scarlet_malfoy

I have been SO EXCITED FOR THIS DAY TO COME!!

This holiday season, I took part in one hd_holidays fest (my first fest), and it was... momentuous. I've never worked harder or pushed myself beyond the limits that I surpassed last month. It was the most fun and the most fulfilled I've ever felt in fandom, and now I can tell everybody that I wrote The Most Unlikely of Places.

I couldn't have done it without stitchesandlace. It's been worse having to be quiet about her than the actual fic, because I am convinced that without her, I wouldn't have been able to do it. She was my driving force and inspiration and I couldn't have asked for a better beta and friend during the writing of this fic. I love her to death. nathaniel_hp and sunsets_shadows were amazing betas as well, and helped me out when time was running WAY SO SHORT, and seriously... this fandom? The best. Ever. ♥


Title: The Most Unlikely of Places
Author: scarlet_malfoy
Recipient: ahleeshaa
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny, implied Ron/Hermione
Summary: 'The Last Band' of Death Eaters is a threat to all those families who reconciled with the Ministry after the fall of Voldemort, but most especially the Malfoy family. Harry is haunted by the past, and Draco is hiding something big... and then they are paired together in Auror Training Class.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): voyeurism, oral, masturbation, frottage, first time, novella-length
Deathly Hallows compliant? EWE
Word Count: 35,975
Author's Notes:For ahleeshaa, who asked for Auror!Harry and Auror!Draco having to work together, Marked!Draco, a hearty involved plot, snark, a happy ending, jealous!Harry, humor, one (or both) of the boys having a tattoo with meaning behind it, Draco with a temper, everyday life, confident!Harry, Draco with short hair, Draco's life-debt to Harry coming into play, the fact of Harry having Draco's wand playing some significance, UST, voyeurism, spanking, parselsmut, a light dash of crossdressing, dirty talk, oral, masturbation, frottage, wall!sex, bottom!Draco, pretty!Draco, a fixation on Harry's messy hair, Harry with no fashion sense, the refused handshake readdressed, clueless!Ron, and having to go undercover in the Muggle world. I think there's only a couple of things I couldn't fit in! Thanks to my betas: N, L, and Super Beta T! I could not have done this without you. There were so many times where I nearly thought I had failed, but Super Beta T was there to rescue me and tell me that what I was writing was good and did not suck, and that I needed to persevere. This is the longest thing I have ever written, and the process of writing it has reshaped my entire world as a writer! ahleeshaa, I hope you enjoy!


:: :: :: :: ::


The Most Unlikely of Places


Tuesday August 31st, 1999 - 10:00 a.m.

Harry's first impression as he stepped through the doorway of the London Division Auror Training Academy was that it was going to be nothing like Hogwarts. He gaped at the dull paint on the walls, the low ceiling, the fluorescent lighting; he looked down several smaller, equally dreary-looking hallways as he passed them, and his spirits seemed to sag. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but he'd been excited about his first day of Auror Training. This didn't exactly look promising.

He hadn't really known how to dress, and so he'd finally settled on what he thought was a safe mixture of two cultures: dark trousers and a red jumper, complemented by a thin black robe. Harry now saw that plain Muggle clothing would have been perfectly acceptable. Had the large portrait on the far wall not been of Mad-Eye Moody, with the words Constant Vigilance! displayed below, carved into the stone, he'd have been convinced he'd just walked into a Muggle school. Everyone around him was dressed the Muggle way, though not everyone around him matched. Harry stifled a laugh as two men walked past wearing vibrant Hawaiian shirts, but even they were passably Muggle. Harry supposed what with having an Auror Academy in the middle of Muggle London, oddly dressed wizards could be expected. He stuffed his robe into the brown messenger bag that was draped over his shoulder before entering classroom number 9.

The classroom, if not brighter and more exciting, was, at least, a wizarding classroom. It reminded him a bit of the way his Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had looked in his fourth year: jam-packed with equipment, piles of textbooks on the counter against the wall where the windows were, practically blocking out the sun. Harry recognised a Foe Glass in the corner, a shelf full of Sneakoscopes, and a lot more equipment he had never seen before, and could only wonder as to its use. He grinned despite himself, taking a seat in the very centre of the classroom.

The oddest thing, Harry thought, as his classmates filed in over the next few minutes, was that he didn't recognise any of them. The professor hadn't arrived yet, and the room was awkwardly still and quiet, though more than half of the seats were filled. Many of the students looked to be a few years older than Harry, and a few boys sitting in the back corner were whispering in a foreign dialect. There was no one from Harry's class at Hogwarts. A girl in the front row had a Ravenclaw scarf around her neck -- the only non-Muggle attire she wore -- but Harry was horrible at remembering faces, and even worse when it came to names. He couldn't recall having ever seen the girl in his life, but he surely must have gone to school with her.

No one was making a fuss over him, either, Harry realised. It had taken him a few minutes to understand why he felt so weird; no one was goggling incessantly at his forehead. He wasn't being acknowledged any more than the rest of the students in the room. Harry smiled once again. He could get used to this.

The door opened and closed with an air of finality, and Harry stiffened, turning around. A man had entered, clutching a small pile of papers to his side as he made his way to the front of the classroom.

Upon Harry's acceptance into the Academy, Hermione had bombarded him with facts about the Academy's most prestigious professor day and night; Harry was fairly certain he had Professor Nathaniel Stark's achievements memorised in chronological order by this point, but the repetition of knowledge dulled nothing about the facts, as they were. He had actually invented the Bat Bogey hex, which was Ron's favourite of his achievements, and he had worked alongside Dumbledore on the eleventh use of dragon's blood, as it had a very prominent use in many Dark potions. He had received an Order of Merlin, First Class for his work in the States, which was where he'd been for most of his active Auror career. He had been Lead Commander in the capture of the Dark Wizard Theodore Bundy, who had apparently had a mindset much like Voldemort's.

Harry was surprised that the smiling face before him was actually Professor Stark. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but most of his professors had certainly been a lot more dour. This man seemed excited; the look on his face was a clear indication that he was passionate about the subject he taught. A sudden pang of emotion hit Harry, as he realised Professor Stark reminded him of Remus Lupin -- aside from the dark head of hair, and the well-tailored clothing, they could have been brothers.

"Welcome all, welcome! I'm Professor Stark, as you should know from the informational sheet owled to you this summer. Welcome to your very first semester in the Auror Training Programme.” The professor set his papers down on his desk and then hopped up to sit on it, smiling at the class. “I wholeheartedly love teaching the beginning level classes, much more so than any other level. Do you know why?"

