Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Currents of Silver	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 7453 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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            “This is the place the last body was found.”
            Draco’s voice was calm, professional, neutral. Severus found himself admiring that as they stood in this desolate little garden and let Harry look around. Severus leaned one shoulder against the stone wall and turned his head slowly from side to side.
            Wild, tangled grass grew over a pattern of stones that might once have been paths set into the earth. Severus sniffed, and recognized the distinct lightning-like tint of Auror enchantments that kept the garden both fenced off from Muggles and entirely out of their minds. No Muggle had been here since the body was found, then.
            “Did you search the flat?” Harry’s eyes went to the buildings that loomed over the patch of grass, and then dipped back down again.
            “Of course,” said Draco. “If you mean the victim’s flat.” He grimaced and shook his head, but even that expression faded a moment later, as if a tossed stone had sunk down into a pond while barely disturbing the placid surface. “Searching the whole building was impossible. Not enough places that we could cast magic undisturbed, too many Muggles in and out and destroying important evidence.”
            Harry nodded and crouched down in the middle of the garden, near the flattest patch, where Draco said they’d found the Muggle’s body. Then he drew his wand and began to trace it in a slow, flowing pattern. The lines that he made in the air turned a softly glowing silver. Severus blinked. He hadn’t thought Harry would use that spell.
            “What’s he doing?”
            Draco sounded indignant enough that Severus bit back his chuckle. Draco would think they were mocking him in particular. “A spell that he developed after he started getting some patients who turned out to be victims of Muggle-baiters. It reveals old magic that had its effect and faded, but he can find out enough to tell what it was.”
            Draco’s mouth twitched once. “So a version of the Priori Incantatem charm that doesn’t work on wands?”
            Severus nodded. Draco turned away abruptly and stared at a mass of tangled weeds and thistles. Severus mentally shook his head.
            If Harry had stayed in the Aurors, you would have felt yourself bound to compete with him, Draco, and that wouldn’t have been good for either of you.
            But he would say nothing, not now. He watched Harry, instead, and the silver that brightened and turned into a pattern of knots and ribbons, and remembered the moment that he had made his choice, of that intricate pattern over the wild tumult that Draco’s presence offered.
*
            Severus opened the apothecary door and felt his eyebrows rise. “When I had a client contact me requesting privacy,” he said, “I thought it would be someone I didn’t know.”
            “Not funny, Severus.” Draco pressed past him and turned around in the narrow entrance of the shop, his gaze flying from shelf to shelf. Severus had all the ingredients packaged in his own handmade wooden boxes and glass vials, so as to present a neutral front for both Muggles and wizards. “Is he here?”
            There’s only one person he talks about in that tone, Severus thought as he shut the door. He shook his head. “Harry has his own practice and doesn’t set foot in the shop most of the day.”
            “Good.” Draco turned around, arms folded. He was trying to project a casual demeanor, but especially after the way he had entered, he couldn’t fool Severus.
            Of course, he hasn’t been able to fool me for years, Severus thought. But although he knew Draco’s real, trembling, restless energy, he didn’t know yet what he’d come for. So he waited, and Draco finally bent his head, pressed his forehead against his folded arms, and whispered, “Don’t make me say it.”
            “Considering that I don’t know what you are about to say—”
            “You would, if you had any sense or sensitivity left!” Draco’s head came flying up, and he snarled at Severus. “You know what I feel about you.”
            “I know that,” said Severus. “I also knew that you wouldn’t choose me even when Harry stepped back to leave the field clear for you, like the generous fool he is.”
            Draco twitched, although Severus didn’t know if it was at the accusation. “So,” Draco whispered. “You think he’s a fool, but you still took him into your bed and your life? How could you do that, if you didn’t care for him? If you cared for me instead?”
            Severus wanted to strike out and wound Draco, but he kept his voice down. “I cared for you both. You, for our bonds during the war and the potential that I saw you growing into once you joined the Aurors in truth. Harry, for his bravery, his generous spirit, his abilities with potions and so much else—”
            “So you only admire him because of things,” Draco interrupted. “And how can you like his generosity and despise it at the same time?”
