No Light Without Shadows
by Draeconin
See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.
Chapter Three
'Malfoy should have had time to get back to The Leaky Cauldron by now,' Harry thought, so giving up on finding the 'King and Crown', he left Knockturn Alley. There wasn't enough time left before lunch to make studying in his vaults under Gringotts worthwhile, so he headed to The Leaky Cauldron. Draco wasn't there yet, so Harry practised willing the new wand into his hand a few times and tried to get the feel of it, casting several small charms, which were at least ten times stronger than they had been with his old wand (and causing him to wonder if the ability of his holly wand to conduct power had been damped – a wand being only a focussing and power conducting tool without any power of its own), then busied himself with transferring his things from his old trunk to the new one, along with the purchases he'd made. All of Dudley's cast-offs were tossed with alacrity into the dust bin, of course.
Once done with that chore, Harry cast Tempus; it was gone noon, and Malfoy still hadn't returned. Walking down to the pub's common room, Harry asked Tom if he'd seen the blond. He hadn't. A little worried now, Harry returned to Diagon Alley and made his way to Knockturn Alley, keeping a sharp eye out for the blond Slytherin all the while. While he did spot a few familiar faces from Hogwarts, most of whose names he didn't know, he didn't see Draco anywhere along the way. He'd have to find the 'King and Crown' after all, and hope that Malfoy was just being stubborn.
Harry drew more than his fair share of strange looks as he strode down Knockturn Alley, despite his hat. Evidently it wasn't the disguise he'd wished it to be. He didn't have far to go. The 'King and Crown' was just across the street and a bit further down from the alley where the wand shop was located. Once he was inside, he asked after Draco's room – and got just as far as he'd expect someone to get if they asked Tom if he were staying at The Leaky Cauldron. Nowhere. Never heard of the bloke, in fact.
Disappointed but undeterred, Harry retreated to the inn's common room and waited until the clerk was busy. He then wandered up and leaned on the counter, ostensibly waiting for the clerk to have time for him, but quickly scanning the registry. Draco's unmistakable script was visible about a third of the way down the sheet – room twenty-three. Having found what he was looking for, Harry slowly wandered around the lobby, then quickly ducked up the stairs.
He found the room on the second floor. The door was ajar: only a half-inch or less, but it was alarming because Malfoy wouldn't be that careless. Using the tip of his wand – the legal one – he pushed the door open. The room had been quite thoroughly and, from the look of it, hurriedly tossed. Draco was crumpled up on the floor in the midst of the mess, a largish bump on his head and a rivulet of blood having run down the side of his face before drying.
"Malfoy!" Harry knelt quickly by the Slytherin's side after that outburst, gripping the blond's arm. He was relieved to find it warm: and more so when he determined that the younger Malfoy was breathing. He was about to cast 'Enervate' when he bethought himself, and exchanged his legal wand for the other. Even if he could legally cast spells now, he didn't know if his wand was still being tracked, and it wouldn't do for him to be known to be in Knockturn Alley. But remembering how that simple 'Lumos' and the other small spells he'd cast had acted as he practised, Harry cut the power he used in his Enervate to about a quarter of what he'd normally use.
Draco gasped, and opened his eyes.
It turned out that rather than being anything more nefarious, it was only a simple robbery, although that could have gone much worse than it had – and they often did. Draco's clothing was strewn all over the room, scattered about along with his other belongings. But after ascertaining that Draco hadn't had anything too terribly important with him, and allowing the younger Malfoy a cursory search to ascertain what was missing (anything small, easily hidden on the person, and worth more than ten sickles that wouldn't be too easily identified if sold elsewhere)1, he almost forced the blond to a nearby medical practice – which was almost a necessity in a place like Knockturn Alley.
Draco's injury turned out to be caused by a hex that should have killed him but had been badly aimed, and had only glanced off his head. The medi-wizard proclaimed that the damage was minor, and within fifteen minutes had healed the injury with a potion and a couple of quick spells. He then turned to Harry.
