Fic: Settling Up for agnes_bean
Title: Settling up
Author: irisgirl12000
Giftee: agnes_bean
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 6500
Characters/Pairing: Draco Malfoy, Zacharias Smith, Harry Potter
Warnings: none
A/N: Many thanks to alisanne and janicechess for their editing and comments. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Lines in the opening scene were taken from book 6. Sorry about the lame title - I drew a complete blank.
Excerpt: Draco had recognized the Black insignia and motto the instant they had entered the house.
“Draco Malfoy, is this your desire?”
Pain. Burning, searing from his arm in a direct line to his brain.
“It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!”
Anger. Snape is just jealous; he wants this task for himself.
“I can’t do it.... I can’t.... he’ll kill me....”
Misery. Fear. A Malfoy does not cry.
“Now, Draco, quickly!”
“Do it or stand aside so one of us--”
“Avada Kedavra!”
The flash of green spell-light had Draco jerking awake. Panicked, sweating, he sat up, waiting for awareness to return. Finally, he heaved a sigh and fell back on his pillow.
Grimmauld Place. A guest bedroom, solely his for now, so there was no witness to his distress. That would change soon, he was told. Members of Potter’s Defense Association would be joining the Order of the Phoenix shortly, and the other bed in the room would be occupied. Every one in the house would be, apparently.
Draco stared listlessly at the ceiling, echoes of the past year ringing in his head. Finally, with a resigned moan, he dragged himself to the side of the bed and sat up. There would be no return to sleep; he decided he might as well do something useful. If nothing else, a change of scenery might combine with his exhaustion to lull him back to sleep. Wrapping his robe around him like armor, he left the sanctuary of his room and headed to the library, where he curled up in an armchair and stared out the window at the moonless sky.
Just memories, now. Those words and emotions, his constant companions, couldn’t hurt him anymore.
Immediately after fleeing Hogwarts, he and Snape had gone to Spinner’s End. Once inside his personal wards, Snape had abandoned Draco, leaving him to occupy himself as he saw fit. After hearing the crash of glassware and a muffled sob from the Potions laboratory, Draco had kept his distance, other than at mealtimes. Snape seemed willing to protect him, even though he had failed at his task. He had thought they would stay there indefinitely. Surely the Slayer of Dumbledore had earned the respect of the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters? But no, Snape explained. He had disobeyed the Dark Lord in fulfilling the Unbreakable Vow he had made with Draco’s mother; he would be in disfavor, and Death Eaters were nothing if not opportunistic. They were not safe. There was only one place they would be safe.
Thus, two weeks after the Dark Mark had appeared over Hogwarts, Draco was shocked to be Side-Along Apparated to a dingy square in what appeared to be London. Snape’s stride had been unusually hesitant as he stalked up the block. He later explained that he had been unsure what would happen; Dumbledore had been the Order’s Secret-Keeper, and normally his death would make the inclusion of another on the Secret impossible. But Dumbledore had been... cagey about the arrangements surrounding Order headquarters following Sirius Black’s death. Who knew what he had done to the spell to insure that the Order’s safe house remained hidden, yet available to new members?
Draco had recognized the Black insignia and motto the instant they had entered the house. Distracted by his surroundings - surely this place and its contents should be his by rights, he had thought indignantly - he had nearly walked into Snape, who had stopped dead in the entrance to the sitting room. Hidden in the shadows of the hallway behind the Potions master, what he had heard had surprised him.
****
“Snape.” Draco nearly fell over at the sound of that unexpected voice. Here? Harry Potter was here, in the home of one of the Darkest pureblood families in wizard history? He refused to acknowledge the leap of his pulse, instead forcing himself to listen to Snape’s response, to the argument these two enemy-allies were sure to have.
“Potter.” Snape was wary of his welcome, given the presence of Potter’s wand in his hand.
“I figured you’d arrive sooner or later.”
“You read--”
“Yes, I read the letter and viewed the Pensieve memories.” Potter’s voice was bitterly resentful, but not overtly hostile. “Dumbledore was dying from the moment he touched Marvolo Gaunt’s ring. Even if that hadn’t sapped his strength, there is no way he would have survived the poison he was force-fed before you found us on the tower.”
“Us?”
“I was there, stunned and hidden under my father’s invisibility cloak. Don’t tell me you didn’t know, you bastard; you made eye contact with the headmaster several times, you must have seen it through Legilimency.”
Dumbledore’s death had been planned beyond Snape’s Unbreakable Vow? And Potter had been there? He had witnessed Draco’s failure? Shame washed through him at the thought.
“I suspected it, but Albus had... other things to communicate to me that night.”
“Harry--”
“But, Harry, it’s Snape!”
Those came simultaneously from two more voices Draco recognized: Weasley and Granger. With a sinking feeling, Draco realized that he would be stuck with them if he took Snape’s advice.
“I saw it, I read it. You two didn’t.” Draco could hear the reluctance, tempered by acceptance of inevitability and necessity, in Potter’s voice. “Snape is welcome here.”
Only then did Snape step aside to reveal Draco. A spark lit Potter’s green eyes, and for a single, brilliant moment Draco knew hope. Hope for acceptance, hope that he had an alternative to the wretchedness of serving the Dark Lord, hope that one day Potter would accept the hand that he had refused in their first year. That hope was crushed with Potter’s reaction.
“Malfoy!” His wand hand twitched, and Draco thought he was about to receive again the hex that had left him bleeding in the girls’ lavatory earlier that spring. Granger’s hand on Potter’s elbow restrained him.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Potter reined in his emotions. He exchanged long glances with Granger and Weasley - they couldn’t possibly have discussed his presence the way they had discussed Snape’s, could they? - and nodded.
“Welcome, Malfoy, to the most noble and ancient House of Black. Dumbledore believed you were worth saving, so I won’t object to your presence here. I hope he was right. But I’m warning you: I know that you are the one who let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. You. Are. To. Blame. For what happened there. I don’t care why you did it. If you betray us again, I will make you sorry.”
With that, Potter brushed past them and left, Granger and Weasley trailing after him. Snape looked his usual inscrutable self. Just as Draco was about to question the wisdom of coming here, of betraying the Dark Lord for Potter, a pop signaled the arrival of a house-elf.
“Master Harry is telling me--Master Draco!” Surprise and fear filled the high voice.
The creature looked oddly familiar. “Dobby? What are you doing here?” And why was he wearing that stack of hats? Furthermore, why was he, Draco, curious about a house-elf?
Dobby drew himself up proudly before replying, “Dobby serves Harry Potter, who freed him.”
With no further commentary, Dobby led them upstairs to settle in.
The next day, after a closeted discussion with Potter, Snape set Draco to researching methods of destruction of Dark artifacts. After a single afternoon of comings and goings of the Order, Draco sincerely hoped he would be allowed to use those methods on the portrait of Mrs. Black. Granger, who was working with him, said little, and Potter even less. He spent his days in the library, ignoring the jibes made by Weasley, and pretending to ignore the silent presence of the Boy Who Lived, who was researching a topic he refused to discuss.
*****
“Well, here’s a surprise.”
Draco heard the drawling voice, but his eyes did not want to obey his command to open.
“Leave him be, Smith. I can’t be responsible for any hexes he might cast in retaliation.” Potter’s voice was brusque. “You know your way back upstairs.” Footsteps shuffled to the library’s door and it clicked closed.
“I know you’re awake, Malfoy. No pureblood worth his magic lacks personal wards to wake him from even the deepest sleep when another wizard approaches.”
He opened his eyes slowly. Zacharias Smith had seated himself in the chair opposite; one knee was crossed over the other, his foot swinging casually back and forth.
“Smith,” Draco acknowledged. He would volunteer no information, he decided. If the Hufflepuff was unaware of his involvement with the Death Eaters’ attack at Hogwarts, he wasn’t going to tell him.
“What are you doing here, Malfoy? Last I heard you were running off to join You Know Who.”
“I might ask you the same thing, Smith. There’s no love lost between you and Potter, is there?”
A dark scowl fixed itself to the other youth’s face. “Perfect Potter,” he snarled, “can rot once the Dark Lord is dead, for all I care. But until then, he’s the bloody Chosen One, and we need him to do his job.”
