28. When we collide [Friday, January 7th 2005]
It came back to bite Draco in the arse faster than he would have anticipated. He had barely opened his eyes on Friday morning when Potter's harsh, somewhat panicked voice reached him in the sitting room.
"Shit, shit, shit … Malfoy?!"
Draco stumbled off the sofa, grabbed his wand and followed Potter's voice almost blindly, wondering just what the hell could have happened now.
The door to the study stood open and from inside came the frantic sound of paper rustling. Potter was bent over the desk, flipping through a folder full of newspaper clippings. There was a small tower of identical folders on either side of him.
Potter only glanced at him when he came in, and Draco jumped when the door snapped shut on its own.
Wand still held at chest level, Draco took a few tentative steps towards the desk. You really couldn't be too careful with Confounded patients and Potter certainly didn't seem all there.
"What exactly are you doing?" asked Draco carefully as he took a look over his shoulder.
Potters hands ghosted over every newspaper cut-out, tracing the publishing date for a second and then moving on to the next one. All of them seemed to concern him, and most had notes scribbled in the margins.
Potter muttered something and then closed the folder when he had reached the last page. He gave Draco a look and then pointed at the picture frame containing his map. "Somebody moved it. It's always right here," he said urgently, sliding it maybe ten inches to the left.
Draco dropped his arm immediately, fixing Potter with a very dubious look. "You're kidding right?"
"I never … I … somebody –" He was stammering now, as if he couldn't find the right words to explain why that was such a big deal.
"I moved it, you idiot," said Draco pointedly. "You smashed the glass during your little school recap yesterday."
Potter froze and turned around in slow motion. His face was unreadable. "You … why?"
Draco sighed in irritation. "I just told you. Merlin, Potter, I really thought you burned through most of the potion yesterday."
"I'm n-" started Potter, but then he stopped mid-sentence, staring at a spot somewhere behind Draco before continuing in a much calmer voice, "Yeah … guess I am. Are you hungry? I'm starving."
In a flash, he turned back towards his desk, grabbed all the folders at once and placed them in one of the tall filing cabinets on either side of the desk. He waved a hand at it (something clicked audibly) and then turned around (the door opened on its own) and practically pushed Draco out.
Merlin, this was worse than working with any trauma patient he'd ever had. Draco couldn't fathom why anybody would ever choose the Potions ward. He would definitely never transfer there. Also, Potter definitely needed to get out of the house.
Draco took his chance when they were sitting at the kitchen island a few minutes later. "So," he said casually, pretending to fully concentrate on buttering his toast. "Granger and Weasley invited you to dinner tonight."
Potter dropped his toast back onto his plate. "They did?" he asked, perking up visibly. He seemed to come back to his senses now.
"Yes," Draco assured him. "The owl arrived while you had your little freak-out. I could drop you off and pick you up afterwards."
"Yeah," Potter said thoughtfully, brushing a hand through his hair.
He must've showered before his freak-out and since his hair was still wet, this did not have the same catastrophic effect it normally had. Draco wondered if the soothing aspect of it was therefore lessened.
"Or you could stay and eat with us?" Potter said suddenly, looking at him expectantly.
Draco nodded slowly, wondering which of his life choices had led to him getting into this situation. "Sure, I guess I could. I'll owl Granger and ask if it's alright."
Potter smiled at him and continued to eat his toast and then five more while Draco nibbled at his own and began drafting his letter to Granger. When he was finally finished, it read:
Dear Granger,
As being cooped up inside this practically sterile environment is detrimental to Potter's (mental) health, I would recommend dinner at your house tonight. I already told him that you invited him, so you can just go ahead and tell me what time would work for you. Also, he wants me to ask you if it would be alright if I came along.
Best regards,
Draco Malfoy
He assigned the letter to Pig, who gently nibbled at his little finger before taking the parchment (that was how owls should behave!), and began hoping that Granger did not have anything scheduled for her evening already. Draco didn't really fancy telling Potter that their plans fell through. Or worse – that there never had been any plans to begin with.
Draco was pretty sure that Granger had not written the answer that arrived an hour later, because it only read '6 pm' and wasn't even signed. He informed Potter and then ordered his queen to slaughter the last of Potter's bishops, which didn't seem to bother him at all. When Draco won their fifteenth game at quarter to five, Potter got up and stretched his legs.
"Guess I'd better start cooking now. Wanna help?"
"What for?" Draco asked. "We're invited for dinner, remember?"
Potter seemed completely unfazed by that piece of information. "Yeah, I know."
"And do you also know what it means to be invited? Usually the host provides the food."
"Trust me," Potter said. "It's necessary. I'm surprised they even invited us for mealtime."
"Wonders never cease."
"So, you helping?"
"Guess that's what I'm here for," Draco said. "Wouldn't want you to impale yourself on a knife or something. If anyone can do it, its you."
Potter threw one of the pawns at Draco's chest. Draco caught it before it could hit him and then tried very hard not to show how much his hand hurt. Potter really was a strong thrower.
"Not bad," Potter acknowledged. "You should really get back into Quidditch."
Draco couldn't help but flash him a cocky grin and Potter grinned right back at him.
'Helping Potter cook' turned out to be code for 'doing all the work while Potter issued instructions from his place at the kitchen island'. Potter seemed really opposed to cooking the Muggle way and also had very strong opinions on how a spell was supposed to be performed to achieve ideal results. Draco started to wonder halfway through if Potter had somehow deduced that Draco had invited themselves and if this was his way of punishing him for it. Nobody could be that much of a tyrant in the kitchen.
Maybe it was a good thing that Potter wasn't interested in him. Draco wasn't sure if he could put up with this on a regular basis. And it was somewhat reassuring to see that even the Saviour had his flaws – apart from his self-sacrificing ways, the trust issues and the fleeting grip on his temper, that was.
Yes, Draco was definitely getting over him.
~o~
They stepped through the Floo at six sharp, the food containers shrunken and tucked away in the pocket of Draco's trousers. They were not greeted by Granger and Weasley but rather by their voices drifting over from where Draco assumed the kitchen was.
"I swear to God, Ron, if this one turns out to be inedible too …!"