Harry didn't know why. He glanced around; apparently, nobody else knew why, either.

The professor didn't look ruffled by the lack of enthusiasm. He leaned forward eagerly, clasping his hands together across his lap. "I enjoy it because you will learn more in this overview class than you will learn in any of your future Auror classes. You'll discover exactly where your strengths and weaknesses lie, and you'll improve on those weaknesses, and you'll embellish your strengths much more proficiently and much more deliberately than you ever will again. Many beginning students don't understand how that is possible; let me explain. There are a series of tests --"

Professor Stark was interrupted in his explanation by the sudden creak of the door. Every head turned to stare at the late-comer. Harry's jaw fell open in shock.

"Sorry," was the mumbled response of Draco Malfoy, as he hurried to one of the empty seats in front. Harry's bottom lip slowly made its way back up to make connection with his top lip again, but he couldn't keep his disbelieving eyes off the back of the blond head.

"Quite all right. I actually started a few minutes early, so no harm done. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes ... the preliminary tests!"

Harry felt horrible for not listening wholeheartedly to the ways in which he would, undoubtedly, discover many important things about his abilities this semester, through testing and his own concentrated self-awareness. But he couldn't centre his mind on the words that were coming out of Professor Stark's mouth at all. He'd been jarred, none too kindly, back to the war.

Malfoy hadn't returned to Hogwarts for his seventh year. It had been easy to forget about him. Harry hadn't laid eyes on him since the day he'd killed Voldemort, more than a year ago. Every single day of that year, Harry had fought with his memories, had tried to get away from everything he'd ever been, in a metaphorical sense. He'd been doing well. He didn't think about it every day - not anymore. After the initial months of trials and interviews, he was left alone, for the most part, and he was mostly happy.

Every once in a while, though, something or someone would jumpstart the war memories, and he couldn't make himself stop thinking about them, living through them over and over again in his head. Sometimes the memories that were stirred up were varied and random, nothing specific. However, the night that Harry was fixated on now was the night that he and Ron and Hermione had been captured and brought to Malfoy Manor by Fenrir Greyback. Hermione had been tortured and Dobby had been killed, and Malfoy had helped save their lives.

That same Draco Malfoy was now sitting three seats up and one seat over from Harry, and he was wearing jeans and a very distracting, long-sleeved black Muggle shirt with an emblem of some sort on the back -- probably signifying a Muggle band Harry had never heard of. Harry was hypnotised by his presence in the room. This person had disappeared off the face of the earth, had left Harry with many questions, and had reappeared in the most unlikely of places.

Harry was feeling kind of funny, and a bit outside of himself. Class was going on and he could hear his professor's voice cloudily in the back of his mind (he hoped to Merlin he wouldn't be expected to answer any questions today), but he was, at the same time, being bombarded by the image of the frightened face of Draco Malfoy on that night. He could see it in stark detail, down to the dark bags under his eyes and the panic set deep within them. Malfoy hadn't turned them in. Harry had looked right into his eyes; there could be no denying the recognition there, but still -- he hadn't turned them in.

"Please pair up, now. I'd like for you to choose someone you don't know, and to discuss with them your personal reasons for choosing the Auror Division as a career path. You're going to be working with and learning a lot from every single person in this room, and getting to know a bit about each other will undoubtedly help you succeed in the long run. Excuse me, class ... as you begin, I'm going to head back to my office for a moment, I seem to have misplaced my register ..."

Harry had perked up when the tone of Professor Stark's voice had become more directorial. After the professor had departed, he looked from side to side; it seemed his choice of persons he did not know at all were endless, save for Malfoy. Just as the Ravenclaw girl walked up to his desk with a hopeful look on her face, Harry was shoved roughly by someone passing through the opposite aisle.

"Watch it!" Harry called, rubbing his shoulder. The boy turned around and glared half-heartedly, but made no comment. The boy had dark, shoulder-length hair, and very strange eyes; they would probably be considered light blue, but Harry had never seen eyes so light before. It was disconcerting. He'd been among the small crowd of boys in the back, whispering together at the beginning of class, and now he was making a bee-line straight for Malfoy.

"Partner, Malfoy?" The boy spoke just like Viktor Krum, Harry thought. He wasn't giving Malfoy much choice in the matter of partnering; he sat down immediately in the seat next to him, which had recently been vacated by the Ravenclaw girl -- who Harry realised he was rudely ignoring.

He looked up to find her lingering uncertainly, so he gave her what he hoped was a nice smile and indicated the seat next to him. She grinned back, looking relieved, and sat. Harry glanced back towards Malfoy and his very rude partner, rather flabbergasted. He'd been expecting Malfoy to put up some kind of a fight, to demand reassignment, to even look displeased by the proceedings in the least, but he had done none of those things. His face, turned to listen, could almost be made of glass. It was emotionless, and seemed rather uninterested in what his partner had to say.

"Rebecca Maelstrom." The Ravenclaw girl held out her hand for Harry to shake. "I'm afraid I'm sort of cheating a bit ... I remember you from school, though we were never officially introduced. I graduated three years before you."

He shook her hand a little awkwardly; being in seats right next to each other with metal bars in the way inhibited a lot of bodily movement. "Of course. I'm Harry. Well ... you knew that, I guess."

Rebecca had a very long, possibly touching story about the reason she decided to become an Auror, but Harry didn't hear most of it. He couldn't stop himself from trying to overhear the things that Malfoy and his partner were discussing. There was no easily understandable reason Harry could imagine for Malfoy wanting to become an Auror, and he suddenly desired very much to understand that reason. It would give him insight to that night so long ago. He was curious and almost violently determined to understand, though he could hear nothing over the hum of voices in the room. However, he noticed when the rude partner's face began turning red with something like fury. His voice rose above the din of the crowd, then.

"You cannot be serious, Draco Malfoy. You are a liar! You are his servant still, I know it!" The voices in the room fell silent, and everybody was staring at Malfoy and his partner. Harry's heart was racing. There was going to be a duel, there was going to be something, there just had to be ... Malfoy would never stand for being talked to that way.

But Malfoy looked on at his partner, almost in amusement. His eyes narrowed, and then he turned to stare directly at Harry, who froze under the scrutiny.

"Voldemort's dead. Isn't that right, Potter?"

