Katherine

Memories

2008-02-28T17:48:57Z

Title: Memories
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: If you're old enough to use LJ you're old enough to read this!
Warnings: EWE?
Beta: The wonderful candy_marie_55
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: Every year people remember the war and everything that was sacrificed. Can something good come out of it?
Author's notes: Set after the seventh book but ignores the epilogue. A short story that came to me after reading a line in a fic ages ago and just begged to be written. I've finally got round to posting it!

Memories

The Muggles of Godric’s Hollow had got used to seeing the flowers and tributes laid around the war memorial at such an odd time of year. No one ever saw anyone laying them, but somehow overnight hundreds of bouquets and wreaths and notes would appear. The Muggles met with each other and talked over it. No one could think why the tributes were laid, no one knew of any particular battle or event that might suddenly need to be commemorated. All they knew was that on this day, every year, in their tiny village, a forgotten war memorial suddenly became the focus of an outpouring of love and remembrance.

There was something else as well that happened without fail on this day. At around eleven o’clock a young bespectacled man with black hair would come slowly up the road towards the square. He would stand and gaze at the memorial, seemingly transfixed, and sometimes his eyes would fill with tears, and sometimes he would read some of the messages left around the base of the monument. Mostly though he would just look, as if remembering some painful and distant memory. Always by twelve o’clock he would be gone. He would walk back up the lane and stop briefly to lean on the gate of that abandoned, ruined cottage that seemed to have no owner, and then he would be gone. No one knew who he was and no one saw him at any other time of the year.

Perhaps it would be more strictly true to say no Muggle knew who he was. The wizards and witches who lived in the village knew who he was and knew his story and left him alone on this day out of respect. Why the Muggles left him alone, not even they knew. Why no one ever went to read the messages they were all so curious about they never could work out. And why anyone who attempted to stay up and observe the tributes being left never saw anything was a source of constant confusion.

There was always another visitor to the monument on this day. He came at one o’clock every year, his platinum blonde hair shining in the summer sun as he made his way up the lane. He would walk, always, with his head bent, only looking up when he finally stood at the base of the memorial. He would stand and look for a few minutes, then withdraw something from his pocket and tuck it in among the tributes, making sure it was mostly concealed. Having done that he would straighten and walk away without a backwards glance. What he left behind no one ever knew, for the Muggles could not look, and the witches and wizards, who knew perfectly well who this man was, would not look.

The Muggles got used to this odd sequence of events and many even found themselves looking forward to the day. Perhaps this would be the year things would be explained. Perhaps this year they would see someone other than the blonde man laying a tribute. Perhaps this year something interesting would happen.

And five years after the whole thing had started something did.

It had started normally enough. The residents of Godric’s Hollow had awoken to find the base of the monument covered with its usual array of flowers, and only the witches and wizards of the village did not wonder once again what anniversary was being marked. They were, however, just as surprised as the Muggles when 11 o’clock came and went and the black-haired man had not appeared.

Later they learnt that in fact the man had spent the morning at St Mungo’s. His best friend had been rushed into the hospital in the early hours of the morning having gone into an extremely premature and difficult labour that had the medi-witches and wizards fearing both for her own life and the life of her unborn child. Not until midday were they able to say that both mother and baby had pulled through and were out of danger. The Muggles, though, never learnt why he was delayed.

So it was that at half past twelve the man finally made his way towards the memorial. Today though he did not look as melancholy as he had on previous visits. Today there was a lightness to his step and a sparkle in his green eyes that had not been seen before. His relief at his best friend’s recovery and happiness at his Goddaughter’s safe arrival in the world was the reason, though of course, no one watching him was at all aware of these events.

The man was busily engaged in reading some of the notes left on the memorial, crouched down and mostly hidden from view, when the blonde man appeared in the square. He, as usual, walked with his head down and consequently was almost on top of the black-haired man before he was aware of his presence.

He gasped, and stepped back, but that small sound was enough to alert the first man to his presence. He straightened and looked round. The Muggles who always watched at a respectable distance, pretending to be busily engaged in some other task, heard nothing of the conversation between the two men, no matter how much they strained.

Eventually, after some minutes of tension, the two men appeared to relax. By the end of half an hour they were both smiling softly and standing side-by-side, so close they were touching, gazing up at the memorial as they continued their quiet conversation.

Eventually the black-haired man turned to leave. As he stepped off the base of the memorial he suddenly hesitated and turned back to the blonde man. Slowly the onlookers saw him raise his hand, and equally slowly, with a look of hope in his eyes that was visible even at a distance, the blonde man took it. Then hand in hand they left the village, leaving behind them only whispers and rumours and speculation.

--------

Many, many years later there was only one person left living in the village who had witnessed that day all those years before. She was an old Muggle called Matilda and had been only five years old when the two men had left the village together. Every year since then she had watched as the black-haired man had come down the lane to the memorial and carried out his usual ritual of standing and gazing, occasionally bending to read one of the many cards covering the base of the monument. Although she had never spoken to the man, she still felt a strange sense of connection with him, like he was an old, long-lost friend. She had watched as every year he had grown older, and she had grown older still – time seemed to be being kinder to the man than it was to her. Once he had left she would continue watching and waiting in her cottage overlooking the square, but never had she seen the blonde man again.

This year, as usual, her daughter had settled her down in her favourite chair so she could gaze out the window and watch for the man coming down the lane. Of course in recent years his steps had become slower and unsteadier, and he hadn’t spent as long standing as he had previously, but Matilda understood that. Her old legs didn’t work as well as they used to either.

Slowly the figure came into view down the lane and she watched it coming nearer, moving slower than she had ever seen it move before. It seemed almost as if the figure was reluctant to reach its destination this year, something she had never sensed before. It was not until the figure was right underneath the memorial that her old eyes realised that this was not the man she had been looking out for.

Even though it had been years since she had seen him, even though his hair was now white with age, she still recognised that this was the blonde-haired man who had left and never come back over a century ago. She leaned forward, her old, arthritic fingers digging suddenly into the arms of her chair. The man was now gazing up at the monument, tears running unchecked down his cheeks as he stepped forward and tucked something in among the wreaths already piled on the stone base.

A weight fell into the pit of her stomach, as realisation rushed through her like a wave. She was on her feet and hobbling to the door, leaning hard on her stick, before her thoughts had fully caught up with exactly what this realisation meant. Her daughter had heard the sound of movement and come out of the kitchen drying her hands on her apron. Matilda insisted that she put on her coat and accompany her outside to the memorial.

Although she leaned heavily on both her daughter and her stick, Matilda slowly managed to make her way across the square. The man never looked round, so intent was he on gazing upwards, his eyes filled with tears that constantly over-flowed and tricked down his cheeks. Only when she dropped her daughter’s arm and tottered the last few paces to the man did he seem to notice her and turn round.

“I’m sorry,” her voice was old and barely more than a whisper, but she knew the man caught the words because his eyes flickered in acknowledgment. Slowly she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, her fingers gripping tightly as she fought back her own tears. She wanted to cry for herself, for a man she had never known and for this man here now, who seemed to have lost so much.

Instead she blinked back the tears and not wanting to intrude further on the man’s grief, took one last glance up at the memorial and turned to go. It was as she glanced upwards that she suddenly got the impression that the monument was actually a statue, made of gold, depicting two people, one cradling a baby in her arms. She blinked and the moment was gone.

“Thank you.” She was a good few feet away now, but the man’s voice carried – tired, weary, grief-stricken – across the silence of the square. She reached her daughter and turned back one last time. Their eyes met and for a moment a flicker of understanding passed between them. Then the man turned away and the woman allowed her daughter to take her gently back to the cottage.

Eventually the man shuffled off back down the lane, his pace suggesting he was as reluctant to leave as he had been to arrive. When he had disappeared completely a gentle breeze blew through the now silent and empty square, rustling the leaves and flowers at the base of the memorial. It stirred them just enough to reveal the message written on the card the man had left.

Thank you.

This Kiss

2007-08-28T21:00:13Z

Title: This Kiss, sequel to We'll always Have Paris
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash!
Beta: The wonderful candy_marie_55, who probably got sent this chapter more times than she cares to remember.
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: Time passes and things change. Sometimes we just need to forgive and forget in order to move on.
Author's notes: This is the sequel to We'll Always Have Paris. I did intend for that fic to be a one off but in the end I just couldn't leave it as it was. This will now be the second part of a trilogy.

Go here to read We'll Always Have Paris. You really need to have read it first in order to understand what's going on.

This Kiss

“Harry! You’re back early!” Hermione came rushing through into the living room in response to Harry’s greeting as he stepped out of the fireplace. Her look of delight at seeing him, quickly changed to one of concern as possible reasons for Harry’s early return registered in her mind.

“I know.” Harry stood there, grinning like an idiot, so pleased to see his friend he couldn’t find the words to express it, and feeling like he was seeing her for the first time after a very long absence instead of just two short weeks.

“Is everything all right?” Hermione came to a stop in the middle of the room, looking at Harry with a mixture of concern and surprise. “I thought you weren’t going to be back for at least a month.”

“I know, Hermione, but it’s ok. Don’t you see, everything’s ok!” Hermione was looking at him with increasing alarm, and seemed to be considering the possibility that Harry had finally cracked under the stress. Unable to hold back any longer, Harry let out a sudden laugh and flew across the room, flinging his arms around his friend and twirling her round as she laughed nervously.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve been so stupid Hermione,” he gasped when he finally released her. “I’m so sorry for everything. It’s all ok now though, I’m ok, he’s ok, everything’s ok.”

“What? What’re you…?” but Harry carried on, almost as if he hadn’t heard his friend’s question and was determined to finish what he was saying,

“I saw him in Paris, he’s living there. He owns a restaurant for fucks sake; we travelled on the underground. He’s practically a Muggle! And… and…. I don’t know Hermione, but everything’s ok now. Voldemort’s gone, we’re alive, life is normal. His life is normal.”

Worn out from his exuberant outburst Harry sank down on the sofa, grin still plastered on his face, leaving Hermione standing in the centre of the room looking even more confused than when he had first arrived.

“Harry,” she began. “I’m pleased to see you, I’m glad you’re looking so happy, but really I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Who is he?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

There was a moment of silence, during which Harry realised he had probably sounded quite like a raving lunatic when he had first arrived, before Hermione, looking rather dazed, plonked herself down on the sofa next to Harry.

“Draco Malfoy?” she repeated rather faintly. “You saw Draco Malfoy in Paris? And he owns a restaurant?”

Harry nodded, wondering whether his friend was about to faint or yell at him; either seemed a possibility, but then she seemed to collect herself and turned to face him.

“So let me get this straight. You saw Malfoy in Paris, and instead of hexing him, or attempting to arrest him, you got on the train with him?”

Harry groaned, and buried his head in his hands.

“Yes, well sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Well we kinda had dinner together. In his restaurant.”

“You had dinner with him?” Hermione’s voice was now strained, as if she felt the world was teetering on the brink of insanity,

“Yes I did. I’m not explaining this very well, am I?” Hermione raised one eyebrow, indicating that no he wasn’t, and he realised he now had the rather delicate task of telling her what had happened, without actually revealing any of the more personal stuff. Draco and I spent the night having hot sex was probably not the best way to go just now.

“Look, I was just wandering around Paris one day and suddenly I bumped into him. I recognised him and he recognised me, but he left before I could say anything. I mean, I was quite surprised to see him there. When we bumped into each other again the next day he offered to recommend somewhere to eat dinner, and somehow we ended up eating together. Then afterwards we went down to the river, that’s why we were on the train. He’s changed, Hermione, he’s not the same person he was six years ago.” Harry rubbed his hand through his hair and wondered how strange the next bit would sound to his friend. “He said sorry, Hermione, he said he was sorry for what happened, and then he said he was sorry for leaving as well and I just… well it made me realise… I don’t know what, but things just seem better now.”

Hermione had been gazing silently at him whilst he told his story and now when he looked up, half afraid to see her reaction, he realised he had no need to worry. Her eyes held an understanding that Harry didn’t need her to express in words, and when a moment later she put her arms around him and pressed a chaste kiss to his temple he didn’t pull away or freeze up as he would have done a couple of weeks ago. Instead he wrapped his arms around her, as she gave a muffled sob into his shoulder.

“Oh, Harry, we’ve been so worried about you,” she sobbed. “We didn’t know what to do, how to help you, and now it turns out that the last person on earth any of us would have thought of has helped without even trying. It’s good to have you back, Harry.”

“It’s good to be back, Hermione.” Harry smiled into her hair and rocked her soothingly. When Ron came home ten minutes later they were still sitting on the sofa clinging to each other as if they could never let go.

********

“Harry!!”

“Ron!!”

Harry leapt from his seat, dislodging Hermione, and pulled his friend into a hug, slapping him on the back and grinning again.

“When did you get back?”

“This morning.”

“Everything ok?”

“Great!”

And that was all that needed to be said between two best friends, who’d been through so much together and could tell from a smile that from now on things would be just fine.

********

And they were.

For five months life was fantastic for Harry. He quit his job as an Auror, tried out for the Puddlemere United, got accepted as their Seeker and was snapped up for England training before he could even catch his breath.

In the midst of it all Hermione gave birth to her second child, a baby girl named Cassandra. Hermione was overjoyed, Ron was ecstatic and Harry, who was Godfather, though he had never been so happy in his entire life.

Sometimes though, on the few evenings he spent alone in his house, he had the sense that something was missing. Not something that was absent in a way that made him unhappy, but just a strange feeling that there was something missing that was just within reach, if only he knew what it was he was reaching for.

Then there were the times when he woke up slick with sweat, with Draco’s name on his lips and an uncomfortable sticky feeling inside his boxers. At times like that he suddenly felt like he knew what it was he was reaching for, but then he would fall asleep again and forget that he had ever known.

So life continued in this new happy and relaxed way, until Christmas was just around the corner and for the first time in a long time Harry found himself looking forward to the celebrations.

********

“Another beer, mate?”

“Sure.”

Ron trotted off to the kitchen to get a couple of beers and a glass of red wine for Hermione. Actually it was Harry’s kitchen, for they were in Harry’s house, but Ron knew where everything was and if he was offering to get the drinks Harry wasn’t about to move from his comfortable chair by the fire.

“I always think open fires are so homely,” Hermione commented from the sofa, smiling at the glowing embers. “I think it’s a pity Muggles don’t bother with them anymore, even after all these years in the wizarding world I still love seeing a proper fire.”

Harry stared at the fire. He was so used to them by now that he never really stopped to think like this anymore. Years of submersion in the wizarding world, with no Muggle relatives to visit had not lessened his amazement and gratitude towards his magical abilities, but there were some things you just got used to taking for granted. Trust Hermione to still be comparing the two after all this time.

“Hmmmm,” he mumbled noncommittally and realised he was going to have to get up anyway to put some more wood on the fire, which was already burning quite low. Sighing, he dragged himself out of his seat and added a couple of logs to the fire. He stirred it a little with the iron poker and as the heat and light washed over him he had to admit that Hermione did have a point: with the curtains drawn against the bitter weather outside and the room lit by candles and firelight it was much more homely than Muggle electricity and radiators.

He was admiring the blaze he had managed to stir up when suddenly the flames turned green and he had barely a moment to stumble backwards before a figure stepped out of the fireplace and into the room.

It was Draco.

Harry gawped at him open mouthed, but even in his shock he had enough power of observation remaining to note that Draco looked slightly disconcerted when he saw Hermione sitting on the sofa. The look was only there for a second, but Harry saw it and it helped him to regain his own composure.

“Really, Potter, that fireplace needs a good clean,“ drawled Draco, brushing imaginary dirt from his clothes and turning his silver grey eyes towards Harry. He saw them linger briefly on his neck and realised with some embarrassment that he was wearing Draco’s necklace on the outside of his t-shirt where it was in full view. He was rather relieved when instead of commenting on it Draco began inspecting the bottom of his trousers.

“Look at my trousers, completely covered in ash.” Harry looked, but since the trousers were black he could see nothing wrong with them. As he stared, the strangeness of the situation suddenly hit him. Draco Malfoy had just turned up in his front room, for no apparent reason, and now didn’t seem to have much to say for himself at all.

“I assume you didn’t just come here to comment on the state of my fireplace, Malfoy.” Harry thought he did a rather good job of imitating Draco’s drawling tone, although judging by the half smirk he got in return it wasn’t quite good enough. “Anyway, what do you want?” he finished rather lamely, before adding “I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“Happy Christmas to you too,” Draco sneered “Honestly I just drop by to offer you seasonal greetings and all that…” he gestured vaguely with his hand and Harry got the impression that this wasn’t what he had come for at all and that actually Draco wasn’t quite sure what to say next. He rallied quite well though. “And this is the greeting I get. Not very hospitable, are you?”

Harry gaped, but was saved from answering by Ron entering the room, dropping Hermione’s wine glass and making a noise which sounded rather like someone letting the air out of a balloon very slowly.

“What’s he doing here?!” he exclaimed, stepping over the puddle of red wine to come further into the room.

Draco ignored him and simply continued to look at Harry as if there had been no interruption, waiting for an answer to his previous comments.

“Harry!” Ron said, desperately trying to take the scene. “What’s going on?”

Harry’s gaze darted helplessly from Ron to Draco to Hermione, silently begging her with his eyes to do something. She though was staring transfixed at the scene and seemed unable to move.

As if he suddenly realised that the conversation wasn’t going any further with Ron standing around, Draco turned to him with a noise of exasperation and waved his hand towards one of the chairs.

“Asseyez-vous,” he instructed, in a tone so commanding that Harry was unsure how Ron resisted obeying, until he realised that his friend probably had no clue what Draco was saying.

“It means ‘sit down’, Ron,” Harry sighed, turning towards him.

Ron looked as if he had no intention of sitting down, but Harry’s translation seemed to have triggered Hermione into action. She grabbed Ron’s sleeve and pulled him down onto the sofa next to her. Harry turned back to Draco.

“Would you like a drink?”

Draco, who had been watching Ron and Hermione, whipped back round to face Harry looking puzzled. Obviously this was the last thing he had been expecting to hear and Harry was rather pleased to have wrong-footed him.

“Ah… no. I can see you’re busy and everything, so I’ll just…um, I’ll just be going.” Draco stepped towards the fireplace and before anyone could say anything else he grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the pot and stepped into the flames.

Harry starred at the empty fireplace for a whole minute before turning to see Hermione and Ron doing exactly the same thing.

“Well,” he said brightly, “that was odd.”

********

Odd was definitely the word to describe it. Over the next few days Harry lost track of the number of times he’d had conversations with Ron along the lines of: “So he just turned up, sneered a bit and then left?”, “Yes”, “Why?”, “I’ve no idea.” Hermione, he suspected, knew there was something Harry wasn’t telling them about what had happened in Paris, but to her eternal credit she only asked him about it once and accepted his repeated story of what he had already told her with nothing more than a knowing look and a caution to ‘be careful’.

The problem was Harry himself wasn’t so satisfied with these half answers. Why had Draco decided to Floo to his house unannounced? What had he wanted to say, or do, that he couldn’t because Hermione and Ron had been there? What might have happened if they hadn’t been there?

The answer to that last question haunted Harry’s nights, but his days were haunted by a different question. Why, after five months, had Draco come to see him at all?

Things came to a head one evening when Harry was sitting on the sofa, contemplating that very question. After a while he found himself staring at the fire, just wishing and hoping that any moment Draco would step through and finish whatever he had come to say and do six days ago. Eventually the warmth of the fire and the monotony of waiting sent Harry to sleep; and that’s when he dreamt.

Dreamt of pale skin slicked with sweat. Dreamt of flushed cheeks and stormy grey eyes. Dreamt of moans and pleas, and hands gripping his thighs, and fingernails digging into his skin, and thrusts and gasps and screams.

He awoke to find himself lying in a wet patch, his cock still throbbing painfully. Before he could even think, he wrapped his hand around it and tugged until suddenly his hips jerked forward and he found Draco’s name spilling all too easily off his tongue as he moaned in ecstasy.

There was a brief pause as he collected himself and then suddenly he sat up, as if pulled by some invisible string. He grimaced and climbed carefully off the sofa, avoiding the wet patch and reaching for his wand to clear up the mess. This couldn’t go on.

He was annoyed. Things had been going along nicely. He had sex with Draco, he had come home and put it mostly out of his mind, and that had been that. There had been nothing else. No expectations. No questions. No answers. No nothing. Just sex and a feeling that the world wasn’t such a bad place after all.

Then Malfoy had to go and break the unwritten, unspoken rule: he had made contact. He had shown up in Harry’s living room and had thrown a huge spanner in the smooth workings of Harry’s life, which had just got back on track after countless years of not running very smoothly at all.

There was only one thing to do. Harry was going to have to quit staring at the fireplace hoping Malfoy would come back and answer all his unspoken questions, and instead he was going to have to go and find Malfoy and get the answers for himself.

Having resolved on visiting Paris, Harry checked the time. Seven o’clock. Plenty of time to make the visit tonight. He showered, changed his clothes, attempted to get his hair to lie flat and at eight o’clock exactly stood in front of his fireplace, holding a handful of Floo powder. He didn’t drop it in the fire though. He’d come this far and only just realised.

He didn’t know where Malfoy lived.

He stood for a minute, gaping at his own stupidity, then decided that he could Floo to the restaurant. At least, he hoped he could. He ran over a theory in his head. It was a Muggle restaurant so turning up in the fireplace would probably cause a bit of a stir. However by that same rule, because it was a Muggle restaurant it was highly unlikely that the main room where customers ate would be connected to the Floo network. If it were connected to the Floo network at all it would probably be by some office in the back that Draco kept for his own personal use and that would be where he would emerge. Once he was there he could decide how best to go about finding out where Draco lived.

Harry nodded to himself. It was a good theory. Of course, it relied on the restaurant being connected to the Floo network, but if it wasn’t the worst that could happen was that Harry wouldn’t actually go anywhere at all.

He hoped that didn’t happen.

Taking a deep breath he stepped forward into the fire and shouted the name of the restaurant.

Ninety very uncomfortable seconds later Harry fell out of a fireplace somewhere he didn’t recognise. In fact he had very little chance of recognising anything because for the first couple of minutes it was all he could do to focus on the plush red carpet inches from his nose and breathe deeply to try and stop himself from being sick. He should have expected that really, he realised; after all, England to Paris was a long way by Floo.

When he felt a bit less like his dinner was about to make an unscheduled reappearance he heaved himself to his feet and realised that his theory had been correct. He was in a small, but tastefully decorated office - and thankfully it was empty. As he looked around he had a sudden panic about whether or not this was Draco’s restaurant, or whether in fact, he had flooed to somewhere entirely different.

With his dinner once again threatening to reappear he strode across to the door and yanked it open. The words 'Draco Malfoy' glinted down at him in gold lettering and he relaxed, reaching out to run his fingers over the letters, such was his relief at seeing them there.

His plan was going well so far. Unfortunately the next bit consisted of “and find Draco” and not a lot else, so Harry quickly reviewed the options and thought it was probably best if he went down the stairs at the end of the corridor to find someone who could tell him where Draco was. If they wondered how he had got there he could always tell them that he had got lost. On his way to the bathroom. Or something like that anyway. Best not to worry about it until it actually happened.

Down the stairs and along another bit of corridor was a door, which Harry discovered led into a room full of coats. There were rather a lot of them, but luckily no one was actually in the room so Harry slipped inside and across to the door opposite. This door he was sure led into the restaurant, not only because that made sense, but also because he could hear the sounds of music and talking coming from the other side of it. It occurred to Harry that it didn’t actually sound very much like the noises you would expect from a restaurant. There was no sound of cutlery clinking or plates clashing, and the talking was rather too loud and the music was rather too partyish for a sophisticated restaurant. Harry found out why when he opened the door: there was a party going on.

Most of the tables had been cleared from the middle of the floor and instead there was a huge crowd of people standing around chatting, or sipping champagne, or nibbling canapés. Most of them seemed to be dressed rather more formally than he was, the women in beautiful long dresses and the men all in suits, or even occasionally tuxedos. Grimacing, Harry ducked back into the coatroom and leant back against the door with his eyes closed. Draco was bound to be in there, if there was some sort of big event going on in his restaurant then he was sure to be around. He could just imagine Draco loving an event like this: the glitz, the glamour, the high society living. Just like being back home. The problem was Harry couldn’t go in there dressed like he was.

He glanced down at his outfit. His trousers and shoes were fine; thank goodness he had gone for something smart in an effort to look nice. His shirt wasn’t too bad either, being a nice green one that had been a present from Hermione and which brought out the colour in his eyes rather well. The problem was that without a tie and jacket he looked completely underdressed and would stick out like a sore thumb if he started trying to look for Draco. He wondered vaguely if this was some sort of ticket only event and if, seeing him wrongly dressed, some bouncer would come and ask to see his ticket, then kick him out when he couldn’t provide one.

Luckily, after more than ten years, Harry was finally getting used to the idea that he had magic to help him get out of fixes like this. He pulled out his wand, grabbed the nearest ladies scarf and transfigured it into a tie. He fastened it round his neck and as he squinted round for something suitable to turn into a jacket a sudden flash of memory made him rush back out the door, along the corridor and up into Draco’s office.

“Ah ha,” he murmured to himself as he entered and found that his sub-conscious memory had remembered the details right. Hanging on the coat stand was a black jacket that must have belonged to Draco. Harry quickly put it on and, after using a little magic to adjust the size slightly, checked himself out in the mirror next to the coat stand. It wasn’t perfect, the shirt wasn’t really made to go with a jacket and tie, but he figured it was as good as it was going to get. Attempting to flatten his hair once more he made his way back down to the restaurant and this time slipped out of the cloakroom and into the crowd, trying to look as if he had been there all along.

Having requisitioned a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, more to make himself look inconspicuous than because he wished to drink it, Harry began to look around for Draco. Almost immediately he caught a flash of blonde hair, but it turned out to belong to a rather tall, severe looking woman and suddenly Harry found he had butterflies. The champagne now seemed like a good idea and he gulped it down quickly as he made his way across the room, pausing only to exchange his empty glass for a full one.

“Où est Draco?” he finally enquired of a passing waiter, when after ten minutes he had seen no sign of the man. He was glad that he had been taking French lessons, unbeknownst to Hermione or Ron, for the past 5 months. He had no idea why, but something about the way Draco had spoken the language had made him want to learn it himself. Unfortunately whatever the waiter said was lost on him, since it was a torrent of fast, complex French, which due to the tray in the man’s hands, could not be accompanied by any gestures that might at least have revealed the general direction.

Thanking the man, Harry moved on and tried again, this time with a guest, since he figured that they at least might point and offer him some clue as to the direction.

“Excusez-moi, où est Draco s’il vous plait?” It wasn’t the best French in the world, Harry had to admit, and his accent was probably all wrong, but it produced the desired result, for with some French that Harry didn’t understand, the woman pointed to a particularly crowded area on the far side of the room.

“Merci, merci,” Harry said hurriedly, catching a glimpse of platinum blonde hair and setting off across the room before it could disappear. He wound his way through the crowd and stopped short when he came to the little clutch of people who were standing around Draco, holding a very lively French conversation. Not quite knowing what to do Harry starred unthinkingly at Draco, who after a moment, looked up, looked away, then looked back, before saying something in French to the group and moving towards Harry.

It was at this point that Harry realised his original plan of “and then find Draco” had in fact been the most detailed and well thought out plan in the world, because now he had no plan at all and he was completely at a loss as to what to do or say next.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” Draco said, smiling and yet looking slightly suspicious at the same time.

“Well… I uh...” Harry trailed off, but Draco seemed too busy squinting at his jacket to notice.

“Is that my jacket?”

“Um… yes.” Harry felt some sort of explanation was necessary. “Sorry, it’s just that I didn’t have one and everyone else did so I thought I’d better put one on too.” As explanations went it wasn’t fantastic, but Draco didn’t seem to notice.

“But why are you here in the first place?”

Because I’ve been fucking you in my sleep and if I don’t get to fuck you again in real life fairly soon I think I’m going to explode. The thought rose unbidden into Harry’s mind and shocked him into silence as he desperately tried to find something to say that wasn’t that. Anything but that. Where had that come from anyway?

“I cannot believe you’ve just turned up at my restaurant without warning and decided to invite yourself to my party.” Draco was saying, and it was that which made Harry remember what had started all this off in the first place.

“What do you mean, you can’t believe it?” he said, his voice slightly louder than he intended it to be. ”You were the one who Flooed into my house completely uninvited and completely unexpected. I mean, what were you doing? You were the one who wasn’t there in the morning remember?”

“Did you expect me to stay?” The question was snapped out rather nastily, but even in his worked up state Harry saw the flash of something different in Draco’s eyes.

“No, I didn’t, but that’s not the point. We’re talking about your little unannounced visit to my house last week.”

“Keep your voice down.” Draco smiled reassuringly at the people nearest, some of whom had turned their heads to watch the conversation, then hissed, “I don’t know why I came. I shouldn’t have done. It was a mistake.”

Harry felt rather deflated. He didn’t know what he had been hoping for. Maybe for Draco to admit that he’d come because he wanted a repeat performance of that night in Paris. In all the scenarios Harry had played out in his mind about what might have happened had he been alone that one had seemed the most likely. Now Draco was standing there saying it had been nothing and part of Harry felt crushed. Another, bigger part though, saw Draco’s stormy grey eyes and refused to believe him.

“That’s it?” Harry said incredulously, and more quietly than before. “You don’t know why you came? Just one day you stepped into the Floo, shouted my address and found yourself in my living room for absolutely no reason. And now you expect me to go home, just like that.”

Draco’s expression softened just slightly, “I never said you had to go home. You can stay for the party if you want.”

“What, and then go home at the end, having got no more explanation than before? No thanks.”

“What do you want me to say, Harry? That I came to retrieve the property you stole from me?” Draco sneered.

Harry flinched visibly “I didn’t steal it, you left it behind. And if you wanted it back all you had to do was ask. Here.” He reached up and unhooked the chain from around his neck, only half registering Draco’s look of surprise. “Happy?”

He grabbed Draco’s hand and pressed the necklace into it, desperately ignoring the images that flashed into his head on contact with Draco’s skin. Long pale fingers trailing across his chest, slim hands pressing against his hips. Harry snapped his eyes open without realising they had been closed and turned from Draco to march back to the cloakroom.

“Wait, Harry.” He thought he heard Draco’s voice behind him, “So good, Harry”, “More, Harry”, “Right there, Harry” but he carried on, wrenching the door open with a little more force than necessary. He paused briefly to take off the tie and transfigure it back into the scarf, then as he heard the handle of the door turn, he twisted on the spot and Apparated to Draco’s office.

Once there he had to pause again to take off the jacket. He felt strangely obliged to undo the magical alterations he had performed on it and leave it hanging tidily where he had found it. By the time he was striding towards the fireplace Draco was through the door. He’d obviously run upstairs because his cheeks were flushed and he was panting very slightly. Lips moving across porcelain skin; sucking, licking, biting. A soft moan as he dipped his head, taking one small, hard nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. Then downwards, flicking his tongue into the bellybutton, laying a train of kisses across that perfect, flat stomach...

“Harry.” He wrenched open his eyes in horror as the voice in his fantasy reached his ears in reality. Draco was standing just inches away from him and he realised his pants were uncomfortably tight. He hoped Draco hadn’t noticed.

“Why did you come, Harry?” Draco breathed, leaning in so that Harry could feel his breath playing over his lips.

“Why did you come?” he returned, tilting his head sideways and closing his eyes without really thinking about it. This time, though, there were no fantasies playing out across his mind, because this time the reality was far, far better.

Gentle lips caressed his own, slowly and longingly. Draco tangled one hand in Harry’s hair, and the other snaked around his back to pull him closer. Harry gasped as his semi-hard cock rubbed against Draco’s own, which seemed to be in a similar state, and he automatically raised one hand and let it rest on Draco’s jaw, gently holding his head in place. He parted his lips without thinking, and ran his tongue over Draco’s lower lip, probing gently.

The kiss deepened and Harry felt himself going weak at the knees. He moaned against Draco’s lips and looped his free arm around Draco’s shoulder, pulling him closer as if he never meant to let him go. His head was spinning, he felt like he was drowning in the kiss, like he wanted to stay forever with his lips pressed against Draco’s. It was safe here, it was warm and comfortable and it felt like nothing else mattered.

Somewhere deep in his brain, reality still had a hold.

This time he was going to be the one to leave. Reluctantly at first, and then with more conviction Harry pulled away from the kiss. For a moment – just for a moment – he allowed himself to rest his forehead against Draco’s, then he pulled away.

“I can’t do this, Draco. I just can’t. Why did you come?” he murmured, almost as if Draco wasn’t in the room right next to him. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and the last thing he saw as he turned to look back was Draco’s eyes snapping open, as if he was waking from a very pleasant dream to find he was actually living a nightmare. He lunged forward towards the fire just as Harry released the Floo powder.

Ninety seconds of feeling unpleasantly like he was in a Muggle washing machine and then Harry fell out onto the carpet of his living room. He didn’t even have the strength to get up this time, he just lay there, curled up, with his stomach turning somersaults, and he cried. He cried in a way he hadn’t cried since he had left school. He cried and didn’t even really know what he was crying about. He cried until he fell asleep, which was long after the fire had died away and long after he started shivering with the cold, and when he woke up the next morning he felt better.

Well actually he felt like crap, because that’s what happens when you spend half the night crying and the other half asleep on a hard floor.

But he felt better inside and that was strange.

Maybe that was just what Draco did to him.

********

“Mummy says this is going to be the best Christmas ever!”

Harry couldn’t help smiling at the little girl who stood in the kitchen, gazing up at him with adoring eyes, as he made some sandwiches for her lunch. Rose was Hermione and Ron’s eldest child and had reached the age where she spent most of her time talking about anything and everything to the nearest adult. Harry adored her and grinned as the little girl danced out of the room to go check on her baby sister, who was in her cradle in the front room.

