what the Dark Side was planning. He just hadn't thought it through; the consequences and backlash he might receive from both sides for spewing valuable information.
Blaise's note was still clenched in his hand. For the hundredth time since he'd received it, he smoothed the page out and scanned the words scrawled on the page.
Friday, Nott Manor
Don't forget.
He tore his eyes away from the page and crumpled it in his hands. He resisted the urge to groan in frustration, instead taking a deep breath, regretting it instantly as millions of dust particles entered his lungs. After recovering from his coughing fit, he stood. His face was set.
"Finally figured out you don't need my help after all?" Severus drawled, and although his face was clear of emotion, there was no mistaking the amusement in his deep voice.
Draco didn't respond, but with a final decision in mind, he bid Severus farewell and let himself out.
oOo
A dreary sky and sleet of rain greeted the ATs on Friday afternoon. Their combat and dueling class had finished early; Savage and the other Aurors had been called out on emergency assignments.
Harry had no doubt he knew what the assignments pertained to. Only days before they'd received news of an alarming increase in dark wizard activity, and the entire department was on edge with what news would come later that night. The Daily Prophet had even written a speculation article about the disappearances in the surrounding area. But nothing more than that. The Aurors were some of the few privy to the fact that the disappearances was of the Miller family. And they in fact, had been found murdered that very morning. Minister Shacklebolt was likely keeping things quiet while they gathered more concrete information on the case.
But Harry itched to get involved. He felt sick with the possibilities of the Dark Side rising once again, and angry that he wouldn't have the chance since he was still in training. He walked down the hall where the Auror offices were, moving aside as the Aurors rushed in and out of the department. He passed some of the cubicles, glancing at pictures of known Dark Wizards, maps, and clippings that lined the walls. He found himself stopping in front of the Head Auror's secretary and requesting to talk to Robards. After a minute of waiting, he was let through.
"Come in," Robards said after Harry's knock on the office door. Robards was standing by his desk, rifling through reports in a manner that seemed second-nature. There were two empty mugs on the table, and a third that Robards held in his hand. Without looking up, Robards said, "Mr. Potter, training has been cancelled for today. They will, however, resume tomorrow morning so I suggest you catch up on your defense material."
It was a clear dismissal even before Harry had said anything. But Harry wasn't going to be deterred so easily. "Sir, the murder of the Miller family. It wasn't just a random killing, was it?"
Robards looked at him with narrowed eyes. He placed his mug on the table and straightened. "That, Mr. Potter, has nothing to do with you."
"I would like to get involved with your permission," Harry pressed.
"Not likely. As much as your interest is appreciated, you are not qualified," Robards replied easily.
"But—"
"The answer is no, Mr. Potter."
"I think—"
"Don't," Robards said firmly. Harry shut his mouth. "You have an evaluation with me in a few weeks' time, Mr. Potter. I suggest you focus your attention on that."
"Yes, sir."
"You're dismissed."
"Yes, sir," Harry replied, holding back his frustration. He had just turned to leave when the small sound of a bell sounded in the office. Robards sighed.
"Yes, Beatrice?" Robards said aloud.
"I apologize for the interruption, Auror Robards," the secretary's voice said. "Mr. Malfoy is requesting an audience."
Draco? Harry frowned. He looked to Robards for a hint of clarification but his face remained neutral.
"Not unless he is mortally wounded, I would like you to hold all requests for audience for the rest of the day, Beatrice. Do you understand?"
There was no reply. Harry had reached the door. He turned the handle. Another sound of a bell.
"Mr. Malfoy said you'd be very interested to hear what he has to say…" another moment of silence and then, "about the rise of a new Dark Wizard…"
Harry's stomach dropped unpleasantly, his blood running cold. Had he heard correctly? The door was being opened for him. Robards stood over him.
"Potter, you're dismissed," Robards repeated for the second time.
Harry nodded and turned once more to go. He glanced at Draco and their eyes locked. His eyes were becoming familiar; the silver eyes regarded him with alarm at first, then calmly, and there was the smallest turn of the lips. A smile before the blonde passed by and into the office behind him.
oOo
"A new Dark Wizard?" Oliver Wood said with a raised eyebrow. He and Harry were sitting on their brooms, high in the air on the level twelve Quidditch pitch. The roof had been transfigured, allowing them to have the wide open space of the sky above. The sky had darkened considerably and though they couldn't feel how cold it was, the gray clouds overhead loomed formidably. They leaned their backs against the high walls of one of the stands, their brooms tucked under their knees for support.
Harry nodded. "It's impossible isn't it? Haven't all the Death Eaters been caught?" He looked as though he wanted to believe it, but doubt filled his green eyes.
Oliver wanted nothing more but to reassure him. "Yes, Harry, but that means nothing," he told him. "There is always a resurgence of former allies to the Dark side. Some that come out of hiding and are recruiting new forces."
