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January 2002
It was 10.37 on a gloriously sunny Friday in Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland and Draco Malfoy was shirtless and chopping firewood whilst, unbeknownst to him, three pairs of eyes watched him…
It wasn't even as if there had been any forewarning, he mused grumpily later. Surely there should have been soothsayers shooting at him in the street, three-eyed ravens cawing at him from every branch in the days leading up to it. Instead, the day had started quite pleasantly. He had been for a morning run to shake the cobwebs off after his late night floo journey from Geneva and was pleased to see it had not snowed overnight and the Swiss roads were clear, the air smelling dew-drop clean and sharp with cold. He returned sweaty and tossed his running shirt in with the rest of his laundry before he remembered that the supply of firewood was running low and he would definitely need more for tonight. He had sworn at himself for his ineptitude and went out to do it before his shower, casting a strong Impervius on his torso to avoid splinters before picking up the axe and regretting that the mixed nature of the village meant he couldn’t risk using magic.. But he reckoned he should be fine, he still had two hours before the guests were due. Oma had said that they were from England and he decided abruptly as he swung the axe that despite his reservations that he wouldn’t use the glamour he'd been debating on wearing, it would be a pain to keep up all week and his blond hair easily fit in with the Swiss aesthetic anyway so he could always pretend he spoke Swiss-German and deflect any questions about his background. And it wasn’t as if his surname was lying about anywhere, and Oma was unaccountably fond of him, enough that unofficially adopting him for the week surely wouldn’t bother her. Enough to trust him with the care of the guest house alone for this week while Oma was laid up recovering from surgery and Alec was in Belgium visiting his father.
It was only when he heard a slight cough behind him after he'd split the third log that he reflected that he should have thought that the guests might arrive early. And it was only when he'd turned around and seen three of his old classmates staring at him in various stages of shock, that he thought that he definitely should have checked the names under the booking.
And so it was that he was discovered, half-naked and engaging in manual labour.
Luna, he realised immediately, his pulse quickening. He had sent her a letter with a picture of the place and asked her if she would like to visit during his week alone there. In her return letter she had said that unfortunately she would be busy exploring the New Forest for signs of the Horned Rumplemeadow Pixie but she'd recommended it to some friends. Oh and her and Ginny were engaged and would he be her best man? News which had overtaken anything else in terms of importance. But by then Oma had said the rooms had been booked anyway so he had penned a speedy ‘congratulations’ card and left it at that. She could have bloody mentioned that the ‘friends’ were the sodding Golden Trio. And judging by their faces she had also neglected to inform them of the somewhat vital detail of his presence. They were all togged up in winter gear, Wealsey and Potter sporting two identical looking homemade bobble hats which Draco might have a secret snicker about if he wasn’t hyper-aware that they could all see his bloody nipples right now.
Weasley recovered first, ‘Malfoy,’ he'd half-laughed before looking around as though someone was about to reveal the practical joke, ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’
The way Draco saw it, he had three choices.
The first was to lean into his abject cowardice and Disapparate. He knew the lay of the land here, they probably wouldn’t find him again. But that would be letting down Alec and Oma and violating the no-magic rule, so that was out.
The second was to pretend to be Draco Malfoy’s long lost twin brother, give himself a name like Matthias or Fabian and plead ignorance for the week. This could work, he considered, until he remembered that he was shirtless and therefore the blurry and shrunken remnant of the Dark Mark was definitely fully visible right now. Which was so bloody typical. He'd managed to go two full years since his last boyfriend without showing his left forearm in any sort of company, but not today.
The third is to resign himself to spending the next week in his own personal hell and getting on with it. He sighed.
‘Hello Weasley, Granger, Potter. It’s been a while. I don’t suppose you’re staying at the Meyer Guest House?’ he indicated the path to the lodge behind him half-hopeful they would say no and this was just one big coincidence. They were all still staring at him, open-mouthed, ‘only I sort of work there right now you see and…’
‘No.’ Weasley said abruptly, starting to pull out his wand.
Draco saw it and his heart leapt into his throat, ‘Put that away!’ he hissed, ‘This village is a mixed community you absolute dolt, no wands in public. You can curse me if you must but you will bloody do it indoors. And if you’re not staying here…’
‘We were staying here.’ Weasley continued pointedly, still gripping his wand tightly, though Draco was glad to see he had stopped trying to remove it from his pocket, ‘We’ll find somewhere else.’
He turned on his heel and marched off, then turned again after a few paces when he realized Granger and Potter hadn't followed. They were both still standing there gawping and Draco felt his cheeks heat despite the cold.
‘Uh…right you pair? We can’t stay with him!’
‘Right, no, yes dear.’ Granger said faintly.
‘Um, I don’t think you’ll find anywhere,’ Draco said trying to sound polite and not at all on the verge of panic as he wrapped his arms around himself to hopefully alleviate the worst of the staring, ‘it’s the ski season so everywhere’s pretty packed.’
Weasley scoffed at him and Draco suddenly questioned why the hell he was arguing with his way out.
‘Well suit yourselves.’ he said shortly and walked out of the clearing towards the lodge with as much dignity as he could muster. Oma would be disappointed about losing the room fees but it was out of his hands.
Once he was confident he was out of sight he ducked into the safety of the trees and stuffed his fist into his mouth to stifle the anguished cry he had been holding in. Then he remembered that there was a bend in the road close to where he was standing and he could hear approaching footsteps. He abruptly ceased his muffled wails and waited for them to pass.
‘...just saying, there’s no way it’s real is all.’
‘I’m telling you Ron, potions can’t make you look like that. Well not for long anyway…and you saw how shocked he was to see us.’
‘That was all an act clearly! He’s probably rigged up the guesthouse with all kinds of nasty traps, been planning it for years. Maybe he Imperiused Luna and then he pretended to be a sweet little old lady to get us out here and into his murder shack.’
‘A sweet little old lady that looks like Draco Malfoy with a six pack?’
‘Uh…well maybe he picked up the wrong bottle? What do you think Harry?’
‘.....hmmm?’
‘You alright mate? You haven’t said a word. We’ll find somewhere else I promise. Don’t let it ruin the holiday.’
‘....what? Oh right, yeah. It’s just weird is all. Haven’t seen him since the trial. I wonder how he ended up here.’
‘Maybe we should try and find out what happened to the owner of the Guest House, make sure Malfoy hasn’t done something to them. I mean do you remember…’
The voices faded into the distance and Draco looked down at himself contemplatively. If this was quite possibly the most humiliating way to be discovered, at least he had the meagre satisfaction of knowing he needn't be ashamed of his body. He’d discovered the gymnasium when he’d been wandering around the campus of the Universite Magie de Paris at night, trying to curb the feelings of guilt and anger and sorrow. He’d wandered in and realised with horror that it was a muggle gym. Paris was like that, far more casual about mixing Muggle and wizarding spaces together and he was still getting used to it, mouth dry and pulse quickening at every interaction.
He'd tried to leave but his way had been blocked by an Adonis in gym shorts with wavy honey-blond hair and aquamarine eyes who had asked him if he was from the campus, with raised eyebrows and a significant look. Draco had nodded with relief and he'd introduced himself as Alec and said gently that Draco's clothes weren't really suitable for the gym, eyes travelling to his Oxford brogues and pocket watch chain. Draco had thanked him for the advice and promptly burst into tears.
A few hundred babbling apologies over a glass of water in the changing rooms that Alec had shepherded him into and Draco was ready to sink into the floor. But Alec had just said gently, ‘Hey, I know what grief looks like, it's ok.’
Draco had been shocked into silence and Alec had gone on with sympathy in his crystalline eyes, ‘You know, exercise really helped me when my mum died. If you like I could show you some of the equipment?’
Alec had been right. It did help. It gave him something to do when he couldn't sleep. He found his anxiety symptoms improved. He liked the bright lights, having had enough of dark shadowy corridors for a lifetime. He liked the machines, all gleaming and functional and without a single whiff of magic about them. He liked that it was a space that didn't remind him of the war, of death, of the enormity of his failures.
Wizards never made much of physical fitness, other than was necessary to play Quidditch and he had looked vaguely at the diagram Alec had shown him on his first day with all the muscles displayed without too much interest. But now he could see those muscles in himself, his skin taut and smooth over the new bulges on his arms, the definition of his chest and stomach. That made him feel better too, gave him something positive to focus on in the mirror.
Something positive to focus on…it could have gone worse he supposed. Other than being half naked and humiliated, but at least Weasley hadn’t hexed him and broken any laws. He did not need that this week, not with his crucial experiment almost ready for testing. Sighing heavily, he made his escape back to the lodge, shivering with the cold now and longing for a hot shower and possibly a Calming Draught.
All the while with Potter’s gentle questioning tone ringing in his ears,
‘I wonder how he ended up here…’
…..
September, 1997
The Gargoyle outside the headmaster's office was still as ugly and obnoxious as ever. It made him wait in the corridor like he was a common student. Like he wasn't the headmaster's godson. He grunted in disgust and leaned against the opposite wall, flicking his head quickly to observe the eerily silent corridor. The Hogwarts Express had been quieter than usual, certainly. The Mudbloods had not returned. Which was what he wanted. Of course. And now that the rabble had been cleared out they wouldn't need to waste half as much time in class explaining the simplest concepts. All the teachers would be thankful, eventually. He knew they were fans of that old fool Dumbledore but…he shifted uncomfortably against the stone as his stomach gave a panicked lurch - he didn't have to think about Dumbledore right now, he could put last year’s unpleasantness behind him. Things would improve from here. They would. Now that Snape was in charge of Hogwarts and the Ministry had been brought to heel with the proper people in charge, they could really start to get things done. And as an added benefit that the Dark Lord wasn't spending nearly as much time in Malfoy Manor. Not that it hadn't been an honour, he thought quickly. But…he remembered his father's face as his wand was snapped. Of Professor Burbage’s body hitting the dining room table. Of Rowle and Dolohov screaming as that hideous snake had circled hopefully. He swallowed and twisted his fingers around his wand nervously. His father had explained to him that these things were necessary as part of war. Of course they were. And he was of age and a fully fledged Death Eater now, he mustn't be squeamish about such things. Now that the war was as good as won he could put it all behind him soon enough. And his father would have a prominent place in the Ministry and things would settle down and become more civilised again. He might not like all the Dark Lord’s methods but it wouldn’t be forever. Once the dissenters were quashed then the bloodshed would stop. It would.
‘You can go up now.’ the Gargoyle leered at him, standing aside and breaking his reverie.
Draco answered with a haughty toss of his head and ascended the stone steps. The coolness of the passage calmed him and by the time he opened the door he was perfectly in check. He entered the Headmaster’s Office and looked around him curiously. It looked much the same as during Dumbledore’s tenure, same portraits staring at him from the walls, same desk and chairs. Only the delicate little instruments Dumbledore had favoured as decoration had been removed, the perch for Dumbledore’s phoenix empty. He’d only got to see it once, when father had demanded an audience for some outrage or another and Draco had stared up at it as his father had spoken in harsh tones. Draco wondered what had happened to it briefly before Snape made an impatient noise and gestured to the chair opposite him.
‘Sit.’
Loquacious as ever, Draco thought sarcastically and sat. He looked into Snape’s black eyes and felt a curious mixture of anger and gratitude. Anger because he had swooped in at the last second and stolen Draco’s achievement and had all the credit afforded to him by the Dark Lord while Draco’s efforts had been sidelined. And gratitude because…in the end he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t raise his hand to kill Dumbledore. That truth sat uncomfortably with him and had kept him awake for nights. He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t strong enough. He had failed. His stomach gave another frightening churn.
‘Draco,’ Snape began, eyes flat and unwelcoming, ‘you will doubtless observe many changes in the next year. The Carrows have several plans for improvements and doubtless they will lean on you and your fellow students to assist in maintaining order and discipline.’
Draco nodded, trying to appear eager. He should be eager, hadn't he been eager when Umbridge had recruited him for that exact same purpose two years ago? She had appreciated his vigour and her sympathies towards their cause had meant she had been one of the first they had recruited secretly when plans for infiltrating the Ministry had been put in motion. No doubt the Carrows would also appreciate his efforts and then Draco would have a ready-made network of supporters when he finished his NEWTs and went into the Ministry next year. And if he happened to not like any of them very much, well what did that matter? His father disliked most of his business colleagues, that was just how things worked.
‘There are certainly several instances of tidying up from the last administration that need to be attended to,’ Snape continued, ‘they will doubtless lean on you in the absence of support from other, less willing members of the faculty.’
Draco nodded again, those old duffers who had backed Dumbledore to the hilt. They would all change their tune in time. They would.
‘And speaking of tidying up…’ Snape pushed a yellowed envelope towards Draco on the desk, ‘I found this amongst Professor Dumbledore’s papers a few weeks ago.’
His name was on the front, written in green ink. He picked it up bewildered. Dumbledore had written to him? For what possible reason? He looked around at the portraits on the wall, half-expecting to see Dumbledore’s face among them but he was not there, although there were several empty frames. He returned his gaze to the letter, and broke the seal, carefully removing and unfolding the parchment.
Draco,
Receiving this means you will doubtless be rejoicing at my departure. Do not fear any admonishment in this letter to you, I bear you no ill will for the matter. Rather, I have an important bequest to make to you.
A bequest? Draco looked up to find Snape’s eyes impassive and markedly uninterested. A clock chimed the hour on the wall as he continued.
There are many secrets and wonders in this old castle, some of them you will no doubt know. I have arranged for you to have full control over the wonder known as the Room of Requirement. It has long been overlooked by myself and headmasters before me. But I sense you have hidden talents and will find the challenge most invigorating. You will find the Device and instructions for maintaining it in an abandoned classroom on the seventh floor. I leave it in your care. You will no doubt hear the chimes in due course.
Thanking and forgiving you in advance,
Prof. A. Dumbledore
‘Wha-’ Draco began but was stopped by Snape’s held up palm, a demand for silence.
‘Draco, I would advise that, whatever is in that letter, it is not something that needs to be shared with myself or necessarily anyone. Confiding in one’s peers should not be undertaken lightly.’
Was that a jab about him not trusting Snape last year to help with his task? Regardless, Draco could see the sense in his words. If it got back to the Dark Lord that Dumbledore had written to him, had bequeathed him something, even if it was a load of nonsense, then it would look highly suspicious. He drew his wand and cast Incendio and watched the parchment turn to ash in his hands, which he then Vanished and brushed his hands together, a gesture with a note of finality to it.
‘Just as well. It was nothing important.’ He said airily, ‘Will there be anything else Headmaster?’
Snape narrowed his eyes at him but shook his head. Draco stepped away from the desk with every appearance of nonchalance even as his mind was racing.
Full control over the Room of Requirement. What was the Room of Requirement? And why on earth had Dumbledore picked him of all people? The old fogey must have been losing his marbles towards the end.
He wouldn’t give it another thought.
…..
February 2002
It was 3:10pm before he heard a knock on the door and five minutes after he’d almost let himself believe they’d found somewhere else and wouldn’t be darkening his doorstep. He should have learned by now that luck was like a churlish hippogriff - liable to tear him into pieces the second he got the slightest bit cocky . He pulled himself up with a resigned sigh and carefully bookmarked his page in one of Oma’s scandalously graphic romance novels. At least he was fully dressed this time, albeit in a faded jumper and trousers which he now realised had a stain on the knee and he took a second to Scourgify them before taking a deep breath and answering the door.
He raised the simple wooden latch that he had repaired himself last summer and found himself pushed back into the hall, a wand at his throat.
‘We checked around the village and they said this place was run by Mrs. Wengen and someone called Omar. Want to explain where she is and why you're hiding up here under a false name.’
Draco grimaced and tried not to look too condescending, ‘Not Omar, Weasley - Oma. It means grandmother. It's a nickname for Mrs. Wengen. They're the same person. And I'm only here because she's laid up and staying with a friend. She asked me to look after the place for the week.’
‘And why would she entrust it to you?’ Weasley snapped, clearly a bit embarrassed.
‘I'm friends with her grandson.’ he said shortly. ‘We went to University in Paris together.’ This was frankly a gross simplification for his relationship with Alec and Mrs. Meyer, who had taken one look at him when Alec had brought him to her lodge for Christmas break and had insisted she call him Oma, that he help her with chores, that he eat and rest and submit to her kindness.
‘Are you even capable of having friends?’ Weasley grunted.
There was a time when a retaliating insult would have been at the top of his mind. But he had no fight in him now. He wordlessly held up two pairs of keys and felt them snatched away and Weasley backed up a step.
He swallowed, ‘Breakfast is in the dining room from 7am. I'm sure you've read the literature before coming but there are muggles here so please no open displays of magic.’ he addressed this pointedly Weasley, then turned and indicated the broad wooden staircase, ‘You're up there, first two doors on the right.’
‘Oh no,’ Weasley says, his wand still raised, ‘I'm not walking blindly into whatever you've got planned. You go up first. We'll follow.’
He could be finalising his grant applications in his tiny office right now, Draco mused forlornly. He could be in the library editing his essays by the light of the green bankers lamps. He could be in Alec’s gym exhausting himself with the barbell so he could finally sleep. Instead he trudged up the stairs silently with an air of someone long suffering and waited on the landing for them next to Oma’s collection of cow bells (the tourists love them, she had told him). Granger shot him a wary glance and started casting and Draco winced, expecting something nasty to happen to him but they all appeared to be revealing spells. He stood there mutely and took the opportunity to survey the three of them.
Granger looked much the same, a little frown on her face as she focused on her spells. She could be in a Hogwarts uniform and he wouldn't know the difference, though maybe her hair was a little shorter. Weasley had grown, annoyingly and might even be taller than Draco now. He had a decent haircut for probably the first time in his life and it suited him. Extremely annoying. Potter…Potter he could look at unobserved because his eyes seem to be fixed upon Draco's midsection, even though he put on a turtleneck to cover up as much of himself as possible. It was so strange looking at him now, with the benefit of time and distance and his refusal to read the English papers. He wasn't even very attractive now that Draco had the chance to look at him properly. Too short and his eyebrows, too bushy. His eyes though, Draco admitted to himself, were still that hypnotizing shade of impossible green, his skin still that gorgeous caramel colour, his hands so rugged and strong. Such a waste that he was straight. Wait, he was straight, wasn't he? He peered at him, suddenly not so sure. Was the absent-minded way Potter was staring at his chest because he was suspicious of Draco or because he was attracted to him? Draco felt his chest tighten at the thought. Or was it…the Sectumsempra scars? He wasn't sure whether to be offended - you could barely see them for Merlin's sake, only the largest one which crossed up onto his right pectoral - there certainly wasn't any reason to stare at them. He shifted slightly, toying with the idea of being offended but decided against it. He couldn’t afford to have anything disrupt his plans this week, including any confrontations with rude guests.
‘It's all clear, Ron,’ Granger said, breaking into Draco’s thoughts, ‘Nothing but the usual wards around the main structure, privacy charms on the bedrooms, a few spells showing in the kitchen but they're all blue so the standard domestic stuff.’
‘Right.’ Draco was secretly relieved. Oma was a nice old lady but they were always the ones that tended to have the craziest Dark objects in their attics. ‘So as I was saying. Breakfast. From 7am. Dining room.’
‘What’s your tattoo?’ Potter asked bluntly.
‘My…what?’ Draco paled, thinking of the horrible remains of the Mark on his forearm. Had Potter gone completely mad?
‘No, the other one.’ Potter asked, his eyes still trained on Draco’s midsection as though he were in a stupor ‘Is it an M for Malfoy?’
‘It’s a W.’ he replied shortly, starting to feel like an animal at the zoo.
Granger broke in, ‘You said this was a mixed community - do you mix with muggles much then?’
It was said with a tight smile and an air of challenge that made Draco's stomach drop and he could almost hear his unbearably smug voice calling her Mudblood in school over and over.
‘I…not often but…I do, yes.’
‘Ah.’ she replied, nodding, the little crease in her forehead back and aimed in his direction, as though he were a puzzle to be figured out, ‘I suppose you can’t avoid them if you live in a mixed community like this.’
‘Actually I don’t live here,’ he admitted. ‘I live in Geneva. I work at CERM, if you’ve heard of it?’
‘What really?’ her eyes lit up faster than when their exam schedules were announced.
‘I mean work is maybe too grandiose,’ he said awkwardly, ‘I mainly write things that nobody reads and get rejection letters for my funding requests.’
‘What’s Serm, is that short for something?’ Weasley asked blankly.
‘Conseil Européen de Recherche Magique.’ Draco clarified for him, ‘the muggles have a truly incredible laboratory of their own there so the Federation decided to build a magical version, to keep an eye on the muggles and fund research into certain areas of magic.’
‘Think the Department of Mysteries on a large dose of Pepper-Up.’ Hermione explained eagerly.
Draco was starting to get seriously concerned about Potter. He seemed rooted to the spot, staring at Draco open-mouthed. He was tempted to ask if he was unwell, possibly in need of some Pepper-Up himself.
‘And what’s your field there?’ Granger asked, that exact same brand of untempered enthusiasm he remembered so well from lessons, ‘What do you study?’
Draco found himself infected with her energy and couldn’t help but smile a little, ‘Well, I suppose you’ve heard of Deep Magic?’
…..
September 1997
Boredom turned out to be what drove him to seek out the meaning of Dumbledore’s message. He’d had a few nights of troubled sleep, disturbing dreams. Who would have thought that the sight of other people being hurt would upset him so much? There must be something wrong with him. Weakness, like his father said. He just needed to stop thinking about it. He was contemplating going to the potion stores when he heard the chimes. He’d heard them a few times before without realising what they must be. Not an unpleasant sound, rather like a doorbell or a wind chime, resounding in his brain exactly as the wards did at home when someone entered through the gates and as Dumbledore had mentioned them in his letter. Someone must be using the Room of Requirement, whatever that was. No-one else seemed to hear them and so he’d steadily been ignoring them. But right now he needed a good distraction and it wouldn’t hurt to have a look. Seventh floor, Dumbledore had said.
He made his way through the castle, not bothering to be quiet - who would want to question a Death Eater on their nighttime activities? Not even Filch was that stupid. When he got to the seventh floor and heard the chimes again, louder and drawing him into an old classroom he finally remembered. This was next to the door for the Room of Hidden Things. They must be one and the same but he hadn’t made the connection. Is this why Dumbledore had given it to him; a pre-mortem burst of irony?
The classroom was gloomy and old, chairs and desks piled up haphazardly and filled with dust that tickled his nose. There was a cabinet that spanned the entire back wall covered with a haze that he realised must be a strong cloaking charm. He was the only one in the castle who could see it, he realised, Dumbledore’s ‘legacy’ had granted him access. He felt himself puff up with importance - he liked special, secret things. He had commandeered a nook in the attics of Malfoy Manor and had hidden ‘treasures’ there when he was a boy. Only things he found in the manor or the woods - a piece of flint that looked like a wolf’s head, a petrified scarab beetle from his Aunt’s trip to Egypt, an old cape with gold threaded epaulettes that his father had said belonged to his great-grandfather. It hadn’t been anything extraordinary but it had been his and his alone and therefore worth so much more than galleons or sickles.