Hermione had said the same thing about Christmas last year, but things hadn’t quite worked out according to plan. Harry had been bad tempered, Ron had got drunk, Rose had been sick and Mrs Weasley had shouted at Fred and George about what she called ‘inappropriate presents’ for a three year old. All in all Christmas hadn’t been very successful and Hermione was determined that the celebrations, which were being held at her and Ron’s house, were going to be much better this year.

So Harry was spending the day before Christmas Eve looking after his best friends’ children whilst they ran round sorting out last minute decorations and food. Hermione had of course planned everything weeks in advance, but unfortunately Ron had left many of the tasks she’d assigned to him until the last minute, and there was some food which couldn’t be bought till just before it was needed; Harry didn’t envy them their preparations at all, compared to that, looking after his Goddaughters for the day was nothing.

He had just finished making the sandwiches when Rose came back into the kitchen, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Uncle Harry,” she began, her huge brown eyes looking at him curiously, “There’s a strange man in your front room, he just came down the Floo.”

Alarmed Harry almost dropped the plate he was holding, and half threw it onto the table as he hurried into the living room. It was lucky he left the plate behind, for if he had brought it with him it certainly would have ended up on the floor when he saw who had just arrived.

Draco Malfoy looked the picture of elegance as he stood in the middle of the room, dressed casually, with an expensive-looking black cloak fastened over his shoulders. He had something in his hand, which Harry couldn’t quite see, and he looked perfectly at ease, almost as if he had been an invited guest.

“Are you busy?” he asked, eyeing Rose who was now grinning at him from behind Harry’s legs.

“Er… no,” said Harry, then after a moment to collect his thoughts he bent down and told Rose to go and eat her sandwiches. “They’re Ron and Hermione’s kids,” he said waving vaguely at the cradle in the corner containing Cassie, since he felt some explanation was required of him “I’m just looking after them for the day.”

Draco nodded, as if Harry had just confirmed an important fact, and Harry hesitated, unsure what to do or say next. He remembered what had happened the last time he had seen Draco and shifted uncomfortably, he was trying to put that incident out of his mind and now here was Draco standing in his living room for the second time, and not really saying anything much. Harry wondered why he had come, after all they hadn’t parted on good terms, even if there had been that kiss...

“Do you want to sit down?” Harry found himself offering, more to say something than through any wish of appearing polite. He wasn’t too sure he owed Draco any politeness at the moment.

“Um… no, thank you.” The offer seemed to have thrown Draco, and suddenly he looked unsure as his eyes darted round the room, looking anywhere but at Harry. The moment only lasted a few seconds though, for after clearing his throat, Draco seemed to pull himself together and suddenly he was much more like the Draco Harry remembered from the evening they had spent together in Paris than he had been since then.

“Actually I just came to give you this.” He stepped forward half smirking, his silver grey eyes glinting almost wickedly. The look sent a shiver down Harry’s spine and he automatically held his hand out for the small box Draco was offering him.

He blinked and looked down, before opening the lid without really realising what he was doing. Inside, nestled in black silk, was an exact replica of the dragon necklace he had returned to Draco, but for one thing: this one had two tiny sparkling rubies for eyes, rather than emeralds.

Harry gaped at it for a moment, then looked up at Draco, his mouth still open in shock.

“Since you seemed to have taken quite a fancy to mine, I thought I’d get you one of your own.” Draco was still giving him that half smirk, looking quite pleased by his reaction.

“I haven’t got you anything,” Harry said dumbly, cursing the stupidity of the words before he’d even finished saying them. He was embarrassed; actually, embarrassed was an understatement for how he was feeling right now. He longed for a time turner so he could go back to that night in Paris and just leave the stupid necklace behind. It had been the cause of so many blushes over the past few weeks that Harry was beginning to wish he had never even seen it. But he still had to admit that he had missed the comforting weight of it round his neck these past few days, and sometimes he wished he had never given it back at all. Now here was Draco, in his house, giving him one of his own.

“Thank you,” he stammered, finally looking up and meeting Draco’s eyes. He felt the colour spreading across his cheeks and a nervous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You like it?” There was a nervous edge to Draco’s tone and Harry noticed that the smirk had gone. His silver grey eyes were now looking hard into Harry’s own, as if he wanted to seek out the truth in Harry’s very soul, Harry felt a glimmer of confidence returning.

“Yes, I do” he answered; straightening up properly and smiling genuinely back at Draco. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you do.” Draco flashed a brief, but sincere smile, then turned and made his way back over to the fireplace. He looked back as he reached the hearth and, just like that night in Paris, Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. When Draco let his guard down, when he was genuine and open and happy, Draco was the most beautiful thing in the world. Not that Harry didn’t find him attractive all the time; it was just that sometimes, like now, there were moments when he was heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Goodbye, Harry.” The words hung between them in the air, as Draco took a handful of the green Floo powder from the pot and stepped into the fireplace.

“Goodbye, Draco.” There was that smile again, and then the green flames flared briefly and Draco was gone.

There was a few minutes of silence, before Harry felt something tugging on his trouser leg.

“Uncle Harry, who was that man?”

“He’s called Draco.”

“That’s a funny name. He was nice though, I liked him.”

Harry laughed suddenly and scooped the little girl up in his arms, making her squeal in delight.

“You know what, I think your mummy’s right,” he said, smiling as she wrapped her arms round his neck and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

***************************

So what did you think? Comments are much loved! I do have plans for another (final) part, which will hopefully draw the story to a nice conclusion.

Mind Games - Chapter 10

2007-08-13T20:59:31Z

Title: Mind Games
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash!
Beta: The inventor of the Instant Silly Me Petrification Spell candy_marie_55!
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: You can't close down your mind forever.
Author's notes: Set almost directly after the events of the sixth book with no regard to what happens in the 7th installment. I wrote this chapter long before book 7 even came out so any resemblence to anything which happens or which comes to light in that book is purely coincidental!

Fools Rush In

The next day when Harry awoke, alone in a double bed in a much larger room now he had tactfully moved out of the one he had shared with Ron, he sensed there was something going on in the house before he even got up. Through his half open door he could hear quick footsteps and anxious voices coming from downstairs. Something had happened and it was serious enough that people were forgetting to be quiet around the portrait. The voices got louder as more people joined the conversation and Harry quickly threw on his clothes, wondering what time it was and what was going on. He wanted to get downstairs and find out, not to mention warn everyone to be quiet before Mrs Black awoke and began screaming again. He couldn’t stand it when that happened and couldn’t understand why everyone was being so careless. Unfortunately, he was too late, and the people downstairs too loud, for as he stepped out onto the landing he heard the curtain rip back and Mrs Black’s screams reverberated through the house.

“MUDBLOODS! SCUM! FILTHY HALF BREEDS! HOW DARE YOU ENTER THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS….”

There were shouts from downstairs and the sound of running footsteps. Harry was just about to start down the stairs to try and help wrestle the curtain back into place when he heard a familiar voice rise above the rest.

“Shut up! Stop that screaming right now!” Harry peered round the corner of the stairs to see a sight that would have made him laugh, had the screams from the portrait not drained any possibility of deriving humour from the situation. Draco was standing in front of Mrs Black, hands on his hips, face flushed in anger, looking hot and imperious, as he shouted back at the portrait.

“I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and I have every right to be in this house. I can trace my ancestry back through a long line of pure-blooded witches and wizards, so don’t you dare sit there in your portrait and accuse me of being anything else. I am your family and your blood and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I certainly am.“ With that he stepped forward and jerked the unresisting curtain back across the portrait, covering the hideous face of Mrs Black. Then he turned round to the crowd of Order members standing behind him. “Do not say anything,” he snapped, turning on his heel and marching back to the kitchen.

Slowly Harry began to make his way down the stairs towards the Order members who seemed to be able to do little but stand and stare at Draco’s retreating figure.

“Um… would someone like to tell me what exactly is going on?” he asked gingerly, knowing that the answer would probably not be something he wanted to hear.

-------

Moments later Harry found himself in the kitchen with Mrs Weasley piling his plate high with sausages and bacon as everyone tried to explain things to him at once. Eventually he managed to work out that there was not one, but two things that had sent everyone into a heightened state of anxiety. Firstly Borgin had apparently reported to the Daily Prophet that there had been a break in at his shop by persons unknown and it was all over the front page of the paper. That was worrying enough, since the interview in the paper also contained what Borgin clearly intended to be a stark warning to anyone coming back for a second attempt; he was doubling his anti-theft security and said that anyone caught breaking into his shop would meet a very nasty end. An emergency Order meeting had been called to decide what the next course of action should be, which explained the large number of members already gathered in the kitchen. The topic was already under vociferous debate, despite the fact that the meeting had not officially started, and Harry was having trouble working out what the second problem that had been briefly mentioned earlier actually was.

When it was finally explained properly to him, it was in Harry’s opinion more immediately worrying than anything to do with retrieving the Horcrux. Blaise had received a letter from the friend his mother was staying with saying that she had been taken suddenly and mysteriously ill and that Blaise needed to go to her at once since it looked as if it was very serious. Blaise was obviously extremely concerned and eager to be off because he had disappeared to pack his trunk even before Harry had finished his breakfast. Through the crowd around the table Harry suddenly found his eyes drawn to Draco. He was sitting quietly, slightly removed from everyone else, but not for once looking aloof. The expression in his eyes was more one of sadness and Harry knew at once that his outburst at the portrait had been Draco’s way of expressing the emotions Blaise’s imminent departure had stirred up in him. As he was thinking this Draco looked up and met his eyes and suddenly Harry remembered what had happened last night in Borgin and Burkes. He had kissed Draco. He realised he was now looking at Draco with a slight expression of shock mixed with horror and quickly turned away blushing.

“How could I forget that?” he thought to himself as he turned his attention back to his breakfast, trying to look nonchalant.

As the memories of the kiss came flooding back Harry knew that the blush on his cheeks wasn’t fading at all: in fact it was spreading down his neck making him feel extremely hot and uncomfortable. He couldn’t believe he’d been staring at Draco, feeling almost sorry for him, without even remembering what he had done last night. Draco had kissed him, in the middle of Borgin’s shop, for no apparent reason.

Harry suddenly frowned. How dare he? How dare Draco kiss him? Draco was supposed to be his enemy. It was true he had joined the fight against Voldemort and it was true they had been getting along better, at least some of the time, but still, Harry certainly didn’t want Draco kissing him.

“That’s not what you thought last night.” The voice in Harry’s head finally broke through his angry thoughts and Harry sighed, playing about with a bit of sausage unseeingly. He had to admit to himself that the kiss had been good, more than good in fact, and hadn’t he himself kissed Draco back? Hadn’t he been enjoying it just as much as Draco? He felt his blush deepening and tried to push the thoughts away. He didn’t want to kiss Draco. Not last night, not now, not ever. Draco was Draco. A Malfoy, a former Death Eater, and most importantly, a guy. Harry was not into guys; he was not gay. There had been Cho and Ginny, who were almost certainly girls and he had never even looked at a guy like that before. Denial! screamed the voice in his brain and Harry was rather relieved when he was saved from acknowledging the voice as someone sat down next to him.

He turned, found it was Draco and suddenly became intensely interested in shovelling down his breakfast as fast as possible, refusing to meet Draco’s eyes.

“Harry…” The voice was low and hesitant. It held a tone Harry had not heard in the voice before and it made him slow his eating slightly. “They haven’t done anything, Harry.”

The statement was so confusing and it was said so quietly and with such bitterness that Harry stopped eating entirely and turned to face Draco with a puzzled frown. Who hadn’t done what?

“About Blaise I mean,” Draco offered, his grey eyes seeming stormier than ever as they flashed between anger and distress.

“Done what? Who? What are you on about?” Harry asked, not really feeling any the wiser and not at all in the mood to play games with Draco.

“I mean about him going,” Draco ran his fingers distractedly through his hair, and Harry found his own eyes were following the movement against his will. “They’re all so concerned about this Horcrux and the stuff in the papers that they haven’t bothered to do anything.” Draco’s voice had lost it’s distressed tone entirely now and he was snapping out the words angrily. “Blaise has gone to pack his things because he wants to get back to his mother as soon as he can, but no one’s doing anything about arranging any way for him to get there.”

“Oh,” Harry wasn’t quite sure what to say, or what he was supposed to do. Draco was obviously telling him this for a reason but Harry was finding it hard to concentrate because looking at Draco kept reminding him of the kiss they had shared and how good it had felt to be pressed again Draco body and…. No! He refused to go anywhere near that train of thought and dragged his attention back to what Draco was saying now.

“You’ll have to talk to them, Harry, they’ll listen to you. Maybe they could arrange for Blaise to Floo out or something. I don’t know, but he needs some way to get there and it’s not like he can just leave the house and go by himself. Not after what happened to his sister….” Draco’s voice trailed off, and Harry realised with some incredulousness that Draco was asking him for help. Not even help for himself, but help for his friend because he cared about him and wanted him to be able to get to his mother, even though it meant Draco himself would essentially be alone in the house.

Harry gaped at the blonde sitting in front of him as these new and strange thoughts ran through his mind. Draco actually caring about someone? Caring enough to come and ask for help from the one person he probably really didn’t want to speak to after what had happened last night? The idea seemed impossible and yet here it was actually happening. For a moment Harry considered that he wasn’t particularly inclined to do anything to help Draco after what he had done, but then he looked into Draco’s eyes and he found any resolve melting. There was something in those eyes Harry had never seen before and it made him want to do anything in his power to help Draco.

He blinked and looked away. Was Draco trying to control him again to get his own way? Perhaps he wouldn’t do anything; perhaps he wouldn’t help Draco.

Harry shook his head slightly trying to stop the swirl of thoughts rushing around his head and came to a conclusion. It didn’t actually matter what Draco was doing to try and get him to help. It was Blaise who would suffer if no one arranged some way for him to get back to his mother and Harry wasn’t about to let that happen just to spite Draco. That was something he could never do.

“Right,” he said half to himself and half to Draco, before turning to the wizard next to him. He wasn’t actually too sure about his name, possibly it was Crawshaw, but he knew it was a man who took an active part in the meetings and who seemed to have a lot to say for himself. He tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he began as the man turned away from the discussion with an annoyed grunt. “Has anything been decided about how Blaise is going to get home?”

“I’m not sure, something will be sorted,” answered the man snappily, “There’s much more important things to discuss at the moment.”

For some reason Harry was beginning to feel small and childish under the man’s gaze, which was ridiculous since even the majority of the Order members usually held some sort of respect for him as The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry usually hated that, but suddenly he found himself wishing that familiarity and the return of Voldemort hadn’t done away with most of the reverence they had previously held for him.

“Right,” he said under his breath as the man turned away. He turned back to Draco to find him looking at him oddly, which didn’t really help Harry’s frame of mind. He was already feeling highly strung trying to sort out his confusion from last night and now he’d just been slighted by someone who, when it came down to it, was probably expecting him to defeat Voldemort and save the entire wizarding world, just like everyone else. Usually Harry would not have thought like that even for a second, and even in the midst of his anger he knew that it was slightly wrong to be annoyed with someone who was probably just feeling the pressure of the situation. All the same though, Harry was annoyed.

“Right,” he said again and this time there was a different edge to his voice. He pushed his plate aside, almost upsetting the contents into Draco’s lap, and before he could even think he had clambered up onto the table. Few people noticed, since he had been sitting towards the end and everyone was too absorbed in the discussion. That annoyed Harry even more, and suddenly he felt a tingle rush through his body, setting his senses on high alert, making him feel like he could do anything.

“QUIET!” he roared, and there was instant silence. “Stop whatever it is you are doing and work out how Blaise is going to get home. Do it now and do it quickly.” The rush of rage, which had propelled Harry onto the table and made him issue orders as if he was the commander of an army, was fading now. “Please,” he added, staring round at the shocked faces below him. He turned and got off the table as the conversation started up again, but this time, Harry could hear they were talking about how Blaise would get to his mother.

“There. Happy?” he said as he flopped down besides Draco, feeling slightly embarrassed. He’d have to apologise for that outburst later at the proper meeting, but for now it seemed to have got results. He glanced over at Draco and was surprised to see that his face was blank and his eyes glassy, although even as he gazed Draco blinked a few times and the glassiness was gone, replaced by a look of shock and even a hint of admiration.

“Wow, Potter, I never thought you had that in you,” he drawled, having obviously put any thoughts about Blaise’s impending departure aside in favour of winding Harry up. “I almost went to join in myself then, even I had to fight pretty hard to avoid obeying.”

Harry realised then that the glassiness had been the result of some powerful Occlumency on Draco’s part.

“Why? What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled as to why Draco had felt such a need to ‘obey’ as he put it, although Harry was loathe to use that word since he felt it made him sound too much like Voldemort demanding complete obedience from his Death Eaters.

“You were standing up there, above everyone else and I could feel the power coming off you. It was in your voice as you shouted at everyone, I bet they couldn’t help but do what you asked.”

“I was just angry,” Harry shrugged. “I wanted them to listen.” He hesitated for a moment before asking, “Was it really like that?”

“Yes it was,” chimed in another voice. Hermione had appeared by his side. “I heard you shouting from the hall, what on earth were you doing?”

“I was just annoyed,” Harry said, feeling this explanation was wearing thin and not really seeing what the fuss was about. “No one was doing anything about Blaise’s mother so I asked them to do something.”

“You mean, you commanded them,” said Hermione, looking unimpressed. “In a tone that they couldn’t possibly disobey. I don’t know how you’ve just managed to command a group of powerful wizards to do exactly what you want just by shouting, but I do know you sounded powerful Harry. Powerful and frightening.”

“Shit.”

Harry felt that word summed up his feelings and the events of the morning nicely. He suspected he knew exactly how he had done it. Voldemort had transferred some of his power into him when he was a child, or so Dumbledore had told him, and now when he had got angry and frustrated there was a distinct possibility that it had leaked out in an unexpected way. He sighed and climbed back on the table.

“Erm… excuse me…” he said, feeling a lot more sheepish than he had last time. What if everyone was annoyed at what he had done?

No one took any notice.

“Excuse me!” he yelled louder. This time the talking gradually died down until everyone was looking at him. He waited until there was silence.

“Look I’m er… really sorry about that. I didn’t mean to yell, it’s just that Blaise is worried about his mother and we need to help him get back home rather than worrying about the Horcrux for now. The Horcrux can wait, someone’s family is much more important, especially in times like these.” Harry could see Tonks grinning encouragingly from the back of the room and he gathered his courage, although he really felt like he was way out of his depth talking to The Order like this. “People are more important than anything else. I got angry, it was stupid, but we still need to work out how Blaise can get to his mother safely without giving away her location and whilst keeping him safe, so I’d appreciate it if we could all come up with something first and leave the papers and the Horcrux until afterwards. Thank you.”

There was a general murmur of agreement and Harry got down from the table. Blaise had appeared and was now talking urgently with Draco, a moment later they both left, with Draco giving Harry a parting, genuine smile of thanks. Harry was confused. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts now, to think about what had happened this morning. He needed to sort out his feelings about Draco and, most importantly, about that kiss.

He escaped to the study to think about it, until he was summoned to the meeting an hour later, having worked nothing out and come to no conclusions about anything.

--------

Draco hadn’t really been sure about whether he should ask Harry for help. But Blaise was his friend and the last thing Blaise had said before he went upstairs to pack was that if the Order didn’t come up with something then he would just leave the house and take whatever Muggle or wizard transport he needed to get to his mother. Her illness was serious and the letter said that in the brief periods she drifted into consciousness she asked for him constantly. Draco could see in his friend’s eyes the worry and anxiety he was feeling and he knew that he couldn’t let Blaise attempt the journey by himself without at least trying to get Harry to spur the Order members into action.

He wasn’t sure how Harry would react to him after their kiss last night, but he knew there was no one else he could ask for help. The Order would all brush him off, except perhaps Mrs Weasley, but when Draco recalled her as an alternative and tried to look for her she seemed to have disappeared. He had no choice then, he would ask Harry to talk to the Order. Never mind his wounded pride at Harry’s sudden exit and never mind that Harry would probably refuse to help, it was the only thing he could do for his friend.

Putting himself out for a friend was a new experience for Draco and at first he was embarrassed, but partway through the explanation to Harry he found he was only angry. Angry at The Order, who Blaise had been willing to risk his life to help, for doing nothing to help him in his hour of need.

He hadn’t known his request would have such explosive results.

Afterwards he went upstairs with Blaise, who seemed strangely pleased by what Draco had done and more grateful than Draco thought was really necessary. He didn’t realise that for the first time in his life he had actually done something which made Blaise think he might care about someone other than himself. Their’s had been a strange friendship. One of respect, trust, and occasionally sex, but it had still been quite a selfish friendship, particularly on Draco’s side. Now for the first time it wasn’t and that was something new for both of them.

--------

Blaise left after a late lunch, accompanied by two Order members who would ensure he made the journey safely. They were going to take the Floo network in stages across London, then a Portkey across the Channel to France, then another south to Italy, then Apparate to near the house and walk the final distance. The members would then return to England leaving Blaise with his mother.

There was only time for a quick goodbye in the study. Blaise shook hands with the few Order members gathered around and kissed Draco on both cheeks whist exchanging a few words in French that no one else could hear. Finally he came to Harry and shook his hand with more vigour than any of the others.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and there was no need for him to say what he was thanking Harry for.

“You’re welcome,” was all Harry could think of in reply, followed quickly by, “I hope your mother feels better soon.” Blaise gave a half smile then stepped into the large fireplace, which the two Order members accompanying him had already gone through. A flash of green smoke later he was gone, and after waiting a few minutes to check no one came back to report trouble, everyone drifted away. Harry noticed Draco had stayed behind as he followed Hermione and Ron out the room and tactfully closed the door, leaving the blonde staring into the now empty fireplace, lost in his own thoughts.

--------

That night, after Harry was sure everyone was asleep in bed he got up, pulled on his invisibility cloak and crept down to the study. He was going back to Borgin and Burkes.

The Order had decided earlier that day that nothing could now be done about retrieving the locket until they could find out exactly what sort of curses and anti-theft jinxes had been placed around the shop. It would take several nights of careful reconnaissance by experienced Aurors to gather the required information and then probably many weeks before they worked out the counter-charms for all of them to enable them to steal the locket without fear of putting anyone in more danger than was strictly necessary.

Harry wasn’t prepared to wait that long. What if the locket got sold? What if Voldemort somehow discovered it was not where he had hidden it and managed to ascertain its whereabouts? He might steal it for himself, or even send someone to buy it back for him. It was too risky to wait and Harry had decided he was going to go alone tonight to the shop to have another look at the situation for himself.

He wasn’t stupid enough to try and break the curses, or to simply try taking the locket, and in truth he wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do once he got to the shop. He just felt that he needed to go, if only to see the shop again for himself and check the locket was still there. Perhaps just being there again would trigger some ideas in his mind.

The journey through the Floo was just as uncomfortable as ever for Harry and he landed more heavily than he would have liked at the other end. He quickly scrambled to his feet, then froze, listening carefully for any sounds that might indicate he had been heard. Long minutes passed and when Harry heard nothing he assumed Borgin was still asleep so he lit his wand and crept quietly over to where the locket was stored.

He had barely reached the cabinet containing the locket when a slight creak made him hesitate. It had only been slight, and it could just have been the building settling, but it had come from the back of the shop and Harry didn’t want to be caught off guard.

“Nox,” he murmured and the light from his wand faded, just as another, louder creak reached his ears. This time Harry was certain it was the sound of someone coming quietly down the stairs and he cursed inwardly. Either Borgin was an extremely light sleeper or there was some sort of alarm system that had awoken him.

Quickly Harry shoved his wand in his pocket and squeezed into the alcove he and Draco had shared the night before. The recollection of what had happened there made him blush and he could feel his thoughts going off down a very unwelcome path when the door at the back of the shop opened, effectively snapping him back to the present.

“Well, well, well,” came the oily tones of Borgin. “Trying to hide are we? Well I’ve got you good and proper this time, there’s no escape.” Borgin began shuffling carefully along the wall, making sure to thrust his wand into all the shadows and Harry considered whether it was better to leap out and stun him now whilst there was still some distance between them, or wait till he got closer when there was more chance of hitting him.

It was then Harry realised he couldn’t move.

There was no escape.

--------

Someone was going downstairs. Someone who didn’t want to be heard.

Draco lay in bed staring at the ceiling and considering whether it was likely that someone was just going down to the kitchen for a late night snack or whether this was something more interesting that might be worth getting out of bed to investigate.

He had slept only fitfully so far; with Blaise gone he was now alone and he dreaded the return of the nightmares that often came when he slept in a room by himself. The reaction of the others if he woke up the whole house with his screams was not something he wanted to experience. Scorn, laughter, pity, ridicule, he didn’t really want to have to face any of those things. He was still a Malfoy and he would not have people thinking he was a coward, or knowing what went on inside his head.

Another sound caught his attention. Even though it was muffled Draco recognised the unmistakable whooshing sound of someone using the Floo.

He was out of bed and pulling on his clothes before his mind had even registered the thought that Harry - stupid, arrogant, impatient Harry was going back to Borgin and Burkes. Even after the thought had registered Draco spared the brief moments it took him to grab his wand and run silently downstairs to the study to think about how he knew this. He hadn’t used Legilimency, which was usually the way he would find out something like this, for once he just felt like he knew because this was Harry and this was the sort of stupid thing he would do.

It took him a few precious moments to locate the Floo powder, which was only in a small jar and which Harry had inexplicably moved to the coffee table. What if Harry had done something stupid, like attempt to break the curses round the locket? There wasn’t much powder left in the jar and Draco swore under his breath at whoever had forgotten to top it up. What if Borgin caught Harry in his shop and carried out his threat from The Daily Prophet? He tipped the remaining powder into his hand, spilling some of it on the floor, and threw himself into the empty grate. What if he was already too late?

Despite his hasty and rather panicky exit from Grimauld Place, Draco landed elegantly and almost silently in the fireplace at Borgin and Burkes. The first thing he saw was Borgin moving cautiously along the wall, his wand held defensively in front of him, luckily too intent on his task to have noticed Draco’s arrival. Draco couldn’t see Harry, but he assumed he was somewhere safely out of sight under his invisibility cloak.

As he watched, Borgin carefully prodded his wand into the alcove next to the one he and Harry had hidden in the night before and Draco frowned in puzzlement. What was he doing? Surely he didn’t expect a burglar to just stand and wait to be discovered? Certainly that wouldn’t be what Harry was doing. Would it?

A moment of doubt crossed Draco’s mind. He didn’t like this at all. Something wasn’t right and he was putting a stop to it.

“Stupefy!” Borgin immediately crumpled to the ground and Draco swiftly crossed the shop to bind his hands and feet and relieve him of his wand.

“Ok, Harry I know you’re in here. You might as well come out.”

Silence.

Draco frowned in annoyance. Was Harry trying to pretend he wasn’t here in the hope that Draco would go away?

“Come on, Potter, don’t play games.”

More silence.

Draco’s frown deepened. What did Potter think he was playing at? This didn’t seem right at all.

“Fine, Potter. Have it your way.”

He turned and started towards the fireplace.

--------

Harry saw Draco arrive in the fireplace and was thankful Borgin seemed too wrapped up in trying to find him to have noticed. He just hoped Draco would do something before Borgin got to him. The man was already only second away from discovering Harry’s whereabouts.

He sighed inwardly with relief as Draco frowned, then finally sent a stunning spell at Borgin just as he reached Harry’s alcove. As Draco came over and began to bind the unconscious man with ropes from his wand Harry realised there was still a huge problem. Draco was near enough for him to reach out and touch; if only he could reach out. He was still petrified and invisible and his wand was still in his pocket. For the hundredth time Harry cursed himself for being stupid enough to actually let go of his wand. With his wand even he, hopeless at he was at silent magic, could undo a Petrification spell; without it he could do nothing, since his wandless magic hadn’t improved at all in the past year. Then again, he thought, as Draco straightened up, Borgin had obviously been confident of his little trap so perhaps it was more than a ‘simple’ petrification spell.

“Ok, Harry, I know you’re in here. You might as well come out.”

Harry felt that there was nothing he would have liked better than to step out of the alcove and thank Draco for coming after him, but unfortunately there was nothing he could do. He tried desperately to focus his magic and undo the spell, but it was a pointless exercise.
“Come on, Potter, don’t play games.”

Great. Now Malfoy was annoyed and they were back to last names. Surely the idiot would realise something had happened to him when he didn’t respond? He tried to speak, but of course nothing came out.

“Fine, Potter. Have it your way.”

Yes. Right. This was just what he wanted. To be stuck petrified under an invisibility cloak with no hope of being found until Borgin freed himself, pulled him out and then most probably handed him over to Voldemort. Yes that was in every way the better alternative. What was the prat playing at? Surely it didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t responding because he wasn’t able to?

He realised Draco was heading back to the fireplace and his annoyance changed into alarm. Surely Draco wouldn’t just leave? He strained against the spell holding him in place beginning to panic.

Draco stopped with one foot in the hearth and suddenly whipped round.

“Accio invisibility cloak.” Harry felt the material pulling away and although it was trapped between his body and the wall, enough of it came away to reveal his head and shoulders, much to Draco’s obvious amusement.

“You thought I was going to leave you behind then, didn’t you?” he mocked as he came over to stand directly in front of Harry. “I should have done really. Surely you must have known that coming back here would be like walking straight into a trap? Or maybe the great Harry Potter thinks he’s untouchable and doesn’t need to worry about such things?”

Harry cringed inwardly and considered that perhaps he’d been wrong and being handed over to Voldemort was preferable to facing Malfoy’s self-satisfied smirk. How long was he going to stand there and gloat before actually did something to help him?

“Ok, let’s see.” Harry suddenly realised that Draco’s hands were on his shoulders and running down his back, which was still covered by the invisibility cloak. At that moment he was glad he was petrified because if he hadn’t been his body would surely have been tremoring under Draco’s touch. As it was he felt the blood rushing to his cheeks and he tried desperately to squash down the memories of Draco’s hands running over his body as he kissed him for fear that the blood might start rushing somewhere even more embarrassing than his cheeks.

He didn’t want to think about that kiss. It had meant nothing. There was no way he was going to let it happen again. He just didn’t see Draco in that way. Didn’t even see men in that way…. Draco’s hand had slipped around to his chest now and Harry realised that he was carefully extracting the invisibility cloak. Once it was off Draco ran his eyes over Harry’s body in a way that made him feel very exposed and suddenly naked. The blood, which had been threatening to head downwards, suddenly changed its mind and Harry was certain his entire face had now turned a very bright shade of red.

“From the way you’re standing I’d say this wasn’t an instant petrification spell, it probably took hold of you slowly,” Draco commented. It seemed he hadn’t actually been checking him out at all. Harry was mostly relieved and did his best to ignore the small part of his brain that was disappointed by the revelation.

“I’ve seen one like this before, I should be able to undo it,” Harry barely caught the words and so wasn’t really ready when a moment later he found he could suddenly move again. He stumbled out of the alcove, and luckily, or unluckily, into Draco’s arms rather than the nearest cabinet. Scrambling to find his footing, Harry found himself gazing into Draco’s eyes, their faces closer than was strictly necessary even in the circumstances. For a moment Harry was worried that Draco was going to kiss him again, but instead he pushed him upright and began to brush off his own clothes as if Harry might have somehow made them dirty.

There was that disappointment again, a bit stronger this time. Harry bit his lip and ignored it.

--------

Draco took a deep breath as he pushed Harry away. He’d been so close to kissing him again and he wasn’t about to let that happen. Harry had made his feelings about it very clear last night and Draco was not about to set himself up for a second rejection. He wasn’t even sure what had made him kiss Harry in the first place. Although he could at least admit to himself that Harry was kind of good looking, when you looked at him in a certain way, he knew that was no reason to go kissing him at every opportunity.

It had been good though. Draco had enjoyed it more than he liked to acknowledge even to himself. The feel of Harry’s hand running through his hair, the contours of Harry’s body pressed against his, the way Harry had melted into him, surrendering himself for that brief moment before reality seemed to strike and Draco had found himself pushed away without so much as a second glance.

What did that matter though? Draco began brushing himself down vigorously to empty his mind of the unwanted recollections. Potter clearly had issues with his sexuality and Draco wasn’t going to let that become any concern of his. It had been a kiss – a good kiss, admittedly – but still just a kiss. Draco wasn’t about to go chasing round after Potter, or worrying about what he might be thinking. That just wasn’t what he did. It had been a one off, a moment of weakness on his part and something that he would ensure never happened again.

He straightened up to find Harry gazing at Borgin, seemingly lost in thought.

“Come on, Potter, we need to do something before he comes round.” He saw Harry flinch as he used his last name and cringed slightly, wishing he could take it back. Harry had trusted him, taken him in, persuaded the others to trust him, not to mention what he had done this morning and they had been on first name terms. Now because of some stupid kiss they were going to revert to last names only again?

Draco still had his pride though; he might have changed enough to acknowledge the stupidity of the situation, but it was not enough for him to even consider backing down first.

“Fine, Malfoy,” Harry emphasised the use of his last name and Draco knew his own flinch was just as visible as Harry’s had been. “What do you suggest?”

Instead of answering Draco went and retrieved a chair from behind the counter and wordlessly Harry helped him manhandle the still unconscious Borgin onto it. Once that was done Draco left Harry to bind the man to the chair whilst he conjured a large silk scarf and made sure there was no chance of Borgin screaming for help as soon as he awoke.

“Good,” he said vaguely, regarding Borgin through narrowed eyes as they stood admiring their handiwork. Harry cleared his throat, sounding rather nervous and Draco turned to see him looking pink with embarrassment. He opened his mouth and Draco hoped he wasn’t about to bring up the kiss. The last thing he wanted was some deep discussion about what it all meant.

