A/N: I'll be taking many liberties with the Department of Mysteries from here on out. I apologize if things don't match some of the expanded lore. I've only read the books and watched the movies and I'll be making it up from there.
Drop a comment if you can! I love the feedback.
Chapter 9
.o.o.o.o.o.
Draco jolted awake when the carriage stopped. It was Monday. He'd fallen asleep on the ride up to the castle. Filch was peering at him with an amused expression.
"Shouldn't have stayed out so late last night, boy. Don't think I'll be going easy on you. You've been absent a month and the toilets in the second floor bathroom are in need of a good scrubbing."
"Doesn't Hogwarts employ house elves?" Draco sneered after clearing the haze of sleep from his eyes.
"The magic's all wonky in there. Needs to be done by hand. What's wrong? Too good for scrubbing toilets now, boy?"
The very idea was making Draco's sensitive stomach queasy. Two weeks. He only had two weeks left of this nonsense before the term ended and his community service concluded. He could endure it. In fact, he ought to cherish this time. This was the calm before the storm. Christmas Eve was the day Draco had marked for his and Potter's little trespass into the Department of Mysteries. The new batch of Polyjuice would take about that long to mature and whatever employees actually bothered to come in to the ministry on that day would be feeling rather lax.
He'd done it. He had Potter on his side now, and Potter's record for interrupting the plots of the Dark Lord was impeccable. The best man was on the job, and this ought to put Draco's mind at ease, so why did he only feel more tense?
Inside the castle, Filch reintroduced him to the bucket and scrub brush before sending him on his way. The second floor girls' bathroom turned out to be a curiously disgusting place. It also turned out to be curiously resistant to cleaning, with every swipe of Draco's rag only leaving behind more filth. At some point Draco gave up scrubbing in order to be sick into one of the toilets, unable to contain his nausea any longer. After heaving for several minutes, he let out a groan and laid his head upon the porcelain. It was only then that he realized he had an audience.
Potter was standing behind him, watching him with an almost pitying expression. Draco was so far beyond mortified that his first instinct was to laugh. Merlin, why did Potter have to be so stupidly handsome, even when he put in zero effort to appear so? Even when he was standing there with a dumb look on his face?
"Reveling in fond memories, Potter?" Malfoy goaded, unable to help himself. He wiped the bile off his chin. "Feeling the urge to slash my chest open?" Potter huffed and looked elsewhere, ignoring the taunt.
"Are you this ill all the time?" the Savior asked.
"I certainly haven't been feeling better, given what is going on." Malfoy retorted. Potter scowled and walked out the door. Draco marveled at being able to get rid of him so easily only to have him return a few minutes later, looming behind him and holding a stoppered phial of a liquid Draco recognized as a prescription strength Fortifying Draught.
"It will be troublesome attempting a ministry break-in with you this sick," Harry reasoned, setting the potion down near Draco's brush and bucket, "I can get more from Pomfrey, if you need it."
"That is strong stuff, Potter. Were you taking it yourself?"
"I needed it for a while to want to get out of bed in the mornings. I haven't used it much lately, though."
Draco took the phial and decided to drink it. Immediately, he felt a sense of calm spreading to all his nerves. His nausea subsided and his head stopped spinning.
"I don't need you to look after me, Potter."
"We're sort of in this together, Malfoy."
"Right now, you have your job, and I have mine. Why don't we just… leave it at that?" Draco felt that this needed to be said. Potter, being Potter, would take an interest above and beyond what was necessary. The other man didn't seem to like this suggestion. He walked over to the nearest sink.
"Filch may not know it, but he gave you a fool's errand," Potter explained, taking out his wand, "This bathroom is what guards the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. It has additional enchantments that cause it to resist change." Potter looked into the mirror and said a few words in what Draco thought must be parseltongue. He then tapped his wand against the sink. The grime vanished instantly and the metal of the faucet began to shine. This quickly spread to the next sink and then the next one. The tiles upon the floor became a few shades lighter and all of the water spots on the mirrors were wiped away. Draco wouldn't admit that he was reluctantly impressed as he glared at the gleaming bathroom fixtures.
Potter, Lord of Hogwarts, knew things that even the staff who'd been there decades couldn't divine.
"Maybe just stay in here for a bit, yeah? Filch won't be expecting it done so soon… or, er, at all really." Harry suggested. He left with that.
.o.o.o.o.o.
This would not be the last of Potter's unnecessary meddling, as it would turn out. A few days later, Filch brought Draco out to the quidditch pitch, instructing him that he'd need to spread powdered Evergreen Potion onto the grass with the use of a muggle spreading contraption. It was difficult work to lift and spill the bags of powder into the spreader. Then he had to make pass after pass over the long pitch while it emptied, trying to protect his face from the bitter, winter wind while his hands went numb in his gloves.
