The Meeting
During the holidays, Harry had hoped he and Draco would be in the same room, unlike at Hogwarts. That, maybe, he and Draco could spend nights together and talk and talk without a fear of getting caught out past curfew, like Ron and Lavender seem to do sometimes in the common room.
Unable to sleep, Harry wandered into Draco’s bedroom at seven am, tip-toeing across the floor so Remus and Sirius couldn’t hear, then quietly opening the door so Draco didn’t wake up. Through the windows, a stream of light fluttered in and lit up Draco’s silver hair. For what felt like an hour, Harry stared at Draco before lifting the blanket and getting in the bed next to him. Harry didn’t think about casting a spell so his skin wasn’t caked in sweat, but Draco made a disgruntled noise and wrapped himself around Harry.
“Wake up.” Harry whispered and gently shook Draco.
“Go away Harry.” Draco grumbled back. “Harry?” He asked again, blinking one eye open.
“Hey Dray.”
“What are you doing here?” He asked. Somehow, Draco managed to look like he hadn’t just woken up. The boy looked like he did on a casual afternoon. “Your godfathers will hang me if they find you in here.”
“They won’t hang you.” Scoffed Harry, but Draco raised an eyebrow. “Ok, Remus won’t hang you.”
“Regardless, you need to leave before they tie me to a chair again.”
“They didn’t mean it.” Whined Harry. Regardless, Draco waved his hand to open the door then levitated a screaming and kicking Harry to the doorframe, dropping him with a thud. “I hate you.”
“Hate you too, Harry.” Draco yawned. “Hate you, too.”
Everyone was at the meeting. All the Weasley clan (Draco drooling over the Curse Breaker and the Dragon Tamer), Tonks, Mad-eye, Mundungus, Shaklebolt, McGonagall, and Snape. For such an important cause Darco expected more of them.
“There’ve been more sightings.” Moody said, slamming a muggle paper down, the headline Family of Five Killed in Unexplainable Attack, then another, School Bus Mysteriously Split in Half: No Survivors, then another, Ten Dead in a Country Town.
“This is getting worse and worse.” Worried Hermione. Her parents were muggle, Draco remembered. If they were discovered to be her parents…
“Are these attacks planned?” McGonagall asked.
“No pattern, as far as the Auror Offices can tell.” Tonks said, lips pursed like she was trying to figure it out herself.
“We’ll need to up our defences.” Dumbledore spoke for the first time since the meeting started. “Contact every witch and wizard you know, tell them to be on high alert.”
“Is that all?” Harry interrupted. “All these people are dying and you want us to let it happen?”
“Harry.” Remus warned, but Sirius held his arm.
“Harry’s right, Moony. We can’t stand back and let them-”
“Typical Gryffindors with their hero-complex.” Snape drawled.
“Listen, Sniv-”
“BOYS!” McGonagall shouted. “I cannot believe at the age of thirty seven I’m still having to reprimand you like children.”
“Your concerns are just,” Dumbledore said. He was like a deity, whenever he spoke everyone listened. “But we cannot anticipate their attacks if there is no pattern.”
“He’s killing for sport.” Arthur grimaced.
“Exactly, Arthur. A mad man has no need for those types of patterns.” Dumbledore messed with the ring on his finger.
The meeting carried on, and Draco offered Harry a hand to squeeze under the table whenever he needed it. There were times Harry would tense up, so Draco would bring his hand to the small of his back. When Dumbledore brought up the attack at the Ministry, Draco had to whisper quiet words in Harry’s ear to keep him present.
Once the meeting was over, Grimmauld Place was still a jumble of people. All the Professors had left as well as Moody, so it was a sea of mainly red-headed people. Tonks grabbed Draco straight away, leading him to another room.
“Ok. Spill.” She said, pulling out her own flask of whiskey (it was actually some fizzy drink she didn’t want Moody to know she drank). “About Harry!”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Nothing? Are you joking? Am I going to have to give him the talk or not?”
“You’re not giving anyone any talk, Tonks. We’re together. I don’t need to divulge details.”
“Yes you do: I wouldn’t date my kidnapper’s godson.”
“I’m not.” Draco crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Black never kidnapped me.”
“Do you understand how weird that sentence is!” Tonks laughed.
They talked for a bit more. Mainly, it was Tonks talking and teasing and Draco biting comments. Before she left, Tonks murmured she will be having that talk with Harry.
The Weasley’s were still present, and Draco had never felt so out of place. Everyone was so smiley, so joyous, so together. It made him think of before. Made him think of school. Made him think of Lewis.
Then he looked at Harry sitting next to Ron and Hermione, quietly tucked in the corner. He looked happy. Draco went to his room.
Every now and then Harry looked at Draco where he stood, waiting to catch his eye to call him over. But he never did, and when Harry looked up again, Draco gave him a small smile and slowly made his way up the stairs. It was late, maybe he just wanted to turn in for the night. Christmas was around the corner, afterall: all the excitement and the people can be too much.
However, Harry decided to wait ten minutes before following (he counted). "Sorry guys, I wanna check on Draco."
"What happened to wizards before witches mate!" Ron joked.
"That's… incredibly misogynistic Ron."
