Chocolate
The next full moon snuck up on Draco. With everything that’d been going on, he’d let most of his potions contracts slip to the back of his mind unless they had an urgent deadline. He was lucky, he realized, that Andrea had been helping him and acting as his assistant out of sheer boredom for the last few days because otherwise he would have defaulted on at least four different contracts.
As it was, he was running down to the wire. A stingey old woman was coming to pick up the latest batch of her monthly nail-growth potion in less than an hour, but was it ready? No. Draco grabbed a thin rope he’d bought in the beginning of his potions career and tied it around the neck of the cauldron. It was old and frayed, but it was woven with charms that would speed up the brewing process.
Thankfully, the Wolfsbane batch for this month was the one that the dysprosium had ruined so Draco had had almost an entire month’s head start brewing it. If he hadn’t, there was no way in hell it would have been done. He’d just finished ladling out the dose he’d calculated and placed a wax seal over the cork of the bottle when there was a knock at the door.
“It’s open,” Draco called in that general direction.
He’d learned very early on in life to never, ever tell an unknown guest to ‘come in’ or to just open the door because that was a very good way to get a ghoul infestation. Saying ‘it’s open’ was a neutral statement of fact that couldn’t be interpreted as permission or invitation. For a human, though, it was enough.
“You seem to be hard at work.”
Draco did not whirl around—he kept his body resolutely still and continued stirring his cauldron—but his gut clenched. He’d been expecting Sal, or maybe even Andrea if she was done being mad at him. He should have known better.
“Mr. Drummond. What a surprise.”
Instinct urged him to question what the man was doing here or to gently prod, asking him if perhaps he might be interested in a teeth-whitening potion or a brew for bad breath. But Draco kept his mouth shut and merely listened. He tracked the sound of the psychoanalyst entering the room, closing the door behind him, and leaning against one of the less-crowded tables.
“Please, call me Aidan. May I call you Draco?”
Draco decidedly did not like this strange, overly-polite version of the man. His behavior and his random appearance were suspicious at best and Draco felt under the edge of his worktop for the small blade he’d taped there. Just in case.
“It won’t matter whether I say yes or no, so you might as well. What are you doing here, Aidan?”
Draco felt the man smile and, just for a tiny fraction of a second, Draco could sense some kind of energy. It wasn’t the same energy he was used to with Potter/Mr.Doe or Andrea, but it was something similar enough that it made it hard to focus on his potion. Aidan was amused by his attitude, but Draco wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“I thought I might introduce myself properly. Care for a little chat?”
“I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
Aidan smiled at the sharpness in Draco’s voice, walking his fingers along the edge of Draco’s desk before sitting himself in Draco’s chair. It was an obvious display of dominance, but Draco didn’t let himself react. He added a few more pinches of rose petal, waited for the telltale plume of pink smoke, and cast a stasis charm before turning to face the intruder.
“Can I help you with something, Mr. Drummond?”
That made Aidan smile again, but this time it felt condescending or as if the man knew something Draco didn’t. Draco fought himself to keep his shoulders squared. He watched, feigning passive irritation, as Aidan picked up his notebook and began rifling through it. The whole thing was written in French and in Draco’s personal shorthand so there was no way the psychoanalyst could understand it, but it wasn’t about reading his notes. Aidan was demonstrating that he could read them, and there was nothing Draco could do about it.
“Mmmm…” the man mused, trailing his finger over the inside cover where Draco had written his name. “Potioneer Malfoy… I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”
“Wish I could say the same.”
It was a dig—Draco didn't know much but he could tell there was history between Aidan and Potter. Draco wasn’t sure how far he wanted to push, but he’d been bracing himself for this confrontation since that first meeting in the Ministry briefing room. He was ready. Aidan probably assumed that Potter had explained their history. And, he could guess that Aidan was the type of man who would be more offended by not being known than by being known for the wrong reasons. Judging by the flicker of irritation in the man’s brow, Draco had guessed correctly.
“Pity,” he drawled, as if it truly was. “I’ve been told I’m quite interesting. You seem like the curious type and, given that I already know so much about you, it seems only fair to offer a bit of information in return.”
Draco shrugged, motioning halfheartedly for Aidan to speak as if he couldn’t care less which option the man chose. Internally, he prepared himself to catalogue every single detail. Not necessarily as truth, but as information nevertheless because even knowing what Aidan chose to lie about could be revealing in the end.
“Very well, I’ll start with the basics. My name is Aidan Drummond, as you know, and I’m a trained psychoanalyst currently doing contract work for the Ministry. I trained in the States and, for the last two or three years, I’ve done contract work there along the Eastern Seaboard. Tons of crazies there. Before that, I lived here in London doing a variety of odd jobs—including dating your precious Chosen One.”