He examined the cabinet. There was a lock in the centre but no key and as he touched it, it opened underneath his hand. He realised that the doors slid, accordion-style all the way to the opposite walls and revealed what Dumbledore had referred to as the Device. The controls for the Room of Requirement.
He had a few moments of shocked silence as his brain fully processed what he was seeing.
Merlin’s fucking balls.
It was clearly goblin-made, the rows of dials, switches and levers all made from cherry wood and beautiful burnished bronze. But what caught his eye most was the clear glass column in the centre that seemed to go down, down, down, into the very rock that the castle was built into, containing a swirling vortex of colour and light. It moved without purpose or direction but constantly shifting, at times rolling like a wave, or rising upward and corkscrewing into bright, flickering fingers that seemed to reach towards him. Even through the glass he could feel the call of it, the power.
‘Sweet Salazar…’
It was Deep Magic. He recognised it immediately, despite only reading about it in books. The Room must be built on a well. A Deep Magic Well. That was…incredible. Unbelievable. He'd heard of maybe ten existing, in the whole world? He'd heard that a room existed in Hogwarts that could contain ‘anything’ but he'd dismissed it as rumour, over-excited squealing by first years: ‘You just ask the Room for whatever it wants and it gives you them!’ It sounded like a fairytale. And he’d assumed the Room of Hidden Things was just a rotating carousel of rooms that responded to simple commands, the way a lot of the Hogwart’s architecture did. But if the Room of Requirement was built on Deep Magic then that made anything possible. It could contain the world. You could build Universes inside of this thing.
And Dumbledore had handed him full control over it. Draco let out a mad giggle. Truly this was evidence that the man was completely off his rocker. Giving this much power to anyone was questionable; giving it to an enemy was unfathomably stupid. It hit him then, with such tremendous force that he felt the need to sit down, his legs shaking. This was his ticket to redemption. This would get him back into the Dark Lord's good books for eternity. He could save the family name, he could get them back on top.
He would have to be careful though. The Dark Lord would almost certainly order Draco to hand it over to the Carrows or Snape if he told him about it now. It would be stupid to reveal it straight away. But if he could learn how it worked, maintain it and arrange it so that he was indispensable…then he'd really have something to negotiate with. He had visions of becoming Lord Malfoy, reinstating his claim to ownership of the Manor and restoring his family's rightful place in society. His father would be so proud of him.
He blinked and found that he had tears in his eyes at the enormity of it. He pulled himself together and peered at the controls again. First things first…
Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure that no-one had ever trained a Deep Magic Well. But this Device must do something surely? And he’d worked on that damn cabinet all year and they’d said that was impossible too…
He flicked a switch experimentally then flinched when the whole thing started shaking and blaring, loud and dissonant. He flipped it back. Ok, lesson one - don't touch that switch. He stood back and surveyed the complex mechanism. Draco Malfoy, Expert in Deep Magic was a long way off yet.
…..
February 2002
Alone and surrounded by the remnants of breakfast things, Draco leaned back against the pine kitchen chair and allowed himself to relax a little. It was actually going so much better than he thought it would. Granger had been pleasantly intrigued by his work and her enthusiasm for that seemed to override any misgivings she might have. Weasley and Potter seemed inclined to regard him as something of a curiosity - the once impeccable Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and Pureblood poster boy - now scruffy, running a guest house and cohabiting with muggles.
The staring had resumed during breakfast when they'd all hesitantly hovered in the dining room as he'd laid out pastries, meats and cheeses. Granger had been polite enough, enquiring about the Swiss names for things and requesting his advice when it came to the local attractions. He'd given them a subtly charmed map that would mark their location as they travelled around the village. They'd exchanged glances that Draco suspected were supposed to be covert, though he had no idea what they meant until Potter piped up, ‘I used to have a map like that. Except it was of Hogwarts.’
‘Hogwarts?’ Draco had asked, intrigued, ‘I want aware that any map had been made of Hogwarts, what with the layout being so famously unpredictable and all. And you could see yourself moving around on it?’
‘Himself and everyone else. Although he certainly paid attention to some people more than others.’ Weasley had said, shooting Potter a wry look. Potter had blushed and Granger had changed the subject, asking about where they should stop for lunch.
It was only when they were filing out of the room that Potter turned to him, his green eyes brimming with frank curiosity.
‘And what are you going to do today?’
Draco had run a hand through his hair distractedly, flustered by the question, ‘Oh, well I need to do some chores and then I have a little project I'm working on.’
‘You don't need any more firewood?’ Potter asked, his mouth crooked into a sly grin.
‘Ah, no.’ Draco blushed, ‘No we have enough for a while.’
‘Shame.’ Potter nodded, a charming twinkle in his eye and joined Weasley and Granger where they were waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.
Draco gaped after him, nervous and flustered. Was Potter flirting with him? If it were anyone else he wouldn't question it but it wasn't anyone else. It was Potter. Whose feelings towards him had always been unambiguous loathing, even if he had testified for him. And sure, Draco looked different now but he wasn't exactly the flirting type. It had taken his last boyfriend three months to ask him out.
‘You're so serious.’ he'd said on their first official date, ‘And you barely talk.’ Which was true. After the war he'd retreated into himself. He had always been naturally shy and anxious until his father had impressed upon him that being such a thing was weak and unworthy of a Malfoy, and then he’d started doing anything to be not that. But after all the horrors he had returned to his shell gratefully and if it meant he was unlike a Malfoy then so much the better.
He looked at his watch, a muggle rather than a wizarding device which surprisingly meant it kept better time. Possibly it was because all his previous watches had been family heirlooms but he found the inbuilt Tempus charms were always on the fritz, whereas this thing had lasted four years with no issues. And it was telling him right now that he needed to get a move on. There were beds to make, the breakfast dishes to wash, rooms to dust and tidy if he wanted to have a chance of getting some of his work done while he was here.
He stood and stretched until he felt a satisfyingly deep click in his spine. Oh that felt nice. Maybe he’d try the tiny sauna today, once all his work was done. It was little more than a shed with some stones inside but Oma said the heat was good for her bones. There was also a plunge pool, which looked suspiciously like a wooden rain barrel to Draco but Alec had kept harping on about ‘contrast therapy’ and goading him to try it.
He heard a gasp and opened his eyes to see Potter back in the doorway and openly staring at his midsection, his jumper having ridden up a few inches. Okay, there was no doubt about it, Potter was definitely not straight. Even as Draco watched, his tongue unconsciously darted out to wet his lips. It was very embarrassing, he thought suddenly. Being an open object of desire for Harry Potter. It was enough to make him blush, the colour flooding his cheeks even as he straightened up and pulled down his hem.
Then Potter chuckled, a little ruefully and at himself, ‘Uh sorry, I just forgot my scarf.’
‘Ah.’ Draco stood aside to let him pass towards the table, the awkward silence lingering too long as he begged his brain to come up with literally anything to say.
Potter paused again before leaving, ‘I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise, the…’ he gestured towards his own stomach, ‘You’ve always been very dedicated once you start something, haven’t you?’
And with a final crooked grin he left, leaving Draco staring after him and trying to puzzle out what the hell that meant.
……
October 1997
Draco finished his toast and gulped the last dregs of his coffee before hurrying from the Great Hall. It was horrendously early so he sat in quiet solitude, his mind already on the seventh floor. He had two hours before lessons, which should be just enough time to get through another few shelves in the substacks. He'd been making good progress, thankfully and he'd spotted some patterns which he thought could be integral to the basic formation of-
‘Malfoy.’
Oh gods.
‘Yes Professor Carrow?’ he halted and turned at the sound of Amycus’ gruff, uncultured voice.
‘Seems you missed supervising detention again last night, I wonder how you imagine we're to enforce discipline if our own Prefects are playing hooky? Vincent tells me you've missed your past three shifts.’
Damn Crabbe. Bribes, he’d always told them. Accept bribes and move on. But Crabbe had always had the bigger streak of vindictiveness and now it seemed like Amycus was taking him under his wing. That was bad.
He swallowed, ‘Forgive me Professor, but I have to do homework sometime. Crabbe isn’t taking half the subjects I am.’
Amycus gave a grunt that Draco assumed was an acknowledgement and he went to move away but Amycus’ hand shot out and he grasped Draco's arm in a bony grip.
‘I'm watching you.’ he hissed, ‘Don't think you're going to worm your way into the Dark Lord's favour by being pally with Snape and making it look like I'm doing a bad job.’
Draco wrenched his arm out of Amycus' grip and backed away, an ‘I'll tell my father’ ripe and ready on his lips. But that wouldn't work, his father had no sway anymore here. But still, teachers weren't supposed to talk to students like that. Maybe he would complain to Snape. If he ever saw him that was. Gods what a downturn his status had taken that he was being spoken to like this by wretched worms like the Carrows.
He could admit to himself that he hadn't fully realised how little camaraderie there was between the Dark Lord's followers. He'd expected it to a degree but even in Slytherin, not short of ambitious minds, there had been friendships and some malleable version of loyalty. But most of the time amongst the Death Eaters he felt paranoid and uneasy, especially as he was the definite runt of the litter. And everyone falling over themselves to sell each other out, to rise to the top by stamping on the head of the person below.
He walked slowly to the third floor, keeping an eye out for anyone following him and then took the back staircase to the seventh and let himself in, locking the door behind him. What did any of that matter, opinions of the Carrows or the students? Once he'd learned all there was to know about the Room and how to use it then the Dark Lord would raise him to such lofty heights that they’d all be falling at his feet. He allowed himself one minute to daydream about how they'd all bow and scrape before getting to work.
There had been very little in the library on Deep Magic and what he did find didn't tell him anything new - that there were several known wells or sources of Deep Magic around the world, that they were often unstable and unpredictable but enormously powerful. That wizards had tried for centuries to harness their power but none had succeeded and most got themselves killed trying. That they were mostly considered curiosities now, places of mystery that wizard magic couldn’t touch. There was quite a lot of popular fiction about them, mostly wish-fulfilment twaddle.
None of them said anything on what would happen if you built a school on top of one.
He’d looked in all of the books on the Founding of Hogwarts too for any clues and here he’d had more luck. There were several references to ‘The Power of Hogwarts’ which had been interpreted by most wizards as the collective knowledge of students. From what he could infer the location of Hogwarts must have been a secret experiment of sorts. They must have built the school and just waited to see what would happen. And then later, when the Well fixated on the Room, some enterprising soul had built the Device. And from reading the published diary extracts of one former headmaster, it seemed as though most Headteachers kept it under lock and key, not wanting to risk disturbing the Well. Which was so very typical, Draco thought to himself. Such a lack of ambition. Dumbledore was the perfect example of that, content to sit idly running a school when everyone knew he could be Minister if he’d wanted. And the old fool hadn’t even known what he was talking about. He’d said he’d given Draco ‘full control’ of the Device. He snorted quietly at the ridiculousness of the statement. As though you could ever control a power like this. It was like trying to control a storm or the wind or causality. The Device was a remarkable piece of engineering but until Draco knew more all he could do was treat the it like a giant suggestion box and hope the Well would take his suggestions seriously.
He opened the cabinet and stepped into the stacks, a section of cantilevered shelves covered in piles and piles of parchment. This, he discovered, is where the room keeps all the details of its current layout. ALL the details. He can find blueprints, highly detailed inventories, descriptions of the materials, list of requests, pencil drawings of the occupants and full transcripts of their conversations when they've used the Room.
This was the stacks. Then there were the substacks, which were a whole other section of shelves underneath the stacks, the cabinet’s proximity to Deep Magic making its relationship with physics optional if not downright arbitrary. Those shelves contained details for all rooms created in the past. It kept them, presumably in case the original occupant returned and wanted to use a room again.
As far as he could tell, no one in history had ever tidied the substacks. Yet another question about what the hell Dumbledore was doing with his time. And there were so many useless, defunct rooms that were just sitting there gathering dust and causing a drain on the Room’s power. There was a room with a load of chamber pots in it for Merlin's sake, who would ever need that? There were also a ton of duplicate rooms with the same purpose, mainly providing the hormonal-driven student body with a convenient hook-up spot. If he had to clear out one more room with a heart-shaped bed and red silk sheets then he swore he’d scream. Though he would admit that the transcripts for those rooms were comedy gold.
The chimes sounded and he braced himself on one of the pillars as the shelves shuddered and rearranged themselves into position in the manner of an extremely drunk Ferris wheel. Someone must be using the Room. He sidestepped up into the stacks and picked up a transcript file, which wrote itself into being.
Longbottom, Neville: Did you tell everyone?
Finnegan, Seamus: Everyone I could find. The Carrows have a few in detention still.
Longbottom, Neville: We’ll get them later, we can bring them here to recover. We could hide students in here for a long time if necessary. The only thing would be getting food to them. Maybe we could take turns to sneak down to the Great Hall and bring food up here?
Finnegan, Seamus: We’d need to…
Well, well. A spot of mutiny on the horizon. Interesting. And Longbottom talking about a siege situation. This could be an excellent tidbit for the Carrows should he need to provide one. But not now, not while he's trying to work on understanding the Room. And knowing Longbottom and Finnegan two of the most woefully unsubtle beings in creation they would undoubtedly get caught and he didn't need anybody drawing attention to the Room, not now. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. He had two options as he saw it. He could try to drive them out of the Room. Maybe he could try and get Crabbe and Goyle to keep guard again? But no that would certainly draw unwanted attention. Or…he could make it so that the Gryffindors wouldn't have to leave the Room as often. A way to get food to them without raising suspicion.
He sighed and rubbed his temple. Pain in the arse as this was, he couldn’t allow this to interfere with his plans. He needed to speak to a house elf.
…..
January 2002
Draco awoke suddenly and jerked upwards, nearly headbutting a very startled Hermione Granger.
‘Oh I’m sorry!’ she put her hand to her chest in fright, ‘I found you in here and wasn’t sure if you…’
He let her gabble on while he got his bearings. He was on the squashy sofa in the living room, a heavy textbook on his chest. He’d been doing research and closed his eyes for a second and now it was dark outside, the room lit with the warm glow of a lamp in the shape of a milkmaid. Oma said the tourists loved milkmaids.
‘What time is it?’ he asked her blearily.
‘After nine. We had dinner over at the Eiger Lodge after seeing the sunset over the mountains.’
‘Oh. Nice.’ He'd been with Alec once but Alec had been absorbed with planning how to ask a girl out when they got back after the Autumn break and Draco had been having his heart quietly broken at Alec’s complete lack of homosexuality. The sunset had probably been very pretty though. And the heartbreak had been eased over the years by a friendship based on Alec giving him heavy things to lift and telling him about his relationship woes.
Granger was bobbing on her feet nervously, ‘Oh and when you have a moment, could I have another towel? My hair was wet and I don’t want to use the same one tomorrow.’
‘Oh of course,’ he jumped up but she was already in front of him to impede his exit.
‘No, no, don’t disturb yourself now, just when you have a second…’
He paused, embarrassed. If he was completely honest, this was not the setting he would have chosen to meet anyone from his old life. He'd imagined it occasionally, perhaps when he was a fully fledged Professeur he would be called upon to attend a conference at the Ministry and he'd walk the halls looking unbearably dignified and someone from school would be there, Longbottom or Granger or Potter (if he was honest, it was mostly Potter) and would see him being dogged by starry-eyed young students and gape at him in awe. A silly dream but it kept him going sometimes when the heating charms malfunctioned during the winter in his tiny shared office and his pigeonhole was stuffed full of polite rejections.
He would not, if he'd had a choice, have chosen to reunite with anyone when he was proprietor/cook/maid of the Meyer Guest House. The place was lovely but it was unmistakably Oma’s house, fully infused with grandmotherly-ness all the way to its core, as well as an abundant patriotism and desire to cater to ‘the tourists’. There were the cow bells of course, the alpen horns on the walls, the Swiss flag tea towels, the china with patterns of happy milkmaids dancing. There was a cuckoo clock in every room for god's sake, marking each hour with a cacophony of chimes and hooting. The aesthetic was about as far from anything associated with the name Malfoy as he could imagine. Perhaps that was why he secretly liked the place so much, he mused. He remembered the first time Alec had brought him there in between semesters, riddled with nightmares and nerves and shaky as a fawn. He had met Mrs. Meyer, Alec’s grandmother, a soft and gentle vision of typical grandmotherly-ness had an nevertheless terrifying propensity to expect assistance with chores and for them to be done to her exacting standards and by the time they left in time for lectures to begin again, Draco could bake a pie, repair a gate and polish a wood floor to a high shine, all without a wand.
‘It feels good to do things for oneself, no?’ she had said, eyes twinkling after requesting he call her Oma like Alec did and putting him to good use once again and Draco had agreed in terror of disappointing her and gone to dust all the knick-knacks in her armoire.
‘What are you reading?’ Hermione asked, craning her neck to try and look at the book’s title. Over the past few days it was clear she was frustrated at not being able to read the French or German inside Draco’s heavy scientific texts and had taken it upon herself to start learning immediately, which he found both impressive and intimidating, particularly with the speed with which she seemed to be picking it up.
‘Physique et Magie, that’s…Physics and Magic, right?’
He nodded, ‘It’s a seminal text. Tomorrow I’m going to try and put it into practice - you want to see?’
He was already standing without waiting for her reply, knowing full well it would be nothing less than enthusiastic. He walked over to the linen cupboard and pulled out a long, thin package wrapped in a sheet and dislodging several towels as he did so. He laid it on the largest of the nested tables next to the sofa and unwrapped it, bracing himself for her reaction. It was around four feet long, made of pine and contained a selection of dials and switches that he’d tried to replicate as best he could. It was also covered in diamantes, sequins, glitter, anything at all that would make it sparkle in the dim light of the cave. He winced a little as he saw her amused surprise at its unusual appearance. His colleagues had all that reaction too when he’d shown them.
‘What am I looking at?’ she asked, her eyes roving over the tiny Device, ‘Is it like a controller?’
‘Hmm, not really,’ he said, gently flicking the copper switches that he’d made himself, ‘it’s more like, I’m trying to communicate with it. You can’t control magic that powerful, I'm just hoping it takes an interest. My theory all rests on treating it like a living entity, albeit an amazingly old and powerful one.’
‘And the…the shiny bits?’
‘I’m working on a hypothesis that it likes shiny bits.’
‘You sound almost like you care about it.’ she said laughingly, ‘I know what that’s like, I swear half the reports I end up writing for the Ministry, I take so long on them I feel attached.’
‘Yeah, it’s something like that.’ he smiled wanly. ‘I’m hoping if I give this Well a chance to talk, maybe it might say hello. At least that’s the simplified version.’
‘The Well sounds amazing, I can’t believe there is one so close!’
‘Their exact locations are mostly kept secret for obvious reasons. Can’t have a bunch of delusional morons going about committing Death by Ancient Magic Well because they read a story about one once.’
‘But what a sight it must be! I’m very envious of you.’ she sighed.
Draco thought about it. They had been actually very decent, all three of them. Even Weasley had thawed considerably after Draco had asked after the UK Quidditch and wistfully admitted how much he missed it. Two hours, numerous replays and half a bottle of firewhiskey later and Weasley was ready to call him his comrade-in-arms, ‘even if you do have some bloody stupid opinions about the Cannons you posh tosser.’ he’d snorted. Harry had laughed too, a deep rich sound that had made Draco feel tingly. And Hermione seemed so interested…
‘I could…you could come if you like?’ he offered shyly.
‘Oh I’d love that!’ she exclaimed, breaking into a joyful grin that stretched across her whole face. Draco smiled back at her. He couldn’t believe that he’d ever hated her.
‘I’m so pleased, this trip has been just what we all needed. I’ve actually been worried about Harry for a while. His job is getting to him you know, he was becoming so cynical and maudlin but I can already tell this place has put him in a much better mood.’
‘Oh good.’ he said vaguely, even though he wasn't really sure what she meant. Potter had seemed fine to him. Better than fine, he seemed to exude confidence far more so than when he’d been at school. Only this morning he'd laughed joyously at Draco describing his first time trying to work a muggle coffee machine and then his eyes had raked up and down his body in frank admiration. It hardly spoke of a man apparently down in the dumps.
Hermione coughed discreetly, ‘I wanted to mention actually. It's just, you know, the way that Harry is, all of the jokes and flirting. Don't read too much into it, is all. He's like that with everyone.’
That startled him and he felt his cheeks heat in parallel with hers, which were now bright red.
‘Oh I didn't mean to suggest…! I mean, I'm not saying you were reading into it, it's just that sometimes people get the wrong idea and Harry is, well, he's not very careful with how he acts sometimes. He can be a bit impulsive. And he's not the best at explaining things sometimes so people get disappointed. Sorry, I'm explaining it so badly and I'm not trying to meddle with his affairs, well maybe I am a bit, but he's just…we're all worried about him.’
This was all delivered at breakneck speed all the while she was nervously twisting a strand of hair around her finger. Draco could tell she was genuinely concerned, although privately his sympathies were with any others who had had to suffer this little chat before him. She reminded him of Pansy a bit, only less spiky, more of an anxious energy. He was suddenly jealous of Harry for having her as a friend.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ he said sincerely, at which she tilted her head and looked at him appreciatively.
‘You really are, aren’t you?’ she said with no small amount of wonder in her voice, ‘Forgive my surprise but well, you were quite, um…’
‘I was a complete twat.’ he finished for her bluntly.
‘You seemed to be already feeling regret when I saw you at Malfoy Manor. I hope you don’t mind me asking but what exactly changed your mind?’
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Referencing Malfoy Manor made him flinch with discomfort, the memory of her pale face, frozen in a rictus of pain as his Aunt Bellatrix carved the word into her arm. He was determined to be honest with her.
‘It wasn’t one thing, exactly. It was more like…repeated, painful confrontations with reality. Such as a literal punch to the face I seem to recall one time.’
She smiled sympathetically, ‘But they were worth it, these confrontations?’
‘I wish they hadn’t been needed.’ Draco sighed wistfully, ‘But yeah, they were worth it.’
…..
October 1997
Draco paused next to a painting of a fruit bowl and studied the hurried scrawl on the parchment in his hand. He'd had to pay good money for this note, his purchased information from a first year's brother's cousin's friend’s friend on how to get into the kitchens. You'd think they would have taken a little time to make it legible.
‘Tackle the pear… no, tickle the pear?’
He sighed, wishing for the hundredth time that he'd gone to a school with slightly less…whimsy to it. Magic was a serious business and should be treated as such. It was exactly this kind of kooky nonsense that led to mudbloods being allowed on the premises.
He reached out and gently waggled his fingers on the canvas and the pear gave a delighted little shimmy before the portrait swung away from the wall. Draco barely kept himself from rolling his eyes and stepped through. He was immediately struck by a glorious combination of smells, savoury and sugary goodness hanging in the air. It was a cavernous room, not too dissimilar to the Manor kitchens and it was a hive of industry, house elves working together in a dazzling syncope, a productive dance of such that he could not help but approve.
