Throwing a Wrench in the Gear
When Harry met Draco by the front doors to the Academy after practicing football with Ron (who most definitely did not kick Harry’s arse at it) he couldn’t stop himself from remembering that Ron thought Draco might fancy him, and felt his cheeks burn a little at the memory.
Frowning, Draco asked, “Are you alright?” as they headed off campus together.
“Yeah,” Harry said, doing his best to school his features into something less conspicuous as he replied. “Was just practicing football with Ron, is all.”
Draco frowned. “Don’t you have class then, not practice?”
“Yeah, but we skipped. Didn’t feel like listening to Professor Binns drone on for so long about nothing interesting.”
After laughing a little under his breath, Draco said, “I think the material would be interesting, if it wasn’t taught by someone so dull.”
“Sometimes, I wonder if he’s stuck in some sort of time loop of teaching for an eternity,” Harry joked.
“Or perhaps he’s dead, and this is his purgatory,” Draco suggested.
Harry felt himself smiling at their banter, which had never been nearly as easy or as pleasant before.
“Sorry about Ron,” Harry added after a moment of silent amusement. “He can be a bit—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Draco said quickly. “You’d know if his behavior had actually bothered me.” He frowned after a moment’s contemplation, though, and then said, “I am sorry about Pansy, though.”
Harry grunted, then said, “I get that she’s protective. Wish she’d stop kicking Ron’s chair, though.”
“Like that’ll ever happen,” Draco muttered, and suddenly they were both laughing.
The rest of their walk home was spent in an easy rapport, and Harry was in a damn good mood by the time they got back to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
Which was when everything went to shit.
They were setting their bags down upon having entered the house, still talking, when Kreacher came up to them both, looking even more solemn than usual.
“Mister Draco,” he said, and under the usual sourness that attended him, Harry thought he could detect a hint of sympathy. “Your father is calling the house phone. He would like to speak with you.”
Harry felt his blood run cold. He turned instinctively to Draco, who had turned whiter than paper and whose eyes looked panicked.
“Where are my godfathers, Kreacher?” Harry asked before Draco had recovered enough to reply. “Where’s Narcissa?”
“They’re all out, I’m afraid,” Kreacher replied.
Harry put his hand at the small of Draco’s back, hoping to offer him at least some comfort. “Draco, I don’t think you should be talking to him right now,” he half said, half pleaded. “Especially with your mum out from home.”
Draco closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. When he reopened them, he said, “Harry’s right. My father can have nothing to say to me. My mother should be the one he speaks to from now on—or, better yet, her attorney.”
“Of course,” Kreacher agreed, and Harry really found himself suspecting that he was fond of their new houseguests. “Would you like me to tell him you aren’t home?”
“Yes please, and that I can’t speak to him without my mother’s expressed permission and presence in the room while, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, Mister Draco—I’m happy to oblige,” Kreacher said, before promptly leaving to perform his task.
It took Draco pulling away from Harry’s touch for him to realize that he’d been swiping his thumb back and forth ever so slightly across Draco’s back; and if Harry hadn’t been so concerned, that revelation probably would have made his face turn crimson.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asked hesitantly after a moment of dreadful silence, desperate to help but feeling wildly unsure of how to do so.
Without seeming to have heard him, Draco began to pace back and forth across the room, his footsteps sounding frantic. He didn’t speak, and didn’t seem inclined to.
“Draco—”
“Don’t!” Draco half shouted, turning to face Harry, his expression panicked. “Just—just leave me alone, would you?!” And with that, he practically ran up the stairs to—Harry assumed—seclude himself in his room for the foreseeable future.
In all honesty, Harry wasn’t sure how long he stood there, struck dumb, before his godfathers and Narcissa got back home. Still, he was more relieved than he thought he’d ever been before at the sound of their entrance.
Without wasting any time, he rushed to meet them in the foyer, where he frantically locked eyes with a mildly confused Narcissa and said, “Lucius called. He wanted to talk to Draco.” When the room immediately became heavy with the weight of shock and dread, Harry forced himself to go on. “He said no, but he—he’s—I mean…”
“Where is he now?” Narcissa asked quietly, stepping forward, her coat still half on.
“His room, I think. He wanted to be alone though, so I’m not sure,” Harry said, though Narcissa had gone past him without uttering a word before he’d managed to fully finish his first sentence.
Harry turned to Sirius and Remus helplessly, feeling like he was drowning. “How does he even know that they’re here?” He asked, his voice shaking and barely above a whisper.
Sirius, looking murderous, had barely managed to begin a very graphic threat toward Lucius when Remus recovered himself enough to step forward and answer Harry’s question.
“I don’t know, Harry, but we’ll handle this, alright?” He said, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about any of this. Just stay by Draco if he goes anywhere, and be sure to tell us that the two of you are going, and where, when you do. We’ll handle all the rest.”
“You’re damn right we will,” Sirius muttered darkly as he stepped more into the house. “Moony’s right, Harry, this isn’t something you need to concern yourself over. If he so much as sets foot within ten blocks of us, I will personally see to it that—”
“What if you’re not here when he does?” Harry asked, but he knew the answer to his own question as he spoke it. He’d fight him. If Draco’s father attempted to hurt him with Harry present, he’d hurt him.
Both Sirius and Remus winced at that, but in the end Remus only said, “Let’s not look to it as a certainty just yet, Harry. Lucius is a coward when it comes to fighting people his own size. He very well might not do more than try and call while we’re out.”
“Yeah, and besides, we’ve given you enough martial arts training to teach him a fucking lesson if he tries anything without us here,” Sirius said under his breath. “Now come on, let’s get fully inside the house—we look ridiculous standing in the foyer without our shoes on.”
In spite of his blackened feelings, Harry couldn’t help but snort a little at that, and allowed his godfathers to lead him into the main part of the house.
And, after all, Remus wasn’t wrong.
There was no need to make certainties out of mere suspicions.