The note was terse, heavy black ink impressed on stiff ecru parchment, the writer’s fingernail being used to deliver a sharp crease on two folds, and the whole sealed with black wax.
The owl who delivered it, a large, black bird with gleaming feathers and yellow eyes, stayed on the window ledge awaiting a reply, turning his beak up at the rather dusty owl-treats offered to it.
Harry didn’t immediately recognise the handwriting (the sender and he had never been on terms good enough to exchange missives), but he knew who it was from. Taking a perverse pleasure in undoing the writer’s actions, he laid it face down on the table in front of him and pushed his finger across each crease as he tried to make the paper perfect again. However, when he turned it over, the words remained impenetrably there.
‘You have something of mine. I would like it back.’
His head told him to let someone else deal with it. But Kingsley was far too busy, and Ron would just flat out refuse - or worse - use it as an excuse to pummel the sender into the ground.
The note was from Malfoy. The ‘something’ was his wand.
The owl clicked its beak impatiently, watching Harry with eyes that seemed far too knowledgeable, so, in irritation, Harry scrawled a note and sent the bird away.
‘When I find it, I’ll send it back.’
He wasn’t altogether surprised to receive another note, but the content surprised him.
‘I have found a wand. I think it’s Granger’s. We could swap, but I insist on examining first, in case you try to fob me off with a fake.’
The owl carried on clicking its beak, as if it knew the sound mimicked the tick-tick in Harry’s jaw as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.
He didn’t want to see Malfoy. He shouldn’t have to see him. He could easily send the wand (he knew exactly where it was), but...
Malfoy had located Hermione’s wand, and Harry knew how much she wanted it back.
June 1998
The holding cells at the Ministry were not as bleak as Azkaban, and from the stories his father had told, Draco knew he was lucky to have a proper bed (even if it was a hard, lumpy mattress) and a small sink in the corner. He supposed he was lucky to have a cell to himself and wondered if his father had bribed someone to arrange this. Perhaps it would have been better to have had a cellmate, but really the only person he could have stomached seeing was Goyle, and he hadn’t been arrested.
From his bed, he stared at the ceiling, trying not to think of the impending interview. There was nothing to add to his original statement. He’d taken his dad’s advice and repeated the old lie.
–I was Imperiused. I tried to resist, but you have no idea of his power.â€
He didn’t stand up when he heard the cell door open, didn’t even turn his head to see who’d walked in, just waited for the clerk, who was here to take his final deposition, to get it over and done with.
–I’m not changing my plea.†He closed his eyes and turned his back on the clerk.
–I didn’t think you would, Malfoy.â€
–Merlin, what the hell are you doing here, Potter? This is a bit of a comedown, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be touring the country visiting your fans?â€
Potter didn’t answer, but pulled up a chair and sat astride it in a posture so interrogatory that Draco had to bite back the urge to laugh, especially when Potter’s hem caught on the wicker frame leaving the fabric gaping over his leg.
–I’ve been speaking to your mother.â€
–Why?†He was interested now and sat up on the bed, straightening his robes.
Potter smiled slightly. –Narcissa summoned me. Wanted to know what would happen if the three of you changed your pleas.â€
–And?â€
–Well, in your mother’s case, it doesn’t make much difference. She was never a Death Eater, didn’t fight at the Ministry, or at the Battle.â€
–And saved your arse, Potter. Don’t forget that.â€
–I haven’t,†he replied.
–So, why are you here?â€
–She wanted me to talk to you.â€
–Talk about what?â€
–I’ve been called to give evidence,†Potter replied. Sighing, he stood up, twisted his chair around and sat properly, his knees splayed out as he leant closer to Draco. –Look, Malfoy, I’m not comfortable with this, but Kingsley wants justice to not only be done, but to be seen to be done. He wants things ‘fair’, and ... I do owe your mother.â€
As he watched Potter shift on the chair, Draco’s eyes glimmered and he felt a laugh bubbling inside of him. He leant towards Potter, letting their knees touch and whispered conspiratorially, –Are you here to spring me, Potter? Is this you rescuing the damsel in distress before having your wicked way with me?â€
–I’m here to tell you to change your plea,†Potter replied stiffly, and pulled his knees together. –Telling the Wizengamot that you were Imperiused isn’t going to wash. They know it’s a lie.â€
–And pleading guilty is going to get me a free pass out of this place is it, Potter?†Draco held his gaze, saw the evasion in Potter’s eyes and lay back on the bed. –You’ve had your little talk with me now. You can tell Shacklebolt you’ve ticked all the boxes. Go on, run away nowâ€
–You’re an idiot. Lucius’ excuse won’t work this time. I know you weren’t Imperiused, and the Wizengamot are not going to swallow that line this time. You’ll go down. For a long time.â€
–And you’re going to make sure of that, aren’t you,†Draco stated, injecting a note of boredom in his voice. –You know, you don’t have to say anything, Potter. I’m sure my father will make it worth your while.â€
–Whether you like it or not, I am a witness. I’ll be giving evidence for your mother because, as you so very eloquently put it, she saved my arse. And they will ask me about you. Got that!â€
–So what?†Draco drawled. –And why the hell are you bothered, Potter?â€
–I was there when you tried to kill Albus Dumbledore,†Potter said, staring at him intently. –You couldn’t do it, and if you’d been Imperiused, then you would have done.â€
–I was resisting, and then Snape barged in and took over,†Draco muttered, but he wouldn’t look into the penetrating green eyes.