Draco did not react. He didn’t let himself stiffen or flinch or even make a face as that knowledge hit him. Potter and Aidan had dated. Aidan had been trying to get a reaction, and Draco was bloody determined not to give him one. All of his awareness and sense of existence turned inwards and he coiled deep inside his body, feeling his arms and expression move like he was operating a large machine.
“Perhaps Harry already told you, then. Still, I thought it might be beneficial for us to take a moment to discuss our… mutual interest.”
“I wasn’t aware we had one.”
Anger. What had started as amusement or a patronizing sort of indulgence had given way to sheer aggravation. The sad thing was that Draco wanted to cave to that anger. He wanted to grovel and appease and do anything in his power to make the man across from him less upset. Aidan, he realized, had primed him for that response. All the little displays of dominance and all the not-so-subtle demonstrations of how much power Aidan had were because of this. Because Aidan wanted him to cave.
Vaguely, his brain reminded him that this was not a one-on-one conflict even if it seemed like one because ‘Harry’ was involved in this too. He considered, for a second, whose anger he was more afraid of. Aidan was devious and invasive, clearly, but he didn’t stand a chance compared to the raw magical power that Draco knew Harry possessed. He’d seen the Gryffindor lose control before—he’d been on the receiving end of that wand—and it wasn’t even a competition.
“If you think furrowing your brow at me is going to earn you information, then you’ve severely underestimated how well I can hold my tongue. Even junior interrogators are more intimidating than you.”
More anger. Again, Draco felt that overwhelming impulse to back down and to mitigate as much of the negative emotion as he could. Harry would lose it if he knew Aidan was here, cornering me alone, Draco thought. He’d been tense and defensive whenever the man had been in the room—even physically blocking his path to Draco once. His brain latched onto that thought.If he hadn’t remembered about Harry, Draco knew he would have buckled under the weight of that anger instantly.
But he did have Harry, he reminded himself, even if the Auror wasn’t here currently. Gently, he touched the circle of cord around his wrist, tracing over the knot, and forced himself to take a deep breath while keeping his back to Aidan. Dammit! He was Draco fucking Malfoy and there was no way in hell that he was going to bow his head and snivel at the feet of some arrogant psychoanalyst prick.
“What? No comeback?” Draco asked, testing the waters. “I’m not surprised. You seem like the kind who is all bark and no bite.”
Draco held his breath, waiting for the man to take the bait and stalk across the room towards him. There was no sound of movement or footsteps on the floor, though. He pulled out a spoonful of the potion and did a mint leaf test even though it was nowhere near ready, just trying to keep his hands occupied. After a few beats of silence, Draco heard a low chuckle.
“I should have known you'd have an attitude, especially given all the stories he's told me. He always was partial to brats."
Draco held himself as stiff and still as he possibly could. Partial to brats? Obviously, there were many other connotations to that word and Aidan might just be lying through his teeth but… That was not a concern for right now. Draco blinked a few times, shoving that piece of information down into his subconscious to be considered later. Aidan was still waiting for a reaction, he realized. Aidan who had dated Harry Potter.
"You don't strike me as a brat."
More of an asshole, Draco thought, but he was very aware that Aidan could be recording this conversation so he kept that to himself. He had made a good point. If, according to Aidan, Harry was ‘partial to brats’ then either he was lying or Harry hadn’t been ‘partial’ to him.
"Oh, Draco,” the man cooed, tsking a couple of times. “What makes you think I was ever his?"
Draco turned and raised an eyebrow, fairly sure they weren't being recorded now but unwilling to risk it. He wanted to ask—he wanted confirmation that they were talking about the same thing and that Aidan wasn’t just fucking with him—but he couldn’t say it. Instead, Aidan lowered his voice and stepped closer.
"Harry knelt for me, Malfoy—not the other way around."
Draco swallowed hard. Given everything he’d observed from Harry over the last few months and given how Aidan had said he was ‘partial to brats’, Draco had never considered that possibility. Was Harry a switch? Was Aidan just a very, very good liar? But now wasn't the time.
"It's very telling that you emphasize the pronoun rather than the past tense, Drummond."
Even more anger. This time, it was tempered and less reactive but it was there and Draco felt it immediately in the air. He cocked his head innocently to one side, watching the psychoanalyst. In reality, he was watching for any signal or warning that Aidan was going for his wand but he let the man think it was looking for some kind of recourse or response. Rather than raise his hand to hit or reach for his wand, Aidan just smiled.
