Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 11
- 12
- 13
Author's Note:

Special Thanks goes out to DELIA, ALEXKDP, READS RELIGIOUSLY and CALYPSO. for their lovely reviews!

@ Delia: The elf is not as bad as you think...you will soon see. And if harry and draco come together so easily and quick the story would be over!:(..so gotta drag it out a bit.

@ Alexkdp: You are sooooo sweet. I think i will have to take an insulin shot one of these reviews. THANKYOU SO MUCH for so much appreciation. It means the world to me. I hope you will like this chapter! It will answer many questions and ask a few more yet again...:D Keep reviewing! they are my writing oxygen!

Chapter 12. Inexplicable Connection.

You are in love with me, I shall make you perplexed.

Do not build much, for I intend to have you in ruins.

If you build two hundred houses in a manner that the bees do;

I shall make you as homeless as a fly.

If you are the mount Qaf in stability.

I shall make you whirl like a millstone (RUMI)

Draco was impressed. He had seen plenty of castles so far. His school had been a castle. But never could he have imagined something like this. From what he could see of the stair hall and the length and breadth and height of the corridors he could estimate the size of the place. If it was not bigger than Hogwarts, then it was almost the size of it. But where Hogwarts was a fully functional castle, with all dressings removed like a school teacher is plain and straightforward. This castle was like an aristocrat's pampered wife. Complete with all the frills and portraits and marble linings and gold plated vases. Sort of like a cross between Hogwarts and his own home. The Malfoy manor, or as how he remembered it before Voldemort decided to make it his head-quarters.

He wondered if he should ask the elf that was leading him to some unknown destination, who this castle belonged to or why he was there? Last he remembered, He had been stranded in The woodland on the western Outskirts of Germany, as his magic had been fluctuating while he was looked desperately for the Malfoy farm cottage situated there or a way out. Malfoy Farm cottage in Grunewald forest was one of the most secure places that the Malfoys owned. He remembered being attacked by something, but the rest was blank. During the bath earlier he had thoroughly checked his body in the mirrors to find no new scars or wounds.

The Elf came to a stop in front of an elegantly carved wooden double-door and pushed it open to reveal a lavish dining room. But Draco hardly noticed anything in the room as he was too busy looking at the imposing figure standing by the huge French windows. Tall, Broad shouldered, and golden haired. Clad in a very smart and elegant robe of Dark brown Velvet.

As Draco quietly approached the tall wizard following the elf's lead, the figure turned around. Piercing blue eyes homed in on Draco. Not hostile, but definitely cautious and curious.

Draco was taken in for a moment by the aura of the man that seemed to be his host and perhaps one of the most handsome wizards he had ever encountered in his life.

"Mr. Silbern… I hope you are feeling well." He said in a voice that was way too deep and soft for the imposing figure that accompanied it, alongside a perfect English accent.

Draco was taken aback once more. It had been a while since he had spoken his first language and now his German had gotten so fluent that he even caught himself thinking in German at times.

The man that stood in front of Draco did not look like an Englishmen, from any angle. He looked rather like a Viking God or something. Tall, broad, severe and intense.

"Yes, I feel much better. Thank you." Draco smiled at him.

The man looked at Draco for a few seconds as if trying to decipher something. There was a strange sort of appreciation in those eyes that Draco could not understand but chose to process carefully rather than jumping into things.

"You are most welcome…" The man said offering his hand to Draco, who took it confidently, though deep inside he was alert to the nines. "…I am Erik Stoltorm." The man added.

"Drachen Silbern" Draco replied automatically. His mind pinging warningly on that name.

Stoltorm…

Stolt-Orm.

Proud Serpent.

'Sweet Salazar!' thought Draco, taking advantage of the business of sitting to hide his exclamation.

"That name sounds… Nordic.. doesn't it?" Draco asked feigning curiosity. When he knew exactly where Stoltorms came from.

"It is actually. I come from a very old Nordic Wizarding family. The oldest record of our family come from the time of Beowulf and Grendel and all that. But that is a discussion for another time…" Stoltorm leaned away from the heavy mahogany dining table as the elf started to serve them lunch. All courses together, which was a strange way of doing it but Draco ignored it. He needed to be alert. From the vibes of magic so far, Draco could easily understand that this Erik Stoltorm was not a man to be messed with.

"…What I really want to discuss… Or rather ask you is; what exactly were you doing in Grunewald forest?" Asked the man called Erik Stoltorm in a voice that sounded requisite and demanding at the same time. It was a skill, Draco had to give him that.

"I was lost actually, and I felt that something was following me." Draco placated.

