Chapter 9
There was a particular sort of twitchiness Draco experienced when things were going the way they ought. When he had checked a plan seven times over for luck and it held up to scrutiny. He missed Greg most in those moments. Greg would say, “what will be will be,” and then physically take whatever Draco was using to continuously check his work away from him, and replace it with a cup of tea or a video game controller. Potter had helped review all Draco’s drafts and scribbled commentary in the margins. He’d stuck his own nose into the book, to research additional details. Potter said, “This is brilliant,” and then deliberated with Draco over which tiny phrase would make their submissions airtight. It was nice, wonderful even, to be taken seriously by someone who could just as easily deride Draco.
It also created mounting pressure that left Draco twitching more as he considered how awful it would feel if this was what proved to Potter Draco was a fraud. Was being a potential fraud worse than being a pathetic nobody? Hard to tell.
They’d waited the night “to start fresh” in the morning, according to Potter. Potter said banal things like “I always sleep before turning in important paperwork.” Draco had hardly slept, but Potter had been out like a lamp. Sure enough, Potter reread each document the following morning while drinking his tea. It wasn’t out of nerves, this was the least nervous the man had looked since entering the house. It was nerves that kept Draco’s head down, hunched over his mug as he gulped through two mugfulls of coffee. He didn’t bother checking the forms, they were above reproach. Besides, Draco could fixate on other things, like how Potter had scooted his chair closer to Draco’s in order to hold the forms up to Draco as Potter read through it. Potter’s shoulder bumped into Draco every time it shifted.
Then the moment came. Draco and Potter stood together in front of the most ordinary grate Draco could have imagined. With one quick incantation, Potter activated a popping noise, followed by a dull hum. A moment later a light gradually grew in brightness from the small square in the wall. Potter swung open the little wall grate that he had finagled into being a floo connection (a code violation, but Draco supposed when you were Harry Potter the ministry didn’t bother to check your work). The air vent behind it stretched unnaturally wide, to the point there was enough room for Harry or Draco to have squeezed into it if they had felt dedicated enough to the task. Potter tossed in a pinch of powder he’d retrieved from a cupboard and the flame flared green.
Draco imagined stepping into it with a location on his lips, if only he had the freedom to leave and any place in the world to go.
Potter crouched down with the letters. He lifted the first one to Draco for a final inspection. Draco controlled his fidgeting and shook his head.
“Here goes.” Potter tossed the first letter to Auror Campbel. It had all the key forms and a cover note from Potter. They didn’t need a response for that one, and Potter had assured Draco that Auror Campbell would make sure the paperwork was filed in case anything else went wrong. Second was to the probation office. They’d debated this, since it was a shared space and any number of aurors might have pulled a long shift. In the end, they bet on probation’s reputation for being a bit of a laze about office keeping away prying eyes, and the bureaucratic value of following protocol. Draco watched the letter poof into green smoke and tapped out the seconds as he and Potter waited for a response. Letters were tricky. They had to leave the floo open for the response else it might get clogged in the system. It was nearly two minutes before the flame blazed green again and a small missive shot out. Potter caught it with seeker ease. He unfolded it and showed Draco the succinct message confirming receipt of the forms. Draco’s breath caught and his mouth twitched upwards in relief. Potter smiled back and tucked the paper into a pocket.
With a final pinch of floo powder, Harry tossed in the last letter. This had a cover letter as well that explained itself as a secondary record for the forms previously submitted to the probation office. Draco began to tap again as they waited. This was not strictly necessary, but also the heart of the bureaucracy. Anything sent to records would be, well, recorded. Which meant that as long as you had enough dedication you could find it and prove it had been submitted. Technically everything should end up in records, but sometimes things went amiss. Draco wouldn’t be believed if he cried foul (as seen with Astoria Greengrass, who had been the most successful of the probation bunch until her probation officer claimed her paperwork wasn’t properly submitted). Perhaps it was an unnecessary risk, tacking a third letter on, but one Draco had been more than willing to take it, and Potter hadn’t put up the slightest resistance against the idea after Draco’s mind was made.
Still, Draco was twitchy. He chewed on his lips and pulled at a button on his shirt cuff.
“We’ll close it right after the receipt comes,” Potter said.
“Of course, of course,” Draco mumbled. Potter eyed him, his eyes catching the way Draco’s hands fidgeted, then then lingering on Draco’s mouth. Draco had noticed that, how Potter’s eyes would linger on him. It was uncomfortable to know for certain that Potter had been attracted to his body, if not to him. Humiliating. Draco stilled to make Potter look away.
Seconds dragged into minutes and Draco began to worry he'd miscounted.
“This doesn’t seem…” Potter said, before he could finish the floo flashed bright green.
A small purple ball appeared out of the air duct. Draco was confused by it. The first response had clearly been paper, this was a wriggly ball of putty. Potter didn’t hesitate like Draco. He was stepping between Draco and the makeshift fireplace even as he cast a shield spell stronger than Draco had ever experienced. It was just in time to ward off the explosion.
Behind Potter’s shield, Draco couldn’t feel the blast, but he could still see the effects of it on the room around him. The force of the blast was larger than the purple flame it caused, snapping at the air duct until the magic enhancing it broke and the duct warped and shriveled. The shock of the blast slammed furniture and flung decorations from the wall. Glass shattered, Draco watched the remnants of a lamp explode towards them and be held off by Harry’s shield. The sound of it rang in Draco’s ears, and a pungent sour stench engulfed his senses.
“Shit,” Harry muttered.