“Touché. Perhaps I should be asking you about Harry’s more recent ‘preferences’.”
Oh, that was… different. Draco tried not to narrow his eyes or cross his arms. He leaned back against his table, mirroring Aidan’s body language in every possible way, but his mind was running wild with that implication. Did Aidan think that he and Harry were together? Or that they ever had been? That would certainly explain this abrupt visit full of snark and power plays, but why would he think that to begin with?
“I’m hardly an expert on the subject compared to you.”
Aidan’s shoulders unquestionably relaxed at that statement, even if his eyes still shone with irritation. Was this all an issue of jealousy? Sure, he and Potter had grown up together and, due to their respective obsessions, knew each other rather well but that had been years ago. And distinctly non-sexual or romantic.
“Sure,” Aidan conceded, finally moving towards the door. “You keep telling yourself that, Malfoy.”
With that, he Apparated right out of Draco’s office, never even touching the door handle. Draco cursed and rushed to the nearest potions, trying to make sure that the surge of magic hadn’t affected them—this was why there were bloody designated Apparition points, dammit! But they all seemed relatively fine, so Draco made himself breathe. He touched the knot on his wrist and felt an answering pulse of reassurance from the magic there.
What the fuck had just happened?
Draco shook his head and resisted the urge to barricade his office door with one of the heavier cauldrons. Aidan wouldn’t be back—not when he’d just successfully gotten the last word—and even if he tried he could clearly just Apparate straight into Draco’s office. He ignored the shaking of his hands and attempted to bottle another dose of nail-growth potion.
“Draco?”
Swearing under his breath, Draco set down the bottle and the ladle, electing this time to open the door himself. The last thing he needed was another unwelcome visitor. Unfortunately, he’d already recognized the voice and he knew before he even touched the door that it was Potter.
“What do you want.”
To his credit, the Auror did look at least a little sheepish for showing up completely unannounced. He stepped into Draco’s office and moved to stand to one side, but let Draco decide whether or not to close the door behind him. Draco did.
“Well, the full moon is on Sunday so I was coming to see if the next trial potion was ready or if you wanted me to ask Andrea to come work with you tomorrow, since it’s a weekend. I was going to owl and stop by after work, but I felt something in the wards. I…”
Potter trailed off, but he still had creases of worry in his expression and Draco couldn’t be too mad at him even if he wanted to be. All his anger and tension had been used up in his ‘chat’ with Aidan. He touched the knot on his wrist again, feeling that same reassurance, but this time he saw Potter’s eyes immediately fly to the cord.
“You’re wearing it.”
He sounded genuinely shocked. Draco rolled his eyes, pretending not to have noticed the emotion in his voice, and shrugged. If he needed to, he could make up a justification for why wearing it had been the smarter option—he just hoped he wouldn’t have to. Because it probably wasn’t the smarter option…
“Your lovely little psychoanalyst buddy paid me a visit.”
Immediately, Harry’s eyes darkened. They darted around the room, as if Aidan might still be there or as if he might have left some kind of ticking bomb in his wake. Draco rolled his eyes again, pretending this time that his brain didn’t see that worry as protective. Potter probably just didn’t want to run into his ex unexpectedly, right?
“Are you okay?”
Oh Merlin’s fucking balls. Potter was really not helping Draco’s whole plan to be nonchalant and not read too far into anything the Auror did. That was not supposed to be his first question. Dammit.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Draco answered slowly, as if revealing whether or not he was okay was deeply personal. “He was less creepy than he is when you’re around honestly, but more antagonistic. Or rather… antagonized I guess.”
The corners of Harry’s mouth turned up and Draco was blinded by the realization that Potter was smiling at him. Because of him. Even if there was clearly no love lost between Aidan and the Auror, Draco had still expected at least a little bit of irritation when he admitted to provoking the man. Instead, Harry looked amused.
“I’d expect nothing less from you, of all people. How’s the new batch going?”
Good, Draco thought, something concrete to focus on. Because his brain was two seconds away from completely shutting down with the idea of meeting Harry’s expectations. That was stupid, though, and irrelevant so he turned to his shelf of deliverables once again. This time, he withdrew a small spherical bottle that was a light, creamy purple.
“Here,” he said, handing it over. “I’m still not completely certain what caused the last reaction but I took out any Mugwort just in case it caused some kind of nightmare-state. I also put in some lavender and rosemary, which protect against nightmares. No monkshood, of course. He shouldn’t have any kind of reaction to this one and it’s pretty mild but you still have the anti-anaphylaxis potion and I brewed a less potent revitalization potion too. It should wake him up if it happens again.”