"Yes, A vampire actually. A very dangerous one. One I have been tracking for sometime now, along with his whole clan who are killing wizards and muggles in the area. BUT, that is not what I asked. I asked what you were doing in the forest in the first place." His eyes were trained on Draco and Draco could tell that he would have to most probably lie out of this situation. Draco took a deep breath and sighed and then started weaving.

"My name is not actually Drachen Silbern. I don't know what my real name is actually. Until a few months ago I did not even know that I was a wizard. This name was given to me by the Social services after I woke up in a hospital blank as a slate. All I know is that since I started to get my magic back, I started to get little flashbacks. Apparently the Forest you found me in featured in those flashes I keep seeing a meadow with a rectangular stone memorial in the middle, Celtic perhaps, I don't know… so I just had to go look. I hoped that if I had apparated there in the first place then maybe my original wand would be there. But I got lost in the forest and then my magic started fluctuating it does that sometimes, since my current wand and I don't get along it taxes on my magic. Rest of the story, I don't know, but I am sure you do, so please tell me." Draco made sure that he looked miserable but not nervous.

"I was tracking the vampire that was tracking you. I am a law-enforcer by profession. I picked your magical signature on the edge of the forest, followed closely by the vampires. You kept going round and round in circles, so did the vampire. I could see that your magic was fading with every new signature. And then suddenly I lost track of you and the vampire both. But then I stumbled upon you, unconscious on the forest floor but apparently unharmed and the vampire just frozen in mid-action of attacking you."

"Really?" Draco's heart was going to leap out of his chest any moment. His secret was out.

"Yes… really, it was the most remarkable magic. And you were casting it, unconsciously and it was so dark and dense and natural that for a moment I could not believe that I was actually witnessing Necromancy in its purest form." The smile on Erik's face was so fascinated that it was scary.

"Necromancy?" Draco asked lamely. Heart sinking.

"Yes… and of all the people that could have witnessed that miracle happening, I was chosen… It's almost like Divine Providence…"

Draco was already unable to taste the food. Now he was finding it unable to swallow it as well.

Why did it feel like he had fallen from the frying pan into the fire?

I wonder if there is a precedent to madness.

Like, a preamble, or prologue, explaining that you are about to go insane.

And this is how people before you, who went insane, coped with it.

A How-to-deal manual perhaps?

There should be a precedent to madness, a preamble, a prologue, a 'how-to-deal manual'.

If there isn't I think I am under total authority to compile or create one now.

Why?

Because I am in love with Harry fucking Potter.

And that in itself is the biggest certification of being insane.

There he is, one moment, threatening me. Digging his wand under my ribs and right into the wound that I can literally feel opening back stitch by stitch with building pressure of his wand.

Now, I am perverse enough to find pleasure in this threatening just one more time like every time. I realize that I have been insane from the very first moment I laid my eyes on Harry Potter when I was just a child of eleven years. Though I have stopped baiting him in that horrible way I always used to. From making fun of his friends to insulting his dead parents. I still enjoy getting a reaction out of him. And like every insane person, I have always managed to somehow forget the consequences of getting a rise out of Harry Potter.

I mean you would think I would remember my first Quidditch match against him as a seeker.

Or, the countless detentions.

Or being turned into a ferret.

Or the punches and ripped collars.

And how could I ever forget the sixth year.

The consequences that have left me from furious to humiliated to embarrassed to hurt to Bleeding…

Literally and almost mortally.

But I do. I forget all these things. And plunge head first into the pleasure that is exclusively mine and called, "Baiting Harry Potter."

He is hurting me right now. Though like always he does not know it yet, and it is just my luck that he is pressing his wand right on the place I just hurt myself in this very morning and all I can think about is the heat of his body against mine. The feel of it. Thinking that if I incline my head a few inches I can easily kiss those lips which were delivering threats just a second ago.

That alerts me.

And my eyes travel back up to his. And I know that something monumental is about to happen.

Insane Draco is ready for it.

Little Draco is jumping with joy.

Malfoy is eerily quiet and observing closely.

My Harry is breaking down in front of me. I can see the weight of days past crashing down on his shoulders. I can clearly see how his own strength and power is drowning him.

He thinks he is responsible for it all.

Catch him, save him, comfort him… my instinct screams and I stop arguing with everything.

And the next moment I am holding him against my chest and he is holding me back as if I am the only anchor holding him down from floating away in the sea of distress he is in.

I don't think there are words invented to express what I feel when he is in my arms, only that it's enough to drive me around the bend. So helpless, so trusting, so firm and solid.

