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The Principle of Sympathy	By : heerayni Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 5832 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not Own any part or character from The Harry Potter series, Or The Master of Magics Trilogy, They belong to J.k. Rowling and Lyndon Hardy, i make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Author's Note:

Special Thanks goes out to Delia Cerrano and AlexKdp

For Delia : This story is Draco and Harry centered. Its a Drarry First then a mystery adventure second.. I know its plot-driven and all but stay with me and i will make sure that its worth the while.. Thanks a lot for the trust..even if this chapter is called Undeserved trust.

For Alexkdp

Okay, so your review left me a little speechless with all its enthusiasm and general sweetness and i vowed, that when the smut comes, i will multiply the amount of it by 6 just so you can get your fill, because of your really sweet and encouraging review. No need to worry, i fully intend to finish this fic and see it to the end, and it will have loads of smut before it comes to that!:D Stay with me my fan/follower/stalker... though the one i would prefer the most wasn't in the list. How about friend?

Thankyou!

Please keep reviewing!:D

Chapter 10. Undeserved Trust.

Wafaoon ki hum say tawwaqu nahi hai

Magar aik baar aazma ker to daikho

Zamanay ko apna bana ker to daikha

Hamein bhi tum apna bana ker to daikho

(You don't expect my devotion to last...

But be kind enough to give in to me once..

You have made the world bow to your will...

Save a little compassion for I already am kneeling in your love...)

He knew he should have patrolled this part of the estate first thing on the shift. His father always told him that this was the most dangerous part of it and should be patrolled before midnight at all costs. But he had been held up by the Avery and Bishop grimy, dirty sods that they were. He had to dodge all inappropriate touching, wand and hands and deliver them to their designated rooms before Rabastan got air of it. Then ONLY Draco would be in trouble and that vile animal was nothing short in cruelty than his brother or his sister-in-law. He was only quieter about it, which made him more dangerous in books of Draco.

Of all the nights it had to be this night that all possible obstacles and delays found his way. He had been dreading this patrol route for the whole past week since it had been assigned. He looked up at the dark cold starry sky, It felt as if the constellations themselves were warning him of danger ahead. There was nothing to it, he glanced up to find the Moon just a point short of full. As he incanted the night-vision charm Severus had taught him. It was very useful magic, there was no doubt, but after a while it gave him a bad headache.

The “Coppice” as it was called for some odd reason was rife with Dark magic of its own. Despite its rather economic size, the woodland covered enough area to be home to numerous kinds of Magical creatures. It was one of the reasons that the Dark lord had been so keen on making the Manor his headquarters. The natural defense the woodland provided for the southern border of the estate was quite genius of his ancestors. His senses on high alert and wand at the ready in the dead cold of the night, he slowly stepped onto the dirt pavement leading into the woods.

It had not snowed in a week for some strange reason but that only meant that it was even more colder than when it actually snowed. He hastily re-casted a second warming charm around him, alongside I silencing charm on his feet that were making too much noise crunching over dead leaves. He was hardly hundred feet into the coppice when he felt the change in air. It was heavy, muted and full of malice as if he could taste the metallic taste of it on the tip of his tongue. He stopped in his trek. Looking around carefully. It was like smelling despair and helplessness. Like someone calling out to you when you are under water. He moved along the trek a little slowly wand clutched in hand all senses on high alert and then it hit him out of nowhere. Pain and death. It washed over and through him like bucket of chilled water, only there was no form to it, heavier than air, more liquid than water. He felt his dormant sixth sense waking up to full capacity. It told him that someone was dying nearby… No, someone was being painfully killed.

The sixth sense Severus had been talking to him about continuously. It was finally speaking to him the way it was supposed to. It guided him deeper into the woods as the moonlight grew scarce and scarce and he was hard-pressed to cast the night vision charm and then he started to hear the grunts. Strained, snarling and rhythmical. He had not heard a sound like it before but against all his sense of preservation he kept moving towards it, lead on by the feeling of death and despair bubbling under his fingers, fluttering under his eyes lashing, fiddling around his heart. Desperate like a clinging child. The soul being ripped was innocent, benign, he could tell by its texture.