Potter shook his head. –I know what it’s like to resist, Malfoy. You were terrified, but you knew exactly what was going on. You planned everything so perfectly.†He paused and stared straight into Draco’s eyes. –Except that final act.â€
Draco looked away first, keeping his eyes on the greying ceiling. There was a spider spinning a cobweb in the corner and he watched its progress as it dangled on its silken thread. –Is there anything else, Potter? Only I am rather busy.â€
–No, nothing.â€
Draco heard the chair scrape on the cold stone floor of his cell, heard him walk to the door, but didn’t hear the door open or close.
Turning his head sideways on the pillow, Draco saw Potter staring again at him. –Are you after something? I told you to leave,†he spat. –You’ve done your good deed for the day. Trot back to the Weasley girl and get a compensatory shag for being such a self-sacrificing and tortured hero.â€
–You really are a fucking prat, Malfoy.â€
–Not fucking anyone at the moment, Potter, unless you’re offering,†Draco taunted. He ran his hand up his leg and laughed when Potter, in his haste to get out of the cell, caught his robes in the door.
The smile didn’t leave his lips as he recaptured Potter’s unease in his mind. If he was going to Azkaban, he’d make damn sure he had some fun first. And Potter-baiting was incredibly satisfying. His hand moved to his crotch as he idly imagined Potter’s horror if he’d actually made a move. And then he pressed further, his hand sliding under his robe as he worked himself to climax.
Only later, when the guard called for lights out, did he think over Potter’s words. If he stood up in front of the Wizengamot and told them he’d been Imperiused, Potter would tell them otherwise.
His father was wrong and his mother knew it, which was why she was making contingency plans. He needed to trust Potter - just as his mother had before the Battle.
Harry was at The Burrow when he heard the news. More specifically, he was lying on the lawn with Ginny, whilst she skimmed through a Quidditch magazine, when Ron arrived home.
–Kingsley's just told me that all three Malfoys are pleading guilty.â€
–Good,†Ginny replied. She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest.
–Not good, actually,†Ron continued. –If they’d stuck to ‘not guilty’ they’d have been sent to Azkaban. Even without the Dementors, it won’t be a tea party. They’re citing ‘mitigating circumstances'.â€
–Like what?†Ginny scoffed. Then she turned her face to Harry. –Did you know about this?â€
–I saw Narcissa,†he admitted, –and then Malfoy.â€
–And where’s the proof of these ‘mitigating circumstances’?â€
–That would ... er ... be me,†he muttered. Then he cleared his throat and glanced at Ron, hoping for support, but Ron’s face was blank. –Look, I’ve been called as a witness for Narcissa. She asked me to speak to Malfoy, so I did.â€
–And you’re going to defend them!†Ginny said in horror. –Why?â€
–I’m not defending them, but I owe Narcissa. She saved my life.â€
–Only so she could save her precious son. It had nothing to do with you! And how does that help Draco - or Lucius?â€
Ron coughed. –They didn’t fight at the Battle. I think their story now is that they were trying to get out of serving Voldemort but were too scared.†He shrugged. –Malfoy’s always been a bloody coward. Makes sense he’d use that as an excuse.â€
–And you think this is right?†Ginny got to her feet, grabbing her book and holding it to close to her chest like a shield. –If they’re set free -â€
–Narcissa will be,†Ron said bluntly. –I don’t think she’s even going to stand trial and ... er ...†He shifted his gaze to Harry. –They’ve been released from the holding cells and are under house-arrest.â€
She said nothing more. For Harry, her silence was more eloquent than any words. Shocked to her core, this was the last blow in a long, long series of horrific events starting with her own possession by Voldemort.
–It’s out of my hands,†he said as he stood up and approached her. –I can’t influence this one way or another.â€
–I’m not asking you to,†she hissed. –But Merlin, I wish you weren’t involved.â€
Then, without a backward glance, she ran to the house.
He strode after Ginny, and catching her just as she reached the landing to her bedroom, he tugged on her arm. She pulled away, but didn’t flinch when he enveloped her in his arms.
–I’m sorry,†he said. –I hate what Lucius did to you as well, but there was never any proof without the diary.â€
–They deserve Azkaban. And Malfoy’s responsible for Bill getting attacked. Don’t forget that,†she warned.
