Chapter 15 - Reflections
The end of the summer found London hot, dusty and tired. Offices were half empty, the pavements and glass buildings radiated heat and the grass in the parks was sparse and brown beneath the limp, pink bodies of the city workers. The feeling amongst the populace erred towards a guilty sort of anticipation towards the autumn. It was as if they were on borrowed time. The heat couldn't last, and while of course one couldn't complain about such a good summer, and one just had to try and enjoy it while it lasted, it was time to return to the wet and cold and the comfort that could be found in complaining about it.
Soon, those long, sultry days of limitless blue skies and hot tarmac would break, and Autumn would be upon them. The city was shrouded by a smog of it's own making. The air was thick and the pollution hung over the people like a pinkish grey blanket, trapping the heat from escaping into the atmosphere. The Londoners waited, with bitter sweet regret for the summer past, for that that first autumn chill. The first winds that would sweep down from the arctic and brush away the summer's waning grasp, bringing death but of course for humans, magical and muggle alike, new beginnings.
One family, however, was not waiting for the season's change to make their fresh start. While others waited out the dregs of the summer for the spirit of Autumn to take them, Draco Malfoy had taken matters into his own hands. And he had been surprised to find himself perfectly capable of doing so. He didn't need to see the leaves begin to brown, the air to cool, or even the date to reach September the first to take those first steps. The giddy urgency to act, to progress and move forward had overtaken him and he had embraced it wholeheartedly.
The past month had been one like no other, and both father and son were eager to leave it behind. They had been tested, challenged, had failed, and yet miraculously, been offered another chance. Scorpius, who had thought his life nearly over only a week before, had, unbeknownst to his father, been given it back by the mysterious figure who had asked nothing in return; and Draco had been handed back the reigns to his own life by two unlikely figures from his past.
It had been a horrendous experience to realise just how out of touch he had been from Scorpius, that day in the muggle cafe with Hermione Granger. Over a week later, Draco stood at the open window of their flat, head rested against the frame, gazing unseeing into the night, and ruminated at the situation as it now stood. He'd spent two years trying to be the father he'd thought Scorpius needed. Though he'd obviously been so out of his depth and off the mark it had been laughable. He'd naively thought that if he simply did the opposite to what his own father would have done in any given situation, then he'd be on the right track.
But more and more recently he'd recalled feelings in regards to his own father that he'd pushed aside years ago. In his efforts of posthumously vilifying Lucius, (though of course it started long before his death) he'd conveniently forgotten the positives of his upbringing. For it was easy to blame the man for Draco's own hatred and intolerance, and then to forget the admiration and love he'd held for him as a boy. Above all Draco knew he'd been proud of his father, rightly or wrongly, and it had been gut wrenching to realise that Scorpius must feel no pride in his own. Draco had meant every word he'd spoken to his son on that evening he'd learnt about the fight, when he'd passed down Lucius' own lessons on respect.
Granger had told Draco that Scorpius had kept things secret in order to protect him from himself. Every time Draco thought of that he felt repulsed by the memories of his recent behaviour, and knew he couldn't blame his son for that decision. Though it wasn't just how Scorp thought of him that caused him most grief; his battered pride could take it - though barely, but most importantly what his ineptitude had driven Scorp to do. The muggle style fighting was bad enough, but the shoplifting was completely beyond acceptance. Draco had only think of this every time the deadly heaviness in his limbs called on him to remain in bed, and he was full of motivation again to sort things out and to become a father that his son could rely on.
Granger - Hermione. With one brief meeting she had given him that second chance, whether she was aware of it or not. No one had ever trusted Draco to be a good father before. That it should be her, after everything that she had witnessed and been on the receiving end of, all the situations he had fucked up in her presence. And she still thought he should be the one to deal with his son. Scorpius had nothing to be worried about now. Granger had really trusted him. Though he thought on it often, he still wasn't used to how the knowledge made him feel. The warm lightness in his chest was unfamiliar but pleasant. For the first time ever he wanted to fulfil her expectations of him, because they were positive expectations, not ones of failure, prejudice or any of the other attributes he deserved. He wanted to share a room or a conversation with her and not feel like the lesser human. And for her never to view him with anything regarding pity or concern ever again.