"And that's what's happening now? They're recruiting?"
Oliver knew he shouldn't be speaking about this. Especially since Harry was only an Auror in Training and he should be focused on his studies rather than the disappearances that have been plaguing the department. But the young Gryffindor always had a way of getting things to go his way. He was a natural at it.
Or maybe Oliver was just weak.
"That's what we think, yes. But we're getting blocked at every corner. We keep following false leads and that kind of thing can set us back weeks."
"There've been more disappearances haven't there? Connecting to the Ministry?" Harry asked.
Oliver raised his eyebrow again. "You are much too curious for your own good, Harry." Harry merely shrugged, waving his leg back and forth as he frowned at the Quidditch pitch below, reminding Oliver more of the boy at Hogwarts than the young, strong man he'd become.
Oliver continued when Harry looked at him again, "Antoine Miller Senior Auror and member of the Board of Trustees to the Minister. We have reason to believe that the families of the Ministry, specifically those closest to the Minister and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement are being targeted. The Miller's deaths were no mere coincidence. Not anymore."
"Who are the other families?"
"Eliza Olsdal, also from the Board of Trustees and Hewitt and Steven from our Department. Luckily they didn't receive any permanent damage."
Hewitt and Steven had been thoroughly shaken when they'd arrived back from their assignment near the Scottish border, Oliver remembered. But they'd been unable to identify the culprits behind their attacks. For now they were just happy to be alive, and Oliver couldn't blame them.
"Why hasn't that been mentioned in the paper? You would think that was important information for the public to know?"
"You'd think," Oliver agreed. "It was actually the Board of Trustees who partnered with the Prophet. They don't want the public to panic like it did four years ago."
Harry huffed his annoyance. "I could help, Oliver," Harry said, and Oliver had to think fast on his reply.
"Robards already gave you an answer," he said noncommittal, then raised his hands when Harry gave him a smoldering look. "If it were up to me, you'd be assigned to raids alongside myself."
"Get a lot of action, do you?" Harry cocked an eyebrow and Oliver laughed at the clear jab, since his raids were few and far between.
"See if I ever give you a listening ear," Oliver shot at him and sped off on his broom, smiling when he noticed Harry following after him.
oOo
Friday night had come too soon for Draco. He felt only slightly prepared for what would come. He made his entrance into the Nott manor, drying his clothes that'd been drenched in the November storm. He had no idea how this meeting would go and, frankly, Draco was panicked at the idea of being there. Of things going wrong. His skin crawled at the thought of seeing Blaise again after not having seen him since mid-October. He just hoped he would survive the night unscathed. He'd gone through much worse after all. At least Draco had the presence of mind. He had no doubt that he was doing the right thing, no matter what the outcome would be at the year's closing.
Things had been getting pretty serious. The department was running on overtime trying to solve the mystery behind the death of Auror Antoine Miller and of his family, along with the disappearances and attacks on the other Ministry officials, and while Draco had his suspicions about it, this was one thing he was not at liberty to discuss with anybody outside the circle of Sons.
But Robards had made it quite simple. Thankfully. Nothing embellished and no empty promises. Just the way Draco had expected. All he needed to do was fulfill his part in the plan, and hope that Robards would keep his word in the end. Or it would all be for naught…
Draco had arrived early at the manor, but it seemed that the others were eager to hear news as well, for the main parlor was full when he entered. He dismissed the house elves that popped up with their usual polite offers of wine and food, and shed his cloak. He embraced forearms with Theodore, Pucey, the Carrow sisters, Higgs, Greengrass, Rosier, Goyle, and inevitably, with Blaise, who grabbed at his arm, a smile twisting on his darkly handsome face.
"Good to see you, Drake."
"Blaise," was all Draco said in greeting, was all he could say as his stomach churned, his insides twisting in protest at the touch. He wanted to flee from that gaze; he couldn't take it—even this was too much. He wanted to scream, hating, cursing himself for letting Blaise affect him this way, for letting all the unwanted memories wash over him at a dizzying speed. And he still couldn't do anything about it. All this in the span of five seconds that seemed to go on forever until Blaise, finally, finally let go of his arm.
By the end of the exchanges, Draco was exhausted. His arm was tinging so unpleasantly that if he hadn't needed it, he felt he might just cut it off. Everyone settled back in their seats, oblivious to Draco's internal struggle. He forced himself into the only available seat next to Blaise and fought not to make his pain apparent.
Theodore finally stood, his customary rich black robes following his movement. "I think," he started, "that a congratulations is an order. Rosier not only managed to recruit more wizards into our ranks in preparation for the release of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle," and here he motioned for the house elves to pass around glasses with absinthe, "but he managed to rid the world of Antoine Miller, the very Auror responsible for putting his father in Azkaban." Theodore smirked as the parlor erupted with cheers of celebration. They drank to more successful operations in the future. Draco only pretended a sip. He placed it on the arm rest, where it quickly disappeared.