He spotted one who seemed to be engaged in checking things off a list on a clipboard and strode up to get their attention, ‘See here Elf, I-’ only to be met with a frightened squawk and an impressive attempt to hide their entire body behind the clipboard. But nevertheless, those eyes, those ears…
‘Dobby?’
Another squawk and a further retreat behind the clipboard.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, nonplussed. The last he'd heard from his father, Dobby had been ‘stolen’ by Harry Potter. Was Dobby spying for Potter in the Hogwarts kitchen? If so then no wonder he'd tried to hide from him. This could be an important discovery and yet another feather in his cap.
‘Who do you belong to now?’ he asked, a touch sharply.
Dobby stuck his bottom lip out defiantly at that, ‘Dobby belongs to no-one, Mast-Draco Malfoy. Dobby is a free elf. Dobby is supervising.’
And indeed, now that the clipboard has been lowered a fraction, Draco can see that Dobby is sporting a smart tunic rather than a pillowcase with a gleaming gold ‘S’ pinned to it.
‘Oh.’ he said, still utterly baffled. Clearly he was missing several important parts of Dobby’s history. But he didn't have time to go into all that right now.
‘Look I need an elf for a special project I'm working on, could you send one up to the seventh floor? And not tell anyone else about it?’
‘No.’ Dobby said timorously.
‘No?!’
He stood there in shock. House elves weren't supposed to say no.
‘The Professor Carrow and Professor Carrow instructed the house elves to be telling them if a student makes a direct request to a Hogwarts house elf.’ Dobby continued, eyes wide.
‘Ah.’
That was smart of them, he mused sulkily. He had heard that the Carrows were doling out starvation as a suitable punishment for wrongdoers, this was a good way to ensure students weren’t able to go to the house elves directly for food.
‘But…’ he thinks, wheels turning in his brain, ‘Dobby could you-?’
After all, Dobby was technically not a Hogwarts house elf. Draco remembered the little creature being very inventive when it came to creatively interpreting orders.
But Dobby was already shaking his head.
‘Dobby…does not have good memories of the Masters Malfoy.’ he said shakily but with determination.
Draco's mouth dropped open again. The cheek of it! The injustice! Even if his father had sometimes been a bit extreme with the punishments, what had that to do with him? After all, he'd never ordered Dobby to do anything like iron his fingers or whack himself with the coal scuttle as punishment.
But you watched, a traitorous little voice whispered in his brain. You never stopped him.
He suddenly felt like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room. He opened his mouth again to protest, to say that if Dobby had just told him-
You never asked, the horrible little voice said. You never cared. And you would have run straight to father and told him.
He stopped and looked down at him. A tiny elf, nearly trembling but staring back at him nonetheless with wide, proud, eyes.
‘I see.’ he said quietly, ‘would there be anyone else? Who could help me?’
‘Well, there is…’ Dobby began dubiously, ‘there is another free elf being here.’
‘Oh? Well excellent, send- uh I mean…if you could…ask?...them to come to the seventh floor at six o'clock?’
Dobby nodded reluctantly. Draco turned and headed for the door, then looked back.
‘Dobby?’
‘Yes Ma-Draco Malfoy?’
‘Thank you. For helping me.’
It came out so uncertainly that it sounded almost like a question rather than a statement but Dobby nodded and looked at him sombrely all the same.
He wasn't sure why he felt so bad about it, he thought as he pushed his way past a group of third years towards the Great Hall. No-one cared about house elves. The very idea was ludicrous.
Except…
Except he did seem to recall Granger making a fuss about them at one point. He was a bit fuzzy on the details but Pansy had spent some time being scathing about her efforts in the common room. But Granger was a Mudblood. She had no idea how things worked.
Maybe that could be a good thing sometimes, the treacherous little voice supplied. Maybe being objective meant you could see things that others took for granted. He sat at the Slytherin table feeling slightly galled at himself. He'd have to practise his Occlumency again if he was going to have rogue thoughts like that skittering around in his brain.
‘Why, it's you Draco,’ Pansy fixed him with a wry look, ‘I’d almost forgotten what you look like, it isn't as though any of us ever sees you nowadays.’
‘Your powers of observation are unparalleled as ever Pansy,’ he replied smoothly, helping himself to some shepherd's pie.
Theo chuckled and Draco looked over at him while Pansy set about the serious task of ripping him to shreds. Theo had definitely improved this year, he thought. His dark brown hair was longer with a slight curl to it, his frame gone from lanky to lithe and his lips, while thin, curled up at the edges sometimes in a way that was quite captivating.
‘Could you pass the salt Theo?’ he asked playfully. After all, he was working hard. Surely he deserved some fun.
….
He was up in the Control Room, as he had taken to calling it, at ten to six. He busied himself with clearing yet more shelves until six o'clock and then sat in the classroom and waited.
And waited.
At six thirty three the door finally opened and Draco was ready with a cutting remark when his eyes widened in horror.
What in the name of seven hells was this?
It was an elf to be sure but the most bedraggled one he had ever seen. It was wearing a dark stained tunic and what looked to be a jacket made from stitched-together animal hide, dyed black. Several rings adorned it's ears and it's…lip? Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust.
It walked in with none of the deferential bowing and timidity he was used to from elves but instead strode up to him with the air of challenge in its eye and rapped on the desk insolently with bony knuckles.
‘Winky is being here to consider your offer.’
Draco had been ready to give the thing a piece of his mind on proper manners but now he gawped in shock.
‘My…my offer?’ he repeated weakly.
The thing - Winky he supposed - had the absolute temerity to roll its eyes at him.
‘Dobby is telling Winky that the wizard has an offer for her. Winky is not coming all the way up here for the charming company.’ she sneered at him.
Draco was almost shaking with rage, ‘Now see here you disgraceful little wretch. I need an elf to provide service to the Room of Requirement, here on the seventh floor. You're a house elf, I'm a wizard and you'll damn well do as you're told.’
His stern demeanour appeared to have little to no effect.
‘Or what?’ she said, unimpressed and raising a hairless eyebrow.
‘Or…’ he faltered, aware that he was quickly losing control of the situation.
Winky turned from him with a derisive snort and he reached out to roughly grab her shoulder. His hand hadn't even grazed the fabric of her strange hide-jacket when he found himself sailing through the air across the room, hitting the opposite wall with a powerful force that knocked all the air from his lungs.
He stared at her, wide-eyed and coughing.
‘Winky is being thinking this is wasting her time,’ she said airily, ‘Winky is being thinking the Professor and Professor Carrow might be wanting to know about the wizard’s request.’
‘No wait!’ he lurched up and ran to block the door, wincing when she raised her fingers threateningly, ‘Wait!’
Salazar, the little horror had him by the short hairs and she knew it. He pressed his back against the door and sighed in resigned defeat, ‘What do you want?’
Winky smirked at him, ‘Elf wine. Winky is being cut off by the other elves from the wine stores in the kitchens. Five bottles a week.’
Draco scoffed, ‘One bottle.’
‘Four.’
‘Two.’
‘Four.’
‘Three and you keep this quiet.’ Draco asserted.
Winky contemplated this for a moment and then sniffed and nodded.
‘Winky is being meeting you tomorrow and is collecting the first two payments in advance.’
Crafty little…
‘Fine.’ Draco growled at her. This could be the most humiliating moment of his life. Capitulating to demands made by a house elf. The shame. Still, at least with an elf tending to the needs of the Room there was far less chance of any of them getting caught and blowing Draco's chances to keep it secret.
And now he had to think, where the hell to get elf wine?
…..
January 2002
‘Careful!’
Potter, the absolute dolt was skipping, bloody skipping from stone to stone, the white water rushing past him. He looked back at Draco with a cheeky grin.
The well was located in a secret cave underneath the Jungfrau mountain. Draco had to apply for special permission for a permit to enter and now bloody Potter was going to drown and cause a whole lot of bother for him.
The Device in his hands wasn’t heavy, but it was bulky and he was reluctant to levitate it, he wanted to avoid tangling magic up in the mechanism if possible. He’d thought about it a lot - every day and night of his life for the past 4 years - and the Device placed on top of the Well in Hogwarts must have been built outside and then assembled by hand. It probably hadn’t had any magic used in the build beyond what had been used to smelt the metal.
He hadn’t told anyone about the Deep Magic Well that he had found in Hogwarts. Not just because of how it had ended, but because he wanted to protect the school. The news of a Well that had been not only hidden under a school in such close proximity to hundreds of children, but had been in active use in creating matter and energy…the fallout would be immediate and far-reaching. Hogwarts would almost certainly be shut down. And the Well wasn’t even there any more so there was no point. He just had to find another way to prove what the Wells were capable of doing.
‘Give me that end.’ Weasley said, holding out his hands and Draco complied, his feet slipping slightly on the wet rock. They moved together and reached the other side without much difficulty, even with Granger’s anxious hovering.
‘This place is amazing.’ Harry was gazing up at the sheer rock on either side of them as they walked into the gorge that would lead to the cave.
Amazing-mazing-mazing
Harry laughed as his own words were echoed back to him. Weasley joined in and soon they were shouting all kinds of childish things into the chasm. Draco would have rolled his eyes at them if he hadn't done the exact same thing himself when he’d visited previously.
‘Oh you boys!’ Hermione exclaimed exasperatedly but Draco caught her tiny smile when the words carried on, repeating themselves into the darkness.
The going was tough for a while, the path getting steeper and steeper as they made their way into the heart of the mountain. Finally they reached the plateau inside a generous cavern, the lazy shadows of the Well making colourful patterns on the smooth, black walls. Another incongruity, that the mountain was made of limestone but the inside of this cavern was pure obsidian. It formed another part of his theory, that the Deep Magic was alive. Most of the Wells around the world seemed to transform the surrounding environment, meaning they had clear preferences and were shaping their surroundings into something they liked better.
Even here you could feel the raw power of the thing. He'd never been able to appreciate it fully in Hogwarts, on the other side of the glass. But here it was in the air, potent and a bit terrifying. He could tell the others could feel it too - there was a distinct lack of joking and banter as they all fell silent, awed by the presence of such awe-inspiring energy.
Draco laid the miniature Device on the ground and gestured for them to step back as he laid a careful network of monitoring charms, each as thin and fragile as gossamer so as not to disturb the magic in the air. It was delicate and consuming work and by the end he was sweating from both the climb and from the sheer focus and dedication he was having to put into it. Finally he was done and he leaned back against a stalagmite and took a five minute break.
His three companions were sitting cross-legged on the ground speaking in hushed voices. It was a testament to the place that he hadn't even felt the need to warn them not to go near the edge. It would be like looking into a blast furnace, enough to deter even the most foolhardy, idiotic-
Without even thinking, he shot out a hand and clutched the back of Potter’s jacket, where out of the corner of his eye he could see him trying to sidle closer to the edge.
‘Absolutely not.’ he gritted his teeth, ‘Are you insane?’
Harry's face fell, ‘I know it's big and scary but it doesn't feel so bad. I just wanted a little peek.’
‘He just wanted a little peek isn't going to help any when I have to explain to the entire wizarding world why I had to scrape you off the floor afterwards.’
‘Spoilsport,’ Harry pouted playfully, ‘Although if you were the one doing the scraping...’
Draco narrowed his eyes and frowned slightly because this was not the time. He wondered about Hermione’s words, he’s like that with everyone. It seemed unlikely that Potter could be this much of a flirt with everyone he met. Was it possible that Hermione was just trying to warn him off because her tolerance for Draco would only extend so far? If so then he couldn’t say he blamed her but..
He shook himself out of it. Now was not the time.
‘You can come help hold my equipment if you're so bored.’ he told Potter loftily. ‘Hermione, could you keep an eye on the time? Here, use my watch. Time dilation can be a problem in these places. I spent three hours in here once that turned out to be two days. Oma was furious with me.’
Potter came like a lamb and held the Device at chest height, the sequins scattering light all over his broad chest, while Draco fiddled with the dials and buttons. Hermione and Ron came over too and stood at a respectful distance to watch while he worked, although Draco could tell that Weasley was almost certainly bored out of his mind by now. He wished now that he hadn't invited them, they were watching with that politely interested but expectant look that meant they were almost certainly going to leave here disappointed. Experiments like these were painstaking things, there was hardly ever any real exciteme-
‘What does this do?’ Potter asked and flipped a switch.
Instantly there was a deep boom, a rumbling resonance from the cavern and an intense brightening from the pit beyond the overhang, before subsiding back to normal.
All four of them stared in disbelief. Carefully, Draco reached out and flipped the same switch that Potter had just touched. He was expecting it this time but he still jumped when the rich roar echoed through the chamber. His careful net of charms was sensing it too, the various strands flashing and vibrating.
‘Incredible.’ he whispered. The magic was responding, practically waving and saying hello. He’d never heard of this kind of reaction. His theory had been right.
Harry’s eyes slid over to his and he gave Draco that look that he’d been giving him all week. Admiring, daring, smouldering.
The charms flickered and died. Draco breathed again.
‘We should go. I’ll have to study all these readings.’
They walked back the same way they came, Draco levitating the Device which was good as he felt suddenly exhausted.
When they reached the river Harry walked boldly onto a stepping stone and offered his hand.
‘Maybe you should let me play with your toys more often.’ he said cheekily, then smiled roguishly when Draco laughed at him. ‘We should definitely have a drink to celebrate, yeah?’
‘Right yes,’ Hermione said, sounding pleased as she came up after them, ‘A drink! We’ll all have one. And toast your amazing discovery Draco!’
Potter winked at him and smiled conspiratorially before turning back to Hermione, ‘Yes absolutely, that’s what I meant.’
It wasn’t what he’d meant at all, Draco knew and he relished the knowledge of it, warm and thrilling. Potter wanted to spend time alone with him.
But yes, a drink, Draco thought. He could probably do with a drink.
…..
October 1997
The sign for the Hog's Head emerged out of the mist and Draco steeled himself to enter. He'd stolen away from the castle after dinner and into the drizzly damp of Hogsmeade in his quest to procure some elf wine. He'd paused outside the Three Broomsticks but his gut had churned miserably when he'd thought about looking Rosmerta in the eye. He didn't know why he should even care, such things happened during a war and people just had to get over it. But nevertheless he had slunk away and was now pushing open the filthy wooden door into the shabby bar. He berated himself for feeling nervous - he was a bloody Death Eater for Merlin's sake, what was on his arm was probably the scariest thing in the room. And hadn't he been down Knockturn Alley a hundred times? Admittedly most of those times he’d been with his father. But still.
He strode up to the bar and caught the eye of the rough looking wizard behind it.
And was caught like a butterfly pinned to cork under piercing blue eyes, eyes that he'd last seen at the top of the Astronomy Tower, eyes that had looked into his soul and had told him to lower his wand.
‘What?’ the barkeep asked curtly. His eyes ran over Draco's hair and he frowned. Draco stood petrified.
‘You wouldn't happen to be Draco Malfoy now would you?’ the man asked and the quiet way he said it nearly turned Draco’s legs to jelly. He considered whether turning and running was an option but sudden movements seemed like an awfully risky idea right now.
He nodded and the man grunted. The eyes were the only resemblance, Draco noticed. The rest of the man looked like he'd lost a fight with a barnyard animal.
‘And what might you want?’
‘Elf wine.’ Draco said, his voice coming out several octaves higher than normal. He coughed to try and cover it up.
A raised eyebrow and an appraising look were the only reply.
‘S-six bottles of elf wine.’ he clarified and the eyebrow raised itself up even higher.
‘Now what would you want with that?’
‘None of your business.’ slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it and he felt himself quaking when the man narrowed his eyes and reached under the bar…
And sighed quietly in relief when he brought up six small-ish bottles.
‘Ten galleons.’ the man grunted.
‘Ten?!’ he nearly fainted with shock. Three galleons would have been overpriced.
‘Each.’
‘Each!’
It was an affront. First the elf and then this unholy lowlife. Was everyone crawling out of their hovels to make his life difficult today?
He took a deep breath and imagined himself in a year's time, the Dark Lord's right hand man watching scum like this line up to kiss his boots.
‘Fine.’ he muttered and slapped the money on the counter with bad grace.
A meaty hand covered his and gripped his wrist, just hard enough that he could feel the bones start to crunch together.
‘You wouldn't have any silly ideas about cursing me now would you? I doubt it as I've run out of siblings for you to try and murder but thought I'd make sure.’
Draco felt the blood drain from his face. He took a shaky breath and tried valiantly to think of a reply that wasn't just a scared whimper. But before he could collect himself enough to convince his brain to work he was released and the man backed away and watched him, arms folded.
He gathered the bottles shakily and beat a hasty retreat. Then after a moment's consideration and with extreme apprehension he turned because he would have to come back here again next week and the week after that. This man might be uncouth and an unpleasant reminder of last year but Draco had to at least try to get on his good side for a while.
‘I just want to say…’ he began and then stopped. What the hell could he say? That he simultaneously wished he hadn't taken a single action that had led to Dumbledore’s death and that he also wished he had the stones to actually finish the job? But the barkeep was staring at him so he had to say something.
‘Your brother he…he was very hard to kill.’
He cursed himself for his ineloquence. That was not what he meant! But then he heard a noise come out of the man's mouth, a wheezing, choking noise that Draco thought might be startled laughter.
He backed away and left hurriedly.
…..
November 1997
Draco stood back from the levers and smiled proudly. He was making good progress. He moved to tap the curved glass cover of a dial; the readout kept oscillating and he couldn't work out if it was a problem or it was just reacting to the temperature dropping. Still, it was still within a normal range. His only real problem right now was Winky’s attitude. She was still an absolute nightmare. She had turned up the third week at their arranged time with a new demand.
‘Winky is needing a service tunnel.’
‘A what?’ Draco had replied shortly, turning to her from examining a stack of papers describing a room with what appeared to be a full set of jam-making equipment. Hufflepuff’s probably, he thought derisively.
‘A tunnel from the kitchen. It is being too much to bring food all the way.’
Her eyes were bloodshot and even from here Draco could smell the staleness of old wine on her.
‘You mean because you're so bloody soused all the time you can't apparate?’
Winky grunted and Draco muttered under his breath that she might be more useful to him if he pickled her for real and served her as charcuterie. Though he couldn't deny that she was holding up her end of the bargain. She was unobtrusive and quiet and was providing a regular cleaning and meal service to the room, all of which had gone almost entirely unappreciated by the Gryffindors. That annoyed him, especially as he'd prepared several explanatory notecards for Winky to leave for them when they wondered why they were now getting food delivered to them. Then he'd seen this in the transcript:
Finnegan, Seamus: Oh is the room doing food now? Sweet.
Longbottom, Neville: I suppose so. Pass the carrots would you? Now as I was saying about scheduling…
He'd torn the notecards up in disgust. After he'd gone to the bloody trouble of disguising his writing and everything. He'd complained to Winky about it the next day.
‘Wizards,’ she’d said, ‘is a bunch of ungrateful bastards.’
And right then he'd almost been inclined to agree with her.
‘How would I build you a tunnel from the kitchens to the seventh floor?’ he snorted.
‘Normal rules is not working here like other places.’ Winky said, adding rudely, ‘A cleverer wizard could be doing it.’
Draco tamped down his initial reaction, which was to fly off the handle at her. Being thrown against the wall like that had hurt. Instead he sneered, ‘Well then why don't you go find a nice, clever wizard to own you? Oh right, because no-one would want a degenerate lush for a house elf.’
Winky’s nostrils had flared in anger, ‘Winky had a family, she looked after a good, kind wizard like he was precious treasure and what did it get her? Clothes and working for stupid, bad wizards like Draco Malfoy!’
Draco sighed and massaged his temple. They always did this, devolved into petty insults when they spoke more than two words to each other. But he needed to keep her happy so she wouldn't rat him out to the Carrows. And so that bloody Longbottom wouldn't ruin his plan by getting caught. So…
‘A service tunnel. I'll look into it.’ he said through gritted teeth.
She turned to go.
‘Actually, hang on,’ he said abruptly remembering and pulling a stoppered vial from inside his robes, ‘This is for you. Hangover cure. If you ever actually stop drinking long enough to get a hangover that is.’
He was working on it for his NEWTs. The potion was not difficult to make but the mark of a true potioneer was getting it to taste of anything other than old socks. He was proud of this batch, lightly scented with cinnamon and honey, and had thought of Winky when he'd filled the vials and found he had made too much.
She blinked up at him looking confused.
‘It's safe for elves.’ he said, feeling slightly embarrassed by her silence, ‘I checked.’
She took the small bottle carefully before her lip curled into a grimace.
‘Draco Malfoy had better not think Winky is doing extra work for this.’
He scoffed, ‘You'd actually have to do work for that to be possible you useless sot.’
At which she had told him to go and do something that he'd had to look up later.
He did build the tunnel, or rather, asked the Well via the Device to build the tunnel by providing blueprints and making all the necessary calculations for it. And it worked, although it took him two weeks to do it. Winky was right, the normal rules didn't apply to a space that simply didn't believe in them. Building a tunnel through spaces that were already occupied with classrooms and corridors and Filch’s office shouldn't have been possible and yet the Deep Magic just cheerfully ignored all that and did it anyway, eluding reality like it was an obnoxious guest at a party.
It was incredibly fascinating. A breed of magic this powerful, this could change the world. He almost understood why someone had built this Device and secreted it away. It could break everything in their society if it was in the wrong hands. Thank goodness Dumbledore had given it to him, he thought blithely. There was no telling what kind of havoc the likes of Longbottom would have wreaked with it.
Take the replication issue for example. A lesser wizard might just ignore it. Dumbledore clearly had and all who had come before him. But he was determined to understand why sometimes the Room would get stuck on a particular item. Like the chamber pots. Or rose petals was another one, usually requested by a certain breed of romantic hoping for a night of teenage passion. Creating something was no problem, the Deep Magic could spin matter into whatever form it wished, reproducing roses and their petals to perfection. But for certain things it seemed to be unclear on when it would be appropriate to stop. Draco had pulled rooms from the archives with enough rose petals to make even the most amorous suitor blush, enough rose petals to fill a swimming bath. He wanted to know why, why these things?
Some other things were easier to understand. It had difficulty with new concepts. A dueling room it could produce in its sleep, a potions lab, a ballroom, a magical orchestra pit complete with an 1887 ‘Funnhauser’ group piano that had 1200 keys and 50 pedals. But some things it didn't know about and therefore struggled, Muggle things mostly, he noted with satisfaction. There was this request a few years ago for a…basketball court? He shuffled the papers to find the transcript. The occupant had complained that the lines were wrong, the seats in the wrong place, the baskets had holes in them. Or wait no, that the baskets didn’t have holes in them? He sniffed, there was no pleasing some people.