“Thank you.” Draco blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what he had been expecting.

“What?”

“For rescuing me tonight,” Harry explained quickly, giving him a rather sheepish look. “And for yesterday as well I guess.“ At this point Harry suddenly became very interested in the pattern he was tracing on the floor with the toe of his trainer. There was a short pause. “I guess it was stupid of me to come back here alone tonight,” Harry finished, rushing to get the words out as if they would clear the air of unspoken thoughts about what exactly had happened last night.

“Yes, well…” Draco could think of nothing to say back. This was the second time Harry had thanked him for something like this and he found the experience no less strange than he had the first time. He was as used to being thanked as he was to thanking people, which was not at all.

“You seem to be doing this a lot lately.” Harry was looking at him now, half smiling and half frowning.

“What?” said Draco, for the second time in as many minutes.

“Saving my life.”

--------------------------

Continue:
Not up yet!

Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: Close Your Mind
Chapter 2: No Going Back
Chapter 3: Wrapped in Flames
Chapter 4: Language of Magic
Chapter 5: If I Had Learnt A Little Better
Chapter 6: Some Things Are Just Coincidence
Chapter 7: Just An Empty Shell
Chapter 8: Somewhere I Lost Myself
Chapter 9: Conscience Is A Funny Thing

Mind Games - Chapter 9

2007-04-17T22:00:31Z

Title: Mind Games
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash!
Beta: The wonderfully patient candy_marie_55!
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: You can't close down your mind forever.
Author's notes: Set almost directly after the events of the sixth book. See below for links to additional chapters.
I've finally got round to posting this chapter. I know it's been ages so here's a brief summary of what's happened so far: Harry went to get the goblet Horcrux but he was captured by Death Eaters and Draco helped him escape by shutting Snape out of his mind. Together they retrieved the Horcrux and went back to Hogwarts. After a nasty incident withh Veritaserum Blaise arrived and they all moved to Grimmauld Place, which is where the action is now taking place.

Conscience Is A Funny Thing

Something was going on. Something important. Something that no one wanted to tell him about. This annoyed Draco immensely, and sent him into a sulk, which no one could snap him out of.

What annoyed him even more than the fact that no one would tell him what was going on was the fact that there was nothing he could do about the fact that no one would tell him. Back home he could usually rely on his father, or occasionally even his mother, to tell him the latest information about the Dark Lord’s plans, and when they wouldn’t tell him he used all his Slytherin cunning and the secret passageways of Malfoy Manor to find out what was going on anyway. Here he could do neither of those things.

He got a feeling sometimes that Mrs Weasley or Harry would tell him the plans with enough persuasion, but for the first time in his life he found himself not wanting to put anyone in the position of having to give away something that was supposed to be a secret. This was a new feeling to him and he tried to tell himself that actually he was only not asking because he didn’t want anyone to think him curious about their pathetic little plans, but everyday it got harder to hide the truth – not to mention his curiosity. Asking Blaise was out of the question as well, because Blaise had already admitted to him that he didn’t know himself, and that was another feeling that Draco was finding it hard to come to terms with. He felt guilty because if he wasn’t here, Blaise would probably have been let in on the secret.

Spying or poking around looking for any clues as to what was happening might normally have been an option, but Draco knew that if he were caught trying to find out the Order’s plans he would be accused of being a traitor and thrown out before he even had time to protest. He couldn’t let that happen, he would be out on the streets with nowhere to live, considered an enemy by both the Order and the Death Eaters - and the look in Harry’s eyes didn’t bear thinking about. He tried not to think too much about that, it wasn’t worth the confusion it caused in his mind.

No, the only option that really held any promise was Legilimency. How easy it would be for him to use his gift to look into the mind of one of the Order members and satisfy his curiosity once and for all. He was talented, he knew he could slip in and out of someone’s thoughts and memories without them ever knowing he was there, but whenever he convinced himself he would do it he find himself backing down at the last minute, a strange twisted sort of feeling in his stomach. The last time he’d tried to do it he’d decided Harry would probably be the easiest target and was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that not only had he not managed to get so far as reading anything from Harry’s mind, but he’d also been actually physically sick afterwards. He didn’t understand what was happening to him, he’d never had a problem using Legilimency before, and now suddenly, he found he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t bring himself to betray what little trust the Order members had actually placed in him.

He was confused. He was annoyed. And his arm had begun to bleed again, not as horrifically as before, but enough to ensure he had to change the bandages twice a day.

Another secret conversation seemed to be starting up in the kitchen. Angry with the world Draco stomped upstairs to bed, not caring that he had woken Mrs Black’s portrait, and after what seemed like hours fell into a fitful doze.

--------

It had been three days earlier when Hermione had rushed into the study where Harry was sitting looking more excited than she had since she’d discovered the location of the goblet Horcrux.

“Ron’s got it Harry!” she gasped breathlessly “It’s been right under our noses all along and we just couldn’t see it.”

“Got what? What’s going on?” Despite his confusion Harry could glean enough from Hermione’s expression to immediately snap his book shut and leap to his feet.

“Come on,” Hermione rushed out the door and into the kitchen leaving Harry no choice but to follow her if he wanted any further details. When he arrived he found Ron sitting at the table, looking rather red, but extremely pleased with himself.

“Tell him, Ron,” Hermione urged, flinging herself into the chair next to him.

“Well, um…” Ron trailed off looking rather embarrassed and Harry decided now would be a good time to sit down and actually try to get some answers.

“Ron’s just discovered the next Horcrux!” Hermione announced dramatically, unable to contain herself any longer.

“Really!?” Harry jerked in shock, having thought that Hermione and Ron had probably found out some information about the next Horcrux, but never suspecting that they had actually discovered it already. He leaned forward in anticipation.

“Well…” Ron cleared his throat hastily, “We haven’t actually discovered it yet. It’s just a theory, but we think it might be here in the house.”

“What!” This time Harry actually stood up in surprise, knocking over his chair, “Whereabouts? What do you mean?”

“Well I suppose Ron’s right, it is just a theory,” Harry’s reaction appeared to have jolted Hermione back in to her usual sensible and reasonable thinking. “It’s a good theory though, sit back down whilst we tell you and we can think about what we should do next.”

“Searching the house sounds like a good idea to me,” Harry muttered, ready to begin immediately. A look from Hermione though made him pick up his chair and sit back at the table, ready to listen. Ron, who seemed to have recovered from his embarrassment now that Hermione was acting more sanely, began to outline the theory.

“Hermione and I were just talking about the missing Horcrux, the one you should have found in that cave, you know…” The three shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to remember the horrible night of Dumbledore’s death. “I asked her what it might look like and as she was describing it to me I suddenly had a feeling I’d seen a locket like that before. Hermione of course thought I was just imagining it,” he paused to glare at her, a gesture that she tactfully ignored. “but it kept bothering me and suddenly it came to me!” He smacked his hand down on the table, causing Harry and Hermione to jump. “Remember when we cleaned out this house at the beginning of fifth year? We found that strange locket, the one we couldn’t open. That was heavy and engraved and it had that thick gold chain as well. I bet that was the Horcrux.”

Ron gazed around the table triumphantly and Harry began to feel doubtful. The locket might have been similar, but it wasn’t much evidence to go on; he was surprised at Hermione getting so excited over something so vague. He was about to say something when Hermione, seeing his look of uncertainty, interrupted him.

“Of course that’s not all we’re basing it on. I’m sure there’s lots of lockets out there that look the same as Salzar Slytherin’s, but when Ron mentioned it something made me think it might be worth investigating, so I got out that note you found with the necklace and that’s what made me realise he might just be on to something.” She pushed the note towards Harry, “Look who it’s signed by!” Harry gazed at it unseeingly. He didn’t need to look; he already knew that note was signed R.A.B. and he couldn’t quite see what this had to do with anything.

“Well?” Ron’s voice broke through his aimless stare and he looked up frowning.

“Don’t you see, Harry?” Hermione sounded exasperated, “R.A.B? Regulus Black, Sirius’s brother! We know he used to be a Death Eater so he could have known something about the Horcruxes and how to get at them. We also know that he betrayed the Death Eaters when he found out exactly how far they were willing to go and that they killed him for it. He must have known he was going to be killed, just like the person who wrote the note and he could easily have stolen the Horcrux and brought it here to hide it.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to get excited. “Of course, why didn’t we think of it earlier? Where is the locket? We need to find it right now!” He rose to his feet again, this time managing to save his chair from toppling only thanks to the reflexes he had relied on as a Seeker. At this Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

“Well, there might be a problem there,” Ron began.

“Yes,” interrupted Hermione, “You see I remember Sirius wanting to throw out the locket, thinking it was some dark artefact belonging to his mother, but Mrs Weasley thought it might be quite valuable and insisted it was kept. She put it into a cabinet in the dining room, but when we went to check the locket wasn’t there.”

“Kreacher,” said Harry after a moment’s pause, during which he calmed down considerably. “I bet he took it and hid it away.”

“We thought of that mate,” said Ron gloomily, “We checked all the hiding places he had but it wasn’t in any of them.”

“Maybe he hid it somewhere else then,” said Harry, drawing his wand determinedly. “Kreacher!!”

There was a bang, and some smoke and then Kreacher appeared next to the sink looking slightly confused. It had after all been over a year since Harry seen him, and even longer since he had been in his old Mistress’s house.

“Silent and still, Kreacher,” Harry commanded, remembering past experiences with the house-elf and trying to pre-empt any disturbing behaviour. Kreacher finally realised what was happening and gave him a sour look, but thankfully was forced to obey.

“Where did you hide the locket that used to be in this house, Kreacher?” Harry asked. Kreacher remained stubbornly silent, glaring at him nastily from the other side of the table. It took Harry a moment to realise that Kreacher was taking his command about being silent to the extreme, just to annoy him.

“You may talk to answer my questions, Kreacher,” Harry snapped “Now where’s the locket?”

“Kreacher doesn’t know about any locket,” said the house-elf sulkily. “I’ve never hidden one. It’s not Kreacher’s fault if you’ve lost one.”

“Have you ever seen a locket in the house? It would be made of gold and be big and heavy.” Harry’s patience, never at it’s best around Kreacher, was already wearing thin.

“Mistress never had a locket like that. What would she want a big gold locket for? Mistress had taste and class,” Kreacher sniffed, shooting a nasty look at Ron who didn’t seem to be able to contain a snort of laughter at that statement.

“So you’re saying you’ve never even seen one in the house?” Harry persisted.

Kreacher crossed his arms and shook his head sullenly.

“Look, Kreacher,” Harry shouted, his patience finally running out, “We’ve seen this locket in the house before. We know it was here so don’t even try to lie to us. Tell us where you’ve hidden it, or where it is right now!”

“Kreacher doesn’t know anything about a stupid gold locket,” Kreacher whined, “Mistress never had one, Kreacher would have known. Kreacher would have hidden away something so precious from Master if there had been one, but Kreacher has never seen one. That stupid man who used to come here had one, one of Master’s dirty friends. Thieving man stole Mistress’s precious heirlooms but Kreacher managed to hide some of them away. He had a locket, why don’t you go and ask him about it.”

Exasperated Harry pointed his wand at Kreacher, wondering whether the house-elf was after all telling the truth and had somehow never seen the locket, but at the same time letting his frustration and rage get the better of him.

“Wait, Harry,” Hermione’s voice made him stop in the middle of wondering whether it was actually legal to use a spell to harm a house-elf, and he glanced over at her. “You should tell Kreacher to go back to the kitchens. He obviously knows nothing about the locket and I think I’ve just worked something out.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed, reluctant to let the house-elf go without learning of the locket’s whereabouts, but trusting Hermione’s intelligence. “Kreacher you are to return to your duties in Hogwart’s kitchen and you will not tell anybody about the conversation we have just had. Do you understand?”

Kreacher nodded resentfully, then vanished with a sudden crack.

“What is it, Hermione?” Harry asked wearily, sitting back down at the table and hoping it was something good.

“What Kreacher said… about the man who used to come here who had a locket,” Hermione began thoughtfully, “I didn’t understand who he meant, until he said that he stole things. Who do we know who used to come here who got caught stealing from the house?”

“Mundungus Fletcher!” Ron cried, smacking the table again and making them jump for the second time.

“Exactly,” nodded Hermione, when they had regained some composure, “Kreacher said he had a locket. What if it was the locket Mrs Weasley put in the cabinet in the dining room? If it didn’t belong to Mrs Black Kreacher wouldn’t have recognised it and so would have assumed Mundungus had brought it with him. But what if he didn’t? What if it was the locket we’re looking for? What if Regulus stole the Horcrux from Voldemort, hid it in this house, we found it and Mundungus stole it from us?”

There was silence round the table as all three digested this information and thought about what it meant. Eventually Ron spoke.

“So if Mundungus stole it, and it’s no longer here… Where is it now?”

“I think I know,” said Harry after a few moments. He had been wondering this and had suddenly remembered something he had seen in the Pensieve about the locket and how Voldemort had got his hands on it in the first place. “I bet he sold it. I bet he sold to it Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley.”

--------

The next day a full meeting of the Order was held. Harry had filled Remus in on the details of their theory and he had immediately organised an undercover agent to find out if there was a locket matching the description of Salzar Slytherin’s on display at Borgin and Burkes. The reply had come through only a few hours later to say that there was such a locket and giving full details of where it was positioned in the shop. That was the easy bit. Now they had to decide how the locket would be retrieved.

It was decided, after much argument, that the best course of action would be for a single person to enter using the Floo and attempt to retrieve the locket. If there were any problems they would be able to come back and enlist other members of the Order who would be standing at the ready. In addition to that if the person was away too long then several members of the Order would be ready to Floo to the shop to check that nothing had gone wrong.

There was then another argument about who should be the one to go into the shop first. It looked as if it might never be resolved until Harry had put his foot down and insisted that he go. Afterwards he was rather ashamed of the fact that he had completely lost his temper with everyone, including his two best friends, and had actually insisted that he would go himself, tonight, without backup, if they did not agree to his plan. Eventually everyone had reluctantly agreed that he could be the one to go, and he had apologised to Ron and Hermione after the meeting.

Something that Harry had not got his own way in, however, was the idea of telling Draco and Blaise what was happening. Everyone had been quite happy for Blaise to know, until someone had mentioned that he would almost certainly tell Draco. Nothing Harry, or Mrs Weasley, said in Draco’s defence would convince any of the older Order members that he could be trusted and it was decided that Draco must not be informed of any of the plans or discoveries they had made.

The guilt of hiding something so important from Draco made Harry rather snappy over the next day and a half. Hadn’t Draco been the one who had helped him retrieve the last Horcrux? Hadn’t Draco saved his life more than once that night? Hadn’t Draco been the one who had flown through his own immense pain over hundreds of miles to ensure the Horcrux arrived safely at Hogwarts? Hadn’t Draco betrayed his family and everything he ever knew by switching sides? Harry privately resolved to himself that if Draco asked, he would tell him. But Draco never asked, although Harry could tell by the way he sulked around the house that he was curious. It was perhaps rather lucky that most of his time was taken up with lessons from various Order members on how to break any Anti-Theft jinxes and curses that might have been placed on the locket; otherwise he would certainly have been tempted to reveal everything without even being asked.

The day after the meeting the Order members began to gather in the kitchen at around eight in the evening. There were fifteen altogether, including Harry, Hermione and Ron, who stood a little apart from the others as Hermione gave Harry some last minute advice on what to expect in the shop.

The minutes until 1am, the time that had been decided upon the day before, ticked by slowly. Some of the Order members dozed in various chairs, but Harry was too full of nervous energy and alternated his time between pacing nervously trying to remember the counter charms he had been learning and pouring over the plan of the shop, trying to memorise every corner and crevice in case something should go wrong and he needed somewhere to hide.

When there were just five minutes to go everyone moved into the study, which contained the only fireplace linked to the Floo network. Harry pulled on his invisibility cloak, leaving his head showing, which looked rather strange, but a lot less strange than forcing everyone to talk to seemingly empty space every time they wanted to say something to him.

Dead on one o’clock Hermione gave him one last hug and Ron slapped him on the shoulder with a bright “good luck, mate” which made Harry think of all the times he had done that just before Quidditch matches back at Hogwarts. Then Mrs Weasley was hugging him, instead of handing him the pot of Floo powder, which was what she was meant to be doing, and then he was finally standing in the empty fireplace, listening to a chorus of last minute advice, before he released the powder and felt the familiar tug behind his navel.

He landed in the rather dirty fireplace of Borgin and Burkes and stepped out into the pitch black room, contemplating whether he dared to light his wand.

--------

Draco was having a vivid dream. Not a nightmare, for those haunted him only when he felt he was alone and tonight he knew Blaise was just a few short meters away in the other bed. This was a different sort of dream. The sort where you feel sure you must be awake, until something so strange happens you know it must be a dream and the shock of it wakes you up. Usually Draco loved dreams like this. He would try to replay them in his head afterwards, to hold onto the streams of unconscious thought as they slipped away into the abyss that all our dreams fall into once they have run through our heads.

Tonight though, when he awoke suddenly he made no attempt to save any of the silvery strands. His mind was relaxed and open and he felt the weight of anxiety pressing up into his consciousness from below so hard it almost made him gasp for breath. He snapped his mind shut quickly, and, relieved of the huge weight of apprehension, his brain whirled into action. It was clear that in the rooms below him a lot of people were very worried about something. A feeling like the one he had just experienced could only happen when an awful lot of people got together and focussed their minds and emotions on the same thing. It didn’t take much brainpower to work out that whatever those secret meetings had been about was happening now and that whatever it was must be something big from the fact that it could generate so much feeling.

Diving into the mind of someone below him was easy this time. If people were worried, it meant there was some danger and Draco would have bet quite a lot that it was Harry who was slap bang in the middle of the danger.

What Draco saw about the plans however frightened him much more than anything he had suspected. Harry had walked into the middle of Borgin and Burkes to steal a locket, which was supposedly a Horcrux, and it seemed that he had little idea of just how tight the security was in that shop. It seemed in fact, that even the Order members had little idea of just what he was facing. They had prepared him to face standard Anti-Theft jinxes and maybe a few of the dark ones, but Draco knew there would be others there. Others that they didn’t even know about, much less had the counter-curses for. Borgin was in a league of his own when it came to nasty little curses to stop potential thieves; some of them were his own private curses that no one else in the wizarding world knew about. Draco had often heard him boast of them to his father, and now Harry was about to walk into them without even knowing they were there. What were the Order thinking of letting him go in there alone?

Without even stopping to think Draco pulled on his clothes, grabbed his wand and rushed down the stairs. It wasn’t until he reached the bottom and was standing next to the covered portrait of Mrs Black that he stopped, suddenly realising he was lucky not to have woken her. He also realised something else. The only fireplace in the house connected to the Floo network was currently being guarded by goodness knows how many Order members, none of whom were likely to listen to his information and who certainly would not let him go after Harry.

He made his decision quickly, and quietly opened the door and slipped out. Halfway down the garden path he realised that this was the first time in weeks that he had actually been outside and he relished the feeling of the slight breeze that plucked at his hair. He didn’t have time to truly appreciate the fresh air though, instead as soon as he reached the pavement he Disapparated. A few of the Order members heard him go. It was the last thing he gleaned from their minds before the Apparition took him too far away to feel their thoughts.

His destination was a shop on Diagon Alley - no one there really bothered with Anti-Apparition charms – and from there he Flooed to Borgin and Burkes.

When he arrived the first thing he saw was Harry, standing in front of the locket, with his lit wand raised in front of him. As Draco stepped out of the grate Harry whirled round frowning.

“You’re a bit early aren’t…. What are you doing here!?” Harry’s voice was loud enough to make Draco flinch uncomfortably. He hoped Borgin was a deep sleeper.

“Shhhh!” Draco hissed, “I came to find you. I came to warn you.”

“Warn me?” repeated Harry slightly doubtfully, “What of?”

“The locket. You can’t just take it. There’s all sorts of Anti-Theft curses on everything in this shop.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” snapped Harry impatiently, raising one eyebrow, “Don’t tell me you came all the way here just to tell me that. Don’t you think I’ve been practising how to break them? How did you find out I was here anyway?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Draco dismissed the latter question with a wave of his hand. “Look, I don’t mean normal curses. I mean different ones. Curses that Borgin made up himself. Curses that no one knows about.”

“Right…” Harry paused, “How do you know about them then?”

“He used to tell my father about them. He was always so pleased when he invented a new one.” Draco explained. “Look, it doesn’t matter anyway, what matters is that if you try to cast any of those counter charms you’ve learnt I don’t even want to know what would happen. Something horrific probably.”

“Right, and you’ve got a better idea have you?” Harry was now standing with his arms crossed, Draco noticed. Clearly his information was not being well received.

“You’ll have to find out from Borgin himself what the curses are and how to break them.” Draco crossed his arms as well, matching Harry defensive gesture.

“And how do you propose I do that then?”

“I don’t know.” Draco threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Use Veritaserum or Legilimency or something. Look, I came here to help you. I’ve probably just saved you from a horrible death and all you do is act like I’m causing you some huge problem. I could have stayed in bed you know and let you end up as a small runny puddle on the floor. It’s no skin off my nose.” He shifted uncomfortably as he made that last statement, rather more aware than he wanted to be that it was a complete lie. The thought of Harry as a small puddle of goo would have seemed very appealing a year ago, but now Draco couldn’t really imagine anything worse. To lose the one person who’d shown him such trust and such acceptance after everything that had happened would be more awful than anything he could imagine.

“All right, I’m sorry.” Harry sighed and ran his hand though his hair. Draco found himself watching the way the light from the wand danced though the strands as they slipped though Harry’s fingers. There was something….

Fear. There was fear. It seared into Draco’s mind like a fiery arrow through ice, momentarily disconcerting him, making him feel the fear as if it was his own. He took a shaky breath, and reasserted his defences, closing his mind down, but also opening it up to the thoughts of the one who felt the fear. It was Borgin and he was coming down the stairs.

Without offering any explanation Draco grabbed at Harry and pulled him into the shadows before he could resist.

“Someone’s coming, put out your wand,” he hissed quietly.

“My cloak!” Harry darted away from Draco before he could stop him and Draco saw him retrieve a bundle of silvery material from the floor. A moment later he was back, pulling the cloak over them both and Draco realised it was Harry’s infamous invisibility cloak, that he had previously hated Harry for having, but was now extremely glad of. The door handle at the back of the shop turned and Draco knew there were just seconds before Borgin would be in the shop, checking the shadows for any hidden thieves. They might be invisible now, but if Borgin walked into them they would still have some awkward explaining to do – assuming he gave them time to do any explaining and didn’t just kill them outright.

“In here,” Draco whispered, propelling Harry backwards into a nearby alcove in the wall. It was a only a narrow space, but they both managed to fit in by turning sideways, and it wasn’t until they were squashed into it that Draco realised he’d just got him and Harry into what was possibly the most embarrassing position they could be in.

--------

Harry suddenly found himself, without warning, and without enough time to protest, pressed from head to foot against Draco Malfoy. It was awkward, actually it was beyond awkward, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it until Borgin had satisfied himself that there was no one in his shop. Actually he could just give himself up to the man. That would get him out of this position straight away, and part of Harry entertained the idea as more appealing than spending an unspecified length of time this close to Draco.

A different part of him, however, found that he was quite enjoying being pressed up against Draco’s thin, muscular frame, and quite enjoying feeling Draco’s hot breath on his ear, or tickling the hairs on the back of his neck whenever he turned his head to look over at Borgin. The fact that most of that bit was below his waist was rather worrying to Harry and he tried to concentrate on their predicament and the awful things that might happen if they were discovered. He stared so hard at Borgin, who was making steady progress around the shop, peering into all the dark corners with his wand raised, that Harry was sure he would feel the force of the glare and discover their hiding place even under the invisibility cloak.

Draco shifted slightly against him and Harry felt his cock twitch as Draco’s leg moved against it. He squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment and tried to think about something as unsexy as possible, hoping that Draco hadn’t noticed. Whether he had or hadn’t Harry couldn’t tell, but now he could feel silky strands of Draco’s hair caressing his cheek. He wanted to lift his hand and brush them back behind Draco’s ear, but he couldn’t move in the cramped space and he reflected that this was probably a good thing. Such a gesture would probably be very suggestive and right now Harry was trying desperately not to think of anything too suggestive.

The light of Borgin’s wand came nearer and Harry felt Draco holding his breath. He did the same, squeezing his eyes shut again, this time in suspense, as the light passed over them and moved on to the rest of the shop. He let his breath out slowly and silently, feeling Draco follow suit, and he wriggled slightly, noticing pins and needles beginning in his left leg.

“Keep still.” The voice in his ear was barely there, and Draco’s mouth was so close to his ear he could feel his lips moving as they formed the words. Harry wanted to pull away. He wasn’t sure he liked the way the thought of Draco’s lips so close to his skin sent shivers down his spine, and he certainly didn’t like the way the feel of Draco’s body against his was making him hot, sweaty and uncomfortably hard. He could have put the first two down to being crammed into a small space, completely covered by a cloak, but the way his cock twitched every time Draco moved so much as an inch was harder to ignore. Harry was rather glad that the darkness of the shop meant Draco couldn’t see the blush that was spreading over his entire face, and possibly, Harry felt, over his entire body.

Trying to ignore the way his pants were growing uncomfortably tight, and hoping that somehow Draco wouldn’t notice, Harry turned his head and watched Borgin standing in the middle of the shop, casting a last glance around to check everything was as it should be. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to be in this awkward position much longer Harry turned his head back towards Draco and found himself looking into stormy grey eyes that were just inches from his own.

There was a split second where Harry wasn’t quite sure where he was or what was happening and then he realised Draco’s lips were brushing over his own, so gently and unexpectedly that he wondered if he had imagined the touch.

Draco’s lips were soft and warm and suddenly Harry felt weak at the knees. As Draco pulled away he couldn’t help the slight whimper that escaped his lips, and only just caught himself before the desire to lunge forward and capture those lips again took over. Then as abruptly as they had gone, the lips were back again, gliding over his own, kissing him hesitantly at first, then with more certainty as Harry reacted, leaning into the warmth and responding eagerly.

He was vaguely aware of the sound of a door closing in the back of the shop, and somewhere part of his brain registered that Borgin had gone, and that he could move away now, out of this tiny cramped space. But a much bigger part of his brain had let his body take over, and his body wanted to stay where it was, wanted to press itself up against Draco’s slender form and carry on kissing him forever.

One of his hands came up to brush the hair away from Draco’s face and the other snaked down to his waist, pulling him closer, forcing their hips to grind together. This time it was Draco’s turn to whimper against Harry’s lips as white-hot streaks of pure pleasure shot through their bodies. There was a moment when Harry thought maybe he was in control of the kiss, and then Draco somehow managed to manoeuvre them out of the alcove and push Harry against the wall, pinning him in place with passionate kisses. He briefly registered that the invisibility cloak was now tangled around his legs, but then Draco’s tongue swiped along his lower lip and he forgot everything else and concentrated on the kiss.

His mind was a blur; all he could register was how good it felt to have soft warm lips caressing his own, how good it felt to be pressed against the wall, completely at the mercy of the body holding him in place, how good it felt to be kissing Draco.

Kissing Draco.

Actually that was a problem. This was Draco. Draco was a Malfoy. Draco was an ex-Death Eater. Draco was a guy.

Shit.

Reality suddenly hit Harry’s brain like a tidal wave and he pushed Draco away without really thinking about what he was doing.

“I can’t, I mean…” Harry found himself embarrassingly gulping for air to feed his racing heart. A heart that was only racing because he had been kissing Draco.

“What are you doing?” he finally managed to gasp out.

Draco stared at him, seemingly lost for words and Harry groaned, realising too late that he had just asked the most ridiculous question possible. His head swirled with so many thoughts there just wasn’t room for them all in his mind, and he certainly couldn’t separate one from the other.

“I have to go, I have to get out of here,” he murmured, more to himself than Draco. He attempted to rush towards the fireplace but was hampered by the cloak wrapped around his legs. Feeling the beginnings of embarrassed anger rising up inside he barely noticed what he was doing as he ripped the cloak off his legs and flung himself at the hearth.

Behind him, Draco, who had up to now been simply standing looking vaguely annoyed, grabbed the cloak and followed Harry to the fireplace.

“Harry. I…”

“Don’t Draco, just don’t,” Harry spat, not even bothering to turn round. He grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and stepped into the fireplace. As he twisted back towards the room and prepared to release the powder he was suddenly aware that Draco had vanished. The fact, whilst striking him as odd, didn’t really raise any other thought in him other than a feeling of relief that Draco had disappeared. He felt vaguely detached from the situation now he wasn’t in Draco’s presence. It wasn’t until he said the name of his destination that he realised where Draco had gone. The familiar tug behind his navel was matched by a much more unfamiliar tug to his belt.

Luckily the Order members waiting for him at Grimmauld Place didn’t seem to notice that there was another, much lighter thud after he landed in the grate, almost like an echo of his own arrival. Nor did anyone question his lack of invisibility cloak. He wasn’t sure whether they noticed, and he determinedly kept talking about how he had almost been caught and about how he had somehow ‘sensed’ that there were Anti-Theft jinxes they didn’t know about on the locket, to prevent anyone questioning him about its whereabouts.

When he went up to bed over an hour later it was lying neatly folded on his trunk.

He picked it up and found it smelt of Draco. It ended up in an angry ball on the other side of the room, but two hours later, when Harry found he could not sleep, he got up and retrieved it. It didn’t help him sleep, but he felt a bit better with it near him.

--------------------------

Continue:
Chapter 10: Fools Rush In

Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: Close Your Mind
Chapter 2: No Going Back
Chapter 3: Wrapped in Flames
Chapter 4: Language of Magic
Chapter 5: If I Had Learnt A Little Better
Chapter 6: Some Things Are Just Coincidence
Chapter 7: Just An Empty Shell
Chapter 8: Somewhere I Lost Myself

Mind Games - Chapter 8

2006-11-27T15:37:29Z

We'll Always Have Paris

2006-09-03T21:41:42Z

Title: We'll Always Have Paris
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash!
Beta: The wonderful candy_marie_55, who has patiently put up with me moaning about the difficulties of writing sex scenes XD
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: Time passes and things change. Sometimes we just need to forgive and forget in order to move on.
Author's notes: This is a short fic set after Voldemort's defeat, and takes place in Paris. There are a few French words, which I have translated at the end of the story, although I think most of them are self explanatory. Enjoy!

We’ll Always Have Paris

“Fais attention!”

“Excusez-moi.”

Harry bent down to help the woman retrieve her bags, whilst attempting to keep one eye on the figure he was following. It was a hopeless task though, for even as he strained to see past the woman’s body, the man was swallowed up by the crowds. Cursing under his breath Harry returned his attention to the woman who had now launched into a torrent of French, possibly about his clumsiness, Harry couldn’t tell.

“Er…” he said helpfully when the woman finally came to a stop. Having pretty much exhausted his stock of relevant French words he fished around for something to say. “Anglais?” He tried eventually when nothing sprung to mind. The woman subjected him to an icy glare and departed huffily.

Rather relieved Harry hurried down the street in the direction the man had been heading, hoping he would be able to catch up with him further along. It didn’t help that Harry wasn’t actually sure who the man was. The glimpse of silver blonde hair had triggered something in his memory, it belonged to a person he hadn’t seen or thought about for a very long time, and Harry was determined to satisfy his curiosity by finding out who this man was.

The crowded Paris streets weren’t really the ideal place for following someone, and in fact this was not the first time Harry had seen, and then lost, the figure in this area. More like the third time.

Cursing again Harry was about to give up when a flash of blonde hair across the street caught his attention. He turned to follow it and for the second time that day walked into someone.

“Excus….” The figure started to apologise, but then trailed off. Harry just stood there lost for words as he realised this was the man he had been following, the man he had spent the last three days trying to find. After a temporary pause to get over the shock, his brain whirled into action. At close quarters the thin, angular features of the face seemed even more familiar and although it was difficult to identify someone whose eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, Harry felt sure that the man’s name was right on the tip of his tongue. Before he could speak the man, who had been looking at him with the same amazement, seemed to recover.

“Potter!” There was no mistaking that clipped, aristocratic accent and as the man pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, Harry already knew what colour his eyes were going to be.

“Malfoy!” Silver grey eyes met his own emerald ones and suddenly Harry felt like the world around him had gone into slow motion, or perhaps sped up until he couldn’t tell the difference. People streaming past them were little more than blurs of colour, the sounds of cars and chatter of pedestrians were now little more than a hum in the background. There was just him, and his childhood sparring partner.

Only when someone bumped against Harry, almost sending him flying into Malfoy, was the spell broken.

“Long time no see, Potter.” Malfoy drawled, as Harry’s brain decided this was the time to note that Malfoy was dressed in Muggle clothes, in the middle of a Muggle shopping district, leaving him with no choice but to carry on gawping idiotically at the figure in front of him.

Eventually Harry’s brain kicked back into action and he tried to come up with something suitable to say.

“Er… yes,” was all he could manage, causing Malfoy to raise one platinum blonde eyebrow.

“Well nice as this little chat has been, I’ve got things to do Potter, so if you’ll excuse me…” Malfoy turned to leave and too late Harry realised there were lots of things he wanted to say.

“Wait Malfoy! Wait….” He trailed off as he realised Malfoy was nowhere in sight.