Surprised by such a vehement reaction from a loyal Hufflepuff, Draco just eyed him for a moment. Apparently Smith took his silence for interest, and he continued, “If it weren’t for the fact that my family is heir to the Hufflepuff legacy, I’d be neutral in this mess. Unfortunately, there’s something about the Founders’ Heirs that has brought them to the attention of You Know Who, and as long as he is alive, it’s best for us to live apart so that, in the event that one of us is attacked or killed, the family bloodline will continue. Potter had the only guarantee of a secure home and hope of triumph. Hence, my presence in this foul den. But you’ve never answered my question: what about you, Malfoy?”
Rather than explain his arrival on Potter’s doorstep, Draco noted the lateness of the hour and announced his intention to retire. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”
Zacharias nodded. “I’ll speak to you then.”
*****
Days, then a week passed in a monotonous blur. Draco’s time was spent poring over dusty old books in the Black library, ignoring the ever-growing crowd of Potter’s friends and followers.
Each night, he woke thrashing from nightmares and went to the library to calm himself. Each night, Smith joined him there. Draco didn’t know if Smith heard him tossing and turning, or if he had nightmares of his own to keep him from sleep. Although few words were spoken, they had become comfortable in each other’s presence, enough that Draco could relax until he was ready to sleep again. He knew without it being said that Smith wanted him; he could tell by the way his eyes followed him when he entered or left the room, by the weight of his silence when their few words had been spoken. He had not decided whether he would acknowledge Smith’s interest. It had been months since he had thought of a sexual partner.
Liar! his conscience screamed. The partner you’ve dreamed of is not available or interested.
Draco rather thought Zacharias Smith would do: pure-blood, tall, fit enough, brown hair and brown eyes, handsome, but not so striking as to compete with Draco’s cool blond appeal. He was still weighing his options, but there was one small item that might spur him in his decision: the rest of the Weasley clan would soon be descending upon the house, and all the unoccupied beds would fill. He supposed he should find an alternative roommate before he was assigned a ginger-haired idiot. Smith could fit that description, and living in closer quarters might cast the Hufflepuff’s charms in an even more favorable light.
*****
Molly Weasley arrived with Ginny and Arthur early in the afternoon on the 28th of July. Arthur Weasley only stayed long enough to speak with Potter and Snape, then he left, returning to the Burrow to finish raising the wards that they were leaving to protect the unoccupied house. The twins would be arriving the next day, after they secured their Diagon Alley premises, and the dragon-handler was due in some time later in the week, presumably in time for the birthday celebrations they were nattering on about.
After one hour of Mrs. Weasley’s fussing, Draco had made his decision: anything was better than having one of the twins share his room. He shuddered at the idea of continued exposure to the woman that would ensue if he were forced to share space with one of her sons. He resolved to approach Smith that evening. In the meantime, he was viciously amused by the Weaselette’s mooning after Potter and the rebuffs she encountered. The utterly indifferent expression on Potter’s face when she wound her arms around his neck had given Draco a deliciously vindictive thrill; he ruthlessly suppressed the triumph the sight had caused before it could develop into a more positive, positively unwanted emotion.
*****
It had been easier than he had expected to arrange the housing situation to his satisfaction. A comment to Snape, who then had a conversation with Smith, and Draco’s needs were fulfilled. Certainly, it did not hurt his cause that the Weasley twins had tested their ridiculous joke products on unsuspecting students. Smith had suffered the embarrassment of a Ton-Tongue Toffee while trying to flirt with Terry Boot, which left him apprehensive and reluctant to room with any of the Weasleys.
When Draco retired to his top-floor room that evening, he found Smith there, supervising the house-elf as his belongings were stowed.
“Malfoy.”
“Smith. Welcome.”
“Call me Zacharias. Thank you. I suppose you’d prefer to avoid any more enforced exposure to the Weasleys than necessary, too?”
There was a question in the words beyond the obvious, a fishing for some sign of interest, an ulterior motive.
Why not indulge? Draco asked himself.
“There is that.”
With a smug smile, sure he understood all of the nuances in Draco’s response, Zacharias dismissed Dobby. Shrugging out of his robe, he headed to the loo down the hall. He walked close enough to accidentally brush against Draco, close enough that he could smell his cologne.
“Well, I’m for bed.”
Really, could Hufflepuffs be more obvious? He would have to string Smith along a tiny bit longer, show him who was in control before accepting his less-than-subtle invitation.
*****
Work slowed over the next few days. Not that Draco had made a huge amount of progress to this point, but the hubbub of the Weasleys’ arrivals and the preparation for the big birthday party had everyone in a state of constant busyness, slowing him further. The noise and disturbances eventually made it to the library, prompting Draco to take a few books from the library and retreat to his room.
He would have been happy to have something to celebrate if it hadn’t been Potter’s and Longbottom’s birthdays. Really, the way everyone fawned over the pair of them was ridiculous. Fine, Potter was the Chosen One, some of his sycophants and toadies might feel the need to gush over him. But Longbottom? Draco just didn’t see it.
Four pages of parchment later, he had exhausted his books’ knowledge of magical storage charms and devices, and was ready for a break. He stood and was stretching when he heard footsteps pass his door and move down the hallway. Curious to see who would come up to this upper floor - he hadn’t thought there were any other bedrooms up here, just some half-filled storage rooms - Draco moved to the door and peeked out.
The sight that met his eyes might have been burned on his retinas; he would see it over and over again in the weeks to come.
Someone was backed up against a heavy oak door, a tall redhead pressed against them. If the moan he heard was any indication, the Weasley - Draco knew it was one of the twins, but he couldn’t tell which without seeing his facial expression - was doing an excellent job with his mouth, whatever it was touching. For a moment Draco was torn: turn away in revulsion from a Weasley preparing to shag, or watch to have blackmail material? In the end, mildly amused by the furtive use of an abandoned hallway for an assignation, Draco remained where he was, hoping to see who Weasley was so absorbed in seducing.
Arms wrapped around broad shoulders, and one obviously masculine hand crept up to twine in the short hairs at the base of his neck. One of Weasley’s hands moved away from the body he had been holding against his own and reached for the knob of the door they’d been leaning against. He turned it, but the door refused to open. The other man must have done something, because there was a moan, and Weasley’s attention returned to his kissing. Clothes were wrestled with and bodies rearranged, and still the kissing, with its attendant sound effects, went on.
Draco was feeling a stirring of arousal himself when he heard a distinctive voice whisper, “The door, George. Now.”
He knew that voice, though it had never been directed at him with so much lust in it. No, normally the emotion he heard filling it was derision or hate. Stunned, his eyes closed and his hand fell away from the fly of his trousers, which he’d pressed his palm against.
Potter. Potter was with Weasley. Just not the Weasley everyone thought.
“It won’t open for me.”
“Bloody Black House. Half the doors only open to the heir. Here.” He reached out and twisted the knob himself. When it didn’t immediately open, he hissed at the silver snakes wreathing the lock-plate. Draco shuddered at the sibilant sound, and was not surprised when the door opened obediently. Potter stepped forward, and the last thing Draco saw from his shadowed corner was the look of blatant invitation on Potter’s face, which had Weasley following and closing the door smartly.
That night, after birthday cake was eaten and butterbeer (and firewhisky) drunk, Draco allowed Zacharias to fuck him for the first time.
*****
Most of the time, Draco could ignore his restlessness. He told himself that it stemmed from being shut in the house with nothing but work and Zacharias to occupy his time. The gnawing need he felt for something had nothing to do with Potter, or with the fact that September was nearly upon them, and there would be no return to Hogwarts this autumn.
Whatever Potter, Weasley, and Granger had been working on had taken them away on several short trips. The first one had seen them return in a dismal mood, but they had returned after the next two in higher spirits than Draco had seen since Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup in his third year. Granger had requested copies of his notes on the disposal of magical objects and thanked him politely upon their receipt, but had given no further explanation. If Draco was curious about the precise nature of their activities, he was Slytherin enough to know that knowledge of them was unnecessary for his role, and he was thus unlikely to gain any. Instead, he tried to satisfy himself with his own research into the removal of magical totems.
Surprisingly, once he had resigned himself to ignorance, circumstances changed.
