Fine Lines | By : squirrelchaser Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8051 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Zonko’s Joke Shop was still boarded up; shame too. Would have loved to
find something fun to get Weasley with…
As
I sat in Three Broomsticks, nursing a butterbeer, I
was thinking I should have gone to Diagon Alley when
–
“Weasley, hey, Weasley!”
I
froze.
Some
kid – Thomas? – from Hogwarts who had lived in Gryffindor
came over to my table, waving and smiling like we were old friends. “How’s your
summer been?” he said jovially, plopping himself down in the opposite me.
“Er…Great!”
“How’s
Ginny?”
“…Fine!
Really good actually,”
The
temptation to sabotage whatever friendship that Ron had was being dangled in
front of me like a mouse in front of a cat…
“…Ah…what’s
your name again?”
The
kid laughed. “Very funny Ron…Very funny. Are you
really still mad about what happened with Ginny?”
Ginny? “Yeah, you bet I am…You just don’t do that! I thought we were
mates!”
“Oh
come off it! We’re fine; she wrote me actually this summer…sounded really put
out about someone – some bloke – but she wouldn’t say who…strange.” Shrugging,
he shook his head. “Anyway, I was just making a run to Honeydukes
when I saw you in here. Gave my Dad a bit of a fright the first time he had a
chocolate frog, way back when we were first years. Thought I’d come get more,”
The
smile froze on my face. I definitely should have gone to Diagon
Alley.
“Say,
whatcha doing here all by yourself
anyway?”
“I
was just waiting for someone,” I lied smoothly leaning back in my chair. I was
looking over his shoulder, out the window, everywhere but his face when I saw a
head of pale blond hair that I would know anywhere, fast disappearing down the
street. My heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be, could it?
“And
I wouldn’t want to keep you,” I added hastily, craning to see around him.
“Bye.”
He
looked at me strangely, but got up. “Yeah, sure. Uh,”
“No
problem,” I said in a rush, stringing all my words together. “Have a good
summer,”
“Yeah,”
he said sounding uncertain as he backed toward the door. “Anyway, tell Ginny
and Harry that I say hi,”
“Weasle and Mudblood,” I muttered
under my breath.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“Okay…Bye,
Ron!”
I
raised my bottle in farewell, waiting impatiently for the git
to be out of sight in Honeydukes before hurrying out
of the pub and glancing wildly around the street. Speed walking in the
direction I had seen the person, I glanced in every shop, every window until I
reached Hog’s Head, a grimy, dirty little pub.
Yes!
It was Father! Thinner, a bit unkempt, but it was Father, wrapped in a black
traveling cloak, sitting at the bar sipping a pint of mead.
My
hands started to shake; I hadn’t seen him nearly a year.
Play
it cool, Draco, I reminded myself, looking down at my freckly, oversized hands
and feet. You’ve still got another – I checked my watch – fifteen minutes
before the Polyjuice wears off.
Taking
deep breaths I paced up and down the street a little. I forgot that I was
supposed to be in hiding, didn’t think of what I would tell him, where I had
been all summer, what had not happened,
what had happened…I just wanted to
see him.
Two
minutes left…I dashed into Hog’s Head, ducking into the tiny, smelly, one
roomed bathroom. Shutting the door, I could already feel the freckles begin to
fade, felt my insides collapsing a little bit as I doubled over, leaning on my
broomstick, trying not to touch the filthy walls.
When
the worst seemed to be over I straightened and peered into the foggy, speckled
mirror over the sink. Yes, I was Draco again.
Bursting
out the bathroom I saw that the pub was still dark and dingy as before. A
figure with their hood up sat slumped over onto the table in a far corner, a
shot of smoking fire whiskey in one out stretched hand. The toothless, greasy
bartender was not in sight. There was only…
“Father,”
I said, swallowing the urge to rush up to him.
The
blond head turned slowly as he slid off the stool and stood, chin held high,
jaw firm. “Draco,” he said. “Or should I say, Weasley?”
I
grinned, and started to come toward him. “Can’t get anything past you, can I?”
“No,
you can’t.”
I
had almost reached him and was about to hold my arms out when his face hardened
and he pulled out his wand.
“Crucio!”
The
wind was knocked out of me as I was thrown to the grubby floor, pain like I’d
never known radiating from my very bones out through the ends of my hair. As if
out of body, I heard myself screaming.
I’d
seen the Unforgiveable Curses before, in Mad Eye
Moody’s class and at home. Father had shown them to me first on a passing
squirrel and tried to teach me to do them myself. All I had mastered was the
Imperious Curse. I’d made the squirrel do back flips.
Then
the pain stopped. I lay on the floor, cheek against the floor boards, panting
and sweating as I tried to stand but my knees were shaking too hard.
“I’ve
been trying to find you all month, and then you just walk into Hogsmeade…Do you know why I knew it was you, Draco?”
I
couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I was on all fours at his feet, mind in
shambles, wishing desperately I had my wand and cursing McGonagall for taking
it away.
“First of all, your clothing. How can you really be disguised if all
you’re wearing is their skin? Crucio!”
The
pain came in a short burst, really more like a slap, and I was flat on the
floor again.
“Second
of all,” Father nudged the broomstick lying beside me with his foot. “Do you
really think that the Weasleys can afford more than a
twig of a Nimbus? Draco, Draco,” he said with both mock and disgust. Then, in a
completely different tone, one of regret and sadness, he added, “I thought
you’d have known better. I thought I’d taught you better. Very
sloppy. Probably why you were outwitted by Potter and his Muggle loving friend – again! Crucio!”
