Chapter Ten: Talking to Strangers
Auror Rayne stood at the gates that led to the Malfoy properties. When he had accepted Snape's proposal, his partner Daniel Gest had been livid with him.
"They're all a bunch of bloody Slytherins!" The man had raged. "You'll get sacked for sure!"
"I don't care," John had retorted. "You didn't spent that much time with Harry. He's so broken, Dan. It'll be worth it."
"You mean they'll pay you enough for it to be worth it."
John had walked away at that point, not tempting fate or Dan's chin with his fist. He rather liked having two workable hands, since he was sure he'd break something against that rock solid head of his partner's.
But standing at the gates and looking in through the wrought iron rails, he was starting to have second thoughts. The lands looked…dead. Barren. Gloom hung around the entrance and a chill wind had picked up, blowing steadily from the north. It snaked fingers through his clothes, making him shiver.
A soft pop heralded the arrival of a house elf. The miserable creature shook as it stared out at him.
"Has guest have an invitation?" The elf was clothed in tatters. It pulled at its ears, even as the eyes shifted back and forth.
He held it out between the bars. The house elf snatched it from his hand. The eyes lit up.
"Yes, yes! Master Auror Rayne! Come in! Come in!" The elf snapped its fingers. The great gates began to swing open, accompanied by a horrid screeching sound.
He took a deep breath, settled his robes about his shoulders for a bit of a walk and stepped over the property line. A shudder went down his spine, causing the breath in his throat to catch. He came across the wards coughing, his eyes watering from the surprise.
He paused to wipe at his face. When he looked up, he found himself in a far different place than he had imagined. The wards, he shook his head with a disgust at his own innocence. They had a glamour over the wards.
The actual Malfoy estate was green as the lands around it. The rolling park was dotted with trees. The manor rose up in the distance, obscured by the haze of a ground fog. To the right he could see the beginnings of formal gardens and what he could hazard to be a hothouse.
The elf led the way, skipping in front of him. Also protected by the glamour, the house elf was cheery, chipper and a good deal better dressed than he'd first seen. Appearances, it seems, are everything to the Malfoys. He shook his head and forged on. He would have to shake every notion he had about the ancient family from his skull for this to work. He couldn't go in prejudiced.
John had gotten a muggle degree in psychology from a local university before going into the Auror program. He had thought he had been done with the wizarding world for good, until a crime committed by a wizard youth had caught his attention. The boy, he'd read, had been thrown straight into Azkaban with little more than a farce of a trial. That had been the day John Rayne had packed up his London flat and headed back to the wizarding world, determined to make a difference.
What he'd found was a stubborn system, with irrefutable laws and an even more cantankerous judgment system. When he'd joined the Aurors, he'd wanted to implement new ideas, new tactics to help the guilty receive fair trials. What he'd gotten was a number of disciplinary notes in his file and the absence of a raise in his salary for years.
But now, now he had a chance to put the skills he'd gone to school for into practice. Potter had touched something in him, some part of his frightened muggle childhood he had yet to excise. He wanted to help Harry. He wanted to be the one to get the lad back on his feet and ready to face the world.
Especially now, the thought was grim. With the attacks in Ireland spreading like wild fire across the wizarding world, every rumor was being held up as gospel truth. The stirrings of the old families, especially in the Ministry as the vote for the new Minister came closer, were lighting fires under the common folk like John had never seen. There were protests in the streets. Preachers at the corners in Diagon Alley. And everywhere else a confusion of facts and rumor that had Harry Potter's name somewhere in the middle of it.
The door to the Manor rose up before him like some great guardian. The ancient wood was stained back with age and Merlin knew what else. He let the elf open the giant portal, having no wish to wrestle with the doors himself.
He was met by the Malfoy patriarch himself. Lucius Malfoy stood in the middle of the entrance foyer, his cane planted in front of him and a scowl set firmly on his face.
"Mr. Malfoy," John nodded to the man.
Lucius' scowl grew deeper. "I'll not have riffraff like you wandering about without an escort. This is not a free search of the premises, do you understand, Auror Rayne?"
John stamped down on his anger. "I do." He left off any type of honorific.
Lucius' eyes narrowed. "You are an unmannered ruffian."