Weasley sounded like he was going to throw in the towel any second now. "I'm trying, but it just won't water down! It just gets more solid the longer I stir."
"How is that even possible? We followed the recipe exactly. Oh, they'll turn up any minute now. This is just typical."
Draco glanced at Potter, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else than here, where he had to listen to his two best friends bickering. Draco, on the other hand, was having a great time. This was every Slytherin's dream.
"Maybe one of us should just Apparate to Bamboo and get something to eat," Weasley said in resignation. "I don't have much hope for the stew. You'll be able to cut it any minute now."
"This someone would be me, I presume?" Granger said, a dangerously sharp note in her voice.
"Yeah, well, you speak Muggle."
"'Muggle' is not a language, Ronald. It's also not rocket science."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about!" Weasley cried. "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It's a figure of speech. Meaning you don't have to be a genius to converse with Muggles. How will you ever learn if you're avoiding every single opportunity to talk to them?"
"Please don't say it," Potter whispered. "Come on, Ron."
"Why do I even need to learn? I've got you to translate, haven't I?"
Draco closed his eyes as Potter groaned beside him. Even he knew that was a stupid thing to ask your Muggle-born wife.
Granger's voice was several octaves higher now. "Some of our best friends are Muggles. My whole family consists of Muggles! Do you think we'll just stick to your magical family from now on and completely forget about mine? Or that you'll just be able to sit by and be silent for hours on end?"
She was really getting into her stride now. Potter grabbed his arm and tried to drag him back to the fireplace. "Let's go back and come through again, come on."
"Are you kidding me? No way I'm leaving now," Draco protested while Weasley stammered something about misunderstandings. "I love when Weasley talks himself into trouble. This is the best dinner I've ever attended."
"Where not even officially here yet," Potter argued, glancing at the Floo longingly.
"Irrelevant."
"Hermione!" Potter shouted suddenly, apparently realising Draco wouldn't budge. "We're here!"
"Oh shit," Weasley said, and there was a splashing sound, like he had dropped the cooking spoon into the pot.
"You wouldn't have lasted a day in Slytherin," Draco said drily, scarcely trying to hide his disappointment.
"That's not what the Sorting Hat said," Potter said.
And before Draco could ask what he meant by that, Potter left him behind and went off in search of his friends, who had stopped arguing the instant Potter had announced their presence. Draco followed him into the kitchen more hesitantly.
"Harry! It's so good to see you. How are you?"
"Brilliant," Potter lied through a mouth of Granger's bushy hair. "Apart from the fact that I'm starving."
Weasley and Granger exchanged a look that spoke volumes.
"How 'bout some Chinese? 'Mione can entertain you while I pop over to Bamboo Dynasty."
"Nah, I'm not really in the mood for Chinese," Potter said. "How about some lasagna?"
"No problem. Ron can swing by Alessio's. We haven't been in ages."
"Or we could just eat the one Malfoy made," Potter suggested.
"Malfoy?" Weasley and Granger said in disbelieving unison.
"Me?" Draco asked as well. Not that it wasn't true. He had just not expected Potter to give all the credit to him that easily.
"Well, you did perform all the spells, didn't you?"
"I don't even know what I did and did not do. All I remember is constant nagging and a never-ending stream of insults aimed at my cooking skills."
Draco took out the insulated food container and spelled it back to its original size. Granger and Weasley exchanged a significant look that Draco couldn't read.
"You let Harry boss you around and produced something edible?" Weasley said.
"Well, I don't know about edible ..." Draco answered. "Potter really isn't the best instructor. More like the worst. Ever."
"Ever?" Potter protested. "I told you exactly what to do!"
"You only told me exactly what not to do!" Draco replied drily. "'Malfoy, don't flick your wrist like the posh git you are!' 'Malfoy, don't stir it so slowly, you dramatic prick!' 'Malfoy –'"
"Yes, I think we get it," Potter said while his two best friends tried to contain their giggling. "Let's eat this lasagna and then all of you can start congratulating me on my mad teaching skills."
"Something about you is mad alright," Draco agreed.
They ate the lasagna, which was not only edible but downright delicious. Draco dithered between wanting credit for his hard work and not wanting to endorse Potter. He could do without his boasting and the smug look on his face. But then Potter smiled at him, mouth stuffed to the bursting, and Draco didn't care anymore. He was such a goner.
~o~
Potter lasted longer than Draco would have thought possible, though he addressed the Erumpent in the room as soon as they were finished eating. Granger was still holding her fork.
"So, got any leads on my case?"
Weasley charmed the table clean before he answered the question. Draco was pretty sure that Granger had everything to do with this.
"Well, for one, we're pretty sure the potion wasn't in anything you ate. Our potions consultant assures us that the Confounding Concoction would make the food that was served that night look inedible."
"So, he drank it?" Draco asked.
"Most likely. The potion must have been in one of Harry's drinks. Problem is, those cups get reused. They are charmed to Scourgify themselves when they're empty," Weasley said.
"But I thought those waiters were all Squibs?" Draco said curiously.
"They are, but the owner of the company is a witch. Wants to reduce waste, she said. And having the waiters clean those cups by hand obviously wouldn't work."
"How very convenient for the poisoner," Draco commented grimly.
"You can say that again," Weasley agreed. "All we were able to do is find the cups that bear Harry's magical signature and map all the other signatures on it."
"And?" Potter prompted, leaning forward in his chair.
"Well, in order to match a signature to the person, you need to know what their signature looks like."
"It's like a finger print for witches and wizards," Granger elaborated. "Useless without a database to refer to."
"And I'm guessing the Ministry doesn't have that?" Potter deflated visibly.
"Only for its employees and criminals. Luckily for us, practically all of our guests were willing to have a sample taken."
"So, did you get somewhere with that?"
Weasley shook his head dejectedly. "We know who had access to all the cups you drank from, but I really don't know what to make of it."
"Can I have a look?" Potter asked. "Maybe something will catch my eye."
Weasley summoned a thin manila folder and dropped it onto the table. Draco slid his chair closer to Potter so he could look over his shoulder. He expected one of the Golden Trio to object, but none of them did. On the contrary – Potter even angled the folder so he could read it more easily.