Potter needed his help.
“I need you to get me into Malfoy Manor.”
“I beg your pardon? You need what?”
“I need entry to Malfoy Manor.”
“And why would you need such a thing, Potter? Lucius hasn’t been there in over a year. Mother fled before Dumbledore was killed. And Voldemort surely would not use such an obvious location.”
“Look, can’t you just let me in? I’ve tried to get in, but I can’t get past the wards.”
“No, you wouldn’t be able to. A Malfoy must be present and have given permission for you to cross the wards for the first time. That doesn’t answer my question. Why?”
With an impatient gesture, Potter pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “There’s... a magical artifact, one that your mother might have hidden. I need it before we can make our final move against Voldemort.”
“What makes you think it’s at the Manor? It could be anywhere.”
“Because the last place we saw it was here, at Grimmauld Place. And it’s something that either Mundungus Fletcher might have pawned or Kreacher might have taken. Dung didn’t take it. We’ve asked - with Veritaserum. That leaves Kreacher, and the person he’d most likely have taken it to was your mother, as one of the last Blacks he respected. And your mother might have hidden it if she knew its significance, or she might have simply stored it for safe-keeping.”
“There’s no alternative, nothing else you can use in its place?”
Potter eyed him in disbelief. “Do you think I’d have asked if there was anything else we could try, anywhere else likely that we hadn’t looked?”
Draco conceded that such a request was tantamount to an admission of defeat, something Potter would not do, given any choice.
“Fine. Tomorrow. But it’ll have to be quick. The wards will warn Lucius when anyone enters specific rooms, and he’s sure to want to know who would be visiting the Manor now that I’m in hiding.”
“Tomorrow. Thanks, Malfoy.” The last words were forced out through gritted teeth.
“Don’t thank me until we’ve got whatever you’re looking for and we’re back here safely.”
*****
“Don’t move, Malfoy, and don’t make a sound. Understand? Nod your head if you do.” Barely able to move his head, Draco nodded. Potter’s hand, which had been pressed over his mouth and nose, loosened. His filmy view of the room, caused by Potter’s invisibility cloak, didn’t change.
They had gotten through the wards easily enough, and had made it through the library and Lucius’s study without incident. Draco wasn’t certain what Potter was looking for: it must be small, given the boxes, books, and other places he had inspected, but nothing had satisfied him. Potter had wanted to search the master suite, so he’d led the Gryffindor up two flights and through a maze of hallways to his parents’ rooms. The moment he’d opened the door, he knew their time was limited, and had warned Potter.
The Gryffindor had hastily searched Lucius’s dresser and night table, including the drawer that had held his cufflinks, before going to his mother’s vanity. His gasp of triumph was followed by the crack of Apparation nearby. Before Draco had time to react, Potter had thrown a fall of shimmering fabric over them both and pulled him back against his chest, one hand over Draco’s mouth and the other gripping the wrist of his wand hand, retreating until they were pressed to the wall, away from the room’s doors and windows.
When two cloaked figures entered the room, Draco held his breath, hoping Lucius wasn’t with them. One hung back by the door while the other sauntered around the room, poking into various drawers and checking under the bed. Neither noticed the disarray on the vanity and night table.
“Nobody here. Keep looking. Check the wardrobe.”
That brought the first Death Eater uncomfortably close. When the wardrobe door swung open, Draco pressed himself back, trying to keep from being struck by it. Potter was a wall of warm strength behind him, aligned from his shoulders to his ankles, and it was all Draco could do to restrain the moan that caught in his throat. He was not successful at stopping the single reflexive rub of his hips against the ones behind him. Potter’s arm tightened around his shoulder, but he felt no other response.
They remained in that pose when the wardrobe door swung shut, after the Death Eaters poked and prodded the bed and other furniture, even after they heard footsteps moving back down the hall. They did not move until they heard them Disapparate away.
Then Potter released Draco and pushed him forward, dragging the cloak off over their heads. A quick glance down the length of his body, then those sharp green eyes fixed on his. A single black eyebrow arched in question, and Draco had to look away, resentful and ashamed.
It was a normal reaction. Perfectly normal for a teenaged male. And where did Potter learn that gesture, anyway? Snape?
“You’ve got it now, right? Come on, let’s go before they come back.”
With that, Draco stalked off, heading toward the entrance hall.
*****
“Hermione, just leave it be.”
“But Harry, you were getting along with Malfoy before, or at least he wasn’t sniping at you. What happened? What did you do?”
Hidden in a seat not visible from the open library door, Draco stiffened in his seat and waited for Potter’s response.
“I didn’t do anything!” That Potter resented her accusation was clear. “Nothing happened. He’s just... Malfoy.”
“Harry--”
“Let it be, Hermione. We’ve got all the Horcruxes now except Nagini, and with your research and Malfoy’s help, they’re destroyed. I’m going to get Gryffindor’s sword from Headmistress McGonagall, if she’ll let me take it out of the school, and that and the magic-dispelling spells should be enough to get rid of Nagini and whatever bit of Tom’s soul that was left in her. Then it’s just Voldemort left. We need a plan, Hermione.”
“I think you need more people than just me and Ron working on that.”
“I know, we need some Slytherin cunning. I’m thinking of asking Snape before I bring it to the rest of the Order.”
“This is where it would help if you were getting along with Malfoy. He’d probably have a suggestion too.”
Potter sighed, releasing a deep breath. The next words were softer, and sounded as if Potter were leaving the room.
“Okay, fine, I’ll ask him. You take Snape.”
“Fine.”
The door shut, leaving Draco with his thoughts. After a single summer’s work, they were already prepared for a confrontation with the Dark Lord? And what was a Horcrux? Those thoughts were eclipsed by the fact that Potter could have embarrassed him by sharing his inappropriate response, but he hadn’t. Relief, respect, and a little niggling bit of resentment mingled as he wondered why Potter might have done that. He told himself that it wasn’t for his own benefit; Potter must be planning on getting something out of keeping silent.
Pushing that thought aside, he focused on finding a foolproof plan for defeating the Dark Lord in battle.
*****
“You cannot kill Nagini too far in advance of your confrontation. The Dark Lord possesses her and uses her as an extension of himself, and he will notice a prolonged absence on her part.”
Snape’s decree was not unexpected, but Potter was clearly disheartened nonetheless.
Draco didn’t understand.
“Why is the snake’s death necessary, anyway? Just kill him however you’ve planned and be done with it. She’s just a snake.”
“I can’t kill him, not truly, while Nagini still lives. I can’t explain any more than that,” Harry replied shortly, running an impatient hand through mussed hair. He stared at Draco, willing him to understand... what?
“Fine, then. If the two have to occur as close together as possible, chronologically speaking, then I suggest....”
Potter listened closely to Draco’s and Snape’s plans, nodding occasionally. Granger busily took notes, copying down their every word. Weasley just sat silently, glowering at Snape. Tonks, Lupin, Zacharias, and the others, who had even less knowledge of Potter’s activities than Draco, looked apprehensively hopeful that the war might soon come to an end.
*****
That night Draco’s nightmares were worse than ever. Now, instead of seeing Dumbledore’s body tumble off the tower in a flash of green light, it was Potter who lay dead. He woke, trembling, with Potter’s name on his lips. Zacharias slept on beside him, and was no comfort at all.
*****
Draco stood hidden, Disillusioned against the ruins of a brick wall at the old Potter house in Godric’s Hollow.
When he and Snape had designed this plan, the idea that any of them might die in the ensuing battle had been abstract. Standing here in the cool, damp darkness, his mortality felt all too real. It set his nerves on edge. Every rustle of leaves, every gust of wind, made his hand ache for his wand.
When he heard the sound of metal singing, followed by a thud and a grunt of triumph, Draco knew their plan would work.
Snape had persuaded Potter to “open his mind” (whatever that meant) to the Dark Lord, allowing him to learn that he was searching the ruins for an artifact without escort or guardians. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would want to take advantage of such an opportunity, but would likely send Nagini first to verify Potter’s presence. The Dark Lord’s ego would not allow him to triumph without witnesses, though. Draco was certain that at least his Aunt Bella and Lucius, freed from Azkaban only weeks earlier, would accompany him.