********

Later that night Harry sat in his rented holiday apartment and reflected on what had happened. Never in a million years had he suspected that the elusive blonde figure he’d spent days trying to identify was Draco Malfoy. Considering he hadn’t seen Malfoy since the night of Dumbledore’s death six years ago this was hardly surprising. Malfoy had disappeared along with his mother, and everyone had thought them dead or so deeply in hiding it wasn’t worth looking for them. As it was, with Horcruxes to find and Voldemort to defeat, Harry had not had too much time to worry about the Malfoys’ whereabouts, and indeed when nothing had been heard of them for over a year he had… not forgotten, exactly, but locked all his memories of Draco away in some remote corner of his brain, so that he didn’t have to think about him anymore.

Now, over a year after Voldemort’s demise, when Harry was, at Hermione’s insistence, spending a relaxing month living away from everything that reminded him of the war, and everyone who wanted to worship him as a hero, Malfoy had turned up to set those memories free.

Strangely, when he thought of the figure he had seen today in the street he felt no malice, nor any need for vengeance. A few years ago he would have quite happily hexed Malfoy to oblivion and had him thrown into Azkaban along with his father, but now he just felt curiosity and an odd sense of loss. What had Malfoy been doing all these years? Why was he in Paris? And strangest of all, why was he openly embracing Muggle culture, wearing their clothes and shopping in their boutiques?

Whoever this Malfoy was, he clearly wasn’t the same person who had Apparated out of Harry’s life on that fateful night so many years ago. Sure he still seemed calm, collected, confident to the point of arrogance, and, judging by the wristwatch Harry had glimpsed, very rich; but there was something else there that was different. Malfoy seemed… relaxed? Happy? They weren’t words Harry would usually associate with the-boy-who-had-made-his-life-as-miserable-as-possible, but something about Malfoy had changed and Harry was determined to find out more.

********

The next day Harry found himself wandering around the same shopping district, hoping to catch a glimpse of the familiar blonde hair. He had spent most of the morning sitting in various cafés, alternately drinking coffee, which he didn’t much care for, and tea, which didn’t taste anything like the tea back home, whilst keeping an eye on the throngs of people who passed by his table.

After a light lunch in one of the cafés he decided that a more proactive approach was necessary and began walking systematically up and down the streets, focusing particularly on two streets which radiated off a kind of central plaza, both of which he had followed Malfoy down at various points in the last few days.

By around 7pm however, Harry was ready to give up, and returned to the central plaza wondering whether he should eat out or attempt to cook something in his apartment’s tiny kitchen. Deciding on the latter he began to make one last careful scrutiny of the plaza, desperate to make sure he hadn’t missed the familiar flash of blonde.

“Looking for someone?” Harry gave a rather undignified leap and whirled round as a familiar voice drawled in his ear.

“Malfoy!” he exclaimed, noting that the man was once again wearing sunglasses, which effectively hid any emotion his eyes might be betraying. Did he know Harry had been looking for him? Feeling embarrassed, and rather unsure how to explain himself, Harry said the first thing that came into his head. “Erm I was looking for somewhere to have dinner.”

“Really?” Malfoy’s lips curved into a delighted smirk, and Harry began to feel a little worried, especially since all he could see when he looked into Malfoy’s face was his own eyes reflected in shiny black lenses. As if sensing his unease, Malfoy pushed the sunglasses up into his hair, making the blonde locks muss rather attractively, and Harry suddenly felt inexplicable butterflies in his stomach. He couldn’t be thinking that Malfoy was good looking could he?

Silver grey eyes that were softer and warmer than Harry ever remembered them being, pale skin that only showed the slightest hint that its owner was living in a warm country at the height of summer, open collared shirt that showed the barest glimpse of skin and sunglasses perched boldly on top of his blonde head. Harry actually had to admit that Malfoy was very good looking indeed, and from what he’d just said it seemed that Malfoy was asking him out.

“What?” he spluttered, unsure quite how to take Malfoy’s announcement that “he knew a place that served excellent food and would be happy to show him.”

“For goodness sake Potter. I said, I can recommend a good place to eat dinner, do you want me to show you or not?” His voice was drawling and exasperated, a sentiment that was not reflected in his eyes, which shone with vague amusement and something else Harry couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Ok,” he found himself agreeing, a decision that seemed to have bypassed all rational thought processes. Had he just accepted an offer of help from Draco Malfoy? And come to that had Draco Malfoy just offered to help him, Harry Potter? Damn, things really had changed.

“This way then.” Malfoy suddenly plunged off into the crowd and Harry’s legs decided to follow without consulting his brain first. This was madness! This was insanity! But then again, this wasn’t the same Draco Malfoy Harry had known six years ago.

They came to a halt outside an elegant looking restaurant overlooking the plaza and Harry suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. This wasn’t the sort of place he would have chosen to eat if he was by himself, it was far too expensive, far too sophisticated and he certainly wasn’t dressed for the experience. It was also extremely busy.

Draco though didn’t seem phased by the small clutch of people waiting around the entrance; instead he waltzed past, with Harry trailing along behind smiling apologetically at the queuing patrons. Then, before Harry could really understand what was going on, he found himself seated at a small table being handed a menu, whilst Draco, sitting opposite, chatted genially in French with the maître de.

It was odd, Harry thought, now Draco was speaking French, you would have been hard pressed to tell he had lived in Britain all his life. Gone was the aristocratic British accent, replaced by French that sounded as if it was being spoken with… well, with a French accent. Harry wondered vaguely if there was such a thing as an aristocratic French accent. If there was, he would bet that Draco spoke with one.

He glanced down at the menu and found it was all in French, which he couldn’t read it at all, so he occupied himself by gazing round the restaurant. It was tastefully decorated and filled with sophisticated looking people, all dressed smartly and all speaking perfect French. Harry felt rather out of place and with a twisted sort of smile he realised that this place was very Draco.

“Nice place isn’t it?” Malfoy’s voice, now the height of British refinement, brought Harry’s attention back to his unlikely dining companion.

“Er, yes, very… nice.” Harry finished lamely, unable to think what to say when he expected the manager to emerge any moment to tell him that he was far too scruffy to be allowed in a place like this and could he please leave.

Malfoy gave him a strange sort of smile, as if this was the answer he had expected, but was rather relieved that it hadn’t been anything else. Harry was just about to reflect on whether he had ever seen Malfoy smile so nicely and what his opinions were about this new turn of events when he was interrupted again.

“So what are you having?” Harry rolled his eyes and gestured towards the menu.

“You think I can read French?” Malfoy smirked, indicating that no, he didn’t, but he’s just wanted to ensure Harry had to admit to it for himself.

“That’s no problem, I’ll just order for you.” Without giving Harry time to argue he summoned a waiter, seemingly from thin air, and proceeded to order at great length, in French. Harry didn’t understand a word he said, and hoped that he wasn’t ordering him something awful like snails or frogs’ legs. That would be typical of Malfoy he thought, order him something nasty and then laugh at his lack of sophistication.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t ordered you anything awful.”

Harry wondered if Draco could read his thoughts, and, unsure whether to believe him, could only offer a wan smile in return. The waiter returned with wine and Harry watched silently as Draco tasted and accepted it. He wasn’t a huge fan of wine, but didn’t object when the waiter filled his glass, and when he tasted it himself he had to admit it wasn’t bad at all.

“So what brings you to Paris?” Malfoy had sat back in his chair and was regarding Harry with a mixture of curiosity and something Harry couldn’t quite place.

“Holiday,” he replied shortly, and when Malfoy seemed to be waiting for him to elaborate he continued, “You know, just to get away from things back home. Hermione thought it would be a good idea.”

Something new flitted across Malfoy’s expression at Hermione’s name, another emotion Harry couldn’t place. The nearest he could get was pain, but that wasn’t quite right.

“How long are you planning on staying?” The expression was gone, replaced by a look of vague interest.

“Dunno, a month maybe, I’ve been here a couple of weeks already.”

“Enjoying Paris?”

“Well it’s ok, I guess.” Harry knew he didn’t sound very enthusiastic, but having covered all the main Parisian tourist attractions within the first few days he had been at a bit of a loss as to what to do recently. Hence he had spent the last few days chasing round after a mysterious blonde that turned out to be Malfoy.

Malfoy smirked, and seemed about to make some sort of cutting remark when he was prevented by the arrival of the starter. It turned out to be onion soup and fresh crusty bread, something that Harry had eaten many times at the Weasleys’, and he gave an inward sigh of relief that at least he would not be embarrassing himself by enquiring what one dish was this evening.

“Merci,” he said as the waiter placed his bowl down and he glanced up to find Malfoy looking at him, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“So you do know some French.”

Harry laughed. “About five words, and a few phrases that Hermione drummed into my head before I left.”

“Not entirely useless then.”

Unsure if he was referring to him or Hermione, Harry declined to reply and instead started on his soup. The course was eaten in comparable silence, except for the odd “pass the butter” or “would you like some more wine?” and Harry felt it was beginning to wear rather thin by the time the dishes were removed.

Malfoy now leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his chin resting gently on his clasped hands. He looked like he was about to say something and for some reason that gave Harry the courage to cut him off before he even started with a question of his own.

“So how long have you been here?” he blurted out. Tact, after all, was never his strong point. For a moment Malfoy looked surprised, but he quickly collected himself.

“In Paris? About four years. In France? About six.” Harry blinked slightly, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“So you mean… I mean… you were…”

“Yes Harry, I was right across the Channel all along.” He was smirking again, as if this was something that caused him great amusement. Harry though was too busy worrying about the fact that Malfoy had just called him by his first name. He had a strong urge to check out the window for pigs flying by, in accordance with the famous Muggle phrase, but restrained himself and instead just gaped at Malfoy open mouthed.

“You look like you’re trying to catch flies, Harry.” Malfoy now looked even more amused. “You aren’t going to object to me calling you Harry are you, only as we seem to be eating dinner together I thought it would only be polite if we were on a first name basis.”

“Er right, yes, fine.” Harry snapped his mouth shut and searched for something else to say.

“So what did you do?” Then he realised that this might be a bit personal, after all he wasn’t sure he wanted Malfoy asking him what he’d been up to for the past six years, so he tried to backtrack. “…if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I lived with my mother in the South of France. We moved around a lot, it was a bit…” He wrinkled his nose in a way that indicated his unspoken word rather clearly. Common. “After almost two years I couldn’t stand it any longer, I refused to carry on living like that. Not knowing who I was or where I belonged. So I came to Paris, found somewhere to live and got a job. Yes, a job Harry, I could hardly live on fresh air could I?” He rolled his eyes at Harry’s incredulous gaze and continued. “Anyway, you know me, I’m not that good at following orders from other people, so I quit after a while, and then...” He leaned forward conspiratorially as if about to reveal a huge secret. “I opened a restaurant.”

Harry nearly spat out his wine, and in fact had to cough quiet a few times before he was in any fit state to respond. Draco sat back and watched, looking rather pleased with himself. When Harry had regained his composure he leaned forward and ran his hand through his hair.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “This place is just so… well, so you!” Draco looked even more pleased and grinned rather amiably as the waiter arrived with the main course.

It was some sort of fish, in some sort of sauce, served with vegetables. That much Harry could tell and since it tasted all right he didn’t bother to enquire as to what it was. Draco seemed satisfied when he said he liked it but offered no follow up clues as to what they were consuming so Harry had to be content.

Whether it was the wine, or something else, Harry felt himself relaxing in Draco’s presence and actually found himself chatting away about what he had seen in Paris so far. Draco even gave him a few pointers as to lesser known places that he should visit whilst he was here, and by the time the main course was finished Harry was beginning to think that he might actually have something to do with himself for at least part of the rest of his holiday.

They were interrupted shortly after the dishes had been removed by a young couple who approached and greeted Draco. He obviously recognised them, for he got to his feet with an easy grace and kissed them both on both cheeks. Harry felt something twitch inside him at this simple display of affection, and before he could stop himself he found he was admiring Draco’s lithe figure and slender fingers that cradled his wine glass in a way that was just so sophisticated and strangely attractive.

He cleared his throat, more to hide his confusion at these thoughts than anything, but it seemed to remind Draco of his presence and he immediately introduced him to the couple. The switches between English and French were effortless for Draco, and Harry was once again amazed by the complete change his entire accent seemed to go through every time he switched. The couple laughed after the introduction and said something to Draco that brought a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. Harry had never seen Draco blush like that before and was still wondering what had brought on this strange new occurrence when the couple said goodbye and departed. Draco sat back down and obviously noticed Harry’s strange look, for he immediately spoke.

“They have never heard me speak English before, they thought my accent was very strange.” Harry nodded, but thought that such a simple observation would not have made the Draco he used to know blush, he suspected there had been more said than that, but unwilling to disturb the easy peace, didn’t press for more information.

The waiter returned and there was another exchange in rapid French that Harry couldn’t follow. He was getting rather tired of being in the dark all the time and was half beginning to wish he’d gone with Ron’s suggestion of holidaying in Blackpool. At least there he would have been able to understand what was going on. Then again Draco wouldn’t have been in Blackpool so this situation would never have occurred. To his surprise Harry was unsure if that would have been such a good thing after all.

“What did you order?” Harry asked after the waiter had departed.

“Dessert,” Draco replied with a wicked smirk. “Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”

Harry was a little unsure how to respond to this and instead drank some more wine. He probably shouldn’t have another glass he realised; he was already beginning to feel slightly light headed.

“So…” he began as he put down his glass, before realising he had absolutely nothing to follow up that comment with. He fished quickly and could find no neutral topic, so settled on the first thing that came to mind. “Is your mother living in Paris too?”

“No.” For a moment Draco looked wistful and when he spoke again his voice was softer. “She died.” Harry’s eyes widened.

“Oh… I’m so sorry. How… I mean….” He trailed off, realising that Draco might not want to talk about it and thinking it would be impolite to press for details.

“It’s ok.” Draco actually smiled gently. “It was a long time ago.”

Harry nodded and was trying to think of a way to change the topic when Draco did it for him by turning the conversation to Harry’s own life. To his surprise Harry found himself talking in detail about what he had been doing in the year since he had defeated Voldemort – mostly that he had been working for the Ministry as an Auror, but was actually thinking of quitting since he’d had quite enough of it and was seriously considering becoming a professional Quidditch player.

Somewhere in the middle of all this the desserts arrived; they were thick and creamy and Draco told Harry what they were called, but for the life of him Harry could not remember afterwards. They were delicious though, and they were followed by proper English tea, which Draco admitted everyone thought he was mad for liking.

Harry wasn’t sure who Draco was referring to by ‘everyone’, and wondered if it was the people who worked for him, or his friends. It was an odd concept, Draco having friends who he considered equals, but Harry remembered the couple he had seen earlier and knew that however strange it was to him, it clearly was no longer strange to Draco.

********

By the end of the meal, anyone who had passed by their table and taken note would have thought Harry and Draco were just two old friends catching up over dinner. They were smiling and chatting, even sharing the odd joke, and Harry felt like their past was drifting further and further away.

It came back to him though when they had drunk the last of their tea and found themselves outside in the warm evening air. It was late now; the sun was beginning to set, although the plaza was still busy. Harry wondered what happened now, but luckily Malfoy answered that question for him.

“Come on. There is something everyone who comes to Paris should see.” Harry frowned in confusion, wondering what Malfoy was referring to. His head was feeling slightly muzzy from all the wine he had drunk, and he wasn’t sure whether he should follow Malfoy, or make some excuse to go back to his flat. He was suddenly unsure about everything that had happened tonight, and he wondered vaguely whether he would wake up tomorrow to find this had all been a dream. Perhaps he hadn’t even come to Paris at all; perhaps he’d wake up in his London flat; perhaps….

He’d run out of thoughts and having got no nearer to thinking up an excuse to leave, indicated that he would go with Malfoy. Immediately Malfoy set off across the plaza and Harry had to trot to catch up, feeling too full of food for this much exertion.

“Slow down!” Malfoy simply pulled a face, and carried on at the same pace. Harry settled into a quick stride and just managed to keep up as he hurried through the streets. At first Harry thought maybe Malfoy was taking him to the Eiffel Tower, something that he had seen lit up on his first night there, having been informed that it was well worth seeing. He had been impressed, although not enough to wish to see it again; he suspected it was more awe-inspiring when you had someone special to share it with. After all Paris was supposed to be the most romantic city in the world.

Without warning Malfoy turned down a side street, one with far fewer people and to Harry’s relief slowed down.

“I hate walking through those touristy areas,” he informed Harry. “Too many people gawping at stuff just because it’s in another language.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, and suddenly Draco looked at him and smiled.

“I guess tolerance was never my strong point.” Harry couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped his throat and in that moment he felt that he didn’t care if Draco was taking him halfway across Paris, it would be worth it just to see something Draco thought was good.

********

As it turned out Harry did feel like they’d walked halfway across Paris by the time they reached their destination. They were far away from the tourist areas now and standing on a long footbridge that spanned the width of the Seine River, it had taken them so long that the sky ahead was already getting dark.

“Turn round.” Draco’s voice was soft, and for the first time Harry realised that the noise and traffic of Paris was little more than a distant hum in the background. Obediently turning in the direction Draco indicated Harry looked up and felt his breath catch in his throat.

He had never seen anything quite so beautiful in his entire life. He walked up to the low handrail that ran along the edge of the bridge and rested his arms on the top. After a moment he felt Draco move to stand next to him and together they watched the sun set over the river, a magnificent display of natural beauty, bathing the Parisian skyline in an unearthly red and orange glow.

How long they stood there Harry didn’t know, but when at last the sun slipped over the horizon he found he was stiff from standing in one position so long.

“…Amazing,” he breathed, when at last he felt he could speak. Next to him Draco nodded and stretched.

“Come on, I better show you the way back.” He moved slowly away from the edge and seemed about to set off.

“Draco.” Harry’s voice was soft and clear in the still night air and Draco turned back to face him. There was something Harry felt he needed to express to Draco, something he couldn’t quite find the words for.

“Thank you.”

Draco nodded and turned to lead the way back, but not before Harry saw the hint of a smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

********

They took the tube train back to the ‘tourist area’ as Draco termed it, and Harry was pretty sure that at one point he dozed off on the way back. When they stepped back out into the fresh, cool evening air though he felt refreshed and awake.

“So where are you staying?” Draco asked, and for a moment Harry wondered why on earth Draco would even want to know, before he looked round and realised they were still in an area that looked completely unfamiliar to him and had no clue how to get back himself.

He gave Draco the street name, thankful that the effects of the wine appeared to be wearing off and he could now think more clearly. As they wandered back through the dimly lit streets Harry got the distinct impression that Draco wanted to say something, but wasn’t quite sure how to begin. He also noticed for the first time that Draco’s sunglasses were no longer perched on his head, now he thought about it, he’d probably taken them off the second they got in the restaurant, but where they’d gone since then Harry had no idea. One advantage of owning the restaurant, he realised, was that Draco could leave his personal possessions scattered around and they’d just be returned to him at a later date.

“I am sorry you know.” Harry was startled out of his thoughts by Draco’s sudden, if quiet outburst. Collecting his thoughts, he tried to work out what Draco was talking about and wondered if there had been information before this that he had missed. Sorry for what? His confusion obviously showed on his face, for Draco twisted his hands together awkwardly as he walked and tried again.

“For that night. For what happened. I couldn’t do it and I was awfully sorry for what I had done. That’s why I left and didn’t come back.” Something in Harry’s brain switched on and he realised what Draco was talking about, and why the man before him was now gazing at him with an almost wretched expression, as if the one thing he needed was forgiveness.

Harry searched his feelings and found that if he had ever needed to forgive Draco for what had happened that night, he had done it a long time ago… a long time ago when he realised that Draco wasn’t coming back, that Draco had simply vanished, run away from Voldemort and the killing and the nightmare that was those dark days. If there was anything he needed to forgive Draco for, it was for leaving a fight that he could not leave himself.

“I’m sorry for leaving.” Draco’s eyes met his and in that moment Harry felt something inside of him let go. Voldemort was gone; it didn’t matter anymore. He could lead a normal life, a life like the one Draco had been living, only without the burden of guilt that he had clearly been carrying all this time. Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and smiled gently.

“It’s ok Draco,” he said softly. “It really is ok.”

********

They didn’t talk much the rest of the way back after that, each of them was busy with their own thoughts, and when they finally came to a halt Harry was surprised to find they were already back at his flat.

“Do you want to come in?” The words were out of his mouth before he had even thought about them, and realising how they must sound added rather lamely, “I have tea.”

To his relief Draco smiled and nodded, and followed Harry up the stairs to his second floor flat. At the door Harry paused to take off his shoes and Draco gave him a strange look.

“There was a list of conditions of renting the flat and one of them was no shoes on the carpets,” Harry shrugged. Draco rolled his eyes, but proceeded to remove his own footwear as Harry went to make some tea. When he returned a few minutes later holding two mugs he found Draco gazing politely at some of the pictures on the walls.

“Have a seat,” he urged, handing Draco his tea and gesturing towards the sofa. He sat himself down at one end, wondering what on earth they were going to talk about now, and watched as Draco sat elegantly at the opposite end, sipping his tea politely.

“Nice flat,” he commented after a few moment of silence. Harry nodded, and relieved to have something to talk about quickly thought up some additional comment he could make on the subject.

“Yes I was lucky to get it really. Hermione had been on at me for ages to take a holiday and it was kind of a last minute decision. She managed to get it through one of her family’s friends.”

“Why?” It was an unexpected question and for a moment Harry was alarmed since he had no idea what Draco was referring to until he elaborated. “I mean why was she so insistent about you taking a holiday?”

“Oh,” Harry sighed. “She was worried about me I think. She said I wasn’t myself and I guess I was acting like a bit of an arse.” He frowned as he remembered his behaviour over the past year. Here in Paris it all seemed so long ago, but really it was little more than two weeks since he had been back at home, flying off the handle at every little thing, refusing to talk about anything that had happened, and generally being moody.

“A bit of an arse?” Draco seemed rather amused by this concept; his silver eyes gleamed in the moonlight pouring through the windows.

“Yeah, well. She said I needed a break. Needed to get away from things for a while.” He gave a rather ironic smile. “She was right of course, I wasn’t sure at first but now I think coming to Paris was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

Harry hadn’t really meant that to sound quite as loaded with meaning as it had done and he felt his cheeks starting to colour as he checked Draco’s reaction. There was something that briefly flickered across Draco’s face, a kind of hope, as if Harry’s words meant something different to him than they did to Harry, but the expression was quickly gone and Draco changed the topic.

“So did she marry Weasley?” There was now the barest hint of a smile playing around Draco’s lips as he looked at Harry.

Harry blinked, quickly realising that Draco had switched back to Hermione and wondering how he had worked that one out, since Hermione and Ron definitely hadn’t been together when Draco disappeared. That had taken them another year. “Yeah,” he answered after a moment, smiling at the remembrance of the wedding day, which had been a brief oasis of calm and happiness amidst the dreadful task they were undertaking.

“What about you then? You were with that Weasley girl weren’t you?” Draco twisted to face Harry, curling up his legs and leaning one arm on the back of the sofa, as if this was a point he was particularly interested in. Harry tried to ignore the fact that he had just referred to Ginny as “that Weasley girl” and tried to keep his reply neutral.

“Not anymore. We just kind of… fizzled out.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “So you’re not married then? No one on the scene? You must have girls throwing themselves at you. Surely they all want to cosy up to The Great Harry Potter.”

“Yeah. I mean no. I mean, they do, sometimes, but I’m not interested.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and Harry felt the conversation was becoming a little too personal, but couldn’t think of a way out of it. He squirmed under Draco’s penetrating gaze and felt something inside of him snap. He wouldn’t give Draco the satisfaction of figuring it out for himself, so he blurted it out:

“Oh for heaven’s sake Draco, I’m gay!” Almost at once Harry regretted revealing something so private, but Draco didn’t seem to be worried, and in fact his lips curved into a casual smile.

“Well, since you come to mention it… so am I.” Their gazes locked and there was one moment where Harry felt it should be illegal for anyone to look at someone in the way Draco was looking at him right now. Then suddenly they were kissing.

Harry didn’t know if it was he who had moved towards Draco or Draco who had moved towards him, but that didn’t worry him right now. All that mattered was the feel of Draco’s lips, warm and soft against his own; and then his hand was in Draco’s hair and Draco’s arms were round his back and they were arching together, each pulling the other closer as they lost themselves in the kiss.

Only when Draco’s tongue swiped across his lower lip did Harry come to his senses and realise just who he was kissing. Gasping for air he pulled back and found himself staring into Draco’s eyes. The silver grey orbs were alight with something Harry had never seen in them before: there was passion and fire in those eyes, and hunger, a hunger that Harry knew must be mirrored in his own.

His brain made one last attempt to intervene. This was Draco Malfoy, the boy who had wasted no opportunity to make Harry’s life a misery at Hogwarts, the boy who had nearly become a Death Eater. Only nearly, though. Harry didn’t know where that last thought had come from and right now he didn’t care. Whatever else Draco was, he was gorgeous and tonight he had been perfect.

Harry closed his eyes and once again pressed his lips to Draco’s. The kiss this time was more measured, more sensuous, and Harry brought one hand up to Draco’s jaw line, curling his fingers in the soft hair around Draco’s neck.

Draco responded by latching one arm round Harry’s neck and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. This time when Harry felt his tongue probing at his lower lip he didn’t pull away; instead he parted his lips and darted his own tongue out to meet Draco’s. There was a sharp intake of breath, Harry couldn’t be sure if it was his own or Draco’s, and their tongues were gliding together, stroking, tasting, caressing; dancing around each other as if they had been doing this all their lives.

Groaning, Harry pressed deeper into the kiss, sending them tumbling backwards so Draco was pinned beneath him, breathing hard and looking more flushed than Harry had ever seen him. Harry met his eyes and was a little disturbed by the wicked gleam there, but then Draco thrust his hips upwards, pressing his own semi-erect cock into Harry’s and all thoughts fled from Harry’s mind.

Something like wildfire surged through Harry, and suddenly they were groaning, grinding up against each other, frantically tugging at each other’s clothes. With a thud they fell off the couch and onto the floor, and Draco, his shirt half undone, flashed his most wicked grin.

“Do you happen to have a bedroom around here, Potter?” he drawled, rising smoothly to his feet. Nodding, and trying to catch his breath, Harry stood up somewhat more shakily, and began to walk towards the bedroom door.

Away from Draco’s touch, embarrassment started to set in, and he felt his cheeks start to burn. What was he doing? What was he thinking? He never got any further because at that moment Draco caught his wrist, whirled him round and slammed him back against the door.

“Mmpff…” the noise of protest died in Harry’s throat as those soft lips met his own in an intense kiss. Harry’s head was spinning, his heart was racing, he couldn’t think, because Draco was pressed up against his entire body, and those lips were now tracing a line down his throat, past his collarbone, licking and kissing and sucking, and Harry felt his legs start to give way, just as Draco found the door handle, and they stumbled into the bedroom with Draco’s lips never leaving his skin.

As his legs came up against the bed, Harry had the presence of mind to catch himself before he fell backwards and half lent, half sat on the bed as Draco’s hands came up to join his lips and began working on removing Harry’s clothes. Delicate fingers danced over his bare skin and spurred Harry into action. He wanted more, he wanted to feel Draco’s body pressed up against his own with no barriers separating them. He made short work of the rest of Draco’s shirt buttons and trousers, then reached out and ran his palms up the smooth skin of Draco’s chest.

As they reached Draco’s neck Harry felt something cold and hard under his fingers. It was a silver chain and he ran it through his fingers looking for the catch, noticing that it held a delicate silver dragon with tiny green emerald eyes. “How Slytherin,” he thought, unclasping the necklace and setting it on the bedside table, Draco’s eyes following his every move.

Harry’s hands resumed their journey across Draco’s body, fingers running over his collarbone, then tracing down his spine all the way to the bottom before pulling him forwards so that Harry could capture one flushed nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirled round the hardening bud, before travelling upwards to flick along Draco’s collarbone and up his neck towards his jawline.

“Merlin, Harry.” A soft voice just by his ear and Harry grinned in delight, knowing that Draco was enjoying this just as much as he was. Carefully he adjusted his balance on the bed, then hooked his legs round Draco’s waist, dragging him towards him until their hips ground together, eliciting gasps and moans from them both.

Harry lent forward to capture Draco’s lips in another forceful kiss, and the other man’s hands once again tangled through his hair before gliding down his back, setting off tingles of pleasure everywhere they touched.

“Draco,” Harry whined into his mouth, pushing his hips hard against Draco’s erection. A bit too hard apparently, for Draco lost his balance, tumbling down onto the bed on top of Harry. Now Draco was groaning, pressing down onto Harry, covering every piece of skin he could reach with hard, open-mouthed kisses and Harry was pressing up into him, running his hands over Draco’s skin, wanting to touch him everywhere at once, yet knowing that it would never be enough.

“Please, Draco,” he moaned, not even caring that he was the first to beg. From the way Draco was looking at him though it didn’t matter. His stormy eyes dragged over Harry’s body, and then suddenly he was gone. A moment later Harry gasped, and his hips bucked as he felt Draco’s mouth wrap itself round his cock. His tongue swirled around the head, then trailed down to his balls and Harry knew that if he opened his eyes he’d see that deliciously wicked grin playing over Draco’s features. As Draco lowered his head taking more of him into his mouth, Harry felt something hard and wet slide inside him; his breath hitched and there was a moment’s pause before Draco continued, adding a second finger and carefully working them in and out, in time with the movements of his mouth.

The motion was still slow and deliberate – teasing almost – and it wasn’t long before Harry began to squirm impatiently, wanting, and needing, something more. He tangled his hands in Draco’s hair, pushing his head down and bringing his hips upwards, even as he heard himself gasp: “Fuck Draco, more…. please, more.”

With a sharp tug Draco pulled away, and then he was back up near Harry’s face, planting soft kisses along his jaw line. “Got any lube?” he murmured between kisses, and Harry gestured vaguely in the direction of the bedside drawers.

As Draco went to retrieve it Harry pulled himself further onto the bed, making sure he was comfortable, and after a few moments Draco was back, straddling him and grinning wickedly again. Harry knew what was expected of him, and by now he was too far gone to feel any embarrassment. He wanted this so badly - wanted to feel Draco inside of him - he needed it now.

He hooked his legs around Draco’s back and felt the other man’s hands on his hips, guiding him into position. He felt Draco pressing against his entrance for a moment and then he was slipping inside, and despite the lube Harry threw back his head and gasped in pain as he felt himself being stretched. Draco stopped pushing and Harry glanced at him; his eyes were closed and his expression was unreadable. Not wanting to consider what Draco might be thinking, Harry closed his eyes and pushed forwards, this time taking Draco’s whole length inside him.

A sharp intake of breath made Harry open his eyes, Draco’s expression had changed to one of pure pleasure as he pulled out almost completely and then slowly pushed back inside, moaning in ecstasy as he did so. Harry matched his movement, thrusting forwards each time Draco pushed in, feeling the waves of pleasure building inside him. Even as he did so though, he looked up at Draco and felt something clench in his stomach. Draco had his eyes closed and seemed to be lost in pleasure, and even though Harry told himself it didn’t really matter he couldn’t help thinking, he looks like could be fucking anyone right now, you just happened to be convenient.

Draco’s eyes snapped open suddenly as he thrust in and silver grey eyes met his own. “Fuck, Harry,” he gasped, leaning down and placing a rather messy kiss on his lips before dropping his head down so their cheeks were touching. “Fuck that’s good,” he groaned again as Harry, suddenly feeling that Draco was reacting like this because it was him and no one else, started to thrust harder against him.

And then they were moving so fast Harry could hardly breath, and Draco was fucking him hard, too hard, but Harry didn’t care because the pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure, only enhanced by the part of his brain screaming what the hell? You’re getting fucked by Draco Malfoy! And Draco was saying his name over and over, and he heard his own voice crying out, “fuck, Draco”; “that’s so good”; “right there, harder Draco”. And then he was falling over the edge, coming harder than he’d ever done in his life, and the world was exploding behind his eyelids. As it did he felt his muscles tighten around Draco’s cock, and then Draco was coming inside of him, and their hips were still moving as they rode out their ecstasy. Then it was over and Harry tumbled down onto the bed, breathing hard.

After a pause Draco pulled himself out of Harry and fell down on the bed next to him. Harry twisted, looking over at him with bleary eyes, and felt his breath constrict in his throat.

Draco was beautiful.

Lying there looking flushed and happy, his skin still slick with sweat and his hair all mused, Draco was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. The moonlight from the window caught silver grey eyes, making them appear iridescent as he turned to look back at Harry.

There was a moment when Harry felt the beginnings of a vague sort of shyness, but then Draco smiled, and it was the most honest smile Harry had ever seen grace his lips. Without really meaning to he reached out and pushed some of Draco’s hair away from his jaw; to his surprise Draco actually closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into Harry’s caress. Then with a quiet hum of contentment, that Harry wasn’t quite sure whether he’d imagined or not, Draco pushed himself across the bed into Harry’s arms. Surprised, Harry wrapped his arms around the suddenly vulnerable figure now pressed up against him, noticing for the first time how thin and fragile Draco felt when he let his guard down.

Lazily he stroked gentle circles over Draco’s back, relishing the openness and honesty, imprinting on his mind the feel of Draco’s skin and the way his body fit so snugly around Harry’s own. He knew, without feeling any animosity, and with only a passing moment of regret, that Draco would be gone in the morning; but for now he placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and tightened his arms around the sleeping figure before drifting off to sleep himself.

********

When he awoke in the morning Draco was gone, just like Harry had expected. He rose feeling strangely serene, and went to shower. When he came back he noticed something silver lying in a heap on his bedside cabinet. It turned out to be Draco’s dragon necklace. He held it up for a moment, admiring the way the light sparkled on the dragon’s emerald eyes, before slipping it over his head with a wistful smile.

Then he packed his belongings and went home.

