A/N: My writing muse came back. We had wild, rabid sex and made this baby.
I promised myself I wasn't going to post anything new until I had at least three chapters in reserve, but I seem to be back on track so with two and a half chapters in reserve, I'm breaking my own rules and posting this one. Call me a rebel.
I'm heading off to London for a long weekend tomorrow; I'm going to see Kings of Leon in Hyde Park. (You can be jealous now.) Will any EDF readers be there? I'm always up for meeting people for a drink or two (or three). If not I'll see you all next week some time.
Chapter 21- The Fifth Team
It was late. Harry knew that he'd never really fallen asleep, he'd dozed for a few hours, tossing and turning, curling himself around a warm body then rolling away to find the cool side of the pillow. It was no use. At ten to four in the morning he quietly slipped from between the sheets, dressed silently and closed the bedroom door behind him.
Checked in on Bear, just to make sure. The baby was sleeping soundly.
Despite the late hour there was still a murmur of voices from the second floor living room. Harry bypassed the Aurors, letting them get on with whatever business it was that they were dealing with. For the most part he liked to stay blissfully ignorant.
In the kitchen a lone figure was hunched over a mug of coffee.
"Neville?"
Neville jerked up and fixed Harry with a slow, sleepy smile. "'Lo, Harry. Why are you up so late?"
"You can call it early, now, I think," Harry said. He made tea, not wanting the hit of caffeine. "How come you're still here?"
"On the late shift, aren't I," Neville said. "It's been a long night."
Harry nodded and took a seat opposite his old dorm-mate. "Thanks. You know. For everything you're doing for us."
"It seems to be the night for thank yous," Neville mumbled.
"Hmm?"
"No matter."
Harry sipped his tea and waited for Neville to elaborate. He did, after a few moments.
"Draco came down earlier, when you were putting Bear to bed."
"Oh?"
"He apologised to me." Neville looked up from his coffee, his eyes displaying a range of confusing emotions. "He apologised. To me."
Harry nodded sagely. "That was nice of him."
"You think so? I thought maybe it was another way of him making fun of me. Or an opportunity for him to lull me into a false sense of security."
"Draco wouldn't do that," Harry said, bristling at the implication.
Neville just rubbed the side of his nose slowly, then balled his fist and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "I don't even know. Why are you with him, Harry?"
"Because he's a different person now. And he deserves a chance. Just like the rest of us."
"I don't know. I don't understand. How do you know that he's changed? What proof do you have?"
It was Neville's desperation that stopped Harry from snapping at his friend.
"If he had any Dark intentions towards me, he's had nearly a year to carry them out, Nev," Harry said. "We sleep in the same bed. If he was that intent on murdering me he's had hundreds of opportunities."
"I don't think he wants to murder you," Neville said slowly. "What made you change your mind? He was just so awful to us, Harry."
"Draco is probably a bigger victim of the War than you and I combined," Harry said. The heat from the ceramic was burning his hands, he laid them down on the wood instead. "He was terrorised in his own home. His father was conditioning him to think a certain way, to act a certain way and be a person he never wanted to be. All this started when he was still a child. I don't think I can blame him for what he did. He was a victim of his circumstances, just like the rest of us."
"He could have come over to us. The Order would have protected him."
"We would have, yeah," Harry agreed. "I think, and this isn't an excuse, just a reason, but I think he was scared. So very, very scared."
Neville shook his head. "I don't know any more."
"Can I tell you about the man I know? Not the child who bullied us."
"Yeah. Go on then."
"He's quiet," Harry started. "Very academic. He's interested in everything, how it fits into the order of things. He's an incredible father figure; sweet and kind and gentle. He, um…" Harry sighed, looking over to the stove. "He couldn't cook when he moved in here. But we cook together a few nights a week now, and he's learning. He gets up early in the mornings, earlier than me, and makes breakfast for me. Gets Bear up. With the whole Quidditch thing, he's behind me a hundred percent, because it's what I want. So he wants it for me."
"I don't know the person you're talking about," Neville said. His voice held an apology.
Harry tilted his head to the side and shrugged. "Maybe that's why he said thank you. To show you the man he is now."
