February, 1999 - Malfoy Manor
They had been on house arrest for little over eight months now - ever since the Ministry of Magic had reformed; Kingsley Shacklebolt had been sworn in under emergency circumstances, but it was likely to be another year before an official election could be called. Eight months at Malfoy Manor, with none of them allowed to leave without explicit permission from the Aurors, and an official escort. He shouldn't complain, Draco knew, and for the most part he didn't. He kept his head down, and he kept his mouth shut. This punishment was nothing in light of the regime of terror and devastation they had supported and helped install. No, Draco was well aware that they deserved much worse.
But he couldn't help but be hopeful for the hearing today. Hopeful that the Winzengamont might decide that they could walk free once more. And by they, he mostly meant himself and his mother; the one benefit of being under house arrest at the Manor was its sheer size, and Draco had taken advantage of it to avoid his father as much as possible. Rightly or wrongly, Draco couldn't help but place the blame for all of their misfortune at the feet of Lucius. It was he who had taken the Dark Mark and pledged himself as the servant of a lunatic. It was he who had opened their home to the Dark Lord and entwined their fates with his. And ultimately, it was Lucius who Draco blamed for the series of events that had ended with a brand on Draco's arm. He wasn't naive to his mother's involvement - to her complicity - but he loved her too much to be truly angry with her. He needed to feel like at least one of his parents was on his side.
There was always the chance though, Draco thought, ice settling in his stomach, that the Winzengamont didn't allow them to walk free. There was a very real chance in fact, that they would decide that house arrest wasn't enough. All three of them could very easily end up in Azkaban before the end of the day, and while the dementors had been banished from the prison, he still felt sick at the thought of his mother behind bars. If it were in his power, he thought resolutely, he'd do everything he could to ensure she walked free. It was down to her actions that they weren't immediately thrown in prison in the first place, after all - surely, she should be spared?
He had been stood in front of the mirror in the corner of his room for at least twenty minutes, his tie in his hands, his outer robes still hanging from a clothes hook waiting for him to put them on. He felt frozen though, staring at his own reflection. On the outside, he looked much as he had before his life had begun to spiral, if a little older. On the inside though, he felt stretched thin and burnt out from nearly two years of being terrified for the lives of his family, and then eight months of wondering and worrying about this very day.
He was knocked back into the present by a gentle knock on his bedroom door, "Draco? Can I come in?"
He swallowed dryly, and answered, "Yes, Mother," he watched in the mirror as his door was opened a crack so that his mother could peer inside.
"Oh, Draco," she said, pushing the door open the rest of the way and entering fully, "you need to finish getting dressed - we're meant to leave in ten minutes. Here," she used her hand on his shoulder to turn him to face her, "let me," she took the tie that had been hanging loosely from his fingers. He didn't stop her when she flicked his collar up and placed his tie around his neck; instead, he looked down at her face and watched her listlessly.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes flicking between his and where her hands were working on the knot at his throat, "You look like we're walking to the gallows,"
"What if we are?" he said anxiously, "What if they decide house arrest hasn't been enough, and send us to Azkaban," he stopped her hands with his own, and spoke again when she was looking at him, "I don't want you to go to Azkaban," he whispered.
She offered him a patient smile and pressed her palm to his cheek, "We're not going to go to Azkaban - not me, not you, and not your father," Draco didn't particularly care if Lucius went to Azkaban or not.
"How can you be so sure?" he asked hoarsely, and his mother smiled and resumed fiddling with his tie and collar.
"Mister Potter has agreed to testify on our behalf," she said lightly.
"Potter?" Draco said dumbly, and his mother gave him a faintly reproachful look, tightening his tie and reaching for the cuff links on his dresser.
"Mister Potter, Draco," she stressed, "he's about to save all of our necks, so I would appreciate it if you showed him a modicum of respect, please,"
"Why would Harry Potter testify for us?" it felt strange to call him mister, and so his whole name would have to do.
"I've been writing to him," she said reluctantly, as if she expected him to explode; he imagined that Lucius had. Lucius hadn't been the same since his stint in Azkaban. Draco had complicated feelings about Lucius, but he had to admit he had always been a loving husband to his mother, doting on her at every opportunity and always quick to capitulate in her favour. The outbursts of furious shouting were relatively new. He would probably have benefitted from a mind healer, but Draco doubted there were any in Britain that would take him as a patient. Not that he blamed them.
"Oh," he said stupidly, obediently threading his arms through his robes when his mother held it out expectantly.
"The Auror's are here," they both froze; Lucius was at his open door, watching them through narrowed eyes.
"We're coming Lucius," his Mother said, "wait for us in the lobby," there was a moment when Draco wasn't sure Lucius would leave; Narcissa let out a sigh of relief when he finally did, "Things will be better when he can get out of the house," she said reassuringly, striding away from Draco to his bed where his shoes were waiting, "Quickly, put these on, we don't want to be late," she waited for him while he tied his laces.
"Will they, though?" he asked, avoiding eye contact, "I can't imagine any ruling from the Wizengamont is going to grant us clemency in the eyes of the public,"
"I was thinking that me and your father might go to France for a year or two - wait for people's memories to fade. You'll come with us?" Draco knew his answer without thinking about it.
"No," he said firmly, standing and meeting his mother's concerned eyes, "No. I won't run from this,"
She gave him a sad smile, "Well, then you're braver than I," he pretended not to see when she pressed the side of her thumb just under her eye to carefully wipe away a tear without disturbing her makeup, "come on - otherwise we really will be late."
Draco had expected that they would be taken to some kind of box in the courtroom - elevated above the viewing gallery perhaps, for all to see. This was not the case, however. Instead, they took seats in the oval gallery with the rest of the crowd, the only difference being that their seats had been reserved for them. Maybe Mother was right, he thought, this didn't exactly scream that they were about to be put in chains and dragged away. Narcissa squeezed his hand reassuringly and gave him a small smile, before looking around the room with interest (though Draco knew it was only to mask her own nerves). Draco saw when she made eye contact with someone and offered them a respectful nod. Draco followed her gaze and found himself looking at none-other than Harry Potter. A thrill of adrenalin shot through his chest at the sight of the boy-who-lived.
He was struck by how terrible he looked. Even from across the room, Draco could see that he had visibly lost weight, and had great dark bags under his dull eyes. His hair was as messy as it ever was, but something in the aborted way he reached a hand up to run his fingers through his locks gave the impression that it had recently been shorn significantly shorter than he was used to. There was a hint of razor burn about his Adams apple and the left side of his lip that told Draco he had shaved in haste. Overall, he gave the distinct impression of someone who had scrambled to make themselves look presentable in a hurry. Was that for them?
Seeing the boy for the first time since the battle of Hogwarts, Draco didn't know how to feel. Potter had always inspired strong feelings in him, nearly all of them extremely negative. Looking at him now, that knee jerk rush of feeling was still there, except now he didn't know what name to give it. He didn't hate Potter. He wasn't even sure he particularly disliked him - not anymore. How could he when all of his energy was taken up with hating himself? No. He didn't know what he'd call this feeling.