He detected a small clearing up ahead just a few meters off the weak dirt trail and there washed in moon light he could see something moving as well. He thought he had braced himself enough in the past few minutes to be prepared to see whatever was happening, but nothing in the world could have prepared him for what he actually saw. A hulking figure, naked to the nines and hairy as the monsters from the worst nightmares was kneeling behind and rutting savagely into something that could have once been a human, but was now only a bleeding slob of flesh. Draco froze on the spot. The small thin legs by which the monster was guiding himself savagely inside were all wrong angled, broken savagely the small pale back was missing chunks of flesh clearly a chew toy for the monster the small thin arms were spread out, the finger bloody and splintered where they must have tried to catch hold to escape. Draco had seen plenty of horrors by then, but this transcended any level of cruelty that he could possibly have imagined. The roar of ecstasy that finally came from the rutting beast finally stole all strength from Draco’s leg as they curled under him.

He did not even notice when strong arms took hold of him and broke his fall. He only remembered the familiar smell of potions and soap, for some reason, the comfortable embrace made what he saw much more real and horrifying and it was a few hours later that Draco found that the slob of flesh was a fourteen year old Adrian Flint, who he helped sometimes with Third year potions. A week later Draco came close to following the fate of Adrian Flint. It was only natural that a few months later, when Draco sat on the Monster’s chest and drove the knife in, he felt no regret in turning the monster into a slob of dead flesh.

The katana*, My Daitan’na (bold one) as I call her fondly, my friend, one of the only possessions that has travelled back with me to this world. It is a friend, a co-conspirator, a dance partner a very sharp, subtle and deadly associate. Inlaid with light magic so sharp that it can cut through the deadliest of dark magic, it is of course its sharpness that has one speculating over the true nature of its magic. Sharpness in all its stances is uncaring; it only cuts through, deep and thorough, bowing to the will of its yielder.

It has been almost a month since I danced with my old companion and this morning after the night I have just concluded, I find myself craving for it. I need her neutrality; I need her obedience and control to ground my alarmingly tumultuous emotions. Lack of control, my disconcertion. How could I have ever believed that I could stay in control when it came to ‘him’, I don’t know. I don’t know why I keep making the same sodding mistake every time around.

She cuts through the still air, her steel a deadly bolt of lightning in the morning light that filters through the glasses of the sunroom. Its fluid and smooth in its purpose, more than a weapon she is an extension of my arm, I can taste the air she is cuts through, though I can taste nothing else. Her supple black and grey Dragon hide grip feels sure in my hand, and the 30 inch blade, especially designed because of my height is beautiful curved and squared at the guard, but it’s the silver stained Norman Silverback dragon emblem on the helm of the blade that shows her true nature, our true nature. We are quiet, devoted, vicious and absolutely devious! It is no wonder that it was passion at first sight between me and Daitan’na. She speaks to me and calms me when I need it.

I slice through the air, letting my magic a little lose through the blade. Its lashes out like a hunter reaching a few feet beyond the reach of the blade, its blinding silver color muted in the shining light from the sun outside, still bright enough to leave a stain behind one’s eyes lids. I whip it out again, pushing more magic through it and the reach of the sharp whip of lightning increases a bit more. I levitate the worn and cancelled peacock garden statue with my free hand before I swirl the blade around me forming a revolving ring of sharp magical lighting around me as I move constantly in the orbital pattern around the room and let the Garden statue fly with all might of magic that I can spare towards myself. The statue incinerates to dust before it even touched the swirling and whipping magic around me.

The swirl of sharp magic that is cutting savagely through air and my constant movement is warming me but not enough to make me forget the warmth from a few hours ago when he sat in front of me in his scarlet auror robes and when he said that single word.

‘Don’t think about it!’

That single word. One of my deepest wish, uttered so carelessly from his lips in a moment of desperation. A plead.

The light swirls and swirls around me, a blink of a miss and I might be cutting through a whole chunk of the sunroom and slice it right off.

All it takes is one word.

“Draco…”he called me last night.

‘Don’t think about it!’ my mind screams at me

“Draco…”

‘stop it before you destroy something.’

“Draco…” like a whisper a caress. A plead? A call for help? A manipulation? An understanding?