When Potter appeared, bloodied sword in hand, he knew a moment’s satisfaction. It was short-lived, immediately interrupted by the crack of Apparation. Draco didn’t know who cast the first hex, but soon Order members had revealed themselves and were fighting dark-robed opponents furiously. As each Death Eater was stunned or otherwise disabled, automatic Portkeys were affixed to their robes, sending them to warded Ministry holding cells.
Draco took care of Pettigrew, turning in time to see Tonks confront Bellatrix.
Well, she’s her aunt, too. Tonks has just as much claim as I do.
Snape was dueling Macnair, Lupin was occupied with Fenrir Greyback, and various Order members traded spells with Death Eaters Draco did not recognize.
In the distance, at the top of the rise beyond the ruins of the house, Draco could see Potter facing Voldemort. Their wands were by their sides, their gazes locked. Whatever combat occurred there was silent and mental.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught a flicker of movement, and he turned to see a Death Eater with long blond hair spilling over the back of his robes. Lucius. His eyes were narrowed, and he raised his wand toward Potter’s unguarded back.
Time slowed, and Draco knew in that moment that he could turn the tide of the war, be the hero for one side of the other. Lucius or Potter? When he had joined Snape and the Order, he had known that he would be turning his back on his past and his family, and he had not regretted it. What had his father done, but give him to the Dark Lord? Still, Draco had hoped never to have to make this choice.
He lifted his wand, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Stupefy!”
The flash of red spell-light pulled Potter and the Dark Lord from their internal struggle, and both raised their wands, casting simultaneously. While Voldemort was busy taunting Potter about his foolishness in forgetting the Priori Incantatem effect, Potter pulled another wand from a hidden pocket of his robes.
“Goodbye, Tom. Avada Kedavra!”
When the flash of green struck Voldemort, both he and Potter collapsed. Draco’s Dark Mark burned fiercely, then subsided. When he drew up his sleeve it was already lightening, disappearing. Hurriedly, Order members moved to corral Death Eaters before they could escape and hide any remaining evidence of their crimes.
Draco moved to Potter, who was kneeling, one hand pressed to his forehead. As he passed it, he kicked the lump of flesh that had been the most evil Dark Lord in generations, satisfying himself that he was truly dead.
“Potter?”
A whimper of pain was the only response.
“Come on. The rest of the Order can handle the clean-up.”
As gently as he could, he gathered up the Gryffindor, Apparating them to Grimmauld Place, where Granger and Zacharias had helped Madam Pomfrey set up a triage station for Order injuries. They were all occupied with other arrivals, so he set Potter down as smoothly as he could on an open bed; he took a step back, intending to return to Godric’s Hollow, but a hand gripped his arm.
“Thank you. For this... and for Lucius.”
Clouded green eyes held his for a moment before heavy lids closed and Potter’s grip slackened. Draco gazed at the relaxed face for a minute without interruption. He didn’t think he had ever seen it so clear, so empty of worry.
Shaking himself out of his stupor, he turned to the door but stopped short. Zacharias stood at the end of the bed, Madam Pomfrey behind him. The matron bustled forward to assess her latest patient, but Zacharias remained where he was. His jaw flexed, then he nodded.
“Malfoy.”
Fuck. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Draco acknowledged his greeting, then prepared to return to the battlefield.
*****
When the last Death Eaters had been rounded up, the site scoured for wands, masks, robes, and any other items that might be useful evidence for the Wizengamot trials that were sure to come, and all Order members had been accounted for, Draco stumbled upstairs to bed. He was so exhausted he didn’t even bother with a bath, instead spelling himself clean and tumbling into sleep without turning the lights on. He slept so deeply that, but for his breathing, he barely moved.
When he woke the next morning, his throat was dry, breath was rancid, and eyes were nearly glued shut. Beyond that, the first thing he realized was that Zacharias was not there. They had Transfigured their two single beds into a larger one weeks ago, and Draco usually woke to find the warm weight of an arm or leg slung across his torso. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and looked around. The other side of the bed was still made.
Shrugging, he climbed out of bed and headed to bathe, then down to the kitchen for breakfast, tea, whatever was available, including gossip and news. As he reached the landing, Potter and George Weasley exited the kitchen and moved to the foyer. Draco immediately moved backward, hiding himself in shadow, shamelessly spying on the pair.
He hadn’t brought a pair of Extendable Ears, so he only had visual cues to study. Whatever they were discussing looked quite serious. Weasley gestured toward Potter and then the door. Potter shook his head, prompting another spate of words from the redhead, who also waved his hand, gesturing upwards. Potter ignored this outburst. He stepped close enough to speak into Weasley’s ear, then kissed him gently. Draco’s heart shriveled. Any last hope he felt vanished when Weasley’s hand gently cupped the nape of Potter’s neck and he drew him closer for a longer, more intense kiss. When the pair drew apart, Weasley smiled sweetly and headed out. Potter stood looking after him, a faint frown on his face, before heading to the library. On his way there, he glanced up the stairwell; Draco could have sworn Potter winked at his hiding spot.
No longer hungry, Draco forced himself to drink a cup of tepid tea and listen to the jokes and easy banter between Order members. Other than Susan Bones requiring a trip to the Dai Llewellyn ward of St. Mungo’s, none of the DA members had been seriously injured, although Terry Boot had lost his father in the fight.
He nibbled desultorily on toast, wondering what he would do now that the war was over. Lucius was imprisoned, awaiting whatever punishment the Ministry had devised to replace the Dementor’s Kiss, leaving Draco as the head of the Malfoy house; whether there would be any wealth associated with that name, other than what he had in his personal vault, remained to be seen. Undoubtedly the Ministry would require some recompense for Lucius’s crimes, but Draco’s status as a war hero might balance those evils. Should he move back to Malfoy Manor? Find a flat of his own? Return to Hogwarts, presuming that McGonagall would allow it?
Distracted, Draco returned to his room to find Zacharias there, packing his trunk. Or rather, ordering Dobby to do so.
“Leaving so soon?”
“My family is safe, and the house is secure. There’s no reason for me to stay here any longer.” Zacharias’s voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a bitter undertone to his words.
“No reason?”
“I thought there might be, but I can see now I was wasting my time. It was Potter you wanted the whole time, wasn’t it?”
Draco’s mouth went dry.
“Potter? As if. Why would you think that?”
“I’ve seen how you look at him. He’s always been the focus, although when we were younger you used animosity to get his attention.”
“If this is about last night--”
“Last night was just the first time I saw it clearly. I bet you’ve wanted him the whole time we’ve been together, haven’t you?”
Draco wanted to deny it, but all he could see was the inviting look Potter had sent to Weasley, the scene that had precipitated his move toward Zacharias.
“I thought so.” Shutting the lid of his trunk, Zacharias levitated it and charmed it to follow him as he headed toward the door. “I’ll make this easy on both of us. Goodbye.” He closed the door quietly as he left.
Draco sat on the bed and looked at his barren surroundings.
Now what?
He had no idea how long he sat there, his mind blank. No matter how many times he told himself he was a Slytherin, he could come up with a plan to get what he wanted, Draco was not convinced. He needed to know what he wanted before he could formulate a plan. Not Zacharias. Not Potter, apparently -- no point in pining over the impossible.
He had come to no conclusion after several hours’ thought, and might have remained in his torpor indefinitely if a knock at the door had not penetrated his fog.
Surprised, unclear who would have come up to see him at -- gods, was it already teatime? -- he rubbed his bleary eyes into focus and went to answer it.
No one was there. No one was there? Had he taken that long answering? How long had they been knocking?
He stepped out into the hallway in time to see a dark head disappearing down the stairs. Unable to resist the compulsion, he followed.
“Potter? Harry? Harry! Did you need me for something?” How pathetically hopeful did he sound, really?
“I... just noticed you weren’t at lunch, and the tea’s almost gone.”
One heartbeat, two, three. Draco stood there, not sure if Potter’s words were a warning about tardiness to meals when Weasleys were present, or an invitation. Evidently his lack of response was not what Potter had hoped. He shrugged and turned back down the stairs.
“Wait. Give me a second. I’ll be right there.”
Draco hurried to the lavatory to splash water on his face and comb his hair, then he jogged down the stairs to see what might come next.