His breath caught in his chest when Potter's eyes met his, but he was saved from reacting by the session being called to order. Narcissa squeezed his hand, and he sat up straighter, turning his attention to the warlock at the front of the hall.
Now was not the time.
December, 2000 - The Ministry for Magic
Draco was exhausted.
When he had joined the Department of Mysteries (as, after months of applying, they were the only Ministry department willing to touch him), and Crocker had mentioned a six-month introductory period, he hadn't expected this. He'd thought he'd be shadowing a colleague or doing menial office tasks - sitting aptitude tests at the most. He didn't think it would be like this.
It reminded him a little of the obstacle course Lupin had set as their end of year exam in third year, except that the obstacles were significantly more cerebral and deadly. He doubted even the least competent Hogwarts Professor would lock a student in a room with a malfunctioning time turner, and task them with making it safe under the threat of bodily harm - or worse. He had done significantly better at this task though (his experience with the vanishing cabinet coming in handy) when compared to the others.
How was one meant to identify and utilise love magic anyway? He'd had to be rescued by his instructor when the angry floating orb in front of him had attacked.
"Always difficult, Obscurials," Peakes had said, patting his back with a kind smile, apparently unbothered by her singed fringe, "never had a new recruit yet who could tackle one. Don't beat yourself up," she was the only one who seemed to have this attitude though. The other instructors were considerably harsher.
In addition to this, they had combat training at the end of every day, and the instructor for this had taken an instant dislike to Draco. Today, for instance, he had waited a very long two minutes before extinguishing the flames that had been rapidly creeping up Draco's robes. He claimed he had been waiting to see if Draco could do it himself, but Draco felt his odds had been obviously poor when his wand had been over ten feet away.
A month into the programme, Draco had asked Crocker what the point of it all was.
"The majority of Unspeakables are recruited from other Ministry departments, Mister Malfoy," he'd said slowly, as if he were speaking to a small child, "thus, they have already established their magical fields of expertise. These six months are to identify any areas of promise you show - and to weed out anyone not up to snuff,"
He supposed it made sense, but it didn't mean he had to be happy about it.
Today had been the last session of combat training before they broke up for Christmas - he supposed he should have been grateful that they were being given two weeks off for the holidays, but he'd have preferred to work through it. There was no one waiting for him at home after all.
He was on his way out of the building, heading from the training hall to the lifts, when he spotted Potter at the end of the corridor, and he unintentionally froze (fortunately, the witch behind him had fast reflexes and had managed to avoid careening directly into his back). Conscious of the foot-traffic behind him, Draco unstuck the soles of his feet enough to melt back against the wall and out of the middle of the corridor.
Potter was stood talking to Weasley; Weasley wore the Auror's uniform, though the dark blue lapels on his shoulders identified him as a senior trainee. Harry wore the same trousers, but his outer robe was nowhere to be seen. He looked significantly better than the last time Draco had seen him - the dark circles were gone, and his hair didn't look like someone had just taken a blunt pair of scissors to it. His arms were crossed over his chest, his sleeves rolled up, and Draco could just see the tensed muscles of his forearm. He should have gone into professional Quidditch - he still had the seeker physique he'd had while they were in school. Not overly tall with a lean quality to his musculature. Draco doubted he'd have been able to compete against him on a broom anymore - he was too tall and too heavy.
For a moment, he couldn't help but stand and watch him. He was too far away for Draco to see his face clearly, but Draco could fill in the gaps with his imagination. A long sloping nose, a jaw line that had finally filled out his perpetually thin face, and shocking green eyes. Draco could practically see the bob of his Adams apple in his neck when he swallowed.
He had to physically wrench himself away and continue on his journey back to the lifts. If he wasn't careful, he'd fall back into old habits - obsessing over a boy he hated. Though Draco didn't hate him now. He didn't really feel anything at all about him now, actually.
Though the fact that he had stood in a corridor and stared at him for at least a minute suggested he definitely felt something.
On his way through the atrium, he spotted a young witch giving out leaflets beneath a banner advertising a charity event raising galleons for St Mungos. He looked at her once, and then couldn't help himself but to look again - she was beautiful. With skin so pale she practically glowed, and dark thick hair, she looked as if she had stepped out of a fairy-tale. His eyes lingered for a moment on the delicate structure of the wrist she held aloft, a pamphlet gripped between her long fingers and offered out to passing wizards. His eyes caught her dark pair, and he looked away quickly. If he wasn't mistaken, she was the younger Greengrass sister.
He couldn't resist another glance over his shoulder as he approached the fireplaces at the far side of the atrium, and he felt a little thrill to find that she was looking back.
September, 2002 - Betchworth, Surrey
Draco was watching Astoria from his position leant up against the bar, nursing a glass of nettle wine. She looked beautiful - she always looked beautiful but today, their wedding day, she looked especially so. He couldn't help but watch as she threw back her head and laughed at something Jonas, Daphne's husband, had said, her hand gripping his sleeve to steady herself, her other hand pressed to her chest. She was ethereal on a good day, but today she looked positively otherworldly, and he counted himself blessed that she loved him as much as he loved her.
"Draco, dear?" he was snapped out of staring lovingly at his wife (his wife! It thrilled him just to think it) by the approach of his Aunt Andromeda, a sleepy Edward held on her hip.
"Aunt Andromeda," he said warmly, abandoning his wine to step closer, "How are you? I'm sorry, we haven't had much time to talk,"
She waved away his apologies, "Oh, don't worry in the slightest dear - I was a bride once, I remember well how overwhelming the day is," she said kindly, "I've just come to say goodbye - this one's stayed up well past his bedtime and is half asleep," Teddy waved sleepily in his grandmother's arms.
Draco scrambled to check his watch, "Merlin - how is it ten o'clock already?!" he said incredulously, and Andromeda only chucked.
"Time flies when you're having fun. I'm surprised he's lasted this long to be honest with you - we've had a busy couple of weeks! We were at Harry and Ginny's wedding last week, weren't we?"
Edward nodded slowly, "Uncle Harry is the best - I think he should come and live with us,"
"And what about his new wife?" Andromeda asked, amused as she brushed his turquoise fringe out of his face.
Edward fell silent as he thought about his answer, "She can come too," he said finally with a shrug.
"Can she now?"
Draco grinned at her long-suffering sigh.
"Granny," Edward suddenly said urgently, "where's the picture? Did you bring it? You promised you would - I want to show Uncle Draco,"
"Picture?" Draco curiously.
"Yes - he was very determined I bring it to show you. Would you be a dear, and grab it out of my bag? It's in the inside pocket," with both arms wrapped around Edward, Andromeda inclined her head down to the bag at her hip.
Gingerly, Draco did as he was asked, delicately undoing the zips and removing a photo from the bag. On the back was written 'Teddy and Harry, 7th of September, 2002'. Flipping it over, Draco expected to see some kind of formal picture of Edward and Potter - perhaps them standing up straight, side by side, and grinning wildly at the camera.