Everyone in the room turned slowly to stare at Harry. One of Malfoy's eyebrows raised, and Harry watched the ascent, almost as if in slow motion, for several seconds before he realised he had been asked a question. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, um ... definitely dead."

Malfoy turned back to his partner, whose mouth was agape in clear frustration. Harry felt himself relax a little. The steel grey gaze had caused a stiff tension in his spine.

"So you see, Pavel ... you've been disproved." Malfoy's voice was low and intentional, without a trace of malice or snootiness. Harry couldn't believe it. There were actually several things he couldn't believe; the fact that Malfoy was present in his Auror Training Class at all, the fact that Malfoy had spoken to him without the seething tone usually reserved just for him, and especially the fact that Harry was actually quite on Malfoy's side throughout all this. But what Harry was most aghast about was the apparent loss of Malfoy character and pride usually so blatantly on display. He could never have imagined picturing Malfoy without it, let alone actually being subjected to it. This wasn't the same boy Harry had grown up with.

How hadn't Harry been aware of that on that night, long ago?

"Dominik Pavel, is it?" Professor Stark announced from the back of the room, eyeing his register. Harry was quite sure he'd been standing there for quite some time. "And Draco Malfoy. Strange, I've never had a Durmstrang student and a Hogwarts Slytherin not get along in my classroom before. We can safely say that the two of you are no longer allowed to partner together, I think." The professor smiled almost sweetly before taking his place at the front of the classroom once more and calling for a return to original seats.

Harry tuned out the Professor almost at once, eyes locked onto the back profile of Draco Malfoy with a bit of reverence. Malfoy didn't appear chastised or bitter, as Harry might have expected of him once. He sat straight and tall, hands folded on the desk, looking attentively forward with a slight tilt of his head. It was then that Harry was pretty sure he'd figured out a small piece of the puzzle that was Draco Malfoy. The boy had something to prove, or at least he was convinced that he did. There hadn't been a day since the end of the war that the Malfoy name hadn't been bludgeoned to death in the Daily Prophet. And Malfoy must have had an awful lot of practice at restraint during his time under the rule of Voldemort. It would have been impossible to be disagreeable and live. To be constantly surrounded by those conditions would change just about anyone.

Still, Harry couldn't pinpoint exactly why Malfoy had so thoroughly lied to the Death Eaters that night and consequently saved his life.


:: :: :: :: ::


12:30 p.m.

"So how was your first day, Harry?" Hermione settled across the booth from him in the Leaky Cauldron next to Ron, leaving Ginny to squeeze in awkwardly next to Harry. He took a long, conscious sip of his butterbeer before answering.

"It was fine. Professor Stark pretty much just gave us an overview of the course." Harry didn't tell them that he didn't recall most of what Professor Stark had said; that he'd been preoccupied by Malfoy's presence to a degree that had quite unnerved him. After pausing for a moment, unsure of whether he wanted to tell them about Malfoy at all, he decided he should at least mention it. "Draco Malfoy was there."

Ron choked on his butterbeer, dribbling it from his mouth onto the Daily Prophet on the table in front of him. "You've got to be kidding me! Malfoy?"

"Where's he been all this time?" Ginny asked curiously.

Harry shrugged, avoiding her eyes. Truth be told, he had no idea, but the question somehow made him uncomfortable.

"And what makes him think he has the right to be an Auror?" Ron demanded.

Hermione looked round at him disapprovingly. "Why shouldn't he have a right? Maybe he's trying to rectify all his past mistakes!" She turned to Harry. "Did he say anything?"

"I didn't exactly have a chance to talk to him. It was a class full of people. There was kind of an interesting moment between him and some guy from Durmstrang ... Pavel, or something ... kind of an idiot." He told them about the encounter, and the cool way Malfoy had addressed the accusing stranger. He didn't, however, mention all of the questions that had begun to form in his mind about his old school nemesis, or the practically insatiable curiosity inside him that needed to understand Malfoy. That wasn't something he knew how to explain.

"I don't know how you can defend him, Hermione. After all he's done to us over the years?" Ron shook his head.

"Well ... I think what he's doing now is admirable, at least. I hope he's really changed for the better. You'll have to let us know if he talks to you again." Hermione sat back slightly to allow the waitress room to put down four bowls of steaming soup.

When the waitress had gone, Ginny sighed sulkily. "I wish I didn't have to go back to Hogwarts alone tomorrow." She looked meaningfully at Harry. He quickly averted his eyes, stirring his soup and watching the steam rise from the bowl. He wished she wouldn't always put him in such awkward situations. There was nothing he could think to say in response. It wasn't as if he could go back with her - and even if he could, he wouldn't have.

Thankfully, Hermione saved him. "Oh, but Ginny! It's your seventh year! How can you not be excited?" She was practically bouncing in her seat. Ron scooted sideways to avoid being hit by accidentally flung soup.

"It's just going to be incredibly boring. Nothing ever happens unless the three of you happen to be around," she stated flippantly. Last year had been a repeat of her sixth year, for when the Carrows had been in charge of Hogwarts, not a lot had been accomplished, academically.

"Nothing really happened last year, when we were all there," Harry pointed out, feeling kind of touchy and bothered by her statement. Really, did she think all the things that had occurred during his first six years at Hogwarts had been a great deal of fun or something?

"Still. It's going to be entirely different. I can't wait until it's over, to tell the truth." Ginny took a spoonful of her soup and gave it a tentative sniff. Harry glared at her, ticked off for no real reason. Ron and Hermione shared a look, both sensing the suddenly tense atmosphere.

Hermione had a very concerned look about her when Harry finally looked up, but he gave a minute shake of his head, hopefully relaying to her that she needed to just let this go. Before anyone had the chance to say anything else about it, Ron read the headline aloud from the Daily Prophet.

"The Last Band of Death Eaters: Hoax or Reality?" He snorted. "Are they joking? Haven't they learned their lesson yet?"

"Shh, Ron, just read it," Hermione said quietly, looking as if she might steal it from him and read it aloud herself.

He cleared his throat and continued. "Many within the Ministry won't concede that the recent attacks on several Pureblood families have anything to do with the so-called 'Last Band' of Death Eaters. It hasn’t escaped notice, however, that all of the families who have suffered attacks are at present in good standing with the Ministry. These families were either never suspected of involvement with You-Know-Who, or were former You-Know-Who affiliates whose past actions have been reconciled. One disbelieving Ministry worker refuses to associate these attacks with the Last Band. 'Whoever it is, they tried to attack Malfoy Manor! Now, I don't believe a word of the Malfoys' sorry apology ... no supposed 'Last Band' of Death Eaters would ever attack a Malfoy!' Nevertheless, the Malfoys are in good standing. It is debatable-"

"Hey, I just realised!" Ginny interrupted. "The wards Dad put up. It's got to be because he's worried about the Last Band ..." Harry's mind was whirling. There had been an attack on Malfoy Manor. How hadn't he heard about it?