“Is this the same -” Malfoy started.
“Yeah,” Harry cut him off. Draco felt Potter push his power out, more magic than Draco had felt from one person since the Dark Lord, and it wasn’t even a real spell. Harry’s power’s followed his eyes as he surveyed all the walls and ceiling. “There’s nothing pressing on the wards, yet. We should get out of here while we can.”
“How do we get out?” Draco asked. He hadn’t brought up previously how the little house they’d been staying in conspicuously lacked a front door. The blinds were set up as if they were hiding windows, but the frames behind them held bricked up walls. Frankly, the house was a bit of a nightmare and Draco constantly wondered if Potter had been the mad person who’d designed it that way.
Potter took a step towards Draco and reached out his arm. “Take my hand?” he asked.
Draco grimaced at the idea of apparating. He saw Potter respond with a pinched look, and realized too late that Potter would read it as Draco not wanting to touch him. Draco withheld his frustration. He didn’t want to pretend to be friends with Potter, or be trapped together to be either ignored or objectified, but their lives were on the line so he could bear to hold hands. It took far more mental will to bolster himself to facing the harsh associations of travel by apparition. Draco was a survivor, though. Survivors couldn’t take the time to consider how much the pain of escape would hurt after, they focused on making it to the after part. He took his own step towards Potter, reaching his arm out so he could clasp his hand over Potter’s arm for a firmer hold than simply sharing hands.
Potter looked relieved, which Draco ignored because what else was he to do. All there was to be done was stand close and hold on tight as Potter cast the transportation spell.
Again, Draco could feel Potter’s magic encompass him. Potter’s spell pulled on Draco, sucking him into a magical whirlwind that spun so fast and narrow it felt like being squeezed through a pipe. There was just enough time for Draco to experience the nauseating press against every part of his body before he and Potter slammed into a barrier. Potter’s magic took the brunt of the hit, once again displaying an alarmingly fast reaction speed when Potter pivoted his magical energy to shield Draco before he himself slammed into the barrier. Both crumbled at the impact, falling back into the safehouse and reanimating to land hard on the floor.
Draco thudded onto the ground. He lay flat for a moment, dazed and aching from the impact of being thrown against a solid wall.
Draco looked over to Harry. Harry lay on the floor, still and bleeding. Draco scrambled up to hands and knees and shuffled towards the auror. He took Potter’s hand again, grasping at his wrist to feel a pulse. Draco tried to follow the basic medical training his mother had given him over a decade ago during the war, but his hands were shaky and he kept failing to flick his wand with the necessary precision. Draco tried three times before he could manage a clumsily diagnostic charm. A magical aura hovered over Potter, shining green where he was in good health, and fading into red anywhere he was injured. There were minor cuts and bruises, but Draco gripped hard at Potter’s hand when he saw the scary red glow hovered above Potter’s head.
“No, no, no,” Malfoy repeated. He leaned over Potter, opening an eyelid to see if it would show him anything. The pupil shifted in the light, but Draco didn’t know if that meant anything. Draco tried casting episkey and reparifors and other minor healing charms, to no obvious effect. Draco tried twice more in case it was his ineptitude. Eventually, Draco had to trust the lack of reaction wasn’t due to his failings as a wizard. He thought of other spells, casting one after the other. He shouted, “Rennervate!” at potter, with as much force as he could push into the incantation. Potter did stir then, even if it was a feeble movement. “God, Potter, please let that one have done it. Wake up!”
Potter blinked his eyes open. His voice slurred as he said, “Malfoy, you alright?”
“Oh thank goodness, you’re not dead,” Malfoy answered.
Potter blinked his eyes slowly again, looking about the room before rolling them back down to his hand, still gripped by Draco. “Something went wrong, then?” he asked groggily.
Malfoy dropped his hand and barked out a laugh. “Yes, very wrong.”
Potter closed his eyes and groaned, making Malfoy’s gut seize with worry, but then Potter opened his eyes back up. He couldn’t focus on Draco when he talked but he was speaking more steady. “Must have been an anti-apparition ward. Can’t imagine how they set that one up so fast.”
If possible, Draco’s spirits sank further. Advanced magic like that would take time or a large group of people. Draco alone couldn’t break it, and it was unsure whether or not Potter could even stand. Draco looked around the room, seeking out any sign that there was another hidden exit they could pivot to. “Location specific wards means they’re right outside. How do we get out? Is there a secret door you’re hiding? Or if I blast through one of these walls, could you hold a shield long enough for us to get past the anti-apparition ward?”
Potter gave up on shaking his head almost as soon as he started. “Can you help me up?” he asked, anyway. It was madness with Potter in his condition, but Draco nodded anyway. Draco began by holding out his hands, but quickly adapted to wrapping both arms around Potter’s chest to pull him upwards until he could sit. The effort made Potter dizzy, and he leaned on Draco for support after. Once recovered enough to talk again, Harry said, “The floo was my back up, I hadn’t considered someone could take it out and get here fast enough to shut down apparition. It’s barmy.” He groaned and rubbed at his forehead. “Head hurts too much to think about this.”
“You probably have a concussion,” Malfoy admitted. Malfoy readjusted Potter’s weight so he was sitting on his own, slumping a bit forward without anything to rest on. “Rest here a moment and don’t think too hard. Shouldn’t be too big a change, yeah?” the joke was strained but it earned a huff of laughter from Potter.