And then he is staring at me, still engulfed in my arms. His green eyes shining with moisture, breathing harsh and lips trembling. I am cursed for life. How will I survive now after seeing that stubborn face so vulnerable. So desolate. My love, my heart, my soul… My everything. My Harry. So lost and hurt and confused. I want to assure him, kiss him, comfort him. I want to…

His eyes are starting to lose focus and that zaps me out of my delirium. Now I am running on pure instinct. And I should have remembered that nothing good come out of me running on instinct when it comes to Harry Potter.

His head is about to droop forward eyes blank and unseeing. I have a distinct feeling that he is about to have a break down.

I hold his face in my hand, trying to make him focus back… I call him once…but he is not looking not seeing. Desperate enough to do anything at this moment, I conjure all authority and force and order him sternly.

"Potter look at me!"

A tear escapes from the clenched eyes and he starts hyper-ventilating. I know our magic is reacting very strongly right now. I swipe his tear. He would hate it afterwards. I know this. His breathing is harsh and coming out with a sob.

My heart is breaking. I can feel his desperate despair. He carries so much from the war. The war that he fought in his formative years. The war that was pinned and forced on him. If Harry Potter was destiny's favored, he was also destiny's victim.

Constantly convoluted, trapped on all side. This lion was wounded.

The worst part is, things are about to get even worse.

Another war is coming and Harry Potter is again going to be at the very center of it. The warrior and the victim once again. I only hope he will be a Victor too.

And then all plans of my being the savior just go blank as his fingers touch my face.

The touch of the calloused appendages is soft, reverent. And I want to die right at this very moment because his fingers are worshipping my face like I am a most revered sculpture made of solid silk.

What is he doing? Why is he doing this? How will I turn away from this? Those beautiful green eyes settled on mine. Trapping me, enslaving me, seducing me.

This is too much temptation. And in the end I know I will lose everything.

Even what is left of my already disputed sanity.

The moment he realizes what he is doing, he is going to be disgusted with himself and me. That hate will fill his eyes. I know I should stop this before it goes too far. But before I can do something about it, he closes his eyes and embraces me. Like a loved one long lost finally reuniting. How can I deny myself such joy? How can I move away from something that is all my wishes come true. Even if it will lead to eventual heart break. I throw caution to the wind and embrace him back, inhaling him deeply. Feeling at peace in a way I have never even imagined possible. All this just from embracing him. I wonder for a moment what making love would feel like if this is what a mere platonic and comforting embrace feels like.

Shame on you Draco! Can't you just enjoy the innocent moment as it is? I scold myself.

That is when I feel his warm breath against the side of my neck. Before he touches it with his nose.

A gasp escapes me as my heart jumps at the shock and sensation of such a light but intimate touch. I don't know what to expect next. All notions of innocent contact just vanishes from my mind as the dynamics between us change with such a small gesture. I am teetering on the verge of irreversible arousal. All nerves alive and filled with static.

My heart is beating in my ears so furiously that Harry's fist clenches and then presses deep into my clothes just above it on my chest, as if he is trying to press it out of agitation. And then I feel his lips on my neck.

Oh for the love of Merlin…Jesus…Allah… Whoever stays above that blue umbrella! I am dead and so alive. I don't know what is about to happen but I pray with all my soul at that moment that it doesn't stop and stop at the same time before I lose my mind and take more than what is being given to me.

How did this miracle come about?

'He feels for you. He wants you just as much as you want him, he loves you, he needs you, take him! Have him, trap him, never ever ever ever let him go. Cherish him, hide him, love him, be him, OWN HIM!'

I press even harder against him as my mind swirls between possibilities of this contact.

And then a moist and warm tongue is tracing the side of my neck. And I am lost, helpless… I let out a gasp. As my mind stops shouting and paralyses with shock and desire.

And then the illusion crashes down. Just the way it had built up. Suddenly.

A moment he is there filling me and my senses like hot lead and the next he is not. Leaving my arms empty and my desire broken.

I feel as if the universe has tilted. How can this happen? How can fate be so cruel? Giving me a taste of something I can never have…

'Ah again with the dramatics.' Sneers my inner Malfoy.

I feel as if my body is turning to stone.

And it hurts. Hurts so much.

He is turned away from me, just a few feet away. So close, yet so fucking far.

I want to kill myself for losing control. I knew all along that this is exactly what would happen the moment he comes back to himself.

'This is what you get for taking advantage of someone's vulnerability.'

'He hates you so much he can't even look at you.'

I feel like my inner voices will make my head explode at any moment.

And then a reprieve finally arrives in form of the elevator doors opening.

He has turned back, but I have no strength or will to look into those green eyes full with hatred and disgust for me. So I gather all my strength and dignity and walk away.

I wish to disappear, and I think I do, I don't know for sure...