There was no point telling her Malfoy had been more fearful of Greyback than any of them. He’d gone through this before but knew her implacable attitude. Things were black or white for her on this issue, and she could never see the grey.
–I won’t forget,†he murmured.
She turned in his arms, and lifted her face to his, brushing her lips on his mouth. But as he bent his head to hers, intending for a deeper, more intense kiss, and as her hand strayed to his waist, her palm pressing on his hipbone, Harry faltered. His eyes flew open, and his heart started to pound. Then he heard a sound on the stairs and pulled away, hating the fact that he felt grateful for the interruption.
Because when he’d closed his eyes, the image in his mind had not been that of Ginny. And the hand straying to his crotch had not been hers.
–I ... er ... need to go,†he muttered when he heard a voice calling him.
–Bloody Ron,†she whispered, smiling ruefully. –Never knows when to stay away.†She sighed. –I’m sorry. This is just all too much to cope with. And I can’t bear to think of them getting off scot free.â€
–I’m sorry, too,†he muttered, and ruffled her hair, –but I can’t not give evidence. Not now I’ve been called.â€
–I’m not asking you to,†she replied, sounding snappish. She took a breath as she stepped towards her bedroom. –Look, I need some time by myself.â€
–If that’s what you want,†he said.
–I think we both do, don’t we?†she muttered bleakly.
He didn’t reply, but rubbed the bridge of his nose, wishing the headache forming was the result of sitting too long in the sun, but he knew it wasn’t. Barely a month since the Battle and Fred’s death, he and Ginny were tentatively together, but both realising that they couldn’t slide back into the easy patterns of before. They’d been changed by their year apart, too much of their innocence gone, and he wasn’t sure they’d recover, however much it was ‘meant to be.’
That night, Malfoy’s mocking smile haunted him. He tried to distract himself with paperwork, and then Firewhisky, but the memory of Malfoy’s taunt, his knee pressing on his, and his languid words ...
–Not fucking anyone at the moment, Potter, unless you’re offering.â€
Fuck. No.
This was Malfoy, Draco-fucking-Malfoy. The boy he’d despised and hated for seven years.
It’s because things are going badly with Ginny, he tried to tell himself. But somehow, he knew that wasn’t the whole story.
The next day, when Kingsley told him they’d sighted the Lestranges and asked him to nominate a team, Harry leapt at the chance and said he’d go.
10th August 1998
The relief took him by surprise. Although Cyril Sturgess, their court advocate, had assured Lucius that they’d be freed, Draco had never quite believed him, knowing Sturgess would say anything if there was money involved. But the man had done his job well, and managed to argue successfully on many counts against Lucius being dropped, pointing out that his client had already served time in Azkaban. With Draco, the case was less clear-cut, but Sturgess had stressed at every opportunity his client’s young age at the time of the first offences.
–He wasn’t of age, Minister. Easily influenced and living in fear of what Lord Voldemort would do to his family.â€
Then Potter had taken the stand and given his evidence in dogged but clear tones; a frank recount of the night Professor Dumbledore had died.
Staring across at him from the dock, Draco saw the awe Potter was held in, and even though he didn’t attempt to command his audience, it was his words that swayed them - not Draco’s story or his advocate’s persuasion.
He hated that. Hated the fact that his freedom depended on Potter. But as he ground his teeth, clenching his fist so tight that his nails broke the skin on his palm, Draco saw Potter’s head turn towards the visitors’ gallery. Following his gaze, he watched as Ginny Weasley shook herself free from Granger’s arm and shuffled along the row until she found the door.
–No further questions,†Sturgess declared.
–You may stand down, Harry,†the Minister said.
The Wizengamot took their time deliberating, but somehow Draco knew the sentence before they pronounced it. They’d been impressed by Potter, far more than his father’s status and hints of ‘charitable donations’ and thus they believed him. The Malfoys were to remain under probation, but both were spared Azkaban. He watched his father stand tall, fixing a supercilious smile on his face as he surveyed his audience, but Draco felt nothing except an overwhelming relief that he hadn’t expected to be quite so physical - his body drenched in sweat, his stomach clenching. After thanking Sturgess, accepting congratulations from his father and clasping his mother close, Draco escaped from the court, desperate for solitude.
But solitude and silence were not going to be found in the corridor he found himself in, not when the dulcet tones of the Weasley girl rifled through the air.
–They got off!†she screeched. Her hair was a flaming cloud around her head as she faced Potter. Granger stood next to her with Weasley alongside, both looking resigned. –They deserved prison. They deserved Azkaban with the Dementors, but they got OFF!â€
–I had no choice,†he heard Potter say in a curiously calm voice when faced with such fury.
–You didn’t have to make him out to be such a ... a ... victim! †she shouted.