“I know you can be a mean evil git, but you draw the line at death!”

his words echo through my psyche and I know that what has never happened since the day I held Daitan’na in my hand is about to happen now. I lose balance.

I don’t even feel it when the swirling ring of lighted whip cuts through my skin. I am only concentrating again on putting barriers around the now stationed whipping sharp magic tornado, so that the whole manor does not come down with sheer power of the magic. Once the barriers are in place, I lower my Katana towards the floor, breaking the link between the swirling magic and the blade which has been acting as a magical conductor; much like a wand does for a wizard. Now to cool and stop the magic, I raise the blade again this time not pushing my own magic into it, I simply lash it through the deadly swirls. It comes down, cutting the circulation of spinning magic, but only I know the amount of concentration it has taken me. It would have been most satisfying. Knowing that I can cut through the confines of my own magic by sheer power of my own will, had I not lost control in the first place.

He thinks I draw the line at death and murder.

He has trusted me because of that perception only.

What will happen when he finds out that I have committed murder? In cold blood? Without blinking?

And he will find out, in very near future. There is no avoiding it.

No matter what the circumstances, purpose, or who was the victim? A murder remains a murder.

He would never forgive me for it, I know for sure. A murder remains a murder. A murder done with a special purpose, all faculties present, in a calculated and controlled manner is even worse.

It is undeserved trust that Potter places on me. I have not asked for it and when push comes to shove, I will tell him so. You cannot just assume things about people and then accuse them when they turn out to be different.

I do not know what good that argument will do. It will certainly not help me in the long run. Murder remains murder. And the one that I still don’t regret?

I mean we are talking about the boy wonder that vanquished the dark lord with a disarming spell.

The light dissolves around me into invisible smoke as I wave the Katana once more and take down the barriers.

The slick feeling of fabric against my left thigh makes me notice the considerable cut on my waist, its deep and bleeding profusely enough to have soaked my lose trousers all the way to my knee. My alert battle stance muscles are not helping along much.

“m-m-master?” I hear the house-elf squeak behind me. I turn and walk swiftly towards the table where lies my first wand, which no longer holds me as his first and foremost master, which is just as well at the moment as my own raw magic is still too unstable to heal me. A non-compliant wand will tone down the discrepancies, as it will clamp down on my magic and cast the healing magic perfectly.

“Emenden vulnare” I trace the wand alongside the edges of the wound as the muted magic flows out of its tip in a clear yellow light stitching the skin back together flawlessly, I can feel the wand straining and protesting under the weight of my still wild magic. I look around the glass fortress which is what this Sunroom is actually, for damages. Probably the strongest and most heavily protected part of the manor. There are limitations to the practice room down in the basement and I have no intentions of spending any more time there than necessary.

I know the information that I have given Potter last night with not satiate him for long, since the culprits behind the attack are not going to stick to the simple benign Thaumaturgy. Nope, the culprits will use a darker and more obscure form of magic the next time they want to target Potter, just for the sake of befuddlement.

No, the target is not really Harry at all, the target actually is one ‘Draco Malfoy’. Yes the ultimate goal is to have Harry disposed of, but the culprits are smart enough to know that as long as I breathe, Harry will be untouchable. I know who it is, I know how far they are willing to go. It is destiny of course. I can see a time in future when Harry would wish he had died alongside Voldemort.

Voldemort was a man with a grudge and just a little above par magical talent. His anger and hatred where drove him forward also were his biggest weakness. Voldemort was powerful, but he was temperamental to the point of fault. He invoked fear in his subject, never loyalty and respect. Which in the end became the reason for his downfall, not to mention that the opposing side was bound to win with the genius of Albus Dumbledore, sneakiness of Severus Snape and singular Bravery of Harry Potter on their side. I would like to mention myself in the list to, considering how big my contribution was and had I not made that contribution the war could not have ended, but I would be lying. I was not on the opposing side of Voldemort, I was only on Potter’s side.

The culprit behind this attack though is nothing of the sort. He holds no grudges, only ambition. His magical talent is blessed by powers, wizard in this world can’t dream of. He has no anger and hatred, only cold ideology and thirst for power. Otherwise the magic he used would not have worked in his favor at all. The only way to foil the magic that way is to believe in what you are doing is right. It is the magic of the wills after all. The culprit is ruthless and without emotions which makes him a far more dangerous opponent than Voldemort ever was. And he will be relentless when it comes to Potter. His followers are loyal and devoted to their master and the ideology.