Draco focussed on the night before him, unwilling to let his mind linger on thoughts concerning the witch. He'd be trapped for hours otherwise and he needed to focus. He'd been standing at the window a total of three out of the required twenty two and a quarter minutes. He could have used a bubble head charm to protect against the fumes currently filling his kitchen, but he'd preferred to breath real fresh air this time round. He took a deep breath then and felt the coolness catch in his throat. If he shut his eyes momentarily he could almost taste the autumn upon them.
It was fresh and calming, even with the ever present hint of chemical pollution ebbing its way upwards from the main road. Anything smelt good though compared to the smoke currently filling the flat from the large simmering pewter cauldron on the kitchen table. The smell could best be described as burning seaweed and would make you gag if inhaled too deeply. A window belonging to a neighbour to the right slammed shut and he smirked, then stared into the sky. It was a clear night, though looking west back across London he could only just make out the very brightest stars over the glowing band of orange light cast from the city.
Tonight though, the air and light pollution that so disfigured the sky didn't fill Draco with despondency as it usually did. He instead imagined the stars in front of him and allowed a feeling of calm to take him. He should be enjoying the break, as they had recently become quite hard to come by. Even small ones like this. The past week had been manic. It had started with him filling in and delivering a barrage of job applications before he'd received the long and complicated potions order he was currently working on.
He'd also been undertaking near daily excursions to his mothers house. He'd begun these with the optimistic wish for her future rehabilitation. Though after a few visits this changed to simply 'help' her, by tidying the house and making her eat, and as of two days ago when he'd last seen her: merely help her make it through the day. The days spent with Narcissa were long and exhausting and he had to desperately try and fight the feeling of futility. It helped though to remember Scorpius's own kindness in dealing with himself, and when that didn't work, the warmth in Hermione Granger's brown eyes as she reached out offering him - he just couldn't be sure.
The vapours curling outwards into the night had suddenly taken on a different quality and thankfully, brought Draco sharply back to the present. It was an even more bitter and acrid smell, if that were possible, which was the ground Doxy wing starting to combine with the milk thistle. Another fifteen minutes left. Draco shook himself, (he had ended up back to her, again) and doggedly ran through the remaining steps. Once the present countdown was up and the sliced fluxweed was added, the potion only needed to be kept on the heat for another few hours before it had to rest. And then after a brief sleep of no more than five hours he would be back up to add the infusion of Hawthorn he had made earlier before a further short simmer. Then the Scutum Infirma potion would be ready.
An owl was gliding through the night towards him, illuminated in the moonlight. As it entered the square of the estate the streetlights flashed orange on its wings and Draco saw that it was the small Tawny owl he'd bought last week. He smiled, and remembered that wonderful evening he'd given Scorp the owl. It had been the day he'd received the potion order.
Draco had just picked him up from the Apparition point at the bus stop near the Potter's, (as had become their near daily routine,) and as usual Scorpius was bubbling full of stories and was, as of yet, completely unaware of the events that day that had potentially led the turning point in their fortunes. It was around seven or eight in the evening, and one of the only times in the day when Draco truly enjoyed where they lived. The west facing windows of their high story flat flooded the rooms with warm sunlight, long after the ground was in twilight. The furnishing that usually looked so shabby and cheap were imbued with a soft radiance that momentarily made one believe they were living in the height of luxury. So used to spending his life quite literally in darkness, if Draco was lucky and the sky was cloudless, moments like this helped to remind him how much his life had changed for the better. The manor he grew up in was full of shadows, the evenings of his adolescence were spent in a dungeon where the natural light was filtered green and murky by the lake and then of course his twenties were spent in the suffocating, permanent dusk of Azkaban. To exist like this in such warmth and light still felt like a privilege. He hoped it would never feel so to Scorpius, that it would be as normal as not going to bed hungry.