Another slap of pain. “Why?” I gasped, rolling to my back,
watching his face looking down at me as he paced in a circle, feeling his
footsteps reverberating in the floor boards. Perhaps he had gone mad in
Azkaban…
“Your
mother is dead,” he said suddenly, and his face twisted. “Do you know what He
had ordered us to do Draco? To make up for your failure and neglect this past
school year? Yes, Snape told me all about it,”
he continued. “When I freed myself from Azkaban and returned to my Lord, he
ordered Narcissa and me to kill you,”
I
groaned.
“Or
he’d kill us!” His voice rose, panicked. “Your mother couldn’t do it, Draco, she couldn’t do it and said she wouldn’t! Careless
boy! Careless, stupid boy,” His voice cracked and he choked, as if grieved, wand
still pointing at me though his hand was shaking. “He killed her! Draco, he
killed her!”
“I
tried!” I groaned, staring at him pleadingly. “Father,”
“He’ll
kill me,” he said again, and his eyes were glazed with terror at the thought.
“He’ll kill me like he killed Narcissa,”
I
was too frightened to make a sound. Father was really just as afraid of the
Dark Lord as I.
His
robes swished as he raised his wand arm. “Ava-“
“Stupefy!”
A
blast of light hit him from behind, his eyes rounded in shock then half-closed
and I rolled aside as Father slumped to the floor.
I
stood slowly, leaning on a table for support, knees shaking, eyes
watering.
Nymphadora Tonks stood in
the doorway, McGonagall behind her. Her mouth was very thin, the way it was
when she was very angry.
“Are
you alright, Draco?” she said.
I
nodded.
Nymphadora crossed the room to the figure slumped over
with the Firewhiskey. “Ennervate,” she murmured.
It
was Professor Lupin.
“Lupin was following you,” McGonagall said, rolling Father
onto his side and binding his hands and ankles with a spell. “He called for
backup when we had him cornered, but Lucius had had
other ideas.” Her eyes narrowed to slits behind her glasses, saying in a low,
angry voice, “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?” She looked sharply at Lupin and Tonks, who were huddled
in the corner. “Remus, Nymphadora,
can you see to Lucius here?”
They
nodded, and came over to stand over Father who was still unconscious on the
floor.
“What’re
you going to do - ?” I began, looking at him on the floor and feeling torn.
McGonagall’s
mouth thinned even more. “Keep him in tighter confines than he was before…thank
goodness for this new Minister…” She took me by the arm and marched me from the
pub. “I should be furious with you, Malfoy, breaking
our trust like that. If school were in session I’d give you a years worth of
detention.” But then she stopped, catching a glimpse of the expression on my
face and said quietly, “Come now.”
With
a firm hold on my arm still McGonagall Apparated us
back to Godric’s Hollow, taking me into Potter’s
cottage. “You’re filthy,” she said, tapping the end of my nose with her wand
and suddenly there was a warm wash rag scrubbing my face.
I
stood in wretched silence.
“Malfoy,” she said quietly, more gently than I’d ever
thought she could be.
“Did
you know about Mother?” I said in a hollow voice.
“Narcissa? We found out yesterday. Arthur or Molly were going to tell you this morning, but you had gone. We
wrung the truth out of Potter when he arrived for the wedding, and sent Lupin to keep a safe eye on you.” She tapped the end of my
nose again and the washrag disappeared.
I
nodded, not knowing what to say as my stomach slowly contracted into a knot. It
was strange standing with Professor McGonagall, who had been something of an
opponent at Hogwarts, in what had come to be my home.
“I
won’t ask if you’re okay,” she said in a funny tone, almost as if she herself
were about to cry. “Do you want me to stay until Potter gets back?”
“If you like,” I said. “I’m going to lie
down.”
“Suit
yourself,” she said, and as I went up to my room I
distinctly heard her sniff through the clatter of a tea kettle.
I
lay on the unmade bed, feeling too sick to cry. Every value my parents had
taught me had been uprooted and questioned within the last six weeks. I was
confused and grieved. I didn’t know what I wanted or believed anymore.
Late
that evening the front door opened and I heard Potter’s footsteps, then more
footsteps. There came the sound of McGonagall’s voice, then Mrs. Weasley’s.
“He
could have been killed!” The yell cut through the air and everything seemed to
shrink with intimidation.
“Mum,
what would-“
“Stop
it Ron! He nearly was killed! Harry! You who’s protecting him! What! Were! You!
Thinking!” This outburst was followed by a rant,
condemning Harry’s and my better judgment, and then there came the sounds of
footsteps trooping up the stairs.
Oh
Lord, I thought to myself as the bedroom door opened. Now Mrs. Weasley would be here to scream at me. But that’s not what
she did.
“Dear,”
she said softly, sweeping over to the bed and hugging my head awkwardly. “I am
so sorry. I’m so glad you’re safe.”
She
was? I squirmed around and stared at her, eyes feeling dry and blood shot.
“Draco,”
she murmured, smoothing back the hair from my forehead just like my mother used
to do when I was very young. “It’s okay to cry, dear. I won’t tell the boys.”
It
hurt too much and I was too conflicted to cry, but I didn’t know how to say
that. Instead I closed my eyes as she stroked my hair, and I fell asleep.
TBC
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