There will be no spies.

During today Potter will finally get the idea of what he is dealing with but it will take time for it to show just what is the magnitude of trouble he is in.

“Who will save you savior Potter?” I repeat the words deep in thought. As I climb up the stairs towards my bedroom. I notice the house-elf scrambling on my side to keep up with me and makes me pause.

“Yes monk?”

“Master, Two owls from the ministry came bearing these letters and also an eagle Master, but Monk is too afraid of the Eagle master, the talons be too sharp and the magic of the bird too strong, Monk do not know what to do with it so monk send it to the western terraces.” The elf looks properly shaken.

“What color is the bird?” I ask the elf carefully.

“Brown and gold Master. It is a …”

“Yes Monk it is a descendant of the Turul* if I am not wrong in assuming.” I swiftly turn towards the Western wing and step out on to the Terrace.

There it is, perched majestically on the carved banister, looking like the king of the Air and birds. Its Golden brown feathers gleam in a liquid sheen in the morning light. The bird is gigantic and fierce looking with its gold colored plume. It’s a truly magnificent creature to behold. So proud, elegant and menacing. Only an extremely powerful wizard can have a magical creature like a Turul for a familiar. And as it is, I know just who this one might belong to.

As I step closer, the bird finally deigns to look at me and cocks its head to the side as if it is expecting something. I incline my head in a greeting. You can go horribly wrong with these creatures if you are disrespectful or too modest. I am the lord of this manor, and as such I bow to no one in my own home. One mistake per life time like the one with the Hippogriff, I think is enough to learn the lesson when it comes to birds.

I was a whiny little shit back then. Nothing of that remains anymore.

After a moment of what seems like careful deliberation, the bird inclines its head as well and suddenly it is spreading out its wing in a most majestic fashion, showing off its exquisite brown, golden and black pattern letting out a shriek that is not as high but very deep and vibrating before it disapparates in a thunderclap, leaving nothing but a cloud of gold dust behind.

These old-bloods and their fancy business cards!

For all I know he might have just invited himself for dinner.

“Mr. Malfoy? She will see you now.” The old dragon of a lady that sits guarding the offices of the department of Mysteries gestures towards me with a shake of her primly made up head. Her eyes hazel eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses are stern and suspicious. I get up from the uneasy chair in the waiting area and give her my most charming smile as I saunter towards the entry way of a corridor inlaid with obscenely black granite. It’s all very nauseating.

“It’s the third door down to the left.” Is the instruction which is more of a grunt than a proper sentence. Doris Peabody as her badge introduced, trusts no one and could easily give Severus a run for his money in being unwelcoming. I think it is mostly to unnerve the stray visitor once in a while who is already spooked by the reputation of the department. It is all very endearing I suppose.

The strange thing though is there are no people milling about here. The place is pristine. There are no memo planes flying about and the silence is ultimate. That is for an ordinary wizard.

I on the other hand am a totally different story.

In the five minutes that I just had to wait in the waiting area, I have already figured out the wards, the charms, the matrices that are inlaid deep within the black as night granite and also how to dismantle every one of them. Obscuring charms, Disillusionment charm, perspective modification spells, Aura detecting wards, silencing wards, befuddlement hexes, Quantum capacitation matrix (which I personally think is a stroke of genius and maybe the only mystery present here for a wizard) florelli’s stellular convolution matrix, it’s all here in these walls, cast over time and time again…

“Mr. Malfoy?” the third door down on the left is occupied by Granger clad in standard and neat grey Unspeakable robes as she is looking at me expectantly. No, not Granger anymore, Weasley now.

“Mrs. Weasley” I incline my head in greeting at her as she leads me inside what seems to be her office.

It is as expected filled with books, but not in a state of chaos. The walls are a pale soothing green though the floor is the same slippery black granite. She points me to a chair as she goes around her mahogany work station. A blue folder placed in front of her which clearly has my name labeled on it accompanied with a rectangular glass case in which lies the Hand-mirror I submitted as a prototype memo-mirror I wish to patent. Apparently.