Because the next time I am aware of my surroundings I am in what was once my room and now looks like Armageddon took place in it,

I am naked and spent and still gasping for air.

Did I destroy my room and then masturbate violently between the shredded bedding and down feathers of pillow stuffing?

I think I did, if the sorry state of my chafed arousal is anything to go by.

I sit up on my bed, feathers stuck to my body in places I don't even want to think about, and look around at the room. The emerald green furnishing of my dark wood chairs are all shredded now. The glasses of the windows broken, lamps, vases, even the marble wall clock crushed and singed and destroyed…

I think I remember patches of my destructive epiphany.

Who I was punishing, I am not sure.

But I have gone mad and back again. That is all I know.

'Its time to move out of this room anyway. This room that was a place for inspiring a love so obsessive and impossible in a mere child, that he had achieved the impossible. A teenager. Who was driven by something so pure and sacred. His soul intact. His dreams perfect and reachable.

Now,

It is all gone. The love had turned into madness and desolation. The Boy is no longer a boy, but a man, with a broken soul and dreams out of reach, perhaps forever. With no chance of return.

It takes me a while to notice that I am bleeding again from the wound. I smile at it standing naked in front of the Dressing mirror, perhaps the only breakable thing left in this room. This is not the first time he has made me bleed and if this is all we can have between us, then I will take it. I will bleed again and again and again.

There is a feather stuck to the side of my neck I notice, I remove it to see the little purplish red bruise.

I stare at it.

Is that…?

Did he…?

HE FUCKING MARKED ME!?

I don't know if I should be furious or delirious.

I think I am both if the fierce grin on my face is anything to go by.

Fucking Harry Potter!

My mind is running hundred miles a second.

Even if he does not recognize the connection between us, his psyche does. And it will only return the communication in the way it was made in the first place. Innocent and platonic need for comfort my Arse!

My love for Harry Potter has never been platonic. Never will be.

I admit that there are many dimensions to it.

There is the strange noticeable intellectual attraction. Just last night was a proof of that.

And the spiritual one. He has a piece of my soul embedded in his for Merlin's sake! Of course its spiritual.

And the physical? I don't know… does cornering your so-called nemesis in an elevator and then licking at his neck or the arch nemesis wanking to the touch of that tongue hard enough to chafe one's prick a sign enough?

Of course it is!

When I gave a piece of my soul in exchange for Harry to find his way back out of the underworld. It was not done as a friend, or a well-wisher.

It was done as a Lover. Even if Harry never reciprocated the feeling. I was giving it to the one I loved above all others. And not in a PLATONIC sense.

The magic always identifies with the intention.

And my intention is what lays a foundation of this connection between us.

So the natural interpretation would be obvious. I should have been ready for this.

Even if it is dubious regarding its beginnings. It has only reached to this level because he feels something for me.

The contact that happened between us was not comfort seeking. It was possession, a claim.

I remember my thoughts at the moment. They were not all mine were they? No, I was reading him.

'He feels for you. He wants you just as much as you want him, he loves you, he needs you, take him! Have him, trap him, never ever ever ever let him go. Cherish him, hide him, love him, be him, OWN HIM!'

No, those were not my thoughts. I have never wanted to OWN Harry Potter. I have always wanted to belong to him. I do belong to him.

But what could trigger the connection in such a way. I recall the events again. What happened just before the elevator?

I was in the Minister's office and…

The moment Stoltorm and I had recognized each other.

I had just spoken one word and Harry had turned towards me like a magnet.

I remember those tired but sharp eyes finding me against the afternoon light before they turned to Stoltorm with a frown.

Did Harry read something in Stoltorm's voice?

Is that what triggered it all? First the threatening, then the embracing and then the marking ?

'Come Draco'… I remember the command and possession in those two words.

'Careful now Draco, don't read too much into it. You need a second opinion here.' Says the Malfoy in me.

"MONK!" I yell. Only to notice the Elf standing just on my right side turned towards the wall, shaking.

Has he been here all along? Even when I…?

Oh Dear Merlin no!

Best to ignore it altogether.

"M-m-master?"

"Bring me the mirrors Monk, just like last time. And If or anyone comes to visit, tell them that I have gone to see a special friend and probably won't be back until after breakfast."

The Elf disappears immediately.

"I wonder if I should take it as an insult. You demanded my attention when I was alive most selfishly and now that I am dead, here you are, still doing the same…"

His crisp voice is like music to my ears. I turn a little to look at him, standing there, robes swirling in the non-existent wind. My hand still stroking the plush fur of Tenebra. Her giant head placed passively on my thigh.

"I am the master of death…" I smile at him mischievously.

