*THIS IS ALL FOR A WHILE FOLKS AS I HAVE A VERY BUSY MONTH AHEAD AND NEED TO TAKE CARE OF REAL LIFE BEFORE REAL LIFE TAKES CARE OF ME BY HAVING ME DROP DEAD. NO WORRIES, I WILL CONTINUE. HOPE YOU ARE ENJOYING IT AND IF YOU WANT TO SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS IT WOULD HELP WITH MOTIVATION*
Draco apparated in a small, crammed room, cursing when his elbow hit something sharp. He hissed, as pain travelled up his arm, and jolted forward, regretting it immediately when his knee bumped against a hard surface. Whatever it was, it came crashing down with a loud clunk.
So much for trying to be stealthy.
He casted a quick Lumos, surveying the small broom closet he currently found himself in. The shelves behind him were cluttered with a multitude of assorted cleaning products, reeking the air of chemicals. A couple of brooms and a mop laid precariously against the door, still half inside the bucket Draco had toppled over.
He strained his ears to make sure there were no sounds coming from outside, especially after the racket he had just caused, and sighed in relief when only silence answered back. He straightened the bucket, dodging a few rags and a hoover, and charmed the door open. Pushing past, he exited into the small landing of an old block of flats he was only vaguely familiar with.
His previous, and only, two journeys to the place had been by broom, in the concealing darkness of favourably overcasted nights. It was the second time around that, during a fit of idiocy and teenage hormones, Draco had gotten acquainted with the specific supply closet he had just landed in.
All things considered, he had been extremely lucky, or maybe skilled, to get it exactly right and not lose a limb in the process. He was starting to believe he should be the one teaching Harry how to apparate. Despite significant progress made just the previous day, Draco still didn't trust the other boy to go long distances by himself.
Or further than six feet, really.
Draco shook his thoughts away and climbed the remaining two flights of stairs to flat 15. The name scribbled under the doorbell was still the same, and he thanked Melin for small mercies, not sure what he would have done otherwise. He took a few deep, calming breaths and raised his hand, knocking twice.
Nothing happened.
He shifted on his feet, quickly glancing around, and pressed his finger down on the doorbell hard, keeping it there for longer than it was polite. What felt like minutes passed, but no one came to answer.
Draco banged his fist against the wood. He didn't have time for this.
Pondering on the benefits of letting himself in, he quickly discarded the idea. There was nothing an empty flat could do for him.
He took in his surroundings once more, feeling deflated. The square clock hanging skewedly on one of the communal walls told him it was just a couple of minutes to 5 and, suddenly, Draco knew where to go.
He could have waited, and maybe that would have been the smart thing to do. Right that moment, though, his sense of urgency was too overwhelming for him to be anything but irrational.
He flew down the steps, almost crashing into the front door, too caught up in the momentum. An older man, who was loitering just outside the building searching his pockets for the keys, sent him a look of disapproval when he let the door slam shut behind him. Draco ignored it, his focus entirely on the pounding of his own feet against the cobblestone. He needed all of his concentration if he wanted to remember a road he has only walked once before.
Running wasn't his strong point. He decided he should probably be working on rectifying that, seeing as he was neck deep into a bloody war, but all he could do for now was push through the burn in his thighs. His calves were starting to ache too and, if he really paid attention, he could feel the start of a fire in his lungs. When he thought about it, everything was kind of aflame.
Just as he was starting to believe he couldn't go much further, he spotted the welcoming sight of an antiques shop a short distance ahead. A young man stood outside the door, fiddling with the keys in the lock, unaware of the eyes on him. Draco watched him as he pulled down the rolling shutters, making sure they were firmly secured to the ground, before straightening up.
Their eyes met. Draco was still several feet away, chest heaving, breath coming out in short, desperate puffs, but there was no doubt where his gaze was directed.
Confusion gave way to recognition in the young man's face and his jaw fell open. He stepped closer, still looking like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. His right hand twitched, as if wanting to reach out to the vision in front of him and make sure it was corporeal and not a mere hallucination.
Draco smiled thinly.
"Ben." He greeted, and the man blinked rapidly, his nose twitching in a familiar motion.