"Why are you wearing those things on your face?" he asked bluntly. The man's demeanour was so blunt and self-assured it bordered on rude. The medi-wizard rather reminded Harry of Snape, except the potions master totally ignored the border and invaded the country in force, and with extreme prejudice.
"I can't see without them," Harry replied, feeling startled and a bit defensive.
"Spell damage?" the medi-wizard asked brusquely.
"I don't think so, just—"
"An affectation, then," the man said dismissively. "Knowing who you are, do you really think it wise to trust your sight to Muggle artefacts which can break or be knocked away?"
Harry was more than half angry with the man's rudeness by then. He had a point, but, "I don't trust magic with my eyes; what if I wound up blind?"
The man snorted. "Muggle nonsense! I've never heard of anyone being blinded by eye correction! But they're your eyes, boy. If you want to trust your life to those Muggle contraptions, fine."
Harry had never heard it put quite that way before. Yes, his friends had urged him to have his eyes corrected, but this was a professional – someone who knew what he was talking about. But could he trust him? Brusque to the point of rudeness he might be, but the medi-wizard seemed trustworthy enough. Someone trying to trick him would have been a lot nicer about it . . . wouldn't they?
"Draco?" Harry didn't know why he was asking the irascible blond for an opinion, but he couldn't quite make up his mind.
"Why ask me, Potter?" the blond in question asked snidely.
"Could you try not being a prat, for once?" Harry demanded exasperatedly.
Draco shrugged. "They're ugly, they keep slipping down your face, and I have no idea how you manage to fly without losing them, let alone do anything else," he opined. "You've lost them several times during our fights," Draco pointed out.
The medi-wizard's eyebrows went up a bit at that, but he remained silent. The blond boy might just help him get some more business. It was a fairly quiet time of day right now. Most of their business occurred after nightfall: thankfully, his partner's shift.
Harry nodded, although it was usually Crabbe or Goyle who had knocked his spectacles off. Still feeling torn, he reluctantly asked the man, "What do you have to do?"
The medi-wizard told Harry about the process, and after getting his acquiescence, cast a diagnostic spell on each of Harry's eyes, taking notes of the findings. He looked up from perusing those notes. "Actually," he said, "you do have some spell damage: quite old. Probably from that," he continued, with a sharp nod at the scar on Harry's forehead. "Nothing that can't be corrected, but it's likely to hurt like buggery."
"I wouldn't know," Harry replied, with a sly look at Draco.
It was a lie, actually. He'd experimented with a couple of other boys his age, but while he didn't mind bottoming, he definitely preferred to top. He liked having control – something which he had sadly lacked in his life.
Draco promptly and angrily blushed, then hissed,"I hope it's worse," although it hadn't been that bad, really – especially not the second time. And although his butt ached, he could see himself wanting it again: not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. He dearly wanted to get up and walk out, but he didn't want to have to deal with his wreck of a room alone. What if his attacker came back?
Harry just grinned and turned back to the medi-wizard, who was trying to keep his own face expressionless. "How long will it take?" Harry asked.
"The first thing I'll have to do is clear the residual spell energy, then re-check your eyes, and then use the correction spell, so . . . a bit over an hour, I would think."
"And the cost?"
"Seventeen Galleons."
Harry considered it, then gave a decisive nod. Clearing the residual spell energy alone would be worth it. Why Dumbledore hadn't had anyone do it before now... Harry shoved that thought aside for the moment. It was another possible point against the man, but he'd think about it later.
"Do it," Harry directed, taking a page out of the medi-wizard's book. The man looked a bit taken aback by Harry's brusqueness, giving Harry a bit of satisfaction, but got right to work.