Then Draco got to his feet and tried to think for the both of them. Again, he knew only minor spells, but he cast at Potter’s own wards and to the best of his knowledge they still held strong. He assumed that despite the concussion, Potter would still know and alert Draco if anyone started attacking. Draco turned his focus to the physical makeup of the space. It had to physically exist in the world, in a plottable location that the floo network could find. However, it could be underground like much of the ministry, which would explain why there were no visible exits. There were other points of entry, since they had clean water and air. Draco rushed to the bathroom to examine the wall the pipes led into.
He paused two steps inside the bathroom when a rumbling noise caught his attention. For nearly two weeks this nightmare house had stayed eerily silent, a feature Draco loathed. The only loud rumbling noise there had been was when Potter turned on the floo. Malfoy stared at the noise to his right. That was towards the kitchenette. He rushed out as fast as he came and ran around the wall to the small kitchenette. He could hear the rumbling here, too, towards the storage cupboards which lined the wall shared with the bathroom. Draco flung open the largest cupboard door, a tall and narrow storage space. Behind it was cleaning supplies, all things from chemicals to brooms. Tucked further behind them was a very loud metal rectangle machine Draco didn’t recognize.
“Potter!” Draco shouted, running back towards the injured man. Potter was trying - failing - to get to his feet, so Draco scooped down to steady him and together they got Potter to standing. Draco propped one of Potter’s arms over his shoulder so Potter could stay steady as Draco all-but-dragged him back to the cupboard. “What is this noisy thing and what did it have to do with the grate?” Draco demanded.
Potter squinted a moment. It was worrying how long it took for his eyes to focus. “Oh it’s the furnace,” he finally said.
Draco did a double take. “Where does the wood go?” he asked.
“Nah, it’s muggle, it’s electric. I just reconfigured it to - oh, nevermind. It’s muggle. Arthur Weasly had the idea to find a way to set up floo connections to modern muggle homes, and anyway this is a prototype and it’s highly unstable. We should turn it off.”
“No!” Draco bellowed.
“I mean, it’s really unstable,” Potter said.
“Then why were we - never mind. You said it’s connected to the floo. Where is the connection?”
Potter’s eyes widened in understanding, but also in alarm. He gulped and looked again at the furnace. He pointed at a metal vent that traveled from the furnace into a wall, presumably eventually reaching the vent that shriveled up after the explosion.
Draco leaned Potter against the doorframe then stood up and squared his shoulders. “Right then, hold on to the wall a moment.” Then Draco began to cast. He was shit as healing spells, but fortunately for both of them, the last ten years had necessitated practicing how to make inanimate objects more useful. He shielded the vent so he could slice into it without any remnant of the attack at the mouth of the vent backing up into this cupboard. Gingerly, he peeled pieces of the vent down over each other until it was securely sealed off. Draco began to sweat as he cast delicate transfiguration charms on the remaining metal, thinning it out without losing structural integrity. He reoriented the direction of the vent, so it faced the door of the cupboard where Draco and Potter were. Draco pulled cleaning supplies out of the way, tossing them behind him, except for the pieces he saw as valuable. He used anything metal to add to the vent, the best find being a large dustpan which was already mostly flat and straight. In the end, Draco had created a narrow and tall space that would be a squeeze to get into, but not impossible.
“Floo powder?” he asked.
Harry fumbled, almost falling, until he recovered the powder jar from a pocket. “It’ll be madness if this works,” Harry said.
Draco shrugged. “I’ve done madder things,” he muttered. Then he raised his wand a final time and cast “Incendio!” The spell shot fire down into the transfigured grate, quickly hitting the furnace proper. The furnace’s rumbling rose to a roar, but the fire didn’t vanish or accelerate. Draco quickly threw in a pinch of powder. The fire turned green. Draco grinned in triumph.
Then the whole house shook.
Draco raised his wand, ready to cast a shield between the furnace and him and Potter, but Potter lowered Draco’s hand. “It’s the wards. Someone’s trying to get in,” he said. Draco could feel it the next time the attack hit. The pressure of it seemed to hurt Potter, and Draco realized Potter was still trying to use magic to keep his wards strong. It was too much effort on top of his injuries.
Draco shook his head in wonder. Whoever was attacking was too organized and too strong. No one should have been able to find them so fast based on a couple messages sent to the ministry outside of business hours. Not even if you’d been using shady magic to track the floo network, which normally required days if not weeks of effort in even the best of situations. This was different. Potter and Draco had missed something, possibly someone. Someone with ministry access. At this moment, Draco had a working floo but not a single location he could think to travel to through it if the ministry was off limits.
Another attack hit the wards and Potter groaned. Draco yelped, and quickly moved to once again support Potter’s weight before he fell to the floor.
Potter had people he still trusted, Draco would have to trust in him. A terrible idea, he worried.
“If you can, give me one last shield charm would you?” Draco asked. Maybe Potter nodded, but it also could have just been him slumping. Draco didn’t have time to confirm. He threw another pinch of floo powder into the flame to keep it activated and shouted “Granger-Weasley’s house!” before pulling Potter into the cupboard just far enough that they both lost balance and fell into the green fire.
Arriving at the Granger-Weasley home was not dissimilar to hitting the anti-apparition ward, only there was no way to fall back down to the ground afterward. Draco’s essence was shoved into a hard surface with no relief, steadily flattening Draco as painfully as you could imagine. In a normal situation, Draco might have fallen back out of the fireplace in his original destination, but he suspected the makeshift elongated vent was no more.