A voice called down the stairs for Neville, who gave Harry a small smile. "Sorry. Duty calls."
"For what it's worth," Harry said, standing too. "Thank you from me, too."
"I'd do anything for my friends, Harry," Neville said. "You should know that by now."
xXx
Harry had been allowed to sleep late.
He woke when the sun was already high in the sky, peeking in through the curtains, the light spilling across the floor in abstract lines. The extra rest had, paradoxically, left him more tired than if he'd woken at six with Draco and started his day then. There was no need to worry for his partner, or Bear, or anyone else… clearly, they were being well looked after.
It was stifling.
He dressed slowly in jeans and a soft white and blue striped shirt that he rolled up to his elbows. There was no need for socks or shoes. Although others had complained about the cold hardwood floors in the house, whenever Harry's bare feet came in contact with the floor they felt pleasantly warmed. Harry took it as Grimmauld Place's acceptance of him being there.
Draco was in the kitchen, washing up from breakfast. These little displays of domesticity still surprised and entertained him, even after all this time. Especially when Draco too had rolled his shirtsleeves up, revealing inked, scarred, damaged skin on his left forearm. Harry came up behind him and braced his hands on the other man's waist, leaning in to gently kiss softly stubbled skin.
"You shouldn't have let me sleep so late," Harry murmured.
"Well, when people get out of bed for late night about the house wanderings, it is sometimes nice to let them catch up on their rest," Draco murmured back.
Harry couldn't quite decide whether or not he was being sarcastic. He kissed Draco again, pulled his wand from his back pocket and started casting drying charms on the clean crockery and stacking the plates back in the cupboard.
"Where's Bear?" he asked conversationally.
"With Craig."
"Oh."
The rest of the washing and drying up process was finished in silence before Harry turned on the other man, backing him against the counter and offering light, sweet kisses to cheeks and lips and earlobes.
"Draco, did I do something wrong?" he asked after moments of unresponsiveness.
He could see the snappy brush- off on Draco's lips, the hard, sarcastic words that were threatening to spill forth. Instead, he sighed.
"No, you didn't. It's me. Could you just give me a couple of hours? I'll talk to you later."
"Okay," Harry agreed, pressing another light kiss to Draco's lips. "Call for me if you need me."
"I will."
He watched as Draco straightened his sleeves, fixing the buttons at his wrists to cover his forearms once again, then disappeared through the door that lead to his basement. Harry knew that the progress of Draco's NEWT coursework had slowed considerably with all of the upheaval in their lives and he was now facing the same deadlines as many of his fellow students at Hogwarts. There was the option available for Draco to go back and sit his final exams at their old school, or to go to the Ministry to do it there. Harry knew that for Draco, neither option was particularly appealing.
With Draco in one of his sulks, Harry wandered back to the upper floors where part of Martin Stonestreet's team sat, working through piles of parchment and maps and old spell books, searching for any further clues to the unknown, unnamed force they were working against.
"Where's Craig?" Harry asked Jamieson.
"Oh, he's taken Bear out for a few hours," she said distractedly. "He's layered the baby up and they're staying in Muggle London anyway, so no one should notice anything."
"'Kay," Harry muttered, and left.
He wasn't worried about Bear being out with Craig. It was far too dangerous for either he or Draco to take the baby out and it was unfair to keep him cooped up in the house all day. There was a very real temptation to slip into paranoia and insist that no one other than Draco or himself be allowed to take care of their child, or never to let him out of the house at all. But if the War had taught him anything it was that trusting others was essential to their survival.
Craig Morningside was one of the top protection Wizards that the Ministry had to offer, and Harry trusted him. Mostly because Craig hadn't given them any reasons not to trust him, but also for all of the little things like showing Harry pictures of his kids, or letting Harry take an imprint of his magical signature, not unlike the one the Ministry had of Draco's, which allowed Harry to locate the other man anywhere in the world.
It wasn't paranoia if someone really was out to get them.
With Bear safe with Craig, at least for the time being, Harry decided to head over to the shop and annoy George. To his credit, he stopped by a bakery on Diagon Alley first and bought a box of doughnuts to sweeten the deal.