When he showed the tunnel to Winky he could tell she was impressed. She insisted upon calling it ‘Winky’s Tunnel' even though he protested that he was the one who'd built it. He brought some glasses and a bottle of butterbeer and insisted they have a toast to his hard work. She spoiled it by saying, ‘To Draco Malfoy, who is being not completely useless but still very ugly.’ and cackled when he’d aimed a kick at her.
‘I should throw you in the lake.’ he muttered half heartedly. But nevertheless he couldn’t be mad, not when the warm glow of his accomplishment lingered. He was actually doing it. He was learning about the Deep Magic, understanding it, using it. He felt happier than he had in months.
When he looked back at it later, that should really have been a sign that it was all about to go wrong.
….
January 2002
There was nothing for it. He was going to have to try the plunge pool.
Alec had sent him an owl that morning with very explicit warnings about what would happen if he didn’t give it a go at least once and they all involved spraying Draco with icy cold water whenever he saw him next. And Alec always made good on his threats. He would have to try it, at least once to appease him. Sometimes he reminded Draco of Blaise so much.
At least it was the last day of the trio being here. They had departed early for a final hike in the mountains, leaving Draco to finish his chores in peace.
He undressed in his room and wrapped a towel around himself, casting a quick warming charm on his feet so he could comfortably walk through the snow, leaving little puddles of melted snow where he trod.
He felt his muscles already loosening as he opened the door to the scent of pine and activated the heating charms. This part was nice at least. Intense warmth wrapped around him, tingly and static after the walk in the snow. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
He hung up his towel, swung the hourglass and sat on the bench. Fifteen minutes in here, a sudden cold plunge to shock the system and then he was done. He could report back to Alec that he had tried it and he wouldn’t be nagged anymore.
The door opened and Potter stepped inside.
‘Oh wow, this really is hot.’ he said, fanning himself. He was dressed in at least four layers and his hat.
‘What are you doing here?’ Draco asked, heart pounding. Thank Merlin he had put on a bathing suit. ‘You're supposed to be hiking. You're dressed for hiking.’
‘The others went on without me.’ he said with a sly grin, ‘they said they'd meet me back here and we'd go for lunch. Can I join you? I've never tried one of these things before. And it would be shame not to try, uh, everything before we leave this evening.’
Draco squirmed a little under Harry's heated gaze before straightening up a little. Why was he shying away? He wasn’t ashamed of his body was he? And he wasn’t exactly the flirting type but Potter’s confidence and open admiration was making him feel like maybe he could be.
‘Sure,’ he said, ‘I would suggest a wardrobe change then.’
And then Potter was taking his clothes off and then he was transfiguring his coat into a fluffy towel and then he was sitting next to Draco and honestly, thank Merlin for the heating charms otherwise the flush in his cheeks and slight sheen of sweat on his brow might be attributed to something else.
‘I’m Ginny’s best man,’ he said, apropos of nothing, his pose sloppy and relaxed. Just as relaxed as if he were sitting on the sofa at home, rather than half naked in a sweatbox with his former enemy. ‘And she said Luna had picked you for hers?’
‘Surprised?’ Draco asked politely. He knew there were certainly some people who didn’t understand Luna’s affection for him and her steadfast refusal to explain her workings didn’t help. She had the most beautiful tendency to assume that everyone simply saw what she saw and was ready to forgive him.
He hitched a shoulder up, ‘I might have been but now…it’s obvious that you’re nothing like you were. And Hermione, well you might be her best man at this rate. She said she was going to owl you after they got back and everything. I don’t know, maybe you just have a way with the ladies.’
He chuckled but Draco could tell that there was a real question there, a tremendously unsubtle one but what was he to expect from Potter?
‘Just my luck.’ he said, deprecating and also about as subtle as a brick, ‘If only I had as much success with men.’
And there it was, the slight brightening in Potter’s eye, his smile widening just a touch. And what was the harm in letting him know that he might actually be interested? It wasn’t like this was school anymore. They had both changed.
‘What about Alec? Is he…?’
‘Straight as an arrow.’ Draco replied without a beat. ‘His obsession with getting me naked and sweaty is almost worryingly without any homoerotic subtext whatsoever.’
Potter blinked, subtly unbalanced, ‘His…?’
‘He insisted I try the sauna and then the cold pool outside,’ Draco clarified, ‘Health benefits, apparently. He runs a gym in Geneva, blending Muggle and magic patrons, hugely successful. He's thinking about converting the back offices into a sauna and plunge and wants my opinion, even though it sounds unequivocally awful and I've told him so many a time.’
‘So you're going outside to jump into the barrel? The one that's iced over?’ Potter asked, grinning from ear to ear. ‘This I have to see.’
‘I don't suppose I could convince you to do it for me?’ Draco asked hopefully, ‘You being the brave saviour and all.’
‘But then you wouldn't be keeping your promise to your friend,’ Potter pointed out, as though he thought it was the kind of thing Draco wouldn’t do, and that pleased him more than he thought it would. ‘But I'll make you a deal. I'll do it if you'll do it, but you have to go first.’
‘It would be more gentlemanly for you to offer to go first.’ Draco griped but didn't protest too much because seeing Potter lounging around semi-nude was starting to do things to him and a cold bath was probably a good idea. He didn't want to appear too eager.
Draco glanced at the hourglass and sighed reluctantly.
‘Alright, let's get it over with.’ he muttered, more to himself than to Potter.
Potter's attention was full on him as he left the sauna, blinking a little in the bright afternoon sun and leaving the door open so that the barrel was visible from where Potter was perched. Draco couldn't deny that he was preening under it. He'd always wanted this, Potter’s attention reserved for him and him alone. He'd jump into a million rain barrels for that.
In theory anyway. As it was he was having trouble working up the courage to jump into just one. He knelt and broke the ice on top and winced as his fingers penetrated the burning cold. He was supposed to immerse his entire body in this?
‘Scared Malfoy?’ he heard Potter's voice call from behind him.
Draco took a deep breath.
‘You wish.’ he replied jauntily and jumped in.
The freezing pain of it took hold, needle-sharp and tortuous and he gasped in agonising short breaths, his lungs constricting.
’Some people say you get a bit euphoric from it.’ Alec had said, ’Like a natural high.’
Those people were filthy liars, Draco thought. Fuck this.
His teeth chattered as he hoisted himself out and practically ran back into the welcoming heat and to where Potter was almost doubled over in laughter.
‘Oh Merlin,’ he swore, shivering away, ‘That was fucking dreadful.’ He turned to Potter expectantly, who was still laughing, the bastard. ‘Ok, now you.’
Potter stood slowly and wiped a tear from his eye. Without his glasses his eyes were devastating, sparkling like giant emeralds from the laughter. He scrunched his nose and looked at the barrel.
‘Nah,’ he said, still unable to stop himself from giggling madly, ‘don't think I will actually.’
‘What!?’ Draco was incensed, outraged. ‘We had a deal! Let's go Potter.’
He grabbed Potter's wrist without ceremony, fully intending to throw him in if need be. Potter swatted at him playfully with his free hand and they tussled for a few moments and then Potter's chest was pressed up against him and it was so, so deliciously warm against his cold skin and then there were warm lips pressed against his and he was utterly lost, melting with a whimper against the hungry, messy heat that was Potter's kiss.
And Potter was sinfully skilled at this, his tongue sliding against Draco's with assured ease, his hands coming to Draco's hips to better position him for a slow, maddening grind. Draco could feel Potter's semi-hard length through the towel and couldn't help but move against him until they were moving in tandem and Draco was moaning with exasperation, desperately aroused.
Potter pulled back and Draco had a view of ink-black pupils and a high flush on Potter's cheeks before he felt a wrist curl around his bicep and the dramatic tug of apparition around him.
Potter’s room materialised and was a little bit presumptuous to just drag him in here? Absolutely, but as he was pulled in flush once again to Potter’s body, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He hadn’t allowed himself to want anything in such a long time and wanting Potter was like greeting an old friend.
Potter was tasting him again, licking into his mouth with rapt hunger. His fingers were in Draco’s hair and didn’t that feel wonderful, the light tugging on his scalp sending electricity straight to his cock.
Then Potter’s hands moved to his shoulder and pushed down, a solid and slow weight, and now this really was forward, Draco thought, but the slight doubt was overridden by the sheer want in Potter’s face and the sight of his cock, beautifully red and swollen and waiting for him.
Potter moaned as he wrapped his tongue around him, tasting the salt and clean skin. Draco was good at this and he applied himself enthusiastically, teasing and fondling with his hand while he hollowed his cheeks and swirled his tongue and Potter was clearly loving it.
‘Fuck,’ he said, gazing down at Draco with green eyes wide with disbelief, ‘You look like a pornstar.’
Draco frowned a little even as he took Potter in deeper. That was supposed to be a compliment? Maybe he’d spend some time teaching Potter some better manners, he thought idly, when they moved to the bed. When they were both ready for round two.
Because he knew with absolute certainty that once would not be enough. Maybe he could persuade Potter to stay for another day. Or he could go to London, he had some holiday left still and…
Potter’s hand tightened in his hair and his moans turned gasping, desperate.
‘Draco! Oh fuck, oh fuck.’ he groaned hoarsely, spilling into Draco’s mouth. He spasmed once or twice with the aftershocks then he rocked back on his heels and tipped his head back towards the ceiling.
‘Fuck I needed that.’ he laughed, his abdominals jumping under Draco’s steadying fingers. He looked down at him, his gaze gentle and wondering.
‘Draco…’ he said again.
‘Harryyyyyyyyy!’
The call came from downstairs, swiftly followed by the sound of a door slamming and the stomp of footsteps ascending.
‘Shit!’ Harry tore himself away and threw a t-shirt and jeans on, even as Hermione’s voice came muffled through the doorway,
‘You’d better be packed and ready, Ron’s already at the lunch place and I’m a bit worried that we’re cutting it too fine as it is with the portkey at four. We should be fine but you know I like to leave half an hour of buffer time and lord knows we always need it with Ron forgetting his jacket or you forgetting your glasses, honestly I…oh hello, there you are. How was your nap? Is your headache feeling better?’
For Harry had pulled on a pair of socks and left without even a backwards glance at Draco, still kneeling on the floor, naked and softening with every passing moment. He heard the two of them as they descended the stairs and left the house, Harry’s replies a little too quick and breathless as opposed to Hermione’s easy chatter.
He stayed there kneeling on the floor for several long moments and then went and got dressed in a daze. That couldn’t have…had that actually happened? Had Potter…Harry now he supposed, it was hard to keep calling him by his surname when he’d just had his cock in his mouth. Had Harry really just left him like that?
To his own surprise he started laughing, an almost maniacal giggle that he couldn’t stop from bubbling out. It was absurd but he felt better than he had in years. He’d been so utterly displaced after the war, a bit lost in everything he did. But Harry Potter being an arsehole to him was almost a nostalgic feeling, a comfortable kind of hurt. It felt ridiculously right somehow, like the world had tilted back to its correct axis.
In a fit of reckless energy he decided to write a letter to his Head of Department, saying all the things he had held back over the last year. Because why not? He pointed out that Draco worked harder than anyone, that theirs was the only magical scientific institution that didn’t have a specialised Deep Magic Department, that they were rapidly falling behind the Chinese and the Americans when it came to innovations and that this risk averse attitude was stifling any real progress that they would ever have a shot at making. It took over an hour and he signed it hurriedly just as he heard the door open and threw it into the floo with such vigour that he wouldn’t be surprised if it whacked someone in the head when it came out the other end.
‘We just wanted to say goodbye Draco,’ Hermione said, her head coming around the door, ‘thank you so much for everything.’ Her head disappeared again, her tone becoming vicious and authoritative, ‘I don’t bloody care if you want to talk to him, get upstairs and pack and if you’re not done in ten minutes then I’ll murder you myself.’
‘Yeah cheers.’ Ron said cordially, stepping in past Hermione. Draco could just make out Harry lurching up the stairs behind him.
‘Safe trip.’ Draco smiled politely at them, his mind very much still on Harry as he ascended the steps.
A gasp broke his concentration as Hermione pulled out a glowing friendship bracelet from her pocket.
‘Oh it’s early! Oh my god, didn’t I tell you?! Haven’t I been telling you that they can be up to half an hour early every single trip? HARRY!!’
Ron gave Draco a long suffering look.
‘Can you get the bags Ron? Did I pack my hairbrush? Let me just do a final sweep...’
She zoomed out of the room in a whirlwind, Ron following her in stoic silence.
Draco met them in the hall a few minutes later, Hermione flushed with the triumph of having done a NEWT-level job of packing. Harry was there and gave Draco a look of shy frustration, a kind of ‘isn’t this a funny yet annoying circumstance we find ourselves in’ writ into a facial expression.
‘I’ll see you at the engagement party then?’ he said nonchalantly.
Draco nodded and stretched his mouth into a tight smile, ‘Goodbye all.’
As they all put their hand on the portkey Draco could feel Harry’s eyes on him, burning into him. But it was as though he had been plunged into cold water and could no longer feel the heat.
’He’s like this with everyone,’ Granger had said, ’Don’t read too much into it.
That was that then. Another notch added to Potter’s bedpost. His initial rush of anger had faded, the adrenaline of it worn off. After they disappeared, he remembered the letter he had just sent and groaned. What had he been thinking? Was there any aspect of his life that was going to remain unscathed today?
He wished Potter had never come. Even if he was a good kisser. But what an absolute arsehole.
He sighed and put his head against the door. This was all Luna’s fault.
….
December 1997
Theo was a good kisser.
Not that Draco had much to compare it to, other than a drunken and much regretted fumble with Pansy after the Yule Ball which he had halted by breaking the kiss and announcing he was definitely gay. She had been delighted to have such incredible blackmail material and he'd bought her a king's ransom in birthday gifts ever since.
Theo was a definite improvement. He smelled delightfully masculine with a hint of expensive cologne that Draco knew contained Essence of Veela because he'd seen it in Theo’s toiletry bag. His body was firm and warm under Draco's hands and he tasted like the sticky toffee pudding they'd had for dinner.
They were in the boys dormitory and Draco had Theo pressed onto his mattress. Draco felt a thrill of victory run through him because they'd been dancing around this for weeks, both flirting and making eyes at each other and yesterday Theo had put his hand on Draco's thigh during Charms. Draco had left a note on his pillow this morning saying to meet him there when they were supposed to be at a study session.
‘Ok but you absolutely can't tell anyone.’ was the first thing Theo said when Draco had walked in to find him leaning back invitingly on his bed, ‘My father would kill me.’
‘Sounds risky,’ Draco had agreed, ‘so I shouldn't do this then?’ and climbed on top of him and they’d started snogging.
Everything was going so well recently.
The Room continued to amaze him. The only fly in the ointment was that Longbottom and Finnegan were demandingly and persistently present. He would have loved to see the results of his efforts himself. Especially as the Room was starting to trust him enough to let him make additions to the design and contents. He'd added a glitter charm to the wall panels to shower anyone who touched them in an explosion of semi-permanent sparkles. He'd cackled as he'd finished it, wishing he could see how they'd react to it. He'd also added a proper dining room because even though they were uncultured brutes, the food from the kitchens deserved better than being eaten from someone's knees.
He almost didn't want to go home for the Christmas holidays tomorrow. If he could talk Theo into staying too then he'd seriously consider it. But he did need to see his mother.
His fingers played with the short curls of hair at Theo’s nape. He was getting so very hard. Could he…would Theo let him…? He snaked a careful, tentative hand between them and gently palmed the front of Theo’s trousers. Theo gave a startled moan and flinched away from him. Draco removed his hand guiltily. Theo looked up at him, breathing heavily and with a frantic look in his eye. Draco tried to back away further but was prevented by a hand fisting the material of his shirt pulling him back into warm limbs and a gloriously eager mouth.
…..
It was eight o’clock and he had a spring in his step as he walked into the classroom on the seventh floor to do a final check on the Device. It should be alright in his absence but he'd asked Winky to keep an eye on it just in case. She was in there now, sitting on a desk and swinging her legs.
Draco did his checks and then pulled the bottles from his robes. The barkeep had continued to overcharge him at the Hog's Head but now at least his grunts seemed less aggressive. He placed the bottles on the desk and then hesitated when Winky held something out to him.
‘It is being a Christmas card.’ she said primly.
Draco felt his mouth open, the phrase ‘I didn't know we were doing cards’ ready on his lips, an absurd little phrase of his mother’s when caught out by one of her social set. Instead he reached out and took it. It was a sorry thing, little more than a damp piece of card with ‘Merry Christmas’ scribbled on the front. Still, he had never once received a present from a house elf. He was surprisingly touched by the gesture.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I'll bring you a gift from home.’
They parted unusually, without a single insult.
Draco was still holding the card in his hand when he was stopped in the corridor ten minutes later.
‘Draco! Just the lucky duck I was hoping to find.’
It was Alecto Carrow, popping her head out of the office she shared with her brother. She had an unpleasant grin on her face. ‘Step in here for a moment would you?’
Hastily shoving Winky's card into his pocket and tamping down a feeling of foreboding, he followed her over the threshold.
Amycus was lounging behind his own desk and chewing prodigiously on a large brownie. Alecto picked one up from a plate piled up with them and bit into it before turning to Draco.
‘You know someone called Luna Lovegood?’ she mumbled with her mouth full.
He frowned at her, both because he felt it must be a teacher's job to know who their students were and also because he was in serious danger of being sprayed with brownie crumbs.
‘I do, yes.’ he said warily.
‘Good.’ Alecto said, mumbling past the brownie, ‘Go get her and bring her to Snape’s office.’
‘Why?’ he asked immediately.
Amycus sat up sharply, ‘Because we said so, that's why.’
Alecto ignored him and swallowed her bite, ‘Her daddy's been printing all sorts about the Dark Lord and he's unhappy about it. Wants to be sure he won't do it anymore. So his daughter will enjoy a spell in Azkaban while he has a chance to think things over.’
‘But-’ Draco began, mouth going dry. He wasn't close with Luna; he'd joined in with the others calling her Loony and making fun of her ridiculous father. But they were cousins, he'd seen her every holiday at one party or another. He'd briefly joined the gobstones club in his second year and she'd beaten him soundly every time they played. And had put up with all his sneering and jibes about her weirdness with a serene expression and then offered innocuous little phrases that were devastating in their clarity. Despite himself, he couldn't help liking her.
‘She’s going straight to Azkaban? Won’t she even get a trial?’ he asked plaintively.
Both siblings straightened up and fixed him with piercing stares.
‘A trial?’ Alecto said softly and dangerously, ‘why would she need a trial when the Dark Lord says she’s guilty?’.
She approached him and Draco backed away, feeling cornered.
‘No, of course not,’ he said placatingly, ‘I'll go and get her. At once.’
He fled the office and learned against the wall when he was sure they hadn't followed him. He was feeling shaky. He couldn't. Luna was a Pureblood for Merlin's sake. And he didn’t join the cause to kidnap women and have them thrown in jail for no reason. But…but if he didn't then they'd just send someone else or go themselves and Draco would have to explain why he'd defied the Dark Lord's wishes. And he couldn't, he couldn't do that to his family. They'd punish all of them for it, his mother, his father. Three people suffering rather than one, it was a simple equation really. Although Xenophilus made two he supposed but he almost didn't count - this whole thing was his fault to begin with.
He took a deep breath and walked in the direction of the Ravenclaw common room. Every footfall felt like lead but he kept on and all too soon he spotted a group of fourth years in blue ties about to enter.
‘You,’ he singled one of them out, ‘go and fetch Luna Lovegood for me, would you?’
The girl, auburn haired and dark-eyed looked at him dubiously and Draco could see the questions rising in her brain. But after a moment she looked down and nodded and continued up the stairs.
He leaned against the wall, staring at his shoes and feeling sick. The time he spent waiting stretched out and he wondered if he could stand here interminably, caught between action and inaction forever and whether that would be better or worse. He thought maybe if Luna didn't appear then he could go back and say he'd tried and perhaps by then she would have realised something was amiss - Ravenclaws were apt to be smart like that - and could hide herself-
‘Draco?’
His head snapped up at her soft, lilting voice.
‘Why are you staring at your shoes? Were you worried they were going to go missing?’ she asked gently.
‘Uh, no. No I wasn't. Er. You're supposed to come with me. To Snape's office. The Carrows, um, wanted to see you there.’
He was expecting questions, maybe fear but instead Luna nodded placidly and started walking down the corridor, looking back at him curiously when he stayed frozen against the wall for a moment before following her.
She seemed happy to walk beside him in silence and his brain started working as they walked. She definitely knew where the Room was, she’d been inside a few times this year, to meet with Longbottom and the others. And then, a miracle - one of the staircases unexpectedly swung over on the fourth floor and it gave him the perfect excuse.
‘We'll have to go via the seventh floor.’ he announced.
‘We don't have to,’ she replied, knowing as well as he did that the staircase by the Astonomy Tower was closer and not nearly as temperamental,’but we can if you want.’
That was a good question. What did he want?
‘You know,’ he said, looking around as if only realising where they were, ‘I think we must be close to that room where Potter had that ridiculous defence club a few years ago.’
She nodded and smiled, clearly enjoying the memory of it. He licked his lips nervously. He was hoping she would have sensed something was up by now. He was actually going to have to say it, wasn't he? He looked up and down the corridor.
‘If, uh, someone hypothetically were to hide there from the Carrows it would probably be difficult to find them.’ he said, a tad desperately.
Luna stopped and surveyed him measuredly.
‘No.’ she said, serene but decided, and Draco's heart sank.
‘I wouldn't want them to hurt my father you see.’ she explained coolly, ‘It would worry me.’
Draco felt his jaw drop. He'd assumed she was oblivious of the situation when she'd actually been two steps ahead of him.
‘But that’s stupid.’ he heard himself say, startled into rudeness, ‘Your father knew the risks and he'd much rather you be safe I'm sure.’
Fuck, he should not be talking like this. He swivelled his head from side to side, sure Snape or Crabbe was about to jump out from the shadows and denounce him as a traitor.
A tiny frown graced her brow, the most perturbed he'd ever seen her look, ‘Just because it's a decision you make with your heart rather than your head, doesn't mean it's stupid.’
She patted his arm gently, ‘It will be alright. If you wouldn't mind keeping an eye on my four-fronded leaf fish? His tank is in the common room. He’ll be alright over Christmas, he doesn't need much feeding but he enjoys it when you talk and sing to him.’
He made a strained noise which she took to be confirmation and then she glided towards the headmaster's office, Draco trailing reluctantly in her wake.
….
It wasn't right, he thought to himself, knee bouncing anxiously as the carriage deposited him on the front steps of the Manor. He would talk to his parents about it.
Luna was a Pureblood after all. Yes her father was a blood traitor but she could still be taught the correct ways. It wasn’t like she was a Weasley for Merlin's sake. And Hogwarts was perfectly safe, under the control of Snape. There was no reason at all why she shouldn't finish her education. Yes the Carrows, sadistic and uncouth, had seemed unbothered, even pleased to take her away but he was sure that right-minded individuals like his parents would want to do something. Help him present his case to the Dark Lord maybe.