Instead, he found an image that had clearly been captured with neither of its subjects aware that a camera had been pointed in their direction. They were sat together on a long, fancy sofa. Potter in the middle, his head tilted back, one arm slung over the back of the couch, and the other curled around Edward where he lay across his lap, fast asleep. Judging by Potter's open collar, he guessed that this had been taken towards the end of the night. While Edward only moved to twitch in his sleep, Potter occasionally looked up and glanced down fondly at the boy curled around him.
"It's a lovely photo, Edward," Draco said, his eyes lingering on the long line of Potter's neck as it stretched backwards, "were you asleep in this?" he asked in the way that adults ask small children questions they already know the answer to.
Edward nodded, seeming almost proud, "Yup!"
Andromeda shook her head fondly, "Come on you, off to bed,"
Draco carefully tucked the photo back into his aunt's bag and leant forward to press a kiss to her cheek, and then dropped one on top of Edward's head.
"Enjoy the rest of your night dear," she said kindly, and Edward waved sleepily at him from over her shoulder as she carried him towards the exit.
His mind lingered on the image of Potter sprawled on the sofa, but he was quickly distracted by his wife (wife!) calling his name and beckoning him closer.
Yes, he thought, he really was a lucky man.
November, 2005 - Kensington
"Mistress?" Draco looked up from his coffee at the sound of Dippy's squeak, "the morning's post is here - but there are no knuts left on the hallway table for the owl,"
Astoria, who had been about to enter the kitchen to sit down with Draco for breakfast, paused, "Ah, yes, I'm coming," she turned, and her side profile demonstrated how practically fit to burst she was. The healer had given her a due date in late December, but Draco couldn't possibly see how their baby had any more room to grow.
Draco knew he should have felt more excited to become a father for the first time, but at the moment all he felt was anxiety. He had been happy for them to remain a childless couple for the rest of their days; not because he didn't want a child, but because he knew the toll pregnancy was likely to have on Astoria's health. He had known long before they had married that the blood curse she suffered with meant they were unlikely to have children, and he had been more than fine with that. Astoria was enough for him. But she hadn't felt the same.
"I want to be a mother Draco," she'd said quietly, holding his hands in hers, "and if I have to sacrifice a few years of my life to achieve that, then it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. It's a sacrifice I want to make. I was never destined for old age anyway, darling,"
He had given in, of course. It was hard to say no to something you longed for as well.
It wasn't just her health he worried for though. He worried about what kind of father he would be. He was desperate to be better than his own - to bring up his child to love the word rather than hate it. But what if he failed? What if he, unintentionally, perpetuated a cycle of sons damaged by their fathers? Or daughters, he added mentally, though Astoria seemed convinced they were having a boy and she didn't take well to being contradicted on the matter.
"Here you are," Astoria said mildly, re-entering the kitchen and taking her seat opposite him with a groan; he took the crossword section of the paper from her hands, and fished a quill out of the dish of nicknacks in the middle of the table. He heard a snap of fingers, and suddenly there was a toast rack full of freshly toasted granary bread, and a pot of coffee in the middle of the table.
"Thank you, Dippy," he said politely, picking out a slice of toast and wafting it through the air to cool it. Astoria was very particular about her toast - she liked it to be buttered when the toast was cool enough that the butter didn't melt into liquid and soak into the bread.
"You are most welcome Master Draco - would you be liking anything else this morning?" their house-elf squeaked, looking primed and ready to rustle them up a full English.
"No, thank you," he said reluctantly; being the weekend, it would have been the perfect day for a fry up, but Astoria couldn't stand the smell of bacon at the moment. Dippy gave a small squeak and disappeared with a low bow.
"Oh," he glanced up at Astoria's surprised exclamation, "listen to this: 'The Auror office has announced it has appointed a new Head Auror: Auror Weasley -,',"
"Weasley?!" Draco exclaimed without meaning to, "Not Potter?"
"Let me finish," she said with a pointed stare, "'Auror Weasley has been appointed to the position following a successful interview. This appointment may come as a surprise to some of our readers, as it was the view of many within the office itself, that Auror Potter was marked for the job. However, the Prophet can reveal that Potter was in fact offered the position, and instead chose to not only turn down the appointment, but has resigned from the Auror's all together,'"
"He's resigned?!" Draco couldn't help himself, but Astoria shook her head with a small smile, apparently amused by her husband's lack of self-control. She read on further silently, distractedly accepting the cold slice of toast Draco passed to her, and her smile fell.
"Oh," she said quietly.
"What?"
She answered reluctantly, "They're saying there are rumours that he's left because of his mental health… oh - oh, come now that's just in bad taste," she sounded suddenly angry, "there's some quote from some 'anonymous source' saying that he's been struggling for years, but they've felt the need to call him a nutcase! How awful! After all that man did for the wizarding word, and they've the nerve to spread his business about and insult him at the same time," she said furiously, before wincing and rubbing her belly, "He's angry too," she joked.
"It is," Draco agreed, finding he really meant it, "they've never really left him alone have they," she shook her head, lips pursed, eyes reading further down the page, "What else does it say?"
"It says his wife had their second a few months back - says she's eager to get back into Quidditch,"
"Who does she play for again?"
"The Harpies - says there are rumours he's going to be a stay-at-home-dad,"
"Really?" Draco realised immediately that his tone had been significantly more disdainful than he had intended.
Astoria's gaze was cooler than it had been, though he wasn't quite sure why - it wasn't like she planned to be a stay-at-home-mother, "And what's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, I just… ah," he shifted uncomfortably, realising that he couldn't think of anything that was wrong with it, and yet he couldn't help his knee jerk reaction, "nothing - sorry. You're right," he hesitated, "maybe it's because I couldn't see myself wanting to do that," he said carefully.
She patted her stomach, "Maybe when you've met this little one, you'll understand better," he smiled weakly, and they returned to their breakfast while Astoria read the rest of the article to herself, "You know what," she said, when she had finished reading, "I think I'm going to write a letter of complaint about this article,"
Draco nodded, knowing that that was his cue to fetch her some parchment from the drawer in the kitchen, "Right you are."
He enjoyed the rest of his coffee to the sound of her quill scratching away furiously.
June, 2007 - Kensington
"Are you nearly ready, darling? I want to leave soon if we can," Draco glanced round at his wife. She was sat at her dressing table in their bedroom, looking at her reflection this way and that as she put the finishing touches to her hair and makeup, and selecting the jewellery she wanted to wear for the evening.
She was anxious for the evening to go well, he knew. She had only been back at work for six months, and tonight's charity ball was the first large fund-raising event she had organised since returning. He knew she was eager for the event to be a success, and he had no doubts that it would be.
"Yes," he reassured her, fiddling with his cuff links, "I just need my tie,"
"Do you think your mother will be alright with Scorpius for the night?" she worried, "Should we perhaps collect him on the way home instead?"