The register listed the magical signatures from oldest to most recent.
Mapping of magical signatures:
Exhibit 26: plastic cup, 8 oz, red –Ginevra Weasley, Harry Potter, Ginevra Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Carys Jenkins (Auror)
Exhibit 27: plastic cup, 8 oz, red –Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, Leona Robinson, person unknown, Easton Haynes, Carys Jenkins (Auror)
Exhibit 28: plastic cup, 8 oz, red –Fleur Weasley, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Rosalie Burberry, Esther Smith, Carys Jenkins (Auror)
Exhibit 29: plastic cup, 8 oz, red –Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Amanda Fawcett, Harry Potter, Marie-Luise Dupein, Carys Jenkins (Auror)
Exhibit 30: plastic cup, 8 oz, red – Flynn Montgomery, Phaedra Armstrong, person unknown, Leona Robinson, Harry Potter, Carys Jenkins (Auror)
Exhibit 31: plastic cup, 8 oz, red –Angelina Johnson, Harry Potter, Leona Robinson, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Carys Jenkins (Auror)
Draco registered his own name with a pang of guilt. Nobody had asked him to please supply a sample of his signature. They obviously hadn't needed to, because Draco fell under the category of 'criminals' and the Ministry already had a sample of him from his trial after the war. He wondered if that made him an automatic suspect.
"Alright. So, the potion must have been in the cup before you got it, obviously," Weasley said. "That means we're looking at the people who had access to it immediately before you."
"Ginny, you, Fleur, Amanda Fawcett, Leona and Angelina," Potter listed. "Well, you, Ginny and Fleur obviously didn't do it. Angelina is practically family at this point too. And I trust Leona completely."
"Why?" Draco interrupted.
Potter frowned at him, as if he could not believe that Draco would ask something like that. Like the thought of not trusting Robinson was somehow an insult to him.
"Because she's my friend and also Team Captain? Plus, she's not an idiot – Leo would never hurt her own team."
"Bloody Gryffindors," Draco groaned. "Wormtail was your parents' friend, was he not?"
Potter squared his jaw, clenching his fists. "Wormtail was a coward who put his own life before my parents'. You can't compare Leona to him!"
"Still your parents trusted him with their lives," Draco pressed on. "You have to consider every possibility."
"I won't consider that!" Potter said tensely. "So can go right on and forget about it."
Draco had no intention to back off. If he was being honest, he thought that Potter was a complete moron if he blindly trusted every single one of his friends. How could he be so leery of strangers and then turn around and refuse to question his friends' loyalties?
Draco had thought that Vince and Greg had been his friends, once. But then the Malfoys had fallen from grace, Greg had rebelled against him and Vince had nearly killed them all. So much for loyalty.
Granger kicked him under the table and Draco yelped in shock. But when he glowered at her, she returned his look with an eye-roll, jerked her head in Potter's direction and then shook it slightly. It was then that Draco noticed how static the air had become. Potter certainly was pissed at him. And Draco really didn't want to risk tipping him over the edge. His chest was still slightly bruised as it was.
"Fine, what about Fawcett? Do you know her?"
"She's a colleague of mine," Weasley cut in before Potter could answer.
"And I'm guessing we're not suspecting Aurors, either?" Draco said.
"No," Potter ground out. "We're not, because Ron trusts her."
"One or more people on this list didn't give their sample," Weasley continued before they could get into it again. "But the first one only got the cup after you, Harry. And the second didn't have it directly before you, either."
"Do you know who didn't agree?" Potter asked. Weasley nodded and turned the register over.
Guests who did not provide a sample:
–Clarice Burgoise (Mediwitch at St. Helén's Hospital / Paris)
–Bartholomew Bradbridge (Boyfriend of Phaedra Armstrong)
–Sabrina Underwood (Saleswitch at Quality Quidditch Supplies)
–Franklin Wright (Curse Breaker at Gringotts)
Squibs with no magical signature:
–Barnaby Fisher
–Caelan Moss
–Mychaell Fitzgeffrey
–Cecily Tilghman
–Humphrie Lyfelde
–Titus Hampden
–Lawrence Norwich
Next to the names were headshots of the listed guests and Squibs. Draco recognised Tilghman as the one he had sent over with Potter's food (because she was the only woman among them), and Fitzgeffrey as one of the Poly-Party Squibs Blaise had pointed out (because he was the only good-looking one). He couldn't really remember if it had only been the one. His memory was rather fuzzy and mostly overshadowed with what had happened afterwards.
"Squibs don't have a signature?" Potter asked confusedly. "So, one of them could have done it and we would never know they even touched the cup?"
"Pretty much," Weasley confirmed. "We're interviewing the Squibs next week, but I don't expect much. It's not as if any of them will just confess to something we can't prove."
"Did you talk to these four guests?" Draco asked, pointing at the top of the page.
"Of course we did. But none of them have a motive and they still wouldn't have had access to the cup directly before Harry, so we can't just take their signatures."
"So, you're thinking a Squib did it?" Potter sounded rather incredulous. "Why would they do that? I never did them wrong, did I?"
"It's no use thinking about that," Granger said. "There could be a million reasons. They could dislike you on a personal basis and it could have nothing to do with them being a Squib. They could be deranged. Or they didn't do it at all and there is an entirely different explanation. There are just too many unknown variables."
Potter snapped the folder shut and leaned back in his chair, ruffling his hair thoroughly. "So, basically, you have no hope of catching the bastard."
"We're doing what we can, but it doesn't look too good," Weasley admitted. "It's driving Carys mad."
"Oh right, I saw her name in the file. What's up with that? I thought she went to America with her fiancé?"
"Turns out the bastard has a side-chick over there. That's probably why she is so hell-bent on solving this case. She practically lives at the Ministry at the moment."
"He let her quit her job and leave her home country while he was cheating on her?"
"Yep. Don't worry, we already offered to hex him. More than once."
"I hope she did that herself." Potter scoffed and tipped his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "Man, love really sucks."
All of them raised their eyebrows. Granger and Weasley exchanged an apprehensive look that rather felt like they were silently battling out who would have to speak to Potter about it.