Draco was soon cursing his own, diminished strength and his legs were threatening to give out beneath him. When he passed the quidditch locker room, however, he was forced to do a double take. A broom was hovering in the doorway. A Firebolt.
Draco glanced around, for he was quite sure he was alone out on this frigid field. His gaze traveled to the castle, and he realized that the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom had a near perfect view of the quidditch pitch.
Filch seemed almost disappointed when Draco returned to the warmth of the castle much sooner than anticipated.
The next week, Draco was in the empty Charms room not long after a class of third years had vacated it. Clearly, they were in the midst of learning the Razorfeather Charm, for the desks and floor were littered with shimmering feathers that were sharp as blades. Draco had been given a pair of gloves for the cleaning, but the feathers shredded them to pieces as he went around picking them up. Soon enough his palms and fingers were covered in small, bleeding cuts that were leaving behind red smears. Just as he was finishing up, he heard a small, squeaking noise from the doorway. It turned out to be a house elf clearing its throat.
"Boppy is being asked to deliver this to Mr. Malfoy," the elf said. It entered the room carrying a bowl of steaming liquid and set it down on the nearest desk. "This is being the Essence of Murtlap Tentacles. It being good for soaking wounds."
Malfoy closed his eyes and took a breath. He even had the house elves at his beck and call? A true master of the castle.
"Who ordered you to deliver this, Boppy?"
"Boppy is not to be mentioning that, Sir," the elf sniffed. It bowed, then walked back into the corridor and out of sight.
A blizzard came barreling through the Scottish Highlands on the final day of the term. Draco spent his last day at Hogwarts digging out all of the castle's exits with only a shovel. By the time it began to get dark, Draco had already given up on the work. He sat under a sheltered alcove, frozen, miserable, and wet as he watched the still-falling snow gradually cover his shoveled paths once again.
"Everyone's gone, you know," came the voice of Harry Potter, interrupting Draco's pity party. "Even Filch and most of the staff." He was wearing a thick coat that had seen better days. Snowflakes had gathered on his shoulders and onto his wild mess of hair. His green eyes seemed bright against the glowing twilight. Malfoy's eyes traced the cut of his jaw, which was now very defined. With a more flattering set of glasses he might even deserve to be on the covers of the papers he so often made.
"Slughorn too?" Malfoy asked, looking away. Potter seemed puzzled at this.
"Yeah, of course."
"I'm out of fluxweed at the manor. I need it for the potion and this is my last chance to pilfer some from Slughorn's storeroom," Draco explained. Surely Potter hadn't thought he'd been hanging around unnecessarily.
"I'll get it," Potter said, "Since I'm allowed to be in there." A hand appeared in Draco's vision. The other man was offering to help him up. Even if Potter should know by now that Draco's pride would demand he refuse such a thing, he couldn't have actually forgotten what happened any time they touched.
Draco was nearly delirious with fatigue, and in his delirium he boldly recalled what touching Potter felt like, the exhilarating rush of magic that always came with it, and how it always brought such immense relief. It had been quite a while since it had last happened, and Draco was beginning to see that the longer they went without touching, the more intense the reaction would be when it did occur. Draco stared at Potter's hand and then at Potter. Did he realize the temptation he was offering? The hard look on the other man's face suggested that, yes, he was fully aware, and that this overture might have, in fact, been carefully calculated.
Draco caved and then took the waiting hand. The magic pulsed through him, causing him to gasp. Potter hoisted him to his feet and pulled their bodies together. He then crowded Draco back against the stone of the alcove and kissed him, fierce and unyielding.
"Wait for me down at Hagrid's," Potter ordered, pulling away just as quickly. Draco was in a daze, unable to protest. Potter was already inside the castle by the time Draco calmed his breathing and pushed himself off the wall. Furious with himself, he began to stomp down toward the snow-covered hut.
Inside the one-room abode, Draco found that the place had been tidied. The bed had been made and the housewares had been organized. A fire was roaring in the hearth and something savory-smelling was simmering in the pot. There were two mugs of hot tea sitting under a stasis charm upon the table. Seeing all of this, Draco's anger surged. He felt… embarrassed by Potter's clumsy attempts to…what, exactly? The childish, covetous part of him felt cheated that it couldn't happen under different circumstances, and the rational, conscious part of him was exasperated that he'd even think to entertain it in the first place.
He stood before the fire and warmed himself until Potter returned holding several stalks of fluxweed.
"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" Draco began in a low voice.