The combination potion and spell to clear the residual spell energy made Harry dizzy, his head ache, and his remaining sight to go dim. Not to mention that, like most potions, this one tasted horrid. Harry was truly afraid that he was going to lose his sight when it darkened, but the medi-wizard reassured him, and in less than twenty minutes the effects started to lift. Five minutes later it was over, and Harry felt more alert than he could ever before remember having felt. Alert – clear-headed – almost the same as when he'd been consumed by that cold anger, but without the anger.
But before Harry could contemplate that for very long, the medi-wizard was again casting diagnostic spells at Harry's eyes. He frowned. "That cleared up quite a lot of the residual, but not quite all, I'm afraid," he pronounced. "Nor do I think it's within my power to do so. What's there is rather . . . persistent." He looked at Harry quite seriously. "If you'd rather wait, you can get your sight corrected after someone else attempts to clear the residual energy."
Harry frowned. "Would it make a difference?"
It was the medi-wizard's turn to frown as he concentrated on the question. "I don't believe so, no," he finally answered.
"Then we may as well finish the job," Harry replied. That the medi-wizard had voiced doubts and offered to postpone the treatment reassured Harry, actually. Someone intent on harm wouldn't likely have done so.
The medi-wizard pulled out one of many drawers that turned out to be filled with potions bottles, and started searching through them.
"Ah! Here we are!" the medi-wizard said with an air of triumph, having pulled out one of the bottles. Turning to Harry, he directed, "Drink this, please."
Harry drank the potion which, aside from the usual bad flavour, tasted a little stale. Once he had, though, the medi-wizard spoke again.
"Now we just need to activate it." So saying, the man cast yet another spell – twice – once at each eye. It was the same spell, but there was a slight variation on the vocal stresses.
Harry, knowing that how a spell was spoken could affect how some spells acted (or if they worked at all), assumed that his eyes had different prescriptions and needed different adjustments. When he asked, the medi-wizard agreed.
Harry glanced at Malfoy, and was surprised by the intense look on the blond's face. Draco immediately sneered and turned away, but Harry was left wondering what that look had been about. He had looked to see how Malfoy was faring, and was satisfied that the blond had looked well enough now, but...
But then a feeling as though ants were crawling over his eyes caught his attention.
"Ah, Doctor . . . Smythe, is it? My eyes itch," Harry complained.
"Nothing to worry about. That's normal. Do let me know if it starts hurting, though."
"What would that mean?" Harry asked worriedly. The itching sensation was getting more intense.
"Could mean you'll go blind," the medi-wizard said with a wicked grin. At Harry's look of panic, the man rolled his eyes. "It could mean any number of things; but I've never lost a patient yet, so don't worry about it."
"It's getting really bad," Harry whinged.
"Don't rub them," was the medi-wizard's advice. "I don't want to have to bind your arms to the chair."
A quick look at Malfoy showed Harry that the blond now had an almost malicious grin on his face.
"So the Boy Who Lived is a big baby after all?" Draco sneered.
"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry growled, and was gratified to see Draco shift uncomfortably in his seat only a second or two later.
The itching sensation was getting very intense, now. Harry closed his eyes and gripped the chair arms tightly, his knuckles turning white.
Harry was probably unaware of it, but he had a tendency to growl when he shagged. And Draco had been shagged exactly twice, now – by Harry. Maybe it should have taken longer, but Draco had acquired a bit of a Pavlovian reaction to Harry growling. It went straight to his groin and . . . there – back a bit further. So it was quite natural for him to have to squirm a bit to try to get comfortable after Harry growled at him. That wasn't to say that Draco was all right with it, however. He mightily resented having his body react that way towards Potter. He stared pointedly out the window.
The itching sensation hit a plateau just before Harry swore he was going to go mad and claw his eyes out. A sensation of warmth suffused his whole body, and then the discomfort started to slowly seep away.
"Merlin!" Harry exclaimed when he was finally comfortable again. "No wonder Dumbledore wears glasses. That was brutal!"
The medi-wizard was busy with a drunkard that had come in with a minor stab wound by that time, but he told Harry to wait for a final check before he left.