            “Because I am a human being, and we are not required to justify our every choice and contradiction.”
            Draco turned pink enough that Severus thought he could have heated a cauldron on his face. “You—you can’t really mean—”
            “I can mean many things,” Severus snapped back. “If I thought you were not a great fool, I would have tried to include you in my life before this. But you refused the invitations I gave you before I got together with Harry. You stepped back and then ran away when Harry tried to clear the path for you. I called him foolish because I would never have done that for a rival. Harry did, because that is the way Harry is. And then he had the courage to admit what he wanted, which is the kind you lack.”
            Draco bowed his head. “You said—you said you care for me.”
            “I do,” said Severus, and shook his head. “Another point, Draco, on the scale of being human, something you don’t seem to have understood yet. I can regret what I lost and wonder what would have happened if I made a different choice, without regretting the choice I did make.”
            Draco stared at him, baffled. Severus turned and walked towards the back of the apothecary without another word. Let Draco follow him if he wished. If he did not, then Severus would have a quiet cup of tea by himself and shake his head over the boy—for boy he was, even though he had grown.
            But Draco did follow him, and Severus warmed up cups of tea for them both and waved his wand to hang a CLOSED sign on the apothecary door. He watched Draco as he sipped the tea warily, and his eyes traveled back and forth between Severus’s wand and the tea.
            He thinks I’ve enchanted it or slipped a potion into it somehow. Severus almost snorted aloud. There was no potion that could give someone the permanent courage of their convictions, or he would have slipped it to Draco years ago.
            “I don’t understand,” Draco said, and put down his cup. “You wanted me first.”
            “That, I cannot be sure of.” Severus shrugged. “My own admitting of my feelings took a long time, and I did not grasp the chance because I was sure that Potter would never come to me—his own delicacy—and you never would, either—you own cowardice.” Draco flushed, but Severus had no desire to hear him speak, yet. “Forgive me for wanting to be sought for once, Draco.”
            “I sought you. You said no.”
            “By letter,” Severus said. “And when I answered your first one, you never replied. I do not count that as a spirited enough try.”
            Draco closed his eyes. By now, streaks of pink were trailing down his neck, and probably his chest, although his robes prevented Severus from seeing that far. A pity, Severus thought, and it was. As he had told Draco, that he had chosen his path and was happy as he walked it did not mean he never thought about the other ones he could have taken.
            “I thought I would come here and speak one more time,” Draco whispered.
            Again, as before, Severus almost didn’t understand him. And then he did, and it was as if the Dark Lord’s cold shadow had swept over him. He put down his teacup. “Draco.”
            “I want you to come with me.” Draco snapped his eyes open and stood up, reaching an impetuous hand out. Severus let Draco take his, although he continued to gaze into his eyes. Draco had become good enough at Occlumency to maintain his shields unconsciously, or Severus might have earned more from that. “Please, Severus. We would have to leave Britain, but that’s all right. I didn’t know—I mean, when I first knew you, I didn’t know it, but Father had property in France. He left it to me when he died. We can go there. I don’t think Potter would follow you. I could find work in the French Ministry. You could set up a shop. Please.”
            Severus shook his head. Draco was probably right that the Ministry wouldn’t look for them, at least if Draco resigned properly from the Aurors first. And Harry wouldn’t if he thought it was what Severus really wanted.
            But Severus had discovered something in the last few years that he valued more even than being sought. It was having his wishes respected.
            “I don’t want to, Draco,” he said, when Draco opened his mouth to talk again, as if he thought the problem was his speech not being persuasive enough. “There was a time when—when I would have come with you without hesitation.” It was difficult to speak those words, not least for the thought of the look in Harry’s eyes if he heard Severus speak them. “But it’s too late now. I did make my choice.”
            “Then what was all that shit about sometimes thinking about the path you didn’t take?” Draco flung his hand away and took a wild turn around the shop. Severus cast silent Cushioning Charms to cradle the vials and boxes Draco was knocking off the shelves. “I thought you were saying you wanted to come with me, but you didn’t want to just say it right out!”