"Draco?" He said, a question more than a statement, his voice a little sharky.
Draco ruffled his dark fringe self consciously, offering a quick nod to confirm his identity.
Ben's eyes trailed the movement. "What happened to your hair? Actually, no, scratch that. Where the fuck have you been? Have you got any clue how worried T-?"
"Can we talk?" Draco interrupted, feeling the curious glances of a few passersby on himself. "I mean, not here. Back at your flat."
"I- yeah, okay. Yes."
The walk back was relatively longer, now that he wasn't running, and it didn't help that they spent most of it in silence. Brighton in September was still frolicking with Muggles, enjoying the last of warm evenings for the year. The two of them fell easily into the lazy pace of the people around them. Draco wondered at how seamlessly he now merged with a crowd that, not until long before, had always felt so alien.
Despite feeling Ben's inquisitive gaze all over his skin like an itch he couldn't relieve, he kept his focus stubbornly on the ground. They were both wearing the same type of ratty trainers, he observed, thinking the brand must be quite popular among their non-magical peers.
Draco's pair was black, Ben's a dark red that looked much older and worn out. The trainers had long ceased to feel foreign on Draco's feet, but he was well aware of how his Muggle attire must have looked to the other boy. To Ben, Draco had always been tailor fitted robes and shiny black boots, with an intricate buckle and a little heel.
He wondered when he had started feeling more comfortable in these cheap clothes than he did in his old skin. Like a snake, he had shed the constricting layers of his past and emerged new, his surface still rough and vulnerable, but able to breathe.
As far as comparisons went, it was a crap one, but Draco still thought it fitting. Maybe he should tell Harry, just to get a laugh out of him.
It had to be said, it was also much easier climbing up five flights of stairs when not wearing starchy trousers and several layers of cloaks.
In fact, he was only panting a little when Ben finally pushed the door to his flat open, moving aside so that his guest could enter first.
A white owl, not nearly as magnificent as Hedwig, hooted in greeting as soon as they stepped inside. It was perched on top of a long pole near the window, a few newspapers scattered haphazardly on the floor underneath it. They were covered in droppings and feathers and, not for the first time, Draco thanked his magic for making cleaning chores so much easier.
"What happened to Agatha?" He asked, observing the unfamiliar creature with curiosity. The owl tilted its head to the left and stared, as if trying to assess him back.
Ben sighed, sounding pained. "Father believed she was much too fast and clever for my needs and, after Otis passed, he requested her home. That's Ginger, she bites but I've gotten used to it."
Draco quirked a dubious eyebrow, eyeing the owl's dirty-white mantle. He could swear the animal looked just as unimpressed.
"Hey, I didn't name her, she came with it." Ben defended, turning to the fridge. "It was a shit trade, but not much I can do about it."
The owl tutted in what sounded like an offended tone, her beak clicking dangerously. Draco aborted his arm motion in mid air, thinking better than to try and pet her.
Ben's head poked from behind the fridge's door, a small frown pursing his lips. "Fancy some pumpkin juice? I still have a couple of bottles from when Theo visited two weeks ago."
"No, thank you." Draco declined, twitching slightly at the mention of Theo. His eyes flitted quickly to the owl and back, and he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from stretching upwards into a lopsided smile too fond to be a smirk. "Your brother was always helpless at naming things."
Ben snorted, uncapping one of the bottles and taking a large mouthful, juice dribbling down his chin. He wiped it off with the back of his hand and levelled Draco with a curious look. "You guessed it. Like that time when he was 9 and he named every one of your peacocks Jeffrey?"
Draco would still often refer to them as such in his head, feeling absurd every time he did so. It was such a precious memory, one of brighter times, that he couldn't help it. Before he had the time to come up with anything more than a genuine smile, though, Ben shifted, his expression turning serious. "Why are you here, Draco?"
The fact that the Notts' oldest son was a squib was a bit of trivia rarely discussed among their ranks, although everybody knew about it. Benjamin was six and a half years older than Theodore, but it wasn't until he reached five that his family had started suspecting something was amiss with their first born. The heir, the only child a respectable pureblooded family needed to begin with, and he was faulty.