Speaking of which…Draco paused on the threshold, feeling a familiar twisting in his gut and dread creeping over him. It was similar to being in a Dementor’s presence but not quite as honed, more a general miasma of fear.
He knew what it meant. He was here.
His mother was waiting for him in the Entrance Hall and stepped forward to pull him into an embrace.
‘Darling!’
He stepped back and looked at her anxiously, noting that she was doing the same. She looked alright, a little paler than usual but no signs that she was suffering ill-treatment. He exhaled, relieved. It had been a constant source of worry, he had regular nightmares where she greeted him sobbing, her face bruised and bloodied.
She smiled and tucked her arm into his, ‘Shall we see if your father is busy?’ she asked brightly.
The hall was decorated for Christmas, although Draco noticed that many of the garlands looked mangled, and there seemed to be some rather tasteless additions to the decorations on the tree. The shrunken heads and bloodied knives he could guess were likely his Aunt Bella’s choice, whereas the small foal shrieking in fright as it was chased around the tree by a snarling wolf looked to be Greyback’s contribution. As they walked towards the study Draco could hear noise from behind the closed doors in the corridor; harsh voices raised in argument or shrill giggling. He felt himself tense up as the sounds surrounded them. Merlin, how could his parents live with this?
His smile was starting to grow strained when they reached the study…and then passed it, continuing to the library. But of course, Draco realised, if the Dark Lord was here then he would have taken the study for himself again. Which made sense of course, he needed somewhere quiet and private while he was here. And his father would be happy to be relegated to the library. Doubtless the change of scenery was a nice break for him. It was very important to think thoughts like these when at the Manor, especially with the Dark Lord and Aunt Bellatrix about. He chewed the inside of his cheek as they passed through the doors to the library with its floor to ceiling bookshelves and reading lamps which would recommend books to you if you asked them nicely. The Death Eaters hadn’t had the chance to cause any damage in here which Draco was glad to see.
His father was sitting at a small mahogany desk piled high with haphazard stacks of paper. Removed quickly from the study when the Dark Lord had arrived, most likely. He looked up as Draco and his mother entered. His appearance was a little haggard, his expression hunted. It faded into neutrality however, when he saw it was his wife and son.
‘I hope we aren't interrupting, dear?’
‘I am rather busy, you know,’ he grumbled but stood all the same and walked around the desk to shake Draco's hand stiffly.
‘Draco, you must tell us at dinner about how Hogwarts is faring without the scourge of Mudbloods they usually let in. I'm sure everyone will be most interested to hear about it. Nott and Rowle will be joining us and some of the newer recruits.’
‘Of course father,’ he replied politely, ‘but if I could talk to you both on another matter? It's about Luna Lovegood.’
‘Ah yes, the Carrows said you apprehended her together yesterday. Although I’m not quite sure that she fully understands the situation, her main concern seemed to be asking if we had considered exorcizing the Argumentous Sprites that we apparently have nesting in the wainscotting.’
‘Then you’ve seen her?’
She seemed mildly alarmed by his agitation, ‘Yes dear, she’s being kept in the dungeons here. And Mr. Ollivander too.’
His mind raced. Whatever reason she had been brought here rather than Azkaban, he couldn’t imagine it boded well for her. And Ollivander, what could he have done?
Either way it seemed like his grand idea to get his parents support would be fruitless. If they knew she was here already then presumably they hadn’t been so outraged as to object. They hadn’t even insisted that she be kept somewhere more comfortable than the dungeons; they had plenty of guest bedrooms in the North Wing still and a simple locking charm on the door would have been perfectly adequate.
He was still thinking about it when he trudged up to his room after having the requisite cup of tea and inquisition over his grades with them. It wasn’t that he was unaware that this sort of random imprisonment happened, the Snatchers had a good trade going nowadays after all. It just hadn’t happened to anyone he cared about. And it was especially worrying that she was here, given the type of person currently residing in the Manor. If he was worried about his mother having to deal with unwanted attentions then what would Luna have to endure? Especially with the stories he’d heard about them, Greyback and Yaxley specifically. Apparently there was a girl in the New Forest-
‘Confringo!’
The sconce by his head exploded and he was thrown to the carpet, a large bronze cherub thunking against his skull in a way that made his ears ring and vision blur at the edges.
‘Legilimens!
If there was one thing at the top of the long list of things he regretted, it was asking Aunt Bella to teach him Occlumency. She had taught him the basics without incident and he thought he’d progressed nicely. But then she had started administering ‘tests’ of his ability, regularly jumping out at him and on one occasion tying him to a lightning rod during a storm to see what could break his concentration. He could feel her now, trying to worm her way into his thoughts and the bump on his head was making him disoriented enough that he couldn’t stop her…
He was in the Forbidden Forest watching a cloaked figure dip its head to drink unicorn blood…
He was in the Charms classroom watching Goyle choke after accidentally inhaling the feather he was supposed to be levitating…
He was in the Control Room, looking at the Devi-
No, no, NO.
He shoved her away as hard as he could. He couldn’t allow her to see, it would ruin everything. But like a Niffler, she scented gold and sprung back, determined to see what he was trying so hard to keep from her. He could see her now, standing above him wand raised, with a terrible hungry expression in her eyes.
He did the only thing he could - dropped her in another memory -
He was in the Slytherin dormitory, watching Theo shudder underneath him as he came onto Draco’s hand, his lips kiss-swollen and his eyes rolling back into his head…
‘Well, well, well.’ his Aunt sounded extraordinarily pleased with herself. Draco clawed air into his lungs and felt tears prick his eyes.
‘Ickle Draco had his first rumpy-pumpy!’
‘Aunt Bella,’ he croaked through the dust in the air from the exploded lamp, ‘please, please don’t tell anyone.’
But his Aunt was giggling madly and twirling her wand in her fingers, ‘I remember my first - Isadoro. He gave me a flower from the garden. And then Cissy told mother about him. That wasn’t very nice of her was it?’
Her eyes had gone cold and dead, the sudden flare of her madness terrifying. Draco felt sweat prickle on his forehead.
‘No,’ he said, feeling every inch as pathetic as he must look, crying on the floor covered in plaster dust and desperately trying to placate a crazy woman. ‘No it wasn’t very nice.’
A smile flicked onto her face, ‘You need to keep up your guard Draco, who knows what your enemies could see in your brain if you just walk into traps like that!’
‘I will Aunt Bella. I’m sorry.’
‘Did you learn your lesson?’
‘Yes Aunt Bella.’
‘What do you say?’ she prompted him, eyes wide and expectant.
‘Thank you Aunt Bella.’
She helped him up and aimed a Scourgify at his robes, saying as she did so that ‘young people today seem to get so messy!’ and then sauntered away.
He watched her turn the corner and then fled, only able to take a breath when he locked the door of his room. He wondered bleakly why the hell he was worrying about Luna. Maybe she should be worrying about him.
….
He was lost in thought, miserably pushing his potatoes around his plate when he heard his name being called.
‘Sorry?’
‘Do pay attention Draco,’ his father said with forced joviality, ‘I was asking you how you feel the school is being run?’
‘Oh.’ he said, glancing around the table to see that everyone, his mother and father, his Aunt Bella, Nott and Rowle and their four new disciples, pale and with the light of fervour in their eyes, had ceased conversation and were looking at him, ‘well, uh…’
He wracked his brain to think of something to say about it. It was quieter, certainly. Sometimes worryingly so - Hufflepuff hadn’t been able to get enough players to make a full Quidditch team this year. And while it had meant that teachers now had more time to give pupils, it hadn’t meant they were progressing faster; Crabbe and Goyle were still struggling as much as ever. And the student body seemed subdued; most talk in the corridors or in the Great Hall was about who had disappeared, who was on trial and who was dead. His gaze dropped to the table as he searched for inspiration and he remembered with frightening clarity how it had sounded when Professor Burbage’s body had hit it. He wasn’t here tonight. Draco had never seen him eat. He wondered sometimes if he was like a snake in that regard too, only unhinging his jaw every few months to swallow food.
‘Professor Carrow is doing an excellent job at teaching Muggle Studies,’ he said with a fair attempt at conviction, ‘everyone is extremely pleased that they’re not trying to tell us lies any more.’
It wasn’t quite true - he’d heard there had been dissention to the new curriculum from a fair number of students - but it seemed to serve well enough for an answer, everyone at the table relaxed and looked away from him. He took a sip of water.
‘And Draco’s having sex.’ Aunt Bella announced.
He choked on his water and coughed loudly. Everyone was back to staring at him and his Aunt who was humming happily as she cut her pork chop to shreds.
‘Really? Lucius-lite getting lucky?’ Rowle called with cruel glee and Draco felt his cheeks burning. He couldn’t look his mother in the eye.
‘Yes but he’s not doing it right. You’re supposed to do it with girls Draco. Though Theodore is pretty enough to be a girl, wouldn’t you say Mr. Nott?’ she said sweetly, turning to Theo’s father who stared at her in blank incomprehension for a few moments before the meaning sunk in and he purpled with rage.
Maybe he could just kill himself now, he thought, oscillating between embarrassment and terror over what Theo’s father would do to him. He stayed frozen in his seat for a moment and then when Nott rose from his chair he bolted, even as Rowle’s raucous laughter taunted his back.
He meant to run to his room but he passed the entrance to the kitchens and thought that they’d be less likely to find him there so veered and tumbled down the steps and emerged gasping into the kitchen. It was empty save for a large chocolate gateaux resting on the broad wooden table. The dishes they’d used for the starters were hovering by the sink, ready to plunge into the soapy water. As he stepped further in he wondered where the elves were but then saw one peeping out from behind the large copper vat they used for cider in the autumn.
‘Mimsy?’
She squeaked and hurtled herself at his feet, all the while beating her tiny head with the washing up brush, ‘Mimsy should not have hidden, Master Draco! Mimsy is sorry!’
‘Stop that!’ he ordered, marvelling at himself as he did so. A few short months ago he would have been amazed if a house elf hadn’t tried to injure itself if it didn’t jump to meet his demands. Dealing with Winky had definitely been an education.
Mimsy looked up at him, near-hysteria in her large blue eyes, ‘Mimsy must be punishing herself Master Draco!’
‘No, you mustn’t.’ he told her sternly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Nott wasn’t about to crown him, ‘You must act perfectly normally and hide me, do you understand?’
She nodded frantically. The other two elves were emerging from the storeroom carrying the port and glassware. They stopped in alarm when they saw Draco.
‘Master Draco can hide in the wine cellar sir, it has spells to make it safe from thieves.’
She took him by the hand and led him into the storeroom, its shelves packed with fresh vegetables and jars of preserves and from there through an unobtrusive wooden door. It led into a small room lit by a single torch, chilly but not damp with bottles stacked on their sides in honeycomb pallets and several crates with the packing straw still in them. He sat on one, determined not to leave until he was sure that Nott could be talked down from a murderous rage. Which was possibly never. He sighed, feeling sorry for himself and then felt a stab of guilt, Theo had said his father would kill him if he found out. He hadn’t thought about him at all until now.
‘Is Master Draco being needing anything else?’ Mimsy asked and Draco’s attention snapped back to her. He remembered how she’d hidden when he’d come into the kitchen and how the Death Eaters would sometimes use the elves for target practice when there was no other prey available. He remembered Dobby saying ‘I do not have good memories of the Masters Malfoy.’
‘No, thank you. But, uh, can the other elves manage without you for a bit? I’d like to talk to you.’
Mimsy looked awkward but nodded.
‘Firstly, look how does it work with elves and orders? If I order you to do something and my father ordered you to do the opposite, which ones do you follow?’
He’d never even thought about it before, he realised. He’d never for a second ever considered that maybe he might want something different from his father.
‘Master Malfoy the Elder is our owner sir,’ Mimsy answered promptly, ‘we are following his orders above all others.’
She looked at him fearfully, as though this might earn her a punishment, playing nervously with the frayed hem of her pillowcase, stained and worn with age. It was stupid, he thought suddenly. Why not give them clean ones to wear? How many hundreds of pillowcases did they have in the house, they couldn’t give the elves nicer ones? He’d never even thought about it before. It was a poor reflection on the household really. He remembered Dobby in his smart tunic.
‘Would you leave if you could?’ he asked gently, adding hurriedly, ‘I’m not going to punish you if you say yes or tell father, I promise.’
She looked briefly distraught, then must have seen something in his eye that made her pause. She seemed to take a moment to reflect, then answered with candour, ‘No sir. It is not good being an elf without the protection of a household, even when circumstances are difficult.’
She wavered slightly afterwards then added urgently, ‘Not that circumstances are difficult sir, it is being a pleasure to serve the Malfoy family!’
He nodded in understanding. ‘Thank you Mimsy. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.’
She looked at him with confusion, which he could understand. If you told him in September that he’d apologise to a house elf he would have told them to stop huffing the fumes from the rainbow mushrooms in greenhouse three.
So that was the end of another good idea. He couldn’t order the elves to protect Luna from the Death Eaters, it would be dangerous for them and his father would put a stop to it if he found out. He needed something more subtle, more artful than that.
He stiffened as he heard a crash, worrying that Theo’s father was rampaging through every room in the Manor but nothing came from it and after a few moments he relaxed. Mimsy had said the room was safe anyway, that it had protection on it.
He stood so rapidly he got a head rush.
Now there was an idea…
He opened the storeroom door a sliver, to peer into the kitchen where Mimsy was now doing the dishes.
‘I say, Mimsy?’ he called to her. She turned and regarded him with alarm.
‘Did you say this room had protection spells to make it safe from thieves? I wonder if you could tell me more about that…’
…..
February 2002
Luna Lovegood was his favourite person in the whole world, he told himself repeatedly, while waiting for the customs officers. Special events in the UK were their own kind of torture, and not ones he submitted to readily. He’d forgone Christmas for the past four years for obvious reasons, the memories enough to turn his stomach. Now the only thing that could persuade him back were his mother’s birthday and now, Luna’s engagement party. Where the thought of running into Harry was now a persistent worry but it wasn’t as though he could avoid him forever. And according to Hermione he was back into work at all hours so he just had to hope that maybe he would be otherwise engaged until the main event.
Portkey Customs was a nightmare as always. This time he barely had a chance to step off the Inbound platform before he was marched into a room where he waited and watched them summarily torture his suitcase, searching for contraband or evidence of dark magic. He had packed for one night and he was already wearing the suit for Luna's party which wasn't ideal but it was better than watching the customs officers paw and mangle them heathenishly. He waited. He was familiar with this procedure and how it went. The waiting was standard. They always made him wait on an uncomfortable grey metal chair as though it would weaken his resolve and make him confess to evil deeds. They made him stand for revealing charms. Made him sit for anti-curse charms. Questioned him about where he'll be staying, what he'll be doing. Then they insisted he recite his mother's name and address, despite the fact that he already wrote all this down for them. Then Luna's name and her address. Then his employer's name and address. They made him wait while they verify their names and addresses. More questions about his luggage. Questions about his job, his hobbies, does he have a girlfriend? Inured as he is to this process he did have to hold himself back this time from replying with ‘No but I recently sucked off Harry Potter if that counts.’
He stayed calm, stayed polite. Made a game of seeing how many ways they could ask the same question over and over. Eventually the officer shook her head in a resigned way, as if she alone could have prevented Draco's inevitable rampage of destruction but that it was out of her hands now.
He hadn’t heard a peep from Harry in the past few weeks. Hermione had written a few times, asking how his research was going and congratulating him on his promotion. She applauded his letter and subsequent interview with the Department Head. Sometimes people just need to hear the truth before they listen. she had said. There wasn’t much on Harry in the letters, she only mentioned him once, Unfortunately Harry has gone straight back to normal, diving into work, barely eating or sleeping. It’s such a pity, we really did hope that the holiday would make him realise that he doesn’t have to work all the time, that sometimes he can take things easy.
He took you easily enough said the sneering voice in his head that always sounded like his father. Draco smiled grimly. He only had three objectives on this trip. Firstly to congratulate Luna properly, secondly to try and foster even the tiniest shred of civility with the Weasley clan and thirdly, to ignore Harry Potter as much as civility and proximity would allow.
He left the Ministry via the Atrium, fortunately without attracting any further interest, and hurried to the nearest apparition point. He had planned for three hours in customs but it had taken closer to four, leaving him no time to drop his suitcase and freshen up at his mother's townhouse but it didn't matter. He pulled out the card with the address and apparated into…
…a forest. Epping Forest to be exact, the true heart of it magically invisible to muggles who tended to go around in circles and get lost anyway. Rays of sunshine penetrated the thick green canopy, dense and vibrant and all faintly thrumming with natural, green magic. Draco took a second and let it wash over him, the stress and unpleasantness of the Ministry stripped away by the pure, leaf-scented air. If he listened very carefully he could hear the ancient trees whispering to one another, spreading their magic, an encouragement to all living things to grow. He wiggled his toes - he felt as though he ought to put down roots - before spotting the obvious rabbit path leading to a crystalline structure a few metres away.
He entered via a stone archway and left his bag at the cloakroom. Following the sounds of classical music he paused on the threshold to cast a quick freshening and ironing charm on himself, gave his tie one final adjustment and then opened one of the panelled double doors.
He smiled in pure enjoyment at the scene. He was in a large conservatory, the glass offering a perfect view of the forest. The plants inside were more tropical, both magical and non-magical and he marvelled at the displays of orchids and blooming cacti and mimbletonia. It was clearly something of a creature sanctuary too. He could see leprechauns poking out of an enormous patch of four-leaf clover and the sparkling buzz of fairies overhead and…were those pixies? He ran his hands through his hair nervously, hoping they had at least been defanged. They always went for his bloody hair.
He decided to risk it and picked up a flute of champagne from a serving tray hovering in the air. He sipped and raised an eyebrow, impressed. This must be what Harpies money got you. He surveyed the crowd of people nervously, spotting several ginger heads and other Gryffindors. He took a deep breath. He could do this.
He took a step before deciding that maybe by ‘doing this’ he meant finding Luna and then lurking in a corner all night but that was alright. A certain amount of chickening out was acceptable. He spotted her underneath the shade of an enormous palm that seemed to be doling out tropical fruit to anyone who passed. If he looked around he could see several people holding bananas and pineapples and as he watched Dean Thomas sidestepped its offer of a pomelo by brandishing a mango, ‘I'm fine thank you!’ and giving Luna a peck on the cheek. He stepped up and a giant frond bent toward him, offering him a gloriously vibrant pink orb.
‘Thank you.’ he said and the thin leaves wiggled happily.
‘It's a dragon fruit.’ Luna told him on his approach.
He laughed, ‘Really? How did it know?’ he patted the trunk and it thanked him by dropping another dragon fruit at his feet, which he picked up and held dutifully.
He kissed her cheek and offered the standard congratulations. She was wearing vanilla pod earrings and a yellow and red dress which on anyone else would have looked disastrous and clownish but on Luna it suited perfectly. He chatted to her politely but was aware that several people were hovering and stepped aside with his dragon fruits cradled in one arm, refusing a third politely.
‘Harry was asking about you.’ Luna told him gently as he went, ‘I told him you would be here when you arrived.’
His stomach sank but he smiled tightly at her and moved away. He would have to deal with him eventually, they were both best men. And he'd only see him for this party and the wedding itself, spend a few hours in his company and then never see him again. It would be fine.
He worried the inside of his cheek as he headed to the bar for another champagne where he also shrank one of the dragon fruits and put it in his pocket. The other he kept out as he saw others were doing, to deter the palm from giving them more. Other than Seamus Finnegan who was happily munching his way through a banana and had two others poking out of his pocket.
Xenophilius stopped by and asked after his mother and Hermione talked to him for a while about a book he had recommended. He saw Harry who seemed popular as ever, happily laughing and bantering with all the Gryffindors. He didn't approach Draco, for which he was thankful and annoyed in equal measure. But he told himself it was better this way, the awkwardness was much better avoided.
It was a brief journey to the bathroom that scuppered his plans. He was drying his hands carefully when the door opened and Harry walked in. Draco saw him in the mirror and dropped his gaze quickly.
‘Hey,’ Harry said, a sunny smile spread over his face, ‘how are you?’
He kept his eyes on his hands, as though drying them with the hand towel was unbelievably fascinating.
‘Fine thank you.’
‘So…’ Harry sidled up to him and Draco’s pulse jumped, ‘Want to get dinner after this?’
Draco hands couldn't possibly get any drier, ‘No thank you.’ he said, turning to leave.
Alas his reticence was mistaken for coyness and Harry stepped up to him suggestively, ‘Straight back to mine then?’
‘I’d rather not.’ Draco said firmly and the smile slipped off Harry's face as easily as if it had been greased, replaced with confusion.
‘Why not?’
Draco almost wanted to laugh, he was so baffled. He stepped back and looked at Draco and then around the bathroom, as though the only possible reasons he could surmise for not wanting to fuck him were death or natural disaster and he was trying to work out which one it was.
‘I’d rather not repeat what happened.’ Draco asserted and started moving towards the door.
‘Why not?’ Harry asked again, ‘We had fun didn't we?’
He couldn't help it, even as his hand was poised to push the door open, he couldn't help turning back around and retorting with, ‘You did.’
Harry reddened and spluttered slightly, ‘But-I…I-we-we were interrupted.’ his features softened and became laced with suggestion again, ‘Let me make it up to you.’
‘Thank you for the offer,’ Draco deadpanned, ‘but again: no. If you'll excuse me.’
‘What was I supposed to do?’ Harry asked plaintively, then seemed to realise how plaintive he sounded and adjusted his voice, ‘Hermione was practically banging down the door.’
‘And of course you had to run off right then. Not even an owl afterwards. Did it ever occur to you,’ Draco asked with what he hoped was quiet dignity, ‘that it might be quite rare that I trust anyone enough to…do things like that? You took advantage.’
Harry's face dropped in shock. Draco turned to go but again was stopped, this time by Harry moving around him to block his way.
‘You're right, I'm sorry. It was rude of me.’ he said, palms held up in supplication, ‘But I’ve been so busy. Please, give me a second chance?’
His eyes were massive and pleading and so green. Draco almost considered it but inwardly he was wondering how much Harry was refused anything he wanted these days. His words made it seem as though he was asking sincerely but his tone belied him, an undercurrent of surety that Draco would capitulate, because he was Harry Potter.
‘No,’ he said, a hint of anger suffusing his tone, ‘please get out of my way.’
‘For god's sake!’ Harry exclaimed, scrubbing a hand through his black locks, disbelief in his eyes, as though Draco was misunderstanding the conversation, like it was the fault of a translation charm gone wrong. ‘Just a second chance! You of all people…’
And now Draco was really angry, flooded with prideful disdain..
‘Why me ‘of all people?’’ he hissed, stepping forward and looking down his nose at Harry, ‘Because I had a second chance? So now, what, I'm morally obliged to ignore your appalling manners and lackluster sexual skills? I don't remember them mentioning that at my trial!’