–I think his advocate did that,†Granger said practically. –Ginny, you really can’t blame Harry. He was only telling the truth.â€
–Your version of it,†Ginny spat. From the alcove, Draco saw her dash a tear from her eye as she spun around to face them all. –None of you know what that final year was like; Malfoy was a part of that.â€
There was a pause. To Draco’s surprise, Potter took a step away, leaving Weasley to comfort his sister.
–We know he’s a shit, and we know what he’s capable of. And if I see him down a dark alley, then any pain he’s suffered before will be like a bloody picnic compared to what I’ll do.†His other hand stretched to Granger, encompassing her in his promise, but whereas his sister appeared to be comforted, she looked away.
Draco watched as Weasley led his sister to the doorway, leaving only Granger and Potter standing together. Then, after squeezing his arm, she followed the pair of them, but he stayed where he was, his face expressionless.
–You’re better off without her, Potter,†Draco said, stepping out into the corridor, –if you value your eardrums, that is.â€
–Fuck off.â€
–Temper, temper,†he drawled. And then he sighed. –Sorry, force of habit to wind you up.â€
–What do you want, Malfoy? A chance to gloat? Well, go ahead.â€
Raising his eyebrows and trying to fix what he hoped was a smile and not a smirk on his face, Draco stepped closer. –I wanted to say ‘thank you’, actually. Granger may think that old Sturgess got us off, but we both know it was your testimony that made the difference.â€
–Put the boot in, why don’t you?†Potter muttered. –That testimony has cost me my friends. You couldn’t have wished for a more perfect revenge.â€
Draco laughed in disbelief, and then flinched when Potter raised his wand. –Hey, hey. Not fair, I don’t have a wand, Potter, remember? If you want to hit me, then use your fist.â€
His words seemed to bring Potter to his senses, for he lowered his wand and slumped against the wall. –You’ve said ‘thank-you’, so you can leave,†he replied, a strangely detached note in his voice, listless and grey.
–Sure.†Draco shrugged and started to walk away, but then paused and touched Potter on the arm. –Weasley will no doubt be fine once he’s pummelled his fist in my face a few times. Not sure about his sister, but perhaps she’s not worth it.â€
–Is that what you thought about Parkinson?†Potter rasped.
–Pansy was never worth it,†Draco replied, and this time he did smirk. –Good shag, and always willing to suck me off, but bloody boring when we weren’t in bed.†He leant forwards, liking the fact that Potter stood so stock still as if wondering what Draco was going to do. –I prefer them silent, Potter, not screeching. Still like brunettes, though.â€
He wasn’t imagining Potter’s reaction. There was a flush on his cheeks, a startled glimmer in his eyes and then his lips parted and a quick breath escaped. –Get away from me.â€
Holding his hands up in supplication, Draco took a pace to the side, then gestured Potter towards the door. –I’m not stopping you going, Potter. You’re the one with the wand, after all, and could easily Apparate away. No idea why you’re still here and not running after your girlfriend to make amends.†He paused and looked thoughtful. –Does she like roses or chocolates? Or maybe you should treat her to a meal?â€
–She’s not my girlfriend anymore.†The admission seemed to be unwelcome; he’d said too much, especially to Draco.
–Then, Potter, you should stop moping and have some fun. Get over her by getting under someone else.â€
Potter laughed.
Potter actually laughed.
And then he stopped, shocked - apparently - that Draco had forced that emotion from him. He looked as if he was about to say something and Draco inclined his head, ready to listen, but just at that moment he heard his mother’s voice.
–She won’t be at all happy to see me talking to you,†he drawled, and bent his head towards him. –But before I go, I really would like to see you again.â€
–Er ....â€
Again, that blush.
Draco exhaled, a slow steady breath that ruffled Potter’s hair just by his ear. –You have my wand. I’d like it back.â€
Hermione had moved into Grimmauld Place at the end of July. At the time, she’d cited her parents’ newfound wanderlust as the reason for sharing with him, but Harry had caught the tail end of her conversations with Ron and knew they were worried about him. She was, to all intents and purposes, his guard, but clothed in care and concern.
Hearing her talking in the kitchen when he got home, for a moment Harry’s heart thumped, then it stopped when the other voice wasn’t Ginny’s, but the eager croak of Kreacher.
–Is that you?†she called out.
–It’s Harry, if that’s who you mean,†he replied as he walked into the room. He sat at the table, gratified that Kreacher immediately Summoned a cold glass of water and placed it in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Harry removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off the impending headache as the house-elf left the room, muttering about the mess in the lounge.
–I didn’t expect you this early,†Hermione said, smiling. –Is Ron with you?â€
He shook his head. –Neville brought in Rodolphus, but Rabastan got away, so Ron’s still out in the field. I had to come back and deal with a technicality over Yaxley’s arrest.â€
Trying to hide her disappointment, Hermione joined him at the kitchen table and took a sip of her own drink. –Are you here for long?â€
–Not sure.†He shrugged. For most of June and July, he’d barely spent consecutive nights in his bed, so intent had he been in rounding up the Death Eaters. Even when he’d been in the country, he’d often fallen asleep at his desk, and not thought it worth going home except to change clothes. The pace was frenetic out in the field, then dull when at his desk, or spending evenings at home with no one to talk to except Kreacher. It was only now, with the aftermath of the Malfoy trial and Hermione staying with him, that he had someone to share his day with, but she wasn’t here for long, merely waiting for the term to start.