"Of death…yes, Not of the 'Dead'."

"Yet here you are."

"Never could refuse you, you spoiled brat!"

I simply smile at him innocently. As he takes a seat on the same rock I am perched upon, looking out at the grey ash desert.

"So... what has changed since the last I saw you?" he asks me finally after a minute or two of silence.

"In the few hours? Everything… Someone killed that centaur that taught divinity at Hogwarts and violated Dumbledore's tomb and left a calling card."

"A calling card?" he says sardonically I just shake my head at him.

"Yes, muggle reference… and they left the crime scene surrounded by the thaumaturgic ward."

"I see."

"Which lead Harry straight to me. Asking for answers to questions which I would rather not answer."

"Well, I would say his skills at deduction have improved certainly." is his sardonic reply.

"Oh he threatened me but I knew that it was all hollow and he could tell the difference between the casting of the magic and the signature."

"Ah, that means… that means the real culprit is using a proxy right now."

"Yes, and that is what really worries me…"

"No, that is not." Severus says flatly. I look at him sheepishly.

"No, what really worries me is that the culprits directly addressed mocked Harry, they left a fiery inscription atop Dumbledore's tomb saying ' Qui salvabo vos salvator Potter.'"

"Who would save the savior indeed?" Severus snorts.

"And that's just the start. After giving Harry a very vague definition of thaumaturgy, during which I conveniently found a way to be involved into the case as an information source. I come face to face with Erik Stoltorm of all people and that bloody bird of his."

"So the legend is true…"

"Yes, and if the Turul is true, then the…"

"Yes it was obvious wasn't it, The Mark the culprits left suspended over the tomb, A huge M surrounded by a Dragon."

"The Nidhogg"

"So you are sure that it is the Stoltorm twin who is behind these attacks?"

"Yes, it is Egil Stoltorm. He is after me. Logically he needs help of a Necromancer to get the Nidhogg out of the confines of the Underworld. Just like I helped his brother get the Turul from the over-world."

"You did?"

"Yes, he saved my life in Germany, helped me settle, I owed him, so I had to help him in his conquest of the Turul. Put in a good word and all.

"He saved your life?"

"Yes. Saved me from a vampire attack. You know how common those are in rural Germany. I was looking for one of my family's off the grid properties to hide. My magic was speculating too much. Erik was in the hunt of a rogue clan of wizard-vampires preying on the population of the area. Absolute psychopaths they were and so dangerous that they had to bring in the Common-wealth law enforcers. A vampire found me wandering in the woods and Erik found the vampire. A second later and I would have been printed on the trees."

"So he found out that you were a Necromancer."

"It's a Stoltorm gift. They can detect the nature of magics, especially the ones a wizard is born with. I bet Stoltorm would have told in three seconds that Harry is a Parselmouth and a Wizard primitivae. As in his natural ability lies with dueling and defensive magic just like you are an Alchemist and a Sorcerer Primitivae or as we like to call them; A natural born Potioneer and Occlumens/Legilimens.' Just as Dumbledore was a Wizard and Sorcerer Primitivae as was Voldemort. At least what I know of Stoltorms and their history, they are the only practitioner or even recognizer of old principles of magic. I have only known Erik Stoltorm close enough, who though is a powerful Magi Primitivae, is still benign and noble enough to gain allegiance of the Turul, the eagle from the Yggdrasill. Which makes the EVIL TWIN Egil Stoltorm just as malicious and dangerous enough to try to get the allegiance of the Nidhogg the dragon. And as the legend goes, If Nidhogg ever finds its way out of the underworld, consider it Armageddon. Wizarding style."

"So Egil Stoltorm seeks you now because he thinks that you are a Necromancer."

"I was hardly that when I met Egil Stoltorm, only one time, just before he went missing from the face of the Wizarding world. I was hardly a wizard in those days Severus, my magic wasn't stable at all."

"And now you are so much more than we could have ever imagined you to be Draco. You just need to stick to the plan, don't lose your way, don't lose patience. Don't be reckless and don't let Potter be reckless either. For now you need to distract him."

"This is what confuses me actually Severus. The clues that were left on the Tomb, which lead Harry directly to me. I mean it shows that he has done some research. I mean, once you find my original history as Draco Malfoy, references to Harry Potter and our rivalry are obvious to the keen eye, and I guess he was aiming towards Harry arresting me perhaps. Hence the mocking.. But what would he get out of me being arrested I wonder… But I guess he under-estimated Harry's intelligence and sensibility of magic, as Harry though came knocking at my door immediately, was not even half suspicious of me being behind the attack. Mainly because he is the only one who can detect my Thaumaturgic wards because he has a part of my soul… he could tell the difference straight away."