Then someone else was there, with magic warm and pulsing. It wrapped around him, cushioning Draco’s mind and body from the pain until a physical body was there with its magic, wrapping arms around Draco and pulling him in tight. The wards blocking Draco recognized this new magic and welcomed its body through. Draco, snuggly encapsulated, was snuck through in tandem.
Potter and Draco stumbled out of a fireplace together, Potter’s arms still around Draco until both of them fell forward and Draco was released. The momentum of falling out of the floo kept Draco rolling forward more than a meter until he caught himself, at which point he was finally able to examine his surroundings.
The first thing he saw was a large, red-headed, chubby baby. Draco had escaped one nightmare only to be faced with another. The infant, clearly a Weasley, took one look at Draco before finding him wanting, and then the baby decided to wail.
“Bugger,” Draco said, scrambling back and away from the child based on the assumption that the greater the distance between Draco and the Granger-weasley’s offspring, the less likely they were to murder him on sight. Draco stumbled back into Potter, lying prone on the floor, just in time for Ronald Granger-Weasley himself to walk into the room.
The former Weasley - now mutual Granger-Weasley - had entered the room with the weariness of a veteran parent who had heard his baby cry many times before and was too tired to immediately be alarmed. That shifted in a blink of an eye. Weasley cast stupefy before Draco could so much as raise his hands in surrender. Weasley was shouting for his wife between follow up casting, further binding Draco, as well as Potter behind him, while seamlessly scooping up his child off the floor. Draco had no recollection of Weasley being this competent at school.
Hermoine Granger-weasley was fierce from the moment she stormed into the room, instilling a familiar terror in Draco who had learned early in life that Granger was brilliant and ruthless at defending those she loved. Her spellwork was quicker and even more efficient than her husband’s, exactly as Draco remembered from school. Draco was yanked up and off of Potter, then both of them were slammed into a wall, further bound into place by Granger’s magic.
Frozen solid, Draco could only move his eyes. This allowed him perfect view of the married couple’s glares as they aimed their wands at his vital organs. They had an unblemished view of Draco’s wide-eyed, terrified face.
That was when Hermoine realized who Draco was with. “Harry!” she exclaimed, running to Potter’s side. She cast spells as she went that Draco had never seen before, but sounded to be more complex detection charms. They caused bright multicolor flashes around Potter. Whatever they revealed satisfied Granger, who released his binds once she was in reach so she could catch him as he fell to the floor. There was no response from Potter throughout all of this. He was out cold, more bloody than he’d been at the safe house. Granger cast her own medical diagnostic spell, which provided a more thorough aura overlay. The damage flared a dark red around Potter’s head, as well as a new scary red light over his chest. Granger’s ability for advanced spellwork was put to the task as she once again launched into action, casting one intricate spell after another.
Weasley still cradled the baby, which had calmed in its parent’s arms. He rocked his child as he watched Granger work long enough for Potter to stabilize. A milestone must have been reached, because Draco saw tension ease out of Weasley. Only then did Weasley cast once to ease the binding on Draco’s face just enough he could flex his mouth to speak.
“Potter and I were attacked!” Malfoy gasped the moment the spell loosened enough to form words, having been waiting for any opportunity to explain himself.
Weasley glowered. “What did you do to Harry?” he demanded as if Draco hadn’t spoken. Weasley’s wand stayed trained on Draco. A clear threat.
Draco tried to shake his head but it wouldn’t budge. “We were attacked!” he repeated, more desperate than before. “He got caught in an anti-apparition ward and injured.”
Weasley scoffed. “Nice try, Malfoy,” and Draco realized Weasley didn’t believe him and wasn’t going to give him more time to explain.
“He got me through your wards! If I’d forced my way in your wards would have broken,” Draco insisted, his voice pleading. “Potter trusted me enough to bring me here, that’s the only way I could have gotten in. Please, you have to believe me.” He was begging now, shameless and terrified. Draco could see his begging hadn’t softened Weasley. Draco began to struggle in earnest, thrashing as hard as he could, which is to say not at all. Only his face contorting showed his efforts.
It was Granger who took Draco’s words to heart. “Shielding you may have been one of his most stupid decisions I’ve ever seen Harry make, but it would explain the spell damage he’s experiencing.” She had finally stopped casting, and turned now to her husband, drawing his attention away from Draco. “We need to get Harry to St Mungo’s.”
“You can’t. They can’t find him, they’re trying to kill us,” Malfoy insisted, even if it brought the terror of both of their attention back to him. He had just enough range of motion to wiggle his eyes back and forth, trying to meet both the Granger-Weasleys’ unsympathetic gazes. “All we did was send mail to the ministry and then we were attacked. And one of the healers at St Mungo’s attacked us last week when we were there. I swear, you can’t take him back, it’s not safe.”
“Bloody hell, what are you going on about?” Weasley snapped. “Who’s trying to kill you?”
Draco shrunk under Weasley’s temper, new fear triggered by a well-honed impulse to deflect anger. He tried to rationalize through it, he could stand up to a Weasley. Draco only stuttered a little when he mustered the courage to speak, “Potter said it was the somnum potio case.”
Apparently these were serious enough to break through Weasley’s skepticism. He looked at Granger, the two of their silent gazes holding a whole conversation. “I’ll get Marge,” Weasley said.
“No!” Draco shouted. This time when he wrestled against his binding spells his hands and fingers broke loose. It was euphoric. Draco doubled down on his efforts, twisting hard at each finger and wrist to gain even another millimeter of freedom.
“Malfoy, if you think I care one iota about your life right now when Harry is on the floor dying you’ve got another thing coming to you,” Weasley growled out, before being caught off guard when he noticed Draco’s movement.