"What do you mean?" the other man said as he set the fluxweed on the table and shed his coat. He went to hang it on the rack near the door.
"You know what I mean. I will not stand by and be romanced," Draco hissed to his back. Potter stiffened, as if surprised by the words, as if even he hadn't realized what his recent actions spelled out. He hung the coat and then turned to Draco with all of the fragile hope and eagerness gone from his face.
"Don't tell me you can't feel it," Potter whispered.
"What I feel for you is the result of rogue magic, Potter. Get that through your thick skull." Draco snatched the fluxweed from the table. "We have a task to complete and you've gotten dangerously distracted. The Polyjuice will be ready by Christmas Eve. You'd better have your samples." He turned and stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
.o.o.o.o.o.
The next morning Harry went up to the Hogwarts owlry to send a letter that he should have sent two weeks ago. Perhaps Malfoy was right. Perhaps he had gotten distracted. He didn't know what he was doing, or what he even wanted when it came to Malfoy. All he knew was that it felt good- it felt right- to be near him and to touch him. Was it only because of the magic? Harry felt like he couldn't trust his own mind or his own intuition anymore and it was maddening. He was going to need other people around him that could keep him sane. He needed Ron and Hermione. It was time to break down the wall he'd put up between him and them since the end of the war.
The following day, Harry sat alone at a table inside Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, watching the falling snow outside. He could see the front of the Three Broomsticks from where he was sitting and while he really wished to go over and have himself a firewhiskey, it was not even noon and he was awaiting the arrival of his friends. There was a healthy amount of noise in the shop around him, and with the students gone for the holidays, the patrons all seemed to be retired witches or wizards doing their crosswords or discussing their knitting.
Hermione entered first, brushing the snow off of her fur hat as she searched for Harry. Ron followed in her wake, looking around the overly feminine shop with some amount of distaste. They found him and joined him at the table. The atmosphere was stiff, and awkward, and Harry wondered if they were attempting to gauge his mood before deciding what to say.
"I've been a shit friend lately. Let's start with that," Harry said before they could even open their mouths. They shouldn't have to guess and tiptoe around his feelings, and he was ashamed it had come to that. "You don't need to make excuses for me. I know I was wrong for shutting you out. I'm sorry and I'm trying to fix it."
Hermione's face crumpled in sympathy.
"We were worried about you, Harry," she told him, "You were in a dark place. I do wish you'd give the mind healer another try. George knows someone-"
"Hermione," Ron said firmly, putting a stop to her tangent. It seemed he had a better read on the room. He was looking at Harry intently even as he spoke to her, "Not every man's comfortable with someone digging through his thoughts."
Whereas Hermione had attempted to be overly helpful with Harry's issues following Voldemort's defeat, Ron had just sort of faded from his life. At first Harry assumed that his friend was feeling betrayed- betrayed that Harry had dumped his sister and betrayed that he'd backed out of auror training when they'd always talked about doing it together. Now, however, Harry had to wonder if the other man was simply giving him the space he'd been silently and unknowingly requesting.
Ron leaned back in his chair, staring evenly at Harry. "We're here for you, mate. Always. And if this is about Ginny, then don't worry, she doesn't come around much. Had a row with mum and dad. Bit rebellious, that one." He looked away and scratched his head awkwardly. "Well, I guess you already knew that. Now she's got a whole string of rebound blokes-"
"Ronald!" Hermione scolded and Ron made a gesture of helplessness.
"Anyway, you're still welcome at mum's. She loves you like a son, y'know. We'd love to have you at Christmas."
Harry knew then that he had to tell them what he could. He didn't think he could do something this big without their help, even though the Unbreakable Vow would severely limit what he could say.
"I…don't think I'll be able to do that, Ron," Harry said, staring down into his tea, "I've gotten myself into a bit of trouble. I wish I could tell you about it in detail, but I can't."
"What do you mean you can't?" Hermione asked, looking worried now.
"I made an Unbreakable Vow," Harry told them. Ron's eyes widened. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth.
"Harry…" she began.
"Was it made under duress? Cuz if it was, that's illegal, and it might be possible to get you released from the vow," Ron said. Harry shook his head.
"I was willing," Harry admitted, "Maybe it was stupid, but I didn't know what I was getting myself into at the time. I didn't know how bad it was," Harry sighed. "Look, I'm not asking you to do anything about the vow. That's sealed and done. I promised to help this person and I'll follow through with it."
"Harry, is this something to do with dark magic?" Hermione questioned softly. She reached over and put a hand on top of Harry's. "Does it involve him or the Horcruxes?"