"I'm only assuming Malfoy’s the bottom!"
"Do you want that image in your head Ronald?" Hermione sighed and Ron made a gagging noise.
Quickly, Harry rushed from the room avoiding everyone's eyes as his cheeks heated up.
Harry knocked before opening the door, but Draco didn't hear because he was still with his head down Quill scribbling away. There were crumbled peices of parchment on the desk next to him.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked.
"Muggle magicians use flash paper." He started explaining, still looking at the parchment. "To make things disappear or to distract. Maybe, I could channel the same force of magic and send that paper elsewhere."
"Pretty sure it's not physical magic they're using." Harry added and made his way over to rest behind Draco's chair. The blonde folded the parchment in front of him over so Harry couldn't see any writing.
"No, but if I can figure out how flash paper works I can use the same mechanics."
"Is that how you've been able to do loads of wandless stuff?"
"By knowing the science behind something you can put that understanding into practice." Draco put away the quil and leant back, slouching into Harry's heat. Almost never has Draco shown bad posture, so he must be exhausted.
"Might try it."
"I'm unsure if your brain can handle that, Potter."
"I could do a patronus at thirteen, wandless magic should be easy."
"Do you want a meddle for completing one spell? I'm sure if Granger gave it the time she would have beaten your age by a year."
"Shut up, you're a pest." Grumbled Harry, but he still hugged Draco from behind anyway.
"Why do they call you the Boy Who Lived, anyway?"
"You know the story." Harry sighed.
"We've all lived, Potter. Why does it make you special? The name is rather stupid."
"You're rather stupid."
"You don't even like the name."
"Just go to bed." Harry finally got off Draco and sat on the now clear desk.
The next couple days were just Harry, Draco, Sirius and Remus. They tried to include Draco but he could tell they wanted a moment alone with their godson. Of course, Draco understood and allowed them their space. Today, it was Christmas Eve, and he could see Sirius and Remus itching to get Harry alone.
Therefore, he made an excuse of buying last minute presents with the money Blaise had carelessly thrown his way (“I’ve got more than enough, Mother won’t know it’s missing”) and Harry, under no circumstances, could come.
Harry had told him about a Knight Bus that took him wherever he wanted in his third year, so Draco prayed it showed for him, too. Lo and behold, as Draco said aloud he wished for transportation, the tall, dark-coloured bus zoomed to a halt by his feet.
“How ya doin’ lad!” The man in a bellboy outfit exclaimed. “Name’s Stan.” There was a beat of silence when nobody moved, nobody spoke. Draco stood, flabbergasted by the thing in front of him. Gods, the inside looks so dirty Draco was afraid to breathe the same air as them. “Wotcha doin’ just standin’ there? Up the apple ‘n pears with ya!” The man stood aside, ushering Draco in.
There were men and women in drabs, ripped bonnets, worn shoes, lying on the beds and sitting in the seats. “Where you headed?”
“Friar Street.”
“‘Ere dat Ernie!” Said the severed head hanging from the front mirror. Honestly, Draco had seen it all now.
“Better hold on kid.” Stan said and quickly, Draco gripped the post. He needed to sanitise his hands after. “You’re that Malfoy kid ain’t ya?” Stan asked, eyes going wide.
“What of it?” Draco said in a clipped tone, eyes haughtily slant. “Nofin bad, kid. Jus’ surprised is all. Wassit like wif all that money anyway?” Stan kept prattling on so much Draco made up answers to the questions to entertain the man. He seemed to believe every word. The Knight Bus reached a point where it had to go through two trucks, side-by-side, and Draco breathed in, closing his eyes, expecting this to be his final moment alive when they didn’t slow down. Instead, everything was slimmer, so much slimmer, like a sheet of paper, and taller like a giant.
Soon, they came to a stop, and Draco gave the man a galleon. Stepping off, Draco cast a cleaning charm, feeling a wave of cleanliness drown him blissfully. Wrapped in a black scalf with a long black trench coat, crisp trousers and shining boots, Draco walked with a fabricated confidence.
Lewis’ house was close. He remembers riding a bike up this street, parking it by the side, lying in the park opposite as they kissed and laughed and stared at the stars. But only in the deserted night, only in the pleasure of their own company, only when nobody cared to look at two boys on their own.
In his hands, a paper crane. He’d mastered creating animals by hand with parchment, and Lewis’ mother’s favourite bird was a crane. Maybe then he’d read the letter.
So now he stood outside the door of his first love, staring through the small, four glass-stained windows outlined by red-painted wood. Not even a metre away from the boy who taught him to accept who he’d eventually love and admire.
Somehow, with shaky hands, a held breath and wet eyes, he knocked on the door. Quickly, he hid around the corner. When Lewis answered, his one word broke an irreparable part of Draco’s heart. “Draco?” Nobody. “Fucking children.” He complained.
Draco blew the crane, sprinkling it with the ability to flap its wings and fly into Lewis’ hands from above. “What…” Lewis said. When Draco heard footsteps in the snow he thought he was screwed, but luckily Lewis walked back into the house, closing the door and putting a light on. From the open-blinds, Draco debated taking a final glance.
He called for the Knight Bus.