Potter nodded, tucking both vials into the pocket of his robe. Those green eyes glanced around the room and Draco couldn’t help thinking that it felt much more right for Potter to have green eyes rather than the glamoured brown. Maybe it was just what he’d gotten used to. He felt those eyes land once against on the cord around his wrist, darting back up to his face as soon as Potter saw him looking.
“You never even asked me what the bracelet did, or what it was for.”
Draco shrugged. No, he didn’t have an explanation for why he’d put it on other than ‘I trusted you’ or blatant curiosity. Or a severe disregard for his own safety. But that didn’t mean that he was going to refuse an explanation if Potter was willing to give him one, of course.
“It’s a protective bracelet.”
Even though Draco had assumed as much, hearing those words from Potter himself was like a blow to the gut. He swallowed hard and nodded for him to continue, as if that was obvious.
“Each of the two strands is heavily laced with warding magic and defensive charms. I charmed one, and I had Andrea charm the other. Do you know what that knot is?”
“I’ve seen it before,” Draco replied, trying not to give away anything.
“It’s called a Carrick Bend knot and it’s popular for sailing, among other things. It can be merely decorative, or it can be used to join two different ropes together so they won’t come undone. In this case, it’s both. It also joins my magic and Andrea’s magic to create a stronger protective force for you. Ideally, your magic would be in one of the strands which would strengthen your connection to the bracelet, but I didn’t want to impose or ask you to do magic you weren’t comfortable doing.”
Harry glanced at his right sleeve where Draco’s wand was tucked, but Draco was quick to divert his attention. It was clear that that last part had been meant as a question, but Draco had no intention of explaining his magic or why he never seemed to cast spells.
“What other things is it used for?”
At that, Harry smiled. Draco hadn’t meant to make the question sound coy or falsely innocent, but it came out with a heavy dose of both qualities. He ran his finger over the knot again, remembering exactly where he knew it from and wondering if Harry knew it for the same reasons—or, even if he did, if he was bold enough to admit it outloud.
“A lot of different things,” Harry replied, smile still playing at his lips. “Sailing, like I said, moving cargo, macrame, basket weaving… And other things. You said you’d seen it before, though, so perhaps I should ask you what it’s used for.”
It was Draco’s turn to smile. A faint blush crept up into his cheeks and he hid it by turning to his table, sweeping a few leftover herb stems into his hand. He was still very aware of Harry’s presence behind him. Waiting.
“Alas, it seems to have slipped my mind.”
Harry laughed under his breath—the sound sent a shiver of warmth up Draco’s back, which doubled when he realized he’d caused it—and pushed himself off the table. How could the git seem so… at ease around him? Patting his pocket, Harry seemed to double check that he had the potions and Draco heard him conjure something but didn’t look to see what it was. Even if he really wanted to.
“Mm, how unfortunate. Do let me know if the memory comes back to you, Draco. I’ll be anxiously awaiting your bill.”
With that, Harry left—through the door like a fucking normal person, thankfully—and Draco finally began to breathe for real. He smiled, remembered Aidan, frowned, and then set his face into a neutral expression. What a morning… Convinced that Harry was actually gone now, Draco turned to see if the Auror had left whatever he’d conjured behind.
It was a large hot chocolate.
Draco didn’t even hesitate to take a long sip and he relished the notes of cinnamon and… was that eggnog? If Harry had managed to find a coffee shop that had eggnog in September Draco was going to lose his fucking mind. He loved eggnog. It was just sickeningly sweet enough to make his jaw hurt in the best way.
Merlin… The surprise visit from Aidan couldn’t compare to a gift of eggnog hot chocolate. Draco smiled despite himself, letting the warmth seep through the paper cup and into his perpetually cold hands. Today had been a roller coaster of a day and it wasn’t even noon yet. Talking with Harry (when he wasn’t pissed) always left Draco humming with that familiar energy and it still buzzed beneath his skin.
Despite the morning’s disruptions, he managed to be very productive.
By four in the afternoon, he’d handed over all three potions he’d needed to deliver that day. While a good portion of the profit went directly to Whirlwind, a smaller portion was still paid directly to him upon delivery of the product. That, combined with a generous tip from his last client, had completely restocked his coin purse.
Feeling good, despite his horrid night, Draco clocked out early. He pocketed his newfound riches, took the train six stops to the nearest chain store, and bought two bottles of slightly less cheap wine. While waiting in line, he also grabbed a chocolate bar. It promised delicate swirls of white chocolate and milk chocolate, which made his mouth water. Compared to whatever ‘mystery’ canned food he could have for dinner, the chocolate sounded like a much better option and he ate half of it before he even got home.