"Come again?" Draco said, dumbfounded. "Didn't you use the 'Power of Love' to vanquish You-Know-Who?"
Potter shook his head without looking at him. "Nah, not really. That was just to keep him from hurting anyone else. Didn't kill him, though."
"Ah well, if that's all it accomplished!"
"Harry, is this about Grace again?" Granger asked carefully. "We thought you were over that."
Potter crossed his arms and glared at her without any force behind it. "I'm fine. It's not like I'm still hung up on her or something. I'm completely fine. It's just the principle of the thing. Love's great if you've got it. But if you don't, it's just plain awful. But I'm fine."
Well, that were an awful lot of 'fine's for Draco's taste. He was prepared to go out on a limb and argue that Potter was a little less than fine.
"Come on, Harry," Granger said. "You've got a family, a ton of friends – you know we all love you."
Potter shot Draco a side-glance, as if he really didn't want to have this conversation in front of an outsider. "Why exactly are we talking about how pathetic my love life is?
Draco snorted involuntarily and three Gryffindors glared at him. Draco grinned back. "Sorry, it's just kind of ridiculous."
"Well, nice of you to tell me," Potter snarled. He stood up abruptly, almost knocking over his chair. "I'm bloody exhausted, I think I'll go home now. Thanks for the invite."
And then Draco was left to stare at the door Potter had vanished through, his mind reeling in a desperate attempt at catching up with what had just happened. "What a Drama Queen."
Weasley groaned. "Whatcha do that for?"
"You'd better go after him," Granger advised, standing up as well.
Draco crossed his arms. "I'll not encourage such childish behaviour!" Then he crossed his legs too, demonstrating that he was not going anywhere.
"Rightly so," Granger agreed to his surprise. And still she gestured for him to stand up. "But how will you get back into the house if Harry's not with you?"
Draco was still for a second. Then he jumped to his feet, just as the fireplace roared to life in the next room.
"Fuck's sake, Potter! Don't you dare leave me here!"
Potter was already dropping the Floo powder into the flames as Draco ran through the door. He made eye contact as Draco made a dash for him and said "Number twenty-two, Grimmauld Place" in a distinctively deliberate tone.
Green flames roared up around them as Draco barged into the stupidly stubborn fool and they rotated together.
Immediately, Draco could tell something was off. They weren't spinning around their axis but rather twisting all over the place, probably because he had knocked Potter over with the force of his sprint.
It took less than a second and they were thrown out of the fireplace, barrelling across a dusty carpet together. Potter was on top of him when they finally crashed into a wall. Groaning, he braced his arms on either side of Draco's head and glared down at him.
"What the fuck, Malfoy? You didn't have to jump me!"
Well, glaring was something Draco could do as well. "Yeah? So, you would have come back to get me, that it? Or were you planning on giving me full access to your Floo?"
Now Potter actually growled. "I was going to let you stew for a few minutes! I wouldn't have locked you out when all of your stuff is still scattered all over my sitting room."
"My things are not scattered! They're neatly positioned at strategic places!"
"Could've fooled me!" Potter was breathing very hard and Draco wasn't sure if their crash or his anger was the reason.
Either way, Draco could feel his warm, frantic breath on his face and smell his minty shampoo. He shook his head slightly to clear it, but it didn't do much good.
Stupid hormones. Stupid Potter with his stupidly fit body. Being propped up like this really brought out his biceps. Draco hated all of it, but most of all himself and his stupid feelings.
"Why are you so butthurt all of a sudden? The one time I didn't even insult you!" Draco said, his voice breaking awkwardly.
He wished Potter would at least still wear his glasses. Anything to make him less perfect. Well, he reckoned there still was the scar to disfigure him somewhat. Though now that he really looked at it, it wasn't all that bad anymore. It actually looked rather nice, contrasting pleasantly with his tan Mediterranean skin and drawing attention to his vibrant green eyes.
Merlin, Draco really was a disaster.
Potter stilled and then furrowed his brow. "You didn't?"
Right. Back to the topic. Fighting, he knew how that worked.
"No! It was just completely absurd hearing you complain about your love life when I haven't had a relationship in years. Or anything in that general area. At all."
"You're lying," Potter said, narrowing his eyes. "Stop pulling my leg."
"I'm not. Why would I ever tell you something like that if it weren't true? If you're pathetic, then I don't know what you'd call me."
"An old trout?" Potter suggested. "Or maybe a prude."
Draco tried to push Potter off, but Potter didn't budge, suddenly grinning down at him instead. "Though it didn't seem like that down at the shore."
"That doesn't count," Draco protested. "I was severely drunk. Refilling glasses should be banned. They're a serious safety hazard."
"But you're not drunk now."
Draco raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Obviously? Though I'm starting to wish I were."
"We could, you know …," Potter started. He didn't seem to miss the way Draco raised his eyebrows even higher, because then he leaned back and crossed his arms, looking severely put out. "Oh, come on! Don't pretend you haven't thought about it. I'm not blind, you know? I'm just saying, I wouldn't mind."
Something inside Draco's stomach performed several loopings – first, there was shock, which transformed into disbelief, which became excitement for a single second, before it finally settled on annoyance.
"I don't want your pity snogs," he snarled, trying again to push Potter off.
Potter prevented this by grabbing both of Draco's wrists and pinning them on either side of his head. He was smaller and lighter than Draco – he shouldn't be this strong! Maybe it was time for Draco to exercise regularly, build up some muscle?
"This is not pity, Malfoy!"
If there was something Draco didn't like, it was being pinned to the ground by one of his patients. Which, at the moment, Potter was. Draco bucked his hips and nearly managed to throw Potter off. He probably could have done it if the person in question hadn't been someone who had managed to hold on to a broom gone wild when he was only eleven.
As it was, Potter's weight only shifted from where he was sitting on Draco's stomach to where he was keeping Draco's wrists in place – which hurt like his bones were going to snap any moment now. Draco hissed in pain just as something fell out of the front of Potter's t-shirt and onto Draco's chest.
