20th July, 2005 -Wednesday
Draco rolled out of bed before dawn and slipped out of the house. He was feeling much better after a good night's sleep, and most of the potions had run their courses and taken their wretched side effects with them.
Pansy was not pleased at being awakened at such an early hour, but the promise of hot tea and scones served to silence her complaints. They popped into an out-of-the-way café and got the tea in paper cups and the scones in parchment packets.
Outside of their destination, Draco gulped the last of his still-hot tea and then Vanished the cup. "Pretty standard wards," he commented.
"The arrogant ones always have shite wards. They think their own egos will protect them."
Draco thought her observation was spot-on, for the most part, although there had been exceptions. Not this time, however. A few carefully chosen spells later and the last of the defensive wards surrounding the property fell without a whisper of alarm.
"I'll be right back. Stay alert."
She made a noncommittal noise and slurped at her tea. Draco gripped his wand solidly and headed inside.
Quentin Quartermain was even less pleased than Pansy had been to be awakened before daylight. He sat up with a bluster of nonsense and reached for his wand—which was safely in Draco's robes.
He glared. "What do you want?"
"Quentin! How nice of you to finally wake up. I would make you some tea, but you won't be needing it."
"Get out of my house. Spotty!" Quartermain yelled and swung his legs out of bed.
"Your house-elf won't be coming. I sent him on an errand. A well-paid errand, I assure you." He smirked at that. In support of Granger's pet house-elf freedom bill, the entire Ministry had been forced to free their house-elves. The poor confused things had no idea whom to obey and were easy targets for suggestion. It had made home invasion so much easier for Draco. "Ah ah ah! Stay right there. There is no need for you to trouble yourself by getting out of bed. We can chat right here." Draco had pulled up a chair before awakening Quartermain and he didn't bother to uncross his legs as he lifted his wand.
"Bugger that. I'm getting—"
Draco's Cruciatus sent Quartermain sprawling back into his blankets with a loud shriek. It was impressive enough that Draco wondered if the man had ever suffered a Crucio in his life.
Quartermain scrambled into a sitting position once Draco relented. His eyes and hair had gone wild and his jaw hung slackly until he recovered some semblance of poise. "What the fuck? What do you want?"
It was funny how a little pain could crack through a veneer of entitled snobbery and bring even the mighty down to a more human level.
"I just want to talk, Quentin. Have a little conversation, man to man. I get the impression that you don't like me much."
Quartermain seemed about to speak and then changed his mind. His face pinched as though he held a mouthful of lemons, but the lingering sting of the Cruciatus probably stoppered the vitriol that itched to spew forth.
"I would assume, as the Minister's Undersecretary, that you enjoy your position. I would expect that you prefer not to jeopardise that by behaving stupidly. Apparently, those assumptions are incorrect, are they not?"
"I don't know what you are talking about." Quartermain spoke coldly and although he remained in the bed, he drew his feet up under the blankets and arranged himself in something of a studied pose, attempting to look as in-control as possible.
"It seems a pity that you never married. Most likely you regret that now, or at least wish that you had picked up some foolish political groupie with aspirations of grandeur. You might have been slightly more difficult to catch off-guard with a bed mate present." Draco threw back his head and laughed. "Only joking. It would have been just as simple, since you are not the strongest core in the wand. It would, however, have created a troublesome witness. Tell me, how did you come to be at The Lockbox? The very place I was tucked away for my own safety, although we all know how that turned out. What were you doing there?"
Quartermain's jaw sagged and then worked open and closed a couple of times. Draco tapped the end of his wand on his own knuckles, mentally humming the words to a childhood tune in order to calm his growing annoyance. Quartermain stared at the wand and his Adam's apple worked as he swallowed. "How… how did I come to be there?"
"I speak perfectly clearly, Quentin. How. Did you come. To be. There. It's quite simple."
"I… I arrived with the Minister, of course!"
Draco sat forwards and fixed him with a glare as his fingers tightened on his wand. "Incorrect."