            Severus sighed. “I am saying that it is complex, Draco. I am saying that I can love Harry and still think about what could have been with you. I see no point in lying to myself now. I did that for too many years.”
            Draco turned around again, and at least this time he noticed when he knocked a vial down, although his tight clutch when he caught it stood the chance of breaking the glass anyway. “And what does Potter think about these little fantasies of yours?”
            Severus smiled. From the way Draco paused, it wasn’t the kind of smile he had thought he would see.
            But then, he has proven he has little understanding of either Harry or me. Severus reached out. Draco handed him the vial, moving like an automaton, which included never taking his eyes from Severus’s face.
            “Harry knows about them,” Severus said. “He prefers honesty, as well. We’ve discussed them. Harry never seems to tire of hearing why I chose him and not you, in the end.” He set the vial down on the table beside him with a little click.
            Draco’s breath caught with a painful sound. “You don’t need to be that way.”
            “You came here and asked me to run away with you, and you are still as wild and uncivilized as you were before,” said Severus in a level tone. “I think you needed to hear it so you didn’t try going to Harry next, and encouraging him to doubt my faithfulness.”
            Draco turned the color of porcelain this time. “How does he belong with you?” he whispered. “We’re both Slytherins. He’s a Gryffindor.”
            “When you have been out of Hogwarts longer, then you will understand why House distinctions no longer matter to me.”
            “You’re telling me that House affiliation doesn’t matter to him at all?” Draco shook his head. “I’m not much older than he is.”
            “In years, that is true,” said Severus, and held Draco’s gaze, and waited for him to think of other means of counting time than chronologically.
            Draco turned away from him with an angry hiss. “Why did you tell me all that blather about regretting the road not taken if you were just going to put me off?” he whispered. “Why—it’s always the great Harry Potter all over again, isn’t it? When I was a child, he took away the attention and praise I should have had. And now that I’m an adult, he’s still taking it away.”
            “If you think that Harry loved the admiration and praise, you’re as bad as the people who thought he was the Heir of Slytherin,” Severus interrupted, and he didn’t bother tempering his voice this time. Draco was irritating him. “He did not. And another reason I am with him is because he has the wits to see beyond childish competitions.”
            “You keep thinking of me as a child. A child can’t want you with as much strength as I do.”
            Severus let a moment pass, to absorb the implications of Draco’s words, and then he nodded slowly. “That might be true. But you need to think of other things beyond your own desires, Draco. For example, what do you think Harry’s reaction would be if he saw you right now?”
            “He hates me.”
            “He might hate certain aspects of your personality,” said Severus. “And yet, he also told me that he was relieved you had survived the war, and that you have more bravery and skill than he had ever thought you would. I suppose you don’t know what he’s talking about?” Severus added. He had wondered himself when Harry brought that up, but Harry had refused to tell him, and Severus supposed he could be hiding an important secret.
            If Draco tells me of his own free will, though…
            Draco’s face was incredibly pale, though, and Severus sensed he wouldn’t be getting at whatever the truth was today. Draco held up a hand with his palm towards Severus, in fact, when Severus would have advanced on him, and whispered, “Doesn’t he know?”
            “Know what?” Severus asked.
            “Nothing.” Draco slid his gaze away from Severus for a second, stared blankly at the vial he had knocked off its shelf, and then whipped back around. “I’m making the offer for you to run away with me one more time. Are you coming?”
            “I already told you why that’s impossible, Draco,” Severus said, and he spoke as gently as he could. He wished to honor Draco’s dignity even if he couldn’t honor his wishes.
            “Then don’t expect me to ask again.”
            “If you had asked a different sort of question five years ago, then I would have responded differently,” Severus said. “Even if you had asked a different sort of question now.”
            “Like what?” Draco tilted his head back and gave a maniacal chuckle that reminded Severus far too much of Bellatrix. He frowned at Draco. He saw no reason for insane laughter to descend into the middle of the proceedings.