If Harry had looked confused before, now he looked like he had strayed into an alternate dimension, one where the climate did not suit him. He had gone very pale and put his hand out to the wall, as if worried he might faint. Draco turned from him with a final scoff and finally managed to exit the bathroom, the zing of the argument making the blood pound in his ears, adrenaline shooting around his veins.
He strode back into the room and looked around. What was he doing being a wallflower? He was Draco Malfoy, practically born and bred at society functions. He wouldn't spend the rest of the evening cowering in the corner, he would be charming and impressive. He would be fucking effervescent.
He saw Ginevra Weasley who had just separated from the pack to claim another drink and made a beeline for her, only a slight bit terrified.
‘Ginevra, I just wanted to give you my congratulations.’ he smiled at her. There was a disturbing lack of smile back and her eyebrow raised, ‘Oh?’
‘Yes and I thought I'd take the chance to chat with you. You know Luna doesn't have any brothers and I care about her very deeply and if you hurt her then I'll have to do something terribly impressive like curl into a ball while you throw hexes at me.’
A slow smile almost unwittingly crept onto her face.
‘I remember a particularly nasty one you used that made moths fly out of my nostrils-’
‘Bats,’ Ginny corrected, the smile now wider and laced with intrigue.
‘Oh yes, bats! Silly me. I always wondered, did you use a volare as the base spell or a nasus aperta?’
‘The Nasus,’ she confirmed, ‘it was tricky to get the order right. Actually if you're interested - hey, George?’
A redhead from a sea of redheads detached and strolled up to them, pausing for a second when he clocked Draco.
‘Draco was asking about the bat-bogey hex,’ she told him, looking carefully to see Draco's reaction.
‘Yes we were reminiscing about the many times your lot jinxed me into the ground and that was a particularly effective one. Couldn't blow my nose for a week.’ Draco said breezily.
George barked a laugh, then looked annoyed at himself.
And so it went with all the Weasleys. They would be suspicious and wary until Draco made enough references to how they had thoroughly squashed him and how much he deserved it, at which point they would unbend and converse with him. He even got on Arthur Weasley's good side by cheerfully revealing that Lucius’ animosity was mostly born of jealousy.
‘Jealous? Of me?’ he said incredulously.
‘’Oh yes.’ Draco said solemnly, ‘Do you know how much shit grandmother gave him for only producing a single heir? I mean thank Merlin I was a boy. And I didn't understand it at the time, being a child and all but the way he'd talk about your family - ‘all those children’ he'd sneer. Now I look back at it, it was clear as day.’
Mr. Weasley looked dazed and he heard him repeat the story to Mrs. Weasley about ten minutes later.
He spoke with Hannah Abbott about her new florist shop; she was doing the flowers for the wedding and he spent ten minutes with her ridiculing the awful choices other couples had made - ‘a fuschia bush, no really the entire bush, I swear!’ - and with Charlie Weasley on dragons. With Dean and Seamus on Quidditch and with Cho Chang on politics.
Ron came up to him at one point with Hermione on his arm and they both smiled at him, ‘You seem to be enjoying yourself, it's nice to see.’ she said cheerfully.
‘Are you going back to Switzerland tomorrow?’ Hermione asked as Luna waltzed up. He nodded.
‘Yes I need to get back. Can't leave work for too long or the vultures start circling my desk.’ he explained, ‘Once I took a week off and they'd taken all my quills.’
Hermione made a noise in outraged sympathy.
‘Harry's the same.’ Ron added, ‘In fact he went back tonight, said he forgot to file something.’
Draco plastered on a polite smile and tried to pretend Harry's leaving didn't have anything to do with the flaming row they'd had.
‘So I suppose we won't see you until the wedding?’
‘Oh you'll be here for the 14th, Draco!’ Luna exclaimed delightedly, ‘I forgot to tell you. It's the Annual Society of Magizoology fundraising ball and I promised Rolf I'd fill two seats. Ginny has an away game.’
‘Uh,’ Draco said, unsure of himself. It was one thing to come to an engagement party but an official high society affair? Luna was always unthinkingly blind to his notoriety and he wasn't sure if bringing a Death Eater to the ball was exactly what Rolf had in mind.
‘You will come, won’t you?’ she asked, her eyes wide with surprise. As though the possibility he would say no hadn’t even occurred to her. Oh hells. He couldn’t let her down.
‘Yes alright.’ he capitulated and she broke into a sunny smile.
‘Oh lovely! It’s animal themed, do you have anything that would make you look like a Tasmanian Duplicating Moth?’
‘Uh…’
‘Well the males are all black anyway, now that I think about it.’
‘Oh good.’ He could manage black robes. ‘Thank goodness for sexual dimorphism, hey?’
‘Yes indeed.’ she nodded earnestly as Hermione beamed at them both.
‘You two are so sweet together.’ she slurred a little as she spoke. ‘It’s nice that you’ve gotten over the whole keeping you prisoner thing.’
Draco stiffened and immediately felt a burst of guilt but Luna just tilted her head and smiled serenely, ‘I could tell he was never very happy about it. And he took amazing care of my four-fronded leaf fish.’
He huffed a laugh, ‘I did. Undoubtedly my most impressive feat to date.’
The last of the stragglers left and he took himself to bed, anticipating a sleepless night.
…..
January 1997
The four-fronded leaf fish was a piece of seaweed. It was in a fishtank, filled with water and gravel and a tiny Hogwarts castle but nevertheless. It showed absolutely no signs of life, let alone sentience. It was seaweed.
Draco sighed. If he had any sense at all he'd just Vanish the whole thing. But he'd promised Luna so…
‘Hello,’ he said to it, hating himself, ‘Lovegood seems to think you're a fish and she won't be around for a while so I'll be…uh, taking care of you.’
‘Why is Draco Malfoy talking to a tank of water?’ Winky asked from behind him.
He stood up so quickly he banged his knee on the desk.
‘I'm not!’ he said quickly, turning around and hobbling towards the Device. She snorted and followed him, crowing with delight when he tossed her the bottles. He noticed she had taken off her hide jacket today in contrast to his heavy fur-lined robes to guard against the chill. He knew elves didn’t feel heat and cold as wizards did, which must be nice. He blanched when he saw her arms;
‘Are those…tattoos?’
She nodded, running her hands over them admiringly, ‘The elf who is working in the Hogsmeade ‘Ta-Wit Tattoo’ parlour did them for Winky! Does Draco Malfoy want one?’
‘They look awful.’ he sniggered and then cried out in pain when she gave him a stinging slap on the calf.
‘After that maybe I’ll keep this bottle of firewhisky for myself,’ he taunted, bringing the bottle he'd liberated from his fathers cellar out of his robes and holding it aloft.
Winky’s eyes gleamed. Firewhisky was technically poisonous to elves but watered down and in small doses it should be safe enough. One of his mother’s social set was a Scottish wizard who used to let his elves have a nip at Hogmanay or so she’d told him.
‘How was Draco Malfoy’s Christmas?’ she asked, feigning politeness even as she held up an empty glass. He poured in a small amount with precision and she made a noise of disgust but allowed him to use aguamenti to fill the glass.
He swallowed a measure he'd poured for himself. He didn’t want to talk about it. The taunting and ribbing about his sex life from the other Death Eaters was bad enough, as much as his parents tried to ignore it and act as though nothing had happened.
But worse than that, two days after it had happened he’d been called in by the Dark Lord to his father’s study. Both Rowle and Nott were in the room and Draco could tell from their smirks that they were itching to see him punished. The Dark Lord had promised them both the pleasure of using a cruciatus on him if Ollivander didn’t give him the information he wanted, an interrogation in which Draco would take an active role. The old goat had been resilient as hell of course and Draco had shaken like a leaf throughout the entire thing. And then the Dark Lord had watched laughing as Rowle and Nott made him writhe in agony on the Persian rug. At least when he’d returned Ollivander to his cell he’d had the presence of mind to weave the charms the elves had taught him on the door leading to Luna’s cell. It wouldn’t protect her from anyone with a modicum of talent like the Dark Lord or his Aunt Bellatrix but it should do for the more ungainly louts at least.
And then it was getting through the days, hiding and making himself scarce. If he walked around to the South lawn he could duck down under the library window until he came to the grate above the dungeon windows which he could lift it up and sit under, relatively hidden and converse with Luna. He brought a gobstones set which she could just about see if she perched on the ledge and she would direct her pieces through the iron bars. She still always won.
And then when he'd been on the train to go back to Hogwarts, Theo had found him and shoved him violently, the tell-tale splotches of recently healed bruises still visible on his face.
‘You rotten little sneak.’ he’d spat venomously in Draco’s face.
He’d wanted to defend himself, say that he hadn’t meant to tell but how could he explain? There was no way Theo would have believed him.
Not that he needed to tell any of that to Winky.
‘Fine,’ he lied, tipping his head at Winky, ‘how was yours.’
He paused waiting for her answer while she took several long gulps of diluted whisky.
‘S’alright.’ she said, starting to sway, ‘the Room is being, uh, whajacallit - funny. Winky brought the Longbottom and others Christmas dinner. And it was pret-hic!-ty and s’nice to be…’
‘Merlin’, he muttered, as she sagged and started to snore with her nose pressed up against the stacks. ‘Less whisky next time I think.’ he muttered, hooking her under the armpits and depositing her to sleep it off next to the seaweed tank.
Returning to the stacks, he shuffled through the latest scrolls for the room. Christmas dinner in the Room of Requirement surrounded by friends. It sounded nice, he thought wistfully. Peaceful. Less filled with horrors. Although he'd have to see what Winky had meant when she had said the Room was being ‘funny’. That could mean a whole host of thi- oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
He stared at the parchment and then skimmed through the rest of them. Finnegan, the absolute dolt. He'd asked the Room to ‘decorate for Christmas’ and it had leapt upon the request and then some. He was looking at page after page of decorations. They must be covering every available inch of wallspace and flat surface - it must look like Christmas had exploded in there. And worse, oh god…it had taken the glitter charm he had put in the walls and applied to everything. Page after page of garlands, baubles, candy canes, nutcrackers and trees all with the shorthand he'd used for the charm printed neatly underneath.
GlitCh
He scrubbed his face. Fucking hell. This would take days to remove. He groaned loudly. Why, why did these things have to happen to him? He briefly considered abandoning the whole thing, leave the idiots in the mess they created.
But…the Room had been running so well under his guidance. He was learning so much. And it was nice to have something to distract him. He paused and sifted through again. There was something else he'd noticed, that on several pages there was a word:
QUERY?
Was the Room…was it asking him for clarification? Was ittalking to him? He took a sharp inhale. If true then this could be huge. An amazing leap forward.
Reinvigorated and accompanied by the tiny snores of an inebriated elf and a tank of seaweed, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
….
February 2002
It was two weeks later when he got the letter from Harry. He opened it absentmindedly over breakfast without knowing who it was from and still half engaged in reading an article in the paper.
When he started reading he was mainly confused, his mind still split between the newsprint and taking a sip of his coffee. He read the first few sentences and then frowned. He skipped to the sign off and spluttered, before returning to the start and beginning again in earnest.
Dear Draco,
Forgive this letter. I’m not even sure why I’m writing to you exactly, only that I need to get some of this out and writing it down seems as good a way as any. I might burn it after I’ve written it, I haven’t decided yet.
It turns out I’ve been an asshole for the past oh, three years. I’m still in shock about it to be honest. Not just that I was one but also that no-one called me out on it. It seems very unlike my friends.
I can’t even say how it happened, really. One minute I felt like this shy, gangly, awkward teenager and then I was in the paper a lot and everyone seemed to know who I was. After the war it got worse and I felt terrible all the time. I would run and hide from photographers and go out in glamours and all sorts. And then after I became an Auror they made me take media training with the best possible intentions and it was with Dahlia Parkinson (Pansy’s sister I think?) and she said this thing: ‘they don’t care about you, they just want to meet someone who smiles and treats them like they're special.’
And that just clicked and I just…became that person whenever I was around anyone. I was Fun Harry. It was a hell of a lot easier than being me most of the time. And then suddenly all these women and men were interested but none of them actually wanted me, you know? I know this isn’t any kind of excuse but I guess I just got used to not seeing them as real people because they weren’t seeing me as a real person. God I sound like an ass.
Anyway, at the same time work was getting intense. Being an Auror was (and yes, I am using the past tense because I quit. Today in fact, you should have seen Robard’s face.) Being an Auror felt like what I should be doing but it was so hard, seeing all the victims and then all of the people who commit crimes and truly don't give a shit, the worst of humanity. Hermione tells me that she's been worried about how I've been talking for the past year, how little I seem to be able to see the good in people anymore.
And then I’d compensate with sex and go out and be Fun Harry! I mean you’ve met him, isn’t he great? Isn’t he so much better than Fucked Up from War Harry??
I wish I could say that seeing you again and realising how much you'd changed was the catalyst for realising how jaded and cynical I’d become but honestly, it wasn't until you gave me the bollocking I deserved at the engagement party that it sunk in. There was something truly earth shattering about Draco Malfoy telling me I had fucked up.
Here Draco paused reading and gave a truly momentous eye-roll.
Anyway, I went home in a daze and had a proper think for the first time in years. About what I wanted, about who I wanted to be. About what was important to me. And I knew two things. One, that I had to quit the Aurors. Two, that I had to give you a proper apology. I owe you one in person really, but I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me again after the way I behaved.
Lastly, I hope I haven't made you nervous about the wedding. Luna is truly fond of you and I want her and Ginny to have everything they could possibly hope for on their special day. I promise to keep a respectful distance, if that's what you’d prefer.
I'm going to bed now, don't feel like you're obligated to reply or anything. You've already done loads for me.
Harry
Draco put the letter down. Then picked it up again and re-read it three more times.
If his teenage self could see him now, he thought ruefully. He'd never have believed it. He'd sometimes thought back then that his hatred of Potter was woven into him, as much as his magic or his Purebloodedness. And then seventh year had happened and it turned out the fabric of his being was less a rich tapestry and more a confused patchwork quilt, where he was both a Death Eater and also didn't want to hurt anyone and where he destroyed things and also built them. And his hatred of Potter, it turned out, was also an infatuation.
He remembered the first few months in Paris after his release when he had still been wracked with nightmares every night. Confusing, because they always featured the fire, the burning, the screams. But also a hand reaching for him, a determined pair of green eyes, the idea that maybe he might be worth saving.
Draco carefully folded the letter and put it in his pocket.
‘Hoi,’ Alec said grumpily, ‘Were you going to make me wait all mor-woah, Draco are you ok?’
Draco looked up to see Alec put a steadying hand on his shoulder, his eyes filled with concern. He almost missed the days when he’d been frightfully in love with him. It all felt very simple and wholesome compared to this.
He took a deep breath, ‘You remember when you were in love with that blonde Professor last year?’
Alec sucked air in between his teeth, ‘That bad huh? Sit down, I’ll get you another coffee.’
He took two days to read and obsess over it before sending back a single line by owl
Apology accepted. DM
….
February 1998
The Carrows had ordered Greenhouse Five to be burned to the ground.
He’d been summoned by Alecto Carrow with the order to ‘stun that crazy bint’, meaning Professor Sprout who was near hysterics and trying with enormous energy to attack the two of them while being restrained by a guilty-looking Goyle.
‘What happened?’ he asked, ignoring the request.
‘She ordered something to bite me in that greenhouse,’ Alecto pointed at Greenhouse Five. By now the commotion that Professor Sprout was causing had attracted quite the crowd, including some of the teaching staff. It was eight thirty in the evening and therefore pitch black and freezing, the lawn only illuminated by half a dozen lumos-lit wands held by several unhappy-looking Slytherins.
‘But…’ Draco began but couldn’t make himself heard over Sprout’s caterwauling. Crabbe was there too, standing next to Amycus and looking pleased. He’d always hated Herbology, Draco recalled.
‘You can’t…’ he tried again but failed to be heard over the screams of outrage. He had to do something. Alecto was getting red in the face and that usually meant the object of her ire would end up in literal pieces. He turned and spotted Hagrid standing behind them and pushed the sobbing Professor into his arms.
‘Look after her will you?’ he ordered and then when he saw the grim set of the giant’s mouth, ‘Do you want them to kill her?’ he added, hissing it out with enough force that even Professor Sprout looked taken aback.
He turned and headed towards Alecto. Where the hell was Snape?
‘Look.’ he said, hoping that now Sprout was contained she could be reasoned with, ‘The greenhouses have a lot of volatile plants in them, especially Five. But we use them in potions all the time and some of them are rare. You can’t burn it down.’
The look she gave him could have set him on fire, never mind the greenhouse.
‘Are you refusing to follow orders?’ she asked bluntly, the vein in her forehead standing out.
‘No.’ he swallowed, trying to think quickly. There must be a way to stall, until Snape could put a stop to this. ‘But, ah, this could be a good opportunity to show the students what happens if they step out of line. It would be a waste to just burn it without making them watch.’
He saw her considering it, hoping against hope that it would give Snape time to get his arse down here and intervene. Finally she nodded.
‘I’ll go and round up the students then. It will take a while.’
‘Ten minutes.’ she said, ‘Get the others to help you.’
‘And, uh, what about the rest of the teachers? Or the Headmaster?’ he asked, trying to appear nonchalant.
‘Not here.’ Alecto spat at him, ‘Doing something special for the Dark Lord. Stop asking stupid questions. Hey you!’ She whirled and pointed at several Slytherins stood close by, ‘Go with him and round up the students. Chop, chop.’
Okay. He had to think of another plan. Which was particularly galling since he hadn’t really had a first plan and that had already been fouled up. But if he couldn’t save the greenhouse, maybe he could save some of the plants. A lot of them were valuable, some almost irreplaceable. But they were all extremely sensitive too. Would they even survive outside the greenhouse? Was there anywhere else they could store…?
In a flash he knew what he had to do. He turned to Goyle who was jogging beside him, his breathing already belaboured, ‘Let’s split up to cover more ground. You get the rest of the Slytherins, I’ll get the Gryffindors.’
Goyle accepted readily, his huge face already red and sweaty. The dungeons meant less stairs.
‘Hey!’ Draco called out to Daphne, who was passing and looking like she might throw up, ‘Go and round up the Gryffindors will you?’
She nodded, paling even further, ‘Draco, I don’t like this. What does this even have to do with the War?’
‘I know.’ he said, grasping one of her hands for a moment and squeezing, ‘It will be alright.’
Then he turned from her and ran desperately, towards the hospital wing.
Longbottom was there, he had remembered. Recovering from something nasty the Carrows had done to him for a few days. He wouldn’t be missed outside. And he loved those sodding plants. Draco just had to hope that he genuinely wasn’t as stupid as he looked.
He arrived and skidded to a halt in front of Madame Pomfrey, in front of a large curtain behind which he prayed that Longbottom was conscious and well enough to get his arse out of bed.
He tried to speak but found he had to pause for a moment to catch his breath, gulping in huge lungfuls of air as she looked at him with concern. If he got out of this hellish war alive he would definitely take steps to improve his fitness, he thought bleakly.
‘Madame Pomfrey,’ he said finally, loud enough so that anyone ten beds away could hear, ‘The Carrows have ordered Greenhouse Five to be burnt down.’
‘I see.’ she said, clearly unamused.
‘And all the students and teachers are out on the lawns to watch,’ he continued, remembering that he should actually give her a vague reason for being here, ‘so…I thought I’d let you know in case you needed to prepare anything for…burns. Or hypothermia.’
It was reasonable, he thought. She was looking at him like he was crazy but it was plausible. He just had to hope that Longbottom would make the connection that if everyone were on the lawns there wouldn’t be anyone watching the entrance to the greenhouse from the castle. But hells, this was Longbottom, he’d better lay it on extra thick.
‘It’s a real shame about the plants.’ he said to Madame Pomfrey, who was now looking as though maybe she should check him over, ‘Almost makes you wish you could take them out and put them somewhere else. You’d only have..’ he checked his watch, ‘eight minutes to do it but you could probably get some of the important ones out.’
Gods, he hoped that was hint enough.
‘Anyway…’ he said, making for the door. ‘Good night.’
Once he was out of the wing he took off again and headed to the seventh floor. He had only five minutes at most but he could at least ask for a planter with soil so that the bloody things would survive the night.
‘Yes, I know,’ he shouted to the Frond Fish tank, ‘I’m completely bloody barmy. I’m going to get myself killed. They’re only plants for Merlin’s sake! What the hell am I doing even getting involved?’
The seaweed was, as ever, non-responsive.
He finished the rudimentary design and pulled the lever to insert it into the room. He could worry about fine details later.
He ran again and gods this was becoming tiring, how did Potter and his gang cope with this much bloody physical activity when they were off doing their hero-ing?
He arrived on the lawn just as the last students were filling out and tried to look as though he was shepherding them.
Alecto was in a shouting match with McGonagall, probably the only teacher with the stones to take them on, which Draco hated that he admired about her.
Alecto spotted him as he walked past and pointed at him in a way that filled him with dread. He joined them and just barely caught the end of what she was saying which sounded like ‘...ll Draco’s idea!’
‘Was it now?’ McGonagall turned to him, nostrils flaring.
Oh Circe save him.
‘It was your idea to drag the student body out of bed to witness an act of flagrant vandalism was it, Mr. Malfoy?’
Why did all of his plans end in being stared down by a teacher and being made to feel six inches tall. He swallowed nervously.
‘Yes. Yes it was.’ he tried to sound confident in it but he couldn’t hide the way his hands shook. It occurred to him that the longer they were stood here talking, the longer he could give Longbottom to collect more plants, ‘Professor Carrow, did you tell Professor McGonagall what happened in the greenhouse?’
‘She told me.’ McGonagall said, looking distinctly unimpressed. Alecto gave her a savage look and barged past them both towards Amycus, who was still standing with Crabbe and appeared to be showing him a wand movement. Draco followed her, trying to subtly head her off.
‘Maybe you could tell it again?’ he said to her, trying to appeal to her sense of vanity, ‘Maybe a speech for the students would be appropriate?’
She appeared to consider for a moment. ‘Nah.’ she said huffily, ‘Amy, torch it.’
‘Don’t call me Amy you stupid bint.’ he replied casually before turning to Crabbe, ‘Go on then son, like I showed you.’
Crabbe raised his wand, a look of complete concentration on his enormous face and cast. A roaring vulture made of flame sprang from his wand and Draco stepped back in horror.
Fiendfyre.
How the fuck had Vincent Crabbe been taught how to use Fiendfyre? He could barely manage the simplest of elemental spells. But he couldn’t argue with what he was seeing, a torrent of animals wreathed in smoke heading towards the greenhouse, followed by the gasps of students and the renewed wailing of Professor Sprout.
Gods, he hoped Longbottom wasn’t in there, he thought suddenly, watching as the fire engulfed it. Crabbe was laughing joyfully, a horrible sound when mingled with the screaming noise of metal twisting and glass shattering.
‘Ok, that’s enough now,’ Amycus said, raising his own wand and cutting off the menagerie still emitting from Crabbe’s wand. ‘Learn how to control it and you’ll be unstoppable.’