So Draco's suspicions had been right, he frowned as he watched Damien Rosier boast about his murders…but it did nothing to lessen the blow. If Rosier was already willing and ready to kill, then the Aurors would have a lot more coming to them in the future.
When the parlor finally settled, Theodore continued, "Alright, alright. This is all great news, but the days are getting closer and we cannot afford a misstep. We are so close to our goal and these next few weeks are the most crucial. The Aurors are relentless. Every day they grow closer and closer; we need to keep our eyes open. Malfoy we need you now more than ever. Any hint…," he paused, "…a whisper can save our skins…"
Draco felt all eyes upon him, the room turning its attention to him, expectant. He struggled not to turn away, thinking fast. "The Aurors are at a standstill. As of this evening, the department has its suspects, but nothing concrete. Nothing is leading to us, but it's only a matter of time before they start making house calls." Out of habit, he stroked his forearm where the Dark Mark lay. "They know that they are being targeted and they're taking precautions so that what happened to Antoine Miller will not happen again. No more easy kills." He glanced at Rosier as he said this, smirking at the scowl he received in return.
"Is that all?"
"It's all that I know."
Theodore nodded in approval. "Our headquarters will be ready soon. You have all been automatically keyed into the wards. Blaise you are its secret-keeper so be sure that it stays hidden. Thankfully, we have arranged the wards so that only those with the Dark Mark will be able to enter; even the Ministry won't be able to get to us."
The rest of the meeting went by gratefully fast and it was only midnight when everyone began departing. Which meant that Draco would still have some time to rest before training tomorrow morning and practice with Harry later in the evening. With this in mind, Draco bid the others a fair night and slipped into his cloak.
He ignored the eyes that bore onto his back as he walked out of the parlor, and picked up his pace as he reached the rich hallways of the manor, deafly ignoring the call of his name. Damn Theodore for not having lifted his apparition wards this time. He'd have to walk all the way to the gate before being able to apparate, which meant there was plenty of time for—
"What's your rush?" That voice. Those hands. The hallway was empty but for the two of them.
"No rush," Draco said as he walked briskly. The front door wasn't far.
Blaise huffed in amusement. A hand grabbed at his elbow; he moved it away.
"Can't even look at me?" Blaise said, his voice filled with hurt. But it was artificial. He knew that now. Everything about him had been that way. Nothing had been real… "Drake…Draco, wait."
Draco clenched his jaw and the hand grabbed at his elbow again. He was turned around and he tensed. "Let me go," Draco said calmly, though his heart raced at the contact. Blaise stood in front of him, holding him still by his arms. Slowly he ran his hands up and down Draco's arms and smiled.
"I've missed you," he said.
Draco froze at the unfamiliar words, staring into those dark eyes in disbelief. They stared right back, boring into him and Draco was grateful to have mastered shielding his mind. Nonetheless, they bore into him, making him shiver. He scowled and moved away.
"It's true," Blaise insisted, his hands now moving down to Draco's waist, pulling him closer, inhaling deeply. "Fuck, Draco, you don't know how much I missed—"
Draco shoved him away, his eyebrows creased, his skin crawling. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" he snapped, turning to walk away again, not waiting for an answer.
"I'm telling you, for fuck's sake, I want you back!" Blaise shot at him, managing to turn him around again. His eyes were pleading. "I'm sorry."
Draco couldn't believe it. He didn't allow himself to believe those words and he wanted to laugh because deep down he knew they were lies. And now, while searching Blaise's face, and the full lips that had grown familiar to him in the last three years, he felt nothing. Nothing but disgust and regret and anger; he swallowed with difficulty, willing the bile back down his throat.
"I don't know whether or not you've noticed my absence," Draco said coldly, as he pulled himself away from the other man, "but I would think that was hint enough about where you and I stand."
Blaise's eyes narrowed. "Don't do this."
Draco didn't reply to that and turned for the door, only feet away.
"You'll have no one better," Blaise said.
"Don't flatter yourself."
Blaise grabbed him once more.
Draco couldn't help the sound of pain and surprise that left his mouth. Blaise held his arm in a vice grip and Draco was alarmed at the quick change in his attitude. "You don't know what I'm capable of," Blaise said dangerously, his breath hot in his ear.
"You'll do well to let go of me, Blaise," Draco said, well aware of what the man was capable of. He managed to mask the uneasy feeling in his voice. He finally had the sense to use his wand and it was directed straight at Blaise's throat. Blaise merely stared at him, his eyes dark and menacing, before releasing Draco's arm, holding his hands out in front of him in a manner of surrender. But his face had broken out into the smallest of smiles.
Draco lowered his wand and reached for the door. His hand was at the handle.
Then from behind, Blaise's voice had him frozen in an instant:
"So…I hear Pansy's in town."
oOo
End Chapter Eleven
High Highs-Open Season