“If you had asked if you could come along and talk with Harry and perhaps see if the two of you could exchange mutual apologies,” Severus responded. “I would have invited you to dinner.”
Draco stared at him as if he was the one who had introduced the mad chuckle, then shook his head. “He hates me.”
“You keep saying that, and I don’t think you have the least idea what the word means,” Severus said. “At least to Harry. Will you come to dinner?”
“I came to ask one question, and it was answered. Now I’m going. I don’t have time for this.” Draco turned and left, pushing the door open hard enough that the CLOSED sign fell off it. Severus rescued it before it hit the floor and hung it back up again, sighing.
            Severus stood looking after him for a second. Honesty compelled him to admit that he wished, sometimes, he had made a go of things with Draco.
            And honesty also compelled him to admit that it would have been disastrous. Severus would have been the one doing all the coaxing and prodding, long past the point where they should have begun to share the responsibility for each other as adults.
            Severus shook his head and turned to resume his brewing once more. Brewing was the only cure for a mind this tumbled and tumultuous.
            Brewing, or Harry’s embrace. And Harry wouldn’t be off work for some hours yet.
*
            “There.”
            Harry rose and backed away from the silver pattern that glowed on the ground in front of him. As Severus watched, it spread to outline the plants in the overgrown garden, and climbed the stone walls, and flickered here and there on the stones that made the paths.
            “What is that?” Draco had his nose stuck in the air again, and Severus wished he could tell him that no one here had a desperate desire to know how often he cleaned it. They would take his word for it. “How does it tell you what spell might have been cast here?”
            “The pattern of the knots,” Harry said, gesturing with his wand towards the edges of the spell, which had intricate little windings of light on them. Severus had never bothered to learn to read them, but they reminded him of Celtic knots. “They’re like runes. They tell me what class of magic the spell belongs to, like Divination or Transfiguration. Then I read them down and work out the spell.”
            “Divination is a class?” Draco demanded, but fell silent when Severus put a restraining hand on his arm. Severus decided to remind himself of this power in the future. He would probably be able to use it for good.
            Harry walked down the side of one path, and then stooped with a soft exclamation. Severus saw the way his eyes flickered back and forth between the nearest bush, the clump of thistle where the body had been found, and then his face darkened and he nodded.
            “That’s what I was afraid of,” he whispered.
            “If you don’t tell me what it means right now, Harry Potter,” Draco began, which made Severus turn his head a little to stare at him. That sounded like something he would have said, rather than Draco.
            Harry just gave a little shrug and said, “There were a bunch of spells cast here that day. They overlap one another, which makes the reading more difficult. But they were all spells of the Blood Arts class.” He sighed and spent a moment massaging his forehead. Severus found bitter amusement in the way that Draco promptly tried to stare through Harry’s hand to the scar beneath. “And I should have thought of that before, with the silver bands and the intestines hanging out and so on.”
            “I’ve never heard of Blood Arts.”
            Harry turned around with his mouth open, probably to make some remark about Auror training. Severus caught Harry’s eye and shook his head.
            Perhaps his silent reminder to Harry that Harry had taught himself a lot about magic in the past seven years, even apart from his status as a Healer, got through. Harry replied more temperately. “They’re spells that channel magic through blood. I know more about them than most because Healers are educated in reversing them.”
            “And this was used—what? As a taunt for you?”
            Severus blinked. That was a more sophisticated understanding than he had expected from Draco when he had seemingly come into this so resistant to Harry’s help.
            “I don’t think that only, although that may be part of the whole of the case.” Harry tilted his head back, musing in a way Severus had learned to trust. It usually meant he was on the verge of some incredible breakthrough. “Wait a minute. There’s something I want to check.”
            He reached out and cast another spell, one that made the flickering silver outlines glow warm and gold. Severus shivered from the force behind the spell. It was one he didn’t recognize, but that only made it more interesting.
            Harry tilted his head. He took a step forwards.