They arrived home, Draco's chest thudding in anticipation. He silently followed his son to his bedroom and stood in the door, watching as Scorp carelessly dropped his rucksack on the floor, and sat on his bed to take off his shoes. He continued to chat away until a quiet rustling caused the boy's head to spin round towards the window, where sat the cage that contained that small Tawny owl. Thoughts of his friends were instantly forgotten.
Scorpius stood and approached the cage with quiet apprehension, frowning into the golden sunlight. However, Draco knew it was not due to the blinding light, but recognised it as the look his son usually wore when thinking about their financial situation and so hurriedly thought of something to say. Scorp stopped moving and turned around to look with narrowed accusing eyes at his father. Draco spoke quickly before Scorp could, to ease the potential conflict, remembering the boy's recent accusation that he was 'obsessed with buying him stuff', and in particular, his anger at Draco's desire to buy him exactly what now stood before them.
"I got a job!" he blurted out. "I mean, not a proper one, though it pays well. It's a large potion order, I'll show you. Perhaps you'd like to help me." Scorpius's whole countenance changed and he looked slightly more his age.
"Really?" He said in a small voice. Draco nodded and walked to the cage.
"I met a witch today who gave me quite the advance. That is - an upfront fee. She wrote to me last night, but I didn't want to tell you until I knew for sure." That this was for real, he thought. Draco unlatched the small door and reached both hands in, gently placing them over the closed wings of the owl with his thumbs meeting over its back. He carefully lifted her from her perch, and pulled her through the door minding not to catch any feathers on the side. He told Scorp to hold out his arm and placed the owl on it. Scorp giggled as her claws gripped his bare skin and she gave a soft hoot.
"It tickles!" Scorpius said, laughing. "Ow! It's digging in!"
"It's a she, and of course she's going to with you shaking like that. Calm down. She's yours and owls like to be treated with respect." Draco said, gently. Scorpius stilled immediately and gazed into the owl's black eyes as she tilted her head, observing him back.
"She's mine?" The boy asked quietly. Draco offered Scorpius a bag of owl treats and he took one without looking and offered it to the owl. He giggled again as the owl nipped his fingers as she took the pellet.
"Yes, as long as you let me borrow her from time to time." Scorp looked back at him at that and smiled shyly.
"Thank you."
"I thought it was about time we had one. Now you won't have to keep waiting for Al to owl you for you to write to him. Come on, bring her to the window. She's been in that cage all afternoon. She'll need to stretch her wings and catch some breakfast."
"Breakfast! But will she know where to come back to? Does she know this is her home? What if she just flies off and never comes back?" Draco paused on his way to the window and looked back at Scorp who had backed to the wall, his free hand cupping the owl to his chest.
"Scorp, wizard's owls aren't ordinary creatures. Look, she knows she belongs with you! I bet any old owl wouldn't let you do that to them." He explained. Scorp looked down and became aware that he had begun to squash the owl with his hand. He smiled sheepishly and eased his hold. The owl shifted it's feet and ruffled it's feathers, but didn't flap its wings or make a noise of complaint. Slowly he walked over to Draco who undid the window and opened it wide. The breeze was fresh and cool and Scorpius held out his arm, offering the owl to the setting sun. She pushed off, causing the boy to wince, but this time he didn't complain. They watched her swoop away to explore and hunt. The light that blazed across her feathers was suddenly extinguished as she dropped down lower, out of the suns range as she approached the nearby park. Draco hugged Scorpius to his side and squeezed tightly.
The adult wizard stood, watching the same view, at a different time of night and days later and felt his solitude acutely. It had only been a few days since he'd dropped Scorpius off at Potter's but already he was missing him beyond belief. Draco had been thankful every moment that the boy was not going to Hogwarts, for he could barely stand even this amount of time apart. The daily letters he'd received had helped greatly, though he had suspicions that they were partly through Potter's encouragement. The owl, whom Scorpius had named Noctowl (to Draco's ignored consternation) settled on the window sill and Draco undid the scroll around her outstretched leg.
Dear Father,
I hope your potions are going well and you aren't forgetting that the kitchen is actually a kitchen and can be used to make food in! I hope you haven't run out, though I'd be surprised if you did after all that shopping. I miss you loads and can't wait for tomorrow.