Which reminded him.
–Have you been to Ollivander’s yet?â€
She stopped sipping her drink, placing it carefully down on the table, and started to speak. –I know you and Ron think I’m mad, but -â€
–I don’t think you’re mad,†Harry muttered. –I know what it’s like not having your wand. I kept mine when it was broken in two, remember?â€
She dashed a tear from her eye and smiled weakly at him. –Might be fun seeing if he makes me a different one, I suppose. I just can’t bring myself to step into the shop. And I have this one -†She trailed off, picking up one of the wands left behind after the Battle. It had felt, she said, friendly in her hand, but Harry knew it wasn’t the same as having one crafted specifically for you.
–We did try and find it,†Harry murmured. He stared her straight in the eyes, remembering the ferocity with which he and Ron had ripped through Malfoy Manor. In the end, they’d left, having to believe Narcissa’s story that the wand had been destroyed by Voldemort when he had vented his rage after Gringotts had been broken into.
But if Malfoy were to be believed, then her wand had survived.
She was murmuring something, he realised, something about how in the past she’d never have thought a different wand was important, but now ... it was as if she couldn’t believe it had gone.
–Sounds even sillier, but it’s as if I should have felt it had been destroyed. Merlin, you must think I’m an idiot.â€
Harry smiled at her. –I don’t think you’re silly or an idiot. And, yes, I do think you’d have felt its loss.†He finished his drink, letting the silence drift between them, but knew Hermione was waiting for him to speak again. –I’ll speak to the Malfoys again, if you’d like.â€
Say no, he thought.
–Will they help?†she said sounding doubtful even as the hope sparked in her eyes. –I mean now that the trial’s over-â€
–Not sure,†Harry interrupted. –But it can’t be seen as a bribe if Malfoy helps me now, can it?â€
–Bribe!†she exclaimed. –Harry, no one thought you took a bribe for your evidence.â€
–They merely thought I was wrong,†he retorted. Getting up from the table, he strode to the Chill Charm cabinet and pulled out a beer. –Christ, if I’d known my evidence would cause this much grief -â€
–You’d do the same again,†Hermione soothed. –Harry, you weren’t wrong to give evidence in their favour. All you did was tell the truth when asked.†She paused adding in a determined voice. –Would you have lied to ensure they were sent to Azkaban?â€
He shook his head. –I couldn’t have done that.â€
–Then you can’t keep going over this. You did what you had to do. And Ginny knows that, but she wanted justice for what she went through. She will come around... in time.â€
–Maybe I don’t want her to,†he mumbled.â€Maybe it would be better if we stopped pretending this wasn’t a permanent break.â€
He hadn’t heard her get up, but felt her warm hand on his arm.
–You don’t mean that,†she soothed. –Be patient with her, Harry.â€
–What about you?†he asked, changing the subject. –Malfoy gave you up to Bellatrix. He could have lied.â€
She squeezed his arm and when he turned, he could see her frank brown eyes and warm smile directed on him. –It was Bellatrix who inflicted my scars, Harry. Hers is the face I see at night, and even that’s far less frequent now. I sometimes wonder ...â€
–What? What do you wonder?â€
–Whether Draco is able to sleep. He must have seen the unimaginable at that house.â€
Harry closed his eyes, trying to blank out the visions he’d seen through Voldemort’s eyes, of his rage, of Malfoy’s terror and lastly of the boy crying over his friend’s body. Then he remembered Malfoy’s part in Dumbledore’s death, Greyback lurking in the background, his mouth dripping with Bill’s blood. And Malfoy demanding the diadem. –After everything he did, you don’t mind that he’s walking free.â€
Hermione released his arm and returned to the table. –Don’t worry, I’m not about to recommend him for an Order of Merlin. I just think that living with the things he’s seen and done brings about its own justice.â€
–And Ron feels like that, does he?†Harry asked wryly.
She snorted and. –You know as well as I do that Ron wants to be the one delivering justice, preferably with his fist.†Then Hermione frowned. He could hear her chair scraping on the kitchen floor as she twisted towards him. –Do you really think the Malfoys have my wand? I mean, if they do, why would they hand it over now? Surely it would have been better for them to have given it up along with everything else before their trial.â€
Taking a gulp of his beer, Harry leant against the counter, not quite meeting her eyes as he picked over his words. –It’s possible Draco knows where your wand is.â€
–Has he said so?†she asked. And now, when he looked at her, he caught again the hope and longing in her expression.