Tiny wings on a thread – silver and gold. Draco had seen it before, when he had made Potter strip in his kitchen, and then when Potter had stripped in his bedroom, completely of his own accord. But he suddenly remembered something else – another instance when almost the exact same thing had happened.
"It was you!" Draco yelled, instantly livid.
His whole lower body jerked violently and Potter was thrown off to the side, landing hard on his back next to Draco with a yelp.
"Ouch. Fucking hell, Malfoy. You could've just said no. No need to get aggressive." Potter sat up and massaged his back.
Draco just decided to ignore him. He sat up as well and slapped Potter's arm repeatedly, all the while practically yelling, "It was you at the shore!"
"Ouch, stop that! You already knew that; I don't know why you're losing your plot now!"
Draco refused to stop it. He had a right to slap Potter as much as he liked right now, all poisonings aside. "You were the one who kissed me!"
"Again, you already knew that!"
"I bloody well did not know that!"
Potter managed to grab his left wrist and kept trying to block his right. "You told me, like, the week after it happened. Immediately before informing me you would never do it again and never intended for it to happen in the first place. That still stings, by the way."
Draco groaned loudly but stopped trying to hit Potter. He felt more like hitting himself right now. Preferably in the face.
"What I told you was that I thought I knew you watched me and your doppelganger make out. Which was a very unpleasant thought for me, naturally. Not helped by the fact that, at the time, I thought you and Blaise were going out."
Potter stared at him, looking just like Draco felt right now. And then, because Draco was not a complete idiot (or maybe precisely because he was), he grabbed Potter by the shoulder and kissed him. Potter's lips were hot and desperate against his, and immediately there were hands in Draco's hair and on his back, drawing him closer still.
Draco followed Potter's lead willingly and now he was the one on top, pinning Potter down with the weight of his upper body, forearms braced on either side of Potter's head. There were two cold hands on his back now, gripping his shirt as if to keep him in place, pressing them flush together.
Draco wanted nothing more than to shove his hands under Potter's t-shirt and touch his stupidly fit body. Sadly, he already needed his arms to prevent Potter from being crushed under the full weight of his body. He settled for fisting his hands in Potter's soft, curly hair.
As if Potter was sharing his thoughts, his hands went underneath Draco's shirt, stroking his back. His hands were like ice on Draco's skin and he inhaled sharply, biting Potter's lower lip in the process, which made Potter groan and then there was his tongue against Draco's and –
There was a very loud CRACK and Draco was thrown off Potter, hitting the wall with a BANG! All the air left his body at once and he barely registered Potter yelling in response.
"Kreacher, no!"
"Master is being attacked. Kreacher has to defend his Master!"
"I'm not being attacked!" Potter yelled. "And under no circumstances do I want you to hurt Malfoy, do you understand me?"
The house-elf looked down at Draco with a mortified look on its face. "Master Draco! No! Kreacher harmed the mistress's great-nephew!"
And then the elf let out a horrible wail and banged his head against the wall. Potter yelled, "Stop it, Kreacher! I forbade you to punish yourself!"
Kreacher wailed even louder but stopped trying to cave his head in, dropping onto his knees instead.
"Kreacher attacked a member of Mistress's pureblood family! Kreacher deserves to have his head chopped off for that! Kreacher is a bad, bad elf! Master Harry must punish Kreacher most severely!"
"I won't punish you for misreading the situation. And I explicitly forbid you from hurting yourself in any way." Potter bent down and pulled Draco up by his arms. "Are you alright?"
Draco shook out his arms and legs and then stretched his back carefully. Everything seemed to be working like it should. "Yes. Seems that, unlike a certain someone, I can take a beating from an elf."
This earned him a hard jab with Potter's elbow, but also a relieved laugh. "You only flew a few feet. I was thrown much farther."
"Only you would make a competition out of this," Draco said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "And now please tell me your house-elf doesn't live in this old, rotting house."
"Now that you say it … Kreacher, what are you doing here? I thought I sent you to work at Hogwarts."
"Master Harry promised that Kreacher could come back to the house if Master Harry ever did so himself. And Kreacher waited years and years, and Master Harry never returned. But now Master Harry is here, so here Kreacher is too."
"I haven't come back, Kreacher," Potter said bluntly. "I just took a wrong exit. I'm not staying here, so you can go back to the school."
Draco thought it would have been kinder had Potter just beheaded the elf straightaway. Kreacher was close to tears, his tiny hands fisted into his toga with the Hogwarts crest on it. His mouth was opening and closing but no sound came out and Draco was rather certain that, at some point, Potter had forbidden the elf from arguing about this.
"Just go back, Kreacher. And you don't need to constantly wait for me to return, just go back to Hogwarts. It's your home; you've been there for the last six years."
Though Draco was by no means an expert on house-elves, he still knew that Potter was a moron, who had no idea how regular house-elves worked. Next he would offer Kreacher a change of new clothes or something equally barmy. As it was, Kreacher's lower lip was trembling dangerously.
"Kreacher's home will always be this house, where he served the most noble House of Black, Master Harry. And Master promised Kreacher that he could come back one day."
"If I ever decided to come back myself. But you really shouldn't hold your breath, Kreacher. I'll call for you if it ever comes to that."
'Don't owl us, we'll owl you?' Had Potter really just used that line? That was worse than saying 'It's not you, it's me'. No wonder Kreacher looked to be about five seconds away from a stroke.
"Look," Potter continued, looking down at the trembling elf. "This is not about something you did. Your work is really great. I just need to be away from the house for some time."
And there it was. Draco groaned in frustration. Potter really was using every cheap phrase he could think of. He was about as subtle as a Bludger to the face. Kreacher was wringing his hands now, his eyes flitting across the dark, dusty room, probably trying to take in as much as possible in what little time he had.
"Let me," Draco said resolutely, pushing Potter out of the way.
He drew himself to full height in front of Kreacher. It was important to assert one's authority. Draco didn't miss the way Potter's hand twitched at his sides, as if he didn't trust Draco to talk to his elf in an acceptable manner. Prick.
"Kreacher, Potter has a task for you." This got Kreacher's full attention. "You see, I'm a Healer. Potter has been feeling under the weather for a while now and he needs some time away from this house to get better. Even thinking about it would be a burden. So, the best thing you could do to help him would be to go to Hogwarts and do your job and not harass him about coming back here before he's ready. Think you can do that?"