Draco smiled and stroked Noctowl as she climbed her way up to his shoulder.
I've been really busy today. Harry took us all to the Natural History Museum! It was so so cool! The dinosaur skeletons are amazing, it makes you really think about dragons and why they're so different to everything else. Harry said something about evolushun and maybe not all of the dinosaurs got extinct.
Harry said I should check it's alright with you first, but Teddy's grandmother is coming over tomorrow morning. I think I want to meet her, but Teddy told me that because of the ancient feud between her and our family then maybe I ought to be honouring that. He said it was probably some pure blood custom that we followed, but I can tell he's only half joking. He just read this over my shoulder and is now saying it was all a joke and I need to chill out. I knew it was though. He just said he wants to meet YOU again, so can you come over soon? Before term starts? His grandma is coming in the morning though, so will be gone by the time you pick me up. Unless you want to come over earlier? Harry just said that he'd already checked with Mrs Tonks and she said it was fine.
Can't wait for tomorrow!
Scorpius
Draco sighed, feeling troubled, his smile having long since faded as he read. He dropped his hand stroking the owl and summoned a quill without facing the fume clogged air. He turned the letter over and wrote his reply on the back.
Dear Scorpius,
You should be asleep, it's past midnight! The dinosaurs sound fascinating. I've read about and seen photographs of the fossils but never any in real life. Perhaps you can show me one day? Of course it's alright for you to meet your great aunt, if that's what you want. The feud Teddy mentioned occurred before even I was born, and so truly is ancient history. I've always said our family's past should never impact on your decisions, and this is especially true in relation to whether meet your extended family or not.
I'll come to collect you in the evening at seven o' clock sharp. Be at the apparition point. I can't wait to see you either, I have missed you greatly.
All my love,
Father
He re-attached the scroll and let the owl go. How easy Scorpius had made it all sound. Pop over in the morning, be acquainted with the infamous blood traitor aunt, the one he'd heard his father revile over and over while growing up, while his mother listened and gained that closed off, distant expression. Draco wondered what Narcissa would say if she knew. If she'd get angry or reject Draco for allowing her grandchild contact with such people... Or if she'd just soak up the information and give no indication she'd heard, or brush it off with a tinkling laugh and a throwaway comment. It was impossible to predict with her. He was going over there tomorrow, After he dropped off the first finished batch of potions. Would he dare to try and find out? So far he'd avoided broaching any serious topics, but small talk and light entertainment had been getting her nowhere. Maybe he needed to force her into reacting to him. Shock tactics.
The thick green smoke of the Scutum Infirma potion behind him was becoming more transparent and the acrid smell was intensifying. Only a few minutes remained until the next stage was due. Draco cast a bubble head charm on himself and thankfully the smell was instantly shut off. He reluctantly left the window, walking back into the cloying warmth of the room. It was lit, rather dramatically, in candle light, as was one of the strange requirements of the brewing. With the green smoke billowing from the large cauldron illuminated by the flickering light, the scene looked as sinister as the nature of potion itself.
Draco stood over the table and swiped his hand over the cauldron, clearing the smoke to the side. The thick bubbling liquid was a deep forest green and the mistiness within was clearing rapidly as he watched. He picked up the cup containing the fluxweed that had been precisely sliced and soaked in saltwater for exactly the amount of time since he'd added the doxy wings, and held it suspended over the potion. He picked up the glass stirring rod with his left hand and waited for the exact moment the potion would turn completely clear.
He held his hands over the liquid, completely still until finally, the last hint of cloudiness vanished and he emptied the cup, and plunged in the rod. The liquid swallowed the green fluxweed and immediately a rush of warm, invisible vapour engulfed his head. He winced as the gas stung his skin slightly, though he was calm with the knowledge that his bubble head charm would hold. Though the green smoke from before was unpleasant to breath, this silent vapour was far more dangerous and would cause nightmarish hallucinations for hours if inhaled.
He stirred anti clockwise, counting down from eighty eight. He watched as the potion began to lighten and thin down. Eventually it would have the appearance of water. It was truly frightening, the potential power held by certain ingredients combined in certain ways, especially once they looked as harmless as this soon would.