Ron looked up questioningly. "What wards?"

"This morning I went outside to say goodbye to Dad, and he was standing outside the gate, with his wand out. I could feel the wards as soon as I left the garden ... they were strong, I don't even remember the pull of the wards being so strong when Harry was with us. He just smiled at me ... he wouldn't tell me anything. Said not to worry about it. Why didn't he tell me we might be in danger?" Ginny looked unhappy.

"Well, you're going to Hogwarts, Gin, aren't you? Any wards Dad could put on The Burrow are nothing compared to how safe you'll be at school. He probably really just didn't want you to worry about the rest of us."

She rounded on him. "Ron! Do you realise how stupid that is? It's my family too, I have a right to know these things!" She looked on the verge of tears. "I'm going to go say goodbye to George, make sure he's heard, you know ..."

Ginny pulled a handful of Knuts out of her pocket and threw them carelessly on the table before she shifted her way out of the booth and marched determinedly towards the back door of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry followed her retreating form until it disappeared, and he turned to find Ron glaring at him, as if somehow he was to blame.

"I guess I'll go with her to the store. Sorry. I'll be back," Ron muttered under his breath as Hermione stood to let him through. He exited in the same direction Ginny had.

Harry shook his head, failing to grasp what had just happened. He felt slightly guilty that he'd been wondering more about the attack on the Malfoys than paying attention to the story about the Weasleys' wards.

Hermione took her seat again. "Harry ... are you all right?"

"Sure, I am. Why?" he asked, sighing inwardly. Hermione would not rest until she got answers, even if Harry didn't quite know those answers himself.

"You just seem like you've been somewhere else all afternoon. In your head, at least."

"I've just been thinking about class." It wasn't exactly a lie. He'd been thinking about Malfoy, who had, indeed, been part of class. Hermione stared back pointedly, but Harry offered no further information. He shifted in his seat, taking his first sip of soup. It was somehow still scalding, and he grimaced, reaching for his butterbeer.

"Can I make a very candid observation?" Hermione asked, rather point-blank.

Harry froze with his drink half-way to his mouth. "You'll make it, no matter what I say, Hermione ... so you might as well." He took a quick sip and then placed his glass on the table again, hoping beyond hope that what she had to say was nothing to do with Malfoy. Had he been that obvious? He had to resist the urge to rip his napkin into little shreds, stilling his nervous fingers.

"I think it's clear that you no longer feel the same way about Ginny."

Harry's eyes widened, but he felt relieved. This was about Ginny! It was still territory he'd rather not cover, but at least this was something he understood. "You're right. I don't feel the same way."

"Neither does she." Hermione raised one eyebrow, and Harry's head shot up.

"She doesn't? Then what was that look she gave me about, and the not wanting to go back to Hogwarts alone? What's she playing at, if she doesn't care?"

Hermione sighed. "You boys are really quite daft sometimes, do you know? She doesn't exactly want to be with you anymore, Harry, but she still wants to talk to you. She needs closure in order to move on."

"Oh."

"And Harry ... oh, sod it. Harry, she's been seeing Seamus." Hermione bit her lip guiltily. "I shouldn't have told you. I'm sure she would rather have told you herself."

Harry felt frozen, but he forced himself to speak. "Really. Seamus. Seamus Finnigan?"

She took his hand across the table. "Yes. I'm sorry, Harry."

"It's fine. We broke up ... and it was a long time ago, you know. There's nothing wrong with it." There really wasn't anything wrong with it, and Harry didn't want Ginny like that anymore. Still, he didn't know why this knowledge was leaving such a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Good! I'm so glad you see it that way." Hermione patted his hand and let go of it, as if to suggest that she deemed him strong enough to deal with it on his own. "Can I ask you something?"

He nodded. Honestly, what else?

"What's changed since then?"

"Since Ginny?" he asked, shocked that she was asking.

"You were so in love with her, Harry. What happened?"

Harry laughed half-heartedly, sitting back against the booth. He didn't know how to tell her that the answers to her questions should have been glaringly obvious.

"Everything changed. Everything happened. The war, you know. The trials afterwards. Then throwing myself into seventh year. I hadn't had time to think about Ginny in so long, and by the time I did, the feelings were just gone. There's no other way for me to explain it, Hermione. I hardly understand it myself."

Hermione reached out for his hand again. "I understand. And I'm sorry for bringing it up, Harry, but... you really need to tell people how you're feeling, sometimes. You never complain, and I worry about you."

He smiled, gripping her hand. "Thanks. I'm fine, I really am. Just a bit shocked."

She nodded understandingly. "You should try and talk to Ginny before she leaves tomorrow. You'd both feel so much better afterwards."

"I will. I'll do it tonight. You and Ron can go and ... do whatever it is that you and Ron do."

Hermione laughed, reaching into her bag for a few sickles to pay for the lunch that nobody had really touched. "Come on. Let's meet them at the shop. It will be good to see George." She smiled sadly, the silent omission of 'Fred' weighing heavily on both their minds.

Harry and Hermione made their way through Diagon Alley, resting on a bench across the street from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. They thought it best to give the family a bit of time to say their goodbyes, and they didn't have to wait very long at all.

"Oh, there they are!" Hermione waved to get Ron and Ginny's attention as they exited the shop.

Harry looked up to see Ginny, eyes already bearing down on him. "She looks as if she knows what you've been talking to me about or something."

"Well, that's because she kind of does," Hermione said out of the corner of her mouth as they made their way across the street.

Harry whirled around mid-stride. "What? Merlin, what is it with you girls?"

Hermione shrugged apologetically, and made her way over to Ron's side. Harry stood staring awkwardly at Ginny, trying his hardest to crack a genuine smile. "Gin, do you want to go get an ice cream or something?"

She nodded, but said nothing, and turned to lead the way to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Harry was truly glad that old Florean's son had decided to re-open the place, but this did nothing to lighten his anxiety.

Undoubtedly, this was not going to be fun.


:: :: :: :: ::


7:30 p.m.

