Auror Dawlish
Draco and Astoria were strolling along Daigon in the late evening. The streets were sparsely populated, and for that they were glad. It meant they could relax and truly focus on each other's company. After a delightful meal at a newly opened French restaurant, their stomachs were pleasantly stuffed and their hearts were warm with joy. The fresh breeze tousled Draco’s hair as they walked, but he couldn’t seem to care, relishing in Astoria’s presence soaking up the peace of the evening.
They spoke of everything and nothing at all, simply happy to be near each other. Time seemed to slow down as they walked. Draco looked to Astoria, taking in her features; her soft, brown hair and green eyes, a round face, and her beautiful lips.
A flash of white light and a shutter sounded. The two looked towards the other side of the street to catch a glimpse of a reporter running down a corner..
"I hope they got a good shot," Astoria said with a chuckle. Draco couldn’t help but smile at that.
"You're okay with them snooping like that?"
"It's not like they'll hurt us by writing about us walking down a street. We're better than the rubbish The Prophet publishes, anyway." Draco stopped their walking, then. Astoria said something, but Draco didn't hear her, as the beauty of her face pulled him in, making the rest of the world fuzzy. He leaned in, hand cupping her cheek. Then, in an instant her face was different. It was more bronze and less fair, more... structured. Draco was still leaning closer, though. As their lips connected, he tilted to move Harry's glasses out of the way. A hand landed on his shoulder-
"Draco, I need you to get up."
Draco blinked, mind hazy. Then, all at once, a million dots were connected in his head. His heart lept to his throat, pounding wildly.
In my room. Someone is in my room, someone. I’m dead. I’m dying. I’m dead.
I thought the door was locked.
“-did you hear? I need to go-”
Draco couldn’t breathe, though, let alone listen. His mind kept racing ahead of him, making him unable to process the scene in front of him.
“-Auror Dawlish-”
He began to scramble out of the sheets, trembling violently. He shook his head, trying desperately to gain his bearings. It was too dark for him to see through his haze.
“Draco? Hey, it’s just me. Bollocks, I didn’t mean to startle you so much.”
Two hands grabbed at his shoulders.
“Breathe for me. Breathe. Everything is alright… it was just a dream.”
Dream?
He dreamt of Harry… or Astoria. He dreamt…
“I need to leave. Something is going on with the case. I’ve called Auror Dawlish to watch you while I go work.
Just then, Draco recognized Harry as the figure in front of him. He was clothed in the scarlet red and black of his auror uniform. Draco took a deep breath. Harry will keep me safe, he can.
“Harry,”
“Yes. It’s me, Harry. I… I need to go, now, okay? As soon as Auror Dawlish arrives.”
Draco nodded. Harry moved his hands, but Draco stopped them. He didn't want Harry to go, not yet. Not like this. Draco needed him.
"Can't you wait for Dawlish?"
"I am," Harry responded. He kept his hands on Draco's shoulders, and Draco found the feeling comforting, now that he could properly process it. His heart rate gradually began to calm. "I can't leave you alone. Something is going on with the case."
"What is it?"
"Ron's detection wards went off on a warehouse. He's gone to the site alone. That's all I know."
Draco was still a bit shaken. He chose against responding.
"I'll be back as soon as I can... I'm sorry to have woken you, I just... it's part of protocol. And I also thought it was just nicer, that way, making sure you're aware. You can go back to sleep. It’s the middle of the night, now.
Draco nodded, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep any time soon.
"Okay," Draco said.
"Okay."
They looked at each other for a moment. Draco felt as though something should be done, but he couldn't fathom what. His mind drifted back to what he'd been dreaming. These green eyes were the same as those he'd just imagined, the bronze skin, the structured face...
A fearsome crack of apparation sounded, followed by the dull thud of footsteps. A middle-aged man with mousy hair and blue eyes made himself visible from Draco's bedroom door.
"You can go now, Potter."
Harry looked behind him and stood upright. The feeling of his hands leaving Draco's shoulders made cold rush across his body.
"Thanks, Dawlish. Sorry to wake you."
"Ah, it's no issue. It's what we signed up for, isn't it? All part of the job."
Harry nodded and gave a small smile. Then, his gaze met Draco's again. "I'll be back."
"Bye,"
And with a final look, Harry was gone. He stayed gone for hours upon hours.
Draco closed the door and locked it several times before he was able to go back to bed, and even then it was difficult to go to sleep. Not only because of the slowly mounting anxiety over what on earth was going on that made Harry leave, but also the whirlwind that was his previous dream.
Astoria... Harry.
Draco swore that it must be some grotesque mixture of grief and loneliness. He hoped that was all it was.
But when he did fall into brief fits of sleep, his dreams were plagued with blood, pain, loss, warmth... and those green eyes.
At another point in the dark night, Draco awoke after a particularly startling nightmare detailing what occurred to him while shackled to a cold stone floor, bleeding, delirious-
Where is your wand?
Draco scrunched up his face, blinking. Why am I thinking of my wand?
You need to put your wand on your nightstand. Otherwise you can’t save yourself if the murderer appears.