****************************

So what did you think? Comments are much loved XD

Rough translations of the French:

Fais attention! - Watch out!
Excusez-moi - Sorry/Excuse me
Anglais? - English?
Merci - Thank you

Mind Games

2006-08-06T22:07:14Z

I originally posted chapter 7 as a private entry a few days ago. I've now revised it and made it public and I brought the date on it forward to try and get it to show up on the friend lists of people who have friended me to keep up with updates. However I'm not sure if it has work so I'm posting this to let you all know.

Chapter 7 is up and you can find it here!

Mind Games - Chapter 7

2006-07-31T21:15:35Z

Title: Mind Games
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash in later chapters.
Beta: The fabulous candy_marie_55!
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: You can't close down your mind forever.
Author's notes: Set almost directly after the events of the sixth book. See below for links to additional chapters. This chapter introduces Blaise as a character. I know in the book he is described as black and I also know some people still like to think of him however they did before book six was published. I've tried to write this in such a way that you can imagine him however you like, although in my head for this story he is white, with longish black hair.
Sorry this one has taken so long everyone! The next chapter will be much quicker :)

Just An Empty Shell

For the second time in as many days Draco awakened in the hospital wing. This time though, he didn’t need to look round to work out where he was; he remembered the events of yesterday only too clearly.

Whilst he had been under the effects of Veritaserum Moody had asked him a question he really didn’t want to answer, and he had managed to use Occlumency to throw off the effects of the potion. It was a difficult thing to do, and he would have felt rather proud of his achievement if he hadn’t understood the consequences of what he had done. All the testimony he had given under Veritaserum would now come under scrutiny; no one would believe that he had only started using Occlumency at the last minute and anyone who had previously trusted him would almost certainly have changed their minds now.

He wondered briefly whether Potter still believed him, or if he thought he had been lying all along as well. He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed that thought to the back of his mind. The idea that Harry no longer trusted him didn’t bear thinking about. It was ironic really that after all the years of arguments and hatred he had found himself pinning all his hopes on the idea that Harry would still trust him.

Groaning, Draco buried his head in his pillow. He just couldn’t face getting up and having everyone glare at him like he was about to betray them any moment. He knew though that at some point he would have to get out of bed and he briefly contemplated whether it was better to get up voluntarily now or have someone come and force him to get up later. Just as he decided on the former, he was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

He rolled over in bed to see Harry quietly shutting the door behind him and he hurriedly sat up and ran his fingers through his hair; after all it was bad enough being in a hospital bed, there was no need to look a mess as well. Seeing he was awake, Harry strolled over and took a seat by the bed.

“How’s your arm?” he asked.

“Fine,” Draco replied a little stiffly. He found he was rather unsure how to act after what had happened yesterday. Harry though seemed unfazed and with an unexpected rush of joy Draco realised that Harry still trusted him and that the events of yesterday hadn’t affected the way he was treating him.

“You’ve been asleep for ages, about 20 hours,” he informed him. Draco had already suspected it was a day later than when he had collapsed and wasn’t really surprised by this news. “After you... um, you know… I spoke to the others,” Harry shifted uncomfortably, as if the memory caused him great embarrassment. “I told them you were trustworthy and that you had been telling the truth. I think most of them have decided to believe you and those that don’t, well….” Harry shrugged and Draco gazed at him rather stupidly for a second. He felt he should probably say something, express at least some of the immense gratitude he felt towards Harry at that moment, but the strange new bubble of joy that had risen in his throat prevented him from speaking.

“We’re not staying at Hogwarts,” Harry continued quickly when Draco made no response. “It’s not safe enough here, especially not for you. We’re moving to the headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix.”

Draco had the distinct impression from the way Harry had lowered his voice that this was an important piece of information and one that perhaps some of the others might not have wanted to share with him. Of course he knew what The Order was, all Death Eaters did, but he hadn’t really given much though to the fact that it might have a headquarters and that he might actually have to go there, until now.

“Where is it?” was the only question he could think of to ask, it was a stupid one he realised as soon as it left his mouth, but it was too late then to take it back.

“I can’t tell you, I’m not the secret keeper.” Harry replied, shaking his head. “We can’t go yet anyway, we have to wait for someone to arrive.” This last piece of information was imparted with a suppressed smile and Draco knew he was supposed to ask who. For a moment he considered not rising to the bait, after all pleasing Harry Potter wasn’t exactly high on his agenda, but eventually his curiosity got the better of him. The reply was worth it.

“Blaise Zabini.”

“Blaise?” Draco echoed, knowing that his face was displaying a very un-Malfoy like surprise. “Why?”

“He wants to help.” Harry replied simply. Draco was silent for a while whilst he thought about this. It was odd he thought that Blaise was coming out in favour of one side, he and his family had always remained rather neutral, protected from being singled out as blood traitors by his mother’s status, the fact that they were Slytherins, and their friendship with several Death Eater families. Even when his sister had married a half blood no one had said anything much, after all that was when Voldemort had long been defeated and the family status was enough to ensure the comments were kept to a minimum. In fact, if it wasn’t for that, Draco would have actually had Blaise down as someone rather likely to turn Death Eater; the fact that he had gone for the complete opposite was rather surprising and Draco knew there must be a good reason. He tried to formulate a way to ask what it was without seeming too obvious; after all he didn’t want Harry to think he was questioning his friend’s loyalties. Before he could speak though Harry sprung another question on him.

“Did you know his older sister?”

“Yes, is she helping too?” replied Draco rather surprised at the question. “She was a nice girl, she married a half blood… I mean not that it matters… but...” He trailed off and looked apologetically at Harry, who didn’t say anything, he seemed to have something more important on his mind.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this but…” Harry looked away as if unsure what to say and Draco’s eyes widened; he already knew what was coming next. “She and her husband were found murdered in their home about a week ago, had you not heard?”

Draco shook his head dumbly, wondering how he had missed that piece of news. Of course, she would have changed her name after she got married and he had never known what her married name was. If someone had mentioned it he wouldn’t have associated the name with Blaise’s sister. To his horror he suddenly felt tears spring to his eyes. Cara had always been kind to him; she had let him and Blaise borrow her broomstick when they were younger and had often taken them to Diagon Alley in the summer holidays.

He turned away from Harry, blinking furiously. He couldn’t let Harry see him cry, it wasn’t like him to cry at all. He seemed to be getting very emotional recently; perhaps it was just the shock. Yes, that must be it, he decided, his mind was having to cope with so many changes all at once and it was just a bit shocked, that’s why he was feeling emotional. All he had to do was pull himself together.

After a moment he turned back to Harry, who had wisely remained silent as Draco struggled with his tears, but who now continued.

“After she was murdered Blaise contacted us. His mother is going into hiding somewhere but he wants to help capture those who did it. He’s coming to Hogwarts at the end of the week and when he arrives we’ll be leaving for the Headquarters.”

“Blaise is coming here?” Draco’s eyes lit up suddenly as Harry nodded. “We used to be great friends when I was younger. Then after… Well you know… My father banned me from seeing him in the holidays, didn’t really work though.” Draco smirked suddenly, as he remembered how he had defied his father on that one and managed not to get caught.

“Right….” said Harry rather lamely, and Draco realised too late that Harry would have no idea what he was talking about and was rather glad when Harry chose to ignore the information rather than ask follow-up questions. Draco really didn’t feel like discussing his life right now. “I think Madam Pomfrey is going to insist on you having your lunch in bed, but straight afterwards you should get up. You can wear my clothes again.” Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought of putting on anything other than freshly washed clothes and Harry rolled his eyes “You only wore them for an hour yesterday, I’m not giving you anymore. We’ll have to arrange to get you some more later, I don’t know how since you can’t exactly go shopping but we’ll think of something.”

“Anyway I’ll see you later,” Harry finished suddenly, getting up quickly and heading for the door. Draco just had time for a vague “yeah” before Harry had disappeared, and Draco was left listening to the sound of his receding footsteps.

Draco was rather glad he had gone; conversations with Potter still felt extremely strange and he often felt like he was steering a rather rickety ship through rough seas that at any moment might throw up a wave big enough to capsize the entire vessel. The information Harry had given him was not unwelcome though, and he found himself looking forward to Blaise’s arrival. At the moment he felt rather alone; he was no longer a Death Eater, but he also wasn’t part of The Order; he was somewhere in the middle and no one trusted him. Well apart from maybe Potter, but even then there was no friendship - true, he had got on surprisingly well with Harry on several occasions in the last few days, but Harry had his own friends and he didn’t need Draco. Of course, Draco told himself he didn’t want Harry’s friendship, he didn’t want the friendship of anyone here, but that didn’t stop him feeling like he was alone. At least when Blaise arrived he would have someone to talk to, an equal who wouldn’t look down on him as some sort of traitor.

He ate the lunch Madam Pomfrey brought to him in silence, then pulled on Harry’s clothes and retired to the Slytherin common room. He had a lot of thinking to do and he was glad he still had a familiar place to do it in. He settled on his usual spot near the currently empty fireplace and tried not to sulk too much.

---------

Over the next few days Harry didn’t see much of Draco. He appeared at mealtimes in the Great Hall, still wearing Harry’s clothes, looking even paler than usual and always bearing the same closed off expression. He spoke only when spoken to and never once made eye contact with anyone. Mrs Weasley with her motherly nature thought he was probably missing his mother and regretted that he could not see her anymore. Others however were not so kind. Moody thought that Draco was regretting his change of heart and wished himself back with the Death Eaters. Hermione believed he thought their conversation was beneath him as they were not pure-blooded and Ron merely put it down to the fact that Malfoy was a ‘pompous twat’. Harry though thought there might be something else to Draco’s silence; that Draco might actually be feeling like an outcast who didn’t belong. He had made several efforts to strike up a conversation with him at dinnertime, but hampered by Draco’s monosyllabic answers he eventually gave up and began to agree with Ron.

He couldn’t understand what was going on; he and Malfoy had actually been getting along for a while, they had worked together without killing each other and had actually managed to have conversations that were quite friendly. But now Malfoy had closed off and although he wasn’t throwing insults like he used to, Harry wasn’t sure it was an improvement, at least insults would have been evidence that Malfoy was still in there. At the moment Harry felt like he was looking at an empty walking shell of his former enemy.

As the days until Blaise’s arrival dragged by, Hermione frequently complained that Draco was spending a lot of time in the library reading. Harry could see nothing wrong with this, but Hermione said she felt like he was watching her all the time and started bringing her books to the common room to read instead.

It wasn’t until Friday that Draco finally broke his silence, and it was only by chance that Harry knew he had spoken at all. Tonks had announced at breakfast that she was going to Diagon Alley and that she would be willing to purchase anything anyone wanted. Hermione had immediately produced a large list of books she wanted to help her research the elusive R.A.B. and find out more about the protection that might be used round the Horcruxes, and Mrs Weasley had asked her to buy some new wool for jumpers she was knitting. Harry hadn’t asked her to buy anything, but after breakfast had realised he could do with a new cloak and had hurried to the Entrance Hall to catch Tonks before she left.

He was just about to step into the Entrance Hall when he realised that Tonks was already talking to someone. Draco Malfoy seemed to be almost pleading with her about something and she was listening, arms crossed and stony faced, occasionally shaking her head. Harry strained to hear what was going on, but they were too far away and he had to be content with watching and wishing he had some of Fred and George’s Extendable Ears on him. Eventually Tonks nodded and Harry saw Draco take something from round his neck and hand it to her with a look of gratitude. Harry was so busy wondering what it was that he didn’t notice Draco had disappeared and Tonks was heading towards the door; with a shout he rushed towards her and asked about the cloak. He considered asking what Draco had wanted, but thought better of it. Whatever it was couldn’t have been bad or Tonks would have refused to help, but he did wonder what it was Draco had given her. It had looked like something on a chain, but whatever it was had been too small for Harry to see. As he made his way back to the common room a few minutes later Harry wondered how he could find out.

--------

The next day Draco was absent from breakfast, but Harry didn’t have time to dwell too much on why as he wolfed down his bacon. They were making the journey to Grimmauld Place by Portkey in just one hour, and as usual he and Ron had left their packing till the last minute.

It was a rather flushed and flustered Harry who finally dragged his trunk down to the Entrance Hall minutes before it was time to leave. Hermione tutted as he and Ron let their heavy trunks thunk to the floor, then jerked her head at someone over Harry’s shoulder. He turned to look and for a moment didn’t register what he was seeing. Draco Malfoy was standing; arms folded, casually looking as though nothing unusual was going on.

Harry realised that his jaw was hanging open and quickly shut it before turning away to try and digest what he had seen. Draco had apparently got Tonks to buy him some new clothes. New Muggle clothes. Black jeans, black t-shirt and jacket, black cloak draped over what was clearly a new trunk. Of course that wasn’t what was so amazing; after all Harry had seen Draco wearing something similar the night they had got the Horcrux. What had floored Harry was what Draco was wearing on his feet. They were tall, black leather boots. At first they had reminded Harry of cowboy boots, but after a moment he realised that they weren’t, and that they were actually more like the sort of boots Dumbledore used to wear. Despite the fact that common convention told him only women should wear boots with heels, he had never thought they looked out of place on Dumbledore, and was now surprised to find that they actually looked quite good on Malfoy as well. He risked another look, but this time he caught Draco’s eye and was treated to a rather confident smirk. As he turned away the world suddenly seemed a much better place: it looked like Draco Malfoy was back.

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Draco smirked to himself as Potter turned away; obviously the new clothes had made quite an impression and since putting them on this morning Draco had to admit he was feeling a lot more like his old self. He was also beginning to realise that Potter actually found him quite attractive and in normal circumstances he might have spent a few minutes strutting around making him feel even more uncomfortable, however he was actually feeling rather nervous about seeing Blaise. He was pretty sure no one would have thought to inform him that Draco was now at Hogwarts and he wondered what his first reaction would be. Would he hate him for being part of the group that had murdered his sister? Or would everything just be like it used to be when they were at school together? He was fairly certain it would be the latter, but that didn’t stop the little niggle of doubt at the back of his mind, even if on the outside he looked calm and collected.

His musings were cut short by the sound of the huge front doors creaking open and moments later a tall boy with longish black hair came striding into sight. Professor McGonagall hurried forward to greet him along with some of the other Order members and Draco moved towards where Harry and his friends were standing waiting to be noticed.

----------

Harry felt himself tense as Malfoy stepped along side him, although he had no idea why. He shook himself a little and shook the hand Blaise offered in his direction, wondering how he would react when he spotted Draco.

When he finally did, his look of confusion was quickly replaced by a grin as Draco flashed him his trademark smirk.

“Draco!” exclaimed Blaise, recovering quickly and kissing Draco on each cheek. There were many raised eyebrows from the onlookers, but Draco just looked vaguely amused.

“Blaise,” he replied carefully, before any pretence at courteous detachment was dropped and the two began talking fast. Much to everyone’s surprise though they weren’t speaking English; Harry thought it sounded rather like French, a suspicion that was confirmed when they finally stopped long enough for Hermione to blurt out:

“I didn’t know you spoke French!”

For a moment Harry was sure he saw a look of panic flicker across Blaise’s face, Draco however, seemed unmoved.

“So you speak French?” he drawled at Hermione. “You understood what we were saying?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head frowning. “You speak too fast, I’m not that fluent. All I picked up was the word beautiful and a few…erm…” she blushed slightly “bad words.”

Draco grinned wickedly as Harry and Ron snickered at Hermione’s embarrassment “I think it’s probably a good job you’re not fluent in French if a few ‘bad words’ make you blush.” Draco drawled, making Harry wonder what he and Blaise could have been talking about that was so bad. “Now don’t we have somewhere to be?”

Harry shook his head as Draco and Blaise started another more hushed conversation; this was a complete turn around from the Draco who had been moping about the castle, barely saying a word all week. Harry wondered if it was an act; did he just want to save face in front of Blaise? Pretend everything was normal? Harry didn’t really have much time to think about it because Professor McGonagall was calling them all over to take hold of the Portkey that would transport them to Grimmauld Place.

They clustered round the book that was used as transport between Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place, Harry trying to ignore the fact that Draco was pressed up against him on one side but feeling almost as uncomfortable as he had in the fiery passage on the moor. A long slow minute ticked by, and Harry could feel himself getting distinctly hot and flustered when he felt the familiar jerk behind his navel, and a moment later found himself being flung onto the cold pavement outside the Order’s headquarters.

--------

Draco looked around as they landed on a stone pavement, outside what looked to him like an ordinary row of houses. A piece of parchment was thrust into his hand almost before he had time to think and he just had time to read the words “12 Grimmauld Place” before the note burst into flames.

Immediately a large, old looking house seemed to blossom in the space between two of the ordinary houses. It had the look of a house that had once been very grand, but had been left to become run down, before someone had tried to restore it and tidy up the outside.

Professor McGonagall hustled them all up the path and through the front door, warning them to be quiet. Draco got only the vaguest glimpse of the hall and stairs before he found himself in a large kitchen, with the door closed behind him and everyone chatting at once as if they had just been allowed to break a vow of silence.

“Thank goodness she didn’t wake up this time,” he heard Ron grumble. “I wish someone would find a way to get that portrait off the wall, it’s stupid having to tiptoe around just to stop that old hag from screaming.”

Draco was desperate to ask someone what Ron was talking about and why they had to be quiet in the hallway, but not liking anyone to think him ignorant of anything he held his tongue and hung back from the group as they gathered round the table to examine some scrolls.

There had been a few people in the kitchen already when they entered, other Order members Draco assumed, and after a while they noticed him and began throwing him some very curious looks. He had to admit he was rather relieved and more than a little grateful, when Harry suggested they all take their luggage up to their rooms.

The burst of questions about his presence began even before the door shut behind them and it took rather a lot of will power for Draco to pretend he hadn’t heard them and follow the others along the hall and up the stairs. As they passed a large curtain that seemed to be concealing part of the wall, Harry pointed and whispered, “she’s behind there, shhhh.” Draco wondered who ‘she’ was, but was no more inclined to ask now than he had been before and they climbed the stairs in silence.

At the top of the first flight of stairs the corridor branched off in both directions and Draco could see a number of doors leading to various rooms. Hermione seemed to know where she was going and immediately disappeared into one of the rooms on the left, whilst Ron and Harry held a brief whispered conversation, during which Draco and Blaise stood away from them, trying to look aloof as they inspected some of the portraits on the wall, one of which bore a striking resemblance to Draco’s mother.

Harry and Ron were apparently discussing which room to give them, for when their conversation ended Ron took his trunk into the nearest room on the right whilst Harry showed Draco and Blaise to a room further along the corridor. After giving brief instructions on how to get to the bathroom and informing them that he and Ron would be sleeping in the room next door, he disappeared.

“So,” Draco began when Harry had departed, “I never expected you to be joining in the fight on Potter’s side.”

Blaise, who was struggling with the fastenings on his trunk, raised his eyebrows at him “I could say the same to you.”

“Yeah well,” he sauntered over and with deft fingers released the fastenings on the trunk, before leaning nonchalantly against the wall, “things change.”

“Exactly.” Blaise nodded, half to himself, and began to open the trunk lid, but was stopped short by Draco’s boot pushing it closed and resting firmly on the top.

Draco stared down at the figure kneeling on the floor. They both knew what was about to happen, but they also knew there were certain things that had to be said first, certain games that had to be played. Those were the rules and they were never broken.

“Of course not everything changes,” he drawled, as Blaise straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off his robes.

“No, I suppose not.” Blaise concluded, moments before his mouth crashed against Draco’s and they were suddenly pulling at each other’s clothes. Urgently. Desperately. Draco reached up and swept his hands through Blaise’s hair. He hadn’t done this in a long time. Too long. He moaned against Blaise’s mouth, as the other man ran his hands over smooth skin.

He wanted to be in control. He always was. He wouldn’t let himself lose control now.

Within a moment he had managed to manoeuvre them round the abandoned trunk and they toppled onto the bed, with Blaise underneath. For a moment he looked down at the dark haired man below him and thought about saying something, but then Blaise’s hands were tugging at his t-shirt and there didn’t seem to be much point.

----------

It was almost two hours later, and lunch was being prepared, when Draco finally made his way back down to the kitchen.

“Where’ve you been?” Was the suspicious greeting he got from Moody, and Mrs Weasley gave him a strange look, almost as if she were disappointed in him.

“Unpacking,” Draco replied sullenly, refusing to meet the older man’s eyes. Moody was trying Legilimency on him again, but he had secrets in his head that he would allow no one to see. He thanked his lucky stars that Bellatrix had at least done one useful thing in her life when she taught him how to harness his unusual gift of Occlumency.

“Make yourself useful and peel those carrots.” Mrs Weasley was saying, and occupied as he was with glaring at Moody to let him know just what he thought of him trying to read his mind, Draco nearly missed the fact that this was directed at him. He looked at her blankly, knowing neither a spell, nor any other way of peeling carrots and she sighed.

“Use this,” she said, handing him what looked to Draco like a rather odd, chunky razor. He regarded it suspiciously, then realised exactly what he was being asked to do.

Manual labour? This was house elves’ work! He shouldn’t have to do petty tasks like peel carrots. He wasn’t about to lower himself to the level of Potter and his friends who were currently at the table, peeling potatoes.

“Go on, get started.” Mrs Weasley’s voice silenced the complaints he hadn’t even begun to voice and blankly he picked up a carrot and sneaked a sideways look at Potter to see exactly how he was supposed to use this strange tool he had been given. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but Mrs Weasley’s tone, whilst not harsh, had implied that there was no room for argument and Draco found himself steadily working his way through the pile of carrots. It wasn’t that hard a task once he got used to it, but it was rather boring, especially since Potter and his friends were completely ignoring him. He was rather relieved when Blaise turned up ten minutes later and was told to help him.

As they worked, Draco told him how he had come to be at Grimmauld Place at all. He spoke in French. Granger obviously understood parts of it, for she looked over once or twice as if she was listening, but Draco wasn’t worried. It was nothing she hadn’t heard before, and if there was anything he wanted to say he didn’t want her to know he switched to Latin as smoothly as if they were the same language. Granger had looked surprised first time he had done this; he supposed having Muggle parents she hadn’t got half the education she should have had.

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Harry was listening to Draco and Blaise’s conversation, not because he could tell what they were saying, for he couldn’t, but because there was something strangely compelling about the way Draco’s voice sounded when he was talking French. It was softer and lighter than his normal voice, usually he sounded like he was talking with a sneer even when he wasn’t - there was a constant condescending edge to his tone that disappeared when he spoke in French. Why he had even noticed this Harry didn’t know. It wasn’t like he wanted to make a habit out of listening to Draco’s voice, whether he was speaking French or English, but now he’d noticed it he didn’t seem to be able to stop listening.

He risked another glance over at Draco and immediately wished he hadn’t. Why did Draco look like he’d just been shagged? His clothes were rumpled, his hair was messy, his cheeks were flushed. Why did he look so gorgeous?

Harry clutched at the table for support and closed his eyes.

“I did not just think that,” he screamed inside his brain. “I don’t care what Draco looks like.” He tried to compose himself; Draco had not just been shagged and he was definitely not gorgeous. Where had that come from? He was beginning to feel like his thoughts weren’t under his control and he wondered briefly if Draco was inside his head again, playing games with his mind. But no, Hermione had said he would know if that was happening and be able to stop it. He was just feeling a bit run down, that was all; the stress of finding the Horcruxes was getting to him. Yes, that must be it, but all the same Draco had looked….

“You alright mate?” Ron’s voice cut short what Harry felt could have been another rather embarrassing thought. His eyes flew open and he realised his knuckles were white where he was gripping the table.

“Yes fine. Sorry, what were you saying?” He snatched up a potato and began to peel it vigorously, smiling brightly at everyone. Draco was looking at him strangely, but Harry kept his eyes firmly on the tabletop in front of him. Luckily Ron seemed convinced nothing major was wrong and began to talk about Bill’s wedding, meaning Harry only had to nod in agreement at the appropriate points to make everything look fine. He was greatly relieved when lunch was ready and he was able to take a seat at the table as far away from Draco as possible.

------

It was a noisy meal considering the number of people who squashed round the table. Apart from those who had come from Hogwarts there were already several Order members at the house who joined in the meal. Harry found himself relaxing again and joining in willingly with the laughter and jokes.

It was about halfway through the meal that it happened. Harry was just helping himself to more of Mrs Weasley’s delicious stew, whilst Ron ladled out more vegetable soup when there was a sudden outburst from Blaise at the other end of the table.

“I know I’m gorgeous Draco, but why are you staring at me like that?”

“Keep dreaming Blaise.” Draco retorted rolling his eyes “What have you done to your hair?”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“You look like a girl.” Draco snorted.

“You can talk. Look at your hands!”

Draco stretched out one hand in front of him and examined it, along with everyone else at the table. Blaise was right, his long thin fingers and carefully groomed nails, whilst obviously belonging to a male, did look distinctly feminine.

“See what I mean,” Blasie laughed, throwing a bread roll at Draco’s head, which he caught with Seeker’s reflexes. “You’re so gay.”

Silence. Even Ron paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Everyone seemed to be waiting for some sort of outburst of denial from Draco. None came.

“So are you,” he retorted throwing the bread roll back with a deft flick of his wrist. It hit Blaise right in the middle of the forehead before falling into his bowl, splattering him, and those around him, with vegetable soup. The look of surprise on Blaise’s face was so funny that everyone started laughing and the tense atmosphere was suddenly broken.

Everyone went back to eating, as Blaise fussed around trying to clean himself up. Harry, however, couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Draco and Blaise had both announced that they were gay and no one seemed the least bit bothered. He turned to Hermione in confusion; she was looking just as bewildered but shrugged as Harry met her eyes.

“Apparently it isn’t a big deal in the wizarding world,” she reasoned, raising her eyebrows. “I would never have though of Malfoy like that, although now I do think about it does seem kind of obvious.”

As she went back to her stew Harry turned to look at Draco who was now laughing as Blaise attempted to sponge down Tonks’ robes for her. He didn’t look feminine, which is how Harry had always assumed gay guys looked, but he did look well groomed. White blonde hair perfectly framing his pale face with its delicate features and silver grey eyes. Tight black t-shirt and jeans hugging his slightly-too-thin frame. Long slender fingers that pushed his silky smooth hair back from his face as his lips curved into that wicked looking smirk.

Harry shook his head suddenly and concentrated on his stew. What was he doing thinking about Malfoy like that again? What did it matter how Malfoy looked? All this talk of people being gay was getting to him, he decided; for the rest of the meal he kept his head down only looking up when someone spoke to him.

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After lunch Blaise went upstairs to write a letter to his mother to let her know he had arrived safely, leaving Draco alone in the kitchen with Mrs Weasley. Everyone else had gone to unpack or disappeared on various other tasks, but Draco had claimed he had already unpacked and he knew after the little revelations at lunch that if he let it be known he hadn’t people wouldn’t take long to put two and two together.

He sat at the table, resting his head in his hands and reflected on what had happened that morning. Potter was acting more and more strangely. First he had been friendly, then he had become more distant, which Draco knew was his fault, then when they had arrived Draco had thought he was going to start being friendly again, but instead he now just seemed to be avoiding him. It was odd, and although Draco told himself he didn’t need Potter’s friendship, especially now Blaise had arrived, and had almost convinced himself he didn’t want it, he still didn’t like the idea of Harry ignoring him completely. He had refused to look at him all the way through lunch, and had gone off afterwards with his friends, not even glancing up when he walked right in front of him. Draco was just beginning to get himself worked up for a good rant to himself about who on earth Potter thought he was that made him high and mighty enough to ignore him, when he was interrupted.

“If you’re going to hang around here you can at least help with the washing up.” It was Mrs Weasley’s voice, and for a moment Draco considered leaving, but realised he had nowhere to go; then he thought about refusing, but realised that was pointless, so he began inexpertly stacking the plates and carrying them to the sink. Mrs Weasley appeared to be washing up by hand rather than magic and when he’d finished clearing the table she pointed to a tea towel on a rail in the corner.

“Make a start on the drying up, would you?” Silently Draco retrieved the cloth and began to dry the stacks of washed dishes.

“How’s your arm?” Mrs Weasley was obviously not used to working in silence.

“Fine,” he replied flatly, hoping she would get the hint and leave him to his own thoughts.

“How’s your room? Is everything ok?” Apparently she wasn’t used to taking hints either.

“Fine,” he said again, then when she looked at him, although there was no reprimand in her eyes, he felt strangely uncomfortable about his rudeness and made an effort to say something else. “Lunch was nice.” He wasn’t used to paying compliments, but it was the first neutral topic he could think of to comment on.

“Thank you dear. It’s nice to be appreciated.” Draco blinked in alarm at the fact that she’d just called him ‘dear’. His own mother had never even called him ‘dear’.

His mother. He had just left without saying goodbye. Not that there could have been a goodbye. Not in the circumstances. But what if she thought he was dead? She had risked her own life to save his last year, obviously she had loved him, but what would she think of him now he had betrayed his father by leaving the Death Eaters and betrayed her by leaving home? He didn’t care about betraying his father, but he felt a pang of regret for his mother. It must have shown in his eyes for when he focused again Mrs Weasley was looking at him in concern.

“Are you alright?” she said softly.

“I was just thinking… I mean..” Draco trailed off, suddenly realising what he had been about to say. At once his mouth snapped shut, along with his mind. He didn’t think Mrs Weasley would try and use Legimency on him, but he knew she would know what he had done from his eyes. “Nothing. I’m fine,” he said shortly, and went back to drying the dishes. He was grateful that this time she didn’t try and push for him to talk. He finished his task in silence, then went off to find something to occupy himself until dinner.

---------

Harry was reading in the study. He liked this room best of all the rooms in this awful old house since it was one of the only ones that had been completely refurnished and redecorated, and with a bright fire in the grate the comfy red sofas were warm and welcoming. There was also an impressive array of books, stacked neatly on the many bookshelves; the only thing Harry didn’t like about the room was the huge tapestry that covered the wall behind him. They had tried to take it down, but like the picture in the hall it seemed to be magically stuck to the wall with an enchantment none of them could break.

He had been there alone for about an hour when Draco entered. For a moment he looked as if he was about to leave again, but Harry looked up, and pleased that no thought about Draco’s appearance crossed his mind, greeted him with a smile even warmer than he intended it to be.

“Hi,” he said. It was a little feeble but he couldn’t really think of anything else to say.

“Not much to do is there?” Draco drawled, wandering over to the bookcase and idly scanning the titles. “How long are we going to be stuck here for?” Harry felt a small tug of annoyance, although the sensation came as something of a relief. It was good to be back on familiar territory with Draco.

“I don’t know. However long it takes, so you better get used to it,” he snapped. “If you’ve nothing to do you’re welcome to read a book.”

Draco snorted and whipped round. “How gracious of you to give me permission.”

“Well they are my books.” Harry smirked, suddenly realising that Draco had no idea of this fact, and enjoying his look of surprise. “I do own the house.”

At this last statement Draco’s mouth fell open in astonishment, and Harry chuckled inwardly in delight. It didn’t take Draco long to recover though, and he strode across to where Harry was sitting to peer up at the tapestry above the sofa. In the long silence that followed Harry got bored and went back to his reading.

“I’m on here.” Draco’s voice came unexpectedly and he was speaking softly; for a moment Harry almost thought he heard vulnerability in his tone. “So is my mother.” Harry looked up and saw Draco’s eyes roaming over the tapestry.

“My mad aunt’s there too,” he sneered suddenly, all vulnerability gone from his voice, so that Harry was almost convinced he had imagined it before. “And that Slytherin headmaster. Shame it’s got all these holes in though.” He paused for a minute as if contemplating something. “I guess that’s where Tonks would be, someone obviously didn’t want her on there.” He knelt on the sofa next to where Harry was sitting and jabbed at a hole in the tapestry. Without waiting for any confirmation or denial from Harry his eyes wandered on. “Oh look, you’re here too.”

“WHAT!” Harry stood up so fast that his book went flying across the room. He’d looked at that tapestry with Sirius two years ago, surely he would have noticed if he was on it back then? Besides his mother was Muggle born, Sirius’ mother would never have allowed her on the tapestry. These thoughts tore through his head in the split second it took him to climb up onto the sofa next to Malfoy, who was looking at him with vague amusement.

“Maybe it’s not you,” he said scrutinising the tapestry again. “They’d be far too old. Whoever it is had your last name though, is it a relative?” Harry gazed at where Draco was pointing and saw why he was unsure who he was looking at. There was a branch of the Black family line, and next to it, linked by a marriage line, was a man whose surname was Potter. Coming off the marriage line was a single line with the words ‘1 son’ underneath.

Harry stared and for a moment could find no words as he wondered how he had missed this and how Sirius had failed to mention it. “My father,” he said finally, touching the tapestry absently with his finger as if trying to feel some connection through the faded gold embroidery.

Draco nodded, but didn’t laugh and Harry suddenly had a strange urge to lean into him, to have him put his arms around him and tell him everything would be ok. He didn’t though. He just knelt, silently, shoulder to shoulder with his former enemy, until time just seemed to slip past without affecting them at all.

Later Remus came in and the spell was broken.

Harry’s legs had gone numb.

--------------------------

Continue:
Chapter 8: Somewhere I Lost Myself
Chapter 9: Conscience Is A Funny Thing

Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: Close Your Mind
Chapter 2: No Going Back
Chapter 3: Wrapped in Flames
Chapter 4: Language of Magic
Chapter 5: If I Had Learnt A Little Better
Chapter 6: Some Things Are Just Coincidence

Mind Games - Chapter 6

2006-07-02T22:25:27Z

Title: Mind Games
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash in later chapters.
Beta: The ever patient and helpful candy_marie_55. Special thanks for this chapter as it took a lot of work!
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: You can't close down your mind forever.
Author's notes: Set almost directly after the events of the sixth book. See below for links to additional chapters.