My reasons for this whole façade is to get close to Granger. If things are to go the way they are destined to go then Granger would be one of the best allies to have. I am sure she still holds the same strong relationship with Potter that she always has if the pictures framed on her wall are anything to go by which has Potter in most of them. The standard wedding picture, A chubby blue eyed red haired baby picture in a bubble gum pink jumper, Then a little two year old girl clinging to Potter’s neck as he holds a brown haired blue eyed baby in his arms, who sneezes lightly making both Potter and the little girl smile down delightedly at him. Then there is Weasley and wife carrying the two children who are a little more grown now, a bushy red haired little girl of five, who looks a lot like the Weaslette and a chubby brown haired boy who reminds me of the Weasley Twins. There is also one with Potter and Teddy Lupin and the two children.

“A sweet-looking family there.” I compliment when I notice her looking at my inspection of the family pictures.

“Thank You, a girl and a boy, Rose and Hugo.”

“Nice names too. Say, Rose would not be in honor of Weasley’s not-so-secret crush on Madame Rosemerta now would it?” she laughs light-heartedly at the suggestion.

“No, I named her actually. After my own mother.” She answers easily. I nod at her.

“I must congratulate you first of all Malfoy, for the fully restored Malfoy fortune and title and social standing that comes with it. I hope you will do good with it.” She smiles at me, all nobility and sincerity apparent in those curious brown eyes and this time it is unmistakable as I have no suggestive charm cast today, not like I had done at the funeral. No, this is her rational and willing reaction to me. I should have known.

I wonder how she could be so nice to me after the way I used to treat her at Hogwarts. The name calling, the bullying, the threatening. I was such a cruel child and here she sits, congratulating me for the restoration of my wealth and status, when I and my family had been on the side of the war would not have thought twice before casting the killing curse on the likes of her.

My own aunt had tortured this girl in the house I just came from and here she sits. No judgment, all acceptance. It is making my skull ache.

“Thank you.” It comes out more defensively than I want. She just smiles in return before she opens the folder in front of her with my name on it.

“Now, I must say, that this here, is an invention that can bring about revolutions in crime solving and applied security and at the same time bring about the worse case ever of invasion in people’s privacy which in itself is a crime of course. So while I want to give you a standing ovation for a pure stroke of genius that is the idea of a Memo-mirror as you call, I am also somewhat wary of its consequences.” She is still smiling at me in that sweet manner which is making me more uncomfortable by the minute. I remember the punch I got in the face in the third year very clearly thank you very much. I would never be easy around Hermione Weasley nee’ Granger.

“Which is why I wanted you to be the one to be attending to the patenting process. I do not want money Mrs. Weasley, you know as of yesterday I have more of it than most people can even dream of. I am willing to keep this an enveloped patent with Ministry as the sole executor of its uses and applications and I its sole producer. I would understand if you don’t believe that my intentions are innocent given our past record, but it is what it is and I sincerely, just want to give back for the acceptance I have found back here since my return, I could have kept it under wraps, I could have used it to my advantages if I wished so, and the ministry would be none the wiser but I haven’t done so…”

“Which can also mean that you have much more dangerous means and inventions at your disposal and all you really need is a small cover and ministry’s trust for your bigger and more sinister plans…” Ah! There is the Granger I know and trust. I smile at her exactly the way she is smiling at me. Before I spread my arms wide.

“You are welcome to search my home. I have already given my foreign contacts to the Minister. I have been interrogated under Veritaserum and to be honest, I do not need to prove myself any more to anyone than I already have, but if there is some other method that you think will help you gain confidence about the benignity of my intentions then by all means, I am open to all suggestions.” I leer at her in a way that she would expect the old Draco Malfoy to do. Now the sickly sweet smile turns into a mirthful one. This is the chartered territory, right here.

“How about legilimency? Will you be open to that suggestion?” she leans forward, her chin placed in her hands and her elbows settled on the shiny table top. I lean forward in a similar fashion before I answer her question.