"What's the matter, Potter, don't you have a home to go to?" Mary- Anne called out as the bell above the door rang, signalling his arrival.
Harry laughed and offered her a cake. "This place is much more exciting."
She waggled her eyebrows and attempted to lick sugar from her nose. "George is in the office."
"Of course he is."
George wasn't in his office. Harry was tempted to go back out to Mary- Anne and demand an explanation, then, on a whim, he decided to explore the Weasley twin's old, long abandoned inventing room.
The last time he had stood in the room it was dark, covered in a light dusting of dust which had settled in the weeks of disuse. Every time he'd passed the door since, which was covered with a variety of warnings of danger, death and dismemberment, it had been firmly locked. Harry had come to accept that George needed time, just time to prepare himself before venturing back into the room where he and his twin had caused mayhem and mischief for magical children all over the country.
Now, the room had been transformed to something of its former glory.
George was pacing between two experiments that seemed to be happening simultaneously but independently of each other, one producing puffs of purple smoke while the other, a thick, gelatinous sludge, oozed generously over the side of a cauldron.
"I brought doughnuts," Harry offered, introducing himself to the melee with an unashamed bribe.
"Good. Make coffee and you can stay," George said, not looking up.
The sludge was collected into a short, wide tin and placed in a Muggle refrigerator. Harry decided not to ask and turned for the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two mugs of coffee.
Just as he did in Draco's lab, he hoisted himself up onto a counter in an out-of-the-way sort of spot until George paused in his efforts, wiped sweat from his brow and looked around for Harry. Smiling, he picked his way through stacks of boxes, each branded with the vivid Weasley W, and joined Harry on the counter.
"This one for me?" he asked.
"Yup. Doughnut?"
"Hell yeah."
They munched in companionable silence until Harry felt confident enough to ask "What the hell are you doing?"
George delicately licked sugar crystals from the corner of his mouth. "Experimenting."
"I can see that."
"I'm considering the financial viability of expanding into the confectionary market."
"You're… opening a sweet shop?" Harry translated.
"Considering it," George agreed, his eyebrows raised as he licked raspberry jam from his thumb. "Honeydukes would be my main competitor. Need to find a good angle to be able to carve out my own place in the market."
"Well, you set up this place with competition from Zonko's, and you're both still doing alright," Harry said. "Competition is supposed to be healthy."
"True," he acquiesced. "Still. These things need to be considered. I'm thinking of starting by extending the Snackbox range, go from there."
"Is that what this is?" Harry asked, gesturing to the mess surrounding him.
"Raspberry Red Rash Ruffles," George confirmed, gesturing to the still smoking purple potion. "The one I just put in the fridge is a Headache Hazelnut Crunch and I'm thinking of something in the Conjunctivitis range."
"Chocolate Conjunctivitis Cups?" Harry joked.
"That's a good one," George said. He patted in his pockets and withdrew a quill, then wrote the name on the inside of his arm. "How many I's does conjunctivitis have?"
"A maximum of two."
"Oh, ha ha," George deadpanned, but Harry could see a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I had an idea the other night for Bleeding BonBons, but I wasn't quite sure what I'd want to make bleed."
Harry, who all to well remembered the early, experimental Nosebleed Nougat, was reluctant to suggest anything. "But you've already cornered the bleeding market," he suggested.
"True.
"I also thought about lollipops that make your hair turn another colour," George continued. "I was inspired, shall we say, by your godson."
Harry laughed. "Yeah, I can see that working."
"They look like normal lollipops, of course, until your hair turns pink or blue or purple. The problem I'm having is containing the colour change to just the hair on your head." He raised his eyebrows pointedly. "I think I gave Angie a bit of a shock."
There was a beat of silence until both men descended into purely adolescent giggles.
"I meant to ask you before, how did the trials go?" George asked.
"Good, okay, I think," Harry offered.
The trials had happened a few days previously and reminded Harry of early House tryouts from their school days. Not that Harry had ever had to try out for the Gryffindor team, his place went without saying. This experience, seen from the other side, being judged and assessed by others was new to him, and wholly terrifying. There was about fifteen other players, mostly the same age as him or a few years older, all shocked at the presence of Harry Potter amongst them. They were put through a gruelling series of tests and trials, rigorous training routines and set pieces, a Quick Quotes Quill taking notes at the assessor's elbow the entire time.