–He’s hinted,†replied Harry.
–Why?â€
–Because now he’s been acquitted, he wants his wand back.â€
24th August 1998
Draco didn’t open the note straight away, but stared across the room from his bed, taking in the lighter square on the blank wall where his mother had sold another painting.
He wondered what the debts amounted to. The years his parents had spent supporting the Dark Lord had not left them bankrupt, but had forced certain economies on the family, especially the refusal of credit at certain shops. It was just a shame his mother refused to accept that fact and still insisted on living the way she used to.
It wasn’t as if Draco blamed her, for he knew she was trying to obliterate their past by carrying on as if the Dark Lord had never reappeared. It was why when she looked at him, her eyes would never lower to his forearm, as if by ignoring that part of his body, she could convince herself that they were still an admired family.
Laughing bitterly, he slit the seal on the note with his wand and read.
‘Where and when?’
And then he stopped laughing and smiled instead.
He knew the lure of Granger’s wand would be too hard for Potter to resist. Whilst he’d forgo anything if it impinged on anyone else, he had an almost fanatical loyalty to his friends, and would do anything to make amends - especially now.
‘I could come to you ... but I suspect you’ll say no, and as I doubt you want to be seen in public with me, then that leaves my place. There is a folly in the grounds of the Manor. We’re not allowed to cast wards yet, so you may Apparate directly there. Meet me tomorrow, around noon.’
Resisting the urge to add that it was clandestine and they would certainly be alone, Draco attached the letter to the owl’s leg and shooed it out of the window. He reached down to the drawer of his bedside cabinet and pulled out Granger’s wand, examining it carefully between his fingers as he held it up to the light. Vine wood, he thought, and quite springy. Having been brought up to believe that anything could be tamed as long as one put one’s mind to it, Draco was finding it perplexing that this wand really did seem to hate him. At least it wasn’t backfiring on him the way he was sure Weasley’s would. His thoughts strayed to Potter’s wand, and whether that would do his bidding, how it would feel in his hand.
No longer alarmed at the way in which his thoughts increasingly turned to Potter, he lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. Confronting this obsession (for he realised it was an obsession) tomorrow seemed to be the best way to deal with it. He would see Potter, exchange wands and that would be it. This stubborn fascination would dissipate, he was sure, as soon as Potter turned up.
But for now. He smiled, remembering the blush on Potter’s cheek and the dark red of his lips.
Fuck it! One more time won’t hurt.
With Ron still away, Harry wondered whether to ask Neville to go with him to Malfoy Manor. But unable to think of a single reason why he should drag him along there, especially when Neville was exhausted from a weeklong surveillance in Ireland, he decided against it. Telling no one where he was going, he gathered up his wand and Malfoy’s and left Grimmauld Place.
It was a muggy day, the sun beating down on the streets of London, and as he walked, he could see the heat haze of pollution shimmering from the roads. He couldn’t Apparate amongst the Muggles and briefly wondered whether to turn back. If he contacted Kingsley, then he could authorise another search and reclaim the wand. But that would be tantamount to admitting to Malfoy that he’d riled him. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the idea of Malfoy believing he’d won. He walked more purposefully towards an empty alleyway. Malfoy was winding him up and probably didn’t think he’d show. By turning up, he’d call his bluff, exchange wands and leave.
He landed a short walk away from his destination, and took a moment or two to take a breath and calculate his next move. It was a beautiful day in the countryside, and Harry immediately felt the oppression of Grimmauld Place leave him. He inhaled again, enjoying the cool breeze rippling around him and then set off towards Malfoy Manor.
–You’re late, Potter,†Malfoy said as he approached from the back path. –I did say you could Apparate.â€
–The wards might not be in place, but I’m not an idiot,†Harry replied. –I don’t even know if you have the wand, so I wasn’t about to Apparate into a trap.â€
–You don’t trust me. I’m shocked!†Malfoy exclaimed, sounding anything but shocked. –Are you alone, or can I expect to see Weasley leering out of the bushes to protect you?â€
Harry stopped walking, and stared at Malfoy, registering that this was the first time he’d ever seen him in Muggle clothes. A pale grey t-shirt, paired with khaki shorts, both slightly too big, as if Malfoy had lost weight. It was a far cry from his usual well-manicured look, and for some reason it made Harry hesitate.
–I’m alone,†Harry admitted, adding, –but they know where I am.â€
–Liar,†Malfoy replied. He hopped off the crumbling stone wall he was sitting on, and walked over to Harry. –Do you have my wand?â€
–Do you have Hermione’s?â€
–I might have.†Then he relented. –Yes, I do, but I would like to check mine over before I hand you hers. Is that agreeable? You can hold me at wand point, if necessary.â€
Taking him at his word, Harry pulled out both wands from his waistband. He threw one across to Malfoy but kept his own firmly in his hand.