The thought was odd, but it stirred something like dread and fear into Draco’s gut, and suddenly, he needed to know exactly where his wand was. Now.
I will die if I don’t keep my wand close.
He found it quickly, of course. In his nightstand drawer. Not much further than where he wanted- no, needed- to put it now. He grabbed it and put it on the nightstand. The action calmed something in his mind, in his gut. He felt less in-danger now. He went back to sleep.
He woke up again when pale yellow light was flitting though his windows, feeling frustratingly unrested. The sun was coming up now. He wondered if Harry might be back.
When he opened his bedroom door, he was met with a tired-looking Auror Dawlish drinking a cup of tea as he sat by the front door. Draco closed his bedroom door again.
Why hasn't Harry come back yet? What happened last night?
Who’s died?
Draco passed Dawlish, going for the kitchen, where an array of freshly baked sweets sat on a tray under a stasis charm.
I was supposed to go to church today, he remembered. Can I even go, now that Harry is gone? Can Dawlish take me? Would I even be okay with that?
Draco quickly decided that he did not want to share this personal part of his life with Auror Dawlish, nor did he want to risk going out when there was a situation that deemed it unsafe for him to be alone even for a bit, like he has been before.
Draco sighed. He would just have to miss the service. From the other room, he heard Auror Dawlish clear his throat accompanied by the creaking of the chair he'd been sat on.
"Malfoy, How're you doing?"
Draco didn't answer immediately. He stayed with his back facing away from the dining area. He moved to prepare himself a tea.
"Fine," he responded. As he scanned his looseleaf supply to determine what he wanted to brew, he wondered: He might as well take advantage while Dawlish was here. "Do you know why what's going on? How long until Harry comes back?"
"Not sure. But the fact that he hasn't returned means he's working. If the situation had been resolved, he would have returned by now."
Draco nodded, then, remembering Dawlish couldn't see him, "Right."
"Must be scary, being the only survivor. We're all a bit surprised he hasn't gone after you again."
"As am I," he responded, tension pulling his shoulders taut.
"You know, back in my day, it was a lot harder to do your job. I was an auror before and during the second war."
Draco made polite conversation with Dawlish for the next half hour before his mind began to trail back to Harry and to the murderer. He eventually excused himself to do some cleaning around the flat. It was the only way he reckoned he would be able to get his mind off of things. He cleaned and organised the kitchen, mopped floors, swept, vacuumed, changed his sheets, and did laundry. A few times, his brain would remind him of the danger outside his flat, taunt him with death threats until he ensured that the wards were up, that Dawlish was alert, and his doors were locked. Eventually, the morning bled into the afternoon, and cleaning was slowly becoming less and less effective of a distractor for him.
He decided, then, to attempt to read. He grabbed a book and headed for the living room, sitting on the sofa and opening it.
He couldn't concentrate, though. He couldn't stop wondering about all of the things that could be going wrong, and his gaze kept trailing to the door of his flat. You should check the door. The killer could be on his way, being invited in by your negligence as you sit here.
Part of him wished that Harry hadn’t gone running into the face of danger in the middle of the night. He didn’t appreciate the nagging feeling that Harry might not come back in one piece afterwards.
It was around one in the afternoon when Harry apparated straight into the living room, looking absolutely wrung out, his hair windswept, and his entire body just a bit dirty. He sighed.
"Thanks, Dawlish, you can go."
The two exchanged pleasantries, and Dawlish even bade Draco a farewell, but all Draco could think was Harry is alive, and he's back. Things might just be okay.
As soon as Dawlish was gone, Harry allowed his shoulders to sag, just a bit. He looked like he wanted to just be done with the situation.
"Get dressed quickly. Blaise Zabini was attacked, and he's alive. He wants to see you."
—-------
Standing outside Blaise's hospital room door, Harry was hesitant to enter, as well as to let Draco enter. He wasn't sure the sight would be very good, if the memory of his mangled body was anything to go off of. As Draco put his arms out to push the door open, Harry put a hand on his shoulder.
"Er... Just so you know, he might not look the way you remember him," Harry said. He found himself not quite liking the idea of Draco having to see the effect his murderer has on a friend of his. Really, he was trying hard to ignore the urge to shield him from all that was happening around him.
"How bad is it?"
"Pretty bad," he responded.
After a moment, Draco gave a single nod, blinking as he steeled himself. He pushed the door open.
Blaise was lying half-lucid on the hospital bed, looking small and frail. The skin on his face was badly damaged and heavily scarred, and Harry knew that under the sheets were several magically healed gashes that stopped him from immediate death. He had a sickly yellow tinge to him. Ron was in a corner of the room, writing something down on a notepad. Harry decided to join him, giving Draco some space to see his friend.
"How're you holding up?" Ron asked quietly, still scribbling on the pad. "I got his memories in a vial, but it's fragmented. He's still very weak. The mediwitches want to properly heal him with magical surgery as soon as they find an available surgeon. They just left.
"I'm bloody knackered. Dunno how you've still got the composure to act professionally... Is he even lucid enough to properly give permission to take his memories?"
"Dunno, but I asked him clearly and I recorded it with a surveillance charm. We should be fine… Do you reckon he's even aware that Malfoy is next to him?"