"What do you mean? Of course I arrived with—"
"Only a handful of people know its location! Shacklebolt himself gave me the tour when I arrived and you were not there. He looked damned surprised to see you when your unconscious body was dragged in. Don't think I didn't notice that. Even Potter had no idea where it was." Draco was not certain of the last, since Harry had managed to find him, after all, but his purpose was to convince Quartermain to speak.
Quartermain sneered, apparently spurred into outrage that overrode his newfound caution. "Potter! That glorified, reluctant would-be Auror! Of course he didn't know!"
"Potter's earned his glory, which is more than I can say for you. Shacklebolt trusts him implicitly, and yet it seems the Minister's Undersecretary is privy to sensitive information that even Potter doesn't know."
"You cannot believe some fledgling Auror should be given more knowledge than someone so near to the Minister's right hand! I don't care if Potter's earned his glory or not! That whole He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named nonsense was blown completely out of proportion and sensationalised by the press! Who even knows if Potter—"
Draco rose half out of his seat, tempted to hex the bastard into a puddle of unrecognisable slime. The strain of the past few days, combined with blood loss, the aftereffects of torture, and conflicting potions side effects made Draco aware that he was walking the knife-edge of losing control, but at the moment he didn't care. "Blown out of proportion?" he asked softly. "Curious that you should put it that way, considering the Dark Lord never lived in your house."
"I can't say I'm surprised at that. Lucius Malfoy was known for welcoming some strange bedfellows." Quartermain's flippant derision was like a slap in the face.
Draco saw red and he nearly leapt from the chair, but he forced himself to remember the purpose of his visit. He relaxed back into his seat on willpower alone and smiled, even though it felt like the false grin on a caricature of death. "My father is not a topic open for discussion. We were talking about how you were made aware of the location of the safe house in Wales."
Quartermain seemed to have recovered his aplomb and he made a sound of disgust. "I told you, Kingsley—"
"—did not tell you. You were not on the list of need-to-know and you had no reason to be there that day unless you were sent. Now tell me who gave you that information and why you were there!"
"You are grasping at straws, Malfoy. Your criminal activity has made you paranoid."
Draco counted slowly downwards from ten. "Paranoid? Interesting you should use that word. You see, from the day I walked into the Ministry, you were keen to have me thrown into Azkaban or killed. Since I had no recollection of ever dealing with you before, it made me curious. Why so eager to have me locked away? What were you hiding?"
Quartermain blanched. "They should never have let you out."
"I did some digging, of course. You have quite the sketchy past, don't you, Quentin? Not as platinum-pure as you pretend, by a longshot. Shacklebolt would be rather surprised by several of them, I think."
"Is it blackmail, then? That's why you're here?" Quartermain twitched as though he would leave the bed, but Draco's warning lift of the wand stayed him.
"I have enough information to blackmail you six times over, but what I am here for is the name. Who sent you to Wales and why? Did they expect Crabbe to go mad with bloodlust—which would have been wise considering how things turned out—and become reckless? And why you? I was surprised to see someone so high in the Ministry echelons, I will admit, but your bumbling method of wandering onto the scene told me that you were nothing but a hired lackey. You were paid with a villa in France, I believe?" Draco shook his head and clucked his tongue. "You probably should have done a bit more research before accepting that bribe. It's not in the best location."
Quartermain paled and pulled at the collar of his sleeping robe. He focussed on a point over Draco's shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Then allow me to jar your memory. Crucio!"
Quartermain screamed and twisted. It was rather satisfying to see the man's torment when Draco thought back to the pain he'd suffered at Crabbe's hands, but he hadn't come for petty revenge. When Quartermain reached the incoherent stage, Draco relented and got to his feet to approach the bed.
"Give me the name."
"I don't know! I don't know!" Quartermain no longer looked arrogant. His nose dripped snot and he sobbed in great gulps of air as he strove to right himself on the mangled bed. Half of the blankets had tumbled to the floor with the pillows. Quartermain's eyes were red and weeping.
"You don't know the name? I find that hard to believe. Perhaps I need to jar your memory again."