Draco was able to shake his head this time. “That’s not it, that’s not it,” he insisted. He began to ramble in panic. “You can’t let anyone know where we are. You have a child here! If the shields fail they’d hurt your child!”
“Are you threatening my family?” Weasley seethed, even as Granger grabbed at his wand arm and said, “Let him finish.
Draco’s pulse was in his ears and his breath was so shallow he was afraid he’d pass out. He waited tensley as the Granger-Weasley stared at each other, having their own battle of wills that would determine Draco’s fate.
Weasley gave finally gave in, breaking eye contact with Granger and pulling his wand back, wrapping his wand hand around his baby to cradle it safely against his chest. Weasley glare was still hard when he snapped at Draco, “Fine then, explain yourself.”
Draco gulped, trying to bring moisture back to his throat. He licked dry lips. He wasn’t ready. You could tell which parts of his body had broken free because they were shaking. Draco’s voice wavered as he did try to explain himself. “We only sent three letters, all to the ministry. The floo wasn’t open as even ten minutes before someone sent back an explosion. Anti-apparition spells had already blocked us in, and it only took a few minutes more for attacks on Potter’s wards to begin. I know he was injured already, but his wards should have been strong enough to stand alone, but he needed to hold them. There had to be multiple people to build that level of power. Whoever attacked us was able to assemble a coven of casters in minutes to trap us and attack. If they did that there, they could repeat it here, it’s not safe.”
Weasley had gone pale, instinctively pulling the baby closer. He looked again to Granger for direction. Granger’s face was equally grim. She had been quicker to believe Draco’s story from the beginning. She was still monitoring Potter, the colors of her spell settling into a duller and less scary, but still dangerous, shade of red.
“We can’t risk it,” she said softly. Grimly, Wealsey agreed. Then wordlessly Granger released all the bindings on Draco. The suddenness of it caught him off guard and he sank to the floor. Draco was on hands and knees when Granger stepped forward to loop over him. “If you step one toe out of line, Malfoy, you best wish whoever is chasing you finds you before I do.”
Draco curled against the wall and didn’t make so much as a peep.
Satisfied her message was delivered, Granger left the room briefly then returned with a young girl on her hip. The girl was curious instead of worried, unaware of what was happening. Granger set her down next to the fireplace. Weasley kissed their baby before handing it to Granger, and then knelt down to bear hug the toddler and cover her face in kisses. She giggled and tried to squirm away. Malfoy averted his eyes to give them privacy, and save himself from the pain of remembering when he also had familial affection.
It took two trips for Granger to cart Potter and her children to safety. In the first, Granger took her children away through the floo, calling out “The Burrow!”
Once she left, Draco dared look at Harry full on. He was pale and clammy, dull where normally radiant. Draco reached a hand out to push Potter’s tangled hair out of his face.
“Hey!” Weasley barked. Draco startled and pulled back, huddling again against the wall. Granger returned to whisk Potter away.
Then it was just Weasley looming over Draco. Weasley rested his hands on his hips, his furrowed brow glowering down at the smaller man. The moment stretched out, Weasley’s eyes only narrowing as more time stretched on.
“I reckon this would be easier if you got to your feet,” Weasley said. He reached out a hand to Draco. Draco stared at it, then at Weasley’s stern expression. Draco didn’t know what to do, but a lifetime of following orders was hard to break and Draco tentatively took Weasley’s grasp. Weasley was strong and hefted Draco upwards with ease. Weasley clapped Draco on the shoulder as he steadied himself. “C’mon, I’m more organized in my office.”
That’s how Draco found himself sitting across from Weasley in a home office, hunched in on himself as he tried to take up as little space as possible. Weasley was scowling, but when he took one look at Malfoy’s uncontrolled shakes he also summoned a blanket that he insisted Draco drape over himself. Weasley glared suspiciously, but then sighed and summoned a giant mug with hot cocoa and bullied Draco into sipping it. Weasley still loomed and crossed his arms menacingly, but he gave Draco time and space to settle. The cocoa was good and the blanket was warm. It thawed Draco out and left him nearly in tears.
“Buck up, Malfoy, we’ve got work to do,” Weasley said at precisely the right time. Draco had the energy he needed to sniff back tears and the humiliation of knowing he owed Weasley for pulling him together.
But they did have work to do. Weasley asked questions methodically, and Draco recounted at a high-level the last few months of his life, before recounting in far more detail the more recent weeks, and in the finest detail he could possibly provide outlining the last few hours. Auror Campbell had been able to hold her sternness for hours, but Weasle broke early. He dropped the professional demeanor almost as soon as they started and asked more informal questions, then after twenty minutes he made snide jabs about every little thing, like Malfoy’s preference for coffee, muggle clothes, and insistence on using formal titles. Until finally, Draco couldn’t take it any more and snapped back, “That’s a lot of talk from someone still dressed by his mother.” Not his best insult, but Weasley was wearing a tattered jumper stitched with the letter “R”.
Instead of getting angry, Weasley just laughed. “I knew you still were a git somewhere in there,” he said while he chuckled. Then, with shrewd eyes, “let’s take it from the top.” They went through the entire story again, this time with Weasley poking harder at Draco’s answers, and Draco finding himself willing to be candid. Except when he wasn’t, and was sharp. At which point Weasley would laugh again, call him a name, and push him to answer anyway.
Finally, when the story was completed a second, much more thorough time, Weasley sat back and pondered. He looked Draco up and down, then said, “You and Harry,” then he made some vague gesture Draco didn’t understand.