Harry was about to answer her when a strange sensation came over him, almost like an internal warning. He realized that he could not confirm or deny what Hermione was asking. A beat of silence passed while Harry attempted to think of what he could say.
"Don't answer that, mate," Ron said quickly, a note of alarm in his voice. He glared at Hermione. "Don't ask him anything else. You'll get him killed."
"That's it, isn't it? I don't think you'd make an Unbreakable Vow for anything less," Hermione said, slumping in her chair in shock. It seemed she had a million questions and it was painful for her to hold them back. She took Harry's hand again. "Tell us what we can do. Since you called us here, there must be something."
"I need to get into the Department of Mysteries. There's something in there that can help me, I think."
"We can go to Shacklebolt," Hermione said at once.
"Going to Shacklebolt will require telling him why I need to go down into the Department of Mysteries, which would violate my vow," Harry argued. He also didn't think Kingsley would have much sympathy for Malfoy's plight, "I need to bring someone down there with me, someone that can unlock the place we need to get to. There can't be any sort of ministry intervention, which means we're going to have to break in."
"Harry, what if you get caught?" Hermione said, "You may be Harry Potter, but you'd probably still be interrogated."
"I don't want to think about that," Harry admitted. He noticed that throughout all of this, Ron was staring at him with an oddly suspicious expression, as if something Harry had said had put him on guard.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Nothing. Just a weird coincidence that you'd be wanting to get into the Department of Mysteries right now, I guess. Not many people know this, but there's a huge scandal going on down there," Ron said carefully.
"I haven't heard about any scandals," Hermione commented. Harry remembered that she was now an intern working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, her work with S.P.E.W. having led her to the position.
"I don't suppose you would've," Ron replied, "They're trying to keep it all hush hush, but the Auror Department knows, and as a trainee, I hear things sometimes." His eyes went to Harry. "I don't know if this has anything to do with what you're involved in, and I don't want you to try and tell me either way, but I'm going to share with you what I know, alright?"
Harry nodded.
"'Bout a month ago they finally gave Ol' Rookwood the Kiss. You remember Rookwood, right Harry? Crusty old Death Eater. He used to be an Unspeakable until Karkaroff sold him out."
Yes, Harry remembered Rookwood most vividly these days. Luckily, Ron did not wait for an answer before continuing. "The thing about the Unspeakables is that their research is top secret, even to other Unspeakables. The only time an Unspeakable reveals what he's been working on is when he's ready to go public with it or when he dies. When an Unspeakable dies, all of the locks and protective enchantments put on his workspace in the ministry disappear and the Department of Mysteries gets to decide what they want to do with the research- whether they want to continue it, or file it away, or shut it down."
"Well, of course, once Rookwood's allegiances were revealed, the ministry was real interested to find out what he was doing for all those years in the Department of Mysteries but he wouldn't spill anything, so they pushed for the death sentence. Rookwood had friends in high places, though, go figure, and so it kept getting delayed until he was eventually broken out of Azkaban with the other Death Eaters. This time around, they were finally able to get him the Kiss. The old bastard had the last laugh though. After he died, they were never able to get into his workroom. It's been weeks and they keep sending down cursebreakers and aurors and dark magic specialists with no luck." Ron wiped his palms nervously on his pants and pointedly stared at everything but Harry, "So yeah, all I'm saying is that it's all a bit of a weird coincidence."
Harry sat very still, unable to make any suggestive movements. Hermione's eyes darted between the two of them, putting it all together with a look of immense concern. Ron cleared his throat and then plucked a red hair from his scalp. Awkwardly, he offered it to Harry.
"I'm, er, guessing you'll be wanting to borrow my face. I'm an actual ministry employee now. You won't have to use some random bloke," Ron said. Hermione hurriedly followed suit.
"Take mine too. If you get caught, you could lie and say that you were going down there to deliver dangerous creature permits to Unspeakable Croaker- he's head of the department now I think- at least they treat him like he is. I'm not entirely sure about their structure."
Harry supposed he was touched by their concern for him and their willingness to support him in any way they could, even after he'd been such a thoughtless and selfish recluse.
"Thanks guys. This is… well it's more than I could have asked for," Harry said sincerely as he took their hair samples. Hermione still looked worried and Harry felt guilty that there was no way to reassure her that all would be fine in the end.
"You'd have done it for either one of us, mate. Just be sure to let us know when it's happening. They're not paying for two of me to be at work." Ron replied, putting his arm around Hermione and picking up the menu that was sitting in the center of the table. "What's good here, you reckon?"
Hermione glared at him, as if absolutely livid he could be thinking about his stomach after what Harry had just dropped on them.
"What?" Ron complained.
.o.o.o.o.o.