"No!" Quartermain lifted a hand as if to ward off the anticipated spell. "No! I don't have a name. It was a note! Always an anonymous note! This one had the address in Wales and instructed me only to 'Make certain Crabbe does his job.' I don't even know what it meant!"
"Oh, you know what it meant."
"I know that they—whomever they are—want you silenced. They want you stopped."
"Yes, we already had a nice chat whilst I was tied up and being tortured. However, that notion seems to have backfired. I have no intention of being silenced." Draco frowned, realising that Quartermain was a useless dead end, just another tool in the large arsenal of his nebulous enemy.
Quartermain seemed aware of what he had revealed. He wiped his nose on the shaking sleeve of one arm. "What…what do you plan to do now?"
Draco sighed. "Obliviation is such an inexact magic. I hope I don't accidentally remove all of your memories. That would be a pity, now wouldn't it? You might not even recall the location of your new French villa."
"Ob…obliviation?"
Draco gave him a nasty smile as he lifted his wand. "Not really. This is for my parents, you son of a bitch. Avada Kedavra."
The green jet slammed into Quartermain and Draco turned, feeling no satisfaction but only a growing sense of despair. Even revenge had grown pointless and unsatisfying. He couldn't bring back his parents or Blaise, and he'd grown to learn that trying to wipe the slate simply left other marks behind.
He walked outside and accepted Pansy's embrace. She always seemed to know when he needed comfort. "It's done," he said. "Can you call Christine and have her take care of this? I'll owe her a bloody new wardrobe for this one, so feel free to take her shopping after."
Pansy pulled away with an avaricious glint in her eyes. "Shopping?"
"You cannot have a new wardrobe. But get yourself something nice." Draco watched as she smirked and turned to skip towards the house he'd just left. "Within reason!" he yelled.
"Of course, darling!" She disappeared inside and Draco Disapparated to seek out his next unsuspecting appointment.
oooOooo
Harry woke to find the house empty, which seemed bizarre. He didn't expect either Parkinson or Draco to be morning people, and yet they were already gone despite the early hour. There was no note and he tried not to be alarmed, wondering where they had gone. He wasn't Draco's keeper, after all, and the man was obviously quite good at taking care of himself.
He debated going to the Ministry, but instead knew he had to take care of his own personal business. He had put it off long enough and waiting any longer would only make things more difficult.
Even with his decision made, he managed to procrastinate for a couple of hours by cooking and eating breakfast, tidying up the kitchen, and combing through his wardrobe for things he didn't wear anymore. He sent off the last items to a charity that Mrs Weasley was fond of, and then he showered and dressed. After finally succumbing to guilt, he took the Floo to Eddie's flat.
As he'd hoped, by then Eddie was gone.
He walked into his room and looked around. With a start, he realised that he didn't have many personal effects at all. He had moved his belongings in, yes, but not all of them. There were no pictures, no bric-a-brac, and no personal items other than a stack of books he'd promised Hermione that he'd read (and hadn't) and the figurine of Mercury Horowitz in the living room where he'd dropped her after the search for Draco. Harry had a few drawers full of clothing and some toiletries in the bathroom, but even the kitchen disclosed few things that belonged to him: his favourite mug, a wrought-iron wine rack that Eddie had given him as a gift, and a ceramic bowl shaped like a pig into which he liked to toss his spare change and random things from his pockets. It currently held four knuts and two silver sickles, plus a tag reminding him to pick up his spare Auror robes from the cleaners, and a black button that he'd found on the floor several weeks ago that seemed to have no home.
Harry picked up the button and looked at it with a frown. He'd stumbled on it in the bathroom and had tried to match it to several items of clothing without success. It had a bright finish, with a darker black edge. Harry knew none of his clothes had similar buttons, and he hadn't noticed any of Eddie's with anything comparable.
Impulsively, he took the button and marched into Eddie's room. Feeling like he'd acquired an important clue, he rapidly flicked through each of Eddie's hanging garments. Shirt after shirt, robe after robe; none of them had related buttons. Neither did his waistcoats or tunics. A quick search of Eddie's drawers turned up the same results. The button was an anomaly.