That made Harry turn his attention to the scene in front of him. Blaise was lying down, his eyes glossed over and moving left and right. It looked like he was trying to speak.
"Mmh… Draco?"
"Blaise," Draco responded, his voice strained. He had a look of manufactured composure to him. Harry found himself wishing that he could see a more honest version of Draco, not this steel-expression and strings pulling him together.
"He wants to kill us all," Zabini croaked. "He kept trying to get- information-" Zabini's words were cut off by violent coughing and wheezing. Draco gestured for him to relax.
"I know."
"I hurt him."
At this, Harry's ears perked up. Ron was paying close attention, as well.
"What did you do?" Draco's tone was careful.
"Scatched him in the eye, almost got his hood... Draco, the killer..."
The room went silent. Blaise was moving still, though barely.
"Killer's..."
The silence was thick.
"Blaise?" Draco was leaning closer to the Blaise, nearly off of his seat. "What is it?"
"Hogwarts alum... Voldemort..."
The room grew silent once again, until the room flashed blue. Alarms began blaring, coming from every direction. In an instant, healers stormed through the door of the room, ushering Draco, Harry, and Ron out.
"What's going on?" Harry yelled over the noise, trying to get his voice through the chaos. One of the Mediwitches, however, had turned back around and was already closing the door behind her.
Harry and Ron both reached for the door handle simultaneously. The door would not budge.
"Bugger," Ron exclaimed. "It's charmed shut."
"Is he dying?" Harry asked, though to nobody in particular. Through the tiny door window, the healers were already rushing around the room, a flurry of activity, shouting spells and orders that could not be heard.
"They won't let us in, anyway. We can't do anything, now. Let's just hope that things will turn out alright." Ron sighed, turning around. Harry turned to do the same, catching sight of Draco, standing further into the hallway, expression unreadable. Harry’s brows furrowed. What’s going on in his head, right now?
Harry didn't say anything, though.
"Let's go," Ron said, walking past him and down the hall. Harry gave Draco one more glance before following. Draco turned to follow them to the waiting room without Harry having to signal to him. He supposed that was a good sign, if nothing else.
They spent forty minutes in silence in the waiting room before a mediwitch came to break the news. Blaise Zabini died due to complications from his injuries.
"We tried everything we could."
Draco did not react save for his lips, forming a thin line across his gravely pale face.
Ron stood, gesturing for Harry to follow him to a nearby corner.
"I'll write up the report. You go on out with Malfoy. I know it's not safe for him to be out long anyway. You'll see everything duplicated into the shared file in a few hours. I'll also follow up on Mordecai and see if we have anything regarding the tool roll."
The trip back to Draco's flat was quiet. The rain now had reduced itself to merely a drizzle for what felt like the first time in days. However, given the still-too-dark look of the sky and the whipping wind, Harry knew it was bound to get colder and wetter in due time.
As soon as they reached the flat, Harry felt his shoulders sag. He wished, not for the first time since the radiator broke, that he could feel something other than bone-deep cold. Having flown hours at night in the rain certainly hadn't helped. This was too much for even heating charms on his clothes to erase.
“I didn’t go to church, today.”
Harry blinked, the tiredness heavy in his eyes. He turned to Draco, who was stood in front of the entrance door. He had yet to make a move to lock it.
"Sorry," he responded. "I know you look forward to that."
Draco didn't respond. He reached over to the door's lock, holding the deadbolt knob between his thumb and forefinger. The air in the flat fell stale. Harry watched as Draco, more slowly than he ever saw before, locked the front door. His fingers did not leave the knob after he did that, his gaze fixated on his grip.
"Do you think Blaise had his doors locked?
The question caught Harry off guard.
"I don't know," was all he could say. the words vanished into the cold air of the flat as he said it.
"What about the others? Pansy, Goyle... Theodore?"
Harry didn't respond. He felt an uncomfortable knot form in his gut, like a sense of dread was creeping up his spine.
"If he's Hogwarts alum, and he has a grudge against Slytherins... he may have not liked Voldemort very much, either."
Harry took a step towards Draco. He hadn't taken a moment to really think about what he'd heard Zabini say in the hospital. He supposed Draco's guess made a lot of sense.
"Is that what you think Blaise had been trying to say?"
Draco didn't answer. Harry watched as his hand changed from holding the deadbolt knob to gripping the doorknob. He tried to force the door open a few times, then he made for his fingers to ghost over the deadbolt knob. He then tried again to force the door open, before going again to the deadbolt knob. He forced the locked position, before unlocking and locking it again. Harry waited for a response. Draco tried forcing the door open again. After seemingly an eternity, though Harry knew it can't have been more than a moment, Draco's shoulders slumped, and he turned, leaning against the door, eyes closed. Harry inched closer. Draco's face was weary.
"...Draco?"
"I think... I'd like to be alone, for a while."
Harry nodded, though he knew Draco didn't see it. Draco, as though having actually awaited Hary's response, heaved himself from the door, going to his room. Harry heard the sound of his bedroom lock a few times, before the entire flat fell utterly silent.