"Well, let's have a look then, Potter," Draco drawled. He was looking forward to taking the Gryffindor down a peg with a shot about his looks, regardless of whether Potter looked better without them. And having seen Harry without them just that morning as they shagged, he knew getting rid of those awful frames would appear to improve the young man's looks threefold.
That thought made him rather uncomfortable.
Harry looked at the blond and was struck by how much more clearly he could see: how many more details than he'd been able to see before. Evidently his old spectacles could have done with a change.
Draco, for his part, was struck dumb when Harry's gold eyes pierced him. They weren't the amber colour that most people called gold, but a true metallic hue. To his relief, however, the colour began to change, reverting to the Gryffindor's usual green – except for a thin, almost unnoticeable rim of gold around the outside of the iris that one would only notice if you were staring at his eyes – which Draco realised he was doing. Even their normal colour, without his spectacles, was intense – riveting.
Tearing his eyes away, Draco looked over to the medi-wizard. 'I wish he'd hurry,' Draco thought. He was in a rush to leave. The room had become uncomfortably warm, for some reason. Not having known anyone who had their sight corrected before, he didn't know if such colour changes were normal or not, but having Harry look at him with those gold coloured eyes had been distinctly disconcerting: not that his uncovered and focused vivid green eyes were much better.
After the medi-wizard had declared Harry's eyesight to be 'well enough' and he'd been paid, Harry and Draco returned to the 'King and Crown'.
Draco surveyed the room with dismay, although he made sure to show nothing more than a blank mask to Harry.
"It's not going to be picked up on its own," Harry remarked.
Draco favoured him with a supercilious sneer, then drew his wand.
Unbeknownst to him, Harry's new wand was already in the Gryffindor's hand, willed there upon Malfoy's first move towards his wand.
"Pack!" Draco incanted. Then while he watched everything fold and fly into the various compartments of his trunk, he commented, "It will all have to be replaced, of course."
"Because . . .?"
"Well, obviously I don't wish to have reminders about."
Harry looked at him. With the quality of clothing the young Malfoy wore, that would cost quite a lot. "You have access to your family vaults?"
Draco sneered. "Of course, Potter."
"Just inquiring, Malfoy," Harry said, irritation in his voice. "You'd do much better to lose the attitude, you know," he added. "Until we're at Hogwarts, I'm the only one watching your back."
"You did a bit more than watch it, as I recall," the Slytherin bitingly replied.
". . ."
Harry tried again. Voice low and dangerous, he said, "Ready for another go already?"
Instead of replying, Draco suddenly spotted something on the other side of the room that needed his personal attention, and he made an angry fuss over it as he went to take care of it.
Harry saw this for the smoke screen it was, and smiled after him with dark satisfaction.
As soon as they were back in Harry's room at The Leaky Cauldron, Harry sat down to the old, worn writing desk to write his promised note to the Order, assuring them that he hadn't yet run afoul of any stray Dark Lords or their killing curses. He expected Malfoy to start settling in.
"Well, Potter?" Draco asked snidely. "Just where in this . . . hovel of a room am I to sleep?"
"There," Harry said absently, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the bed. He was already constructing the letter to the Order in his mind.
"And where will you be sleeping?" the blond asked in the same tones.
Harry looked up at him. "There's only the one bed, Malfoy," he replied in a reasonable tone, knowing full well what Draco's reaction was likely to be.
"I'll be bugger—" Draco started to say angrily, before interrupting himself. "I'll- No," the blond finally said, sitting firmly on his trunk.
If Harry didn't know better, he'd have said Draco was pouting. Glancing at the blond again, he wondered . . . maybe he didn't know better, after all. That certainly looked like a pout. But Draco's defensive move to protect his arse tickled Harry's sense of humour, and he smirked knowingly at the young man, who didn't seem to realise that his cheeks were pinking. Harry thought of making a remark along the lines of 'that horse has already bolted', but refrained. Instead, he said, "You can share the bed with me, or you can sleep on the rug: your choice."