He sat down on Eddie's bed and tried to remember when he'd found it. Before Draco, but how long before? Sometime in May, surely. Just after he'd been gone for four days on that unicorn blood case with Ron. Yes, that was it. Funny how the mind remembered certain random things. He'd been knackered and irritated on his return, and the feeling had been exacerbated by Eddie acting like everything was rosy when it was obvious he was angry, and then Harry had stepped on a button on his way to the shower… It had seemed like a bad sign at the time, although of what he couldn't decide.
Now, though… He clutched the button in his fist. Perhaps it was a sign. Had Eddie been cheating on him whilst he'd been away? Had Harry meant anything to him at all, or had he merely been spying on him, keeping tabs for someone at the Ministry with unknown motives? Was that why he'd never pushed Harry to have sex with him? Had he been role-playing the entire time? Had he ever cared at all?
Harry pushed away from the bed, remembering Draco kissing him, because he had wanted to. Merlin, it all seemed so clear now. Last night, Harry had wanted Draco to kiss him. He had wanted it quite badly. And he supposed it was time he stopped putting other's needs before his own.
Draco would approve, he suspected.
Forty-five minutes later, Harry Apparated home, to Grimmauld Place.
oooOooo
Draco stepped out of the Floo with little more on his mind than the hope of seeking out a strong drink and a soft bed. Harry Potter's stormy expression quelled his anticipation of both, at least for the near future.
"Dare I ask what you are upset about?" Draco brushed the powder from his sleeve and thought momentarily about creating Floo-powder resistant fabric, and basking in the riches such an invention would bring him.
"Where have you been?" Harry demanded.
Draco lifted a brow at him. "Forgive me, darling. I didn't realise I was required to check in."
To his credit, Harry flushed and turned away. "Merlin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Of course you aren't—" He Summoned a teacup with a flick of his hand, probably not even realising he'd done it wandlessly. "I broke up with Eddie."
Draco could not remember the last time he'd been rendered speechless. Normally, he could dredge up words, whether weapons or defensive barbs, at the flash of a Snitch's wing, but he found himself staring at Harry with little more than a strange buzzing sound wafting through his brain.
"I moved out of his place. Kind of cowardly, I admit, as he wasn't home at the time and I left him a note." Harry pushed the cup aside and rested his hands on the countertop. "Bloody hell, that was horrible. I am a complete asshat."
After another three heartbeats, Draco recognised the buzzing sound as cheering. Harry had left Eddie Carmichael. Two heartbeats after that, of course, his intelligence caught up to his libido and he dragged out a chair to catch his arse before he fell down.
"You left him. Of course you did." The bemused sound struck a chord and Draco chuckled. Harry's confused stare broke the floodgates and he began to laugh in earnest. "Merlin, of course you did." Sardonic hopelessness warred with true glee and he could not have suppressed his laughter if he'd been dependent upon it for oxygen. Harry's flashing green eyes only made it worse and Draco had to look away.
"What is so bloody hilarious, you absolute prat?"
Draco couldn't look at him. He couldn't, or he would be laughing for days. Instead, he curled into himself and buried his head in his hands, trying to restrain his chuckles.
"Harry. Harry. If only… If only you knew what I've been through today."
The chair next to him dragged on the wooden floor with a squeal and he focussed on Harry's feet as he sat down next to him. His voice was soft. "Then tell me."
Humour effectively quenched, Draco looked at him. As usual, his green eyes were ridiculously huge through the lenses of his spectacles and Draco found that he wanted nothing more than to drown in them. How easy it would be to place his troubles on Harry's competent shoulders and let someone else take them on, for a change. For a timeless moment or two, it was tempting, but Draco had spent the past five years making himself dependent upon no one for a reason. He stuffed temptation back into the dark cupboard where it belonged and took up his own burden.
"Sometimes I can almost convince myself that you are not real," he said.
Harry's brow wrinkled at his words and then he shook his head and straightened. "You are the most perplexing person alive."
Draco managed a smile. "I know. Salazar, is there food? I haven't eaten all day."
