Things got a little fuzzy between the bottle Draco had smuggled out of Harry's supervisor's desk and the ensuing bullshit.
Normally, neither one of them would have considered drinking while they were still at work—either here or at St Mungo's. Of course, they were only in the Ministry because someone had attempted to blow up their flat and they were—supposedly—under Auror protection until the perpetrators were caught.
The problem was, with their wedding twelve hours away, and a significant amount of planning now under intense scrutiny, that hadn't left many options for the locale. The Ministry was (again, supposedly ) the safest possible location for them to hide out at.
Thus, being in the Auror offices and drinking some rather potent firewhisky in carefully disguised water cups.
Of course, it didn't take very long for both of them to be both surprisingly drunk and very aware that one of the aforementioned culprits was definitely on their protection detail.
The downside to this—for their attempted murderer—was that Harry Potter had a great deal more experience with the levels outside the Auror floors than most realized.
The downside to this—for his fiancée and himself—was that they were also drunk, stupid, and stupidly in love.
Also, Harry was stupid reckless on a good day anyway.
Things were considerably fuzzier after the crash into the creepy death cloth.
-x-
He woke in pain. A great deal of it. It burned down his left arm, somehow surpassing the agony of his former dark mark when the dark lord was at his angriest, and culminating in his hand in the single most painful experience of his life. And he'd nearly been sliced like a Christmas ham when he was still a teenager.
Yes It was also glowing, which was decidedly different than the dark mark. Of course, the mark had dissipated from his arm completely nearly a decade before, but if it had still existed he had no doubt the green-tinted monstrosity on his hand would have drowned it out.
He's in pain, confused, chained up, and he can't see his fiancée. Wonderful wake-up, 10/10.
"Oi," he manages, fully aware that he sounds far less cultured than his noble breeding should allow, but he's still fucking drunk and it hurts like hell, "I don't know what you're blathering on about, I don't know who you're blathering on about."
"I beg your pardon," the woman in armor hisses and Draco has decidedly had enough of this.
Of course, he has no intention of screaming and yet his nerves are suddenly on fire like he's getting smacked with the Cruciatus, and yet.
Fuck decorum, who in Salazar's fucking snake did this to his bloody arm? Was it that absolute trash goblin Pulla who went from casual observer to chasing them through the Ministry like they ate his cat?
He's pretty sure he said that out loud judging by the woman's reaction and subsequent words he doesn't hear.
There's another woman then, a hint of red hair that's just the wrong shade to belong to a Weasley.
"Cassandra—"
He interrupts, "I feel like it'd hurt less if I splinched my arm off on purpose and I can't see Harry, so please explain in words I can understand and locate my fiancée would you?"
"Take him to the Rift, Cassandra."
Draco can hear the capital R. What the buggering fuck is a Rift?
It doesn't take long for the completely fucked up and different world to make a little bit more sense.
There's a giant tear in the sky and demons are pouring out.
It reminds Draco of a cautionary tale he'd found in some ancient text when they were on vacation in Italy. It was half destroyed but spoke of a tear in the fabric between the living and the dead, a rip that allowed the first Dementors free reign.
Was this a larger kind of same?
"I'll help you," Draco says, the words falling from his mouth before he can even think about it, "this isn't right."
-x-
Being Harry's partner during Draco's brief tenure as a junior Auror before moving to healer training meant learning a lot of new things to keep up. Being Harry's boyfriend meant practicing wandless magic summoning spells because neither one of them wanted to be without their wand again, given the whole capital w, War.
It came in handy when they made a very sudden and very painful fall from an exploding bridge.
And then demons attacked.
"You're a mage?!"
"Uh, no? I'm a wizard?"
Cassandra doesn't reply for a moment, shoving her sword right through a demon's glowing chest with a sickening squelch before dragging it back out with the ease of someone who's done this before and striking the second one with a hard blow to the... head?
"You're using magic, are you not?"
"Of course I am! I am a wizard of noble birth."
" Semantics, you use magic you are a mage!"
"I was trained to use a wand," he argues, opening his fisted hand to reveal his summoned wand, "not staff or stave. I wouldn't be able to moderate my power through one without significant training. Thus, a wizard ."
"But it's so small!"