"He'll be fine," he said calmly, "Mother has babysat for us before and there's never been any problem - I'm sure tonight will be the same," she hmm'ed, threading earrings into place, "Who's coming to this ball then? Anyone I know? Other than Daphne and Jonas of course" he joked, knowing that the list of people invited was made up mostly of famous witches and wizards - in other words, people Draco had never met in his life.
"Yes actually," she said, checking her reflection and changing her mind about her earrings, "the Potter's are going to be there,"
"Potter?" he said, frowning as he secured his tie around his neck, "Isn't he still unemployed? What exactly are you expecting him to donate?"
She scowled lightly at him in the reflection of her vanity mirror, "Actually, he's coming as the plus one for his wife - you know, the famous Quidditch player?" he opened his mouth into a silent 'ah', coming to sit down on the end of their bed behind her, "And you make it sound like he's some bum," she added reproachfully, "he's a stay-at-home-dad," Draco wrinkled his nose slightly, "Oh, come on - I don't know what your problem is with it. You wouldn't think twice if he were a woman,"
"I technically don't have a problem," Draco said with a shrug, "just still not for me, I guess,"
Astoria sighed at him, "You know what I think it is?"
"What?" he said patiently.
"I think it's something about gender roles that your father managed to instil in you, that you can't quite get passed," Draco involuntarily froze at the mention of his father, but Astoria didn't notice, speaking as she applied one last layer of mascara, "I was speaking to Hannah - she's muggleborn - and she said that muggles have started talking about this thing they call 'toxic masculinity'. The idea that boys are shoehorned into unhealthy stereotypes by society. I think your father is the worst proponent of it. The sort of person to tell you that 'boys don't cry' and 'man up',"
Draco didn't particularly hear any of that though.
"You think I'm toxic?" he asked weakly.
Astoria whipped around immediately, blotting mascara against her eyelid as she went, "No," she said fiercely, reaching for his hand and squeezing it firmly, "No - not at all. I'm sorry, no, that's not what I meant,"
"What did you mean?" he asked, his voice small.
She sighed, and stroked his hand, "I mean, that I think your father taught you that men have a certain role in life, and as much as you've shrugged off a lot of the things he's taught you that might be bad for you, this one has stuck around," she smiled sadly at him, "I don't think you're toxic - not at all. On the contrary, I think you're wonderful," they shared a long warm look, before Astoria patted his hand and turned back to the mirror, and swore at her appearance, "Oh for Merlin's sake!" she fished her wand out and used it to carefully remove the mess she had made of her makeup, "I'm blaming you for this," she said, a playful scowl being reflected back at him.
He chuckled and stood, pausing to press a kiss to the back of her neck, "I'll wait for you downstairs," she shoo'ed him out of the room.
He had barely seen Astoria since they'd arrived, but he wasn't surprised. While she was walking around schmoozing with her guests and trying to encourage galleons out of pockets, he had been whisked away almost immediately by Daphne for a dance, her own husband having trod on her toes one to many times to be trusted. Daphne had finally relented however, and they were sat quietly together at the bar sharing a bottle of wine.
"Only one," Daphne had said, "we've an early start in the morning - we're going to Berlin to visit Jonas's family,"
The man in question was currently in the middle of an extremely animated conversation with Neville Longbottom of all people. Draco hadn't quite understood why he had been invited, until Daphne had told him quietly that Longbottom had a large stake in a rather successful botany business and was a large supplier of potion ingredients to St Mungo's. He couldn't help but feel slightly jealous - if he'd had his way, that was exactly the kind of business he'd have liked to have gone into.
He looked away from the pair, and trailed his eyes across the many other people who had attended. He spotted Astoria at the back of the room in the middle of a deep conversation with a witch Draco didn't recognise. He lingered on them a moment before moving on. He sat up straighter when his eyes landed on someone familiar: Harry Potter.
It had to have been six or seven years since he had seen the man in person, and he had changed significantly. Not in appearance necessarily - he still had the same unbelievably messy black hair and vivid green eyes, though now crow's feet were beginning to crease their corners - no. It was more the energy his emitted - bright and happy. And that wasn't to say that he had given off some aura of absolute misery before, but he had certainly seemed more subdued. He wasn't even doing anything in particular, only talking and laughing with Oliver Wood, but his whole demeanour seemed to radiate contentment.
Draco barely suppressed a jolt when their eyes met. He nodded politely, and Potter hesitated perhaps a nanosecond before doing the same. Draco hurried to look away, surprised by the tightening in his chest at the sight of the other man.
It was ridiculous really, that a man he had so little to do with could still inspire such strong feelings in him.
August, 2009 - Cambridgeshire
"Not in my rosebushes, if you please boys?" said Andromeda shrewdly from her position kneeling on a thick pillow by her flower beds.
"Sorry Granny," Edward ('It's Teddy, Uncle Draco,') said sheepishly, recovering the quaffle he and Scorpius had been playing with from the aforementioned bush. There were two weeks left before he went off to Hogwarts for his first year, and so Draco and his mother had been bringing Scorpius over as often as they could so he could enjoy playing with his cousin before school separated them.
While Andromeda was seeing to her garden, he and his mother were sipping at ice cold lemon water, seated at Andromeda's garden table, a parasol protecting them from the fierce August sun. Watching Scorpius whoop with joy as he and Teddy sprinted around on the grass, Draco felt he could finally understand why someone might want this to be their life, rather than going to work and having a career. Which brought him onto the thing that had been playing on his mind ever since he had found out two weeks prior.
It appeared that Harry Potter was returning to the Ministry workforce, but not as an Auror. Instead, he had been recruited as an Unspeakable, and had placed himself firmly in Draco's orbit for the first time in a decade. And Draco didn't know how to feel about it. It was absurd really, he acknowledged, that he thought he should feel some kind of way about it at all. After ten years, they were essentially strangers to one another, but still he worried that the ancient bad blood between them would become a problem.
"What's the matter Draco?"
He jumped at his mother's drawled question; looking over at her, he found her peering over the top of her sunglasses at Scorpius, a wide brimmed summer hat threatening to flop over her face.
"What?" He said dumbly.
She turned her gaze to him, "You've been messing with that glass for the last ten minutes, and haven't said nary a word," she inclined her head to the glass on the table; he had been mindlessly running his fingers up and down through the condensation that had gathered on its surface, "so I'll ask again - what's wrong?"
He hesitated, "It's stupid," he said haltingly; his mother sighed.
"A great deal of things we worry about are stupid," she said dryly, "but tell me anyway,"
He took a sip of his lemon water to delay speaking, "Did you hear that Potter is joining the Department of Mysteries?" he said finally.
She gave a single nod, "I did - I heard it from the horse's mouth itself in fact. A terrible idea if you ask me," she said with a sniff, and Draco gave her a quizzical look.
"You don't think he'll be good in the role?"
"Oh no, no I think he'll be excellent," she said dismissively, "no. My concern is that he is giving up a life he is exceedingly happy with,"
"Staying at home with the kids?" she nodded, "Why's he doing it then?"