"I do try."
"Muggleborn, I would guess as well."
"Why, thank you."
"Despicable what they're doing to society."
"And how is that better than the deplorable slump the purebreds have ground it into?"
They eyed each other. John could feel a cold sweat breaking out under his arms and down his back. He was in the Malfoy home, with the Malfoy patriarch on his own turf. He had no way to win, should the older man choose to fight.
A sliver of a smile passed across Lucius' face. "It seems as though you have a backbone." The silver eyes raked him up and down. "You'll need it." He turned on a heel and started up the stairs. "Come along then," he said without slowing down. "Mr. Potter is currently too weak to get out of bed. So we bring you to him."
John hurried after the man, trying to piece together what had just happened. He hadn't made sense of it by the time Lucius left him at a closed door near the top of the stairs. He watched the broad, retreating back with a furrowed brow. Malfoys, he thought with a sigh.
He turned to the door and knocked. There was a murmur from inside. He took that to be his answer.
The room was lit by lamps and a roaring fire. John almost staggered at the heat. His gaze went to the bed and to the boy tucked under the piled covers.
Harry looked far worse than when John had last seen him. The pale skin was lit by the flickering light of the fire. Bags hung under green eyes. But the wide smile was familiar enough.
"Auror Rayne!" Harry gestured him in. John moved into the room, thinking to leave the door open behind him. But some spell slammed it shut after he let go of it, giving him the feeling of being trapped inside.
"Sorry about that," the boy rolled his eyes. "I think they're trying to steam me alive sometimes. Draco says it's better for my throat. He must be right, since I'm able to talk more. But still, it gets to be a bit much sometimes."
"I can guess." John approached the bed. The boy looked nervous, from the way the green eyes were darting around the room. The cheerfulness was an act, he surmised. A good one, but still, an act.
"Mind if I take off my outer robe?" He waited for permission. Having a session in Harry's room was not what he had wanted – he would have rather be outside on neutral ground. But from the boy's looks, it was a wonder he was up to talking at all.
"That's fine by me." Harry was propped up by a number of pillows. A veritable sea of potion vials stood on the nightstand. John cast them a look before pulling up a plump, overstuffed chair.
"How have you been?" He laid that out as an opener.
The boy arched a brow at him. "I've been better," he said.
"You look worse than when I last saw you." John decided the blunt truth would work best with the boy.
Harry blinked a number of times before answering. "Well, I'm getting better."
"Not dead yet?"
"I quite feel like taking a walk."
They shared a smile.
Harry's dimmed after a minute as he looked away. "I feel kind of silly," he shifted on the bed. "I don't know what to talk about."
"Well, that's how we start." John leaned back in the chair and hooked his ankle over his knee. "We just get to know one another. Then you talk. Talk about anything. Everything. Of course, what the people who care for you would like you to talk about is what happened at the Dursley's. But I won't force that on you."
"You won't?"
"Harry, it won't do you any good to have this shoved on you. It's something that has to be approached by the person in their own time, in their own way."
A black look passed across the boy's face. "Tell that to Professor Snape."
"Professor Snape knows you need someone to talk to. Someone who isn't so close to the situation you're in." John leaned forward, keeping the boy's gaze on his. "And what is said between us, Harry, stays between us. There aren't enough stampeding hippogriffs in the world to drag what goes on here out of me, understood?"
The boy gulped down a breath. "Oh. Okay." He let out a soft sigh and dropped his gaze to the covers. "That's…good. Very good."
"Now. How about we start again. How are you?"
"Bored to bloody tears."
"And?"
Harry swallowed a few times. "Happier than I have been in a long time."
"And?"
"Miserable."
"Anything else?"
"Want a list?"
John let a small smile slide across his face. "This is where we get to work, Harry. You're doing fine."
The smile was wan, but the hopeful glint in the boy's eyes was encouraging to see.
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"How'd it go?"
Harry looked up from the book he was reading. Draco stood at the door, his back against the smooth wood.
"How do you get in here without me hearing?"
"Old Malfoy trick," but the smile on the blond's face was distracted. "How'd it go?"
"Could you do something for me?" Harry ignored the question.
"Anything."
"Turn down the bloody heat next time!"
"What?"