            “Potter!” Draco cried out suddenly.
            Harry whipped his head around to look at Draco in surprise, but it was too late to know what he would have done with the warning. His foot came down in the middle of one outline of golden light.
            And there was a silent fountain of sparks in return, red instead of gold, reminding Severus of a horrendous moment of the sparks that had gone up from the maze during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, the moment that had marked the Dark Lord’s true return and ended his freedom for three years.
            When the fountain died down, Harry was gone.
*
            Draco wanted to run around screaming in panic like a child. But he had been trained out of desires like that when he went through the Aurors’ harsh instruction.
            Harsher for someone like him, who had been a Death Eater, than people who hadn’t. On the other hand, that meant he could think about what had happened now, instead of succumbing to his emotions and whimpering.
            He had seen golden light like that before. He had only to incant the proper counter for it, and things ought to work out.
            Ignoring the way Severus had turned to him and was trying to ask a question, Draco held out his wand. He made sure he was within reach of the golden light around the stones on the ground, but not near enough to let it touch him. That was all he’d need, both Potter and the only one who could free him trapped in the same place.
            “Ianuam aperio,” he said, and his voice didn’t shake, and neither did his wand hand, and the light in front of him groaned aloud as the spell forced it away from the earth and into the air. Draco watched as it outlined the shape of an open door, and then golden pinwheels and spirals opened up beyond that, into a space Draco wouldn’t cross if his life depended on it.
            If Potter’s life does?
            Draco pushed the notion away. He was sure that he could bring Potter back without going through the door. That was what counted. He leaned back and watched as the magic continued, reaching further and further.
            Draco knew he was panting, knew that sweat had slickened his palms and the back of his neck and even the skin between his fingers. To operate, the spell had to draw on him for its power. But he didn’t back down. At least he didn’t have to run and jump while the magic was doing this, although he might have to if it drew Potter back through the door with something else attached.
            “Your spell forces the trap to release him?”
            Draco grimaced. It did seem unfair that he had to speak while he was concentrating so hard. But as long as Severus asked only yes-or-no questions, he might manage it. He sawed his head back and forth, while staring at the spirals.
            Had they formed into a semblance of another shape there, one that might reach the place Potter had gone and crack it open? Draco hoped so.
            “What spell did he use? I didn’t recognize it.”
            Draco sighed and resigned himself to parting his lips and speaking a little. “One that should reveal traps. However, it triggered the trap when it released. I think Potter’s right that the Blood Arts spells here were attuned to him. To taunt him, but also to take him.”
            Yes, the shape of light beyond the door had turned into a wedge. Draco leaned forwards, tense. The simplest traps had the shape of lids or trapdoors that could be lifted by wedges. He only hoped that his spell had sensed the existence of one and responded accordingly instead of simply forming one common key that would be defeated by a more unusual trap.
            “What—”
            Draco flung up a hand. Severus was smart enough to fall silent. Draco couldn’t evade the thought that if Potter was here, then he wouldn’t do the same thing.
            Of course, Potter was stupid enough to fall victim to the damn trap in the first place. Not exactly a rousing recommendation.
            The wedge was definitely solid now, and Draco could see blue flickers along the edges of the light that made it up. He breathed softly. Blue light was also a good sign, a sign that his spell was breaking through whatever layers of illusions and distractions the trap-maker had set up.
            Then the wedge abruptly snapped back towards him. Draco staggered as the magic poured out of him in response to the spell’s need, an abrupt pull that made him have to brace his feet.
            Severus grabbed him around the waist and held him like that. Draco leaned his face along Severus’s neck and closed his eyes. The warmth served to ground him and let him whisper one more spell that could help his earlier one along. “Do cumulate.”
            The wind around him seemed to howl, and Draco started forwards against Severus’s embrace. Without it there, he would have either fallen or gone through the door. He had tapped all his magic at once, even the strength that kept his muscles working and his heart beating.
            “You idiot,” Severus breathed into his ear.