"I think he's been pressured into it by someone. A friend whose opinion he values perhaps," she shook her head, "It's not like they need the money. And he hasn't come out and said he doesn't want to go back to work, but he had this kind of pinched expression on his face when he spoke to me about it," she trailed off contemplatively, "Why do you bring it up, anyway?"
It was with an effort that Draco avoided chewing on his lips, "I… it's stupid I know. But I'm a bit worried about working with him,"
Her eyes narrowed in concern, "Oh? Why?"
"It's just… it's just I feel like he's always brought out the worst in me," he said, "I know I've made mistakes in the past, and I've tried to grow and learn - but even now thinking about him I just…," he trailed off, "Even when we were kids I always had strong feelings about him," he admitted reluctantly, "all of them pretty negative. I just worry that I'm going to end up reverting back to being a total twat again. Like the last ten years didn't matter at all," having been avoiding her gaze, he finally looked over to her, and found her watching him with a strange expression.
She was quiet for a long while before she found something to say.
"Well, I have to say I agree with you," he twitched his brow in a question, "That is stupid," she said in amusement, "You're both grown men now! Not schoolboys. And you've both grown into lovely men, if I do say so myself," she tapped her toe against his leg with a small smile, "Honestly, I think you have nothing to worry about. Harry is very kind - and if raising three children has done anything for him, it has made him exceedingly level-headed. It will be fine - I'm sure of it. You'll see."
Draco nodded, but if he was honest, he didn't feel particularly reassured.
May, 2014 - The Ministry for Magic
Draco knocked politely on the door in front of him, and waiting for the muffled, "Come in," before he pushed the door open. Crocker was sat behind his desk on the other side of the door, his hands steepled under his chin, "Ah, Malfoy - come in, come in,"
"You wanted to see me?" Draco said as he took a seat in front of his Department Head.
Crocker gave a great sigh, "Unfortunately, yes," he turned for a moment, to ruffle through the folders on his desk; finding what he was looking for, he pulled it from the pile and tossed it across the desk to Draco, "There's a matter I need you to turn your attention to. Thaddeus Travers," he said the name with gravitas, and Draco immediately knew why; Travers had been on his radar for a long time - interested in all kinds of dark magic, he had taken a specific interest in Time Turner's two years ago, and a not so small part of Draco's professional attention was taken up in keeping tabs on him, though he had dropped off the radar a few months prior, "the Auror's are looking for him," he said gravely.
"Why? Because of his interest in Time Turners?" Draco said mildly, thumbing through the folder in front of him.
"If only," Crock scoffed, "no, no he's gotten into the habit of kidnapping muggle children," Draco grimaced, "they're after him because of that. But I need you to tag along with their operation because of his interest in Time magic. If he's been even remotely successful in producing an unregulated Time Turner, we need that out of the hands of anyone but us," Draco nodded distractedly - it made sense, his own monitoring of the man had suggested he was getting increasingly close to actually achieving some of his goals, "There's another thing - I'm sending Potter in with you,"
Draco froze for a split second, before continuing mildly, "Oh?" he had gotten over his knee-jerk aversion to being involved with Potter, but they still had never actually worked together.
The most they'd interacted was over coffee in the staff room or queuing up in the canteen. And Potter was fine - he really was! He was polite and mildly friendly, and if anything, he was significantly more willing to talk to Draco than anyone else in the Department. Falling into a surprisingly positive working relationship had been easy - but Draco did worry that stretching the bounds of that relationship would end in some kind of explosion - emotional or otherwise.
"Yes - he knows the Auror's, they'll likely cooperate better with him," well that sounded like a terrible cover.
"Is that all?"
"No," Crowley said shrewdly, "but I don't need to tell you that that is none of your business. And that your true reason for being involved is none of his business either,"
"Of course," he said, flicking his way through the folder, "How close are the Auror's to finding him?"
"Close - but with yours and Potter's assistance, they'll be significantly closer. The Auror's have been given strict instructions that the Department of Mysteries is lending them your services with the understanding that you two are to be given preferential access to the scene when you find him," when, not if - Crocker had a lot riding on this, "I've already spoken to Potter," of course he had; they might be on the same mission, but neither could know what the other was truly up to after all, "He said he would wait for you in Seminar Room A - there's a not inconsiderable amount of paperwork from the Auror's waiting for you there. Out of the kindness of my heart, I also asked catering to put a coffee machine in the room," to Draco at least, the implication was clear - they were about to put in a lot of very long days, "I expect results, Malfoy," Draco knew a dismissal when he heard one.
He stood and inclined his head, "Of course, sir - we'll keep you appraised of the situation."
Working with Potter had not been what he expected. In the few other instances that Draco had had to work with a colleague, they had been polite and painfully professional. Their entire focus on the work at hand and nothing else. Perhaps it was because of how long they had all been in the Department of Mysteries? All too used to keeping their mouths shut to contemplate a friendly conversation with their colleagues. But Potter wasn't like that. In a word, he was chatty. Though much of their conversation revolved around the matter at hand, they still had plenty of time for other things, and Draco quickly realised that Potter had a significantly closer relationship with his mother than he had previously thought. He'd rolled his eyes so hard it had hurt when Potter had asked, a smirk on his face, if it was true that Draco had demanded his father get him Harry Potter for his sixth birthday.
"Yes - it's true," Draco had said through gritted teeth, "As you can imagine, my Death Eater Father was less than impressed," he added, and Harry tilted his head demurely.
"I imagine not," he agreed, though he was still hiding a grin in his paperwork, "Still, I'd probably have rather been at your house for your sixth birthday, than at mine," Draco frowned at that, but didn't ask for him to elaborate.
After a month of twelve-hour days, and working nearly every Saturday, they finally had a solid lead, and the raid on Travers' place had been organised with the Auror's for the following day at six in the morning. With this in mind, he and Harry were having one last celebratory lunch together, before heading home early to prepare for the next day. As with every Friday at the Ministry canteen, it was fish and chips day, and Potter ('Oh, just call me Harry, Draco,' the other had said exasperatedly, 'would you still have called me Potter if I'd come over for your sixth birthday?' he'd added teasingly) was tucking in with gusto. His outer robe hung on a peg on the wall, and his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows to avoid getting grease on them. With the other completely distracted, Draco indulged himself in a habit he was beginning to feel guilty about: watching Harry.
His eyes trailed along Harry's exposed forearms, up to the curve of his shoulder and then moving to where his shoulders sloped upwards into his neck. He could just make out the sharp angle of Potter's jaw as he ate his dinner - rocking back and forth into prominence just below his ear. Potter paused only to push his glasses back up his narrow nose, before continuing to enjoy his meal, oblivious to Draco's observation of him. He had a smattering of dark stubble on his cheeks, and his hair was completely wild from an entire month of him raking his fingers through it in frustration. Rather than making him look haggard, as the look most certainly would have done on Draco, it instead only made him more interesting to look at. It looked deliberate almost - as if Harry knew that this slightly rough edge only made him more appealing.