Author: irisgirl12000
Giftee: agnes_bean
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 6500
Characters/Pairing: Draco Malfoy, Zacharias Smith, Harry Potter
Warnings: none
A/N: Many thanks to alisanne and janicechess for their editing and comments. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Lines in the opening scene were taken from book 6. Sorry about the lame title - I drew a complete blank.
Excerpt: Draco had recognized the Black insignia and motto the instant they had entered the house.
“Draco Malfoy, is this your desire?”
Pain. Burning, searing from his arm in a direct line to his brain.
“It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!”
Anger. Snape is just jealous; he wants this task for himself.
“I can’t do it.... I can’t.... he’ll kill me....”
Misery. Fear. A Malfoy does not cry.
“Now, Draco, quickly!”
“Do it or stand aside so one of us--”
“Avada Kedavra!”
The flash of green spell-light had Draco jerking awake. Panicked, sweating, he sat up, waiting for awareness to return. Finally, he heaved a sigh and fell back on his pillow.
Grimmauld Place. A guest bedroom, solely his for now, so there was no witness to his distress. That would change soon, he was told. Members of Potter’s Defense Association would be joining the Order of the Phoenix shortly, and the other bed in the room would be occupied. Every one in the house would be, apparently.
Draco stared listlessly at the ceiling, echoes of the past year ringing in his head. Finally, with a resigned moan, he dragged himself to the side of the bed and sat up. There would be no return to sleep; he decided he might as well do something useful. If nothing else, a change of scenery might combine with his exhaustion to lull him back to sleep. Wrapping his robe around him like armor, he left the sanctuary of his room and headed to the library, where he curled up in an armchair and stared out the window at the moonless sky.
Just memories, now. Those words and emotions, his constant companions, couldn’t hurt him anymore.
Immediately after fleeing Hogwarts, he and Snape had gone to Spinner’s End. Once inside his personal wards, Snape had abandoned Draco, leaving him to occupy himself as he saw fit. After hearing the crash of glassware and a muffled sob from the Potions laboratory, Draco had kept his distance, other than at mealtimes. Snape seemed willing to protect him, even though he had failed at his task. He had thought they would stay there indefinitely. Surely the Slayer of Dumbledore had earned the respect of the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters? But no, Snape explained. He had disobeyed the Dark Lord in fulfilling the Unbreakable Vow he had made with Draco’s mother; he would be in disfavor, and Death Eaters were nothing if not opportunistic. They were not safe. There was only one place they would be safe.
Thus, two weeks after the Dark Mark had appeared over Hogwarts, Draco was shocked to be Side-Along Apparated to a dingy square in what appeared to be London. Snape’s stride had been unusually hesitant as he stalked up the block. He later explained that he had been unsure what would happen; Dumbledore had been the Order’s Secret-Keeper, and normally his death would make the inclusion of another on the Secret impossible. But Dumbledore had been... cagey about the arrangements surrounding Order headquarters following Sirius Black’s death. Who knew what he had done to the spell to insure that the Order’s safe house remained hidden, yet available to new members?
Draco had recognized the Black insignia and motto the instant they had entered the house. Distracted by his surroundings - surely this place and its contents should be his by rights, he had thought indignantly - he had nearly walked into Snape, who had stopped dead in the entrance to the sitting room. Hidden in the shadows of the hallway behind the Potions master, what he had heard had surprised him.
****
“Snape.” Draco nearly fell over at the sound of that unexpected voice. Here? Harry Potter was here, in the home of one of the Darkest pureblood families in wizard history? He refused to acknowledge the leap of his pulse, instead forcing himself to listen to Snape’s response, to the argument these two enemy-allies were sure to have.
“Potter.” Snape was wary of his welcome, given the presence of Potter’s wand in his hand.
“I figured you’d arrive sooner or later.”
“You read--”
“Yes, I read the letter and viewed the Pensieve memories.” Potter’s voice was bitterly resentful, but not overtly hostile. “Dumbledore was dying from the moment he touched Marvolo Gaunt’s ring. Even if that hadn’t sapped his strength, there is no way he would have survived the poison he was force-fed before you found us on the tower.”
“Us?”
“I was there, stunned and hidden under my father’s invisibility cloak. Don’t tell me you didn’t know, you bastard; you made eye contact with the headmaster several times, you must have seen it through Legilimency.”
Dumbledore’s death had been planned beyond Snape’s Unbreakable Vow? And Potter had been there? He had witnessed Draco’s failure? Shame washed through him at the thought.
“I suspected it, but Albus had... other things to communicate to me that night.”
“Harry--”
“But, Harry, it’s Snape!”
Those came simultaneously from two more voices Draco recognized: Weasley and Granger. With a sinking feeling, Draco realized that he would be stuck with them if he took Snape’s advice.
“I saw it, I read it. You two didn’t.” Draco could hear the reluctance, tempered by acceptance of inevitability and necessity, in Potter’s voice. “Snape is welcome here.”
Only then did Snape step aside to reveal Draco. A spark lit Potter’s green eyes, and for a single, brilliant moment Draco knew hope. Hope for acceptance, hope that he had an alternative to the wretchedness of serving the Dark Lord, hope that one day Potter would accept the hand that he had refused in their first year. That hope was crushed with Potter’s reaction.
“Malfoy!” His wand hand twitched, and Draco thought he was about to receive again the hex that had left him bleeding in the girls’ lavatory earlier that spring. Granger’s hand on Potter’s elbow restrained him.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Potter reined in his emotions. He exchanged long glances with Granger and Weasley - they couldn’t possibly have discussed his presence the way they had discussed Snape’s, could they? - and nodded.
“Welcome, Malfoy, to the most noble and ancient House of Black. Dumbledore believed you were worth saving, so I won’t object to your presence here. I hope he was right. But I’m warning you: I know that you are the one who let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. You. Are. To. Blame. For what happened there. I don’t care why you did it. If you betray us again, I will make you sorry.”
With that, Potter brushed past them and left, Granger and Weasley trailing after him. Snape looked his usual inscrutable self. Just as Draco was about to question the wisdom of coming here, of betraying the Dark Lord for Potter, a pop signaled the arrival of a house-elf.
“Master Harry is telling me--Master Draco!” Surprise and fear filled the high voice.
The creature looked oddly familiar. “Dobby? What are you doing here?” And why was he wearing that stack of hats? Furthermore, why was he, Draco, curious about a house-elf?
Dobby drew himself up proudly before replying, “Dobby serves Harry Potter, who freed him.”
With no further commentary, Dobby led them upstairs to settle in.
The next day, after a closeted discussion with Potter, Snape set Draco to researching methods of destruction of Dark artifacts. After a single afternoon of comings and goings of the Order, Draco sincerely hoped he would be allowed to use those methods on the portrait of Mrs. Black. Granger, who was working with him, said little, and Potter even less. He spent his days in the library, ignoring the jibes made by Weasley, and pretending to ignore the silent presence of the Boy Who Lived, who was researching a topic he refused to discuss.
*****
“Well, here’s a surprise.”
Draco heard the drawling voice, but his eyes did not want to obey his command to open.
“Leave him be, Smith. I can’t be responsible for any hexes he might cast in retaliation.” Potter’s voice was brusque. “You know your way back upstairs.” Footsteps shuffled to the library’s door and it clicked closed.
“I know you’re awake, Malfoy. No pureblood worth his magic lacks personal wards to wake him from even the deepest sleep when another wizard approaches.”
He opened his eyes slowly. Zacharias Smith had seated himself in the chair opposite; one knee was crossed over the other, his foot swinging casually back and forth.
“Smith,” Draco acknowledged. He would volunteer no information, he decided. If the Hufflepuff was unaware of his involvement with the Death Eaters’ attack at Hogwarts, he wasn’t going to tell him.
“What are you doing here, Malfoy? Last I heard you were running off to join You Know Who.”
“I might ask you the same thing, Smith. There’s no love lost between you and Potter, is there?”
A dark scowl fixed itself to the other youth’s face. “Perfect Potter,” he snarled, “can rot once the Dark Lord is dead, for all I care. But until then, he’s the bloody Chosen One, and we need him to do his job.”