Hope dwindling with each passing day, their father had started wondering if trying for another child was worth the risk. A second boy. Of course, and to their family's relief, Theo, the blimmin show off, had ended up exhibiting magical aptitude before he could even walk. Draco couldn't fault the bloody git for his talent.
When they were 10, and already long-time friends, Theo had confessed to Draco just how much he'd like to believe his mother's assurance that he had been wanted. Truth was, his birth had occurred more out of need than desire. Theo had always hated lying to himself, even as young as that.
Despite the odds stacked against them, the siblings had never ended up resenting each other for their parents' faults.
When Theo's Hogwarts letter had arrived, just as Ben was reaching the edge of adulthood and never more aware of his limitations in their world, nothing changed between them. It wasn't easy, watching his younger brother leaving for a place Ben so deeply yearned to join, but he could never hate Theo for his magic. For something he could not control.
With their mother's death, during Theo's second year, their bond had only grown stronger. Perhaps it had been that sudden tragedy that allowed Theo to rid himself of the few remaining prejudices from his upbringing, or maybe he was always heading that way. Draco couldn't be sure. He only knew that it was then, almost 13 years old and with new, confusing feelings he did not understand towards his childhood best friend, that he had realised their already diverging paths were taking two opposite directions. That Theo's unyielding love for his brother would keep him away from the life Draco knew awaited people like them. Like him.
Theo had never completely given up on their friendship, their brief something-more, but Draco knew his brother did, and would always, come first. To that day, he believed Ben to be Theo's favourite person ever, and vice versa. He couldn't help being a little jealous of their relationship, the only thing that could make him begrudge his single-child status.
He glanced at the young man in front of him, lingering on the little details that mirrored his brother's. The slopey shoulders, small nose that pointed slightly upwards. The deep, blue eyes that Draco realised, with a shiver, he missed very much. As a friend, because they always worked better that way, but oh how he longed to have Theo standing with them right that minute. As their eyes met, he was also made aware that Ben was still waiting for a reply on what exactly Draco was doing in his living room.
Theo had shown him a huge amount of trust by revealing where his brother lived. By showing him, inviting him into their safe space, away from their father's judgement and the war. A war that, on Draco's side, rarely showed kindness to people like Ben.
It was time for Draco to show the same amount of trust.
They didn't know each other that well, but Draco was out of options. As much as Ben had been present in Draco's memories for as long as he could remember, he had never been much more than Theo's brother. Only twice, in the summer after fourth year, when their parents were too preoccupied with the return of their Lord to pay their children any mind, Draco had somewhat gotten to know him as a person.
Short visits, during which Draco had a glimpse of Muggle life through the lenses of someone that didn't fully belong in either world. Ben's flat was similar to the one he had shared with Harry in California and, at the same time, completely different. Some of the appliances were familiar, not that Draco had paid them any notice before being forced by circumstances. Without needing to hide his magic, he had simply brushed aside the evidence of Ben's new lifestyle and the many ways he had to adapt. Still, there was a lot in Ben's place that would have turned a few Muggle's heads. Like the owl in the living room, or the chocolate frog boxes strewn across his counter, from which faint croaks could seldomly be heard.
Even Ben's job at the antiques shop could be considered suspended in between the two worlds. It was concerning, really, the amount of cursed shit that ended up somehow mixed with muggle paraphernalia. Mr. Nott's connections in the ministry were enough for his oldest son to be appointed the underwhelming task of spotting such items before any Muggle could lose a finger or two. Draco believed Ben might have had to deal with the Weasel's father at some point, as well.
For some unknown reason, Ben didn't seem to mind the shitty cards life had dealt him. Last Draco had heard, he was even dating some Ravenclaw witch working as a ministry underling. She had a nose ring, or something.
"How's Soph- Sonya?" Draco asked, realising he had been lost in his own mind for far too long.
"She is good, thank you. She had to cancel dinner, actually. Not sure if you know, but the Ministry is in a bit of a…pickle, right now. Otherwise she'd probably be here wondering what the hell you are doing in my house, too."
"About that…" Draco started, licking his dry lips. Maybe that drink wouldn't have been such a bad idea.