Kreacher was not enthusiastic about this, but at least he stopped trembling. Draco glanced at Potter, who was biting his lip and ruffling his hair. He guessed that Potter had never told Kreacher why staying away was important to him. He had probably resorted to stating 'Because I say so' and thought that would be enough.
Well, every house-elf needed to feel useful, so you'd better tell them what use there was in their obedience if they didn't particularly want to do what you asked of them. Provided you were like Potter and cared about their feelings, of course. If you didn't ... well then you were fine just barking orders.
Kreacher was still trying to take in the room. His eyes came to rest on an impressively large collection of cobwebs, and when he started to shuffle his feet nervously, a cloud of dust rose from the musty carpet. Draco tried not to think too much about how he had just been lying there, only a layer of clothes separating him from that.
To think that this was the home of his pureblood ancestors, part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. A disgrace was what it was.
Draco grabbed Potter's arm and pulled him to the side, out of Kreacher's earshot. "Why don't you let him come back here now and then? He could tidy up, make –"
"No." Potter cut him off rudely, jerking his arm away. "I don't want anyone in here."
"Come on, this house is derelict. It won't improve on its own, it's only getting worse."
"I said no." Potter crossed his arms, glaring at Draco. Draco crossed his arms and glared back. After all, two could play at this game.
"Alright. Why?" Draco demanded to know. He was no house-elf and reasons were not optional with him.
"That's none of your business," Potter snarled.
"Maybe not. But if you won't tell me, I'll have to assume you're just a childish, immature prick, who likes to torture his house-elf just because he can."
"It's not torture! Are you mental?"
"It is psychological torture," Draco countered. "You are forbidding him from properly serving his master. You are keeping him from his home, where countless of his ancestors served the Blacks before him, I'd imagine. How would you like it if somebody took over your childhood home and let it go to ruin while you had to stand by and watch?"
"Stand by? I'd happily help wreck it." Potter laughed humourlessly. "That house was a prison, as was this one. Sirius hated it. He'd have burned it to the ground if he could have."
Draco raised an eyebrow. This came as a surprise, but still he felt like he could relate, even if he usually tried to avoid thoughts about the Manor. He had loved it, once – before the Dark Lord came and turned the cellar into a dungeon, the dining room into a torture chamber and Draco's room, which had once been his safe haven, into his own prison. The Manor was not his home anymore and he did not intend to ever go back there.
"Then sell it," Draco suggested, raising his brow. "You clearly don't want to keep it, so why hang on to it?"
Potter looked up at the ceiling, a pained expression on his face. "I can't," he said shortly.
Draco rolled his eyes so hard he would not have been surprised if they left his head. "Would you please just talk to me like a normal person? Why do I have to worm everything out of you?"
"Because – as I already told you – this is none of your business!"
"Oh please! You just told Samantha that we were friends! Well, I've got news for you: Friends help each other! You've clearly got a problem and I want to help you work it out. You have so many idiosyncrasies, they're not even quirky anymore! It's just bloody annoying!"
And then everything seemed to burst out of Potter at once. "I can't sell it because the house was compromised! Yaxley got in! They know about it! What if I sell it and somebody moves in and one day they come, looking for me? What if somebody gets killed because a Death Eater wants to finally finish me off, and some poor family is just in the wrong place at the wrong time? It's not safe for anyone!"
Potter was panting, more out of breath than even after a Quidditch match. His hands were constantly opening and closing and Draco could see where his nails dug into the flesh.
Draco didn't know what to do. He was sure Potter would deck him if Draco told him to 'get a grip, the war has been over for six years'. It was clearly not over for him, not really. Six years later and Harry was still running, still hiding, still trying to save all of them.
"That's why you live right across the street," Draco suddenly realised. "To keep watch. So you'll see when somebody goes in. Is that the reason for all those fucking windows too?"
Potter avoided his eyes, staring over Draco's shoulder and out of the window instead. Draco followed his gaze and there it was – number twenty-two, Grimmauld Place. From the outside, there were no windows. The building seemed to be made from solid stone alone, safe for the front door.
Draco looked back at Harry, who seemed lost in here, like this really was a prison to him. Draco thought this was one of those moments during which normal, functioning people would hug, but there really was no way for him to know. He could just as well run the risk of getting punched for trying.
Harry didn't answer his question and Draco didn't press. After a few seconds, Harry at least looked at him. His eyes were pleading and Draco decided that Harry couldn't possibly hurt him for trying to pat his arms, so that was what he did.
For a moment, Harry just stared at him, and then, through what only could have been divine intervention, he stepped closer and put his arms around Draco, hugging him close. They had hugged before, but this was different, somehow even more intimate than embracing one another in Harry's bed.
Harry was upset and confused and frightened, and Draco didn't think this had anything to do with the Confounding Concoction. This had been a long time coming.
Draco began stroking Harry's back in soothing circles and felt him tremble underneath his hands, taking heaving breaths. He tried to let go to see if Harry was actually crying, but Harry just held him in a vice. Draco patted his back helplessly. Why was he so useless at this?
"What can I do?" he asked because he couldn't take the silence any longer.
Harry detached one arm from Draco and wiped at his face roughly before letting go of him completely.
"If there was something to be done, I'd have done it already," he croaked, clearing his throat self-consciously. "I've got this god-awful house that just screams death, absolutely no privacy whatsoever and now somebody poisoned me. Honestly, you should probably turn tail and distance yourself from me as much as you can."
"That's the opposite of what I want to do," Draco stated boldly, taking Harry's left hand in his right. "Let's start with making this shack look less like death, shall we?"
"I already told you, it's dangerous!" Harry narrowed his eyes at him but squeezed his hand at the same time. The other hand he used to mess up his hair. Not that it was necessary after tumbling out of the fireplace and all over that nasty carpet.
"I like to live dangerously." Draco gave him a small smile and then turned to the elf. "Kreacher, you knew when Harry came back here, right?"