“I thought you of all people would know better than to suggest that to the God-son and apprentice of Severus Snape. It should not come as a shock to you Weasley if I say that you would not have a legilimens strong enough to breach even the natural occlumency defenses of my mind. And with the added skills I gained in Shida Miryo, it is impossible to breach my mind even if I lay it out on a platter for the legilimens of your choice. It was the only magical skill that I did not lose after the magical backlash. In fact, it was my occlumency that saved my mind from going insane and guarding my own magic from lashing out.”

She simply smiles at me. Before she gets up from her chair.

“Very well Malfoy, you will have to come with me to one of the containment rooms, where you will verify the formula so that it can be sealed in memory before we will both sign the enveloped patent certification. Which I will then forward to the head of the department and then to the minister of magic to be stamped. Afterwards you can seal my memory of the verification of the formula in presence of two witnesses and sign the rest of the paper work as well.”

Mission accomplished.

It’s a fairly trouble-free and clatter-free process than I would have expected. From what I heard of it when I was young it took months to come through, but so much has changed since and as I see it now the ministry’s functionality is much more toil free than it has ever been. The politics may be the same. The execution has definitely improved, especially in this department. I have no doubt that the witch leading me towards what looks to be a containment chamber is the one responsible for it.

It takes us less than hour to verify, sign, stamp and seal the last of which required two witnesses. A Jadette Monroe and Timothy Sheldon, from administration.

Before long I am sitting in front of the Minister in the parlor adjacent to the office suite sipping tea just after a ‘celebratory lunch’ which was supposedly delicious. But you know how I have to lie about those things.

“I think it would be good for you to attend the Prophet’s annual charity gala at the end of the week. To reintroduce yourself into society. It is one of the most well-organized events of the year and anybody who is worth knowing is going to be there and from what I have heard you are already a darling with the press, with that competition with Potter heating up on Witch’s weekly. You’ll be most welcome.”

I don’t if I should smile, or take offence, because I have no idea if it is me, who encourages such ridiculous conversation out of the MINISTER OF FUCKING MAGIC or is the FUCKING MINISTER OF MAGIC himself is plebian enough to lick the copies of Witch’s weekly. If this is what the ‘seat’ does to one of the most assertive and brilliant aurors Britain ever produced, then I do not know if it is a privilege or a curse. Father always blamed Fudge’s foundation in Hufflepuff for being the reason of his ineffective governance (Father’s exact words were licking Dumbledore’s ridiculous boots instead of ‘ineffective governance’) but as far as I know Kingsley Shacklebolt was a Gryffindor an ex-auror and most tight-fisted of them all. And here he is, giving me pointers on how to re-introduce myself in society like a fifth or sixth year Hufflepuff girl, only thing missing is obscene chewing on Brighties Pinkly pixie gum and pink ribbons!

Yes I think this is punishment for snogging a few of those in fifth year as bribes for not telling on them in the days I was in the inquisitorial squad. Oh Misery!

I am thankfully spared of saying anything in acknowledgement of that as the Minister’s assistant comes rushing in at that moment and say something in the minister’s ear. The minister simply nods in return a somber expression taking over his face. At last! The assistant rushes out the same way as he has entered.

“Mr. Malfoy, I hope you would not mind for us to have some company over I hope.”

“By all means Minister, in fact if it is an inconvenience I shall take my leave.”

“Oh no, You are going to be involved in the case any way so it is just as well that you stay.” He says standing from his easy slouch into a commanding figure inside a minute. I would have analyzed the it more keenly but for the sudden surge of warmth in my chest.

Ah so Potter is the company. So much for the nonchalant “I am too busy to see you at the ministry” tirade. It is true what they say; the human nature is fundamentally ungrateful. There have been days in past seven years when I would have bled for the chance of catching a glimpse of him and look at me now, being all starchy inside my head because he said that he would be too busy to see me, just today. After spending most of the night sitting in front of me to have my fill of looking at him, my fill of having his attention. Dismissing the context of the looks or the conversation, he was there wasn’t he? He was looking at me and I at him. Occupying the same room, without who am I to claim any of his time or space? He owes me nothing, at least he does not know he owes me anything and in reality he doesn’t. It was a choice I made. I choice I made which then I chose to keep a secret. He never asked for the piece of me he carries inside him, he never asked for a second chance, a passage back. He owes me nothing and even when the time comes and I come clean and tell him everything, he would still owe me nothing. But that is the way a Gryffindor thinks and perceives acts of selfless sacrifice. I on the other hand have never been a Gryffindor, only a Slytherin and I will never admit it out loud that he owes me nothing.