The Scutum Infirma was a potion that only a few drops of which would cause the drinker to be more susceptible to Legilimancy attacks, no matter how strong their Occlumency shields. If a high dose were administered it would even cause the drinker to project their thoughts without their knowledge - though this was a dangerous tactic and may result in the attacker to become trapped within their victims thoughts if they weren't experienced enough in Occlumency themselves.
It was one of three potions that was on that unexpected order and the other two were no better. There was also the Baraniuk Potion, which was quietly bubbling away in the corner and needed to remain doing so until the new moon. This potion worked in a similar way to the Polyjuice and required a hair of the victim to activate. Once drunk, for one hour the user would be able to hear all the thoughts of the person of whom the hair belonged. The potion wasn't, as one might imagine, the most useful tool in espionage, as it required a user most talented in meditation. One had to be truly 'empty' to be able to receive and make sense of the sounds they would hear, and thus it was not as widely used as it potentially could have been.
The Draught of Deception was the third potion on the list and had been the first he'd started as it required the most amount of time to brew; a full cycle of the moon to be precise. He'd begun that very night he'd given Scorpius the owl and buoyed up on a mixture of excitement and purpose he'd foolishly attempted to involve Scorpius in the preparation. At the time he'd brushed away his moral misgivings with the view that it would benefit his son's education. And he'd hopefully assumed Scorpius' own youth and naive ignorance would protect him from learning the true purpose of the potion.
The Draught of Deception, which made the drinker seem like a friend to whomever they chose to engage with, was sold to the boy as 'a potion to help make friends.' Of course with the sharpness and uncomplicated morals of a child, questions were immediately raised to the ethics of such a thing, i.e. how? Why can't they make friends without it? What happens if they're not nice and its a trap? If the potion is in the hands of a 'bad-guy'?
Of course Draco couldn't assure him that it wouldn't, as what 'good' guy would ever order such things? If Draco had had trouble explaining away that potion, then he'd have had no hope with the Scutum Infirma, and even less with the Baraniuk Potion. Trying to explain the true purpose of those potions to a child that thankfully still saw the world divided into good-guys and bad-guys was impossible. And he couldn't lie. Not after everything that had occurred between them recently. What then when Scorpius wanted to help chop or stir? Draco felt lost with most parental decisions, but letting his son become unknowingly involved in Dark magic was an obvious and clear no. And thus the letter to Harry was sent - the lesser of two evils.
Draco felt, not for the first time in the least, a sincere gratitude to Harry Potter. Unlike with Hermione, he felt no confusion any more in regards to the wizard. That Scorp was there with Potter and his sons, away from the kitchen turned potions lab was a difficult yet massive relief. For despite his reluctance to be parted from him, and eagerness to absolve himself from his recent failures, Draco knew the flat was currently no place for a child. Especially with the concentration and lack of distraction required for the current phase of brewing, not to mention the Dark nature of the potions themselves.
So, to Scorpius' delight, and with his own quiet reluctance, Draco reached out to Potter and a fun few nights holiday was arranged for his son. (Potter's words, not his) The meeting between the two wizards, when Draco dropped him off on the Potter's doorstep, had felt excruciatingly awkward. Scorpius had recently become a near daily visitor to the Potter household, but Draco had kept his distance - preferring instead to drop off and pick up from the abandoned muggle bus stop down Potter's road. The last time Draco had seen him of course, after the unmentionable day of his drugging, he'd behaved in the most melodramatic way possible. He'd threatened Harry's life for Merlins sake for the imagined threat to Scorpius, and here he was. He'd come crawling back, pathetically grateful, offering the same child for a few days holiday...
As usual, as with most recent interactions involving Gryffindors, Draco had been at a complete loss on how to behave, and so had returned, in relief, to the tried and tested Malfoy cool while fighting the urge to Disapparate with Scorp on the spot. It was easy to meet Harry's eyes and exchange mild verbal sparring if he was projecting the impression that leaving Scorp there wasn't one of the most difficult things he could do, and that he didn't now feel totally indebted to the other wizard. Anyhow, while grateful appreciation was fine to feel by oneself, it certainly didn't need to be overtly displayed, and especially not to Harry Potter. The man's ego was probably monstrously huge anyway without the need for extra inflation.