"It feels like the tropics in here." He pushed off his covers with shaky hands. "I'm damn near wet through with sweat. It's awful. Let the fire go down or crack the window. Anything!"
"Harry…"
"No, Draco! It's making me sick to my stomach. I can't stand it."
The flat look he got in return didn't phase him.
"Fine." The blond stalked to the window and cracked one open. Harry could feel a temperate breeze float into the room. He thought he might cry from relief. "Now will you tell me how it went?"
"Of course I can't do that," Harry rubbed at his nose. "It's confidential."
The noise Draco made was closer to a strangled cat than a properly brought up wizard. "Harry!"
"What?"
"Are you going to tell me anything?"
He sighed. Draco's annoyance vanished.
"I'm sorry."
"No, no. Here, sit down." Harry didn't blink as the blond crawled up onto the bed with him. "Look…it's just. It's something John – Auror Rayne said. He said he was the third party that I could talk to. The outside view for things that I can bounce my problems off of. It kind of defeats the purpose if I talk to you about the things I talk to him about, do you understand?"
Draco was laid out across the end of the bed, his head propped up with one hand. "Not really," he said. "I would think you would want to talk to me or Father or Severus about the things you talked with Rayne about. Since he's helped you clear your head and let you see what you need to see."
"What I need to see?"
The blond waved off the bite in Harry's words. "It's not like that and you know it. He helps you past the wall in front of your face, and sometimes those problems will be me, or Father or Severus I'm sure."
Harry narrowed his eyes at the blond. "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"
The older boy laughed, rolling onto his back. "I'm not that self-centered. Sometimes I have a moment of brilliance."
"Since when?"
"Since now!"
"Ponce."
"Scar head."
"I'll have you know that scar has healed quite nicely. Ferret."
Draco opened his mouth to retort, stopped and looked blank. "Well there goes a perfectly good insult out the window." He pouted to such a degree Harry was forced to toss a pillow at him. The resulting pillow war was waged at half speed, with Draco giving Harry enough time to load up with ammunition before they began pelting each other with the small throw pillows that had littered the bed for days.
They ended up sprawled diagonally across the bed, both panting for breath and with wide smiles on their faces. Harry was forced to stuff a few surviving bits of their war under his back so he could breath easier.
"Over do it?"
"I don't know. Was worth it though." Harry threw an arm over his eyes. "I haven't been doing much for days and I'm about to go mad."
"The great Harry Potter, not a fan of being a lay about. What a surprise." Draco's voice was closer than he'd thought. Harry dragged his arm down from over his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to fix the blurriness. It stayed.
"Harry?"
"Second." He rubbed at his eyes with his fingers, keeping his lids closed. The pressure hurt. He let go and opened his eyes again. The room was in a little better focus.
"Better?"
"By bits."
Draco was sitting cross-legged next to him. "Anything you want?"
"Probably the nasty green potion."
Draco handed it to him. Harry had long forgotten the names. He'd come up with his own system of telling them apart by consistency, smell and taste. The green was his least favorite, but it worked the best.
His eyesight took a moment to react. He knew his body was becoming saturated with the potion and he would have to ease off of it before it began to poison his system. But for now, it was the best cure he had for the nerves that had been damaged and he was going to use it for as long as he could.
Draco was studying his face when he looked back at the blond. "What?"
"You look happier."
Harry drew in a sharp breath. "I am happy. I'm here."
"I mean, even from this morning. You look…" The blond brows furrowed. "Less tense."
He let the sigh out in a long whistle. "Was it that noticeable?"
"Just to me, perhaps."
Harry leaned his head back to stare at the canopy. "It was nice to talk to him."
"Good."
"We started with little things, you know."
"You don't have to tell me."
He rolled his head to the side to stare at the other boy. "But you came in here to bug me about it."
"I changed my mind."
"Bloody Slytherins."
"Damn me, damn yourself now."
"Oh, don't remind me."
Draco punched his leg, though there was no strength to it.
"Did you want to practice?"
A funny expression passed across the blond's face.
"What? Did I say something wrong?"
Draco wiped a hand across his mouth. "No, no. It's nothing. Just…" A strange smile curled his lips. "Never mind. No, I didn't want to practice going onto the Paths."