Malfoy was tired enough more than comfortable enough to roll his eyes and drawl, “I don’t speak Weasley, you’ll have to use English if you want me to answer. Or French. I also know a spot of Italian and Greek, and a small bit of medieval German. Try any of those.”
Weasley rolled his eyes and grimaced. “You’re going to make me say it?” he asked.
Then Draco understood the question. He had stayed vague with the details between him and Potter. Draco blushed now that he was on the spot. He attempted to make the same hand gesture Weasley had. “Well, let’s just go with that.”
Weasley sighed and rubbed his face with one hand. “What an idiot,” he said. Draco was about to take offense, but Weasley waved him off. “I mean Harry.”
Draco felt a different sort of offense. It was one thing to personally believe he wasn’t relationship material for Potter, and another thing entirely for Potter’s best friend to imply as much. Not the sort of thing to bicker about, though, so Draco pursed his lips and stared at his feet instead. He felt foolish for finding any comfort in Weasley’s familiar ribbing.
“So here’s what I’m seeing,” Weasley said, moving the conversation along. “They weren’t trying to kill you at the safe house.”
Malfoy actually laughed, his discomfort and self loathing making it brittle.
“I’m serious,” Weasley said. “The way you described the explosion at the apothecary was that it devastated everything. The explosion at the safe house just knocked pictures off the wall and broke a lamp. Clearly if they wanted to do lethal damage they could have. They didn’t even do enough damage to take out your entire connection to the floo network. I think they were being cautious.”
“It was an explosion,” Draco reminded him. “And, they were at St. Mungo’s waiting to assassinate me!”
Weasley shook his head. “No, you don’t know they were there to assassinate you. If they were, it would have been easier to do that during your initial treatment. If these folks are that connected they would have known you were at St. Mungo’s nearly as soon as you arrived, and they could have interrupted your recovery before it had a chance to happen. Instead they waited until you were healed to do anything. They wanted you to get better.”
Draco was highly skeptical. “Potter said-” he started.
“Potter’s an idiot,” Weasley interrupted. “I mean, I love the guy, but he’s brash and he has a lot of blind spots he doesn’t account for. His theory’s not a bad one, it just doesn’t hold up.” Weasley sighed and slouched onto his desk. “Harry and Marge don’t need you alive to confirm you were at Sewlyn’s house and were dosed with the poison. Frankly, that potion fucks with your head so it’s impossible to get a clean pensive out of you so you couldn’t prove anything. You dying wouldn’t stop much on that front. Sure, it might be convenient, but it’s not worth all this hassle.” Weasley paused to ponder. “What about you is worth all this hassle?”
Draco’s mouth opened and closed a few more times before he found the words. “I’m worthless,” was what he said.
Weasley’s stare was distinctly one of pity. Draco hadn’t accounted for what being pitied by Ronald Granger-Weasley would feel like. It was complete shit.
“I get that this might seem strange to you, but being poor isn’t the same as being worthless,” Weasley said.
Draco blushed beet red, remembering all the times he’d mocked Weasley for being poor. “I know that, that’s not what I meant,” he muttered.
Weasley was nodding along. “Sure, sure, you probably meant something much deeper and self disparaging. Look, Draco, I’m not talking about your insecurities here, either.” Weasley sat up fully so he could reach behind him and pull something off a shelf. It was an old bound tomb with rough edges. He flipped it round and placed it on the desk with care, before sliding it towards Draco. On the cover was one word: Weasley.
“I get that you’ve been going through a whole crisis and that’s rough. If I liked you I’d help you through it, but I don’t like you and I’m not the sort to fake it. I’m going to do for you what I can, and that’s tell it to you straight. What do you say, you willing to set aside the baggage and hear me out?” Weasley asked.
For a long moment Draco could only stare. Weasley stared back, not angry or pitying, nor with the tiniest hint of affection. Just with openness and honesty, and a giant amount of kindness. It felt like such a leap to trust in Weasley of all people, who’s good natured conversation had already hurt him once and was certain to again. Yet Draco had spent nearly two weeks with Potter, who hid every feeling and used every loophole to be dishonest without technically lying. Draco was desperate for what Weasley had to offer.
“Alright,” Draco agreed.
Weasley accepted it with a nod, then wasted no time in beginning.
“I don’t know how much actual history Lucious taught you, but here’s what my dad told me: pure bloods aren’t any more magic than the next witch or wizard, we just have a long, meticulously recorded history with a lot of feuds and alliances that stretch over centuries. If you look hard enough I’m sure someone in your own bloodline was muggle born, but it doesn’t matter because they or one of their descendants married into your name and took on all the magical obligations that your family held.” Weasley opened the book, and it flipped directly to the page he wanted with the ease of having befriended your version of a blasted, sentient monstrosity. Weasley pointed at the page to a handwritten record from the eighteenth century, detailing a disagreement with the Malfoys. “Here you have it, the first recorded fall out between our families. Long before the wizard wars. We don’t like each other in part because our magic doesn’t like each other, because some ancestor decided to bind our families for barmy reasons.”
“Is that why your offspring hated me?” Malfoy asked.
Weasley laughed again. “No, he’s 10 months old and you’re weird. Focus in, I’m trying to tell you something important. While the Weasleys have a long record and got thrown in with you pure-blood lot, our records are nothing like the Malfoy’s. You probably have a whole library of this stuff.” Weasley closed the book and tapped on its cover. “What do you know that might be in there that’s worth going through this much trouble?”