Surprised by such a vehement reaction from a loyal Hufflepuff, Draco just eyed him for a moment. Apparently Smith took his silence for interest, and he continued, “If it weren’t for the fact that my family is heir to the Hufflepuff legacy, I’d be neutral in this mess. Unfortunately, there’s something about the Founders’ Heirs that has brought them to the attention of You Know Who, and as long as he is alive, it’s best for us to live apart so that, in the event that one of us is attacked or killed, the family bloodline will continue. Potter had the only guarantee of a secure home and hope of triumph. Hence, my presence in this foul den. But you’ve never answered my question: what about you, Malfoy?”
Rather than explain his arrival on Potter’s doorstep, Draco noted the lateness of the hour and announced his intention to retire. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”
Zacharias nodded. “I’ll speak to you then.”
*****
Days, then a week passed in a monotonous blur. Draco’s time was spent poring over dusty old books in the Black library, ignoring the ever-growing crowd of Potter’s friends and followers.
Each night, he woke thrashing from nightmares and went to the library to calm himself. Each night, Smith joined him there. Draco didn’t know if Smith heard him tossing and turning, or if he had nightmares of his own to keep him from sleep. Although few words were spoken, they had become comfortable in each other’s presence, enough that Draco could relax until he was ready to sleep again. He knew without it being said that Smith wanted him; he could tell by the way his eyes followed him when he entered or left the room, by the weight of his silence when their few words had been spoken. He had not decided whether he would acknowledge Smith’s interest. It had been months since he had thought of a sexual partner.
Liar! his conscience screamed. The partner you’ve dreamed of is not available or interested.
Draco rather thought Zacharias Smith would do: pure-blood, tall, fit enough, brown hair and brown eyes, handsome, but not so striking as to compete with Draco’s cool blond appeal. He was still weighing his options, but there was one small item that might spur him in his decision: the rest of the Weasley clan would soon be descending upon the house, and all the unoccupied beds would fill. He supposed he should find an alternative roommate before he was assigned a ginger-haired idiot. Smith could fit that description, and living in closer quarters might cast the Hufflepuff’s charms in an even more favorable light.
*****
Molly Weasley arrived with Ginny and Arthur early in the afternoon on the 28th of July. Arthur Weasley only stayed long enough to speak with Potter and Snape, then he left, returning to the Burrow to finish raising the wards that they were leaving to protect the unoccupied house. The twins would be arriving the next day, after they secured their Diagon Alley premises, and the dragon-handler was due in some time later in the week, presumably in time for the birthday celebrations they were nattering on about.
After one hour of Mrs. Weasley’s fussing, Draco had made his decision: anything was better than having one of the twins share his room. He shuddered at the idea of continued exposure to the woman that would ensue if he were forced to share space with one of her sons. He resolved to approach Smith that evening. In the meantime, he was viciously amused by the Weaselette’s mooning after Potter and the rebuffs she encountered. The utterly indifferent expression on Potter’s face when she wound her arms around his neck had given Draco a deliciously vindictive thrill; he ruthlessly suppressed the triumph the sight had caused before it could develop into a more positive, positively unwanted emotion.
*****
It had been easier than he had expected to arrange the housing situation to his satisfaction. A comment to Snape, who then had a conversation with Smith, and Draco’s needs were fulfilled. Certainly, it did not hurt his cause that the Weasley twins had tested their ridiculous joke products on unsuspecting students. Smith had suffered the embarrassment of a Ton-Tongue Toffee while trying to flirt with Terry Boot, which left him apprehensive and reluctant to room with any of the Weasleys.
When Draco retired to his top-floor room that evening, he found Smith there, supervising the house-elf as his belongings were stowed.
“Malfoy.”
“Smith. Welcome.”
“Call me Zacharias. Thank you. I suppose you’d prefer to avoid any more enforced exposure to the Weasleys than necessary, too?”
There was a question in the words beyond the obvious, a fishing for some sign of interest, an ulterior motive.
Why not indulge? Draco asked himself.
“There is that.”
With a smug smile, sure he understood all of the nuances in Draco’s response, Zacharias dismissed Dobby. Shrugging out of his robe, he headed to the loo down the hall. He walked close enough to accidentally brush against Draco, close enough that he could smell his cologne.
“Well, I’m for bed.”
Really, could Hufflepuffs be more obvious? He would have to string Smith along a tiny bit longer, show him who was in control before accepting his less-than-subtle invitation.
*****
Work slowed over the next few days. Not that Draco had made a huge amount of progress to this point, but the hubbub of the Weasleys’ arrivals and the preparation for the big birthday party had everyone in a state of constant busyness, slowing him further. The noise and disturbances eventually made it to the library, prompting Draco to take a few books from the library and retreat to his room.
He would have been happy to have something to celebrate if it hadn’t been Potter’s and Longbottom’s birthdays. Really, the way everyone fawned over the pair of them was ridiculous. Fine, Potter was the Chosen One, some of his sycophants and toadies might feel the need to gush over him. But Longbottom? Draco just didn’t see it.
Four pages of parchment later, he had exhausted his books’ knowledge of magical storage charms and devices, and was ready for a break. He stood and was stretching when he heard footsteps pass his door and move down the hallway. Curious to see who would come up to this upper floor - he hadn’t thought there were any other bedrooms up here, just some half-filled storage rooms - Draco moved to the door and peeked out.
The sight that met his eyes might have been burned on his retinas; he would see it over and over again in the weeks to come.
Someone was backed up against a heavy oak door, a tall redhead pressed against them. If the moan he heard was any indication, the Weasley - Draco knew it was one of the twins, but he couldn’t tell which without seeing his facial expression - was doing an excellent job with his mouth, whatever it was touching. For a moment Draco was torn: turn away in revulsion from a Weasley preparing to shag, or watch to have blackmail material? In the end, mildly amused by the furtive use of an abandoned hallway for an assignation, Draco remained where he was, hoping to see who Weasley was so absorbed in seducing.
Arms wrapped around broad shoulders, and one obviously masculine hand crept up to twine in the short hairs at the base of his neck. One of Weasley’s hands moved away from the body he had been holding against his own and reached for the knob of the door they’d been leaning against. He turned it, but the door refused to open. The other man must have done something, because there was a moan, and Weasley’s attention returned to his kissing. Clothes were wrestled with and bodies rearranged, and still the kissing, with its attendant sound effects, went on.
Draco was feeling a stirring of arousal himself when he heard a distinctive voice whisper, “The door, George. Now.”
He knew that voice, though it had never been directed at him with so much lust in it. No, normally the emotion he heard filling it was derision or hate. Stunned, his eyes closed and his hand fell away from the fly of his trousers, which he’d pressed his palm against.
Potter. Potter was with Weasley. Just not the Weasley everyone thought.
“It won’t open for me.”
“Bloody Black House. Half the doors only open to the heir. Here.” He reached out and twisted the knob himself. When it didn’t immediately open, he hissed at the silver snakes wreathing the lock-plate. Draco shuddered at the sibilant sound, and was not surprised when the door opened obediently. Potter stepped forward, and the last thing Draco saw from his shadowed corner was the look of blatant invitation on Potter’s face, which had Weasley following and closing the door smartly.
That night, after birthday cake was eaten and butterbeer (and firewhisky) drunk, Draco allowed Zacharias to fuck him for the first time.
*****
Most of the time, Draco could ignore his restlessness. He told himself that it stemmed from being shut in the house with nothing but work and Zacharias to occupy his time. The gnawing need he felt for something had nothing to do with Potter, or with the fact that September was nearly upon them, and there would be no return to Hogwarts this autumn.
Whatever Potter, Weasley, and Granger had been working on had taken them away on several short trips. The first one had seen them return in a dismal mood, but they had returned after the next two in higher spirits than Draco had seen since Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup in his third year. Granger had requested copies of his notes on the disposal of magical objects and thanked him politely upon their receipt, but had given no further explanation. If Draco was curious about the precise nature of their activities, he was Slytherin enough to know that knowledge of them was unnecessary for his role, and he was thus unlikely to gain any. Instead, he tried to satisfy himself with his own research into the removal of magical totems.
Surprisingly, once he had resigned himself to ignorance, circumstances changed.
Potter needed his help.