"Does Theo know?" Ben stopped him, a calculating look in his face. Draco felt like he was being tested, for what he wasn't sure.
"Know what?"
"He has been beside himself, Draco. You disappeared right after Dumbledore's death… Of course he suspected that was your idiotic plan but, honestly…"
"I didn't kill him!" Draco defended, crossing his arms.
"No shit. Father said it was Snape, that you were meant to come back with him and that creepy aunt of yours and you never did. That they had you, probably kept you as a hostage or something. Theo was almost relieved… He said that at least this way you wouldn't get yourself killed. He already thinks that you had something to do with Potter, and then you go and vanish in almost the same way."
"Theo should try minding his fucking business, once in a while. He was wrong about Harry…" Draco realised his mistake one breath too late, barely resisting the urge to clamp his hands over his stupid mouth like a moron. He couldn't help his eyes widening, though, and, by the look on Ben's face, the other man hadn't missed the slip.
"Harry as in Harry… Potter?"
"Yes, that one. Potter." Draco replied, trying to infuse as much disdain in the word as he knew he could. "Potter is alive, or so I've heard. So… your brother was wrong."
"Draco… What's going on?" Ben prompted, a puzzled frown upon his lips.
"It's a common name. But, yes, Potter. I meant Potter." Draco babbled, apparently unable to quit it while he still had a chance. Truth was, he had no fucking idea what to say.
The other man's expression turned a mix of worried and annoyed that really reminded Draco of Theo. "What the hell? You can't just appear out of nowhere… How did you get here by the way?"
"Apparated to that broom cupboard Theo showed me last time." Draco said, colouring slightly.
"Oh." Ben seemed to shake himself out of a daze, his hands gesticulating wildly. Some pumpkin juice spilled and he glared at the offending droplets on the floor, before finding Draco's gaze once again. "Well, regardless… What are you doing here?"
"I need to speak to Theo. You still owl him weekly, right?"
"Err, yeah. Of course I do. But, I still don't… Why can't you owl him yourself?"
Draco sighed. He leaned back, his head hitting the wall with a thud, and looked up at the ceiling. "Because I've heard of the new administration arrangements and I really, really would appreciate it if my current situation could be kept secret. In fact, I'd be grateful if you could avoid telling anyone you have seen me."
"But… I don't understand. Your parents are beside themselves! You obviously have enough freedom to be roaming around…"
"I know that." Draco interrupted, his eyes leaving the safe, expressionless comfort of the ceiling. "Trust me, I know that. And I would tell them, if I could… Things have -changed."
"Are you afraid of punishment for not killing Dumbledore? Theo said it was your task, or something. Even father believed it was ridiculous, though. No one expected you to…you know. I doubt You-Know-Who would care enough."
"I honestly don't give a fuck what he thinks." Draco spat, hoping that the half-truth was enough to cover his fear. "I need to speak to Theo. I need something from Hogwarts, but I'm sure mail is being monitored. In any case, I can't take the chance. As I said, things have changed. I have changed." He said, dragging the words with meaning.
Ben let out a puff of air and blinked a few times, staring at the wall just left of Draco's face like the answers to his doubts were written all over it.
"Shit."
Draco closed his eyes and exhaled.
"You deflected."
Draco opened his eyes and straightened up, head thumping against the wall once more.
"Not a world to anyone. My parents…" He trailed off. They both knew his family wouldn't be granted any mercy for their son's actions, regardless of their involvement.
"No, yeah. Shit. Has this got anything to do with you calling Potter by his given name?"
Draco remained quiet, letting the silence do the job he wasn't ready for.
"Shit." Ben repeated, and Draco almost asked him what kind of conclusions the other man had drawn from his lack of answer.
"Is that why you've changed your hair?" Ben asked, when it was clear the previous question wasn't getting him anywhere. "Actually, is that muggle hair dye?" He frowned, tilting his head to better observe Draco's white-blond roots.
"Ten points to… whatever." Draco huffed, grateful for the change in subject.
Ben let out a short, involuntary snort. "Glad to see that whatever Potter has done to you hasn't changed the fact that you are an absolute wanker."