Draco didn’t like to think of the Malfoy’s long history, which certainly would end with him. “The ministry took everything. They confiscated the manor, razed it to the ground. They emptied our vaults. There’s nothing left.”
Weasley was nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, they took everything on record. I take it Lucious didn’t walk you through the off record things? Your family goes back over a thousand years, there has to be stuff that magic would recognize as your inheritance that the ministry never knew of. Hell, the Weasley’s have a three hundred year old agreement with pixies that still grants us access to a hundred acres of forest if we take up hunting. Things like that.”
“N-no,” Draco stumbled. His father had kept meticulous records, and Draco could remember sitting on his lap as a child as he reviewed the financial books. They were stored in a special room next to his father’s office, where only important, serious documentation was kept. His father had stopped revealing the room as Draco aged and more and more death eaters visited their home. By the time Malfoy was fourteen his father had cut him off completely from learning to manage the estate. On his charitable days, Draco admitted to himself that was likely to keep him safe from the conflict brewing.
However, his father also never spoke of historic magical deals the Malfoys had access to. Unless you counted bedtime fairy tales about his ancestors, or mythical epics at the solstice and on All Hallows Eve. The Malfoy’s had grown rich owning magical land, but also through trading. Draco recalled aloud, “I mean, sometimes they told stories about sea trade routes and mermaids, or how to outsmart a dragon, but this wasn’t history.”
“Uh huh,” Weasley said. He closed his own book and put it back on the shelf behind him as he spoke. “Go out on a limb and pretend maybe there was some truth there. If it was history, and I was an illegal potion smuggling operation, maybe I’d want that deal with the mermaids or the dragons, or whatever else I knew the Malfoys had.” He turned back to Draco to make sure Draco had picked up on the sarcasm. “They're after you alive.”
Draco gulped. “Even if they did, these stories are just fairy tales.” Draco said. “How would you make sense of any of it?”
Weasley shrugged. “I wouldn’t. I know you’re opposed, but we need to bring in Marge. She’s our best bet of piecing everything together.”
Draco slumped into his chair. It worried him, but they didn’t have a lot of options. How long before whoever was chasing them decided to check on Harry’s friends and family? Draco suddenly realized that he would care if hiding out with Weasley got the bloke hurt.
“How do we contact her?”
In the end, Weasley had Draco send an owl. They sent it from the same public owlery Draco always went to, addressed to Auror Margaret Campbell with the short message “Fancy a cuppa? - Draco Malfoy.” Weasley said Auror Campbell was smart and would put the pieces together.
Somehow, it was only late afternoon Sunday when Draco and Weasley claimed a table at Sereni-Tea. Just hours after Malfoy had fled for his life. Weasley had bought them fresh pastries and tea. Trina had been so pleased to see Draco here with another friend, Draco had squirmed under the pressure of it while Weasley laughed at him. Weasley wolfed down his snack while Draco picked at his food. He was feeling twitchy again, gnawing at his lips with his teeth while he picked the scone apart, reducing it to crumbs. There was only 45 minutes until the store closed, both were betting that was enough time for Auror Campbell to find them. Draco watched the clock.
“So, you and Harry,” Weasley said again, drawing Malfoy’s focus from the clock. “What type of relationship is this exactly?”
Draco stared down at his untouched tea. “A business relationship,” he said.
Weasley popped another bite of pastry in his mouth. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Draco half shrugged. “We’ve been helping each other out. Quid pro quo.”
Weasley hmmed in response. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Harry doesn’t do quid pro quo, you know.” Draco did look up then to give him a hard, unconvinced look and Weasley just shrugged back. “You’ve known him as long as me, and maybe you didn’t ever really know the guy, but you saw what it was like. Since he turned eleven and entered the wizarding world, people everywhere have felt entitled to him. Just look at you. You were an even bigger git then. Probably offered one of those ‘quid pro quo’ relationships and expected him to jump at the chance. Have you ever seen him take up an offer like that?”
Draco felt his cheeks redden in shame, but he did say, “I was a very big git. I’m sorry.”
Weasley huffed out a laugh. “Merlin, don’t be remorse. It’s over with now, but that’s not my point. Harry only ever gave freely and unconditionally.” Weasley paused to sigh. “Now he’s swung too far the other way and he’s closed off and doesn’t give anyone anything. There’s no quid pro quo because he’ll just take your favor and run without ever returning it.” Draco did glance up then, and found Weasley watching him shrewdly. “You’ve got me wondering what exactly is going on between the two of you that has him going out on a limb to be so helpful.”
Draco was saved from answering just then the door to the shop opened. Both Weasley and Malfoy turned. Auror Campbell strolled into the tea shop in full auror regalia. She’d clearly seen the pair before entering the shop and lost no time in striding towards them.
“Auror Granger-Weasley, Mr. Malfoy,” she greeted gruffly.
Weasley tsked at her. “Calm down and have a seat, Marge.” He kicked out a chair to make space.
Auror Campbell’s eyes narrowed, but she acquiesced and took a seat. Her gaze settled on Draco, looking him over from head to toe. “You’re looking well,” she sneered.
Draco was taken aback by the hostility. He glanced at Weasley, who was sighing again. He had the put upon look of someone who dealt with this too often and was over it. “Don’t be such a hard ass, Marge. This is for the case.”
Auror Campbell’s face pinched slightly, but she nodded. “Of course, anything for the case.” Her tone still held a trace of a sneer, but Weasley didn’t seem to care.