There was no mistaking the joy on Malfoy’s face at being reunited with his wand. Slashing it through the air, he started to chuckle, his delight evident. But then he stopped. With a glare at Harry, he threw the wand back to him.
–It doesn’t feel right. I don’t know what the hell you’ve done to it, but the deal’s off. Leave, now.â€
–I brought you your wand,†Harry protested. –And you said you had Hermione’s so hand it over, or I’ll take yours back and then force a search on this place. You’re on probation Malfoy, and if I say you’ve refused to co-operate-â€
He stopped abruptly when he felt something slash across his face. Immediately on guard he was about to hurl a hex when he realised that what Malfoy had thrown at him was not a curse, but Hermione’s wand.
–Take it!†Malfoy ordered. –And take that thing with you, too. I’ll buy another. It’s what I should have done instead of thinking you’d play fair with me, Potter!â€
–I have. That is your wand, Malfoy.â€
–I know!†shouted Malfoy. –But it’s ... it’s ... it’s NOT MINE. You’ve changed it, Potter. It’s been corrupted!â€
Harry stared at Malfoy. The smug boy from school, who’d been replaced by the snivelling wreck during the Battle and then to the cocky bastard in a holding cell, was now a storming mass of vengeful fury. There was a despair about him, too, as if ... as if ... as if ...
–You thought getting your wand back would fix things,†Harry murmured.
–What the fuck would you know?â€
Harry crouched on the ground, picked up both wands, and after carefully stowing Hermione’s in the waistband of his jeans, he held out the wand to Malfoy. –I know because my wand was broken, and I felt bereft without it.â€
–You have a new wand,†Malfoy said bleakly. –Does it feel the same as your old one? Because my mother’s never did. There was always something not right about it.â€
–This is my old wand,†Harry replied. He gnawed his upper lip, wondering what to say. He could leave now he had Hermione’s wand. Malfoy didn’t want his own back, so he could take it home, keep it in his drawer and take it out as he sometimes did, mulling over its last duel.
The last duel that had brought him the Elder Wand, which had led to him mending his wand. In a roundabout way, he owed Malfoy.
–Duel me,†he said.
–What?â€
–You should have listened to Ollivander when he was locked in your cellars, Malfoy. He’d have taught you about -â€
–Wand lore,†Malfoy interrupted, and a gleam appeared in his eyes. –I didn’t talk to him, but I overheard some of the interminable conversations he had with Lovegood.†Then he sighed. –It makes sense. I need to duel you to take back mastery of my wand, but you’ve forgotten one thing.â€
–What’s that?â€
–The small matter of me not having a wand to duel you with in the first place.â€
–It doesn’t have to -†Harry started to say, but in the next moment he was knocked to the ground.
–Doesn’t have to be a duel with wands, does it, Potter?†Malfoy said, laughing as he tried to snatch his wand from Harry’s hand.
Instinctively, Harry gripped on tight. This was the wand he’d defeated Voldemort with. It was his. He’d earned it. And suddenly all the pent up frustration of the past three months raged out of him. With his free hand, he pressed into Malfoy’s chest, hoping to heave him off, but Malfoy held firm, his grey eyes darkening as he pinned him to the ground.
–Don’t stop this now, Potter. Not when it’s getting interesting,†he hissed.
Quite how he’d got in this position with Potter, when this was supposed to be a civilised meeting where he could claim his wand, and get over this stupid crush, Draco wasn’t sure. He’d held his wand, delighted in its recovery, only to be bitterly disappointed when he’d felt nothing more than the mere magic that sprang when he’d used his mother’s wand. Potter had distorted it, just as he’d distorted Draco’s mindset. All he could think, at this moment, was that Potter, after promising him a duel to recover his wand, was now reneging on the deal. He tried to unfurl his fingers, but Potter was holding on as tight as a Kappa - as if this somehow mattered.
–You promised,†he said. His eyes locked with Potter’s; he stared into their green depths trying to gauge the expression they held. Underneath him, Potter’s chest was moving up and down in perfect unison with his own. He was so close, he could hear Potter’s breath, and see the sweat beading on his forehead. Draco swallowed and prepared to lever himself off, but then Potter closed his eyes and his hand unfurled from the wand.
Draco swooped, his hand reached for the wand but caught Potter’s fingers instead.
And now, as if this wasn’t happening here but was a tortuous imagining late at night, not out in the open and under this burning sky, but when he was alone in his cell or his bed and desperate for sleep, Draco lowered his mouth to Potter’s and kissed him.
He knew what was happening. Even before Malfoy loomed closer and blotted out the sun, Harry lay back on the grass and didn’t resist. Curiosity mingled with a degree of self-loathing for everything the past three months had wrought, rendered him still as he waited for Malfoy’s next move.
They kissed, both tentative, both unsure, yet it became much more. A greedy assuaging of guilt and helpless lust. Neither giving, both taking.
