A/N: A second posting of What's To Come for this fic. A review or two would
be nice, thank you. If you review mine, I am most likely to review yours
(unless it's a fandom I don't know). There's less humour in these parts,
and a few more hintings towards the real plot. Take a look -
*
Harry promptly stood, still clutching his head, a finger pressed hard against his scar. He didn't take much notice of his surroundings as he stepped out of the room and walked down a short corridor, still in pain. He paused, trying to remember. A dementor had been about to kiss his soul away, Harry recalled faintly, when –
Sounds from the next room invaded his thoughts. A steady chop-chop-sliss noise. He tensed, feeling around in his pocket for his wand, but not finding anything except the wrapper for the sherbet lemon he had eaten yesterday.
Harry cautiously walked through the open doorway nearest to him. A kitchen. A pale blonde young man was muttering and gripping his finger with the other hand while a knife sat upon a cutting board next to some vegetables.
Then man looked up, first a frown, then a scowl crossing his face.
"Oh, you've decided to join the living after all."
Then it hit Harry.
Draco Malfoy had saved his life.
*
"What, Potter, fancy yourself a better gardener than me?" He was about to reply when the Slytherin continued, not giving Harry a chance to reply with a clever retort.
"Think there's any tools that might help us in that shed around the back?"
Harry squinted at the bright skyline. It looked like something was heading in their general direction. A plane, perhaps.
"We have a shed out the back?" he responded. Draco scoffed, starting to make his way around the overgrown garden to the side of the house.
"Yeah, it's got vines creeping around everywhere, though..."
The spot near the horizon was getting bigger. It wasn't black after all. White. White with wings. Flapping wings.
"Potter," came Draco's voice, distant. "Are you coming or what?"
"Hedwig!"
*
"Stun him, quick," one of the Aurors told his counterpart. He whipped out his wand and did so.
"You sure that's wise? Shouldn't someone fetch a Healer, rather than shoving him back in his cell?" someone muttered behind Harry. He turned to see who it was: a woman with brown hair holding on tightly to a handbag, lips pursed and a lined, polite face.
"Come, Orla..." said a man at her side, wrapping an arm around her waste and leading her away.
Harry agreed with the woman. Or he would have, if he still didn't believe that Malfoy deserved a fate such as this.
"Let's leave," Remus said softly at Harry's right ear.
The Aurors looked only a few years older than Harry himself. But they clearly hadn't been in court before to witness a trial with something like this.
*
"Can you just hold it still for a sec?"
"Sure, Colin. D'you want me to keep holding the sign?"
"Umm..." Colin Creevy checked through the lens of his camera. "Yeah, that'd be good, thanks."
Draco groaned inwardly. How long was this going to take? If it was just himself, he would have been pampered and prepared in his own precious time so he could look perfect, and everything would have turned out just fine, but Longbottom had been frustrating over his hair and the Creevy kid hadn't come on time either. "Hurry up, Longbottom."
Neville sighed in return, with "I always look bad in these sorts of photos."
Draco was about to reply that he obviously looked bad in all sorts of photos, because presentable wasn't one of his special qualities, but as owner, he thought it wouldn't be a good image if his photographic self was pummelling his employee into the ground.
No, it wouldn't be good for his image at all.
*
He had kept the house elves for a week before throwing them a bunch of his mum's old stockings. He just wanted the Manor cleared up a little bit before he'd really start getting things in order.
She had been left alone for so long, and had ordered (or so Draco had discerned from bits of her loud ramblings) the house elves to keep the cellars downstairs clean.
She was probably still waiting for her husband to come home.
*
Harry promptly stood, still clutching his head, a finger pressed hard against his scar. He didn't take much notice of his surroundings as he stepped out of the room and walked down a short corridor, still in pain. He paused, trying to remember. A dementor had been about to kiss his soul away, Harry recalled faintly, when –
Sounds from the next room invaded his thoughts. A steady chop-chop-sliss noise. He tensed, feeling around in his pocket for his wand, but not finding anything except the wrapper for the sherbet lemon he had eaten yesterday.
Harry cautiously walked through the open doorway nearest to him. A kitchen. A pale blonde young man was muttering and gripping his finger with the other hand while a knife sat upon a cutting board next to some vegetables.
Then man looked up, first a frown, then a scowl crossing his face.
"Oh, you've decided to join the living after all."
Then it hit Harry.
Draco Malfoy had saved his life.
*
"What, Potter, fancy yourself a better gardener than me?" He was about to reply when the Slytherin continued, not giving Harry a chance to reply with a clever retort.
"Think there's any tools that might help us in that shed around the back?"
Harry squinted at the bright skyline. It looked like something was heading in their general direction. A plane, perhaps.
"We have a shed out the back?" he responded. Draco scoffed, starting to make his way around the overgrown garden to the side of the house.
"Yeah, it's got vines creeping around everywhere, though..."
The spot near the horizon was getting bigger. It wasn't black after all. White. White with wings. Flapping wings.
"Potter," came Draco's voice, distant. "Are you coming or what?"
"Hedwig!"
*
"Stun him, quick," one of the Aurors told his counterpart. He whipped out his wand and did so.
"You sure that's wise? Shouldn't someone fetch a Healer, rather than shoving him back in his cell?" someone muttered behind Harry. He turned to see who it was: a woman with brown hair holding on tightly to a handbag, lips pursed and a lined, polite face.
"Come, Orla..." said a man at her side, wrapping an arm around her waste and leading her away.
Harry agreed with the woman. Or he would have, if he still didn't believe that Malfoy deserved a fate such as this.
"Let's leave," Remus said softly at Harry's right ear.
The Aurors looked only a few years older than Harry himself. But they clearly hadn't been in court before to witness a trial with something like this.
*
"Can you just hold it still for a sec?"
"Sure, Colin. D'you want me to keep holding the sign?"
"Umm..." Colin Creevy checked through the lens of his camera. "Yeah, that'd be good, thanks."
Draco groaned inwardly. How long was this going to take? If it was just himself, he would have been pampered and prepared in his own precious time so he could look perfect, and everything would have turned out just fine, but Longbottom had been frustrating over his hair and the Creevy kid hadn't come on time either. "Hurry up, Longbottom."
Neville sighed in return, with "I always look bad in these sorts of photos."
Draco was about to reply that he obviously looked bad in all sorts of photos, because presentable wasn't one of his special qualities, but as owner, he thought it wouldn't be a good image if his photographic self was pummelling his employee into the ground.
No, it wouldn't be good for his image at all.
*
He had kept the house elves for a week before throwing them a bunch of his mum's old stockings. He just wanted the Manor cleared up a little bit before he'd really start getting things in order.
She had been left alone for so long, and had ordered (or so Draco had discerned from bits of her loud ramblings) the house elves to keep the cellars downstairs clean.
She was probably still waiting for her husband to come home.