"Yes there is that. I guess it has its uses or Potter would be here bothering me in afterlife."

"Which is the other thing I really wanted to talk to you about…" I feel nervous all of a sudden and Tenebra turns her head up to look at me with curiosity, detecting my nervousness.

"Yes I suppose you do, since you have been addressing the bane of your existence as 'Harry' all through the conversation. Is it the Soul Connection that you want to talk about?"

I know I am blushing now. "Yes…"

"What about it?" he asks simple. No judgment in his voice. I am thankful for that.

"Do you think… Do you think it has the capability of… you know… triggering a need for…more like controlling or rather… manipulating the physical attitude between the two people who share the connection?"

Severus looks at me for a moment in that dark calculating way he used to when I made progress well above my capacity or made an absolutely stupid and uncharacteristic mistake.

"It would not control…Manipulate…or…instigate any course of action that both parties do not consciously want to initialize Draco. So if Potter gave you that cut on your side, he genuinely meant to hurt you and still hates you, it has nothing to do with the soul connection. A soul connection only lets you have an insight. The actions are your own." Severus voice has turned dangerously low during this speech.

"No, Harry did not give me this cut, this is what happened when I was a little careless with Daitan'na. No, Harry… well…" I look down at the Panther's head in my lap who is also looking at me expectantly now.

"…Is the one that gave you that lover's-mark on your neck, is it?" Severus completes for me. I am sure I am blushing like a girl now. How is Severus able to always tell these things I would never know. I can hear the sneer in his voice. I steal a peek at him from beneath the lashes and see a softness of his face I have rarely witnessed.

"No, I'm afraid Draco… that also is not a result of the soul-connection's urging, if I would give it any name I would call it a chemical reaction I suppose… more commonly known in cases like these as Mutual Physical attraction…"

"Yesss! I get the idea Severus." I snap at him. Embarrassed.

"In the very first attempt? It's a miracle!" he is back to mocking me and I finally feel safe enough to look up at him. I am about to say something when he raises his hands.

"No, please, I do not want to know the details of this particular encounter that left such a mark on you… In fact I think I should be leaving now…"

He gracefully stands up. His dark as night hair hanging in his face. Robes all swirly and proper. While I sit here once again in my pajama bottom and silk dressing robe.

"I think I should go see it, The Nidhogg just to make sure that it's not free of its underworld confines. Or the fortifications are not breached and are going to hold up." I say quietly to his back. He turns slowly his black eyes trained on me again.

"You do know that you cannot do anything about it even if you see it escaping… why not take the keeper's word for it for now and keep the watch from the outside?"

"hmmm… That does make more sense… Alright then… Rest in peace Severus." I say smiling at him. He snorts derisively.

"I gave up the right to rest in peace the day I held you in my arms for the first time Draco. Be as it may, I won't have it any other way." He says walking a few steps away before a crack sounds and he vanishes into thin air.

"I think it's time to go home Tenebra." I say to the panther who inclines its head before it changes into black smoke and starts to run in my veins again.

I step out of the mirror to find an agitated Monk waiting on the other side. I notice that it is around sunrise.

"Is everything alright Monk?"

"Y-yes Master. It is just that Master had a visitor while he was away. And Monk may have made a mistake Master!" he looks on the verge of crying. My head is buzzing with the possibilities of what could have gone wrong.

"WELL?" I almost shout at the elf, before checking myself.

"Harry Potter came by master…"

FUCK FUCK FUCK!

"And he said it was important that he spoke with you, but Monk told him that Master was gone to see a Special friend and won't be in for supper, dinner or breakfast."

Now that I hear the words spoken back to me I clearly see the meaning one would get from them.

STUPID STUPID STUPID DRACO! SHIT!

Of all the people in the world. FUCKING HARRY POTTER HAD TO SHOW UP!

"What did he say then?"

"He didn't say anything at first, and then he noticed the mirrors missing in the receiver's hall. And he asked monk about them… and-d-d M-m-monk had to lie Master..." The elf says distraught and a tear finally escape those eyes.

I take a deep breath to find patience between the anxiety and dread.

"What did you say Monk?" I ask calmly.

"M-m-monk said what Master had said to Monk about removing the mirrors from the gent's salon. That Master wishes to replace the mirrors with art-pieces that fulfill the intellect than mirrors which feed only a vain man's vanity."

I look at the elf with widened eyes.

"M-m-master! Please forgive Monk for lying to Lord Black, but Master asked to keep the mirrors a secret. Monk will iron his ears… P-p-please don't give Monk clothes Master." The elf is on his knees sobbing now.