Some Things Are Just Coincidence

Harry awoke the next day to find the sun streaming in through the window. For a moment he wondered where he was, then the events of the night before came flooding back and he quickly turned his head to see Draco still sleeping peacefully in the bed next to him. Very quietly, so as not to wake him or alert Madam Pomfrey to his movements, Harry got up and began pulling on his robes. They were the same ones he had been wearing the night before and they felt dirty and sweaty from the flames, but for the moment they were all Harry had in reach and he was eager to go and find his friends and give the promised explanation.

Ten minutes later Harry entered the Gryffindor common room to find Hermione and Ron sitting together on the sofa. It was the summer holidays, so naturally they were the only ones there, and they both turned at the sound of the portrait opening.

“Harry how are you feeling?” Hermione asked, still concerned even as he flopped down in the chair opposite them, a wide grin on his face.

“I’m fine.” He waved a hand dismissively at her. “Really,” he added, seeing the doubtful look on her face. Hermione looked as if she were about to say more, so he cut her off. “Do you want to hear what happened last night or not?” Hermione frowned, torn between curiosity and concern; when Ron nudged her though she finally nodded her head.

“The first thing you should know is, things didn’t exactly go to plan.” Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes as he lent forward to start his explanation. Hermione looked as if she was about to ask questions, but a sharp nudge from Ron silenced her and Harry was grateful to his best friend. He needed to tell this story in his own time.

“I said I was going to go back to the hut where Voldemort’s mother lived before he was born to see if there was anything that had been overlooked before I headed to the moor.” Harry started and Hermione nodded, remembering it had been her idea to check out this place again for any clues as to the other Horcruxes as it was one of Voldemort’s only links to his mother’s past. “Well, I was just looking around and I hadn’t found anything of interest when I heard a noise coming from outside. I left my broom and looked out the door. I suppose, looking back, it was a bit foolish of me really; they captured me almost immediately.”

Hermione and Ron gasped loudly. There was no need for Harry to say who ‘they’ were, they both knew he meant the Death Eaters.

“How did they know?” Hermione wailed, even though Harry was clearly safe and sitting in front of her, she was still wide eyed with horror at the thought of having sent Harry into the hands of the Death Eaters. Harry shrugged in reply; this was something he had been wondering himself.

“My only guess is that they were Apparating into the woods for some sort of meeting with Voldemort, and saw the light from my wand. I really don’t know, maybe Draco would know.” He shook his head, realising he was getting ahead of himself by mentioning Draco already. “Anyway they petrified me and carried me to the Riddle House which is nearby, but instead of going inside they veered off and took me down into what looked like a sort of underground cellar. They dragged me through the stone passages, past all these doors whilst I desperately tried to remember which way I was going in case there was any chance of escape later on. Eventually we arrived in a room, they un-petrified me and threw me back against the door. That’s when Snape pulled off his mask and challenged me to a duel.”

“He didn’t just kill you?” Ron interrupted looking rather incredulous.

“No,” Harry shook his head, smiling a little as his friend stated the obvious. “He said Voldemort had ordered that I be left for him to deal with.” Ron nodded silently. “Snape knew that it would be a one-sided duel. He knows I can’t use Occlumency, he was able to see my every move almost before I’d even thought about them.”

“But what happened? How did you escape?” Hermione was now on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles were white.

“Hermione it’s ok, I’m here aren’t I?” Harry laughed suddenly and Hermione sat back a little smiling apologetically.

“I don’t know how you can treat it all so lightly,” she grumbled.

“It’s because I’m here Hermione. I escaped, it’s over for now,” Harry reasoned. “Anyway as I was saying I had no chance against him, he hit me with a few curses and blocked all mine. Then something really weird happened.” He paused for a moment, frowning as he tried to remember exactly what had gone on. “You remember those spells in the Half-Blood Prince’s book? The spells Snape invented?” The others nodded and Harry continued: “Well Snape told me not to try using them against him again like I did last time we met.” Harry gulped as the memories he would rather forget came swimming across his mind. “He reminded me about what happened with Draco in the bathroom that time when I used one of the spells. I shouted something about not meaning to do it and then the next thing I knew everything had changed.”

“Changed? How?” Ron and Hermione were now looking extremely confused and Harry struggled to find the words to explain how he had felt.

“Snape couldn’t read my thoughts anymore. In fact I couldn’t even read my thoughts anymore. It was weird, as if I wasn’t controlling what I did, but not like the Imperius Curse. I used this spell that I’ve never heard of, Ridimace or something it was. Anyway Snape couldn’t block it, it hit him in the chest, I don’t know what it did, I didn’t stick around to find out, I ran for my life.” The words tumbled out of Harry’s mouth as if he couldn’t say them fast enough and Hermione was looking at him a mixture of horror and wonder on her face.

“Was it like someone was thinking your thoughts for you?” she asked. Harry nodded and she looked even more excited. “That’s very advanced magic, it takes great skill both at Legilimency and Occlumency. I’ve read about it somewhere,” At this Ron rolled his eyes at Harry making him laugh; you could always rely on Hermione to have read about things somewhere. “It’s when another witch or wizard not only looks at the thoughts of others but also prevents anyone else doing so. Sometimes they can even twist them and make the person do think or do things they wouldn’t usually.”

“So they can control someone else just using their mind?” Harry was rather alarmed at this suggestion, thinking what a dangerous power it could be in the wrong hands. To his relief Hermione shook her head.

“No, it’s not like mind control, it’s more a sort of suggestion of what you might do next. In this case it seems that whoever it was also used their powers of Occlumency to block what was happening from Snape. The main thing that differentiates this from mind control is that the witch or wizard has to allow someone to do this to them. Although you are not skilled at Occlumency even you could have prevented someone from taking over your thoughts in this way if you had wanted to.” Hermione explained “But of course it was working to your advantage so I bet you never even thought to try.” Harry shook his head and Hermione looked thoughtful again “It would take great power to do this though, and the person would have needed to be in the room with you. You said they were all Death Eaters there though, who could it have been?”

Harry felt a little uncomfortable at this question; this was the point where he would have to explain about Draco. It was obviously him who had helped him during the duel and Harry was rather surprised that neither Ron nor Hermione had worked it out yet. Almost on cue Harry saw both their eyes grow wide.

“Not Malfoy!” Ron yelled, half leaping out of his seat and looking wildly at both Hermione and Harry as if he hoped one of them would deny it. Harry though nodded his head and rubbed his hand across his eyes again, hoping Ron wasn’t going to lose his temper.

“Of course,” whispered Hermione softly. “That’s why he’s here isn’t it? He helped you.” Again Harry nodded dumbly, and was rather surprised when instead of shouting Ron sank back down onto the sofa looking confused.

“This is just too weird,” he mumbled. “Malfoy actually helped you escape the Death Eaters.”

“So did Malfoy come with you when you left?” Hermione asked, reminding Harry that he still had a lot more story to tell. He shook his head and began telling them all that had happened after he had escaped from the Death Eaters’ clutches. He told them how he had found the location of the Horcrux, how Draco had suddenly appeared from nowhere, how he had decided to give him a chance to prove himself and how they had tackled the challenges of getting to the Horcrux together. When Harry got to the part where Draco had mistranslated the scroll, causing him to pick the wrong goblet Ron saw red.

“He was trying to kill you! He tricked you, that slimy little ferret.” Ron, who had leapt up, seemed almost on the point of rushing to the hospital wing to let Draco know exactly what he thought of this, when Hermione grabbed his arm and with surprising strength pulled him back down.

“Wait Ron! What happened next Harry?” Ron reluctantly stayed put, muttering something about ‘making that bastard pay’.

“I don’t know what happened after that.” Harry confessed “When I picked up the wrong goblet it felt like something hit me in the chest, I was knocked unconscious.” Hermione gazed at him uncertainly

“But how did you get back here? You had the Horcrux with you.”

“I didn’t have the Horcrux, Malfoy did,” Harry explained. “He must have retrieved the Horcrux and flown back here with me. That’s what I told him to do before I picked up the goblet in case it was wrong. He had already warned me he wasn’t sure if he had translated the scroll correctly, but I had to risk it anyway.” Harry looked at his two friends to gauge their reactions. Ron was now looking less angry and more amazed, but Hermione still looked suspicious.

“Don’t you think it seems a little odd that Malfoy was able to help you get the Horcrux so easily?” she asked. “It strikes me as slightly suspicious.” Harry sighed, frowning deeply. He had known before he started that this would be the most difficult part.

“I have this theory about Voldemort’s Horcruxes.” He said slowly “Back when Voldemort first started splitting his soul he was doing it to ensure he could never be killed. As such I think he may have intended his Horcruxes to be accessible to his followers should anything happen to him that meant they needed to retrieve a piece of his soul. As he got more powerful however he began to think himself untouchable and also trusted his followers less and less. I suspect that perhaps only one or two ever knew about the locations of his last few Horcruxes, if any of them ever did. I think this cup might have been one of his early Horcruxes, so the protection around it was such that a Death Eater might find it fairly easy to overcome, whilst still keeping it hidden from outsiders.”

Hermione nodded at the explanation; it did seem reasonable that whilst Voldemort was still unsure of his immortality he might do as Harry suggested. However her suspicions were not completely satisfied.

“That may be true,” she admitted, “but doesn’t it seem strange that Malfoy turns up when you are trying to get to a Horcrux that a Death Eater could easily access? What if Voldemort sent Malfoy as a spy, what if he was supposed to help you get to the Horcrux to lull you into a false sense of security? Perhaps he’s hoping we will trust Malfoy and tell him what is going on so he can report back to Voldemort?” Ron nodded along as she spoke, agreeing with what she said. Harry shook his head in frustration.

“It’s not like that. Don’t you see that wouldn’t make sense? Why have Malfoy help me escape when they already had me captured? Why not come and recapture me when I was knocked unconscious? Why let us get hold of the real Horcrux?” Harry rubbed his hand through his hair, unsure how to explain it further. “I believe he’s genuine. I was there on the Tower that night, remember? I think we have to give Malfoy a chance.”

Ron was now sitting back on the sofa, a sort of half confused, half defeated look on his face, as if he could think of nothing to say in the face of Harry’s logic and was now struggling to come to terms with what this meant. Hermione however was still looking as if she was determined not to agree, but luckily Harry had known her long enough to realise that she wasn’t disagreeing out of stubbornness or a wanting to prove him wrong. She was genuinely concerned that this was all some elaborate hoax designed to trick them.

“Well I still think it all seems suspicious,” she said, folding her arms and glaring at Harry. “Don’t you think it’s all a bit too much of a coincidence to be true?”

“Hermione,” Harry said gently, “Some things are just coincidence.”

------------

In the hospital wing Draco awoke and, like Harry, took a moment to work out where he was. It then took another moment for him to remember how he had got here before it all came flooding back. He had betrayed Voldemort, he had betrayed his parents, he had betrayed most of his friends; and he had helped Harry Potter steal a piece of Voldemort’s soul. With a groan he realised that he was probably in more danger now than he ever had been in his life and with another groan he realised that his arm still ached, he was incredibly hungry and that most likely no one here would trust him one bit.

Not that he blamed them, he thought as he rolled out of bed and looked around for some clothes. He wouldn’t trust him either if he were in their place. He found his shoes and jeans stacked neatly by the side of his bed. It went against all his instincts of good hygiene and grooming to put them back on again, but they seemed to be all that was available and he wasn’t about to go anywhere in a hospital gown. The t-shirt he had been wearing last night was nowhere to be found and Draco figured they must have got rid of it; after all it was probably covered in blood. Groaning a third time he realised that he was stuck in the hospital wing only half dressed with no prospect of getting any fresh clothes: they were all back at the manor.

The thought of home reminded him of his parents, particularly his mother. She had loved him, he was sure of that. He’d never been so sure about his father, but his mother had often tried to protect him from things, she had cared for him and comforted him. He stopped this train of thought immediately; he didn’t want to think about them right now, he knew that even his mother would probably disown him once she found out about his betrayal, and that thought made his stomach twist. He hadn’t expected it to affect him this much.

He had just started wondering what Madam Pomfrey might have done with his wand when the door opened and Harry and his friends stepped into the room.

--------

“I’m going upstairs to change.” Harry had announced after spending a few more minutes attempting to convince Hermione. She was actually beginning to look more reassured now but had insisted she wanted to talk to Malfoy about it herself. Harry wasn’t sure this was such a good idea, after all Malfoy was still Malfoy, he hadn’t had a sudden personality transplant. Harry was sure he would say something awful that would turn Hermione against him no matter what Harry could try to say to convince her. Ron was looking a little unsure about the whole thing as well and had even joined Harry in trying to persuade her it wasn’t a good idea. Hermione however was not to be swayed so Harry decided to escape for a while and hope Ron had more luck at persuading her not to go.

Unfortunately, when he emerged from the dormitories having showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt, Hermione was still adamant about speaking with Draco. Harry had no choice then but to take her to the hospital wing and hope Draco was still asleep. Once again though luck was against him, when they stepped into the hospital wing they were greeted by the sight of a half naked Draco peering into the cupboard by the side of his bed.

As they entered he straightened up and looked at them frowning. Harry couldn’t help notice that, despite being a little too thin for his height, his pale skin looked smooth and inviting. Harry had a sudden urge to run his hand across Draco’s stomach.

What! Had he really just though that? Harry blinked and cleared his throat to hide his confusion. Draco was still staring at them silently and, as neither Hermione nor Ron spoke, Harry realised he was going to have to start the conversation.

“What are you doing?” he asked scowling, still a little embarrassed from his earlier thoughts.

“Looking for my wand,” Draco replied, smirking in a way that made Harry wonder if he could read his thoughts. Just as he was telling himself off for being silly it suddenly hit him that Draco could actually read his thoughts very easily. He was fairly sure Draco wasn’t trying to do so now, since he could usually feel when someone was doing that, but the realisation still sent a sudden rush of heat to his cheeks. Glad that Hermione and Ron were both looking at Draco rather than at him Harry tried again.

“Madam Pomfrey probably has it, she will have taken it away.” The smirk immediately vanished from Draco’s face, replaced by the cold, emotionless expression Harry had seen there so often.

“Fine,” he said. “When is she planning on returning it?” Harry knew Draco was not happy at being reminded that he was considered by most people to be untrustworthy and made an effort to change the topic.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Draco glanced down before sneering at Harry.

“I don’t exactly have much to wear, in case you’d forgotten, Potter.”

Hermione visibly recoiled at Draco’s outburst; Ron automatically reached for his wand, reddening in anger.

“Shut up Malfoy” he spat “You’re in no position to talk like that. You’ve no wand, you’re defenceless.”

“You shut it Weasel, no one asked you.” Draco snapped, his face twisting in anger.

“Don’t talk to him like that!” Hermione had stepped forward her fists clenched angrily by her sides. Draco smirked at her.

“Aww does Weasel need a girl to stand up for him now?” he mocked and Harry groaned. He’d known coming to see Draco was a bad idea, he just hadn’t known how quickly things would descend into an argument. He put his hand on his wand, just in case things turned nasty.

“You’re pathetic!” Hermione spat, “You think you’re so wonderful, but all you are is an arrogant prick.”

“How dare you talk to me like that.” Draco hissed back, “At least I don’t go round acting like a pathetic know-it-all. You don’t know everything, you’re just a stupid filthy little…. bitch!”

Harry had heard enough.

“Stop! Stop right now!” He stepped between the two warring parties like a referee “Hermione, Ron go find Professor McGonagall and tell her Draco is awake. I’ll find him something to wear.” Both Hermione and Ron opened their mouths to object but Harry opened the door and shoved them both through it. “We all need to calm down.” He said more quietly as he stood in the corridor.

“He might be on our side but he’s still a complete bastard.” Ron hissed, his face still red with anger. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

“You trust him?” she asked, her mouth hanging open as she starred at him disbelievingly.

“If Harry trusts him then I do too,” stated Ron firmly. “I refuse to like him though, so keep him away from me.” Harry grinned, his heart suddenly feeling a million times lighter, he should have known he could rely on Ron to stick by him.

“Thanks mate,” he grinned again before looking over to see Hermione’s reaction. She was still standing there open mouthed. Then she frowned and appeared to reach some sort of decision.

“Well I’m still not sure about him, but if you two want to go along with this, fine. I can’t stop you. Professor McGonagall and the others might have a few things to say though.” With that she stormed off down the corridor, presumably to find the Professor. Ron and Harry shared a glance, they had been best friends long enough to know what that glance meant. Ron hurried after Hermione to try and calm her down and Harry turned to enter the hospital wing again.

--------

Almost as soon as Harry and the others had left, Draco felt a slight pang of regret for his words, not because he might have upset Granger and Weasley, he didn’t really care how they felt, but they were Harry’s best friends and he felt like he had let Harry down a little. Of course he had just managed to stop himself calling Granger a Mudblood. He was rather glad about that as he knew it would not have gone down well at all with any of them. It seemed like no one had noticed his self-restraint though. That was always the way of things: do something good and no one gave a damn, but get something wrong and suddenly everyone knew about it.

The door reopened and Harry stepped back into the room, this time alone. Draco just looked at him in silence, he did regret his outburst, but could think of nothing to say to explain how he felt. Once again he was let down by the fact that a Malfoy was not taught to apologise, they never stopped low enough to say sorry.

To his surprise though Harry actually smiled gently at him. Draco was a little alarmed by this and wondered if it was a smile like the one Voldemort had on his face just before he punished someone who had made a mistake. For a moment Draco was worried, he even took a small step back, but then he realised this was a genuine smile and grew confused instead of alarmed. After what had just happened why was Harry smiling at him?

“You didn’t say Mudblood.” Harry’s voice was low, almost too quiet for Draco to hear. He caught the words and their meaning though and suddenly gave Harry a brilliant smile. He had noticed! Not only had he noticed but also it seemed it was all he cared about. He wasn’t getting mad that Draco had insulted his friends. He wasn’t shouting at him for starting the argument in the first place. He wasn’t telling Draco off for the names he had used. All he was doing was acknowledging that Draco had enough self-restraint not to say Mudblood.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn’t approve of such things, he could have hugged him right then and there. That statement meant more to Draco than he could express in words. He didn’t hug Harry though, instead he simply nodded and his smile was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

Harry however continued to smile and made his way over to Madam Pomfrey’s office. Draco wondered what he was doing and also for the first time where Madam Pomfrey actually was.

“Here.” Whilst Draco was thinking Harry had ducked inside the office and emerged with Draco’s wand, which he now shoved into his hands. “Come with me.” Draco took the wand gratefully, he had felt rather lost without it, but was alarmed by the fact that Harry was now heading towards the door expecting him to follow.

“Erm I’m only half dressed.” Draco reminded him.

“I know.” Harry laughed, opening the door “We’re going to find you some clothes. Mine will probably be a bit big for you but I’m afraid they’ll have to do.”

Draco was rather nervous as he hurried through the corridors of the castle after Harry with no top on. He wasn’t really self-conscious about his body, unless you counted the horrible mark on his arm that was wrapped in clean white bandages, but he didn’t fancy running into one of his Professors whilst he was half naked.

“Wait here.” Harry instructed Draco, and he stopped obediently in front of a portrait of a rather large lady. Harry approached it, whispered something Draco couldn’t hear and it swung back revealing the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Draco peered inside curiously thinking that it looked very cosy, but he didn’t enter even though Harry left the door open. That would feel a bit too weird he decided.

“These are too small for me now so they might fit you.” Harry was back and now carrying a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. “You’re about the same height as me, but you’re too skinny.” Draco was rather insulted at this assessment of his body, how dare Harry call him skinny!

“I’m not skinny,” he muttered under his breath as Harry headed off again down the corridor.

“This way,” Harry called. Draco was sure Harry was enjoying himself a little too much as he led him half dressed round the castle, he was probably hoping they would get caught and Draco would be embarrassed. Luckily for Draco though they arrived at another door without incident, and he blinked as he realised they were at the prefects’ bathroom.

“The password is now ‘mermish’.” Harry told him, standing aside to let him enter. “Hurry up and have a shower, I’ll wait here.”

--------

Draco wasted no time in stripping and stepping under the hot shower. He felt the tension drain from his muscles as the warm water massaged his naked body. For a few minutes he cleared his mind of all thoughts of what had happened and just enjoyed the sensation of the clean water washing away the dirty, sticky feeling he so hated. His peace was shattered all too soon by Harry banging on the door and yelling for him to hurry up, although in reality Draco realised he had been in the shower for nearly fifteen minutes. Quickly turning off the water he stepped out and began to dry and dress himself. Harry had given him some underwear as well and weird as it felt, Draco had no choice but to put it on.

“Who would have thought one day I’d be wearing the underwear of The-Boy-Who-Lived,” he muttered to himself as he pulled on his trainers. He gave his hair a quick rub with the towel and then opened the door in response to more impatient hammering from Harry.

“Alright, don’t get so worked up.” Draco grumbled as he yanked open the door, causing Harry to overbalance and stumble backwards.

--------

As the door to the bathroom opened and Draco stepped out Harry stumbled backwards, partly from losing his balance and partly from the shock of the first thought that ran through his head. Draco actually looked rather cute. The heat from the shower had brought a pink tinge to his cheeks and his damp blonde hair stuck up in every direction. The clothes Harry had given him, whilst not fitting perfectly were better than Harry had expected and showed off Draco’s slender frame rather well. Most of all though Harry noticed the sparkle in Draco’s eyes, he actually looked happy and relaxed for once.

Using the fact that the door had been suddenly yanked open as an excuse Harry took a moment to regain his balance and his composure. He really was loosing it he decided, what on earth was he doing thinking about Draco like that?

“Feel better?” he asked, when he finally trusted his voice not to betray his thoughts. He was rewarded with a nod and a genuine, if brief, smile from Draco

“Your taste in clothes isn’t as bad as I expected,” Draco mused. “Although of course it’s all down to who’s wearing them really.” Harry laughed and as Draco grinned again Harry was struck by the oddness of the situation. Who would have ever thought he would be talking to Malfoy like this? They were even getting along and sharing a joke. If someone had said to Harry a few weeks ago that this would happen Harry would have told them they needed to see Madam Pomfrey to get their head injury treated.

Occupied with this thought Harry led Draco in silence to the staff room, where he knew Hermione and Ron would have found Professor McGonagall. Sure enough, when he knocked and entered, he saw not only them but also the familiar faces of Tonks, Remus, Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mr and Mrs Weasley.

When Draco stepped through the door after him the whole atmosphere in the room changed, Harry saw Mad-Eye Moody, Remus and Mr Weasley all reach for their wands, whilst the others sat stony faced and unmoving in the presence of their former enemy. Before anyone could speak Harry launched into the tale of what had happened last night, adding in what Hermione had told him earlier about Legilimency and Occlumency, but leaving out the part where he had shouted at Snape about not meaning to hurt Draco. For some reason he did not want to share that with anyone except his two best friends. When he had finished, some in the room, particularly Mrs Weasley and Tonks, were looking at Draco with considerably more interest and compassion than they had previously. Moody, however, seemed unconvinced.

“You’re too good at Occlumency for my liking,” he glowered at Draco “Your mind is so tightly closed it’s impossible to tell how you’re really feeling. Besides no one has yet explained why you chose to change sides.”

“Does there have to be a reason?” Draco retorted coldly, Harry had noticed that the moment Moody had implied that he had attempted to use Legilimency on Draco his face had completely lost all expression. He now merely stood staring impassively at Moody as if nothing he said would ever have any effect on him.

“Of course there has to be a reason.” Moody growled back “People don’t just suddenly change sides because they feel like it, and even if you did how do we know you won’t suddenly feel like changing back?” Draco remained silent, as if nothing in this speech moved him, and for a moment no one spoke.

“Perhaps Mr Malfoy would agree to questioning with Veritaserum?” Remus suggested quietly.

“Fine.” Draco’s eyes flicked to Remus, but other than that he showed no sign of emotion. “If Harry asks the questions,” he added suddenly turning to look at Harry. For a moment their eyes met and Harry thought he saw just the briefest flicker of something in Draco’s eyes, something that looked like fear. Harry knew what the problem was: Draco had his reasons for changing sides, but they were reasons he was not yet ready to share with others. Harry respected that, he felt he could trust him in spite of his silence, but the others of course were bound to be less easily convinced. As Moody rose to fetch the Veritaserum Harry turned to his best friends, who were both looking a little taken aback.

“He called you Harry,” Ron mouthed at him across the room. Harry started suddenly; he hadn’t noticed this before but now he realised Ron was right, Draco had just called him Harry. He could think of nothing to say to Ron about this so contented himself with mouthing “I know” and shrugging his shoulders before turning back to where Professor McGonagall was now sitting Draco in a chair getting him ready to receive the truth potion.

Moody returned and placed the antidote on the table whilst handing a vial of clear liquid to Draco for him to drink, Harry knew this was the Veritaserum and quickly began formulating questions in his mind. He knew Draco had chosen him to ask the questions because he realised Harry understood his need to keep his reasons private and was hoping he would not force him to reveal them under the influence of truth potion. Harry just hoped he could repay Draco’s trust in him whilst convincing everyone else to believe Draco was on their side.

Draco drained the vial and immediately his eyes took on a glassy unfocussed look that Harry knew meant the Veritaserum had taken affect.

“Name?” Harry asked

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” came the reply in that expressionless tone of voice that Harry hated. He searched for another question that would confirm the Veritaserum was working.

“Who are your parents?”

“Lucius Abraxas Malfoy and Narcissa Cassiopeia Malfoy, formally Narcissa Cassiopeia Black.” Harry flinched and heard a sharp intake of breath behind him. He turned slightly and out of the corner of his eye saw Tonks, face twisted into a grimace at the reminder of her family connection to the man sitting in front of her.

Draco however continued to stare straight ahead, face completely impassive, unaware of the stir he had caused with his pronouncement. Harry decided to skip any further questions that might bring up awkward family related answers and began questioning Draco about the events of last night. He asked him what he had done to help Harry, asked him if he could be trusted, asked him if he really had deserted Voldemort to help them, but was careful to avoid asking why he had done any of it.

When he could think of nothing more to ask he turned round to the rest of the group who had been watching and listening silently. Mrs Weasley was the first to speak.

“He really has changed sides!” she exclaimed. Even Hermione was nodding in agreement now although she still looked grim.

“Shame his personality hasn’t changed at all, he’s still just as arrogant.” Harry couldn’t help smiling at her, he was glad that both of his best friends were now coming round to his way of thinking on the matter of trusting Draco.

“It all still seems very suspect to me,” Mr Weasley put in. “Our families have been enemies for years and we all know what his father did to Ginny. I can’t suddenly start trusting their son.”

“But you heard him dear, you saw him take the potion. He can’t lie,” Mrs Weasley reasoned. “We can’t blame him for what his father did.” Mr Weasley consented the point although still glared at Draco with a good deal of dislike.

“This is all very well but we still don’t know why he’s done any of this,” Moody interrupted suddenly. “Suppose he’s been instructed by Voldemort to switch sides.”

“Did Voldemort tell you to switch sides?” Harry asked quickly, hoping to put Moody’s argument to rest.

“No.” Draco’s eyes still held an unfocussed, glassy expression as he stared back at Harry.

“But why did he do it?” Moody growled again “What on earth made him suddenly start helping you escape from Snape and the other Death Eaters last night? Why suddenly switch sides now?”

“Why did you start helping Harry last night?” Moody suddenly asked turning to Draco. Draco said nothing, although Harry could see him squirming in his seat and biting his lip in the effort not to answer.

“I don’t have to answer you, it was agreed only Harry would ask questions.” Draco’s face twisted and he grimaced as if he was struggling with something internally. For a moment Harry was sure he saw the look of fear flit across Draco’s face again, and he knew that he had to put a stop to this. Draco had trusted him, he had requested that only Harry ask the questions and Harry had agreed, he couldn’t let him down now.

“Come on, why the change of heart?” Moody repeated rather angrily, leaning towards Draco so his disfigured face was mere inches from Draco’s own, pale one. Again Harry saw the struggle in Draco’s expression and was about to pull Moody away, when something made him hesitate.

Draco’s face relaxed and he closed his eyes. There was a moment of complete silence, and even Moody’s expression took on a hint of uncertainty.

Suddenly Draco’s eyes flew open and at once Harry saw the glassiness was gone. Moody stumbled backwards as Draco lunged forward, snarling at him, before sinking back into the chair. Without thinking Harry leapt forward and tipped the antidote down his throat. He was vaguely aware of Moody in the background shouting “Traitor! He was using Occlumency against the potion,” before a look of intense pain came rushing onto Draco’s expressionless face and he collapsed forward into Harry’s arms. At once Mrs Weasley and Professor McGonagall rushed to aid him and as they relieved Harry of Draco’s weight he stepped back and caught a glimpse of the bandages around Draco’s arm.

They were soaked in blood.

----------------------------

Continue:
Chapter 7: Just An Empty Shell

Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: Close Your Mind
Chapter 2: No Going Back
Chapter 3: Wrapped in Flames
Chapter 4: Language of Magic
Chapter 5: If I Had Learnt A Little Better

Mind Games - Chapter 5

2006-06-21T22:03:50Z

Title: Mind Games
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash in later chapters.
Beta: The wonderful candy_marie_55!
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: You can't close down your mind forever.
Author's notes: Set almost directly after the events of the sixth book. See below for links to additional chapters.

If I Had Learnt A Little Better

“Harry!”

The word was torn from Draco’s throat and whipped away by the sudden gust of wind that ripped across the circle. Harry’s body flew into the air as if it were nothing more than a rag doll and he landed crumpled on the ground several metres away.

Draco started to run over to him, but stumbled and fell as the most agonising pain he had ever felt sliced through his arm where the Dark Mark was burnt into his skin. It was like having the power of ten Cruciatus curses at once concentrated into his arm, or at least Draco could only imagine that was what the pain was similar to, as he curled up in the foetal position cradling his arm.

For a moment darkness threatened to engulf him, but after a minute the pain subsided a little and he was able to sit, eyes streaming as he gasped for air. Scrambling up he ran over to Harry and flung himself down beside him. There was a nasty gash on the side of Harry’s head which was bleeding freely and he was unconscious, but he was still breathing. Somehow he did not seem to have broken any bones.

Trying to ignore the pain in his arm, Draco grabbed his wand and performed a healing spell on Harry’s head wound. It wasn’t as successful as it had been earlier; the gash was not as clean as the knife cut Harry had made in his own hand, which made it more difficult to repair.

That done Draco half thought about getting straight back on the broom and taking Harry to Hogwarts. That was where he had said to go if anything happened and Draco desperately wanted to get away from the pedestal with its Horcrux and Latin riddle that had almost killed Harry. But Harry had also said to try to get the Horcrux again if there was time and Draco knew already, although he didn’t want to admit it to himself, that he was going to try again. There wasn’t much time though, Draco was terrified that the burning in his arm might be a sign that Voldemort knew someone had attempted to steal his Horcrux and even now might be summoning his Death Eaters ready to come and finish off whoever was stealing it. Not having received the benefit of Dumbledore’s wisdom, he was unaware how unlikely this scenario was.

Scrambling up once more, and pushing to the back of his mind the thoughts about what might happen if he got it wrong again, Draco hurried over to the pedestal and retrieved the parchment from where he had dropped it. The seven cups were sitting as if they had never been touched, three goblets full of silvery liquid lit only by the pale green light.

As quickly as he could Draco followed the steps through again. It was a little quicker this time but he was still hampered by the pain in his left arm and his substandard Latin. If only he had concentrated harder in his lessons; if only he had kept studying; if only he had learnt a little better, none of this would have happened. Harry wouldn’t be lying unconscious and he wouldn’t be stood here feeling more terrified than he ever had in his life. He could stop, he knew he could stop and take Harry and go to Hogwarts, but something willed him on. He felt he had let Harry down, Harry had trusted him and now Draco had to complete this task, or at least give it another shot.

When he came to the final instruction Draco hesitated. There were two possible ways of looking at this phrasing, the first time he had chosen the wrong way and this time he hoped he would be choosing the right way. He picked up one goblet and poured the liquid slowly into another. This time it turned a deep purple. Two purple, one yellow, he noted. At least something different had happened this time; he assumed, or rather hoped, that this was a good thing.

Taking a deep breath and glancing over his shoulder at Harry’s unconscious form, Draco closed his eyes and picked up the goblet he hoped was the Horcrux. He stood still, waiting to be thrown backwards.

When nothing happened he opened his eyes and looked at the goblet. It looked the same as all the others but it somehow felt different. Not heavier. That would imply it weighed more when it didn’t. Perhaps denser was more the word to describe it, although even that wasn’t quite right either. Whatever it was, Draco was suddenly sure he had the right one and almost laughed out loud with relief, forgetting even the pain in his arm in his triumph.

He couldn’t forget it for long though, another wave of pain hit him, causing him to cry out. He threw the parchment back into the pedestal, not caring that it had knocked over the other goblets and ran towards Harry. The feeling of dread, which had been growing in his stomach, now sat there like a stone and his urge to get away from this place was almost overpowering.

“Accio Firebolt!” he yelled, drawing his wand as he ran. At once the broom came rushing into his outstretched hand, just as he reached Harry. He flung himself on, grabbed the back of Harry’s robes and pulled the broom sharply upwards moments before the moor burst into flames once more.

The fires lasted only a second, for the broom was soon out of their range, but if Harry and Draco had been on the ground they would surely have been burnt alive by the inferno.

Breathing heavily, Draco hauled Harry up onto the broom, his task made more difficult by his painful arm and the goblet he clutched tightly in one hand. Eventually though Draco got Harry into a comfortable position in front of him and wrapped his arms around Harry’s body to keep him upright. For a moment Draco rested, his face buried in Harry’s neck, his body enjoying the contact with the other boy’s muscular frame.

He jerked upright suddenly as a realisation hit him. Hogwarts Harry had said, but Draco didn’t know where he was and he certainly didn’t know which way Hogwarts was.