Kreacher nodded, straightening his toga nervously. "Yes, Master Draco. Kreacher is bound to this house. Kreacher sensed Master Harry entering."
"And if somebody else enters, you sense that as well." It wasn't a question. The house-elves had always known as soon as somebody had approached the Manor.
Kreacher nodded again. "Kreacher always knows, Master Draco."
"So, you could come here, let's say once a week, tidy up, and if you ever sensed somebody come in, you could just vanish and warn Harry?"
Kreacher nodded so fast his ears were slapping against his shoulders repeatedly. He didn't seem to mind at all, looking up at Harry hopefully.
"I don't know ..." Harry said hesitantly.
"What is it now?" Draco sighed. "You can't possibly want this rundown dump to stay like this."
And there it was again – Harry raked a hand through his hair. His other hand twitched in Draco's. Draco waited for him to speak. Sometimes silence was a much stronger incentive than words, and Harry definitely could not stand silence. It took only a few seconds for him to break.
"It's just ... his things are still here. I haven't gotten around to looking them through."
"Kreacher, could you just tidy up and clean without throwing anything away?"
Kreacher bowed so deeply that his ears brushed the floor. "Kreacher would never dispose of anything that belonged to my mistress's family, Master Draco. Kreacher values the possessions of House Black more than his own life."
"There you go," Draco said, satisfied.
Harry sighed and let go of his hand, turning to face Kreacher. "Alright. Kreacher, I want you to come here every Sunday to clean. Take a break every three hours at least. Under no circumstances can you throw anything away, understood? And if you sense anyone in here, you come directly to me and tell me."
"Yes, Master Harry. Kreacher won't disappoint," the elf croaked gleefully. Harry waved his hand and with a CRACK Kreacher vanished. "Let's get out of here."
"Won't you give me a tour? I've been dying to see this place," Draco protested.
"Not a chance in the world, Malfoy." Harry grabbed his wrist and – without even warning him first, which would have been the polite thing to do – twisted.
They reappeared inside Harry's kitchen, which was, like always, spotless. Harry had made him clean up before they went to visit the Granger-Weasleys.
"Merlin's beard, Potter. You can't just grab somebody and Apparate them wherever. Do you want to have your license revoked?"
Harry grinned at him. "That's cute. You think I have a license."
Draco wrenched his wrist out of Harry's grip. "You don't have a license? You are twenty-four years old! Do you mean to tell me the risk of you Splinching us were not ten but more like thirty percent?"
"Hey!" Harry protested, crossing his arms. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent Apparater. The odds of getting Splinched were never even ten percent. I never Splinched anyone!" Harry trailed off there, brushing a strand of curly hair out of his face before shaking his head and squaring his shoulders. "And I couldn't exactly take my test with a ministry official when I turned seventeen, could I now?"
"What was that?" Draco prompted, narrowing his eyes. "You did Splinch someone!"
"No, I did not!" Harry insisted. "Ron got Splinched back then, when we were on the run, after the Ministry ... But Hermione Apparated us, not me. And that was when she had a license, by the way."
Draco made a mental note never to Apparate with Granger, not that the occasion was likely to arise. He was quite attached to all his body parts and would like to keep it that way.
"After the Ministry? You don't mean after what happened at the Department of Mysteries, right?" Draco knew for a fact that Granger had not had a license then. None of them had been seventeen.
Something moved to Draco's right and they both jumped. Harry shook out his right hand, the side where he usually kept his wand up in his sleeve. It wasn't there, of course, as Draco still had it.
Harry needn't have panicked – perched upon the open window sat Odysseus, Coach Greyson's ruddy owl.
"Jesus Christ," Harry said, pressing a hand to his heart. Draco's own heart was hammering as well. "He must have been here since we got in. I didn't even see him there."
"Me neither," Draco grumbled. "Probably did it on purpose."
"Why would he?" Harry asked, crossing the kitchen to relieve the owl of its letter.
Draco glared at Odysseus while Harry remained completely unbitten. "That creature has it out for me, I'm telling you."
"You must have offended him," Harry said, grinning. Draco assumed that he was enjoying this immensely.
Draco thought back to how he had tried to keep Odysseus from entering Harry's hospital room and failed miserably. But they had already been declared enemies then. "I did no such thing. I even brought owl biscuits just for that bloody thing."
Harry opened his letter, chuckling. "See, maybe that's the problem. Odysseus only eats human food. I tried to feed him one of Emerald's mice once. No dice."
"Abnormal is what it is," Draco muttered. "Want me to read that to you?"
But Harry's eyes were already flying over the paper effortlessly. Now Draco was grinning as well. "Hey, you're not illiterate anymore! Well, at least no more than usual."
Harry made a very rude gesture, but he was still grinning. "Does that mean I can play Seeker next week?"
Draco just laughed. "Don't get your hopes up. Patil said you need another two weeks and I am definitely not clearing you despite that."
The grin fell from Harry's face. "Matt won't be happy. He really, really wants me to play. And I am fine, see?" Harry stretched his arms and raised one leg, balancing on one foot. "Also, I Apparated us here."
"Illegally," Draco added, pointing his finger at Harry, who put down his other foot again. "And without a wand, now that I stop to think about it."
Harry just shrugged, as if he Apparated without a wand all the time. Which, admittedly, he had also done when he had mentally scarred Draco for life by Apparating him to St. Mungo's a few days ago.
"Now that you mention it, when do you plan on returning that to me?"
Draco sighed to show Harry what a terrible menace he was. "I'll examine you tomorrow before I leave. If you do alright, you'll get it back then. But I am not changing my mind about the game. Patil is the expert, not me. Now let's get back to Weasley getting Splinched after something at the Ministry. What were you doing there?"
"One of the Ministry workers had something we needed to defeat Voldemort," Harry grumbled, scribbling an answer on the back of his letter. "So we took Polyjuice and infiltrated the Ministry. Caused a lockdown in the end. That was also when Yaxley got into Grimmauld Place. Managed to grab Hermione. She was brilliant, really."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "What is brilliant about getting caught and Splinching a friend?"
Harry glared at him and Draco actually took an involuntary step back. Merlin, that man was so touchy when it came to his friends.