Remaining distant also helped mask that familiar bitter jealously, which predictably occurred while watching Potter joke and laugh with his son. Though of course it helped this time that Draco knew it was happening on his own terms. However, perhaps Potter had more sensitivity than Draco was giving him credit for. If trying to appear controlled and authoritative was Draco's way of dealing with the situation, then making light of it may have been Potters. After all, who'd want to draw any more attention back to that moonlit hallway threat and all of subsequent back and forth letters of motivation and then advice? Better just to act as if nothing had happened, particularly in front of the boys, though Draco knew it was fooling no one. He appreciated Harry's tactful act of tactlessness though, regardless, but rather hoped he wasn't giving him too much credit. He was a Gryffindor, after all.
It was a surge of relief that Draco felt on receiving a reassuring smile and a tight hug goodbye from Scorp, before he ran off into the house chasing Albus. Thank Merlin his son could see through the act. He knew, Scorp knew. They would be fine.
Semi-Dark potions, Draco thought to himself while stirring. Well, how about bordering Dark, dipping your toes in Dark... Definitely semi-legal. Or maybe they even occupied that murky area around illegal and Dark, where it was all down to intent, as was with most interesting magic. He hadn't wanted to check. But if he had turned down the job, somebody else would be making them, so it may as well be him. And receiving the money had been glorious. So had brewing the potions, in fact. He hadn't been able to work on something so complex, that required such preciseness of skill in years.
'Bad-guy.' Draco recalled Scorp's anxiously bitten lip and conflicted look as he waited for his father to answer him. Was his client a bad guy? Most probably based on this evidence, and he took the job anyway. Did that make him one too in Scorp's eyes? Draco refused to think about the potential victims but focussed resolutely on what the money would mean for their family. But even then it wasn't a quick or obvious decision. 'What if it's a trap?' Scorp's concern had been for the potion drinker, but Draco was aware it could be applied to himself as well.
However, If it were entrapment, then he knew it was not aimed at himself, Draco Malfoy, specifically. For the order had been made in answer to a quiet, anonymous advertisement he had placed in the Daily Prophet two months previously. There was no evidence or hint that the "skilled potion master" (slight exaggeration), who was "open minded to the potential for a wide range of potions" (Will brew what the apothecaries in Diagon Alley won't go near,) and who inhabited a decidedly poor muggle address could possibly be the infamous Draco Malfoy. No-one but Potter, Granger and the Greengrasses knew where they lived, and most probably they were far too ashamed of the address to share it around. On the other hand, one could never be too cautious.
Before the owl had a chance to escape, Draco wrote back requesting a meeting and the next day, after dropping Scorpius off at the Potter's, he found himself back at the White Hart pub in Knockturn Alley awaiting his potential client. A short while after Draco arrived, a plain sort of witch entered and Draco watched the woman carefully; waiting for a reaction once she realised who the anonymous potion maker was. However, her expression didn't change once she clocked him and she approached his table, holding out her hand to shake, as if meeting a Death Eater in Knockturn Alley was just a normal event in her working day.
Within minutes of their sitting down to business, Draco had also deduced the woman was not the real client: she had a decidedly minion-y air. The witch confirmed it herself, and explained with calm professionalism that her employer was otherwise engaged elsewhere. These were all points to the clients favour, Draco decided, as sending one's subordinates to deal with what seemed to be almost routine meetings with disreputable people, seemed to point to the authenticity of the order and not at it being a set up. His uncertainty wasn't totally assuaged though until he'd demanded some kind of oath from the woman that the order was legitimate, and his brewing and delivery of the potions wouldn't put him in any sort of jeopardy. After a brief pause she agreed, and with relief Draco felt her words heavy with magic that guaranteed their authenticity.