"Then what?"
"What if I wanted to come in here just because?"
"Just because what?"
"Because, idiot former Gryffindor, I like you."
"Oh." Harry blinked and felt his face flame. "Oh." He drew out the word.
"Sometimes I wonder about you, Potter." Draco flopped down onto the bed.
Harry felt his blush grow deeper.
"I didn't mean it that way!" The blond began to laugh at his expression. "Well, maybe sometimes that way." The outrageous wink had Harry hiding his face in his hands, even though he could feel a smile starting to creep out.
"Draco…"
"Is that so bad?" The older boy's laughter had died away. His voice came from much, much closer than Harry was expecting. He drew his hands away from his eyes to find Draco right next to him.
"Is what so bad?"
"Wondering?"
Harry had a moment to wonder himself if his blush would go away that day at all. "No," he said, but had to look away from the silver eyes.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"Yes. And no."
"Then can I stay?"
"Yes."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No."
"Good. I wasn't going to go anyhow."
"Of course not. You're a Malfoy." Harry rolled his eyes. To his relief, his blush seemed to be calming.
It flared back up as Draco turned his body and laid his head in Harry's lap. Harry froze, staring down at the other boy, unsure what to do.
"You," the blond shifted a bit. "Are far too skinny for your own good."
"Now you tell me," but the rejoinder was weak.
"Shush you. I'm taking a nap."
"And what am I supposed to do, oh Master Malfoy? Stay here like a good pillow?"
"It's so nice to have help understand their places these days."
Draco Malfoy got a pillow right in the nose. Harry was laughing as he scrambled off the bed, a playfully irritated blond in hot pursuit.
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Erin McVir stood on top of the battlements and gazed out over the fields that ran rife with her enemies. Their brilliant armor glinted in the sun. The war songs filled the air. Her battle armor was encrusted with jewels. Her war skirts were tight, slit so she could ride astride, and rich with thread-of-gold. She raised her hands. Her generals snapped to attention. She gathered her breath to give the shouted order for the charge…
"What are you doing, child?"
She wobbled on the bale of hay, almost falling. Gywn ap Nudd caught her before she could fall, scooping her up into his arms and spinning her about. She shrieked with laughter, latching onto his shirt so she would not fall – though she never had a doubt he would drop her.
He transferred her to his hip. "Playing pretend?" He queried.
"Yes." Her nod bounced her hair about her face. "I was the warrior queen who saved England."
"Truly?"
"Yes."
"And your enemies?"
"Worthless scoundrels, the lot of them."
His laughter boomed out over the castle. "They always are." He bounced her on his hip. "Care for lunch?"
"Yes, please!"
Together they made their way into the refurbished main hall. The castle had changed much since Gwyn ap Nudd had first woken. As the season changed, and more and more of his brethren woke, more and more, it seemed, their former servants woke. The castle repaired itself from the grasping dark, drawing its former glory from its sticky fingers as the sun began to beat off the mists that hung about overhead.
But best of all, Gwyn ap Nudd now had the voice of a child in his home again. A high, soft voice that would sing children's songs in the courtyard, draw on his flagstone walks and corner him into bedtimes stories at night. She was the bright star of his day and he would mourn the time when she chose to leave for the mortal world and be reborn. But that was a thought he pushed from his mind as soon as it dared to enter; he would enjoy the gift this child gave him for as long as he could. And he would cherish her memory for millennia after.
"You went sad," she touched his face.
"Yes, I did. I'm sorry." He hiked her up further onto his hip.
"Is it because we're having meatloaf?"
"What?"
"Meatloaf."
"What is this meat…loaf?"
"It's meat. Well, meatloaf." Her brows furrowed. "My Aunt Jane used to make it. I thought it was horrible. Uncle Barry said it was mystery meat." She looked at him. "Is there an animal called mystery? And is its meat called mystery meat?"
Gwyn ap Nudd laughed until he had to put her down. Her little hands went to her waist.
"Well? It's not that funny. Is it? Or is there really a mystery animal? Sir?"
He sat down on the stones and howled, drawing her onto his lap. The servants passing them hid their smiles behind his hand. Laughter had returned to the Halls of Annwyn. It was a refreshing sound.
End Chapter Ten