Draco smiled a little, before turning serious. "Please, Benjamin, I need your help."
At the urgency in his voice Ben sobered up, nodding curtly. "Yeah, okay. My brother will be relieved to know you are safe. Tell me what's the plan."
Dear Theo,
The owl you gifted me is dead set on removing all my fingers, so I hope she'll take a nibble at yours when this letter finds you. I'll time it so that you won't have any breakfast sausages to protect you, for once.
Work is slow, as per usual. We had a couple of suspicious tea pots coming in last week, but it turns out they were just cheaply made. Had to check, though. It's always the tea pots!
Thank you for sharing the Honeydukes chocolate frogs father sent you. I know your first trip to Hogsmeade is not scheduled for another month, but I'm low on butterbeer fudge, if you could be a darling. Bitch 3
Sorry to hear Blaise has dropped Charms. If I am honest I think you have picked way too many subjects. Don't stress out too much, idiot. Wouldn't do you any good if you start looking like you are the older one between the two of us.
Anyway, I happened to bump into our mutual friend the other day. You know, Jeffrey, the one you used to say was a bit of a peacock.
He asked about you. We joked about the time you two had to hide from the Muggles in my building's broom cupboard because you were too drunk to think that there wasn't any reason to hide in the first place.
I know you were wondering what happened to him. He is well, just changed jobs recently. It wasn't an easy decision but he says he is much happier this way. He knows you would approve.
He told me to say hi to you and wondered if you could ask Professor Snape for some advice. He would write himself but knows Snape is a very busy man and the matter is not quite so important to bother him directly.
He really misses his time at Hogwarts and wishes he had put more effort into listening to Professor Snape when he had the chance, so that he could have made his mother proud. When he was struggling with his school work, Snape had offered to help. Jeffrey wondered if he would still be willing to send him the old potion text they had been discussing in the past.
He'd be really grateful if you could deliver this message to Snape. He'll know what to do.
If it helps, I think Jeffrey mentioned something about Vernacula Scriptam, or Tentacula… You know I'm helpless with this stuff.
I'm planning to see him for a drink in a couple of weeks, so I can let him know then. He said not to fuss too much about it, just ask when Snape has a quiet minute.
Anyway, I better go and make dinner. I do miss Dinky the most, when it comes to dinner time. So annoying father never learnt to share.
But, don't worry, you are still my second favourite. Send me those sweets and you might get even.
Miss you,
Benny.
Draco sighed, letting the quill fall onto the parchment. He casted a quick spell Snape had taught him during sixth year when he was trying to get Draco to accept his help, watching as the last few lines he had written under Ben's letter disappeared.
You told me I could count on you. I need your help. I know there is some variation of the Protean charm that can be used for two-ways communication. Find a way. Please.
Don't try to contact me directly.
Draco had never taken advantage of the secret message system Snape had devised, yet he was hoping against all hope that this stupid plan was going to work. With the protection he had casted, only the other man should be able to reveal the hidden words.
At the end of the day, he simply had to rely on both Theo and Snape's ability to read between the lines. He could just pray that his clumsy attempts at leaving some clues wouldn't be picked up by the wrong people.
"What do you think?" He asked Ben.
"Mhm, innocent enough." Ben hummed, scratching his nose. "You'll be fine. Theo reads you like a book. He always has."
Draco couldn't deny that. A quick glance at the clock told him it was getting really late.
"I can trust you to send that, yeah?" He said, pointing at the letter. "I really have to go."
"Yeah." Ben assured, already folding the parchment neatly. "You can apparate from here."
"I'll be back. I - thank you."
He took a big breath, readying himself, but a hand on his arm stilled his movements.
"Wait." Ben said, tearing a tiny strip from one corner of the letter and scribbling something. "It's my landline number, in case you need it. Something about that hair tells me you are no longer completely clueless about Muggle stuff."
"No, yeah." Draco nodded, pocketing it gratefully. "I'll call you."
"Stay safe." Was all he could hear before the room started spinning, disappearing completely from view. When Draco regained balance he was standing in front of a really familiar white door, bearing a brass number 34 in the centre.