The double carved oak door opens to unleash the company into the room. A middle-aged man with a considerable gut size enters first, clad in lose scarlet robes, the golden pin shining on the lapel of his vest. So this is the head of the Magical Law enforcement department and also the head auror. He looks at me with a frown before he harrumphs in a way that his thick set eye brows come together over his round nose. He would look extremely fierce if he was taller. At a modest five feet eight, all the fierceness just come across as, ill-temper accompanied by Adrien Pucey, who looks nervous in the way I had never seen him even as the captain of my own Quidditch team. What is he doing here, holding all those paper and fawning over head of MLE. His eyes widen when they finally find me and his freezes in his step before the short ill-tempered man hassles him again into swift action. Pulling out the chair. Handing the papers to the Minister’s assistant. It is a sad affair if you ask me. Puceys were never rich, but they were a respectable family. Maybe this job is a stepping stone for a Slytherin like Adrien Pucey. Must have some kind of advantage to it which is not immediately apparent. I will have to find out.

Behind him is red haired and still tall and and rigid Percy Weasley, who I am sure is someone important. The only Weasley ever that can be labeled as ambitious. Behind him is the Weasley I still preserve the right to hate the most hanging next to Boy wonder, who looks like a mess held together in a fit scarlet robe. Were it not for the high windows from which copious amount of sunlight is filling the room, I would not have been able to take in the full force of Potter’s weariness, Potter Grimaces at Weasley before he turns to his other side and says something to the person standing next to him, Which is when I finally notice him. The unmistakable golden Blond hair, the strange ice-blue eyes ,that ridiculously handsome face and the obscene, condescending smile on it, with that insane glint in those strange eyes looking directly at me.

Yes. Of course. How could I forget the Turul that was sent to me as a business card just this morning. Stoltorm. The house of the “Proud Serpent”. A blood line that lays the claim to producing most powerful dark wizards of their times. Some even speculate that Slytherin’s mother was a Stoltorm and it was her through whom Slytherin got the gift of Parseltongue. Father would have had kittens if he ever found out that I shared the air with a Stoltorm. Direct in line for family title, well, I am just glad that my father is dead, for he would make a scene like no other could.

Of course as is the ailment of all pureblood families, the blood line is almost wiped because of old blood and inbreeding. Now, no one knows exactly why, only a pair of twins survives puberty every generation with magic fully intact. All other offspring are either born squibs, or born with unstable magic that kills them in formative year. Making the twins remarkably powerful. Half of the current twin pair is standing just across the room. I should have known I would be bumping into the magnificent, beautiful, talented, scary and formidable wizard that is Erik Vidarr Stoltorm. Shame of the most bigoted, proud and ancient Stoltorm blood line. He is what Sirius Black was to the house of Black. Breaking the norm and becoming a Magical Law enforcer for the common wealth. The other half of the pair is a totally different story.

I look away of course. Before I make a scene by running and pulling Potter away from the calculating shrewd eyes of Erik Stoltorm, who perhaps is one of the very few wizards that can give me a hard time magically. It does not ease my anxiety any, now that I know why he is here.

Shit.

I could not have been spared even a week?

“Silbern?” I hear his deep and soft voice say my name in that sly way he always says everything. Like he is saying one thing but means another. Oh Merlin! Please give me patience. You cannot hide when a Stoltorm is inclined to find you.

“Stoltorm.” I incline my head curtly with a commanding enough voice. I see Potter’s back as he is turned away from me, still at my voice before he swivels around his eyes squinting a bit trying to find my shape against the back drop of the afternoon sunlight his sleep deprived eyes come to rest on me somehow. His broken beauty makes something squirm deep in my gut. Potter looks devastated, very much like he was last night when he had just arrived; by the time he had left he was in much better shape.

Stoltorm wastes no time and strides towards me gracefully and purposely. It eases me for a split-second to see that he is moving away from Potter and that his focus has now shifted.