As the discussion turned to his fee he readily employed yet another lesson from his father: how to negotiate. Though he barely had to remember those lessons; watching Scorpius barter at Borgin and Burkes earlier that month had been inspiring enough. His face and voice remained cold and imperious as he drove forward a higher rate while his mind raced in excitement at the implications such a large amount of money would mean for him and Scorp. Predictably, she conceded and they agreed on a date for delivery of the first batch. Upon parting ways the woman presented Malfoy with a further demanded advance.
He left the pub with a victorious sense of purpose and went about his business with a hint of the old pride that he hadn't felt in years. Suddenly he found he didn't care about the witches and wizards he passed as he hopped from apothecary to apothecary, spreading the purchases to avoid suspicion. The old armour that had left him for so long, was back.
Draco completed the eighty eighth stir and slowly pulled out the rod, making sure nothing dripped on to the table. He reduced the intensity of the flame and walked to the sofa, dropping down on to it heavily. He was tired and itched to remove the bubble head charm, to be able to breath freely again. He lay back, head resting against the wall and his thoughts drifted, as they had tended to do at all week while undirected, back to Hermione. He wondered what she was doing now, if Scorp had seen her at all. If she'd be interested in the potions he was brewing. At that Draco snorted and brought his hands into the bubble that surrounded his head to rub his eyes. It was time to find a book. Something long and distracting. The potion had a good few hours of simmering before he could finally call it a night...
It was ten in the morning by the time the batch of Scutum Infirma was finished. Draco divided it up between the vials and packed them into a box, charming them not to break. He checked on the other two potions and gave the flat a brief tidy. He left the windows wide open and hoped the faint smell of burnt seaweed would be gone by the time he got home with Scorp later. Spelling it away didn't seem to work.
By twelve he was back at the White Hart, though this time was informed by the barman that a private room had been requested for his meeting. He was led back to the very room where he'd first sat with Harry and the boys and left to wait. It was smaller and darker than he remembered and he idly wondered what the change in room meant. His curiosity was piqued; perhaps it meant meeting the man himself, and on hearing two approaching male voices a few minutes later he sat up straighter and arranged his expression into something that he hoped would project authority. He was hugely relieved he'd worn his best black robes for the occasion. Worn so rarely that they actually had retained some look of quality about them.
The door was pushed open by the innkeeper, and in through the frame stepped the tall, dark haired figure of - Blaise Zabini?! Draco's heart lurched and he stood abruptly, chair banging loudly against the wood panelled wall behind him. What the fuck?! Blaise gave him a toothy smile, his teeth aggressively white against his deeply tanned skin. He turned to the innkeeper who still hovered by the door, looking uncertainly between the two men.
"Two firewhiskeys." Zabini's voice was unctuous yet dismissive and the man bowed his head as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. Draco waited for the steps to fade, giving himself a couple of moments to sort out his thoughts. It wasn't enough time though and he leant forward, hands balled into fists on the table. The rich scent of Blaise's aftershave assaulted him.
"What the fuck is going on? Why are you here? Who told you about this?" He hissed. Blaise laughed. The hollowness of it rang through the room, but he didn't stop until he'd languorously taken a seat opposite Draco and it had turned into a deep, throaty chuckle.
"There's no need to look at me like that, Malfoy." He spread his palms face up across the surface of the table and gave Draco a look of mock contrition. The corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes were widened as if he was so terribly sorry for his presence. "I'm your client."
A/N - *insert here list of excuses for lack of update for 2 months that no one really wants to hear.* If you made it to here then thank you for reading and not losing interest! And I just hope you remembered what's going on.
This is unrelated and I probably shouldn't be doing this - but i've waited since early July to say this (and I know bragging isn't nice) but Alan Rickman gave out the awards at my graduation! I thought you guys would be the perfect audience as you'd understand how extremely, out of this world, exciting this was for me. As Rickman's Snape is totally how I imagine the character as I read. I had to go off and inhale loads of Snape fics after... And I have to say any of them that describe his smile as creepy are TOTALLY wrong! mmmmmm. & mmm to his voice... If only this story wasn't true to canon in regards to him. :(
I'm aiming to publish at least every fortnight from now on! xxx