In the gloaming quiet of a London back alley, there was a small pop. The grey tabby who made her home there froze and stared with glowing eyes towards the source of the noise, but when Harry stepped forward, dusting off his trousers, she nonchalantly turned and went back to mouse hunting. There was nothing strange about the scent of this man or his sudden appearance in this alley. Usually several times a day, he came and went, much the same way.

Harry made his way around to the front of the building, his mouth forming a thin line. He plodded a bit heavily up the walk, along the security fence that surrounded the perimeter of the property. The gate in front was billowing back and forth in the wind; the last person who had come through evidently hadn't taken care to make sure it had shut properly behind them. Harry kicked it open with much more force than necessary, cursing the fact that he'd taken a third floor flat. The stairs were only partly enclosed, and at this bewitching hour of darkening orange and gold hues, it was difficult to make out his steps. When he reached the top, he made his way to a door on the left side of the veranda, digging out his key. It would be no fun climbing those stairs in wintertime, he thought. The thirty extra seconds it would take him to enter into the warmth of his flat would piss him off to no end. At least there was a roof, so he wasn't at risk of being completely snowed in.

Once inside, Harry threw his bag dispassionately to the floor. It was darkening, but he didn't turn on the only light in the room - a single, tall, upright lamp in the far corner, which had a penchant for shining unusually and annoyingly bright. His flat was small, but homey, with warm, welcoming hardwood floors throughout. There had been a dull, creamy colour on all the walls when he moved in, even in the bathroom - but he'd decided at the last minute that he liked it, and so it stayed. Even his personal possessions hadn't brought much colour or life to any of the rooms; in fact, they hardly looked lived in at all, aside from the bedroom and the perpetually unmade bed. What few material possessions he had accumulated over the years were mostly hidden away in his closet, as he'd had no further use for most of his school things - though the photo album of his parents stood proudly on the side table, and newer photos of Ron and Hermione, Remus and Tonks, and the picture of the Marauders that had hung in Sirius's bedroom now adorned his own walls. The furniture and other essentials he had purchased had been sensible and not superfluous in the least. Hermione teased him good-naturedly whenever she visited, calling him boring and drab.

Ron didn't understand why Harry had kindly turned down the invitation from Mrs. Weasley to stay at The Burrow indefinitely after they had left school, and Harry hadn't been able to rightly explain it to him. There was just something inside him that didn't feel right about it; he felt very strongly about having a place to call home that belonged entirely to him.

At the moment, though, Harry regretted that decision. He sat down heavily on the couch, looking around without really taking anything in. This place didn't feel like a home at all, even though he'd lived there all summer. He felt no attachment to it and he wouldn't miss it at all, should he be forced to leave.

Harry sighed and pulled his knees up to his chest, thinking about the conversation he'd just had with Ginny. There was no reason why he should feel upset, but he did. The knowledge that someone like Ginny Weasley still loved and wanted him had been a warm weight on his heart. He hadn't even been aware of how much of his own security rested in her hands.

He felt like a fool -- an extremely selfish fool. There was absolutely no way he could expect or want for Ginny to feel anything towards him, when he could no longer feel anything, himself. He couldn't understand why it mattered still, why he felt much more alone now than he had before he learned about Ginny and Seamus. I should be glad she's not hurt. I should be glad.

But he wasn't, not completely. And he hated himself for it.

"You never tried to contact me, or let me know how you were, tell me you still... God, Harry, it was either get over you or die on the inside every time I thought about you. I kind of blocked it out after a while, blocked you out. I didn't mean to, I never consciously wanted to ... it was like a defence mechanism, or something. It got pretty bad. I couldn't sleep, I spent night after night just staring out the window in my dorm, knowing you were out there and I was trapped in here, away from you, and ... I'm so sorry."

Harry remembered the few times he'd seen her in that very place on the Marauder's Map, but he didn't mention it. Those times were gone, now. "No, it's ... it's fine. It's okay. I'm glad you're okay with this. I'm ... I'm sorry I didn't --"

"Shh, absolutely not. I understand, Harry, you were ... hell, you were saving the world, weren't you? You didn't need anything else on your plate. But now, I'm just ... I fell in love with Seamus, Harry. Y-you were gone for so long ... I honestly can't even tell you how it happened, but it did. And I still ... I'll always care about you, Harry. You know that, right?"

Harry rubbed at his eyes underneath his glasses, feeling guilty and discontent. He couldn't possibly blame Ginny for what had happened. It would have ended anyway, no matter the how or the why, because there simply was no way that Harry would have been able to give her what she needed. There was no way he'd ever have been content - not with her, or any other woman.

He laughed bitterly as a thought came to mind: Ginny had alluded to the fact that it had been their time apart, the time while Ginny had been at Hogwarts and Harry had been on the run, that had done them in. And Harry agreed wholeheartedly. It had ended for him that way, too, and he'd said so during their talk that evening - but he'd left out a very important detail.

It was during the long process of hiding out in the tent with Ron and Hermione -- those long sleepless nights when there was nothing to do but think -- that he had realised he preferred men. In retrospect, he supposed he had always known there was something especially different about him, but he had never been quite sure what it was. He had just attributed it to the fact that he was who he was; that he was basically pre-destined to be as different as possible. Only then, on the run, with plenty of time to think, had it occurred to him that there might be a reason for it - something to blame his utter awkwardness with women on. He realised that there must be more to it than just the quiet, expected happily ever after, because when he let himself think about it for long enough, it was something he found he wanted and desired and was incredibly passionate about.

Harry remembered the first time he'd allowed himself to think on it, to consider the possibility that he might be gay. It had been back at 12 Grimmauld Place, where Harry had opted not to live after the end of the war. He, Ron and Hermione were hiding out, and he had just had a vision of Voldemort forcing Draco Malfoy to torture the big blond Death Eater, the one that had followed them to the cafe on Tottenham Court Road and had failed in capturing them. Malfoy's face had remained vivid in his mind, even after the rest of the vision had faded. Harry hadn't understood it at first -- he didn't really care about Malfoy, he had told himself -- he was only concerned, because Malfoy was now being made an obviously unwilling slave to Voldemort. There was nothing right about that, no matter how big of a prick Malfoy had been in the past. He didn't deserve it, and on his face, the horror, revulsion and fear had been more than evident. There had been a quiet softness about Malfoy in the vision; he had been nearly shrouded by the darkness of the room, but the effect of the firelight on his white-blond hair and pale skin had been dizzying in contrast. He didn't belong there.