“I need you to get me into Malfoy Manor.”
“I beg your pardon? You need what?”
“I need entry to Malfoy Manor.”
“And why would you need such a thing, Potter? Lucius hasn’t been there in over a year. Mother fled before Dumbledore was killed. And Voldemort surely would not use such an obvious location.”
“Look, can’t you just let me in? I’ve tried to get in, but I can’t get past the wards.”
“No, you wouldn’t be able to. A Malfoy must be present and have given permission for you to cross the wards for the first time. That doesn’t answer my question. Why?”
With an impatient gesture, Potter pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “There’s... a magical artifact, one that your mother might have hidden. I need it before we can make our final move against Voldemort.”
“What makes you think it’s at the Manor? It could be anywhere.”
“Because the last place we saw it was here, at Grimmauld Place. And it’s something that either Mundungus Fletcher might have pawned or Kreacher might have taken. Dung didn’t take it. We’ve asked - with Veritaserum. That leaves Kreacher, and the person he’d most likely have taken it to was your mother, as one of the last Blacks he respected. And your mother might have hidden it if she knew its significance, or she might have simply stored it for safe-keeping.”
“There’s no alternative, nothing else you can use in its place?”
Potter eyed him in disbelief. “Do you think I’d have asked if there was anything else we could try, anywhere else likely that we hadn’t looked?”
Draco conceded that such a request was tantamount to an admission of defeat, something Potter would not do, given any choice.
“Fine. Tomorrow. But it’ll have to be quick. The wards will warn Lucius when anyone enters specific rooms, and he’s sure to want to know who would be visiting the Manor now that I’m in hiding.”
“Tomorrow. Thanks, Malfoy.” The last words were forced out through gritted teeth.
“Don’t thank me until we’ve got whatever you’re looking for and we’re back here safely.”
*****
“Don’t move, Malfoy, and don’t make a sound. Understand? Nod your head if you do.” Barely able to move his head, Draco nodded. Potter’s hand, which had been pressed over his mouth and nose, loosened. His filmy view of the room, caused by Potter’s invisibility cloak, didn’t change.
They had gotten through the wards easily enough, and had made it through the library and Lucius’s study without incident. Draco wasn’t certain what Potter was looking for: it must be small, given the boxes, books, and other places he had inspected, but nothing had satisfied him. Potter had wanted to search the master suite, so he’d led the Gryffindor up two flights and through a maze of hallways to his parents’ rooms. The moment he’d opened the door, he knew their time was limited, and had warned Potter.
The Gryffindor had hastily searched Lucius’s dresser and night table, including the drawer that had held his cufflinks, before going to his mother’s vanity. His gasp of triumph was followed by the crack of Apparation nearby. Before Draco had time to react, Potter had thrown a fall of shimmering fabric over them both and pulled him back against his chest, one hand over Draco’s mouth and the other gripping the wrist of his wand hand, retreating until they were pressed to the wall, away from the room’s doors and windows.
When two cloaked figures entered the room, Draco held his breath, hoping Lucius wasn’t with them. One hung back by the door while the other sauntered around the room, poking into various drawers and checking under the bed. Neither noticed the disarray on the vanity and night table.
“Nobody here. Keep looking. Check the wardrobe.”
That brought the first Death Eater uncomfortably close. When the wardrobe door swung open, Draco pressed himself back, trying to keep from being struck by it. Potter was a wall of warm strength behind him, aligned from his shoulders to his ankles, and it was all Draco could do to restrain the moan that caught in his throat. He was not successful at stopping the single reflexive rub of his hips against the ones behind him. Potter’s arm tightened around his shoulder, but he felt no other response.
They remained in that pose when the wardrobe door swung shut, after the Death Eaters poked and prodded the bed and other furniture, even after they heard footsteps moving back down the hall. They did not move until they heard them Disapparate away.
Then Potter released Draco and pushed him forward, dragging the cloak off over their heads. A quick glance down the length of his body, then those sharp green eyes fixed on his. A single black eyebrow arched in question, and Draco had to look away, resentful and ashamed.
It was a normal reaction. Perfectly normal for a teenaged male. And where did Potter learn that gesture, anyway? Snape?
“You’ve got it now, right? Come on, let’s go before they come back.”
With that, Draco stalked off, heading toward the entrance hall.
*****
“Hermione, just leave it be.”
“But Harry, you were getting along with Malfoy before, or at least he wasn’t sniping at you. What happened? What did you do?”
Hidden in a seat not visible from the open library door, Draco stiffened in his seat and waited for Potter’s response.
“I didn’t do anything!” That Potter resented her accusation was clear. “Nothing happened. He’s just... Malfoy.”
“Harry--”
“Let it be, Hermione. We’ve got all the Horcruxes now except Nagini, and with your research and Malfoy’s help, they’re destroyed. I’m going to get Gryffindor’s sword from Headmistress McGonagall, if she’ll let me take it out of the school, and that and the magic-dispelling spells should be enough to get rid of Nagini and whatever bit of Tom’s soul that was left in her. Then it’s just Voldemort left. We need a plan, Hermione.”
“I think you need more people than just me and Ron working on that.”
“I know, we need some Slytherin cunning. I’m thinking of asking Snape before I bring it to the rest of the Order.”
“This is where it would help if you were getting along with Malfoy. He’d probably have a suggestion too.”
Potter sighed, releasing a deep breath. The next words were softer, and sounded as if Potter were leaving the room.
“Okay, fine, I’ll ask him. You take Snape.”
“Fine.”
The door shut, leaving Draco with his thoughts. After a single summer’s work, they were already prepared for a confrontation with the Dark Lord? And what was a Horcrux? Those thoughts were eclipsed by the fact that Potter could have embarrassed him by sharing his inappropriate response, but he hadn’t. Relief, respect, and a little niggling bit of resentment mingled as he wondered why Potter might have done that. He told himself that it wasn’t for his own benefit; Potter must be planning on getting something out of keeping silent.
Pushing that thought aside, he focused on finding a foolproof plan for defeating the Dark Lord in battle.
*****
“You cannot kill Nagini too far in advance of your confrontation. The Dark Lord possesses her and uses her as an extension of himself, and he will notice a prolonged absence on her part.”
Snape’s decree was not unexpected, but Potter was clearly disheartened nonetheless.
Draco didn’t understand.
“Why is the snake’s death necessary, anyway? Just kill him however you’ve planned and be done with it. She’s just a snake.”
“I can’t kill him, not truly, while Nagini still lives. I can’t explain any more than that,” Harry replied shortly, running an impatient hand through mussed hair. He stared at Draco, willing him to understand... what?
“Fine, then. If the two have to occur as close together as possible, chronologically speaking, then I suggest....”
Potter listened closely to Draco’s and Snape’s plans, nodding occasionally. Granger busily took notes, copying down their every word. Weasley just sat silently, glowering at Snape. Tonks, Lupin, Zacharias, and the others, who had even less knowledge of Potter’s activities than Draco, looked apprehensively hopeful that the war might soon come to an end.
*****
That night Draco’s nightmares were worse than ever. Now, instead of seeing Dumbledore’s body tumble off the tower in a flash of green light, it was Potter who lay dead. He woke, trembling, with Potter’s name on his lips. Zacharias slept on beside him, and was no comfort at all.
*****
Draco stood hidden, Disillusioned against the ruins of a brick wall at the old Potter house in Godric’s Hollow.
When he and Snape had designed this plan, the idea that any of them might die in the ensuing battle had been abstract. Standing here in the cool, damp darkness, his mortality felt all too real. It set his nerves on edge. Every rustle of leaves, every gust of wind, made his hand ache for his wand.
When he heard the sound of metal singing, followed by a thud and a grunt of triumph, Draco knew their plan would work.
Snape had persuaded Potter to “open his mind” (whatever that meant) to the Dark Lord, allowing him to learn that he was searching the ruins for an artifact without escort or guardians. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would want to take advantage of such an opportunity, but would likely send Nagini first to verify Potter’s presence. The Dark Lord’s ego would not allow him to triumph without witnesses, though. Draco was certain that at least his Aunt Bella and Lucius, freed from Azkaban only weeks earlier, would accompany him.