Finally, they were split up and played a few quick games where Harry was required to play first as a Chaser, then as a Beater, never being given chance to show off his skills as a Seeker. In the changing rooms after the other candidates had been complaining of the same thing, leading Harry to conclude that they were being tested on their flexibility within a game situation.
Since he'd never played Beater before, and only played Chaser a few times in context of friendlies with the Weasleys, Harry thought he'd fared rather well. It would be a few more weeks until he found out whether or not a team was willing to take him on.
"Can I ask you about something?" George asked.
"Yeah, of course."
"You know this Quidditch tournament you and Draco are organising?"
"Mm?"
George looked down at his hands. "This is going to sound really sentimental, and I don't want it to be. Fuck it. When we were kids, we always used to joke that there were enough of us to make a Quidditch team. The Weasley Seven. And we never got to do it, not all seven of us playing together against another team.
"Could we enter?" he said, looking up to meet Harry's eyes. "As a fifth team? The Fred Weasley memorial team."
"Yeah," Harry said immediately. "Yeah, that's a fucking brilliant idea."
George smiled and huffed a relieved laugh. "Charlie would play Seeker, of course. I reckon Bill would play Beater with me, and Ron would be Keeper, and Ginny and Fleur and Percy would be the Chasers."
"I didn't know Percy could play Chaser," Harry said.
"He can't," George laughed. "But he would want to play. Fleur played Chaser at Beauxbatons and Ginny is good too, so they'll force him to pick up his game."
"Did you ask any of them yet?" Harry asked.
"No. I wanted to check with you first."
"Like I would say no. Although..."
"What?"
"Now you've actually stolen half my team."
George smiled evilly. "Deal with it, Potter. And you better find some good replacements, because Charlie Weasley was tipped to play Seeker for England."
Harry groaned "Don't I just know it."
He brushed stray bits of sugar from the knees of his jeans, then cast a cleaning spell at his sticky fingers.
"You know we're allowing each team to have substitutes, too? And a professional player," Harry said.
George shrugged. "I'll figure something out."
"You're not having Angelina," Harry said quickly. "So don't even think about it. She's mine."
"Okay," he laughed. "Fine. I won't argue with you." He sobered. "Really, Harry, thank you."
"Fred was one of us," Harry said softly. "He would love this."
"Being the centre of attention?"
"Something like that."
Through a gap in the window, a soft blue ball of light squeezed into the room and immediately took the shape of a soaring magpie.
"Craig and Bear are home," it said in Draco's voice. "I'm guessing you're at Weasley's. If you are, tell him he owes me a drink."
"Thanks," Harry said and reached out a hand to the bird before it dissipated into the air.
"Was that Draco's Patronus?" George asked.
"Yeah."
"It's…"
"A magpie, I know."
George snorted inelegantly. "Fantastic."
"I know," Harry repeated. "I should go. I haven't even seen Bear yet today."
"No worries," George said, vanishing the now empty bakery box. "Don't be a stranger."
"I won't. I'll be seeing you on the Quidditch pitch before long."
George laughed. "Yes. I'll be rounding up the troops tonight, no doubt. Ginny will be mad… she won't get to start training with us until she finishes school."
"She's still playing on the Gryffindor team though, right?"
"Oh yeah," George said. "She'll be fine. It's Percy I'm worried about."
They exchanged goodbyes and Harry disapperated, concentrating on the kitchen of his home and hoping that the Aurors hadn't changed the wards again without telling him.
xXx
As they gathered around the table for breakfast the following morning, Martin Stonestreet gathered his team and passed a piece of parchment down to where Draco and Harry were sat, eating toast and supervising Bear's banana and porridge.
"There was another attempted attack on the house last night," he said. "Attempted attack, Mr Malfoy, no one got through our defences."
"Oh, god," Draco sighed, dropping his head to the table. Harry reached over and gently patted his shoulder.
"How do you know?" Harry asked.
"There was a breach in security," Stonestreet admitted. "A small one. But a breach nonetheless. It seemed that an owl got through, Merlin only knows how, but for some reason he wasn't able to get far enough to deliver the actual letter."