But why? Harry had asked himself many times why he was so keen on the idea that Malfoy didn't belong there, with the Death Eaters, under Voldemort's thumb. Harry had entertained thoughts of rescue missions now and then, going so far as to plan out the little details of how it would work, what his and Ron's and Hermione's individual roles would be, much as the trio had gone over and over each of their other missions during the war. But Harry would have to will away the adrenaline rush every time; there was no way he would ever be able to sacrifice possibly dying in an attempt to save Malfoy, when the entire world was already dependent on him.

But Harry still thought about it. He thought about it all the time, and as time wore on, he found himself preoccupied with Malfoy, wondering constantly about his well-being, if he was alive, if he was safe. What he looked like without his shirt on.

He had seen Malfoy with his shirt off, once. But his entire chest had been covered in blood at Harry's own hand, at the time. And Snape had been there, too. Not exactly ideal circumstances.

Harry had never, not once, wondered what Ginny looked like minus her usual clothing. Soon after that revelation, Harry had had to come to terms with himself for good.

Harry's stomach rumbled, and he stood, making his way to the kitchen with a lazy sigh. He had forgotten to pick up something for dinner, preoccupied as he had been after the conversation with Ginny. Harry threw open the kitchen cupboard a little more forcefully than usual. An empty bag of crisps, a dodgy can of soup, and a half eaten can of cashews greeted him, as he had known they would. He wouldn't even chance a glance in the refrigerator; he was too hungry, and there were only condiments inside. He didn't want to get any disgusting ideas.

Pouring himself a glass of water from the tap, he sat down at the kitchen table with Malfoy on his mind. It had been a long time since he'd wondered about Malfoy, and the way the other boy kept popping up in his thoughts was reminding him of those sleepless nights in the tent. It hadn't been difficult to make sleeping underneath his Invisibility Cloak a regular habit, and so he'd been able to think about Malfoy - and do something about it - at his leisure, once he had put the silencing charm in place. Harry had never been very aggressive when it came to masturbation before the war, but he'd been much more frequent about it from that time on. It was like someone had untied a blindfold that had been around his eyes all his life: Harry had suddenly, all at once, understood what the big deal was.

Harry realised he was actually glad about Malfoy being in his class. He had wanted to thank Malfoy for so many things: not recognising him, saving his life, inadvertently opening his eyes to who he really was. Most likely, he would skip over that last part, but he still needed to tell him. He still needed to learn Malfoy's reasoning behind his actions. It still fuelled him with a burning desire to understand.

Malfoy's face ran through his mind again; not the petrified face from his vision or from Malfoy Manor, but the one he'd seen in class today: emotionless and guarded. A closed door with something behind it, something that Harry knew he wanted very much.

Harry shivered, setting his glass down on the table and shifting against the growing tightness in his trousers. Seemingly of its own accord, his right hand ghosted over his cock through the material and he groaned, leaning his head backwards over the chair and laughing for a moment. How ironic indeed that Malfoy would show up today of all days, that he'd be wanking off tonight to thoughts of him -- something he hadn't done in a very long time. How strange that the moment he thought about Malfoy, all regrets about Ginny had flown from his head.

He unzipped his trousers and slid out his cock, running his fingers lazily up and down its length. He imagined that Malfoy had followed him home and had knocked on his door; that he was here now, making it very clear how much he wanted Harry.

The sky was a dusky dark blue with faint strands of orange and pink, and Harry was sitting at his kitchen table in the near darkness, feet planted firmly on the floor in front of him. He was nearly slipping off the chair as he stroked himself faster, head leaned back and resting along the top of the wooden chair. He wanted Malfoy, and Harry was suddenly filled with regret over the fact that he had never pursued Malfoy; not sexually, not even as friends, but just to be sure he was all right after the war. He had never given it a thought. Harry gritted his teeth and pumped harder, thrusting up into his own hand, wishing desperately that he had bothered to enquire after him. Maybe, if he had, Malfoy would be here right now. Maybe Harry would have his cock in Malfoy's mouth right now, instead of in his own hand.

Malfoy's mouth used to smirk and laugh, and Harry missed it. Even if he'd never smiled at Harry, exactly, it had been far too long since Harry had seen the expression on the other boy's face, and he longed to see it now. He wanted Malfoy to smile and he wanted to kiss those lips, own them, feel them swallowing the head of his cock and moving up and down his length, as much of it down Malfoy's throat as would allow, and Malfoy would use his tongue on the spot just under the head and beneath as he sucked...

Pre-come had made Harry's cock slicker and it was easier to pump and maneuver; he was breathing heavily and he had to reposition himself on the chair, lest he fall off. He imagined those grey eyes looking up at him as he sucked him off, one of Malfoy's hands at Harry's base while the other touched his own cock, getting off on the feel of Harry's cock in his mouth, and loving it. Harry imagined that it meant something to Malfoy, this act, and that it would be clear in his eyes ... and then he would take Harry's cock all the way down his throat, and his tongue would move along the length of his shaft.

Harry's other hand came to join the first so that nearly his entirely length was covered. Malfoy would suck him so fast and so hard, and he would come into his mouth, and Malfoy would swallow, because it meant something.

Harry cried out when he came, one hand covering the head of his cock so he wouldn't make too much of a mess, the other riding out his orgasm until it ended. And then he sat there, holding onto his half-hard cock and a handful of come.

Why why WHY can't I just get off to sex? Harry wondered dejectedly, still unmoving. His head was still tilted backwards and his eyes were closed. Time and time again, he ended up incorporating emotion of some kind into his fantasies. He didn't think it was all that normal.

It was dangerous, too. If he thought about Malfoy like that too much, he'd unwillingly start to wish it actually did mean something - and that would be ridiculous. On the slim chance that Malfoy was gay, there was no chance he'd take up with Harry Potter. There was too much history there. It would never work. Best to forget about it now, and just concentrate on the saying thank-you thing.

But while Harry washed his hands off in the sink, he found himself grinning; he couldn't control it. He felt almost giddy at the idea of class the next day, and he cursed himself as soon as he realised what he was thinking.

He hoped he hadn't already crossed that line.


:: :: :: :: ::


Monday September 6th, 1999 - 12:00 p.m.

