He wakes with the thunder of a late-season storm settling around the manor. However, it isn't the storm that unsettles him. It's the whimpering coming from the foot of his bed. Tovo hops from foot to foot, forcing him to sit up and dig a palm into his unwilling eyes.
"What is it? This had better be fucking important."
"Mister Harry Potter has locked himself in the library, Master Draco."
"Again?" A little nod, and Tovo backs away. The whimpering gets louder as Draco stands. "Haven't you tried apparating in there? What about unlocking the doors? How incompetent are you lot?"
"We've tried! We promise, Master, we has all tried to get him out!"
"We?" His voice falls flat to the floor, where he waits for an explanation.
"Yes, Master Draco. We all tried. Some of us tried together. Nothing worked. We even waked Mistress Narcissa before we waked you and she could not open the door." Tovo is shredding the edge of her garment, an outward display of her nerves.
"Fine. Let's go." He waves her forward, not bothering with a shirt. The soft pat of his feet is rhythmic as he slinks down the hall, followed by the rustle of silk as his pajama pants brush the marble floor. A shiver runs up his spine as he gets closer, but he isn't entirely sure it's from the cool surface beneath his feet.
"Potter!" He bangs a fist on the door, followed by a few unlocking spells and even a Bombarda. At this point, he could care less what happens to the door, so long as he can go back to sleep. "OPEN UP THE DAMN DOOR," he roars. There is silence. Draco leans his forehead against the dark grain of the wood. He swears to himself before making his way back to his personal Floo.
"Dean. I need you to come here. Yes, I bloody well know it's the middle of the night. Just get over here." He stands and walks away to pace, biting a nail. When the Floo roars and Dean Thomas walks through, Draco nods. Dean shrugs and crosses his arms.
"What is so important that you needed me now?"
"I have someone locked in my library."
"And that's my problem how?"
"You're a fucking curse breaker," Draco grits out. "Open the fucking door."
"Well if you're going to act like that. Who is it?"
"If you get the door open, you'll see, now won't you?" Dean looks at him strangely. Draco's quips usually bite, but Dean is startled by the way he's prowling around the room.
"Take me there, then." Draco nods again, as close to a 'thank you' as he will get.
Dean approaches the doors cautiously. He holds a hand out, dark skin against darker wood. He hums with the magic and tilts his head.
"Someone powerful, then."
"Yes."
"What have you tried?"
"The house elves tried everything they know. I tried a few unlocking spells, and a Bombarda." The other man stares open-mouthed.
"Damn."
"Yes." His tongue lingers on the last syllable and he steps away. He needs the man to do his work so he can get back to pointedly ignoring what he's been dubbing his "Potter problem."
"All right." Dean closes his eyes, feels the threads of magic woven together like a blanket around the room. He begins to pick them away, one at a time, until there's one he is unfamiliar with. At this point, he's sweating and kneeling in front of the door. Draco is back to biting his nail and leaning against the opposite wall. When he sees Dean pause, Draco knows better than to speak, even though every part of him wants to know what's going on.
"This is something I've not encountered before." Dean's hands drop to his thighs and his shoulders round forward. Deep, heaving breaths come in and out.
"Can you finish it?"
"I've barely begun." He waves a hand at the door and laughs. "Do you have a savant or something in there?"
"More like a drunk pain my ass." This earns him another confused look. "Look, can you keep going or do we need someone else?"
"There's only one person that can do something like this. He happens to be someone you know very well."
"Fuck."
"Yes."
"Fine." Dean sits back and Draco heads to the Floo. When the other side answers, the conversation is clipped. "I'm calling in the favor. Now."
"What do you need?"
"Get over here. I'll explain it then."
"Five minutes."
More pacing; his nail is down to the irritated flesh and he hesitates only briefly before attacking another. Draco hasn't seen this man for several years, even though they both work at the Ministry. Sometimes, words carry far more worth than anyone can know. He'd chosen the wrong ones. When a cloaked figure steps through, Draco pauses, turns, and waits.
"What do you need?" The words glide along his skin. A shiver ripples across his chest and his nipples harden before he remembers he hasn't put a shirt on. Draco is glad for the low light in the room then, as his blush fades quickly.
"There is someone warded in my library. Thomas couldn't get him out. Said we needed an unspeakable." A nod is all he gets before Blaise walks past him. He knows the way.
Blaise greets Dean in a polite, but cold manner. Dean is just glad for the break and continues resting against the wall. When the hallway fills with magic, Draco and Dean close their eyes and brace against it. It is a full-out assault on the wards around the room and while the words said are incomprehensible from where they stand, Draco is curious as to the spells being cast. He tries to step closer, but Dean pulls him back. The air grows thicker, more difficult to breathe. Blaise's magic is crackling across their skin and they jump as a door hinge lurches away from the frame in protest. The wards are holding everything together and Draco will have to repair the damage afterward.
Everything bows inward for a solitary breath, then exhales as the magic releases—that of Blaise and Harry. The destruction is fantastic. Draco rushes forward but is halted by a steady arm in front of his waist.
"Let me check for more." Draco gives a curt nod, allowing Blaise to enter the room. Dust settles around them.
One of the doors flew into the hallway and one is partially bent toward the room. Many of the shelves near the door are unsettled and their contents lay on the floor. Blaise returns from the room with pursed lips.
"He's asleep at the table."
"I—"
"I don't want to know. We're done." The finality in the words strike Draco like a fist. Blaise turns on one heel and disappears, leaving Dean and Draco in the doorway to the library.
Draco takes another deep breath. "What the fuck has he gotten himself into now?"
Draco moves into the room, wary of debris littered across the floor. As he approaches the sleeping man, Draco holds out his wand. Surrounding him are hundreds of books on some of the darkest magic the Malfoy library can offer. Most are open, though some have obviously been tossed to the side. There are stacks upon stacks of tomes pulled and scattered in his vicinity. The book he'd been reading is beneath his open mouth. Drool seeps into the pages, thankfully not smearing any of the imperturbable ink.
"Harry?" Draco can smell the alcohol wafting from the pickled wizard.
Dean inhales sharply. "Is that—" One look shuts the other man up.
"Harry. Wake the fuck up." He shakes the sleeping wizard and watches, disgustedly, as Harry falls off his chair. "Merlin save me. I might kill him myself."
"Draco?"
"May I help you, Dean? I'm kind of in the middle of something?" It's a question, though he didn't intend it to be.
"What is Harry Potter doing locking himself in your library?" His voice rises a bit, unsure of what his world has just become.
"He's not who everyone thinks he is. Even himself." Draco reaches down to grab the unconscious man-child. When he is unsuccessful at picking him up off the floor, Draco calls for Tovo. She appears instantly.
"How can Tovo help Master Draco?" Her eyes lock on Harry and wince.
"Get him to bed." She nods sadly, disapparating them to Harry's chambers. "Thank you, Dean. I will see you," Draco glances at his watch, "in a few hours." Dean nods and lets himself out.