Harry lifted his free hand, but instead of pushing Draco away, he touched him gently on the cheek, feeling the faint stubble on his face and groaned as he imagined that roughness on his skin.
–This can’t be happening,†he mumbled.
But it was. And now, Draco was tugging at the collar of his shirt, exposing his neck as he nuzzled with his teeth.
Hearing the faint protest fall from Harry’s lips, Draco moved onto his side, propping himself on his elbow, but keeping one hand on Harry’s exposed collarbone.
–I’ve reclaimed my wand. You can leave -†he muttered as his thumb pressed into the hollow of his shoulder.
–I should,†Harry agreed.
–Or you could stay here for a while.â€
–Why would I do that?â€
Draco smiled and slowly moved his hand from Harry’s shoulder, across his chest and down the centre of his stomach. Involuntarily, Harry’s stomach muscles tautened, leaving a gap between his waistband and his shirt.
–Because you’re like me,†Draco murmured. –Desperate as hell to get rid of this obsession.â€
–There’s no obsession,†Harry replied, but groaned when Draco slid his fingers under his shirt.
–Curiosity, then,†Draco amended. He shifted properly onto his side, leaving his fingertips to tease the skin on Harry’s stomach, hearing the soft gasps and moans, before sliding lower. –Oh, yes, very curious.â€
–Just ... Christ.†Harry could hear the words coming out of his mouth but the rest was a blur. A blur of sunshine, cut grass, a breeze through leaves, and dulled birdsong as all he was truly aware of was Draco’s fingers as they explored. And then his lips on his neck, and - his body moving, finding its rhythm as the warmth of Draco’s hand pulsed into him. –Malfoy, this ... is ...â€
–Going too fast,†Draco said and chuckled as he moved Harry’s hand on his crotch. –I want some fun, too.†He groaned as Harry’s hand, hesitant at first, gripped harder. –Merlin! Don’t you dare bloody stop, Potter. Don’t ... you ... dare.â€
In a matter of fast and furious minutes, it was over. And as both splayed on the grass panting, clothes and hair in disarray, Draco said, –It’s been a while, I take it.â€
Eighteen years, Harry thought. –Could say that,†he muttered as he stared at the sky wondering what the fuck he was doing here and how the hell that had just happened.
Draco sighed, and rolling away, he sat up on the grass, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand as he stared at the Manor. He’d thought this would bring an end to his obsession, that this mild sexual contact with Potter would bring some way for him to carry on and forge a new life. But as he gazed at him, lying on the grass trying not to move, his regret all too obvious, all Draco felt was intense loneliness.
–I should go,†Harry said, finally pulling down his shirt and covering the soft dark hairs delineating the path of his stomach.
–You should,†Draco replied. He closed his eyes, giving Potter the chance to leave without any awkward goodbye.
Harry didn’t move; he stared at the sky and wondered how the world was still turning, how the sun was still chasing the day, whilst he was lying here on the lawn of Malfoy Manor half-naked with Draco. How was this possible?
–I don’t understand what just happened,†he said. –We - Merlin, we don’t even like each other and -â€
–Like and need are very different things,†Draco replied, sounding bleak. –I thought you’d understand that.â€
–But until today ...†Harry stopped speaking, his mind swirling with a myriad of thoughts - all jumbled and confusing.
–You’ve thought about it, Potter,†Draco replied. –You can’t deny that.â€
–No, I can’t deny that,†he admitted.
–Well, I hope I wasn’t a disappointment, but as dreams usually fail to live up to the reality, I strongly suspect you’re about to leave and chalk this up to one of those ‘things I had to do and now regret’ experiences.â€
The silence was heavy on the air; all Draco could hear was his own heart beating mingled with the unsteady, ragged breaths in his chest as he battled to regain control over the misery threatening to cloud his day.
Harry mumbled something and when the words reached him, Draco frowned. It hadn’t sounded like ‘goodbye’. It had sounded far more like ...
–What did you say?â€
–I said I have no regrets, Draco.â€
Opening his eye, Draco peered across at Harry trying to gauge his intent. He sounded sincere, and the one thing Draco had learnt about him over the years was how bad he was at hiding his emotions.
–Neither do I,†Draco replied. He stretched out his arm, touching Harry’s cheek with his fingertips. –Except that if this was a ‘one-time-only’, then I wish we’d taken our time.â€
This time the silence wasn’t heavy. This time, it was a slow silence. Draco watched in increasing expectation as the weight of his words percolated in Harry’s mind.
With a shuddering breath, Harry lifted his hand and trapped Draco’s, kissing his palm before shuffling closer to him. Their chests touched, and he could feel the speed at which their hearts raced - in perfect time with one another. –I have all afternoon,†he muttered. –And after that-â€
–Harry.†Draco silenced him with his mouth. Then, lifting his shirt over his head, he started to tease a path down Harry’s stomach with his tongue. –Let’s not think about tomorrow.â€