Harry sat by himself at one of the round, wooden tables with his lunch tray, feeling unbearably as if all the Muggle years which he had successfully eluded had come back to haunt him. The training college's cafeteria reminded him of every clichéd dramatisation of a Muggle High School lunch room that he'd ever managed to catch on Aunt Petunia's television set. Just looking at the soggy, unappetising array of food on the tray before him made his heart ache for the house elves' cooking. He couldn't really understand why the quality was so terrible. Surely the Ministry could do better?

He positioned his fork quizzically over what he thought must be mashed potatoes, but was saved the trouble of having to actually eat them to find out when Malfoy entered the lunch room.

Attention caught, he watched the blond surreptitiously. Malfoy hadn't said one word to him since that first day almost one week ago; he hadn't even given him a passing glance. Or a passing glare, as would have been much more his style. On the second day of class, Harry had decided to try and sit near Malfoy during lunch, maybe initiate a conversation, but Malfoy had made that impossible by never showing up to lunch in the first place. Harry hadn't the faintest idea where he disappeared to, but he assumed that Malfoy felt himself above sitting in a dingy, stuffy lunch room for half an hour and being made to eat slop. Hell, Harry was pretty surehe was above it, too, but that did nothing to stem his disappointment, day after day.

But he was here now, somehow. It was so astonishing to see him get in line, and accept the dismal grey tray they handed to him with hardly a sneer. The Malfoy he'd always known would have been whole-heartedly offended at the offerings, but this Malfoy accepted it without question. He was dressed as a Muggle again, Harry noted. He wore a solid coloured T-shirt, which was black, of course -- it was the only-coloured shirt he seemed to own -- and brown, form-fitting trousers. For one who used to claim utmost hatred toward all things Muggle, he was the only pure-blood wizard student who managed to pull off the ensemble with a certain grace and rightness. By this point, Harry was convinced that Malfoy could have come to class wearing nothing but cellophane and look absolutely stunning.

Harry shifted his ugly green plastic chair around the table just a bit, which afforded him a better view. He frowned as he noticed Dominik Pavel shoving his way up in line, just to be behind Malfoy. Pavel had been annoying and goading Malfoy every day in class; he really seemed to have it out for him. Harry didn't know why he felt so defensive, as his former self would have been whooping and thanking Merlin for justice being served; Malfoy was finally getting a taste of his own medicine. It was just that things had changed in some inexplicable way. And Harry didn't trust Pavel. Not in the least.

Malfoy was at the drinks counter now with his back to Harry, apparently taking his time deciding. The counter was piled high with Muggle and wizard drinks alike, all in aluminum cans; Harry hated drinking out of them with a passion. Malfoy reached for the last can of pumpkin juice, and Harry half-smiled, finding it a bit ironic that he himself had grabbed the second to last can. Apparently he wasn't the only one heartsick for Hogwarts.

And then there was Pavel, right behind him, waiting in line to pay; Harry held his breath.

But nothing happened. Malfoy paid, and he turned, and for just a moment, his eyes fell upon Pavel with clear distaste. It felt odd to Harry, not being the one on the receiving end of that look, but to see it aimed at someone else, instead. Malfoy's lip twisted, almost forming a sneer but not quite, and then he seemed to reign himself in. His mask of calm indifference was back in place, and he walked with his tray to a table on the other side of the room, facing away from Harry.

Now all Harry had to do was get up and go sit by him. And then move his mouth and speak and make words, and somehow make small talk with his one-time arch-enemy.

It had seemed to be a flawless plan on all the days when Malfoy hadn't actually shown up. But now, there was a relentless, evil beast of a butterfly inside his stomach, and Harry's feet didn't want to move; they were glued to the floor. Harry glanced over at Malfoy, able to tell even across the distance of the lunch room how stiff his shoulders were. It must have been years since Malfoy hadn't censored himself. Harry was sure all Malfoy wanted to do was explode with some kind of Malfoy-ish wrath upon Pavel; he had seen the warning signs in his eyes when he'd looked at him. But he hadn't let himself do or say a thing. What kind of pent up anger must he be harbouring on the inside, after all this time?

Harry slammed his fork down on his tray, making up his mind. He was going to do it. He was just going to go over there, sit down, and talk to him.

Right.

He stood up a bit shakily, draping his bag over his shoulder and grabbing his tray, praying that he wouldn't trip and spill the contents of it all over himself. Though his legs felt like lead, he seemed to have made it across the crowded lunchroom in record time, and then he was standing there, staring at the back of Malfoy's head.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to walk around the table, and then he sat down as quickly and nonchalantly as he could.

Harry looked up just in time to catch the 'o' of surprise disappear from Malfoy's mouth, quickly to be replaced by a full-fledged sneer - one Harry hadn't had the benefit of being the recipient of in years.

"What the fuck do you want?"

Perhaps Malfoy had been saving all of his wrath just for him?

Harry leaned back in his chair, quite taken aback. The outburst seemed too harsh a reaction to something as simple as sitting down at the same table. But maybe Malfoy had been expecting it to be Pavel, back to give him more trouble. Harry nearly forgot that he was holding a tray full of food, but he remembered before he let any of it drip onto his trousers, placing it on the table.

"I don't know about you, but I don't plan on going through three years of training and not talking to anyone." Harry settled forward again and picked up his fork, though it was mostly just for something to do with his hands.

"And so you picked me out as the friendliest face in the crowd?" Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I'm not here to make friends, Potter. Plenty of sweeter faces about; again I ask, what do you want?"

Perhaps if Harry had been drunk or immensely sleep-deprived, he'd have contradicted Malfoy's statement. Instead, he just twirled his fork on the table and contemplated the question.

"I picked you out as the face least likely to sit there blinking in awe at me, which is what happened every day last week when I sat down at someone else's table. It gets old, after a while." He stared across at Malfoy defiantly, forcing down the urge to flick a rolled up straw wrapper at him.

Malfoy snorted, and Harry oddly felt like giggling. He felt a jolt of surprise at each little instance of the old Malfoy that apparently only he had the power to bring out. He could hardly be bothered with being offended.

"Many people consider staring in awe to be a better start to a friendship than seven years of hatred toward one another." Malfoy eyed Harry suspiciously. "I think you're a little confused, Potter. You and I were never friends. Weasley would be simply aghast at this scene, wouldn't he? Why isn't he here to be your little Auror training buddy?"

"He's helping George with the store," Harry said automatically, flinching a bit as he said it. He was very surprised that he'd answered the question honestly, and he thought of Fred, who would have been there at the store with George instead of Ron. There was a good chance that Ron would have been here in training with Harry, if it weren't for that. Malfoy had hit one of Harry's guilty nerves, and he hadn't even realised it.