            Draco ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed through the open doorway on the wedge he’d made, now shaped more like a pair of claws flying back towards him. A pair of claws that had something clasped in it.
            When the claws finally retracted through the door, Potter was in them. He fell on the ground with his face turned up towards the sky and his body flopping, limp. There was blood across his chest where something had torn his shirt to tatters. Whatever had made those marks had claws itself, Draco thought. Like the ones that marked a Dementor’s hand.
            Severus set him down gently, then knelt beside Harry, reaching into one robe pocket for something that could be anything from a healing potion to a healing herb. Draco watched him, and remembered.
Potter never knew it, but Draco saw him just as vulnerable one time after Potter had used the Sectumsempra Curse on him, and he could have hurt him.
            Just as vulnerable. Just one time.
*
            Draco had gone down to the Quidditch pitch to stare at the grass. The stars hung above him, and the doom the Dark Lord had foretold loomed over him. He had come up with a way to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, but not to harm Dumbledore. The scars on his chest ached.
            His parents were going to die.
            Draco grabbed his ears and bowed his head between his knees. But his own noisy breathing and his suspicion that he was about to faint disgusted him, so he ended up pulling back and up. He looked around in despair, wishing that he could find a way to fly, a school broom left out that no one would miss. If he could only circle the pitch a few times, then he thought he could calm down and remember his duty.
            There was something pale glimmering off near the stands where Ravenclaws usually sat during the Quidditch games. In desperation, hoping maybe it was the moonlight reflecting off a really polished broom, Draco went towards it.
            It turned out to be Potter.
            Draco stopped and stared at him. The paleness he’d seen came from Potter’s face and hands. He looked like a ghost, curled up on the grass, his hands bent underneath his chin. His hair sprawled across his cheek, so dark that Draco couldn’t see it until he was close. It had broken up the recognizable outline of Potter’s face from just a few meters away.
            Why was he here? Draco knew the Gryffindor Quidditch team had practiced earlier that day, but that didn’t mean that Potter should have fallen asleep. He should have walked back into Hogwarts with his mates and laughed and chatted and shoved food into his unscarred stomach.
            Draco’s scars seemed to burn then. He held up his wand.
            He could do it, he thought. He could curse Potter. He could even kill him. No one would ever know, not if Draco was careful to take the steps that would protect his wand against the Priori Incantatem charm. He could get away with it, and he would have his revenge, and the Dark Lord—
            The Dark Lord would probably eviscerate him, Draco realized suddenly. He probably wanted to kill Potter himself.
            But Draco didn’t know that for certain. The only thing he knew for certain was that the Dark Lord hadn’t commanded him to kill Harry Potter.
            No, only do other impossible things, Draco thought bitterly.
            As he stood there, clutching his wand, thinking, Potter muttered a little and turned over. Now his hand was a breath away from Draco’s boot. Draco looked down at it, checked to make sure that Potter’s eyes were still closed, and thought about stepping on Potter’s hand, crunching down and twisting, breaking his fingers.
            His third thought was, I’d get caught.
            His second thought was, I’d wake him up.
            The first one was, I don’t want to do that.
            Draco stood there, and fought a bitter battle in his heart and soul—one he could only fight because he wouldn’t have to admit it to anyone. He didn’t think even the Dark Lord or Snape would read it out of his mind, because he was going to die before then for failing to kill Dumbledore.
            He smiled when it was done, not a happy smile. He already knew that.
            He didn’t want to hurt Potter not because the Dark Lord might kill him in return for not keeping Potter inviolate for his own wand. He didn’t want to hurt Potter because he didn’t want to hurt him.
            Not even in revenge for the scars. It wouldn’t make Draco feel better to break Potter’s hand, or his nose, the way he had at the start of the year, or cover his chest with scars that twinged and ached like Draco’s own. It wouldn’t change anything. Potter was irrelevant to Draco’s life now.
            At least, he was irrelevant as revenge. He mattered too much in ways that Draco didn’t want to examine, and always would.