Draco coughed, his mouth suddenly dry as sandpaper, mostly from fear coupled with the smoke and ash that was starting to cloud the air.
He let himself get lost in the throng of students as they moved away from the smouldering remains of the greenhouse to re-enter the castle, even though most of them seemed to be giving him dirty looks and a wide berth. It’s not my fault! he wanted to scream, for all the good that would do him. Instead he ducked down a corridor when he had a chance and headed for the seventh floor.
Once nestled inside the Device, he breathed a sigh of relief. Longbottom was in the Room, uncharred and having rescued handfuls of plants, according to the transcript.
Finnegan, Seamus: What the bloody hell are you going to do with all of them?
Longbottom, Neville: I’ll have to try and keep them alive in here I suppose, although I’m not sure how. Some of them are incredibly finicky. I know the Room will give you some things if you ask but can it create diatomaceous earth?
Merlin, if he only knew. Draco nearly laughed. He would need to pick up a Herbology book from the Library but the Room could create anything. And he hoped it trusted him enough to do as he asked now. And to stop putting bloody GlitChes in everything, although maybe that was too much to ask. But if Longbottom would learn to work with him, to ask for exactly what he needed, maybe they could make this work.
He almost laughed at himself. A Malfoy, working with a Longbottom. It really was very funny.
‘You’re right, I am mad.’ he told the Frond fish cheerfully as he passed the tank. ‘And I need to learn about plants. Maybe I’ll find out what type you are, hm?’
It would be alright, he told himself. He would just had to hope bloody Finnegan wouldn’t ask the Room to decorate for Valentine’s Day.
….
February 2002
It was bloody Valentine’s Day, he realised as soon as he stepped out of the floo and into the grand ballroom for the Annual Magizoology Ball.
He’d completely forgotten, it wasn’t as though he had a reason to remember. But it was impossible to forget when he was confronted by a million iterations of hearts, everywhere. On the walls as decoration, falling from the ceiling as confetti, even in the drinks where a tiny heart would float to the surface every now and then and wolf whistle at you.
If it weren’t for the fact that Luna was on his arm he would have turned around and left but she was looking around with evident interest and dressed beautifully in robes decorated like the female Tasmanian Duplicating Moth, which apparently had very pretty markings in gold and blue that made her look stunning. He was in black, as requested and felt particularly drab next to her but she had surprised him with a gold tie pin in the shape of said moth and told him that he looked like a very good example of the species so he supposed it would pass muster.
She led them further into the room and commented on the costumes she could see, ‘There’s the Minister’s wife, doesn’t she look good as a Dazzling Leopard? I love the way her spots change. And look, that’s an amazing try at a Wing-Tipped Toumagon, although it’s a shame they couldn’t get the third head to stand up right. And, oh, hello Rolf!’
Draco turned to see Luna happily embracing a stocky wizard with soft grey robes and what looked like a gold fountain cascading from his head.
‘I’m a Niffler.’ he explained and she laughed at some obscure detail on his costume that apparently made the world of difference and marked him as pack leader although what it was he couldn’t tell. Nifflers all looked the same to him.
‘This is my friend, Draco.’ Luna said and Rolf took his hand with a slight furrow to his brow, as though he couldn’t quite remember where he had heard the name Draco before. Draco braced himself silently for the moment when…
‘Oh you’re Draco!’ he heard as the penny dropped, although Rolf didn’t seem disgusted or as shocked as he would have thought, ‘Luna talks about you all the time. You’re the one who looked after her Frond Fish!’
He chattered happily at Draco about the proper care of tropical animals as Draco offered silent thanks for the absolute blindness of the true fanatic for anything outside their profession.
‘We’ve actually got them on display now, including Luna’s one which she so generously loaned us for our breeding programme, would you like to see?’
He led them across the room to an enormous aquarium which had been installed, the water glowing blue and beautiful behind the Containment Charms.
‘See, there he is.’ Rolf pointed and Luna ooh’ed in delight. Draco stared.
It was the piece of seaweed that Draco had kept in the classroom with him all those years ago, the one he had ranted at and vented to about his troubles. It was waving gently, undulating with the ripples of water and was surrounded by lots of tiny little bits of seaweed, which Draco now realised were its young.
‘Well I’ll be damned,’ he said under his breath and felt a curious sense of pride. He had ‘taken care’ of the thing because it was important to Luna and he’d felt guilty but there it was, in the tank. Proof that he had once done a good thing.
‘Hello Luna, Draco.’ he heard behind him and he turned so fast it made him dizzy to see Potter, looking really very nice in green robes with a slight iridescent shimmer to them.
He felt a sudden shift in the mood of the room and it felt like everyone was looking at them. Waiting, he realised. To see what would happen with Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
‘Hello Potter,’ he said, as Luna drew him in for a big hug. He tried to smile but it wilted under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes and became little more than a nervous stretch of lips. His eyes darted sideways involuntarily to where the Minister was sitting. He really, really hoped Potter wouldn’t be too obvious toni-
‘Would you like to dance?’ he heard Potter say loudly and it wasn’t until they locked eyes that Draco realised it was directed at him, Potter was asking him to dance.
‘What?’ he replied, a little panicked.
‘Dance. With me. Would you?’ Harry replied, holding his hand, palm up for Draco to take. And then when he saw Draco was paralysed with indecision, adding, ‘Unless…?’
‘I’d love to.’ Draco’s retort came easily enough, even as his pulse started to race. He took Potter’s hand in his and let himself be guided out onto the floor, closely followed by the sound of Luna clapping in delight.
It was a Step-By-Step dancefloor, he realised with enormous gratitude as they took their places. Not that he was afraid that he'd forgotten any of his own rigorous training but Potter was an unknown quantity and frankly he was nervous enough with the press and what felt like the entire Ministry watching without worrying about his toes.
He placed his feet into the sparkling footprints opposite Potter and felt the magic take hold. The music began and Potter placed his arms around him and he felt himself relax as his legs moved off their own accord in a graceful waltz.
‘Sorry about this,’ Potter said to him, sounding nervous, ‘Forgive me. I just wanted to talk to you but there were all those people. We can stop if this is making you uncomfortable.’
On the contrary, Draco thought. The problem was that he was entirely too comfortable here in Potter's arms. He was strong and sturdy and had the kind of magnetism usually only found in the particle accelerators the muggles used. It would be oh so easy to melt into him and give entirely the wrong impression. As it was only the knowledge that a photo of this would probably end up in the Prophet tomorrow made him hold back.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ he asked, aiming for aloof politeness.
‘The wedding. I want to do something nice for them and well, they’re both from Pureblood families and I wanted to ask if there were any traditions…’
He was different, Draco realised at once. The cockiness had given way to a charming sincerity, the over-the-top flirting morphed into a genuine interest in Draco’s opinion. And he was a good friend, listening to Draco’s explanations about various rituals with rapt attention. The song was barely over before Draco realised with alarm that he was in serious danger of wanting to kiss him.
Their feet settled into the original places, the charm releasing their shoes as Potter bowed to him.
‘Thank you.’ he said, as Draco fought the urge to squeeze Harry’s fingers as he led Draco off the dancefloor and back to Luna.
Longbottom was there, looking oddly handsome in tweed with Hannah Abbott. As soon as he saw Draco his jaw tightened visibly and he nodded stiffly.
‘Malfoy.’
Draco returned the nod. It was strange to see him after all these years and even stranger that Longbottom had no idea that Draco had been a reluctant observer to him and a bunch of the Gryffindors for almost a year. It made him feel jumpy, like he might accidentally ask Longbottom about his grandmother or his mimbletonia plant or any of the other hundred bits of minutia of his life that he’d picked up while browsing through the transcripts, trying to work out how to keep those damn plants alive.
‘Hey Nev, Hannah, you’re both looking lovely this evening.’ Harry said as he jostled Longbottom’s arm playfully, ‘Are the students keeping you busy?’
‘Them I can handle,’ Nev replied with a snort, ‘It’s Sprout and her constant check-ins. Three months she’s been retired and she’s been back to ‘make sure things are going alright with the Tentacula Neralis’ twenty three times. Twenty three!’
‘Ha!’ Hannah broke in with an amused chuckle, ‘He says that as though he didn’t spend over an hour checking his precious irrigation systems before we came out tonight.’
‘Well they’re very delicate and…’ Nev began and then stopped with a rueful grin as Harry and Hannah both broke into fond laughter.
Draco decided to try and venture a conciliatory remark, ‘I’m on your side - better to double check than come home and find your mandrakes have drowned.’
He was met with dead silence and a granite expression.
‘Yes well I don’t find jokes about my plants dying very funny actually.’
Draco swallowed and looked at the floor, unable to meet Longbottom’s gaze. How many plants were in Greenhouse Five when it had gone up in flames? How many in the Room when it too had burned and all his hard work had come to nothing?
‘How is Hogwarts doing? After the winter? Does the North West tower still look good as ever? That was the bit I repaired.’ he added to Draco, a valiant attempt at including him in the conversation. He would have been in jail then, Draco thought bleakly. Rotting away in a Ministry holding cell awaiting his trial.
‘Hogwarts is fine, the North West tower still looks good. Oh, but there’s been a bit of brouhaha lately.’ Longbottom said, waggling his eyebrows. It was clear that he was extremely happy to have gossip which didn’t surprise Draco in the slightest. He’d always been the first to share news of goings on during seventh year. Quite often the transcripts that Draco read would start with him saying ‘Have you heard…?’
Harry leaned in interestedly, ‘A brouhaha, you say? McGonagall’s words?’
‘Yes indeed.’ Longbottom savoured the moment of anticipation and then whispered loudly to Harry, ‘You see the door for the Room of Requirement has reappeared. After all these years! Can you believe it?’
Possibly he said more words after that. But Draco was unaware of them. All he knew was that there was a ringing in his ears and an impossible notion tightening his chest, sitting like a lead weight in his stomach.
The Room was back…
Impossible.
Was it? Surely…
But what if…? I mean it was extraordinarily unlikely, but could it, could it come back? Lord, if only he’d known in seventh year what he knew now. Was there a chalkboard around here? Gods, the equations he would have to run…the whole thing might be massively unstable, might be ready to implode and suck half of Britain into a dense singularity of magic at any moment.
‘...Draco?’
He looked up and realised all four of them were staring at him in alarm, that Harry had grabbed his arm as though to steady him and that he was breathing fast, like he had been running. He heard them talking rapidly.
‘Is he-’
‘-maybe ate something-?’
‘-do you want-?
‘Is it the fire?’ Harry asked him gently and his gaze snapped onto Harry’s worried green eyes.
‘What fire?’ he asked blankly.
Then he suddenly felt himself drop back into the present. He was at an event. Important people were here, people who he was sure would absolutely love to report to their colleagues on Monday that Draco Malfoy had a mental breakdown in front of everyone. He pulled himself together rapidly. He would need to get to Hogwarts, as quickly as possible. And for that he needed permission. It was galling but there was only one thing for it.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said, brushing Harry’s arm off and turning to Luna, ‘I must apologise but I need to go write a letter.’
….
May 1998
Fucking diatomaceous earth, Draco thought miserably. He adjusted the levers for what felt like the hundredth time. Fucking plants. Why did they need everything to be so precise? They, and by they he supposed he meant him and Longbottom, had already lost five of them to transplant shock or overwatering or underwatering or just-enough-but-not-the-right-kind-of-watering. And he was having to do everything with his mother’s wand this side, which the Room didn’t like one bit, responding to his hesitancy and the faint reminiscence of his mother’s magic with outright suspicion. If Draco had another QUERY? parchment thrown at his head, honestly. Everything was taking so long now that he’d given up on lessons completely. He even slept here sometimes now, huddled in between the substacks, using his cloak as a pillow. Winky was taking pity on him, bringing him meals, although she would often make disparaging comments about him looking like ‘an ugly scarecrow who is not daring to be dying and leaving Winky with no elf wine.’
Easter had been quite possibly the worst two weeks of his life. He had lost his wand, been summarily tortured by Voldemort and his Aunt Bellatrix, Dobby…and on top of that he’d had the awful realisation, as he’d looked into Potter’s stupid green eyes, that he couldn’t turn him in. Not even to redeem his family. It was pitiful and utterly un-Slytherin.
And then watching his Aunt torture Granger, he realised with a sick dread that he couldn’t even bring himself to hate muggleborns anymore, even though that was supposed to be the entire bloody point. But the thing was…the Room didn’t treat them differently. It was so attuned to magic, so able to pick up on tiny fluctuations and surely it would be the first to notice if there were any differences between the two. But it hadn’t, and that probably meant there weren’t any. Which meant his whole worldview was warped, built on lies and false data. He couldn’t speak openly against any of it, he wasn’t stupid after all. Because learning about the Room, learning about Deep Magic was everything to him now. A constant puzzle, an endless surprise, a small glimpse into a beautiful, complicated thing that baffled him, awed him, consumed him with the desire to explore further. He could no more lock the door and forget about it than he could tear out his own soul.
And then another terrifying realisation. He couldn’t let the Dark Lord find out about it. He knew it down to his very bones and the thought of Voldemort having access to anything this powerful made him shudder. So it was goodbye to all his dreams of power and glory, hello to a life of quiet, desperate invisibility. He had to make sure no-one ever found out about the Room. And so by extension he had to protect the likes of bloody Longbottom and Finnegan and Michael Corner and Girl Weasley who was spending more and more time there now too. He would stay here, quietly learning, quietly hiding. He had no idea what to do past graduation, although he suspected that even thinking that far ahead was foolish. And he was sure that Dumbledore was in his grave fully appreciating the irony of the task he’d set Draco.
The crafty old stoat had played Draco like a fiddle. He had probably guessed that Longbottom and the others would use the Room, that they would be in danger of discovery unless they had someone working to protect it on the outside. And he’d taken a chance, with that absolutely infuriating perception he had, that Draco, as a Death Eater, would have the kind of immunity that meant he could keep them safe and the kind of mind that would become infatuated with the mystery of it. The clever bastard. And so he was up here, night after night, strengthening the protections on the Room so the Carrows wouldn’t find it. And when Longbottom and Finnegan started strategising and asked the Room loudly for an escape route in case they needed one, he was so afraid that they might do something stupid that, rather than ignoring them and going to get dinner, he had traipsed his way into the Hog’s Head and sank down onto a barstool.
‘S’matter with you?’ Abe had grunted at him, ‘Run outta muggles to torture?’
‘If…’ Draco had begun, then stopped to look behind him warily, ‘If there was a tunnel from Hogwarts into Hogsmeade, where would be the best place for it to come out?’
Abe looked at him with deep suspicion, ‘If this is some Death Eater shit…’
‘It’s not.’ Draco said quickly, raising his tired eyes to Abe’s horribly piercing blue ones, ‘Please.’
Abe grunted again but accompanied it with a quick jerk of his head that Draco took to mean that he was to follow him. He led him down some steps into a dank cellar.
‘Here I reckon.’ Abe said shortly, ‘Over there might be good, as long as you don’t disturb the barrels.’ He pointed.
‘Right.’ Draco said, turning to go. It was bloody freezing down here and the sooner he got back, the sooner he could start building the damn thing.
‘Just a minute.’ Abe stepped in front of him, imposing and smelling of hops, ‘Reckon the less I know the better.’
Draco nodded, dully.
‘Then you’ll do the courtesy of Obliviating me, before you go.’ he said, looking surly with himself for suggesting it.
Draco blanched, ‘Really? You’d want that? And you…you’d let me? Really?’
Abe nodded once, decided, ‘Get on with it. Before I change my mind.’
Draco pulled out his wand, wishing above anything that it was his own. But the spell seemed to take alright, Abe looked fuzzily at him afterwards and asked him what the hell he was doing in his cellar.
‘You were taking so long, I thought you’d expired down here.’ he drawled, in what he hoped was a believably sneering way.
It certainly seemed to convince Abe, who hoisted him bodily into the bar and charged him three times as much as usual.
He returned and put the bottles on the side for Winky and then got to work on the tunnel. After the first one, this was easy. And it would mean that Longbottom and his lot would have a fair chance of escaping if things went truly tits up. Which they may very well. The Dark Lord was becoming more and more paranoid lately after the events at the Manor, Draco’s forearm burning nearly constantly now. Snape was barely around anymore, the inner circle becoming tighter and tighter. Apparently Yaxley had been executed last week - suspected of fraternising with a muggle sympathizer. It made Draco wonder how the hell he was still alive and what they would do to him if they caught him. Sometimes he wondered if he should just disappear completely, disillusion himself and sneak out. But there was his mother and father and what would happen to them? And the Room and Longbottom and Finnegan and Winky and even the sodding seaweed-fish. Accidentally, he seemed to have accumulated a whole heap of things he sort-of cared about.
…..
When the Dark Lord had come to him and told him he had a last chance to ‘prove himself’, Draco had nearly laughed in his face.
As it was he could only listen with increasing anxiety as he was told that he was to lie in wait for Potter in the very Room that had consumed him for the past year. In the very space that he'd worked on the damn cabinet. But he'd gone, partly because he was dying to see the inside of a room now that he understood the workings, partly because he didn't dare disobey. Partly because he just wanted his wand back.
In all the years that followed, Draco wished more than anything that he hadn’t run into Crabbe and Goyle on the way and for the sake of their old camaraderie had asked them to accompany him. He had neglected them recently, as he had everyone, but Goyle had seemed happy to come and Crabbe had joined in with a shrug and a sullen look.
In the moment after the Fiendfyre spell was cast, Draco’s entire world seemed to slow, to stretch into horrifying moments, solidified only by a growing panic. The Room was burning. The Room was burning. And no-one except him knew what that meant, he'd been so bloody secretive about it that no-one would know that there was Fiendfyre eating it's way steadily through to the Core of the Room, down into the Deep Magic Well. Draco didn't know what would happen when an out-of-control spell hit a fantastically powerful magical source but his gut told him it would be catastrophic. It could destroy the whole school. And possibly half of Scotland. And then what the hell did it matter which side bloody won if they were all dead.
When Potter pulled him from the room he had maybe a second to decide what to do. The Device was along the corridor but to get there he would need to push past the three of them and frankly, he didn't like his odds. There was no way they’d understand or interpret it as anything other than him trying to attack them. He didn't even stop to thank them for saving his life, hurtling down the corridor to the stairs. If he could go down to the fifth, get past the statue of Morgana and then up again to the seventh…
Winky was in the room with the Device, he had asked her to stay there and keep an eye on it. She knew the basic workings, he had shown her some things when they’d gotten into the Firewhiskey again one night, a much more watered down version making them both tipsy and more affable than normal. To his surprise she’d taken to it like a duck to water, asking intelligent questions and even pointing out things she’d noticed from inside. He’d called her ‘pretty smart for a drunkard’ and rather than retaliating she had just shrugged and said it was about time he had noticed. She would be alright wouldn’t she? He had maybe ten minutes before it became really dangerous and he could do all sorts of things in ten minutes. He could build a room filled with blackest pitch to drown the fire it. He could create a room filled with a vacuum to choke it out. As long as he hurried it would all be-
He turned the corner and skidded to a stop, almost crashing head first into a Death Eater, who raised his wand at him threateningly. He peered into the eye holes of the mask and couldn’t see anyone he recognised. Probably a new recruit, he thought, as he raised his hands in surrender as the wand swung under his nose with agonising slowless.
But he needed to get to the room with the Device. Nothing else mattered now.
‘Look.’ he said, willing his voice to be calm even as it shook, ‘I’m Draco Malfoy. I need to get past. Please.’
The figure shook his head like he had water in his ears and Draco bit his lip as he recognised the first signs of shellshock. The poor sod was probably just about scared enough to kill anyone right now. But the seconds were ticking by and damn it, he needed to get to Winky and make the Room safe. He bit his tongue and fought the urge to stamp his foot, even as his voice was getting higher and more desperate with fright.
‘For Merlin’s sake, I’m on…I’m on your side.’
There was a flash of light as the Death Eater crumpled, caught by a curse that had come over his shoulder. He turned automatically, grinning with thankful relief and felt a dull pain in his temple and then saw only blackness.
When he came to, it was only two minutes later. But it was still two minutes that he’d lost. And so he ran desperately, stumbling and holding his head where it had hit the ground, fighting the darkness that swirled at the edge of his vision and threatened to overtake him again.
When he got to the room with the Device it was empty and he was so thankful for it. Winky must have realised it was dangerous and left, possibly to try and find him.
Draco took a look at the Device and blanched. Everything was in chaos. There were dials oscillating, lights flashing, readings that shouldn’t even be possible. The Fiendfyre was eating its way through the Rooms, parchments in the stacks and substacks turning steadily to ash, even as he watched. It was going faster too, fed by the magic and getting stronger, hungrier. He had no time at all before it reached the Core and then down into the Well itself.
He looked at the Device and knew, with tears in his eyes, that there was only one option.
Total shutdown.
He didn’t hesitate, throwing switches and pressing buttons with feverish haste. He was fast but the Fiendfyre was faster, the black ash spreading as far as he could see, floating into the air and choking him, clouding his vision. Finally he only had one switch to do, the same switch he had flipped on his very first day, when he had been young and ignorant and hadn’t cared about anything at all.
He was weeping openly now, the trails of his tears mixing with the ash on his tired, hopeless face.
‘Goodbye.’ he whispered and flipped the switch.
Instantly the whole thing froze, as though suspended in time. The ash hovered in the air uncertainly, the Deep Magic that he could see through the glass ceasing its fluid, swirling dance. And then the Device creaked and groaned and…folded into itself, into smaller and smaller parts, each section infinitesimally contained and tidy and then…gone. The swirling vortex flared once, briefly, like a salutation and then dimmed.
He gave himself the luxury of a minute, a full minute to sit in grief, crying heavy wracking sobs that nearly cracked his chest open. Then he got up and dusted himself off.
Winky couldn't have left the castle, the perimeter was sealed tight. So she must be here somewhere. And as fierce and tough as she was, she was still a small house elf amongst all the chaos.
‘I have to find her.’ he told Luna's seaweed. And he set out into the madness.
….
February 2002
The knock on the door had Draco running into the bathroom to check that his eyes weren't too red rimmed and teary. He might be breaking apart at the seams but it wouldn't do to let anyone see it.
It was just after midnight and he had just finished writing the letter to McGonagall, to be sent in the morning. He had seen no alternative but to be horribly truthful and had written the entire saga from start to finish. The Room, Winky, Luna, the Greenhouse. It had been achingly painful and if it was Luna at the door, which he suspected it might be, he was a bit afraid he wouldn't be able to hold in his emotions.
It wasn't Luna.
‘Hey.’ Harry said softly, his raised knuckles moving awkwardly to hold onto the door frame. He was still in his dress robes, Draco noticed, in that rumpled way that was still impossibly attractive. He looked downright impressive next to Draco who had changed into a comfortable pair of tracksuit bottoms and a faded t-shirt.