"Monk stand up and stop crying right now!" The result is instantaneous.

"I do not encourage lying in general, and you may never lie to me Monk, but you handled the situation with Lord Black perfectly and I must reward you for it." The elf is looking at me in awe and relief.

"You can have the day off on Friday to spend as you please and for that day Pona can be incharge. Also, I would accept your oldest elf-ling into the house-hold on Monday."

"Thank You Master! Monk does not know how to thank for this generosity."

"Keep up the good work. Did Lord Black leave any message?" I ask, a little hope budding somewhere in my chest.

"Monk asked again and again, but he said there was no message Master." And its stomped down.

"Alright, bring me some soup while I go take a shower, did you have my things transferred to the Bordeaux suite?

"Yes master."

"Good, bring the food there then."

A quick shower, a bowl of warm soup, a few healing charms on the wound and… other places, later, I am lying in bed ready to rest. The bed is soft but different. But that is not exactly the reason that I am not unable to rest.

I decided to move into this suite for now because I could not find it in me to move into my Parent's suite yet, if ever, as it is just the way my mother spent her last days in it, and this is closer to both the living areas downstairs and the Sun-room, not to forget that I am particularly fond of the color which is a running theme, though ivory and chocolate brown are more dominant in the furnishings and wallpaper. Still the Bordeaux lends that mysteriousness to the atmosphere, not to mention how vibrant it looks in the fresh morning light lent in by the huge French windows that lead to the terrace facing towards the artificial lake and east side gardens. Perfect for witnessing the sunrise.

This was once my Grandfather's personal suite. I remember it from my childhood. With its stuffy and uptight environment to the uncomfortable furniture. I had not even known that there were French windows in this room, terrace is even a bigger surprise. I saw it from the outside, but had never paid attention to it. Now after my mother's redecoration it was in my opinion the best suite in the whole manor.

The best part though is that the whole suite is duplexed with the Library emporium which is just beneath this suite and the two next to them. The room has the easiest access to the library now thanks to my Mother's genius. Why she did it? I have no idea.

That reminds me of what Harry told me last night.

Harry.

I think I deserve to call him Harry now don't I?

Not in his face, never in his face but in my thoughts I think I am safe to take such liberties.

I wonder why Harry came to see me while I was away.

After what happened and his reaction afterwards, I wasn't expecting him to show up.

Unless he wanted to sort it out. And 'discuss'. The Gryffindor that he is.

Still. I wonder what he made of Monk's statement. Monk himself had pointed towards a rather hostile behavior from Harry, when I queried the elf about it while having my soup.

'Sharply refused to leave a message Master.'

What exactly does 'sharply refused' mean?

I weigh the option of owling Harry, all business and indifference just to bait a reaction or a confrontation out of him. It is the one thing I have always been good at. Then perhaps he will complete what he started in that lift…

'And perhaps one of these days you will stop being such a lovesick fool and stop falling in holes and not break your neck. YOU ARE READING TOO MUCH INTO THINGS.' Said the obnoxious Malfoy in me. I had to admit, he was right to some extent.

But then why was Harry here?

'One of these days you are going to call him Harry in reality, at a most inconvenient time and then where would we be with our allusion of indifference compromised.'

Fine then! Why was Potter here?

'perhaps to discuss things with you about the case, or the using of library as is the official status of your involvement in the case.'

Then I should owl him. Asking about that. Act indifferent and watch closely. Or I can simply visit him in his office. After all I am supposed to drop by the ministry at earliest convenience to collect my trial certification for sitting at the Wizengamot and Hogwarts Board of Governors.

With hope still fluttering deep in my psyche much to the chagrin of nasty Malfoy. I close my eyes and rest.

Dear Draco,

Luna asked me to discuss some details with you about that exclusive interview for quibbler that you promised me through our correspondence via Mr. Montague. I was wondering if you would like to join me for a late lunch at Finnegan's around One' o' clock this afternoon to discuss? I would really like to meet and catch up on old times.

Daphne Greengrass

I stare at the note for a long moment. It's a rather simple choice. I have no prior engagements for lunch and I am sure this is all a part of that amazing plan of Montague's, making me a celebrity that I have so much potential to become .

Daphne… she used to be in our year and Pansy used to constantly complain about her for making eyes at me. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Smart and witty but a little too self-conscious. Daphne as I remembered, was one of the prettiest Slytherin girls. Unlike Pansy, who most probably bullied people into calling her pretty, though she actually wasn't and were it not for my father's forceful urging, I would have probably have never paid attention to Pansy. But there were times when she was a good friend. According to , Pansy was now settled in Austria, married to a Pure-blood with two children.