Weasley was all business and inquired, “We need the inside scoop, any chance you’ve heard word what happened at the ministry this morning?”
“No, I was at home, what happened?” Auror Campbell replied. Draco could have sworn he caught a hint of a smile for half a moment, but he might have imagined it.
Weasley barged ahead. “We don’t know for sure, but Malfoy and Harry were attacked offsite. Malfoy explained that you and Harry thought Sewlyn was trying to kill him, but we’ve been talking it over and I don’t think that’s the case. I think Malfoy has something they’re trying to get their hands on, and we want to run through as many details with you as we can to see if anything sticks.”
Auror Campbell was silent a touch too long before agreeing, “Of course, we should do that immediately,” She turned back to Malfoy, who hadn’t dared to look away this whole time, and said, “I hope the attack wasn’t too frightful.” Malfoy examined each micro expression on her face, trying to match her mocking tone to his recollection of this woman when she interrogated him. She had been terrifyingly cold then, but with a driven efficiency instead of cruelty. Afterwards, she had taken pity on Malfoy and given him clean clothes. This woman had no pity in her.
Weasley was getting to his feet. “Alright, think of somewhere we can go that isn’t any of our houses or the ministry, I’ll be back in a wink and we’ll get out of here.”
Draco grabbed at his arm, “Wait.”
Weasley shook him off. “Just going to the loo, Malfoy, give me a minute.” Then to his fellow auror, “ Keep an eye on him, yeah?”
Draco glanced from Weasley to Auror Campbell and back again. They worked together, surely Weasley knew her better than Draco did. Draco sat back in his chair and let Weasley walk away.
Auror Campbell’s eyes followed Weasley until he stepped out of sight, a small smile twisting on her lips and twisting Draco’s insides at the same time. The moment Weasley was gone the door to the tea shop opened again.
This time it was Auror Clark.
Draco was on his feet in an instant, taking shaky steps in the direction Weasley went.
It was Auror Campbell who declared, “Draco Malfoy, you’re under arrest.”
“What?” Draco said, whipping back around to Potter’s partner.
From the doorway, Auror Clark cast a binding spell on Malfoy’s arms. “Breach of probation,” Auror Clark said. The two of them had planned this out and were working together.
The shock of the situation dulled Draco’s reactions, it was like he was watching himself from outside his body. He saw himself turn to shout, “Weasley!” but the sound didn’t carry. The auror’s had cast sound dampeners before he could open his mouth.
“Don’t make this hard on yourself, Malfoy,” Auror Campbell said as she grabbed his arm and hauled. Draco stumbled forward towards the door and his waiting probation officer. His body felt numb, which helped to slow down their progress when he couldn’t think to actively fight back. Auror Campbell had a vice-like grip and still forced him steadily forward.
Draco twisted backwards, catching a final glimpse of the store. Trina was around the counter, her fist pounding on a barrier the aurors must have set. The toilet door was just opening, allowing Weasley to step out just in time to see Auror Campbell hauling Draco away. Draco thought about shouting for help, but it felt as if he had lost touch with his body and he could no longer tell it how to move. Weasley had his wand out and a spell on his lips when Draco felt a final tug, magical this time. Auror Campbell pulled him into apparition, forcing him into the crushing sensation of travel.
Draco couldn’t find his feet when he landed. It wasn’t until he was once again bending over to heave that he began to feel anything. It was mostly pain. He had grown too familiar with pain lately. The auror dropped him and he continued to sick up on the floor.
“Too weak a wizard for apparition, Draco?” came Auror Campbell’s sneering voice. The tone was further off than even at the shop, and also familiar. Draco glanced up at her just in time to see her cast revelio, a revealing charm. Auror Campbell’s appearance swiftly melted away, morphing her body into a larger and more imposing form.
Draco actually whimpered at the sight of Mr. Nibill, looming over him with wand outstretched. It sparked a terror far beyond being at the Granger-Weasleys’ mercy could ever have conjured.
Mr. Nibill grinned. “You’ve been causing quite a lot of trouble, Draco.”
It was as if Draco had never left the apothecary. He frantically shook his head. The motion made him dizzy and his vision blurred. “No, no, I didn’t do anything,” he said, stubbornly staying focused even as he began to crawl backwards, his eyes never leaving Mr. Nibill’s wand in case his former boss began to cast. The world felt like it was warbling around Draco, worse than any previous panic attack.
“You were supposed to do nothing, you had almost made it to the end of probation and your ministry trace. You just couldn’t stay out of trouble long enough to get there. You’re pathetic,” Mr. Nibill growled.
“I didn’t break probation!” Draco shouted, his eyes frantically searched the room and sure enough landed on Auror Clark. “I didn’t break probation!” he shouted again, even if it was just another polyjuiced wizard.
Auror Clark held up a letter Draco recognized. “Tomorrow, when this isn’t recorded, you will have,” he said. He held up a second one, which Draco recognized as having the cover note Potter had written to Auror Campbell. “With no one to back you up, it will be your word versus mine and I can make sure you’re not able to talk.”
The panic was seizing in Draco’s chest. He gasped for breath, unable to get in air. The dizziness caught him off guard and he lurched sideways, so terrified of what would happen if he passed out now. He had to stay awake, had to stay focused. If he could just keep himself together he could make it to tomorrow, and Potter and Weasley would find the third letter and prove he hadn’t broken probation, stopping Auror Clark from arresting him.
Then there was a third voice, and his nightmare got worse.
“Draco, dear,” Mr. Sewlyn said, “I will keep you out of Azkaban.”