Draco swallowed at the thought and looked away abruptly, but just in time to catch sight of Potter's waist when he rose his arms up above his head into an exaggerated stretch, letting out a loud yawn. His shirt rode up with his rising shoulders, and Draco buried his face in his coffee cup to tear his eyes away from the smattering of dark hair on Potter's pale stomach.
"Are you okay?" Potter asked, apparently having noticed that something was off with Draco; Draco nodded, and hmm'ed, "Worrying about tomorrow?"
Draco took the out that had been offered, "Not worrying - just thinking," he reluctantly met Potter's vivid eyes.
"It'll be fine," Potter said confidently, "we've done everything we possibly can. We just need to see how it plays out," Draco nodded, and for a long moment they simply looked at one another across the table; Potter suddenly looked away and cleared his throat, busying his hands with the last chip on his plate, scooping it through the remnants of the tomato sauce, "It'll be fine," he repeated.
It was fine - technically. But it was also absolutely horrendous.
As promised by the Auror's, once they had apprehended a kicking and screaming Traver's, Harry and Draco were given total access to the underground bunker they had found him in. Draco had quickly gathered up all documents and artefacts to do with time travel in the building, with one great sweep of his wand. The fool hadn't thought to make any of it un-summonable. Potter, meanwhile, had immediately torn off deeper into the bunker, clearly hunting for something feverishly. He could hear doors clanging open, and Harry's furious swearing. Finally, the swearing stopped.
Or looking for someone rather, Draco corrected himself, remembering the reports that Traver's had been kidnapping muggle children, and hearing a soft whimpering cry echoing through the bunker, and Harry's soothing voice in response. He was torn between taking an immediate second look through the rest of the contents of the main room, and following Harry. The decision was taken out of his hands when Harry reappeared.
His face was white with fury, making his eyes stand out even more vividly in comparison. In his arms, clinging tightly to his chest, was a small boy no older than four or five, his dirty blonde hair shorn close to his skull. He was clothed no better than a house-elf. The boy was whimpering, his arms wrapped around Harry's neck, his legs around Potter's waist.
Draco took a halting step forward, "Can I help?"
Harry released a wary sigh and shook his head, "I don't know if any of us can," he said cryptically, "Secure this place before you leave? Make sure the Auror's don't come in until I'm able to clear it," he made for the stone steps that lead back to the surface, "I need to take care of this one first."
Draco nodded and watched him go, feeling strangely empty at how quickly they had gone from triumphant celebration to the dark reality in front of them. He glanced back to the corridor Harry and come from, and though he should have known better than to dig, he did anyway. A glance showed him immediately that the corridor was lined by cells on either side. He forced himself forward, and only managed the first cell before he turned on his heel and marched away, his hands balled into tight fists that made his nails bite into his palm.
He had to stop on his way back to the office to vomit in a bush.
Wiping at his mouth with his sleeve, he couldn't help but wonder what the parents of the children in the bunker would be told had happened to them.
July, 2014 - Kensington
Astoria was away on business at a conference in Paris. She'd suggested it as a family holiday initially, before seeing the schedule and balking at its intensity. Instead, he and Scorpius were going to join her at the end of the conference in a week's time, and then they would have their family holiday.
So for now, it was just him and Scorpius, and with today's addition of Narcissa. Scorpius had squealed with delight when he had seen her at the door, practically launching himself into her arms before dragging her upstairs to the drawing room to listen to the newest piece of music his mother had taught him to play. Draco had only shaken his head in amusement and used the free time to make lunch for the three of them. Dippy had gone with Astoria at Draco's suggestion; her health was increasingly frail, and Draco felt better knowing that their loyal elf was there to lighten some of her load.
They'd taken their lunch outside on the patio, so that Scorpius could show off for his grandmother on his broom (a restricted model designed for children) while she and Draco enjoyed their sandwiches at a more leisurely pace than his son (who had practically inhaled his lunch).
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong - or are you going to sit and work up the courage until I leave, and then try again the next time you see me?" Narcissa asked mildly.
Draco gaped at her for a moment, before slamming his jaw shut. She was right, of course. He had wanted to speak to her ever since he'd caught his eyes lingering on Harry's exposed waist.
"I… I worked with Potter recently," he started slowly.
"Hmm, I know - Harry told me. He didn't say on what of course," she said airily, waving away any suggestion that Harry might have divulged any details about their work, "though I must admit, he looked rather shaken. So did you," she added.
Draco nodded, "It was awful," he admitted, "but… that's not what I actually wanted to speak to you about,"
"It's not?" his mother said, clearly taken by surprise, "What did you want to talk about then?" When he struggled to speak, she tutted, "Come now Draco - I'm your mother. You can talk to me about anything, in full confidence, with no judgement. You should know that by now,"
He licked his lips, and forced himself to start talking, "I… working with Potter, I noticed that…," he started again, "Do you remember when I said he's always inspired strong feelings in me? It's just… I noticed that those feelings have changed," she watched him intently, not speaking, "Being around him - for a near month solid - I just… I couldn't stop looking at him. Couldn't stop thinking about him, even when he wasn't there. And I just don't know what to do - I don't even know if there is anything to do, to be honest. But every time I see him… I just - it's fine. It's always fine. We have a small chat or say hello or something. But its not the same," he said in halting sentences, gradually losing the thread of what he actually needed to talk about, "I look at him, and I get the same rush of adrenaline that I did ten years ago, or- or when we were at school. But its not the same. It's like I'm drawn to him," he finished guiltily, finally running out of steam. The whole time he had been speaking, he had avoided looking at his mother, focussed instead on Scorpius as he wizzed around the garden. He didn't look over when he heard her inhale deeply through her nostrils.
"You know Draco," she said slowly, "even the best of people experience attraction to people other than their significant other,"
"But I'm not gay!" Draco burst out, before regretting it, his eyes fixed on Scorpius to make sure he hadn't heard.
"Bisexual people do exist you know, son," his mother said dryly.
"But I - I'm not that either," he said, frustrated, "I'm not attracted to men - just… just him," saying it out loud made him feel worse about it, and he voiced this, "and actually, that somehow makes it worse! What is it about him that has me feeling like this? The fact that this is so specific to him - I just… I just feel like I'm betraying Astoria without meaning to. I love her so much - I don't want to be having thoughts about someone else. I just wish I could turn it off and go back to how I was two months ago - not really thinking about Potter at all," he was surprised when his mother reached over and took his hands in hers, snapping his attention to her face. He was surprised by her kind understanding smile.
"Son - you've done nothing wrong," she said firmly, "You can't help who you have feelings for -," here Draco couldn't help but scoff and say disdainfully under his breath 'I'm not in love with him, Mother,' - Narcissa rolled her eyes, "I never said you were. But still. I've always known you had unusually strong feelings for Harry. Normal eleven-year-olds don't have a nemesis," she said shrewdly at his questioning look, "I always thought you had a bit of a crush on him, even if you never recognised it for what it was. But it's okay Draco - it's not something you've done, and it's nothing you can help. What matters, is your actions," she said firmly, "and I have absolutely no doubt that you will continue to do the right thing by your wife, and your family, and ignore these feelings,"
"I love Astoria," Draco couldn't help but say weakly.