When Potter appeared, bloodied sword in hand, he knew a moment’s satisfaction. It was short-lived, immediately interrupted by the crack of Apparation. Draco didn’t know who cast the first hex, but soon Order members had revealed themselves and were fighting dark-robed opponents furiously. As each Death Eater was stunned or otherwise disabled, automatic Portkeys were affixed to their robes, sending them to warded Ministry holding cells.
Draco took care of Pettigrew, turning in time to see Tonks confront Bellatrix.
Well, she’s her aunt, too. Tonks has just as much claim as I do.
Snape was dueling Macnair, Lupin was occupied with Fenrir Greyback, and various Order members traded spells with Death Eaters Draco did not recognize.
In the distance, at the top of the rise beyond the ruins of the house, Draco could see Potter facing Voldemort. Their wands were by their sides, their gazes locked. Whatever combat occurred there was silent and mental.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught a flicker of movement, and he turned to see a Death Eater with long blond hair spilling over the back of his robes. Lucius. His eyes were narrowed, and he raised his wand toward Potter’s unguarded back.
Time slowed, and Draco knew in that moment that he could turn the tide of the war, be the hero for one side of the other. Lucius or Potter? When he had joined Snape and the Order, he had known that he would be turning his back on his past and his family, and he had not regretted it. What had his father done, but give him to the Dark Lord? Still, Draco had hoped never to have to make this choice.
He lifted his wand, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Stupefy!”
The flash of red spell-light pulled Potter and the Dark Lord from their internal struggle, and both raised their wands, casting simultaneously. While Voldemort was busy taunting Potter about his foolishness in forgetting the Priori Incantatem effect, Potter pulled another wand from a hidden pocket of his robes.
“Goodbye, Tom. Avada Kedavra!”
When the flash of green struck Voldemort, both he and Potter collapsed. Draco’s Dark Mark burned fiercely, then subsided. When he drew up his sleeve it was already lightening, disappearing. Hurriedly, Order members moved to corral Death Eaters before they could escape and hide any remaining evidence of their crimes.
Draco moved to Potter, who was kneeling, one hand pressed to his forehead. As he passed it, he kicked the lump of flesh that had been the most evil Dark Lord in generations, satisfying himself that he was truly dead.
“Potter?”
A whimper of pain was the only response.
“Come on. The rest of the Order can handle the clean-up.”
As gently as he could, he gathered up the Gryffindor, Apparating them to Grimmauld Place, where Granger and Zacharias had helped Madam Pomfrey set up a triage station for Order injuries. They were all occupied with other arrivals, so he set Potter down as smoothly as he could on an open bed; he took a step back, intending to return to Godric’s Hollow, but a hand gripped his arm.
“Thank you. For this... and for Lucius.”
Clouded green eyes held his for a moment before heavy lids closed and Potter’s grip slackened. Draco gazed at the relaxed face for a minute without interruption. He didn’t think he had ever seen it so clear, so empty of worry.
Shaking himself out of his stupor, he turned to the door but stopped short. Zacharias stood at the end of the bed, Madam Pomfrey behind him. The matron bustled forward to assess her latest patient, but Zacharias remained where he was. His jaw flexed, then he nodded.
“Malfoy.”
Fuck. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Draco acknowledged his greeting, then prepared to return to the battlefield.
*****
When the last Death Eaters had been rounded up, the site scoured for wands, masks, robes, and any other items that might be useful evidence for the Wizengamot trials that were sure to come, and all Order members had been accounted for, Draco stumbled upstairs to bed. He was so exhausted he didn’t even bother with a bath, instead spelling himself clean and tumbling into sleep without turning the lights on. He slept so deeply that, but for his breathing, he barely moved.
When he woke the next morning, his throat was dry, breath was rancid, and eyes were nearly glued shut. Beyond that, the first thing he realized was that Zacharias was not there. They had Transfigured their two single beds into a larger one weeks ago, and Draco usually woke to find the warm weight of an arm or leg slung across his torso. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and looked around. The other side of the bed was still made.
Shrugging, he climbed out of bed and headed to bathe, then down to the kitchen for breakfast, tea, whatever was available, including gossip and news. As he reached the landing, Potter and George Weasley exited the kitchen and moved to the foyer. Draco immediately moved backward, hiding himself in shadow, shamelessly spying on the pair.
He hadn’t brought a pair of Extendable Ears, so he only had visual cues to study. Whatever they were discussing looked quite serious. Weasley gestured toward Potter and then the door. Potter shook his head, prompting another spate of words from the redhead, who also waved his hand, gesturing upwards. Potter ignored this outburst. He stepped close enough to speak into Weasley’s ear, then kissed him gently. Draco’s heart shriveled. Any last hope he felt vanished when Weasley’s hand gently cupped the nape of Potter’s neck and he drew him closer for a longer, more intense kiss. When the pair drew apart, Weasley smiled sweetly and headed out. Potter stood looking after him, a faint frown on his face, before heading to the library. On his way there, he glanced up the stairwell; Draco could have sworn Potter winked at his hiding spot.
No longer hungry, Draco forced himself to drink a cup of tepid tea and listen to the jokes and easy banter between Order members. Other than Susan Bones requiring a trip to the Dai Llewellyn ward of St. Mungo’s, none of the DA members had been seriously injured, although Terry Boot had lost his father in the fight.
He nibbled desultorily on toast, wondering what he would do now that the war was over. Lucius was imprisoned, awaiting whatever punishment the Ministry had devised to replace the Dementor’s Kiss, leaving Draco as the head of the Malfoy house; whether there would be any wealth associated with that name, other than what he had in his personal vault, remained to be seen. Undoubtedly the Ministry would require some recompense for Lucius’s crimes, but Draco’s status as a war hero might balance those evils. Should he move back to Malfoy Manor? Find a flat of his own? Return to Hogwarts, presuming that McGonagall would allow it?
Distracted, Draco returned to his room to find Zacharias there, packing his trunk. Or rather, ordering Dobby to do so.
“Leaving so soon?”
“My family is safe, and the house is secure. There’s no reason for me to stay here any longer.” Zacharias’s voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a bitter undertone to his words.
“No reason?”
“I thought there might be, but I can see now I was wasting my time. It was Potter you wanted the whole time, wasn’t it?”
Draco’s mouth went dry.
“Potter? As if. Why would you think that?”
“I’ve seen how you look at him. He’s always been the focus, although when we were younger you used animosity to get his attention.”
“If this is about last night--”
“Last night was just the first time I saw it clearly. I bet you’ve wanted him the whole time we’ve been together, haven’t you?”
Draco wanted to deny it, but all he could see was the inviting look Potter had sent to Weasley, the scene that had precipitated his move toward Zacharias.
“I thought so.” Shutting the lid of his trunk, Zacharias levitated it and charmed it to follow him as he headed toward the door. “I’ll make this easy on both of us. Goodbye.” He closed the door quietly as he left.
Draco sat on the bed and looked at his barren surroundings.
Now what?
He had no idea how long he sat there, his mind blank. No matter how many times he told himself he was a Slytherin, he could come up with a plan to get what he wanted, Draco was not convinced. He needed to know what he wanted before he could formulate a plan. Not Zacharias. Not Potter, apparently -- no point in pining over the impossible.
He had come to no conclusion after several hours’ thought, and might have remained in his torpor indefinitely if a knock at the door had not penetrated his fog.
Surprised, unclear who would have come up to see him at -- gods, was it already teatime? -- he rubbed his bleary eyes into focus and went to answer it.
No one was there. No one was there? Had he taken that long answering? How long had they been knocking?
He stepped out into the hallway in time to see a dark head disappearing down the stairs. Unable to resist the compulsion, he followed.
“Potter? Harry? Harry! Did you need me for something?” How pathetically hopeful did he sound, really?
“I... just noticed you weren’t at lunch, and the tea’s almost gone.”
One heartbeat, two, three. Draco stood there, not sure if Potter’s words were a warning about tardiness to meals when Weasleys were present, or an invitation. Evidently his lack of response was not what Potter had hoped. He shrugged and turned back down the stairs.
“Wait. Give me a second. I’ll be right there.”
Draco hurried to the lavatory to splash water on his face and comb his hair, then he jogged down the stairs to see what might come next.