‘Just wanted to check on you? You left suddenly and I thought maybe I should go with you but everyone always swarms me at these things and I owed Luna at least an hour of talking to Ministry tightwads to get funds for her trip to Botswana. But I wanted to make sure you were ok and…oh god, unless this is me being way too forward? You can tell me to leave if it-’
He was cut off when Draco hauled him into the room by his lapels and pressed him easily against the wall and pushed his tongue into Harry’s mouth.
He just wanted to forget for a bit, he reasoned. He just wanted a break from the guilt and pain, until morning came and he would have to wind himself into knots of anxiety sending the letter off. And Harry was here and lord knows, he wasn't unwilling. Draco could feel him getting hard already as he ground down onto Draco’s thigh, his kisses hungry and eager.
Then he broke the kiss and pushed him away slightly.
‘What is it?’ he whispered, ‘What's wrong?’
But Draco only gave a pained whimper and pressed back in, desperately seeking the escape he craved in Harry's arms. For a few moments he thought he'd broken through Harry's resolve but then the hands on his arms tightened again and Harry moved away.
‘Tell me what's wrong?’ he insisted gently, his hand moving to cup Draco's cheek. Gentle but firm.
‘You had to pick now to be bloody noble.’ Draco said bitterly, backing away into the room. He picked up the letter on the desk and after a moment's hesitation, tossed it at him, ‘Here, you might as well read it. I suppose it will do the rounds soon enough, give the rumour mill something to chew on. Only fair you should have advance notice.’
A crease appeared between Harry's brow but he started to read. Draco poured himself a drink from the minibar and after a moment's consideration, pulled one out for Harry too. Potter hadn't asked, but he had the feeling he was going to need it soon.
Sure enough he was barely a page in before he let out an unhappy ‘Oh!’ noise and looked up at Draco.
‘I met Winky once or twice.’ he said sadly.
Draco nodded grimly and took a large gulp of whisky. It was only going to get worse from here.
It took Harry about ten minutes to read the whole thing. He wasn't a slow reader, Draco noticed, but he took his time to read and re-read certain passages, his eyes wide and uncertain. Finally he finished and laid the letter aside, staring into the middle distance.
The silence was unbearable.
‘I'm sending it tomorrow.’ he stated briskly, ‘I don't know if McGonagall will even believe me or even if she does believe me, she probably won't want me near the thing. But they must get an expert in before opening the door. The calculations that will need to be run are-’
And then Harry was kissing him. He nearly pulled away in shock but it was too good for that, Harry's lips warm and determined against his. Harry's hands, broad and strong and gently pushing him back onto the bed.
‘I don't understand.’ he said eventually, when Harry had moved to press lingering kisses against the line of his jaw, to breathe into the crook of his neck.
‘You went through all that. You did all those things. You protected Neville and everyone else in the room. You're a hero.’
‘But…I failed. Nothing I did mattered in the end. And I was complicit in so many horrible things. And I destroyed what was possibly the most advanced piece of Deep Magic equipment ever made.’
‘So?’ And then Harry's face was hovering over his, looking so caring, so adoring that Draco thought he might cry. ‘You didn't fail. But even if you had, you tried. That's what matters.’
Draco snorted in protest but only mildly as Harry had returned to nibble on his earlobe, his hands now wandering lower to rest on Draco's hipbones.
He supposed he could stop worrying for a little while…
It was completely different this time. Harry was tender, respectful, even a bit worshipful. So much so that it actually started to get annoying.
‘I’m not made of glass you know.’ he snapped, rolling and pinning Harry to the bed.
‘I'm trying not to fuck this up actually,’ Harry said, a tad petulantly, ‘It's a bit galling to find out you've been acting like a massive prick for years.’
‘You don't say.’ Draco replied, drier than a desert, ‘You'll have to tell me about it sometime.’
…..
The next day he sent off the letter. Harry sent his own separately, endorsing Draco as ‘not a massive wanker anymore’ as he’d put it. Which he wanted to feel insulted by but, well.
He also contacted CERM and told them he was taking a week in the UK. He put ‘DON’T LET ANYONE STEAL MY DESK’ at the bottom to make sure.
Harry asked if he would maybe want to spend a few days staying with him, tripping over his words and second guessing himself the entire time.
‘I mean, unless it’s moving too fast. And obviously I’m happy to visit you at the Manor too and see your mum. Although meeting her again as your boyfriend probably is too fast, my god what am I saying?’
Draco shushed him with a quick press to his lips. ‘You’re adorable. And I think I should stay, if only to complete my arduous task of building you back up now that I’ve torn you down.’
‘Won’t you?’ Harry pressed Draco’s hand to his heart in mock sincerity.
It was two days of blissful lazing and sex, interspersed with long periods of anxious waiting and overthinking until finally, as they were finishing their coffee and toast on the third morning, McGonagall’s reply arrived. Inviting him to Hogwart’s as soon as was convenient. His hand trembled as he read it.
‘I’ll come with you.’ Harry said, rubbing his arm comfortingly, ‘You don’t have to do this alone.’
….
June 1998
Draco was completely alone.
It dawned on him, after it had all happened and Voldemort’s body lay slain in the Great Hall, that he had made the most terrible miscalculation. His beliefs over the past year had slowly, inexorably changed - he no longer believed in any of the key tenets of the Death Eater gospel. But he’d never, even for a second, entertained the notion that the Dark Lord would lose. To him it felt inarguable, as unfortunate an inevitability as death or taxes.
In his holding cell, he’d realised the level to which he’d truly fucked up. He’d been too good at keeping his activities secret. So much so that when his lawyer asked him if there was anyone who he might want to call as a character witness, he shook his head dumbly. Who could he ask? Longbottom? Who thought of him only as the oily prat who had made the students watch a greenhouse burn? Luna? What could she say, that he had been so kind as to visit him after he’d passed her along to be thrown in jail? Aberforth Dumbledore? He would only say that Draco had been the little shithead who overpaid for elf wine.
‘Wait…’ he said, as the lawyer hastily waved his wand and his papers shrunk and flew into his briefcase.
He’d never found Winky in the end. He’d looked for her, even as the battle turned into a living nightmare, he’d even seen several house elves fighting (house elves! He would never have thought they’d had it in them) but no sign of her amongst them.
‘Yes, what?’ the man said bluntly.
‘Could I see the list of casualties from Hogwarts?’ he asked, hoping against hope that Winky’s name might not be on there. If she was alive, and oh he hoped she was alive, she could tell them everything.
The lawyer grumbled as he rummaged through his bag for it but handed it over.
Draco scanned it, then bit his lip.
‘I'm sorry, do you have a list for house elves?’
‘I have the report for loss and damage to property, if that's what you mean.’ the lawyer said, rummaging again.
And Draco wilted because of course they were property. He knew that. But why did it hurt so badly to hear Winky referred to like that?
Because Winky isn't anyone's property anymore, he could almost hear her scornful voice saying. He could almost see her in the room, sticking two fingers up to the lawyer, her tattoo’s peeking out from under her hide-jacket.
The lawyer handed him the report and he scanned it until he reached the list of house elves. And there it was. Her name. With a tiny red dot next to it that meant they'd never found her body. But with a giant snake and acromantulas running amok and all those spells flying back and forth, who could be surprised at that?
He went back to his cell and cried bitter tears.
On the day of his own trial he stood there, mute and strangely detached from it all. He wondered about it briefly, curious as to whether he’d get life in Azkaban like his father. All he knew was that he didn’t care.
And then his lawyer had said ‘Calling Harry James Potter as witness for the defence.’ and the world had made even less sense. Draco had watched him with incredulity as he had told them that Draco wasn’t evil, hadn’t named him, didn’t deserve Azkaban. And that he had apparently stepped up of his own volition to do this, even as he was surrounded by the whispers and thirsty eyes of hundreds of journalists.
‘We didn’t tell you, we were worried that you would say no.’ his mother had told him afterwards.
‘Oh.’ Draco said apathetically. He tried to be pleased but mostly he was just tired. He kept seeing Winky in the corner of his eye, but when he looked she wasn’t there.
‘Oh Draco,’ his mother sighed, ‘Maybe you should go to France for a little change of scenery? Your Great-Uncle Barius knows someone at the University, I’m sure we could get you a place there. Maybe Potions, you always liked Potions didn’t you?’
‘No.’ Draco replied, his brain stirring a little from it’s fugue, ‘I know exactly what I want to study.’
….
February 2002
Scottish weather, Draco thought, certainly knew how to set a mood. They had apparated just outside the main gate and into what felt like a solid curtain of driving rain. His Impervious Charm felt like Swiss cheese and he could already sense a dampness permeating through. So much for a triumphant return.
Harry was beside him, also battling with the elements as they made their way on the winding path up to the Entrance Hall. When they reached it and stepped beneath the shelter of cool, grey stone, Draco gaped. McGonagall was there of course, looking imposing as ever in a stiff, high-necked collar, but there were also several other faculty members alongside her. This must be quite the event, he thought suddenly, his pulse beginning to race under their scrutiny. It wasn’t every day that you found out that your place of work was built on a highly unstable, potentially reality-altering substrata of enormous magical potential.
He felt an abrupt fan of hot air and realised that Potter had cast a drying charm over them both. ‘Sorry we’re late.’ he said breezily to the assembled group, ‘It’s blowing a gale out there.’
Thank Merlin he was here, Draco thought, eyeing up the staff in trepidation. There was far less chance of them taking revenge and throwing his body in the forest with Harry by his side. Though considering how unbearably awkward this was going to be, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.
A figure at the end of the group detached itself and stepped forward and Draco belatedly recognised Longbottom, or rather Professor Longbottom in teaching robes, advancing towards him. Oh lord, this was going to be dreadful. He’d essentially spied on the man for little under a year. He’d allowed most of his precious plants to burn to a crisp (twice! His brain helpfully supplied). And the Longbottom of today looked fairly capable of giving him a black eye. He steeled himself and resisted the urge to hide behind Harry.
‘Is it true? Everything in the letter?’ Longbottom asked, his face grim and serious, ‘Did you really run the Room of Requirement during seventh year?’
‘Uh…yes?’ Draco replied, his voice cracked and wary. He was now remembering all of the things that he’d overheard that they definitely wouldn’t want him to have known about, including a highly upsetting afternoon when Finnegan had asked the Room jokingly for a ‘dirty magazine’ and it had spent hours producing anatomically accurate and helpfully labelled drawing of Finnegan and Longbottom engaging in some extremely pornagraphic situations that had made him feel quite unwell. He’d spent hours scrubbing them out of existence in the stacks, though unfortunately he was unable to do the same to his brain. If their situations were reversed he definitely wouldn’t have appreciated Longbottom having seen any of that.
He was preparing a short defensive speech to the same effect when it was entirely ruined by Longbottom pulling him in for a squeezing hug, which left him frozen in terror.
‘You saved us.’ Longbottom was murmuring into his ear and Draco could feel those firm muscles under his robes and those bloody pictures kept surfacing in his mind and he felt quite faint when Longbottom finally released him, tears shining in his eyes.
‘Thank you.’ he said and Draco felt his arm being pumped up and down enthusiastically.
He looked to Harry for support who was trying desperately hard not to laugh and failing horribly.
‘I’m sorry!’ he said later, as they were being escorted by McGonagall together to the guest quarters, ‘I’ve just never seen a human being go those colours before.’
‘Twat.’ Draco muttered, giving him a shove.
‘Gentlemen, if you would please stop acting like buffoons for two seconds,’ came the sharp rejoined from their host, ‘I will give you fifteen minutes to settle in and then I must ask you to attend to the site urgently Mr. Malfoy. The school has not yet fallen into a chasm of Deep Magic but I’d rather not take the chance.’
‘Yes Headmistress.’ Draco replied, his mind once again fully focused on the job ahead, ‘Thank you again for allowing me to take a look.’
‘If I read your letter correctly Mr. Malfoy, then there is no-one better placed to do it.’ she replied coolly.
Once he was inside the small but comfortably furnished bedroom, Draco sat down on the bed and put his head into his hands, shaking slightly. The last time he had been here had been one of the worst days of his life.
‘Hey.’ Harry said, knocking perfunctorily and already halfway in the room, ‘Just wanted to see that you were ok.’
Draco smiled softly and patted the bed beside him. Harry came and sat and waited, mercifully silent while Draco collected his thoughts.
‘Tell me something.’ he said contemplatively, ‘When you spoke at my trial did you do it because you thought I was actually worth saving or was it just second nature at that point to try and save everyone within a twenty-mile radius.’
He winced as soon as the words left his mouth because what sort of a pathetic question was that?
Harry scrunched his face up and thought for a moment, ‘Well, if I’m honest, it was because I really hoped that one day I’d see you with your shirt off.’
Draco snorted, his melancholy subsiding in the face of Harry’s brashness. ‘Sorry for being weird.’
Harry gently placed his hand on top of Draco's, ‘I was such a mess after the war. You know I never even had a third date before this?’
‘Well, you were probably busy saving the..wait what do you mean before this? This isn’t a date.’
Harry’s eyes swivelled around in panic, ‘It isn’t?’
‘Wha-no of course it isn’t! Wait, what did you think was our first date?’
‘Uh, I guess I was counting in the cave under the Jungfrau?’ Harry said nervously, seeming to realise how ridiculous it sounded.
Draco snorted, ‘My god I’ve got some work to do with you. Wait until Oma gets hold of you, then you’ll really suffer.’
‘Lucky you love a big, impossible project then?’ Harry sidled closer to him, sounding hopeful. And a little scared, Draco realised. Harry probably hadn’t allowed himself to be anything other than Fun Harry for a long time.
‘You’re right, I do.’ he confirmed, following it up with a slow, sincere kiss.
‘That’s good,’ Harry said, once they had broken apart, ‘because uh, this is feeling pretty real for me and I don’t really know how to do any of it so I will need a lot of instruction.’
‘Not in some things you don’t,’ Draco smirked and pulled him further onto the bed.
….
McGonagall stopped in confusion as Draco rounded the corner, ‘I believe you’ll find the door is this way, Mr. Malfoy.’
‘Oh the door itself can wait until I’ve checked if the Device is restored.’ Draco replied, trying to sound reassuringly confident. In truth he wasn’t sure what was going to greet him when he opened the door to the seventh floor classroom. Would it even be there at all? Would it be hopelessly broken? And if it wasn’t there, was opening the Room even going to be possible?
A tremendous sense of deja-vu awaited him as he rounded the corner and came face to face with the door. He could almost swear that the Carrows were about to jump out at him, that Vince was in the common room downstairs moaning about homework, that Snape was in the Headteacher’s office. His palms were sweating as he reached out and turned the handle.
The first thing he noticed as he breathed a sigh of relief, was that the cantilevered section of the wall was indeed back, and in astonishingly good repair. The handles gleamed at him as though polished this morning. It was all covered in the light haze of the cloaking charm and he realised that to Harry and McGonagall it must look as though he was staring at a blank wall in rapt attention.
He approached and took one of the handles tentatively. He could see the Deep Magic Well through the glass, subdued and moving a little lazily but still there and still contained. Could it be? Had it repaired itself? He flicked a switch to lift the cloaking charm and heard the slight intake of breath behind him.
‘Extraordinary.’ McGonagall exclaimed, ‘There were sealed instructions about this room for Headteachers, from all the handwritten notes I could see that none of them managed to do much with it.’
‘It took a lot of time,’ he smiled ruefully, ‘A lot of trawling through pages and pages of apparently nonsense information. But that’s where I found out how wrong I was about magic.’ He stopped and looked at them both earnestly.
‘I used to despise all the little idiosyncrasies of Hogwarts you know, I thought that magic should be tightly controlled. But working with the Room, it showed me that magic is the ‘kooky shit’ as I used to call it. You can’t just use it as a tool, you have to allow it space to grow, to learn.’
He tapped a dial and took a final look at the Device.
‘Right,’ he said to no-one in particular, ‘I’m ready.’
….
They stood around the door, the three of them plus any number of faculty members that had somehow got wind of the fact that the Room was going to be opened, such was the way with schools. Even as he worked up the courage to open the door, he could see an assortment of ghosts poking their heads through the walls and even a few of the older students hanging back in the corridor.
‘You’d better stand back,’ he said loudly for the benefit of everyone in the corridor, ‘I have no idea what’s inside. We might open it to find the corridor filled with Fiendfyre.’
That at least impressed Harry and Longbottom enough that they started encouraging people to move further along.
Draco moved towards the door. The deja vu was back and for an instant he could swear that Goyle was about to grumble in his ear about having to stand watch while Draco work on the Vanishing cabinet.
He gripped the handle.
‘Here goes nothing.’ he muttered. He should probably try to think of something grandiose and dramatic to say as his potential final words but he couldn’t think of anything.
His knuckles tightened on the handle and the door opened.
He peered into the darkness, accompanied by a rush of air as the mustiness on the inside was replaced by the freshness of the corridor. No gigantic fireballs at least, Draco thought. And immediately regretted his premature relief when a small ball of something erupted from the room, shouting abuse at him and taking him out at the knees. Whatever it was, it was furious. And absolutely covered in glitter.
‘Ow, ow, ow!’ Draco exclaimed as the thing danced around him giving him kicks and punches. And then…
‘Winky?!’
There was no doubt. It was four feet of enraged, sparkly Free Elf. Nobody else was that creative when it came to insulting him.
‘Winky!!’
Against every sense of self-preservation he caught her and wrapped her into a hug, tears starting to stream down his face. This was impossible, unbelievable.
‘How?? Were you inside there the whole…what were you doing?!’
‘Putting out the fire.’ Winky said grumpily, ‘If useless wizards is not doing it. Winky is being in there for over five weeks while Draco Malfoy is twiddling his thumbs.’
Time dilation, Draco realised. The Well had slowed time on the inside until the fire was extinguished. Incredible. And only a House Elf could have survived that long inside, no food or water. And only Winky even knew enough about the Room to navigate it from the inside. The odds of it were frankly astronomical.
‘Merlin I’m so sorry,’ he said to her fervently, ‘I thought you were dead. I thought you were…’ he was crying again, he realised and Winky was looking at him like he’d just grown a second head. She reached out and patted him awkwardly.
‘Draco Malfoy must not be being such a crybaby.’ she said, not unkindly.
Draco heard a snort from behind him. That would be Harry, he surmised. He saw Winky’s eyes widen as she realised they were not alone.
‘Winky,’ he said to her gravely, ‘Come and meet some people. And then…’ he grinned at her, ‘I owe you a big drink.’
….
Despite Winky’s accusation, he was not a regular cryer, Draco told himself as he wiped his eyes after hearing Luna’s vows. It had just been a very emotional couple of weeks.
The wedding was stunning, the sun shining against the backdrop of ferns and Spectacular Devil’s Snare as the couple tied the knot.
‘I’ve lost three drinks to it already,’ Ginny moaned to him later, snatching the fourth away from its grasping tendrils, ‘but who can resist Luna when she wants something?’
Draco nodded in sympathy. The Frondfish was in attendance, its tank balanced on a plinth. Draco had been to say hello for old times sake. Harry had been unbearably tickled by the thought of Draco earnestly talking to it every day and was threatening to buy one for Draco as a birthday present because ‘they’re clearly good for you!’
Harry appeared, carrying two slices of cake, ‘Ah, ah ah!’ he chastened as Draco reached for one, ‘You need to get your own. I’m doing my job as Best Man.’
He passed the slice to Ginny, whose eyes lit up at the layers of feather-light sponge and frosting, ‘You’re a gem and a gentleman Harry, I’d never get through that lot in this bloody dress.’ She gestured to the Weasley clan, all clamouring around the fourteen tier cake with plates at the ready. She took a bite and made a noise that made Draco blush, ‘Circe, this icing. I know mum wanted to make the cake but damn, was I right or was I right?’
Harry took a bite and closed his eyes, ‘My god.’ He opened them and gave her a fixed look, ‘You were right and I’ll tell Molly to her face and risk permanent exile from the Burrow if you tell me who the baker is right now.’
Ginny chortled as Draco snatched the fork out of Harry’s hand and dug out a bite, lightning-quick, ‘Got to be quicker than that Potter,’ he smirked, then hummed in pleasure as his tastebuds met rich vanilla and chocolate.
‘Draco!’ Hermione burst in on the three of them with her trademark glorious intensity, ‘Where is Winky? I want to ask her about her tattoos.’
‘You’re not getting a tattoo.’ Ron sighed as he joined them, giving Harry and Draco a friendly wink.
‘I could get a tattoo,’ she pouted, ‘Draco has a tattoo. I should get one as well, for solidarity.’
‘You’re just jealous that Draco is leading the way on elf rights now.’ Ron snorted.
‘I’m not leading the way on anything,’ Draco protested, ‘I just really needed an Associate Professor and there was only one candidate.’
This was cemented when he had shown her some of his equations and she had scoffed and immediately corrected one of them. CERM had made a minor fuss but after his boss had spoken to Winky for ten minutes and she had told him exactly what she thought about Draco, Deep Magic and wizards in general he had declared she was exactly what the institute needed and that the two of them were going to shake up the entire scientific world.
‘Will you dance with me later?’ Harry asked, stealing back his fork.
‘Maybe.’ Draco replied playfully, ‘I don’t know if Luna needs me for any best man duties.’
Harry turned and looked on as Luna skipped around the dancefloor, barefoot and with her train tucked into her waistband, blowing kisses at Ginny every time the song changed.
‘I think she’s ok.’ Harry concluded, ‘but maybe she could use some company out there?’
‘Fine,’ Draco conceded, ‘You may have this dance.’
‘That’s right, make him work for it.’ Ginny crowed, ‘Morgana knows he was a bloody nightmare the last few years.’
Harry grimaced as he led Draco away from them, ‘I wish someone had told me before.’ he murmured. This was not the first time he’d said this to Draco in the weeks prior and Draco had come to understand how isolated Harry was, between his job and his fame. It was easy to miss, it certainly looked as though he was surrounded by friends all the time. But Draco had discovered that he was alone more often than not. It was why Draco was pleased his funding grant to continue their study of the Deep Magic well at Hogwarts had been approved and he was now permanently based in the UK.
Draco sighed into Harry’s hair as he pulled him in close, ‘Well I had lots of people telling me I was a wanker - sometimes it needs to be the right time for you to listen.’
‘Maybe I only listen when the person I’m talking to is very, very smart.’ Harry offered.
‘And what about when McGonagall tells you to stop disturbing me at work, will you listen then?’ Draco asked archly.
‘Hey I’m allowed to have a lunch break, aren’t I?’ Harry pouted.
‘At ten in the morning?’ Draco laughed. Harry’s semi-volunteered position as Flying Instructor Assistant was off to a shaky start but Draco couldn’t be angry, not when Harry’s head appeared around his door and his eyes drank in Draco as though he was a glass of water in the desert.
‘Maybe I’m hoping I’ll catch you chopping firewood again?’ Harry suggested, waggling his eyebrows.
Draco laughed and spun Harry around, under the sparkling lights.
The End.