Draco stood. "They can't have let my room at the 'King and Crown', yet," he said, picking up his trunk.
"Put it down," Harry told him gently, but firmly. When Draco only stood there, Harry said, "You're safer with me than on your own – obviously, after you were robbed today – and not knowing if you have any of your father's 'associates' looking for you, two pairs of eyes and two wands are better than one."
Draco put the trunk down. It had nothing to do with what Potter had said. After all, he was quite capable of taking care of himself – most of the time – but had everything to do with what Potter hadn't said. Potter hadn't used the fact of the triple vow against him. He wasn't a slave, and his free will hadn't been tampered with, but he had sworn himself to Potter. If the bond had been anything but voluntary, something might be done about it. But it was voluntary, the circumstances notwithstanding. Draco winced, mentally. The circumstances probably made the whole thing a bit more complicated. Without realising he was doing so, Draco slowly rubbed his bum. Of course the wording he'd used – 'irrevocably' – didn't help, either.
"Sore?" Harry asked. He tried to sound solicitous, but he was fighting a smug vindictiveness while trying to do so.
Draco's head whipped around, his eyes glaring, having heard the underlying tones. The truth was, he was sore, a bit – maybe more than a bit. Harry wasn't lacking in the genital department. But he wasn't about to admit it. "Just wondering how many other people you've raped, Potter," he snapped.
Harry laughed, although there didn't seem to be any mirth in it.
Draco stared in shock, fighting to keep emotion from his face. The old Potter would have gone ballistic over that remark. Even Draco had to admit there wasn't much truth in his allegation, since sex had been the objective – he'd just wound up in the wrong position – but it was just the sort of thing that would have had the old Potter feeling guilty, and angry about it. Which is why he had said it, of course.
"Would it have been rape if you had succeeded in fucking me, Malfoy?" Harry demanded with a fierce grin, daring the blond to say the wrong thing.
Someone knocked on the door, saving Draco from having to reply.
Both young men drew their wands as Harry went to answer the door.
Throwing the door open, a hex ready on his lips, Harry was flabbergasted by who was on the other side of it. "Mister Weasley?"
The redheaded man looked at Harry, and then down at the wand that was still pointing at him. "Is that necessary?" he asked.
Harry looked down at his wand blankly, as though surprised to see it there. Then he blushed and put it away. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. "You're just about the last person I expected to see. Kingsley, Snape, Moody . . . but not you. What are you doing here?"
Arthur Weasley looked over Harry's shoulder, intending to ask if he could enter and looking to see what the seating arrangements were, and froze. "What is he doing here?" he asked tensely.
Harry looked around to see Draco still pointing his wand at the redheaded man, a look of disdain on his face.
"He's not going to attack you, Malfoy," he said in the same tones one would take with a frightened four-year-old. "You can put your wand away, now."
Draco shot him an angry glare before facing the newcomer again. "I'm here because Potter likes angry sex!" he shot at the surprised man.
Harry closed his eyes, fighting for control of his temper, then opened them and stepped aside, motioning that the man should come in. "You may as well come in; I think you're going to be here for a while," he said. He did not want to have this conversation with the door open, for everyone to hear. He was angry that Draco couldn't keep his big gob shut, but he should have known better, and was now resigned that the figurative cat was out of the bag. There would be no way to hide from the questions he was sure the blond's remark had engendered.
Harry waved Arthur to the desk chair, and sat on the bed.
"Well?" the man inquired.
"Potter—" Draco began, but was interrupted.
"I'll tell this!" Harry snapped.
Draco looked mutinous for a moment, and then saw where there might be some humour in the situation. Potter was going to tell one of his 'family' about having gay sex with the enemy? He settled back into his seat on his trunk to enjoy the show, a small smirk on his face.
Harry looked at the blond suspiciously, but, face blazing, he started telling his tale. He glossed over the sex as much as he could, but of course Malfoy couldn't let him get away with that, and made a few terse comments of his own.