She patted his hand, before releasing, "I know, dear - and that's why I don't think you need to worry. You love her too much to ever do something to hurt her,"
Draco took a shaky breath, and plastered a warm smile on his face, noticing that Scorpius was approaching. She was right - he knew. He wouldn't betray his wife and son for all the gold in the world. He just wished these feelings would go away.
31st August, 2015 - Kensington
Draco wasn't particularly surprised to hear Scorpius's footsteps as he made his way downstairs. Scorpius had been especially quiet the whole day before, and Draco was certain he was finally realising that attending Hogwarts meant being separated from his parents for longer than they had ever been apart before.
"Dippy," Draco called, rearranging the kitchen table so that there was a plate and cutlery at the space next to him, "would you put together some breakfast for Scorpius please?"
"Of course, Master Draco," she squeaked, just as Scorpius stepped into the kitchen, looking unnecessarily nervous.
Draco pulled his seat out, and Scorpius rushed to sit next to him, "You're up early," Draco said mildly, pouring his son some orange juice - he'd never been a fan of pumpkin; Scorpius hmm'ed, "What's wrong?" Scorpius shrugged one shoulder, "Scorpius?"
"Just nervous about tomorrow," he muttered, sipping his drink, "Thank you," he said when scrambled egg on toast appear on his plate.
Draco ran a hand over Scorpius's head, "I know you are - it's a big change. It's natural to be nervous,"
Scorpius hesitated, before practically falling into Draco's side and pressing his head against his father's shoulder, "I want to go - but I'm going to miss you, and mum too," Astoria was still in bed - she'd had a flare up recently, and getting up early was a challenge when she was like this, "You'll write to me, won't you?" he said anxiously.
"Of course, we will - when I was at Hogwarts your grandmother was always writing and sending me sweets from home. And we'll do exactly the same, just you try and stop us," Draco winked at him, and Scorpius let out a small giggle, "We're going to miss our little boy as well, you know?" Draco squeezed him close to his side and pressed a kiss into his hair. Scorpius was getting too old to allow these kinds of cuddles, but today he welcomed it.
"You're going to come to the station tomorrow - aren't you?" Scorpius said, his voice small and half-muffled into Draco's chest.
"Of course, I am. Have to see you off don't I?" Scorpius sighed, and snuggled in closer, "Are you going to stay up - or are you going to go back to bed?" he checked the clock above the door, "It's not even half seven yet. You could always get into bed with your mum?" he suggested lightly, "I'm sure she'd like to see you,"
Scorpius paused, "After breakfast," he said finally.
Draco didn't get up to leave for work until Scorpius had finished his scrambled eggs. He said goodbye with a kiss to his son's head and watched him ascend the stairs and disappear quietly into their bedroom - only then did he floo himself to the Ministry.
He had only just stepped clear of the fireplace, when a member of the clerical staff was calling his name from behind the welcome desk. Odd - what could they want?
"Mister Malfoy sir,"
Draco's stride faltered, and he turned towards the desk, frowning curiously, "Yes?"
"Sorry to bother you, but I have a memo here for you from Mister Crocker," the cleric held out the memo with the tips of his fingers, and Draco accepted it from him.
' Malfoy: I need you and Potter to head directly to my office this morning. There is a matter of great urgency I must discuss with you. Crocker.'
"Thank you," Draco mumbled, stepping clear of the desk so he was out of the way; he twisted the memo in his hands and wondered what Crocker could possibly want, "Excuse me," he said to the cleric who had caught his attention in the first place, "I don't suppose Potter has arrived yet?"
The cleric shook his head, already distracted with other duties, "Not yet, sir," Draco nodded his thanks. He might as well wait for the other's arrival if they needed to see Crocker together.
Draco leant himself against the wall to wait and tried to ignore the anxious twist of his stomach: after their last assignment together, Draco couldn't help but have a bad feeling about this one. He was being ridiculous though, he knew. It would be fine.
June, 1995 (again) - The Room of Requirement
Draco had been in the Room for hours before Harry had appeared. When Draco had arrived, the room had been in the form of a vast library - all manner of books and instruments lining the shelves.
When, after combing through the books available to him, he had finally realised the truth of their situation, his first violent impulse had had the room suddenly dissolving all of its contents - anything even vaguely sharp had been the first to go. While he had raged and screamed in frustration at the time, later (much, much later) he had begrudgingly accepted that the room had saved him from himself. It would take even longer for him to be grateful of that fact.
Now though, the room was bare, and in its centre, screaming and crying on his knees, was Harry.
If Draco had thought he was out of tears, he was wrong.
Now, accompanying his own overwhelming grief, was a new feeling. Guilt. Intense and inescapable guilt.
They had lost everything, and it was his fault. This was all his fault.
Shuffling closer to Harry and falling to his knees in front of him wasn't a conscious decision - rather, it was the only thing he could see to do. Green eyes, bloodshot and overflowing with tears, looked up at him. Grief pulled Harry's lips back and down into a pained grimace. Impulse had Draco taking Harry's face in his hands and pressing their foreheads together in a desperate search for comfort.
"I- I'm so sorry," he choked on his words and tears.
Suddenly, Harry threw himself forward and they were tangled in a grasping, fierce embrace. Harry's sobs were loud, making his shoulders shake uncontrollably. It was all he could do to hold him back and apologise through his own cries of heart wrenching pain, "This is all my fault, I'm so sorry, this is my fault," he found himself saying over and over again, his guilt threatening to overcome and drown him. It took a moment or two to hear the words that were being whispered back at him in his ear.
"It's not your fault, it's not your fault - either one of us could have done it. It was only lumos - how could you have known? It's not your fault… it's not your fault,"
Draco couldn't fathom how Harry could offer such comfort in the middle of his own grief, but he grasped onto it with both hands and held on tight.
When they had cried themselves dry, they lay side-by-side on their backs, hands clasped tightly together. Draco knew that without Harry, he'd be a rudderless ship in a storm, buffeted this way and that by an unforgiving sea. But with him? With him, there just might be hope in the darkness.
August, 1995 - Number 12 Grimmauld Place
"Oh I know, I know, but it really is getting long now. I do think it would look better shorter - don't you think so too Harry?"
Draco caught the moment that Harry's cheeks took on a slight pinkish flush at the question - so slight that he doubted Mrs Weasley or Bill would have spotted it from their position on the other side of the table. He saw Harry's Adams apple bob up and down as he swallowed before answering.