Draco smirks, "so is a dagger, but it would strike just as badly as a sword in the right hands."
-x-
"You don't know who I'm talking about, do you?" Cassandra asks when they stop long enough to share a drink from some sort of waterskin at the woman's hip.
"I don't think I'm from around here, no."
"For what it is worth, I am not sure you caused this any longer."
He lets out a choked little laugh, "for what it's worth, I hope I didn't."
-x-
He should be less surprised to be manhandled given how his... day... has been already. Somehow, somehow.
"Didn't your mother ever teach you to ask for consent before touching strangers ?" Draco snaps, yanking his arm away from the absurdly tall... elf? He briefly pictures Dobby as being this y'all and nearly forgets how to breathe.
His arm hurts and it's only mostly from whatever the hell that magic draining thing was.
Of course, a few minutes later, he's ignoring Mr. Elf and instead focusing on walking alongside an actual dwarf who is a great breath of fresh air in this desolate bullshit. And Cassandra, who he would probably have asked out if he didn't have Harry.
Merlin's sake, where the hell was he?
"I don't suppose either of you has seen a fetching wizard around here?"
"Wizard? I don't believe I know the term," Bald Man replies, and he seems... surprisingly disconcerted at the lack of knowledge.
Eh, fuck him anyway.
"I don't think I've heard anything about wizard class mages outside of books, kid."
"But you have heard of us. That's... something."
"Oh? You're claiming to be one?"
"If the wand fits," Draco eludes, twirling his wand between his fingers and nearly tripping on a rock in the process. He doesn't fall though, so it doesn't count.
"With any hope, we will find your lady by the time we reach the Breach," Cassandra says as gently as her sharpness can muster. Draco briefly considers laughing hysterically at the thought of "The Boy Who Lived" as a woman. And then he stops because... what if Harry was back in the dungeons?!
"My fiancée is a man, Lady Cassandra," Draco tactfully admits. Cassandra freezes, as does Shiny Bald Dobby. Varric just raises an eyebrow.
"Oh," she turns to face him with a very slight blush, "I had not expected. That was... poor of me. What does your young man look like?"
"A little shorter than me, an impossible mess of black hair, bronze skin, green eyes, and glasses?"
"There was a man that was found at the outskirts of the temple, in considerably better shape than you. I believe they say he may have looked like yours. He's helping near the Breach."
"He's helping? Almost certainly him. Potter's got a hero complex about a kilometer wide."
"A kilometer? Never mind, we are heading that way anyway. We shall see if he is indeed your promise."
"What's your name, anyway, Mister Wizard?" Varric asks, and Draco thinks about lying for a minute. There's a certain irony in realizing Cassandra and himself had never exchanged pleasantries like names. He knew hers from the redhead. Leliana, he thinks.
"I am Lord Draco Malfoy, of the Family Malfoy and the line of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
"You're a Lord?" Cassandra asks, startled. He raises an eyebrow at her, but Varric speaks up before he can.
"You didn't even ask his name, Seeker?"
Draco laughs, "It hasn't been the most... inviting atmosphere, but Lady Cassandra has done me well in conversation without the need for pleasantries. But, yes. I am a Lord. I'm from the House of Black through my mother, which grants me a second title, but the family properties were willed to my fiancée upon his godfather's passing, so it's in name and magic alone. My father passed the Malfoy lordship to me when I turned twenty-one. In any case, my titles likely mean little here, so it doesn't matter."
"What do you mean they mean little?" Elongated Dobby asks a look that could only mean curiosity on his face.
Draco pauses in their trek through the snowy mountainside, thinks.
"Potter and I fell through an ancient and immovable portal, and I am significantly satisfied in the knowledge that this is not our world. For one, the elves of our homeworld are nothing like you, Mr. Skinny and Sexy. Also, the double moon is a huge clue."
Watching the elf struggle to suppress a blush is far more entertaining than it should be.
The dwarf chuckles at that. "I suppose we'll find out how trustworthy you are."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Did you say your first name was Draco? " Varric asks after they continue their trek, a long pause later.
"And why, praytell, do you find an issue with my name?"
"We're in the middle of the Dragon Age. Your name is dragon. This is hilarious, Scales."