Harry shot to his feet. "All day? What the hell, Draco, can't you even take care of yourself?" He stomped off to the pantry and began to pull out all manner of foodstuffs. Draco could only watch him with a fondness that bordered on something dangerous, something he hadn't felt in a long, long while. At the moment, he didn't even care to rein it in. "What do you want? I have bread, of course, and potatoes, and some weird rice that Hermione bought—how do you even cook rice—and this box of… What is this? Never mind. I have sausages and potatoes… some seasoning. Spaghetti and soy sauce, okay, no, that sounds terrible. Um, let's go back to the sausages and potatoes idea. And I still have eggs. You know, I could go and fetch take away…"
"Sausages and potatoes sounds lovely, Harry." Draco smiled at his suspicious look and he was pleased when Harry's expression softened into a sheepish grin.
"All right, then. I'll just put this together if you'd like to freshen up or whatnot."
"Brilliant." Draco pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door, but then he detoured and leaned against Harry for a moment, and touched his forehead to Harry's unruly mop of hair. He inhaled his delicious scent for a moment and ignored the surprised intake of breath. "Thank you. I'll be back shortly."
He went upstairs to shower and wash away the taint that had surrounded him the entire day. By the end of his toilette, he felt almost human again, and even managed a familiar smirk as he traipsed back downstairs wrapped in one of Harry's thick dressing gowns.
Harry was sat at the table and he looked at Draco without expression for a moment, although his eyes travelled from Draco's head to his bare feet and back up again before he spoke. "Um. It's ready. You take really long showers."
"I had a really long day. Thank you for dinner." Draco sat down and cancelled the Warming Charm on the plate. A delicious smell wafted up and he realised that he was ravenous. He ate carefully, trying not to bolt his food like a hungry wolf.
"Would you like some juice or tea? Wine?"
"A glass of water would be brilliant. And some Firewhiskey."
Harry nodded and padded around, fetching Draco some water and then leaving for a minute or two to pour some alcohol from the bar in the other room. He returned with two old-fashioned glasses, each quarter-filled with amber liquid. He placed one before Draco and sat down with the other.
"Why were you laughing when I told you I've left Eddie? You're not pleased?"
Draco chewed a mouthful and then drank a few gulps of water before wiping his mouth on his napkin. "Pleased. You've no idea how pleased I am. I am bloody ecstatic." He smiled. "It is only the timing that leaves something to be desired. But let us drink to no more Eddie." Draco lifted his whiskey glass and hoped the words were prophetic. Perhaps Eddie Carmichael would simply go away, although the odds of that happening were slim.
Harry hesitated and then clinked his glass gently against Draco's. They both drank and then Harry asked, "Why is the timing bad? What did you do today?"
Draco took a last bite of potato and then pushed his plate away. The meal had been simple, but satisfying, with just the right blend of seasonings. Apparently Harry had hidden talents.
Draco got to his feet and sent the plate and utensils into the sink with a flick of his wand. "Let me wash up for you."
Harry was on his feet and clutching Draco's arm. "No. Leave it for morning. You look exhausted. Let's go sit down and finish our drinks. Maybe talk about something non-life-threatening. Like…bird watching. Have you ever been bird watching?"
Draco snorted, but allowed Harry to tug him towards the next room. "Not unless they were owls and I was awaiting sweets from my mum." He winced at the memory. "But let me go upstairs and put on something a bit warmer. I'll be right back." Truthfully, he didn't trust himself to be so near to Harry clad only in a bath robe.
He fled upstairs and threw on a pair of trousers and a shirt, and then trotted back down to find Harry rubbing his hands before a crackling fire. "This should help warm you," Harry said. Draco smiled his thanks and sat down on the sofa. Harry Summoned two previously-prepared drinks and handed one to Draco as he dropped onto the cushions next to him. Harry kicked off his shoes and curled his feet under himself, leaning on the back of the couch and twisting so that he faced Draco. It was vaguely disconcerting, mainly because Draco wondered how he was meant to stop from kissing him in this position.
He took a gulp of his Firewhiskey and prayed for strength.
~TBC~