Most of the boys from my year had taken the Dark Mark eventually even if I was the first one in them. And as was the tragic end of all those took the Mark, except me, they were all dead. Crabbe, Goyle, Warrington, Plume… Only surviving are Zabini and Nott. Which is a surprise, since Nott's father was one of the prominent death-eaters. Theodore, as Mr. Montague told me is now working in a Branch of Gringotts in Toronto, Canada. While Blaise Zabini is now a lead singer and composer of a Wizarding Musical Band called Siren's call. Which I knew before I returned.

They are popular enough that you can find their Posters in the rooms of Teenagers even in Shida Miryo, Japan.

It is strange that of all the things I have to feel guilt about. It is only my year mates that invoke the genuine feeling of 'survivor's guilt' inside me. My own parents died while I survived and I feel sad about it, but not guilty. But when it comes to my year mates, who I can't even call friends, I feel the guilt. They were just children. Like me. Most of them forced into a choice they did not want to really make, and even if they did, everyone is allowed mistakes at that age. But…

Who can you blame in the end other than Voldemort?

I decide there is no harm in a lunch with an old Class-mate. I scribble a note and send it off with the waiting owl.

It takes me less than five minutes to find 'Finnegan's'.

Apparently it is the most popular restaurant for the lunch rush at the Diagon Alley.

It takes me a few second to find Daphne between the canopied tables in the back yard.

How could I not?

If the girl at school was pretty.

The woman sitting in front of me now is gorgeous.

Wearing a snow-white button-up silk shirt with a midnight blue pencil skirt underneath her silver-silver grey robes. I hardly reach the table under the canopy which is a strange shade of lilac right now before she jumps at me.

"Draco! Dear Merlin!" she reaches for me with practiced vehemence and I find myself with an arm full of Daphne. And when she finally lets go, she is crying of course, dabbing at her silent tears with a silk handkerchief.

I know at that very moment that this going to go downhill from here.

In the next half hour, Daphne reminds me why I never bothered with her in the first place when I was in the same year as her. BESIDES the OBVIOUS reason.

She is the perfect specimen of a Slytherin house-wife. Proper, covertly ambitious, simpering just beneath the surface.

She is the proper pure-blood witch through and through. And I wonder how she ended up working for LUNA LOVEGOOD of all people. So I ask her. And her answer is, that its temporary and she intends to go work for Witch's weekly once she's made a good forte' with Quibbler.

I start thinking what has happened to me. I mean Pansy used to be worse than this and I kept up with her for years most because I was like that too. Proper, hateful, cruel and obnoxiously arrogant. To say I have changed in the past Seven years would be an understatement.

Throughout the conversation I keep noticing the calculating looks she keeps sending me, paired perfectly with flirtatious looks. I guess what she is seeing right now sitting in front of her is not me Draco Malfoy but a big fat sack of galleons.

I must be quite the catch.

By the time dessert arrives, she has somehow moved closer to my chair, which in my estimation waa already as close as it is to be appropriate.

She is talking nostalgically of the Slytherin Parties we used to have in the dungeons and the pranks we used to play on each other. She is in the middle of telling her story. When I feel the familiar warmth in my chest. I look around slowly wondering if I am just imagining it, or if it's really happening. My eyes find him immediately. Standing just by the doorway that leads to the backyard where all the outdoor tables are set he is facing away from me giving me a profile view of him in his Auror robes, looking for someone inside perhaps? He slowly turns away from the door. His eyes distant and thoughtful. He is breath-taking. I fell in love with him when he was nothing but a small, awkward postured teenager. And now he is what he is, and most probably doesn't even realize it. Now I feel like worshipping him. He looks like a statue, Like a god, looking down at his minions and watching their antics with boredom, watching but not really looking at anything particularly.

I notice that he looks fresh and rested. The dark circles under his eyes are almost gone. Then he slowly looks up from where he is staring, scans the crowd rather indifferently until his eyes stop before reaching me, and a line appears on his forehead. As if he has seen something he does not like. It seems that he is looking at Daphne, but I am too intrigued by his little gives to look away from him or even blink. His eyes move to me and the beginning of the frown that was appearing on the face disappears. It just goes blank.

"Draco?" Daphne touches my arm making me break the eye-contact and look at her.

"Yes… So about the interview?" I ask straightening up slightly in my chair. Before I steal a look again at the spot where Potter was standing just a second ago to find it empty.

It makes me wonder if he was there at all in the first place or if I am starting to hallucinate.

I wonder.

Primitivae is Latin for Pure.

Nidhogg is the Dragon that gnaws at the roots of the Yggdrasill (tree of life in Norse Mythology)

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The Principle of Sympathy