". . . and then the next morning I was watching Malfoy sleep and remembered—"
"You were . . . watching him sleep," Arthur repeated disbelievingly.
"Likely planning my demise," Draco inserted, sotto voce.
Harry and Mister Weasley ignored him.
"That's right," Harry said in response to Arthur, "and I remembered reading about a triple vow bond thing in one of Trelawney's textbooks."
"How did you get him to make a triple vow?" Arthur asked, amazed.
"He is sitting right here, I'll remind you," Draco said acerbically.
Mister Weasley turned his head and looked at the blond. "Well, then?" he prompted.
Draco opened his mouth to reply and blushed, turning speechless. There was no way he was going to reveal his folly – especially not to a Weasley! "I don't see how that's any of your business," he finally said.
Arthur looked back to Harry whose face was, if anything, brighter than Draco's.
"I'd rather not say," was Harry's reply.
"Again?" the man said, reading into the reactions of the two boys. "Harry – son – once might be excused as adrenalin and hormones . . . but twice?"
Harry gave a barely perceptible nod. He might be a bit peeved with Ron right now, but he still considered him and the rest of the Weasley family as the closest thing he'd ever have to a 'real' family, and Harry was very worriedly wondering if he'd just put his position in that family in jeopardy.
Arthur looked from one boy to the next, and back. He was rather surprised to find out that the boy he and his family had accepted into their affections was a homosexual, but it didn't really matter . . . although Ginny might be disappointed. But that he'd chosen a Malfoy as a bed partner... "What was the vow?" he inquired.
"Harry, if you dare—" came the panicked, threatening tones from Draco.
"That he was mine," Harry said at the same time.
"Yours," Arthur repeated blankly, processing the possible implications. The Triple Vow was simple, but it didn't work unless you truly meant what you were saying.
Harry nodded.
Face blazing, Draco got up and strode to the door, but didn't get a chance to open it.
"Who was on top?" was the man's next question.
Hearing it, Draco froze in his tracks. He didn't dare look at the tableau behind him, and was waiting for the words that would totally ruin him.
Gobsmacked to the point of being unable to speak, Harry slowly, and with great trepidation, raised his hand.
Arthur got up and started slowly pacing the room as he thought. "And it was a triple vow bond? You felt the magic activate?"
Harry slowly nodded his head, wondering what was coming next.
Arthur strode up to Harry and slapped him on the back. "Good job!" he said with a grin, and headed for the door.
Harry felt his mouth drop open. He closed it with difficulty.
"What?" Draco exclaimed in outrage, whirling back to face the man. "Potter practically rapes me, and you say 'good job'?"
Mister Weasley levelled a cool gaze at the blond boy. "There's a world of difference between 'practically' and 'did', Mister Malfoy. Could rather have gone the other way as well, couldn't it? Would you have called it rape then? And now you can't be forced to take the Dark Mark against your will – or with it."
Draco looked at the man wide-eyed, only his vaunted self-control keeping him from gaping. "How— How did you know about that?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "I only told Potter," he added, sending an accusing glare Harry's way.
Harry shook his head, denying the silent accusation. Draco didn't look like he believed him. Harry knew that Arthur was part of the Order of the Phoenix, of course, and had probably been informed by Snape, their spy in Voldemort's camp, but he couldn't tell Draco that.
But with the reminder of Draco's defection, he decided that it would be best to finish up his business in Diagon Alley as soon as possible. As much he hated the thought, it might be a good idea to go to Twelve Grimmauld Place. There were just too many 'ifs', and too many of those could lead to life-threatening situations.
"That doesn't matter," Arthur told Draco firmly. "What does matter is that with this new development, you're now under protection."
"Which reminds me," he added, turning to Harry, "of the reason I stopped by in the first place. There's a little matter of a note?"