"She managed to throw him off and Apparate us out of there in under a second."
Draco nodded. Yes, that actually didn't sound half bad. "How dead would you be if it had not been for Granger?"
"Like, at least three hundred percent. I can't even remember how many times she saved all our lives."
"So, what you are saying is ... Granger is the one who should have a national holiday dedicated to her?"
"She definitely deserves it more than me," Harry grumbled.
"Not a fan of the Chosen Day?"
"They don't call it that," Harry protested.
"Some of them do," Draco replied. "Though I don't think it was ever confirmed you are the 'Chosen One', since you smashed that prophecy."
"Well, even if I had been, which I'm not saying is true, I would certainly not be that anymore." Harry busied himself with tying the letter back to Odysseus' leg. "Voldemort is dead, so there is nothing I could still be chosen for. People should really stop calling me that."
"What do you want them to call you?"
Harry was finished with the letter, but the owl did not show the slightest inclination to leave, even when Harry gestured to the still-open window. "I don't want them to call me anything. My name, if they absolutely have to."
"'The boy who lived'?" Draco offered, earning himself a glare.
"Do you still think of me as a boy?" Harry asked, but he continued his complaints before Draco could assure him that he most definitely was not a scrawny little boy anymore. He was still shorter than average and a lightweight, but he clearly worked out a lot and it was showing. "Also, what kind of accomplishment is living? All you have to do is not die, every living person could bear that title."
"Only the male half of them," Draco countered. "And you know what they mean by that. You didn't just live, you survived. No one has ever done that before or since."
"Yeah, well. It's not that big a deal and I don't like to be reminded."
Draco pondered this for a few seconds. "'The Golden Boy', maybe?"
Harry gagged and nudged Odysseus with his quill. "Go on, take that letter to Matt."
Draco took that as a decided 'No'. "What about 'the Saviour', then?"
"Do I look like Jesus Christ?" Harry scoffed, ruffling his hair while the owl kept staring at him.
"I wouldn't know, I have never seen him," Draco answered. "Who is he, anyway? People keep saying his name. Muggles too."
"He's the son of God, who died for our sins," Harry explained, still trying to animate Odysseus. "He's also the reason we have Christmas and Easter."
"God died for our sins?" Draco asked, confused.
From what he had gathered, God couldn't die. Also, who would've thought that there was a 'real' explanation for those holidays? Draco had always thought those two were just as made up as Valentine's Day or Halloween.
"No, Jesus did. And then he came back from the dead and they started a religion, because that's what Muggles do."
"Wow, he really went all in. Guess I can see the parallels, but at least you didn't have to die for us. Just imagine what a hassle that would've been."
"Yeah," Harry said, turning his back on him. He waved his hands at the owl, trying to shoo it away. "Get lost, Ody."
"How did you survive that curse the second time around?" Draco asked eagerly.
He had always wondered, but Harry had forever avoided that question, even during Mother's trial. All she had told Draco was that Harry had walked into the forest all alone and unarmed, and that the Dark Lord had used Avada Kedavra on him. Harry had dropped to the ground, seemingly dead, but when she went over to feel for his pulse, she had found it.
Had Harry faked it? But how? There was no counter-spell, no way to avoid the curse. And stranger still: The Dark Lord had been thrown to the ground as well. There simply was no explanation and it was driving Draco mad.
"I don't want to talk about it," Harry snapped, and then he grabbed the owl and threw it out the window, which he closed with a bang.
"Now that thing definitely hates you too," Draco said drily. He couldn't with a clear conscience say that he felt sorry for it. "It will probably start calling you 'Undesirable Number One'."
"Odysseus won't call me anything, he's an owl."
"Not out loud, maybe. But in his head? Who knows how much these animals understand? Enough to follow instructions, that's for sure."
"I don't know. I don't think Pig understands much of what I tell him. He delivers, but that's about it."
"About that ..." Draco raised an eyebrow. "What's up with your owl? It's miniscule. And it does not resemble a pig at all."
Harry crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. "His name is Pigwidgeon. Sirius bought him two years before ... well."
"Pigwidgeon?" Draco raised the remaining eyebrow, trying to steer the conversation away from Harry's dead godfather. "I really hope you are not planning on having children, because you are the worst at naming animals."
The corner of Harry's mouth twitched. "Ginny chose that name. And I'll have you know that Emerald is a perfectly reasonable name, thank you very much. Aurelius, on the other hand ..."
Draco inhaled in mock-shock. "What's wrong with that?"
"Absolutely pretentious. Only a posh git like you could ever come up with that." Harry pushed away from the counter, drawing nearer so he could take one of Draco's hands. "You're lucky I like that on you."
Draco withdrew his hand, feeling queasy. "Don't. You are still under the influence of that damned potion; it makes me feel like a fucking predator."
"Managed to Apparate us here, didn't I?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me."
"Then don't do this to me, again. We kiss and then you backtrack. It's rather cruel, honestly." Harry looked really hurt, and when he crossed his arms, it looked more like he was hugging himself.
"I'm not backtracking," Draco protested. "I didn't even know I was turning you down the first time! You were the one who ran off after jumping me! And I'm assuming you had a reason. One that could also apply in this situation."
"I did have a reason!" Harry messed up his hair again and, now that Draco was close enough, he could see the dust that swirled up. "I felt guilty because you didn't know it was me. I thought you probably didn't like me like that and I didn't want to trick you into snogging me."
"And how am I to know that really was the reason? This could just as well be the potion speaking."
"Well, it's not! Come on, I'm sick of pining after you. We are not teenagers anymore; this is getting downright ridiculous."
Draco felt like caving – Harry had really pined? The thought of just throwing caution to the wind was tantalising, especially after what had just happened at the Black house. But Draco was still a Malfoy, and if he could do one thing, it was ignore his emotions in favour of keeping a level head.
"The answer is no. I want to do this right or not at all. We can talk in two weeks if Patil says you are yourself again."
Draco turned on the spot and went upstairs, deciding to call it a night. Tomorrow he would examine Harry, give back his wand and then avoid him for the next two weeks. He could do this. He had already put his New Year's resolution on hold for one week – he could manage two more.