Harry blinked and looked away for a moment, putting the fork down and clenching his fists, trying to get a hold over his mind before he thought too much, got too wrapped up in it. He turned back to glare at Malfoy once he was sure he could manage it without a waver. "Why are you in Auror Training, Malfoy?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. Harry hadn't meant to ask a prying question; he'd just needed to change the subject, quickly, and he'd asked the first thing that had come to mind.

"It's really none of your business," Malfoy said cooly. Harry wasn't surprised; he'd hardly expected to get a truthful answer, but as he took a sip of pumpkin juice -- from a bloody can, he thought -- he realised that he'd asked the one of the main questions that had been on his mind all week, rather point blank. It was possible he'd just completely blown his chances of getting any answers at all.

He set the can back on the grimy tabletop and began to twist the metal pop-top back and forth, needing something to do with his hands again or else he'd be prone to wringing them quite ridiculously. He didn't know why he was getting so nervous around the bloody bastard. Oh, all right, maybe that was a lie. There was the fact that he was gorgeous, and mysterious, and that he had always treated Harry with no respect at all -- quite the opposite of the rest of the wizarding world. Harry had eventually come to understand that none of them would ever see him as he truly was -- no one aside from his best friends, at least -- and since the war, he'd come to the conclusion that he'd rather be less than nothing than too much.

"I didn't mean to be rude in asking, but I've wondered about you all week." Harry nearly winced, appalled at his mind's choice of wording. He'd done quite a bit more than wonder about him, that was for sure. "And I'm glad you're all right, after that attack. You and your family, you'll need to be careful. And I'd watch out for that Pavel, if I were you."

Good. Sound just like his mother. That's the ticket!

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "My family is fine. Fuck Pavel. And fuck you too, while I'm at it. The fact remains that I'm here, and you will continue not knowing why I'm here, and I will continue not gazing at you in awe. Sound good?" And then he stood, his chair scraping hard across the ground as he turned and moved with his tray to a table across the room - the same one that Harry had just vacated on his way over.

Harry stared open-mouthed for a moment, before he found himself filling with equal parts energy and anger. It was an odd mixture, but somehow with Malfoy, it had always been that way. He didn't know if the anger he felt was necessarily directed towards Malfoy, but he was going to direct it at him, anyway. He stood, forgetting the tray but not his bag, and marched across the lunch room -- this time much more determinedly.

As he sat down across from Malfoy, he heard him growl in frustration. "God, just -- what, Potter? What do you want? Why won't you leave me alone?"

Harry clutched his bag a bit more ferociously than necessary in his lap. "I want to know why you haven't said one word to me this week, Malfoy."

"Why would you expect anything from me?" Malfoy looked as if the very idea was ludicrous, and Harry had to admit, it mostly was. Harry was suddenly grasping at straws; there was no logical way to respond, because really, there was nothing he could possibly have expected. But he had to say something ...

"I've never expected anything from you, but you've always kind of ... I don't know, been there, annoyingly."

"Thanks so much." Malfoy pushed his tray away from him and sat back in his chair, arms crossed, and glaring at him.

"What's wrong? Have I become a better person, in your estimation? Do I no longer deserve your taunts and jeers?" Harry leaned forward in a subconscious imitation of Malfoy's moving back.

"You sound like you've been missing it or something, Potter."

Harry spluttered momentarily. "No. It's been rather nice, actually."

"Then why are you bothering me? I am done with that part of my life, and having to see you every day is enough of a reminder of ..." Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise; he obviously hadn't meant to say that much. He looked panicked for a moment, openly vulnerable, before his eyes squeezed shut quickly. With a shake of his head, he seemed to compose himself, and when he looked at Harry again, he was calm.

And as a realisation hit Harry, he winced, feeling wracked with guilt because he knew exactly what it was like to be bombarded by his own thoughts, and to have to confront all his mental issues whenever the littlest thing jogged his memory or piqued his senses. He didn't know how he hadn't realised it before, but just the fact that he was Harry Potter was understandably enough to bring others down. He would leave, if that was what he was doing to Malfoy. He hadn't known ...

He cleared his throat. "Listen, I'm sorry. Really. I didn't mean ... well. Anyway, I just wanted to say -- thank you." Harry tumbled through the words, making to stand.

"Wait, you wanted to say ... what? Thank you?" Malfoy demanded, as if Harry had just announced he was quitting Auror Training to join up with a Country Rock Band, instead. Harry was half-way out of his seat; he sat back down very tentatively.

He looked perplexedly at Malfoy, not understanding his reaction. "Yes. I wanted to say thank you."

"Whatever the hell for?"

Harry paused briefly, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. "Y-You saved my life."

"Saved your life," Malfoy echoed vacantly, shaking his head. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"What do you mean, what am I talking about? You saved my life, that night ... at the Manor. Malfoy, don't you remember?"

Malfoy reeled backwards, shocked. "You can't possibly think that what I did was ..."

"It was. I'd be dead, Malfoy. And you know it."

"No!" Malfoy shouted, and several people at nearby tables turned to look at him. Malfoy was shaking his head at Harry angrily, but when he spoke, his voice was controlled. "You don't owe me anything, Potter. Get the idea out of your head."

"What idea? It's the truth!" Harry's fist came down imploringly upon the lunch table, gathering a few more stares.

Malfoy's gaze was harsh, both hands gripping the table in front of him. "What I did hardly constitutes saving your life. If I'd planned on doing that, I would have looked at you and said 'Absolutely not!', but I didn't do that, now did I?

"Whatever you planned on doing or not, the fact bloody well remains that you didn't tell them it was me. You knew. You knew! Why did you do it, Malfoy?"


"I did nothing. I told them that it was your friends--"

"You said maybe, and that's it! Just let me fucking be grateful, would you? You're acting as if it were such a horrible thing to do!"

Malfoy's eyes clouded over with some unknown emotion. "Grateful, huh? Did you hear about what happened after you left, Potter? Do you know what You-Know-Who used to do to the people who failed him?"

Harry let out a slow, silent breath, eyes widening slightly. He did, in fact, know exactly what Voldemort used to do to people who failed him; he used to be inside of his mind for the experience on a regular basis. Somehow he didn't think that mentioning this to Malfoy would help very much.

"I'm s--"

"Save it, Potter. Just leave me the hell alone."

Malfoy stood, turned, and was lost in the crowd.


Part 2

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