A bit dazed by now, it took Harry a moment to catch on to what Mister Weasley was referring. "I was just sitting down to write it when you arrived," he replied, gesturing to the desk, where the writing materials were set out, clearly awaiting use.
"Good. A bit earlier in the day would be appreciated though, Harry. We worry about you."
"Do I still need to write it?"
Arthur winked at him with a grin. "I have the evidence of my own eyes, haven't I? Now be safe, and don't be a stranger, right?"
Harry got up and hugged the man, then stepped back. "Thank you, Mister Weasley. For caring."
Arthur shrugged, then looked at Draco. "Are you that enamoured of my company, Mister Malfoy?" he asked pointedly, his voice notably cooler.
Draco glared at him, but stepped away from the door.
"Don't do anything stupid, young man," was Arthur's parting shot at the blond.
"I have no intention of having seven children," Draco riposted.
Mister Weasley paused momentarily as his posture became rigid; then, back straight, he shut the door firmly behind him and continued down the corridor.
"That wasn't exactly the brightest thing you've ever done," Harry told Draco stiffly. "You don't have many supporters."
Draco shrugged indifferently. "If my life depended on his sort, I'd be as good as dead anyway."
Harry couldn't explain what a mistake Draco had made without telling him things he shouldn't know, so as frustrated as it made him, he kept quiet. He started putting away his writing supplies. "You may as well start getting settled in," he said, his intonation making it clear that he was in a mood – one that might get Draco slammed into a wall if there were any difficulties about it. He then went back to studying the potions text again. He was about half-way through it by this time.
Draco tried to be indifferent about it, but it bothered him – a little . . . a very little . . . hardly at all, in fact – that Harry was upset with him. But that he cared what Harry thought of him even a little bit made him upset with himself, and he started slamming things around as he unpacked what he needed.
Draco was a master of the art of denial. He cared far more than he was willing to admit.
Harry ignored his snit, and that made Draco even more upset.
"Potter!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Malfoy?"
"Are you planning to starve me to death?"
"Pft!" Harry scoffed. "But it's no wonder you're hungry. I am, too. We missed lunch."
"Very observant of you," Draco drawled.
"Don't blame me, Malfoy; I wasn't the one who was attacked and robbed."
"Yes, that was brilliant of me, wasn't it?" Draco sneered sarcastically.
Harry twisted around in his seat and glared at the blond. "Is there a reason for this, or are you just having your daily entertainment?"
Draco stared, and swallowed. Harry's eyes had gone gold again. "Potter," he began carefully, "were you aware that your eyes are gold instead of green?"
It wasn't the first time since Mister Weasly had shown up, actually, but nobody had noticed at the time, being caught up in their own thoughts and feelings.
Distracted, Harry exclaimed, "What?" disbelievingly. "Stop trying to change the subject," he angrily directed.
"Look in a mirror," Draco insisted.
Doubtful, but curious, Harry got up and walked over to a mirror. But by the time he got there, his eyes had reverted to their normal green.
"Very funny, Malfoy," Harry said sarcastically. However, he'd now had time to calm down, so, "Let's go down and get a sandwich," he suggested.
Although very frustrated by not being believed, Draco knew he'd have to wait and hope he could vindicate himself at a later time. He also hoped that the next time, he wouldn't be the focus of those eyes. They made him shiver, and not in a nice way. Not that Harry made him shiver in a nice way, of course. Potter. He meant 'Potter'. Not 'Harry'.
o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o
1: Yes, I know: but shrinking spells take time, something an opportunistic thief wouldn't want to take too much of.
A/N: I did some research on the Harry Potter Lexicon. Seems the Ministry of Magic is pretty lax about under age magic overall, and only closely monitors Little Whinging due to 'previous circumstances'. Also, while they can tell that magic has been used, including what spell it was, they can't tell who cast the spell.
o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o
A 'thank you' goes out to my betas: Sheree, Ishe Leigh, and Julie, and a special 'thank you' to Andrew for his help in correcting my Americanisms.