“Mr. Stoltorm…” I hear the Minister’s deep voice just as the man in question is a few steps away from me. I can’t help but be thankful for the interruption. My eyes find Potter off their own accord, only to find him frowning at Stoltorm’s back who has now gracefully but reluctantly side-stepped towards the Minister of magic.

I need to get out of there.

“Minister, I just remembered that I have an important meeting with Mr. Montague regarding the investment we talked about a week ago. I am afraid I am running late.”

“I see. I only asked you to say because Robards told me that Potter has asked for your permission to use the Malfoy Library in aid of the investigation of a High-profile case…”

“Ah, minister, I can walk with Malfoy and arrange a schedule then. My report is in the folder there and I have already said all I needed to say in meeting downstairs. I would like to be relieved as I have not slept in past Thirty-Six hours.” Potter’s commanding voice is totally opposite of his haggard demeanor. Stranger yet are the next words and gesture that comes from him.

“Come Draco…” he says gesturing at me and walking towards the double oak-door as well.

My head is spinning as my mind freezes and reels back to my fantasy in the shower the previous day. Somehow my feet move on their own accord as if I am puppet to which Potter holds the string. The only thing tangible is the smooth press of my Dragon cane in my hand.

Now, at once my mind totally understands the context of the two words Potter just said, but what is really spacing me out is the sound of his voice when he said them.

“Come Draco…” soft, smoldering and possessive.

The beckoning hand gesture, as if he is the master and I his slave.

As if he is the leader and I am his follower.

As if I am his oldest companion, with years of friendship and love shared between us.

How can two such words be strung together in such a way that they gain the power to hypnotize you?

We are almost up to the lifts when I realize another little thing.

Potter was in that room with the few most powerful men in wizarding Britain.

And he just walked out on them, informing them, of his decision to be relieved and dismissing me from their company as well. Telling not asking.

For the first time I realize, how much power Potter really yields.

“That man knows more about it all than he is letting on…” Potter hisses under his breath alerting me to my surrounding again. I notice that he is facing me, a cold expression on his face. Suddenly I am aware of how alone we are in the confinement of the lift.

Potter is of course right. Erik Stoltorm does know more about it all, so do I and the arrival of Erik Stoltorm has definitely thrown my own plan of easing Potter into it all, off track. Now I am treading a terrain, where my fate is in hands of Potter’s volatile temper.

“And that man knows you…” he says in an even more temperamental hiss. I have no choice but to look at the suspicious eyes with blandness. I need to control things here.

Suddenly a wand is pressed into my waist dangerously right where I had a profusely bleeding slash just a few hours ago, it throbs warningly against the point of Potter’s wand As I am pushed against the wall of the lift, a warm hand squeezing my neck warningly. But I don’t care, the sting in my side is only reminder of how real this is, that this is not one of my fantasies. That Potter is right here pressing against me in this menacing way, with his beautiful tired eyes looking into mine so fiercely. I can imagine myself telling him my deepest and most consuming secret in one of these close embraces.

‘I love you Potter, I love you so much that I don’t even allow myself to call you Harry in my mind. Because if I call you that, in my head even, I will lose even the smallest semblance of control that I have.

I love you. I love you and you have got to stop getting so close to me! You have got to stop torturing me like this, stop taking liberties like this, stop touching me, stop hurting me! Please for the love of all that you hold sacred.’

My senses are filling with his scent as he exhales into my face. His breath smells of coffee. Warm delicious coffee after a tiring day or in the morning after a night of…

“I swear on my wand Malfoy! If I find that you lied to me last night, I will not be held responsible for the consequences.”

‘And I swear Potter that if you don’t let go of me in the next three seconds I will not be held responsible for the consequences.’

Oh how I wish that he does not let go of me…

Info:

** The Turul: Turul is the most important bird in the origin myth of the Magyars (Hungarian people). It is a divine messenger, and perches on top of the tree of life along with the other spirits of unborn children in the form of birds. The Turul became a symbol of power, strength, and nobility.

** Katana: Historically, katana were one of the traditionally made Japanese swords that were worn by the samurai class of feudal Japan, also commonly referred to as a "samurai sword".
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The Principle of Sympathy