This was going to be a long flight.

--------

Nearly an hour later Draco and Harry were flying over Scotland on their way to Hogwarts. It had taken Draco quite a long time of flying, in what turned out to be the wrong direction, before he had found a landmark he recognised and he was able to get his bearings. By his estimates it would take nearly an hour more to get to Hogwarts. The problem was he wasn’t sure he could last another hour.

Pain and the events of the night were beginning to take their toll on Draco’s body. He was beginning to feel sick and faint as he urged the broomstick along faster. His muscles ached from supporting Harry’s weight for so long and he was starting to feel even more worried about him. He had been unconscious now for over an hour without showing any signs of life other than his steady breathing and rhythmic heartbeat. It was the heartbeat that kept Draco going. As long as he could feel its steady rhythm against his arm he somehow felt that everything would be all right. This thought confused him though: since when did he, Draco Malfoy, think thoughts like that? He was becoming delirious, he decided. He tried to think back over what had happened in the past few hours, but the pain in his arm made thinking almost impossible. Right now he just had to concentrate on getting Harry and the Horcrux back to Hogwarts.

One thing he had given some thought to (before the pain had become too much for him to really think rational thoughts) had been the reaction of Harry’s friends at Hogwarts. Draco assumed there would be people there who knew what was going on, otherwise why would Harry have wanted to go there? The Weasleys were probably there Draco realised, and Granger, and some of the Professors. How would they react when they saw him? With Harry unconscious there would be no one to vouch for him, they would probably think it was his fault Harry was injured. That thought reminded him that of course, it was his fault. If only he had learnt Latin a little better. They would probably hex him before he could even open his mouth to explain. They would order him to be thrown into Azkaban. After all they all knew his part in how the Death Eaters had gained access to Hogwarts. Maybe he would be thrown in the dungeons whilst they waited for someone to come and take him away. He was sure all the old torture instruments were still kept down there by Filch. Perhaps he would be tortured until he told them what they wanted to hear and incriminated himself. They would blame him if Harry died and with good reason, after all it would be his fault. Perhaps they would just let him curl up in the corner and die of pain. He would surely die of this pain soon. He couldn’t think straight anymore, perhaps he would just let the pain take him.

He had felt Harry slipping from his grasp before he had noticed that he was falling himself. The adrenalin rush the shock had caused had probably saved their lives, and now Draco was determined to fix his mind on nothing but the flight and the thought of getting to Hogwarts as quickly as possible.

--------

It was a Draco half fainting with pain and exhaustion that eventually sighted Hogwart’s through dull, glassy, grey eyes an hour later. As he got nearer he saw the familiar forest, the lake, the towers and finally the courtyard. This seemed to be lit with torches, as if there were people down there waiting for someone to return. Draco pointed the broomstick in that direction and began to descend rapidly. His fainting mind hardly heard the shouts as the watchers down below spotted the broomstick heading towards them and it wasn’t until the last moment that he realised their descent was too rapid. He pulled the broomstick sharply out of the dive, turning just in time to avoid the courtyard walls. The broom whipped round the courtyard in a sort of half circle, as Draco tried to slow them down. Luckily they were going quite slowly by the time Draco’s mind and body finally gave up the struggle and he collapsed off the broom, causing him and Harry to land rather heavily on the stone floor, the broom tangled between Harry’s legs.

Just for a moment the jolt awoke Draco’s mind and he saw Harry’s eyes flicker open just a foot away from his face. He managed one word before his eyes finally closed completely.

“Hogwarts.”

--------

Harry sat bolt upright suddenly, but winced and almost fell back again at the pain in his chest. Gingerly he rubbed his hand across his ribs; nothing seemed to be broken, they were just badly bruised.

It took a moment to get his bearings and realise that he was in the courtyard of Hogwarts, that Draco was beside him, and that the strange object caught in his legs was actually his broom. He extracted it quickly; eager to find out if Draco had managed to get the Horcrux.

As he scrambled towards him Harry noticed Draco had landed oddly and took hold of his left arm to try and move it into a more comfortable position. Almost at once he dropped it again when he realised Draco’s sleeve was damp and sticky. With a gasp of horror Harry saw his hand was covered in blood and pulled Draco’s sleeve up to try and get a better look. As he did so he couldn’t help the small cry of revulsion that escaped his mouth.

They had landed at the opposite end of the courtyard to most of the torches, but even in the shadowy light Harry could see Draco’s arm was a mess. The ugly mark that stained his arm was burnt black and covered in a sticky mess of congealed and fresh blood. Harry had seen some terrible things, but nothing as terrible or horrifying as this.

He couldn’t look at it, but at the same time found he couldn’t stop looking. When he did eventually tear his eyes away, they landed on the cup clutched tightly in Draco’s long pale fingers. Harry didn’t know why but he felt tears stinging his eyes, he felt suddenly fiercely proud of Draco and what he had done. How long had his arm had been like that? It must surely be at least as painful as the Cruciatus curse, which was the worse pain Harry could imagine. Yet despite the pain Draco had still managed to retrieve the Horcrux and get them both safely back to Hogwarts.

“Harry, Harry is that you? Are you alright?”

“You’ve been ages mate, we were starting to worry.”

“Is everything alright Harry?”

Harry quickly blinked away his tears as the beams of light from various wands fell onto him and Draco. Having got over their shock at the way the broom had careered round the courtyard and the fact that it contained twice as many people as they were expecting, Harry’s friends had come running towards him.

They stopped short though when they saw the figure lying next to Harry. Ron was the first to recover.

“Bloody hell, what’s he doing here?”

“It’s a long story,” said Harry, rising unsteadily to his feet and rubbing his ribs again. “Just don’t hex him.”

“He’s unconscious anyway,” he added as an after-thought.

“Are you alright Harry? Did you get the Horcrux?” The concern that Harry could see in Hermione’s face was reflected in her voice.

“I’m fine, just a little sore.” Harry replied, and by way of answering the first question bent down to ease the goblet from Draco’s grasp. As he held it up to the others, he couldn’t help the triumphant grin that crept across his face.

That grin was all it took to change the whole atmosphere of the courtyard. Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter that Draco was lying just a few feet away. It didn’t seem to matter that Harry had not yet explained what Draco was doing there. He had the Horcrux, and more importantly he had returned safely.

Harry found himself being crushed in a hug from his two best friends. Hermione was crying into his shoulder and Ron was thumping his back, a grin equal to Harry’s on his face.

“I knew you’d do it mate,” he said enthusiastically

“Oh Harry we were so worried when you didn’t come back earlier.” Hermione sobbed quietly “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute” Harry said, patting her on the back in an awkward attempt to soothe her. “First though you’re going to have to let go, something hit me in the chest and I’m going to have some great bruises tomorrow.”

Hermione let go managing a small smile at his joke, but she still looked concerned.

“What about him?” Ron nodded towards Draco and Harry winced as he looked over and caught sight of his arm, the blood trickling in streams that shone red in the wand light. No one else seemed to have noticed it yet.

“I think perhaps you better explain what’s going on,” came a third, curt voice: Professor McGonagall had been standing back quietly with several other Order members as Harry’s friends greeted him.

“Yes, yes of course.” Harry gasped, feeling both nervous and nauseous at the same time. “But his arm, look at his arm. It’s horrible, can’t you do something?”

Professor McGonagall stepped forward and knelt by Draco, shining her wand directly on his arm. In the clearer light it looked even more awful than before and her hand flew to her mouth as she turned away looking horrified. Curious, Ron and Hermione peered round her and immediately recoiled in shock. Despite their hatred of Malfoy, Hermione looked like she was about to be sick and even Ron was grimacing.

“What happened to him?” Hermione asked.

“I really don’t know.” Harry shuddered just thinking about what might have caused it.

“How long has it been like this?” Professor McGonagall asked while she conjured up a stretcher and levitated Draco onto it.

“I don’t know that either,” he confessed, and feeling that some sort of explanation was necessary continued, “I’ve been unconscious for at least two hours. Maybe it happened when he picked up the Horcrux.”

Only when Hermione and Ron looked at him strangely did he realise that he had only created more questions than he had answered with that statement and he sighed.

“Things didn’t exactly go as planned tonight. I’ll explain it all, from the beginning, but first I think I need a visit to the hospital wing to get something for these bruises.”

“And your head,” added Hermione, wondering how she hadn’t noticed the gash on Harry’s head earlier. It looked nasty, although it wasn’t bleeding as much as she would have expected. In fact it looked as if someone had already made an inexpert attempt to heal it.

Harry raised his hand in alarm, and winced as he felt the cut there.

“Did you heal it?” Hermione asked, looking confused at Harry’s surprise.

“I don’t even remember cutting it, it must have happened when I got thrown backwards.” He looked at the blood on his hand and nodded towards Draco who was now being borne to the hospital wing on a stretcher ahead of them. “I think he must have healed it.”

“Malfoy healed you?” Ron asked incredulously “This is Malfoy we’re talking about remember: the Death Eater son of a Death Eater. Are you sure you’re thinking straight? That looks like a nasty cut; perhaps it’s affected your mind?”

“Maybe.” Harry grinned again. Now he and the Horcrux were back safely with his friends at Hogwarts all the worries of the night were fading and the triumphs seemed brighter. His only concern was Draco’s arm, but even that could be put aside now, as he was confident Madam Pomfrey would be able to fix it. All in all Harry was feeling positively giddy with happiness as he smiled at his friends’ confusion. “I’m serious though about the healing, weird things have been happening tonight. Just wait till I tell you all about it.”

-------

Explanations had to wait though as in the hospital wing Madam Pomfrey insisted on questioning Harry in detail about what had happened to Draco’s arm as she rubbed several potions and ointments on it, persisting even after he had assured her several times that he had no idea what had happened.

“Look all I know is that he rubbed his arm a couple of times earlier, I just thought it was the Dark Mark burning because Voldemort was calling the Death Eaters to his side.” Everyone in the room winced visibly as Harry spoke Voldemort’s name, but no one said anything, they were used to Harry saying it every time he spoke of him.

Madam Pomfrey sighed, giving Harry a rather disappointed look as if she took it as a personal insult that he couldn’t tell her more.

“I’m going to have to wake him up,” she said after she had finished cleaning up the arm. Now that the blood was gone the outline of the Dark Mark was more clearly visible, although the skin still looked burnt and broken. “Nothing I try seems to be making it any better.”

Harry felt his rush of euphoria fading as Madam Pomfrey spoke. He was so used to her being able to fix any injury he and his friends sustained that he had expected this to be no different. Now he was beginning to feel worried again. Even Hermione was looking concerned; she might have hated Draco but no one could look at his damaged arm without feeling some form of compassion.

It took several attempts to bring Draco round and when he finally did regain consciousness it was with a cry of pain that made everyone in the room grimace in sympathy. Before he could speak Madam Pomfrey pressed a pain relief potion to his lips, forcing him to drink the entire contents of the goblet. When that was done and Draco had finished choking at the taste, he looked around in confusion before his eyes finally alighted on Harry and he frowned as if trying to remember something.

“You’re in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.” Harry informed him “Madam Pomfrey’s trying to sort out your arm.”

“Right…” said Draco faintly, dragging his eyes across to look at his arm and wincing as he caught sight of it. “It doesn’t hurt as much anymore, that potion worked fast.”

“Mr Malfoy.” Madam Pomfrey called Draco’s attention to her. “Naturally I have never come across anything like this before and I’m at a loss as to what to do. Nothing I try seems to be healing the skin, we hoped you might be able to tell us something.”

“You can’t heal it.” Draco stated simply, much to everyone’s surprise. Gingerly he pushed himself up the bed so he was in more of a sitting position and rubbed his hand across his face, a look of resignation in his eyes as he gazed at his arm. “This mark was burnt into my skin using dark magic sealed with vows and oaths. I’ve gone against them. I’ve broken them all. There isn’t anything you can do.”

Several of the Order members standing in the room started murmuring amongst themselves at this speech, obviously wondering how much of it was true and what it meant Draco was implying. Madam Pomfrey looked as if she was about to protest, not wanting to accept that there was ‘nothing she could do’. Draco however cut her off.

“Just put a bandage on it or something. Please.” The surprise at Draco having actually asked politely made Madam Pomfrey stop in her tracks. After a moments pause she nodded and began bandaging his arm, fussing as she did so.

“Once this is done you’re to take this potion for dreamless sleep straight away.” She ordered “I don’t know what’s happened but it looks like you’ve had a rough night, you need a nice long sleep to recover.” Having finished the bandaging she pressed another potion into Draco’s good hand and he drank it willingly. Moments later he was fast asleep, a peaceful look on his face as if sleep had finally set him free from the problems of his waking life.

“Now, Harry… you look exhausted.” Madam Pomfrey was already working on his head wound. “This looks like it’s been rather inexpertly healed, but it’s lucky it has, you could have lost a lot of blood, it’s a very deep gash.”

“Malfoy healed it.” Harry told her, closing his eyes and wincing in pain as Madam Pomfrey dabbed some ointment on his head. It stung for a while then stopped and Harry knew the wound had healed. He didn’t open his eyes though, he suddenly felt very tired. When Madam Pomfrey insisted he change out of his robes he didn’t even bother to argue and even took the potions she pressed on him without fuss.

“I think you’d better take some of this sleeping potion too dear.” Madam Pomfrey said kindly, putting a goblet of the potion by Harry’s bed. Harry, who was feeling much more comfortable since Madam Pomfrey had rubbed some ointment on his chest to lessen the bruising was more than willing to comply, Professor McGonagall however looked as though she was about to object. “Any questions will have to wait until morning.” Madam Pomfrey interjected firmly before anyone could say anything further. “Neither Harry nor Mr Malfoy will be leaving the hospital wing for the next few hours, and I’m sure things can be explained when they wake up.”

Harry gave Ron and Hermione an apologetic smile. He desperately wanted to explain to them what had happened and how Malfoy had helped him, but he also desperately wanted to close his eyes and forget all that had happened for a few hours.

“It’s ok Harry.” said Hermione gently “You’ve had a long night and you need sleep, we’ll just have to wait to satisfy our curiosity.”

Ron nodded in agreement and Harry smiled at them both thankfully, realising once again how lucky he was to have such loyal and understanding friends.

“Thanks,” he grinned, before Hermione smothered him with another hug. “Take the Horcrux and put it somewhere safe, I promise I’ll explain everything when I wake up.”

Hermione nodded, releasing him from the hug and picking up the goblet that Harry had placed on the bedside table. Then Harry drank his potion and settled down to sleep. The last thing he saw before his eyes drifted closed was Hermione reaching out to take Ron’s hand.

----------------------------

Continue:
Chapter 6: Some Things Are Just Coincidence
Chapter 7: Just An Empty Shell

Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: Close Your Mind
Chapter 2: No Going Back
Chapter 3: Wrapped in Flames
Chapter 4: Language of Magic

Harry Potter Icons

2006-06-19T16:29:12Z

I've been making icons for my 100icons challenge. Here are the latest ones I've been working on.

Rules:
- No hotlinking
- No editing
- Comments and credit are much loved.
- Enjoy!

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Resources post here.

Mind Games - Chapter 4

2006-06-17T19:02:31Z

Title: Mind Games
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash in later chapters.
Beta: The wonderful candy_marie_55!
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: You can't close down your mind forever.
Author's notes: Set almost directly after the events of the sixth book. See below for links to additional chapters.

Language of Magic

The large square pedestal stood on a wide circle of stone and was ornately decorated with engravings. Across the front were glowing white lines which Harry recognised as the same as those he had seen in the cave with Dumbledore.

“Surely not again?” he whispered, remembering Dumbledore’s words that night “Surely he would not have been so crude?”

“What is it?” Draco stepped up onto the stone circle next to him and Harry jerked round in surprise, for a moment he had forgotten Malfoy was there, he had been back in the cave with Dumbledore on that terrible night.

Bringing himself back to the present he fished around in his robes. He had prepared as much as he could for tonight without actually knowing what he would be facing, and one of the things he had brought was a knife. Carefully he ran the sharp silver blade across his palm, gritting his teeth against the pain, and heard a sharp intake of breath from Malfoy.

“The pedestal has the Horcrux inside it, it will only open with a payment of blood,” he explained, wiping his hand across the front of the pedestal. “At least I hope it will.”

Slowly the front of the pedestal opened, revealing seven beautiful golden cups and one scroll of parchment, lit by an eerie green light coming from the heart of the pedestal itself. Harry stared at them in amazement; whatever it was he had been expecting this was certainly not it.

“How did you know?” Draco’s voice betrayed his surprise.

“I’ve seen something like this before. It’s very crude and too simple really, I would have expected more from Voldemort.” Harry didn’t want to reveal more to Malfoy just yet; he didn’t want him to know about the Horcruxes already found and destroyed. Besides he was surprised that Voldemort had chosen to use the same defence on two of his Horcruxes; Harry had expected something more difficult, just like Dumbledore had in the cave.

He reached forward to take the scroll but was stopped when Draco grabbed his hand, wand drawn. For a moment their eyes met, then gently Draco turned Harry’s palm upwards and ran his wand across the cut. At once the silvery light seemed to knit the cut together, just as Snape had once healed Draco in the bathroom at Hogwarts.

“Thanks,” said Harry softly, when Draco released his hand.

“You really should learn some healing spells.” Draco replied, arching one blonde eyebrow. “Especially if you’re going to go round slicing your own hand when surely a prick on the finger would have worked just as well.”

Harry shrugged, feeling a little stupid and wondering why he hadn’t thought of that; after all on the way out of the cave the small amount of blood from his grazed hand had been enough. Draco was probably right; a single drop was all that was required.

Again he reached out for the scroll, half wondering if there would be something to stop him. There was nothing. He lifted the scroll without any sort of resistance, but as he did so he noticed for the first time that three of the seven cups were filled with a strange silvery liquid. He shuddered involuntarily, praying that he wouldn’t have to drink any of it.

The scroll was slightly brittle around the edges, hardly surprising since it was probably over 20 years old, and when Harry unrolled it he could see it was covered with a close set green script, written in the same hand he had seen in Riddle’s diary 5 years ago. Unfortunately it was written in some sort of strange language Harry couldn’t understand. Parts of the words looked like spells or incantations, and some of it was set out rather like the riddle he and Hermione had encountered in their first year at Hogwarts, but apart from that there was nothing to give him any clue as to its meaning. He groaned and squinted at the parchment, as if screwing up his eyes might make the meaning become clear.

Draco, who had been attempting to get a look at the parchment over Harry’s shoulder, finally lost patience and yanked Harry’s arm to turn the parchment towards him. Immediately he gave a small exclamation of surprise that snapped Harry’s attention to him.

“It’s Latin,” he stated simply in reply to Harry’s enquiring look and then pulled the parchment from Harry’s unresisting hands.

“Latin?” Harry repeated somewhat lost for words. “You speak Latin?”

“Of course I do Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes, as if this should have been obvious to anyone “Latin is one of the main languages of magic, didn’t you realise that most spells have Latin origins?” Harry shook his head; this wasn’t something he had given much thought to, although he suddenly realised this would account for him recognising parts of the words on the scroll. Draco rolled his eyes again. “All Malfoys can speak Latin, my father insisted I learn it. My name comes from the Latin word for Dragon, surely you knew that?” Harry nodded. He had been told what the school motto translated as in his first year, and it was a small leap to realise the origin of Draco’s name.

“Well I suppose you’re not a complete loss then,” Draco consented. “Now keep quiet, I haven’t really studied any Latin for a while, it’s a difficult language, very easy to mistranslate.” Obediently Harry fell silent as Draco frowned in concentration occasionally murmuring to himself as he ran his eyes over the words.

At first Harry stood looking at the scroll as well, but any meaning in it eluded him and he soon became bored with this. He was also thinking again how lucky it had been that Malfoy had decided to desert Voldemort and come to find Harry tonight, when Harry could most use his help. For a moment it crossed his mind that this might be an elaborate plot by Voldemort to lull him into a false sense of security in Malfoy’s presence. Perhaps he had sent Malfoy knowing that he would be of use to Harry tonight and would thereby be able to gain his trust more easily. Suddenly worried, Harry looked up at Malfoy, who was still studying the scroll, his lips moving soundlessly as he struggled to translate it. Somehow when he looked at him, Harry found he could not doubt his trustworthiness.

For want of anything better to do Harry turned again to the cups inside the pedestal. He knew one of them was the Horcrux, the cup belonging to Helga Hufflepuff that he had seen in Dumbledore’s pensive, but he didn’t know which one, they all looked exactly the same. If only there was some clue to tell him which was the right one. Without thinking he reached out a hand towards the cups.

“Don’t touch them.” Draco’s voice broke Harry’s reflections and made him pull his hand away sharply. Looking round Harry saw that Draco’s eyes were already back on the parchment, but now his right hand was clutching at his left arm and his face was twisted into a sort of half grimace as if he was in pain. The Dark Mark was burning Harry realised, Voldemort was calling his supporters to his side and Draco was not responding.

--------

Draco gripped his arm tighter, trying to ignore the incessant pain. At first the burning had been the all too familiar pain of Voldemort calling the Death Eaters to his side and Draco had thought that was all it was; after all his father would surely have noticed his absence by now. That pain usually lasted a minute at most, this one however had continued and Draco was sure that since he had started reading the parchment it had got much worse. It felt as if one hundred needles were pricking into his arm and burning him at the same time. He was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of defence to stop Death Eaters from getting at the Horcrux; Voldemort would surely have used extra protection in case anyone in his inner circle, who would know more about his ways and methods, decided to turn against him. Draco said nothing to Harry about his suspicions and when he noticed him looking at his arm moved his hand away quickly, gritting his teeth against the pain. He wasn’t about to back out now. If he gave up Harry would not be able to get to the Horcrux and Draco felt that would be breaking his trust in him. He had made his decision and he had said he would help, so was just going to have to live with the pain.

“This is very complicated,” he sighed at last, pushing a few strands of hair from his face. “Even if this were in English it would be difficult.” He sat down on the edge of the circle of stone and looked up at Harry, who luckily took the cue and sat down next to him. “There are seven cups and according to this each one has a name. Three of the cups contain liquids, which although they look the same are three separate potions.” He pointed carefully to part of the parchment where the words seem to form some sort of verse. “This looks like it’s some sort of riddle to work out which cup is which and which potion is in each one.”

“It’s logic! Some of the best wizards don’t have an ounce of logic.” Harry interjected and Draco was surprised to see he had a smile on his face which seemed to light him up from the inside and shine out through his eyes.

“Just something Hermione once said.” Harry explained, obviously thinking his strange outburst was the only reason for Draco’s stare. “Carry on.”

“Right… um…” Draco attempted to remember what he was saying before those rather strange thoughts had taken over. “Next there’s some instructions about which potion to pour into which cup and the order to do it all in, again they are quite complicated, especially since they were written in such a way to give no clues to the riddle above. Even in English they’d be a nightmare to untangle, in Latin it’s going to be even trickier. You can’t take the cup with the Horcrux until you have done all of that. If you get it wrong….” He trailed off and stared at the parchment again. “Well it doesn’t exactly say what will happen, but I imagine it won’t be good.”

Draco fixed his eyes on the horizon, not wanting to look at Harry. He was feeling more uncertain about all this by the second. Sure he could read Latin, but this was far more complicated than even the hardest texts his father had made him translate. Plus there was the problem of actually working out the riddle as well. Latin was a funny language; one slight mistake in the translation of a tense or a verb and the entire meaning could be changed, although it would still appear to make sense. What if he got it wrong and chose the wrong cup?

“I don’t know if I can do this Harry.” His voice was low and emotionless and he didn’t take his eyes off the horizon as he spoke.

--------

Harry. Draco had just called him Harry.

He had thought that would never happen, but somehow now in this situation it didn’t seem that odd. After all, he would never thought Draco would be helping him to destroy Voldemort. That was odd enough; everything else paled in comparison. Besides there were more important things to worry about now; he certainly couldn’t translate the scroll himself, so Draco was his only hope of getting at the Horcrux.

“You have to try Draco,” he said simply, willing Draco to turn round and meet his gaze. He too kept his voice low, although it held more warmth than Draco’s had “I know you can do it.”

Slowly Draco turned and silver grey eyes locked with his emerald green ones.

--------

As he looked into Harry’s eyes, Draco felt his fears melt away. He saw a lot of things in Harry’s eyes, more perhaps than Harry intended since Draco’s gift at Legilimency meant he usually saw beyond someone’s eyes, unless he deliberately tried not to.

There was a swirl of emotions in those eyes: a sort of peace that showed Harry had accepted his fate, a determination to complete his task no matter what the risk to himself, a hope that tonight he would be one step closer to defeating Voldemort, a belief that Draco would be able to translate the scroll, and most of all a look that told Draco that even if he got it wrong Harry would know he had tried his best. That was the look that right here and now meant everything to Draco.

He pulled his eyes away reluctantly, not wanting to let go of that look, and automatically rubbed his arm again. It was still painful, although it was now more of a dull throbbing than a burning sensation. Once again he lowered his eyes to the parchment to try and make sense of it.

--------

It was almost half an hour later before either of them spoke again. It was now the early hours of the morning, although dawn was still a long way off and the air felt damp and cool despite the fact that it was still summer. Harry had spent much of the time pacing around nervously, Draco however had not moved, his legs were beginning to feel stiff but he was determined to get every bit of the translation just right.

“I think I know what to do.” He said at last. Harry visibly jumped as the silence of the moor was broken, but quickly recovered and hurried over to the pedestal.

“Which one is it?” he asked, unable to keep the note of impatience out of his voice.

“It’s not as simple as that Potter, I explained that before.” Draco snapped, he was starting to feel nervous again and it wasn’t helping his temper. “Just do what I tell you.” To his credit Harry ignored the outburst and simply nodded as he came to stand next to Draco ready to move the goblets as he directed.

“Take the goblet on the far right and pour the liquid into the empty one in the middle,” instructed Draco, biting his lip as Harry picked up the goblet and began to pour the silvery liquid from one to the other. As it hit the second goblet the liquid turned a deep rich burgundy colour and Harry turned to Draco enquiringly.

There was just a hint of a relieved smile on Draco’s face as he nodded; this was what he had expected to happen and it boosted his confidence again. For the next ten minutes or so he and Harry worked through all the instructions on the parchment, Draco carefully scrutinising each phrase before instructing Harry on which liquid to pour into where, creating a new and vivid colour each time.

When he reached the final instruction Draco paused. From the way it was written it was difficult to tell exactly what the instruction wanted him to do.

“I’m not sure about this one,” he admitted. “In fact I’m not sure about this whole thing, it seems odd that Voldemort would leave a set of instructions on how to access his Horcrux.”

“Maybe he was worried he might forget?” Harry suggested, although Draco could tell from his tone that Harry found it as unlikely as he did that Voldemort would forget how to retrieve his own Horcrux. “Actually I think he may have done it thinking that he may one day have to instruct one of his followers to retrieve the Horcrux for him.” This explanation at least seemed more likely to Draco, although the irony of him helping to retrieve the Horcrux for Harry instead of Voldemort was not lost on him.

“Well what do I need to do?” Harry prompted eventually after Draco had spent a few minutes frowning at the goblets in silence.

“I think you pour this one,” Draco pointed, “into here.” Harry did as instructed, so they were left with two goblets filled with a bright yellow liquid, one with deep purple liquid and four empty ones.

“Are they the right colour?” Harry asked, frowning slightly, it seemed strange that they should have an odd one out, instead of three the same.

“I really don’t know.” Draco confessed, “It stopped mentioning what colour they should be after that first red one. It’s that last instruction I’m not sure about though and that produced a second yellow liquid, not the purple, so I’m pretty sure it’s right that we have one purple.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“So now we just take the Horcrux?” Draco nodded, his stomach twisting itself into squirming knots.

“It should be this one.” He pointed at the goblet second on the left and was rather alarmed to notice his finger was trembling. “But…..” He trailed off. What if he was wrong? He had no idea what would happen if the wrong goblet was selected. Would the person who touched it die? Would Voldemort be warned and immediately appear to kill the person attempting to take the Horcrux? Or would they just not know until much later after they examined the goblet and found it to be just that, an ordinary goblet? Either way someone was bound to blame him, to say he had done it on purpose and that he wasn’t to be trusted. Even if Harry said he wouldn’t, he still might inside; there would always be a nagging feeling that Draco might have been betraying him.

And what if Harry died? Draco felt his stomach lurch at the thought. If Harry died it would be he who had killed him and no one would believe he hadn’t meant to. If Harry died, who would fight against Voldemort? And who would stop Voldemort killing him for his betrayal? Even if they threw him in Azkaban, which they surely would, Voldemort would get to him eventually. If Harry died there would be no one left in the world who would trust him.

At that last thought Draco felt his stomach lurch again and he was sure he would be physically sick. Who would have thought that having someone trust him could ever mean so much?

“Wait Harry, let me take the goblet.” The words were out of his mouth before he even thought about them and Harry looked at him in surprise “I don’t know what will happen and if I’ve got something wrong...”

--------

Harry looked at Draco thoughtfully. For the second time Draco had called him by his first name and Harry knew what was worrying him. Draco was afraid that if he had chosen the wrong one Harry would blame him, thinking that it was some sort of plot against him. It was a possibility Harry conceded to himself, Draco was a gifted Occlumens and, as Harry had seen many a time when Draco had been injured, a rather melodramatic actor. If he could fool Snape he could certainly fool Harry. Somehow though this did not feel like one of those times. Something in those stormy grey eyes made Harry feel he could trust Draco; something in the way he spoke made Harry believe he was genuine.

“Listen to me Draco, I know you have tried your best with this.” He began, running one hand through his messy hair. “If it’s wrong I won’t blame you.”

“But if I am wrong you might die.” Draco’s eyes were wide and held an emotion Harry had never seen in his eyes before. It was not fear he realised, but more like horror, as if the thought of Harry’s death was too horrible for him to think about.

“Believe it or not I don’t want to die.” Harry gave a sudden smile, as he once again remembered Dumbledore’s words to him in the cave. “Even if it’s the wrong goblet I don’t think I will be killed. That’s not the way Voldemort’s mind works. If someone tried to steal his Horcrux he would want them alive because he would want to know why they had done it. It may knock me unconscious, it may cause me to be immobilised, it may summon Voldemort to this spot or it may harm me in some other way, but I don’t think it will kill me.”

“Let me take it.” Draco persisted, looking as if he didn’t quite believe Harry’s words.

“No.” Harry’s voice sounded suddenly very final. “You’re the one who can read the parchment. If it’s wrong and something happens to me you must try again, then you can take the Horcrux and hopefully me to Hogwarts. If the worst should happen and Voldemort turns up, which I doubt very much, just get yourself out of here. I mean it.”

Draco opened his mouth ready to make an objection but Harry cut him off.

“No objections. I’m going to pick the goblet up now.” Resolutely he reached forward and picked the goblet up from where it stood on the stone ledge. For a moment nothing happened and Harry dared to hope that they had picked the right one.

Then suddenly it was as if a great fist had punched him in the chest. He felt himself fly into the air. Then everything went black.

-----------------------------------

Continue:
Chapter 5: If I Had Learnt A Little Better
Chapter 6: Some Things Are Just Coincidence
Chapter 7: Just An Empty Shell

Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: Close Your Mind
Chapter 2: No Going Back
Chapter 3: Wrapped in Flames

Mind Games - Chapter 3

2006-06-14T20:31:49Z

Title: Mind Games
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash in later chapters.
Beta: The wonderful candy_marie_55!
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: You can't close down your mind forever.
Author's notes: Set almost directly after the events of the sixth book. See below for links to additional chapters.

Wrapped in Flames

Draco shook Harry’s hand rather awkwardly. He was relieved Harry hadn’t demanded any further explanations; long speeches about how he had seen the error of his ways and was prepared to risk his life to do the right thing weren’t really his style, and he felt an uncharacteristic sense of gratitude towards Harry. Why Harry had decided to trust him Draco didn’t know; he wasn’t sure he would have done and he knew he was genuine. Now though wasn’t the time to put the delicate new truce to the test by asking probing questions. Besides Draco’s curiosity was firmly occupied with another matter: why exactly was Harry choosing to spend his night floating over a moor that appeared prone to spontaneous combustion?

Determined to find out Draco looked across and realised Harry was staring silently at him, a slight frown on his face, as if he was thinking hard about something. The look brought a fleeting smile to Draco’s lips, although he didn’t know why. Maybe because even after all that had happened there was still a hint of innocence in that frown, as if the worries that caused it did not sit too heavily on Harry’s heart.

“So Potter, I answered your questions, now it’s my turn.” Draco smirked, well aware that he hadn’t exactly given detailed answers and hoping that Harry was more forthcoming. “What are you doing here? And why was the ground on fire?”

For a moment Harry looked startled at being spoken to, then he groaned “It’s some sort of magical protection. Every time I get too near the flames come back. I thought maybe I could fly over the top and into the middle, but it’s impossible. Look.” He lowered the broom slightly causing the flames to spring up again. Draco gazed down and had just enough time to see what Harry was talking about before he swept the broomstick back upwards, extinguishing the fires.

“You saw the small circle in the middle where the surrounding flames curl over in a sort of dome to protect it?” Harry asked, waiting for Draco’s nod of confirmation before continuing “Well that’s where I need to go.”

Harry turned back round with a sigh of resignation and Draco thought for a moment before asking his next question.

“Why?”

---------

As Harry turned away from Draco he knew what was coming next. He had turned his back to try and prevent the question, although he knew his tactic was useless. He might not have known Draco that well, but he knew, or suspected enough to realise, that Draco was not only used to having his own way, but that he was also stubborn and not going to be easily put off satisfying his curiosity.