Harry tugged sharply on Draco's hair. He sat up, rubbing the sore spot. A look was exchanged between the two men. They had agreed not to tell the Auror team about the enhanced powers of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and the desires of the house to provide for its occupants.
"How do you know that it came through?" Draco asked.
Stonestreet hesitated, looked to Jamieson then back again. "The bird was found dead in the courtyard. Its parcel wasn't retrieved."
"Oh god," Harry muttered.
"We want to test the wards," Stonestreet said, looking more official than ever. "It's time to find out exactly how secure you are here."
"How are you going to test them this time?" Draco asked. "All you lot ever seem to do is test the bloody wards."
"We want to launch a full scale attack against the house," Ron said bluntly as he buttered a triangle of toast. "No holds barred."
Stonestreet rolled his eyes, but agreed with Ron's statement. "We don't know how they will hold up against several assailants working in tandem," he explained.
"How?"
"No one who has ever been in the house before can be involved," Jamieson said, picking up smoothly from where Ron left off. It seemed the team had been well briefed. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before she continued. "We're going to bring in an elite team of hit wizards from another department. They won't know who lives here, or why the attack is necessary. Everyone except the three of you will need to clear out and you're encouraged to protect yourselves. They will be prepared for certain defences, not others, and we want to know, for sure, how safe you are. We may need to move you."
"There's something else," Neville said, folding up that morning's Prophet and holding it out for Stonestreet. "I don't know if you've seen this, but according to the press, Draco Malfoy is 'missing'."
There was a flurry of activity at the table as people tried to gather around the article.
"What do you mean, missing?" Draco demanded.
"Hold up," Stonestreet's booming voice echoed over the melee. "Let me read it."
"I'll paraphrase," Neville said wryly. "They've found out, from god only knows where, that you're not at the Manor. It says that the house has been unoccupied for months and although you've been seen in London, no one knows where you are."
"It seems that they've checked your house in France, too," Stonestreet said in a low voice.
"They've been to France?" Draco exclaimed.
"Looks that way," Neville said. "It's gossipy nonsense, but with everything else that's going on, the timing is highly suspect."
"Exactly," Stonestreet agreed. "We already know someone is leaking information to the press. I want a full investigation into this," he said briskly, slapping the paper back down on the table. "Interview the reporter, find out who the hell their source is."
"They'll never give us that, boss," Ron said, shaking his head. "You know what the press are like with their sources."
"Then you'll have to find out another way then, won't you? Good work, Longbottom. Reconvene here at fifteen hundred."
He disapparated quite impressively, leaving the rest of the team to scramble in his wake, rushing off to do his bidding. Harry and Draco were left alone with Bear, who had smeared most of his porridge over his face and hands and eaten very little of it.
Draco shook his head, a small smile on his face.
"Are you worried?" Harry asked.
"I don't know if there's anything to be worried about, yet," Draco said reasonably. He picked a cloth to wipe Bear's face, looked at it, dropped it again and cast a cleaning spell which made the baby squeal at the cold tingle.
Harry lifted him from his high chair and pressed a kiss to the clean, rosy cheek. "I'll go get him dressed."
"Okay."
"Oh, and Draco?"
Draco paused from his descent down into his basement. Harry grabbed the front of the other man's shirt and pulled him into a hard, heated kiss; their lips bruising as they clashed together, hot tongues sliding close, teeth nipping at swollen lips until Bear's emphatic "no!" broke them apart.
Harry giggled and kissed Bear's head quickly.
"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about you," he murmured.
"What was that for?" Draco asked, loathed to reveal that he was slightly breathless from the kiss.
"Because I love you," Harry said and leaned in for another quick one.
"How much?"
"Mm, later," Harry promised. "I'll show you later."
Draco leaned in close so that Bear couldn't hear them. "I want you inside me again," he whispered, his voice low, and bit Harry's earlobe.
Before Harry could even fashion a response to that, Draco ducked through the low doorway that lead to his basement, leaving Harry to deal with the swooping feeling in his stomach and the familiar tightening in his trousers. And the baby in his arms.
Typical.