            In the end, Draco turned and walked away from the Quidditch pitch and left Harry Potter sleeping under the stars. He was entering the Slytherin common room before he realized that he no longer felt as if he would have liked to fly. Both the aching in his chest and the constant restlessness in his heart had stopped.
*
            Draco shook his head and watched as Potter sat up with Severus’s arm behind him. Potter didn’t look particularly grateful for that blessing. He was coughing and choking, and as Draco watched, he turned to the side and retched out a stream of water. But he was all right enough a moment later to take a drink from a flask that Severus offered him.

            Severus didn’t fuss over Potter as Draco would have expected. Instead, he sat back and studied him with critical eyes for a second, then nodded. “What happened beyond that door?” he demanded. “And why were you so foolish as to step into it?”
            Draco blinked. He had thought Severus would evince concern for his lover. Imagining that was one of the things that had made the thought of being Severus’s lover attractive to Draco in the first place.
            But Potter didn’t seem upset at the lack of tenderness. He only said, “I thought the spell was going to show me something about the magical signature of the killer. Instead…” He trailed off, frowning. Then he said, “It seemed to be more than one magical signature.” He glanced up at Draco. “Could there be more than one person working together?”
            “Maybe,” Draco said. “We haven’t encountered any evidence that there is more than one person, though.”
            And we also haven’t found any evidence that there isn’t.
            From Potter’s sharp look, he heard Draco’s unspoken addition, but he only inclined his head and murmured, “Well, that’s what it felt like. Multiple magical signatures overlayered and overlapping. There must have been a lot of people here.”
            “A ritual, then,” Draco suggested, feeling his hands grow cold. “Maybe the silver bands are a relic of a ritual the killers performed.”
            Potter seemed about to answer, but Severus broke in impatiently. “Why are your lungs full of water?”
            “They’re not, now,” Potter muttered in what seemed to be a deliberately provocative way, and ignored the way Severus poked at him. “But anyway. I flew through a door that clawed me on the way down, and I got dropped straight into a tank full of water that began slowly rising.” He nodded to Draco. “Thank you for saving my life, Malfoy. I can cast a few Bubble-Head Charms and the like, but I would have died eventually.”
            Draco blinked slowly, but he managed to incline his head, because he knew he would look like an idiot if he didn’t. Potter turned back to speak to Severus. Draco had no need to listen to him, because he knew more about those kinds of traps than Potter did, probably. It was how he had known to cast the spell that would fetch Potter back.
            He would have expected Potter to either speak in high resentment when he told Draco about the life-debt, or immediately clarify that he didn’t actually owe Draco one, because all Draco had done was pay back one of the two he owed Potter. But he hadn’t done that. He had spoken with what sounded like respect and coolness.
            He had treated Draco like a person and not an unwanted guest for the first time.
            Draco swallowed hard. He felt as though he was flooded with the same, hard kind of quietening that he had discovered on the Quidditch pitch all those years ago, when he stood watching Potter. All his expectations had been overset, and Potter had discovered several things that could make the case easier, and he had been—thanked.
            “Malfoy?”
            It was Potter, but he sounded calm, not impatient. Draco snapped back to the scene in front of him, and nodded. It was absurd, he thought, to let mere words make such a difference. He shouldn’t let them, in fact. He should let matters take their course, and use Potter and Severus’s help to solve the case, and then leave the Muggle world with the Argent killer or killers firmly in his possession.
            But he knew he would leave with more reluctance than he had expected to feel. Because of a few calm words and the skill Potter had displayed. Maybe even because of a night sixteen years ago and the way that Potter had refused his hand twenty-one years ago.
            Privately, Draco could admit he would still have liked Potter’s friendship if it had been on offer.
            But only privately. And it never had been. Draco knew that.
            The one thing he prided himself on most over the last several years, besides his skill as an Auror and the way he had earned respect from his peers, was the chipping away of the foolishness that had made him a sixteen-year-old menace to be around. No one would take him in again.
            That includes me, with my own delusions.
*
Easyreader: Thank you!
ChaosLady: Thanks. Hope this chapter showed even more progress.
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