Of course Harry could refuse to tell him, but then what would he do with Draco whilst he tried to get at the Horcrux? He didn’t want to waste time taking him back and leaving him in the care of the other Order members. There would be awkward questions, demands for explanations that Malfoy wasn’t yet willing to give and possibly nasty scenes involving Veritaserum. Harry couldn’t explain why, but he felt that if Malfoy wasn’t ready to talk about his reasons for deserting Voldemort, and on top of that, his parents, then he should respect that. Perhaps it was because he himself had often felt like that, sometimes wanting to keep explanations and reasons to himself for a while, before sharing them even with his closest friends. Whatever the reason though, Harry sensed very deeply that he should not take Malfoy back to that just yet.

He briefly considered taking Malfoy somewhere and leaving him until he’d managed to get the Horcrux himself, but somehow that seemed so cold and untrusting. True, he still wasn’t completely sure if Malfoy could be trusted, but nevertheless it still didn’t seem right. Which meant there was only one choice: he would have to tell Malfoy the truth.

--------

Draco felt his question hanging in the air as he gazed at Harry’s silent, unmoving form. He knew Harry was unsure whether to tell him and so didn’t interrupt whilst he thought about it. Instead he amused himself by staring at Harry’s dark hair and wondering how it always looked so stylishly mussed up. He was pretty sure Harry didn’t spend anytime getting it to look that way, he probably just rolled out of bed in the morning with his hair looking gorgeous.

Draco blinked in surprise at his odd train of thought; obviously the events of the night were getting to him. He quickly shook away those thoughts and instead wondered if Potter had decided not to answer his question after all. From the long silence it was beginning to seem that way. He looked up slowly, a frown of annoyance already creeping across his features, and found himself starring straight into Harry’s emerald eyes.

“When Voldemort tried to kill me,” Harry began, his voice sounding slightly shaky, “the curse rebounded on him, but it didn’t kill him even though it should have done. Do you know why?” Draco shook his head, this was something he had often wondered about but never dared ask his father. “He had split his soul so he couldn’t die. Do you know about Horcruxes?” This time Draco nodded, learning about them had been part of his father’s idea of education. “There’s one of Voldemort’s down there, I need to get to it.”

“To destroy it?”

Harry nodded and they both fell silent. After a few minutes Draco realised he was still staring into Harry’s eyes and tore his gaze away, instead looking at the ground below them. He was sure Harry knew more about the Horcrux than he had revealed, but Draco wasn’t about to press for anymore information. Harry had already told him more than he had anticipated and he was appreciative of the gesture even if he didn’t show it. He had expected to be treated with suspicion and contempt and had even been prepared to dodge a few hexes; instead Harry had decided to trust him and was now offering up information about what he was trying to do to defeat Voldemort. It didn’t take a genius to work out that Harry was obviously trying to destroy Voldemort’s Horcrux so that Voldemort himself would become mortal, and Draco was more than intelligent enough to make that connection.

After another few minutes of silence had passed Draco realised that this wasn’t actually getting them any closer to solving the mystery of how to get through the flames. He was also somewhat amazed to realise that the silence hadn’t been an awkward one, caused by neither of them having anything to say to the other, but had been perfectly comfortable, each leaving the other to think his own private thoughts about what had just happened. This small revelation and the information Harry had just given him kicked Draco’s brain into action. As long as he was here he might as well help.

“So…” he began. His sudden breaking of the silence shook Harry from his thoughts.

“So what?” he replied looking slightly confused.

“If we’re going to get to that Horcrux we really should get started. Let’s have another look at those flames.”

Harry looked at him oddly for a moment, and then a slight smile passed across his face. Moments later the flames sprang back up around the lowered broomstick and the two of them gazed down at the flames, both searching for some clue.

----------

“Look over there.” Draco suddenly pointed at the edge of the circle after several long minutes had passed, “The flames don’t come from the ground.” Harry followed where Draco pointed and for the first time noticed that the flames seemed to curl over as they did in the centre of the circle, perhaps forming a sort of archway. Wondering how he hadn’t spotted it before and reluctant to admit Malfoy was right, Harry nodded. Immediately Draco folded his arms, a smug expression gracing his features.

“Can’t believe you didn’t spot that Potter,” he smirked. “Good job I turned up, you could have been floating here all night.” Harry frowned, wondering if he had been right to let Malfoy stay, and seriously contemplating pushing him into the flames if he was planning on gloating further. The next moment though the smirk was gone, but not before Harry had seen the briefest hint of a teasing smile play over Malfoy’s lips.

“Whatever Malfoy,” he sighed, rolling his eyes as he lowered the broom to the ground. They both dismounted and Harry left the broom hovering where it wasn’t about to be consumed by the nearest flame, but was still within easy reach should anything unexpected happen. Now he was on the ground standing just a few metres from the 8-feet tall wall of fire, he could see that there was indeed an archway in the flames, but that it barely went half a metre into the circle, a distance he could cover in a step. No wonder he had missed it before when he had been circling the fire over and over again, you had to know it was there to distinguish it from the rest.

Draco had walked right up to the archway, and Harry followed, trying to ignore the searing heat from the fire and grateful that at least there was no smoke from the flames. Suddenly without warning Draco stepped forwards as if to enter the arch and automatically Harry grabbed his arm to pull him back.

“Malfoy what do you think you’re doing?” he hissed sharply. Much as Malfoy annoyed him, he wasn’t about to let him get burnt to death.

“Aw Potter, I didn’t know you cared.” There was that twisted sort of smile again and Harry dropped Malfoy’s arm, giving an annoyed groan.

“Fine then,” he snapped, allowing Malfoy to once again step towards the arch. It was only just wide enough and deep enough for Draco to stand in, but as soon as he entered, the flames in front of him seemed to die down, although the tunnel didn’t get any wider.

“Blimey it’s hot in here!” Draco yelled above the crackling of the flames, shuffling forwards further as the path opened up in front of him.

“Blimey?” Harry couldn’t help the sudden burst of laughter that erupted from him, “What sort of word is that?”

Then just as suddenly he stopped laughing, eyes widening in horror. Malfoy had disappeared. Harry stood looking at a solid wall of flames.

--------

“Malfoy?” Harry was rooted to the spot in fear, what if Malfoy had been burnt alive, trapped suddenly as the flames closed in on him? Not even Malfoy deserved that fate. “Malfoy?” He repeated, this time more loudly as his feet finally co-operated and he ran towards the flames. The heat was incredible, Malfoy hadn’t been exaggerating before and now he was trapped inside with no means of escape. Or possibly he was already beyond any wish of escaping.

“Malfoy, where are you? Malfoy? Malfoy!!” Harry was beginning to panic now as thoughts of what might have happened filled him with horror. What had he done? Why had he allowed Malfoy to just walk into the flames like that? He’d let his pride get in the way of his common sense, one silly little remark from Malfoy and now Harry had gone and let him get himself killed.

With no way into the flames Harry was at a loss as to what to do. He had half thought of flying overhead to see if he could see where Draco was; if he was there at all, but instead found himself pulling out his wand and sending a stream of water at the flames that now burned where the archway had been. Just as before the water hissed away into nothing as soon as it touched the fire, having no effect on them whatsoever.

“Malfoy are you in there?! Can you hear me?!” Harry’s voice was now a panicked shout “Malfoy answer me! Draco!!”

To Harry’s great relief the archway suddenly opened again and a very hot, rather grumpy looking Draco emerged.

--------

“It’s like being roasted alive in there!” Draco moaned as he stepped away from the archway, feeling distinctly sweaty and uncomfortable. “Pretty good defence, just make sure anyone who tries to get through ends up cooked.” For the first time he noticed the look on Harry’s face, who was standing there looking both concerned and confused at the same time. “What’s up Potter? Don’t tell me you were worried about me?”

“You… you disappeared!” Harry desperately tried to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t about to give Malfoy the pleasure of knowing that he had been worried about him. “What happened? Where did you go?”

“When you get a certain distance in, the flames start to close in behind you as you move forwards. When I realised I came back.” He gave his characteristic smirk before continuing, “After all I wouldn’t want you to start worrying about me.”

Draco wasn’t about to admit that when the flames started closing in behind him he had been terrified and had come back because he couldn’t stand being alone surrounded by nothing but the heat and noise of the fire. When the flames had opened up just in time for him to hear Harry’s panicked shout of his name, he had never been so pleased to see him in his life.

--------

“I wasn’t worried about you” Harry lied “I was just concerned that the path had closed and I wouldn’t be able to get through to the Horcrux.” Actually the thought of getting to the Horcrux had never crossed his mind, and when the flames had opened and Draco had stepped out, he had never been so pleased to see him in his life.

--------

“Whatever Potter.” Draco shrugged, he knew that Harry had actually for a fleeting instant been worried about his safety and had even called him by his first name. It made him feel good inside in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Someone had actually been worried about him, not for selfish reasons of their own, but simply because they did not want to see him hurt. Suddenly his past seemed a very long way away.

Not that he was about to let Potter in on any of that. He pushed his damp hair back from his forehead and motioned towards the archway.

“So I guess we should both go in together this time. I’ll go first, you follow.” He hadn’t liked feeling of the flames closing in behind his back, if Harry went last it would be his back the flames closed in on.

Harry opened his mouth to make an objection; Malfoy should stay behind, or at least allow him to go in front. After all this wasn’t Malfoy’s quest, it was supposed to have been something Harry had to do alone, and now Malfoy had randomly turned up and was taking over. Before he could say anything Malfoy had already strode into the archway and was looking over his shoulder, waiting for Harry to join him. Deciding not to waste time on an argument Harry quickly trotted over.

“Ready?” asked Draco. Harry nodded and Draco began to walk slowly forwards. The rate the flames opened up meant that they both had to take small shuffling steps and as they made their slow progress inwards Harry began to feel a strange sense of foreboding.

It was horrible inside the archway; the flames leapt eight feet high on either side and met overhead forming a strange tunnel of fire. All Harry could see was flames, unless he twisted his neck round to see the way they had come: a thin strip of black outlined by the brightness of the fire. Any moment now he knew that darkness would disappear.

“I feel like I’m cooking!” he yelled to Draco, turning back round to face the front. Already only a few moments into their journey he could feel the sweat trickling down his face.

“I told you it was hot,” was Draco’s only answer. Harry could barely hear him above the noise from the fire, especially since he was trying to keep a respectable gap between him and Malfoy, being so narrow the tunnel was claustrophobic enough without them banging into each other and making things worse. Besides he had no wish to get any closer to Malfoy than he already was.

A sudden crackling noise made them both stop and turn round. The entrance had begun to close and the flames came together so fast Harry had to step backwards to avoid them. When they stopped Draco and Harry were left standing in a space barely wide enough to let them pass and not even a metre long, surrounded by orange and red flames so bright it made their eyes hurt, so loud they could barely hear each other and so hot Harry felt he was about to pass out.

“Come on, we better keep going.” Draco’s voice made him turn round ready to start their journey again. As they shuffled forwards this time, Harry kept checking over his shoulders at the flames behind, he was sure they were getting closer on his heels and began to shuffle a bit faster to keep ahead of them, almost bumping into Malfoy in his haste. Soon Harry was tripping over Malfoy’s heels with nearly every step, something he had been trying to avoid from the start. Now this was awkward.

“Move a bit faster, will you!” he snapped impatiently.

“I can only move as fast as the flames open up.” Draco snapped back, as Harry craned his neck to check the progress of the flames behind. They were still creeping closer and Harry shuffled forwards again. The flames continued to get closer. Harry shuffled forwards some more, but was stopped as his body hit something solid in front of him. Panicking about the flames, which were still creeping closer, Harry pressed himself into the obstruction, not even thinking about what it might be. The flames stopped, mere inches from his back and Harry turned round in relief, almost knocking heads with Malfoy.

“I know I’m gorgeous Potter, but do you think you could resist whatever urges you may be having until we get out of this.” Malfoy drawled sarcastically, a wicked gleam in his eye as he looked over his shoulder at Harry.

“Shut up Malfoy.” Harry snapped back angrily, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he realised his chest was pressed against Malfoy’s back. “In case you hadn’t noticed the flames are right behind me, I can’t move any further back. Why did you stop?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, the flames in front stopped opening, I had to stop,” came the scathing reply. “You were the one who kept going, I’d have thought you would rather be burned alive than get so close to me.”

“Well I’d have thought you’d rather be burned alive than end up in a position like this as well.” Harry retorted.

“Shut it, Potter.” Draco sighed, turning back to face the front. “How about we actually try to get out of this position rather than arguing about what we think of it?”

Harry was surprised; Malfoy had not only failed to argue back, but had also been the voice of reason that reminded him that this wasn’t getting them anywhere. He actually felt vaguely ashamed for a moment, but then the remembrance that it was Malfoy who had started the argument stopped that feeling in its tracks. Most likely the only reason Malfoy had stopped the argument was that he hadn’t been able to think of a cutting reply.

--------

Draco turned back round hoping that his ending of the argument wouldn’t seem too obvious. The truth was he didn’t want to argue with Harry right now. Sure he wasn’t going to stop winding him up, after all that was half the fun of being around Harry, he was easy to wind up, but Draco wasn’t looking for a full blown argument. Besides there was something else as well, something Draco could barely even admit to himself. He was actually enjoying having Harry pressed up against him.

Well actually, maybe not Harry in particular, maybe it didn’t matter that it was Harry, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it had been a long time, too long since he had been this close to another human being. He told himself he didn’t need contact, emotional or physical with anyone else, and until now he had believed it himself, but now he was beginning to think that he might. Despite the fact that they were both hot and sweaty, and no matter how many layers of clothes were between them, Draco still felt a slight tingle run through his body at the feeling of closeness.

The sudden feel of Harry’s breath on the side of his face told him that Harry was now looking over his right shoulder, and he too directed his gaze to the flames ahead, squinting against their brightness.

Suddenly he saw it. Just for a second it was there in the flames, he heard Harry’s sharp intake of breath and knew he had seen it too.

“The Dark Mark.” Harry whispered. He didn’t need to say it any louder for Draco to hear, the noise of the fire now seemed to him only like a dull drone in the background. There was just him and Harry and the awful knowledge of what he had to do next.

“What do we do now?” Harry’s voice sounded unnaturally loud to Draco’s ears and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or more worried that Harry hadn’t worked it out yet. If he didn’t know now, he certainly would in a moment and then what would he think of Draco? It was a reminder Draco certainly didn’t want to give him, a reminder of something that just moments ago had seemed so far away.

Draco realised his hands were shaking and hoped his entire body wasn’t trembling too. He took a breath to steady his voice before speaking.

“My wand is in my back pocket. Pass it to me quickly.”

--------

Harry was rather puzzled, both by Malfoy’s request for his wand and by the fact that Malfoy seemed to be trembling slightly. It was a strange feeling to be pressed so close to a body that was shaking in that way, it made Harry want to put his arms around him and comfort him, even if it was Malfoy.

Instead Harry attempted to extract Malfoy’s wand with as little movement as possible, and was actually rather relieved to do so for it had been sticking uncomfortably into his stomach for the last few minutes. He managed to pass it to Malfoy by weaving his arm round Malfoy’s waist, then without thinking Harry dropped his hand so it was resting on Malfoy’s hip.

Slowly Malfoy raised the wand and muttered an incantation Harry could not hear. Something like black smoke shot out the end of the wand and into the fire in front of them. It took Harry’s eyes a moment to adjust and realise that the smoke had twisted itself into the shape of the Dark Mark.

All at once Harry realised why Draco had been so nervous and suddenly found himself feeling quite sorry for him. He also realised where his hand was resting and snatched it away quickly hoping Draco hadn’t noticed. The Dark Mark hung in the flames almost mockingly for a moment and then there was nothing but miles of deserted moor and a strange stone pedestal in front of them.

--------

Draco felt Harry’s hand drop from where it had been resting comfortably on his hip as soon as the Dark Mark appeared. It was the reaction Draco had been expecting; after all the Mark was a reminder that Draco was a Death Eater; that he had been trained in the ways of the Death Eaters; that he was marked.

Draco hardly noticed the flames had disappeared until he felt Harry step away from him, leaving him standing there feeling more than just the physical absence of Harry’s warmth. It had been so easy, too easy to pretend the last year had never happened, to slip back into taunting Harry merely because that’s what he did. Too easy to forget the past and slip into a strange sort of alliance with Harry, where they worked together towards the same goal. Too easy to feel he was trusted and think thoughts he had not thought for a long time. Too easy to shatter it all with one simple incantation.

“I thought I’d never have to do that again,” he mumbled, rubbing his hand across his eyes. “I really didn’t want… I mean… I….” He trailed off; unable to form a sentence that might make it all better, that might explain how he felt. Sorry was probably the word he was looking for, but he did not think to say sorry, sorry was not a word Draco had been taught to use.

--------

Harry stood quietly as Draco struggled to find the words he wanted. Harry could see in his eyes what he was thinking; he thought that by creating the Dark Mark he had somehow broken Harry’s trust. Even though it had been the only way out of the flames, even though Harry wouldn’t have known how to do it and even though if Draco hadn’t been there Harry would have been stuck wrapped in flames forever. The thought made Harry’s blood run cold. Lucky for him Draco had been there really, so why did Draco not see it that way?

Draco was still looking at him silently, waiting for him to say something and Harry wasn’t sure what to say. This was a side of Malfoy he hadn’t seen before, a side that was frightened of the consequences of his actions. Usually Malfoy seemed so confident and sure of himself; most of the time he was beyond arrogant! Malfoy’s confidence wasn’t just a front, Harry was sure it ran deeper than that, but it seemed even Malfoy had a side that wasn’t so sure of himself. Then again, maybe he had seen this before; hadn’t he caught Malfoy crying in the bathroom last year? Harry still wasn’t sure what he thought of that, but here and now he knew there was a simple way to make things better again.

“Well I might have been accused of it, but I can’t really see me doing that spell,” he laughed, mimicking Draco’s smirk. “Suppose we better look at this pedestal now.”

“I told you it was a good job I turned up when I did.” Draco drawled, after a short pause to let the meaning of Harry’s words sink in. He pulled off a much better smirk than Harry’s and Harry turned away to look at the pedestal, hiding his relieved smile as he did so.

Trust takes only a moment to shatter, but this was not that moment.

--------------------------

Continue:
Chapter 4: Language of Magic
Chapter 5: If I Had Learnt A Little Better
Chapter 6: Some Things Are Just Coincidence
Chapter 7: Just An Empty Shell

Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: Close Your Mind
Chapter 2: No Going Back

Mind Games - Chapter 2

2006-06-06T22:07:34Z

Title: Mind Games
Author: Katherine create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash in later chapters.
Beta: ~~None currently, any errors are my own unfortunately.~~ Now betaed by candy_marie_55
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: You can't close down your mind forever.
Author's notes: Set almost directly after the events of the sixth book. See below for links to additional chapters.

No Going Back

Almost an hour later, Draco was back in the tunnels again. Voldemort had arrived. He had been angry beyond anything Draco had ever experienced in his life and had punished them severely with the Cruciatus curse. Then he had dismissed them all , except Snape, and now Draco was trudging along with his father, through the cold damp passageways, his limbs aching in that all too familiar way, towards the entrance where they would be beyond the Anti-Apparition charms. They were going home.

At least his father was going home, Draco wasn’t, and he felt an odd ache in the pit of his stomach at this thought. He was about to turn his back on the life he had known, on everything he knew, on his parents. As the realisation of this flashed into his mind he felt himself pale further. True his home life hadn’t all been wonderful and idyllic but there had been times... he shook his head slightly to clear these thoughts. Now was not the time to be looking at the past through rose-tinted spectacles. It was too late for that now, he had already made his decision.

Moments later he stepped out into the cold night air by his father’s side, for what was probably going to be the last time. His father turned to him with a nod, a nod that was the signal to Disapparate back to the Manor. Draco nodded in acknowledgement and then his father was gone, he was left standing alone, the pale moon the only source of light.

“Goodbye, Father,” he murmured, closing his eyes briefly and letting a moment of self-pity engulf him. When he opened them again all trace of emotion was gone. There was no room for regret now; he must concentrate and hope Potter had managed to get where he thought he was going to be.

That was his plan. Get to wherever Potter was and talk to him. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best he had come up with so far. There was only one snag. He didn’t know where Potter was. True, Draco had seen in his mind the place where he had been going when the Death Eaters had surprised him, but he had no idea whether Potter had gone there once he had escaped, and even less idea where the place was. It had looked to Draco like a deserted stretch of moorland, dark and bleak for miles and miles, Potter could be anywhere on it, if in fact he was on it at all.

Draco knew what he had to do; not only would he have to concentrate on where he wanted to go, he would also need to concentrate on apparating into the space right next to Harry Potter. It was going to be tough, but it had to be tried.

Taking a deep breath Draco focused. He had only a little time left before his father realised he was not in the Manor and came back to look for him. He concentrated, he imagined Harry and the moor; he tried to fuse the images together. Harry Potter, the moor, Harry Potter, the moor, Harry Potter…. He stepped forward and vanished.

Then he fell.

It took Draco a split second to realise he had apparated into thin air, took a split second for him to grab wildly at the nearest object, took a split second to realise that he was dangling above roaring flames that licked greedily at his ankles, took a split second to realise that Potter had been riding a broom.

Shit.

--------

Harry had been floating above the moor for a good half hour now and still hadn’t figured out a way to get where he needed to be. After leaving the Death Eaters he had apparated back to the place where they had captured him and found his broom lying untouched on the floor of the hut. He had flown rather than Apparated to the moor land; after all he hadn’t known exactly where on the moor he needed to be and he had no idea what was going to be there. There was no point apparating into a load of trouble after such a narrow escape and if a Muggle happened to be around as he suddenly appeared from thin air things could get very uncomfortable. Besides Harry hated apparating.

He was here now though, and he knew it was the right place; for one thing the circle of flames was a bit of a giveaway. Someone had wanted to protect something that was placed in the middle of that circle. Harry hoped that someone was Voldemort and hoped that something was a Horcrux. The only problem was he had no way of getting to it; water hadn’t put out the flames, he hadn’t really expected it to, after all that would have been too easy. The only thing so far which had stopped the flames was distance, so Harry had been drifting around just high enough to stop the fire from burning. There was no one around for miles, but Harry wasn’t taking any chances.

In truth his mind had been only half on the task, he kept thinking back to what had happened with Snape. He was sure he hadn’t suddenly mastered Occlumency, he had been burning up with emotion, there was no way he had cleared his head. Then there was the mystery of where that spell had come from, he was sure now it was not a spell he had ever heard of and found himself wondering how much damage it had done to Snape. A lot he hoped, but still, where had it come from? Had someone else been controlling him? The only way he knew of doing that was the Imperius curse and he was almost certain he hadn’t been under that. It had been almost as if there was someone in his head with him, blocking his thoughts from Snape, and replacing them with thoughts that he could not think, but that made his body act seemingly of its own accord. Wait, that didn’t make sense, thoughts that he could not think? It was nonsense.

His train of thought was broken as his broom jerked sharply downwards, causing the flames to leap up once again. Something had landed on the back of his broom!

Harry twisted hurriedly, reaching for his wand. There was no one behind him. His gaze dropped, landing on the hooded and cloaked figure that was now dangling by one hand from the back of his broomstick. An involuntary shiver raced down his spine as he recognised the hooded mask as that of the Death Eaters. He watched in fascinated horror and the figure swung wildly for a moment, then seemed to regain his bearings and reach up to his hood.

Harry’s thoughts raced. Why had a Death Eater suddenly appeared on the back of his broom? Were there more? Logic told him that if there were more they would surely appear either on their own brooms or on the ground. After all they couldn’t all be planning to join him on his broomstick. Clearly something had gone wrong for this one. Maybe he had intended to land on the back of Harry’s broom and wrestle him off? Even that didn’t make sense though, how would he have known Harry’s exact position? How would he have even known Harry would be on a broomstick?

Right now there was no time to think about that. Harry snapped his attention back to the Death Eater and readied his wand. His gaze fell on the hand gripping the broom handle; the fingers were long and pale, Harry was surprised they had enough strength to grip so tightly and he realised how very easy it would be to prise those fingers away, to let the Death Eater fall to a fiery doom.

Below him the Death Eater tugged at his hood and Harry realised with some surprise that he was pulling it off. Pale blonde hair glowed in the dancing flames and the figure released the hood, allowing it to be consumed by the hungry fire below. Then he looked up. Silver grey eyes, pale skin, blonde hair.

“Malfoy!”

--------

Harry blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Somehow now he realised it was Draco Malfoy hanging from his broom most of his fear had disappeared. Malfoy might be a Death Eater now, but he was a familiar enemy. Harry had been around him and had been fighting with him nearly everyday since he was eleven, give or take a few summer holidays. Yes he was afraid of what might come next; and yes he was afraid that there would be other Death Eaters nearby, waiting for some sort of signal from Malfoy; but he could not fear Malfoy himself.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” It was a stupid question Harry realised, especially if Malfoy was part of some plan the Death Eaters had to recapture him, but the strange relief Harry felt had made the question come out of nowhere.

“I’m hanging one handed from your broomstick, in the middle of nowhere, above some sort of raging inferno by the looks of things Potter.” Malfoy snapped back, his face twisting into his trademark sneer. “Unless of course you want to tell me something different.” Harry recoiled slightly; that wasn’t the sort of reply he’d been expecting, although come to think of it he hadn’t really known what he was expecting. His mouth tried to form several questions at once.

“How did you get here?” he stammered finally. That was another pointless question he realised. Shouldn’t he be asking him about why he was here? About whether he should expect more Death Eaters to suddenly arrive to take him prisoner once again?

“I Apparated Potter, what do you think. It’s not like I just fell out of the sky.” Malfoy made a grab for the broom with his free hand, causing it to sway dangerously. “Are you going to give me a hand or what?”

Wordlessly and unable to think what else to do, Harry clutched at Draco’s free hand and, after some effort, managed to haul him up high enough for him to hook a leg over the broomstick. Draco swung himself up, and for one brief moment clutched at Harry’s waist to steady himself, then his hands were gone and Harry could only watch in silence as he pulled the black robes over his head and then let those too fall into the flames below.

The flames! Harry hoped no Muggles had noticed them. He pulled the broomstick upwards sharply, forcing Malfoy to once again clutch at his waist to keep his balance. The flames vanished suddenly and both Harry and Draco had to blink a few times as their eyes adjusted to seeing only by the pale light of the full moon.

--------

“They’ve gone!” Draco stated somewhat obviously, before realising that his hands were still gripping Harry’s waist tighter than was strictly necessary. He pulled them away hastily, although luckily Harry didn’t appear to notice.

Instead they hovered there not moving for a few moments, before Harry twisted round and looked at him again with raised eyebrows.

“You’re wearing Muggle clothes.” Harry’s voice sounded unnaturally loud now the roaring of the flames had gone. Draco glanced down at his attire: black jeans, black trainers, long sleeved black t-shirt to hide the ugly mark on his arm.

“Yeah.” His mouth was suddenly very dry Now that he was seated safely on the broom and floating quietly above what looked like an ordinary deserted moorland, Draco was beginning to realise how odd the situation must appear. So far Potter actually appeared to be taking things quite well considering, and he hadn’t hexed Draco yet, which was always a good sign as far as he was concerned. Harry was still looking at him strangely and Draco realised that he was even more unsure about what to do next than Draco was. The realisation brought back some of his Malfoy self-assurance and he relaxed slightly.

“So Potter, care to tell me what you’re doing?” he drawled, casually flexing the fingers that were aching from supporting his weight for so long.

--------

Harry looked at him almost incredulously. “What do you mean, what am I doing?” he spluttered, half out of rage, half out of amazement. He was starting to feel like he had missed a very important part of a very important conversation. This was not supposed to happen. Moments ago his biggest worry had been how to get past seemingly impenetrable magical flames. Now he had to deal with the fact that Malfoy had just appeared from nowhere, for no discernable reason and was asking him what he was doing as if this were a normal everyday occurrence.

“Never mind what I’m doing, what are you doing? How did you know I was here? Why did you Apparate onto my broomstick?” Harry’s voice was beginning to sound high and panicked but he didn’t care “Are there more of you? Is this some sort of attack?” He paused and took a deep breath to calm himself slightly before he asked the most important question of all. If only he had the answer to this he felt that it might all make sense. “Why have you just thrown away your robes?”

Draco sighed and rubbed his hand across his eyes “Hold it Potter, one question at a time.” He took a deep breath “I saw where you would be in your head. I was trying to Apparate to wherever you were. I didn’t know you’d be on a broomstick. I didn’t mean to Apparate onto it, or off it as it turned out.” He gave a twisted sort of smile, “No, there are no more of us. No, it isn’t an attack. And I threw them away because I won’t be needing them anymore.”

“....” Harry blinked, his mouth moved for a second, but no sound came out. What exactly was Malfoy saying?

“You won’t need them anymore?” The question came out in a rush, as if he was afraid to say it in case the answer wasn’t what he expected.

“No Potter, I won’t be needing them anymore.” Draco’s eyes pierced into his, as if daring him to challenge what he had just said. Daring him to ask why. Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and understood what Malfoy had left unspoken. He had switched sides. That was it, end of discussion. There would be no why, there would be no doubtful questioning, there would be no surprised remarks. Not here, not now, not yet...

There was one thing though that needed to be asked, something Harry could not let go. “Was it you earlier? In my head?” Draco scowled and nodded briefly; Harry opened his mouth to ask how and why, but closed it swiftly again. That was all he was going to get, he realised. He had to decide here and now whether to trust Malfoy, and if he made the wrong decision everything would be lost. If he trusted Malfoy he would probably have to let him in on what was going on right now, and that was something that only his closest friends knew. If he trusted Malfoy and Malfoy were not trustworthy, Voldemort would find out just how much Harry knew about how to destroy him and the consequences didn’t bear thinking about. But what if Malfoy was trustworthy and he turned him away? He had already betrayed Voldemort and without The Order’s protection he would probably be dead before another day was out.

How could he make that decision? He found himself thinking back to the events of the last year: the night of Dumbledore’s death and how Malfoy had acted on the Tower. This was the first time he had seen him since that dreadful night. Dumbledore’s death had been Malfoy’s fault, how could he trust him now after all that had happened?

His thoughts returned to this evening and the strange events that had taken place. He would probably be dead now if Malfoy hadn’t helped him back in those cellars, he didn’t know how or why Malfoy had helped him, but when Malfoy said it was him Harry found himself believing him; he was sure there had been no one else present who would have done such a thing. Of course it could all be a trick, designed to make him trust Malfoy. Dumbledore had trusted Snape and look what that had led to.

Sighing heavily, he lifted his gaze from the ground below and looked at Malfoy properly for the first time in years. His white-blonde hair shone silvery in the moonlight, outlining his pale, finely chiselled features. He was toned, perhaps more muscular than he appeared at first glance, but still he looked too thin for his height. For the first time Harry found himself noticing both this and the dark circles under Malfoy’s eyes. Silver grey eyes that held no emotion; that simply looked back into Harry’s own, waiting for a decision.

Slowly Harry held out his hand.

Draco shook it.

----------------

Continue:
Chapter 3: Wrapped in Flames
Chapter 4: Language of Magic
Chapter 5: If I Had Learnt A Little Better
Chapter 6: Some Things Are Just Coincidence
Chapter 7: Just An Empty Shell

Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: Close Your Mind

Mind Games - Chapter 1

2006-06-05T19:36:41Z

100 Icon Challenge

2006-06-05T18:02:28Z

This is the table where I will be posting my icons for 100icons challenge. If you wish to use an icon credit is appreciated, but hotlinking is not. Please upload to your own server.

Feedback and comments are always loved.

001. smile	002. laugh	003. sweet	004. flirt	005. kiss

006. sexy	007. lust	008. tease	009. love	010. embrace

011. shy	012. sassy	013. fun	014. crazy	015. silly

016. happy	017. sad	018. fear	019. pain	020. jealous

021. good	022. evil	023. promise	024. secret	025. memories

026. truth	027. lie	028. heal	029. breathe	030. hope

031. sleep	032. dream	033. wake	034. peace	035. fight

036 fate	037. alone	038. confused	039. dangerous	040. mystery

041. name	042. family	043. baby	044. young	045. nerdy

046. dirty	047. hands	048. feet	049. heart	050. broken

051. lost	052. found	053. win	054. lose	055. prize

056. sun	057. rain	058. beach	059. mountains	060. city

061. home	062. work	063. play	064. fire	065. ice

066. cold	067. hot	068. star	069. light	070. dark

071. angry	072. stress	073. distort	074. forget	075. remember

076. eyes	077. time	078. music	079. dance	080. pretty
	</>

081. spring	082. summer	083. autumn	084. winter	085. animal

086. beauty	087. trust	088. forgive	089. omg	090. wtf

091. red	092. blue	093. green	094. hello	095. goodbye

096. Artist‘s Choice.	097. Artist‘s Choice.	098. Artist‘s Choice.	099. Artist‘s Choice.	100. Artist‘s Choice.

Here are a few alternative ones that I made:

And one for any Hermione/Draco shippers out there. This used to be my favourite ship, although now I'm not so keen as I far prefer Hermione/Ron. When I saw this manip though it was just so fantastic that I couldn't resist. It's a great manip, unfortunately no one seems to know who made it, so if it's you or if you know who's it is please let me know so I can credit.

See my resources post (in memories) for a list of resources.

If you would like a tutorial on how I created an icon just ask and I will be happy to make one, or if you wish to use one of my bases just let me know. I'm willing to post blanks of most of my icons (ie. without texts/borders/gradients, or whatever combination you want), all I ask is that you don't edit these icons directly unless you have permission.

Thanks!

New Journal

2006-05-30T10:11:19Z

This is the new home for all my icons and stories. There isn't anything here yet, but there will be soon!

I seem to have somehow got stuck with the ad-supported option. Does this mean everyone else can see the adverts, or is it just me?