"Uh, it looks good long," his voice was level when he answered, but Draco wasn't fooled; it appeared that Harry Potter had a thing for Weasley's no matter their gender. Harry caught him looking and glanced away quickly to watch the rest of the room. He contemplated teasing Harry about it later, but the other's distinctly uncomfortable reaction to having been caught eyeing up Bill Weasley changed his mind. He had a feeling that such a topic would be received in a more mean-spirited way than he intended, and he of all people could appreciate not wanting to be teased about something like this. Instead, he decided to offer a clearly unsettled Harry an easy out.
He yawned and stretched, "I'm probably gonna' head up to bed - you coming?"
They didn't speak on their journey up to bed until they arrived at the landing that separated their bedrooms. Turning to bid him goodnight, Draco's eyes met Harry's vivid green pair, and he was struck by a familiar jolt in his gut. He struggled to speak for a moment, a lump in his throat. Harry's eyes flicked between his - Draco worried about what he could possibly see reflected in them.
"Goodnight, Harry," he said eventually. He barely heard Harry's reply, stepping into his bedroom and shutting the door tight behind him.
He stood, his forehead resting against the door, his eyes screwed shut. Astoria's face flashed behind his eyelids, and his heart twisted in both grief and guilt. Tears gathered behind his eyelids, and one or two seeped out. He took a deep steadying breath and turned abruptly away from the door and to his bed, roughly wiping away the tears on his cheeks.
No, he thought viciously, firmly stamping the old feeling down. No - he couldn't do this. He wouldn't.
September, 1995 - Snape's Office
Snape watched him with cold eyes from behind his desk, the note that Umbridge had sent him with held delicately in his fingers. Draco stood up almost painfully straight, his arms held stiffly at his sides, refusing to look anything but defiant in the face of Snape's intense gaze.
"Was it worth it?" Snape said, his voice dangerously soft, "Losing Slytherin house fifty points in the first week of term, and earning yourself a detention every night this week," Draco clenched his teeth, reluctant to answer, "Was it? " Snape hissed, finally losing his cool edge.
For Draco, the answer was obvious, "Yes," he ground out through gritted teeth, and Snape looked astounded.
"What could that woman have possibly said to make it worth it?" he thundered.
Draco swallowed back his temper, "She insulted Potter - and his mother,"
For the briefest moment, Snape froze, before he relaxed back smoothly into his seat, "Well," he said at length, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you, that you are a fool. You have gained yourself an enemy – an enemy in a woman who has the potential to be extremely dangerous to you. And so, to discourage you from further antagonising her, I will say this," he leant forward, slapping Umbridge's note down on his desk, "if you don't keep your nose clean for the rest of this term, then I will ensure that you and Potter are separated in my class for the rest of your school career," Draco's lips pressed together tightly, "and any other classes you share, and I will make sure you are banned from sitting at the Gryffindor table at meals," he sneered, "You clearly care too much for the boy if you are behaving as recklessly as this over him. You are a Slytherin - act like one!"
The dismissal was obvious, and Draco didn't wait to be told to leave.
Stomping his way back up from the dungeons, he avoided thinking about why he had reacted so strongly in the face of that woman saying such vile things about Harry. He knew it would only serve to make him feel faintly sick.
October, 1995 - The Room of Requirement
"It hasn't happened," Harry said fiercely, clutching Draco's hand in his, "It hasn't, and it won't,"
Draco nodded.
He should have taken his hand back - he should have released Harry the second the other turned away and started leading them between the walls of lost objects in search of their quarry. But he didn't. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on where their palms were pressed flushed together, enjoying the feeling of his warm, comforting touch. He nearly tripped more than once, but he didn't think Harry noticed in his eagerness to find the diadem. He shouldn't want this; he knew he shouldn't. But he was too weak to say no to temptation.
When Harry announced that they were close, Draco turned away abruptly - not to search for the diadem, but to hide his own reaction at their prolonged contact. Any feeling that was less than positive was obliterated however, when he carefully lifted the diadem from its perch, and he exchanged triumphant grins with Harry. He was still riding this high as they made their way out of the room, and Harry teasingly caught the diadem and pulled it out of his grasp.
He was brought harshly back down to earth however, when they entered Their Room. As always, the sound of Astoria playing the piano filtered through the air, and Draco was practically immobilised by shame, as he always was by the reminder of his wife.
How could he?
Perhaps this was why the room continually played her music - to remind him of the vows he had made and meant in another life.
November, 1995 - The Gryffindor Boy's Dormitory
Sat on Harry's bed, pressed so closely against him, Draco knew exactly what he wanted to do. He could see it in his mind's eye.
First, he would press his free hand against Harry's cheek, before threading his fingers through his hair and down to the nape of his neck. With him held in place, he'd press his advance, and push their lips together soundly. He'd wait a moment, just savouring their connection, before encouraging Harry's lips open with his own so that they could share one another's breath. Maybe he'd gently tease Harry's lower lip with his tongue - tasting him for the first time. Or maybe he'd angle their heads so they could fit together even closer, using his other arm to pull Harry into his embrace.
He'd pull away for just a moment before kissing him again, his lips massaging Harry's as he pulled them both down to lie side by side on the bed, cushioning Harry's head with his arm. With his other, he'd trail his fingers down to Harry's waist to venture under his shirt -
No.
No.
Disgust and self-hatred made his heart physically hurt: what kind of man was he?
Astoria had made him sign up to a support group, the year before that fateful day. A group for widowers, or men with terminally ill partners. There had been a wizard there - a man who had made his skin crawl. He had been strangely positive about his wife's recent death. Claimed he was still young - he could find love again. And Draco might not have judged, except she hadn't even been buried when he had spoken excitedly about finding a new wife.
Was that the kind of man he was?
He was saved from doing something he regretted, by Finnegan barging in and interrupting them.
When he left, Draco realised he had been holding his breath, and released it. He tried to act normally, but he could see by Harry's face that he knew something was wrong.
This wasn't Harry's fault - he thought firmly to himself as he escaped the Gryffindor tower. Tomorrow, he would behave normally, as if nothing had happened. Harry didn't deserve to be punished because Draco didn't know what he wanted.
June, 1996 - ?
There was blood everywhere - so much blood - and for a moment, Draco stood frozen, rooted to the spot. The sword of Gryffindor slipped from his fingers, and dropped to the stone floor with a loud clang. The noise jolted him into action, and he struggled forwards against the weight of his own feet.
"Harry?" his voice came as a whisper - the lack of response shot a thrill of panic through his chest, "Harry?!" he said again with more urgency, his hands shaking as he finally managed to move properly. He landed heavily on his knees, blood immediately soaking through his trousers. The wound on Harry's neck still bleeding profusely, and dull green eyes sluggishly met his own. He swallowed against his panic, and looked around furiously, struggling to find where his wand had landed when he'd been disarmed, "Accio wand!" he cried, terrified and desperate. A cry of relief worked its way past his lips when his wand appeared in his hand. He gasped against his panic, and tried to be reassuring when he looked down to Harry below him:
"It's going to be okay - you're going to be okay. Just hold on," his fingers trembled, but he forced them still, levelling his wand at Harry's neck, "Vulnera Sanentur!"
Notes