A/N: As promised, lovies: a final chapter before I leave for Denver in a few days. It's a bit shorter than the rest but I wanted to give you something just in case I don't have the opportunity to update while I'm away. But I think you'll forgive me for the relative shortness when I tell you it's an entire chapter of Harry/Draco interaction. That's right. Lots of snarky fun and a few interesting epiphanies as well. Hope you enjoy!
Silver Shades of Grey—Chapter Seven
Crookshanks prowled the windowsill with slow, determined steps, shabby tail flicking back and forth, his yellow eyes following the house sparrows hopping around the backyard. Harry rested his cheek against his fist with a long sigh and wondered what was wrong with him that he actually found this enthralling. It's just a cat stalking birds, he thought. So why can't I turn away?
It was a quarter past ten and he'd been sitting there for a good half hour, captivated by the sight of Crookshanks' pacing steps. Hermione had dragged Ron off earlier that morning to continue researching while Harry had schlepped off to another sit down with Dumbledore. Ginny, last he checked, was still sound asleep.
Number 12 Grimmauld Place was unusually quiet. The Aurors and Ministry officials had all returned to work, as had Bill and Charlie (the former to Gringotts and the latter to Romania). Dumbledore and Snape had gone back to Hogwarts and Mrs. Weasley was off shopping in Diagon Alley.
Harry had cloistered himself in his room with the honest intention of practicing his shielding—hauling Crookshanks inside as well to keep him out of Kreacher's way while the house-elf went about his morning routine—and had practiced for a good five minutes before the sight of a prowling half-kneazle stole his attention. What? It was hardly his fault he had the attention span of a first-grader. He blamed it all on genetics (apparently his father had had an equally deficient attention span).
Crookshanks hissed and scratched at the glass, tail flicking. Harry sighed again, standing. Under the cat's watchful eye, he crossed the room and pushed open the window. Crookshanks mewed gratefully and leapt out onto the overhang. Who was he to deny him the right to romp around the backyard chasing birds?
A cool, late-morning breeze wafted in, carrying the scent of damp earth, fresh blossoms, and sweet oak. The smell of summer. The sky was a crisp, powder blue dotted with full, white clouds. Birds trilled from somewhere overhead and the sounds of laughter filtered in through the wards surrounding Grimmauld Place. It was a perfect day and Harry was damned if he was going to spend it cooped up inside.
Stripping off his sleepwear he rummaged through his drawers, pulling on a pair of cut-offs and an old Kinks tee-shirt. He left his room on bare feet, ruffling his mop of unruly hair. The house was quiet as he padded down the hall, descending the stairs and slipping out the back door with nary a sound.
The sun was warm against his skin as he stepped outside. The yard was still in relative shambles—flowers and shrubs choked by vampiric vines and littered with years of death and debris—but after weeks of hard work it was beginning to reveal its original symmetry and beauty. Harry felt a certain sense of pride that he was able to coax life back into this garden-cum-graveyard.
He breathed in the cool, sweet air and set off along the winding stone pathway, fingers brushing the tips of leaves and petals. He felt Ginny stirring awake and smiled to himself at her flush of irritation. She really wasn't much of a morning person.
Stepping around a wide hedgerow, he froze.
Draco was sitting cross-legged on one of the twin benches (a strangely unguarded pose for the so-named Ice Prince). He was dressed in sand-colored drawstring slacks and a white button-down, his white-blond hair loose and tussled by the breeze—a casual and altogether uncharacteristic look that Harry found oddly appealing. It made him look distinctly human rather than a front of cold Malfoy etiquette.
Harry stood still, not wanting to disturb Draco's solitude.
Not wanting to disturb this perfect moment, whispered softly in his ear. He ignored it, hoping to back away without being noticed. But as if sensing his presence, Draco stiffened and looked up, his face becoming eerily blank.
"Potter," he said, his voice hollow and dead.
"I didn't mean to bother you."
A faint sneer curled Draco's lip. "You've always bothered me."
Harry felt again that misplaced sense of elation at having evoked emotion from this walking corpse of a boy, and again pushed it aside with an effortless shrug. "Someone has to keep you on your toes," he replied.
"What do you want?"
What do I want? Harry repeated to himself. I want you to stop traipsing around like a damn zombie. I want you to spit insults and curses. I want you to sneer and scowl and look down your nose at me. God knows why, but I want you to want to live, you wanker. But all he said was, "Just wanted some fresh air."
Draco stared at him with an expression so utterly devoid of emotion it was frightening. Harry had to make a conscious effort not to recoil. Screw 'corpse', he thought. Corpses show more emotion than that.
A part of him wanted nothing more than to tuck tail and run, to escape the palpable wash of miserly emanating from his once-adversary. It was none of his concern if what Draco wanted was to wither away in grief, to surrender to the pain and betrayal knifing his heart. But another part of him struggled with an overwhelming urge to commiserate with this lost soul, to take him by the shoulders and make him see that he wasn't the only one to have suffered such a loss.
Torn between two very different extremes (and two very different emotions), he settled for something of a middle ground and approached the opposite bench with cautious steps. It wasn't beneath Draco to hex him without provocation. Although at this point in the game, Harry thought wryly. I'd be lucky to get a frown.
It was all still so unfamiliar to him, this conflict of emotions tangoing in his belly. Draco Malfoy was public enemy number one. He'd been intermittently feared, respected, admired, and loathed by those who had once surrounded him. His presence alone had been enough to demand attention; his every word and action conveying undeniable confidence and arrogance. And it had been so easy to despise him for the way he lorded over everyone, judged them solely on superficial terms and their degree of usefulness.
But now?
Now there was nothing here to fear or admire or hate. Nothing at all but a lost soul floundering about in a sea of alien emotion with no one in the world to help or care. No one but me, he thought. And isn't that ironic as hell?
"Potter?"
Harry blinked, that contemptuous drawl sliding over his skin like silk. Why do I seem to be the only one he reacts to? It made no sense except…
It makes perfect sense, replied the ever-haughty voice in his head. You two have always had an explosive reaction to one another.
Well, that was true but—
"Potter!"
"What!"
Draco lifted a mocking eyebrow and despite himself, Harry felt his cheeks flush. "Am I interrupting something?"
Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. "No," he said. "I was just thinking."
"You don't say?"
"Oh, shut up."
Draco pressed a theatrically hand to his heart, a wry expression on his face. "Ouch."
Harry felt his lips twitch amusedly. This was all very odd. Here they were, Howarts' most infamous rivals, sitting an arms length from each other trading good-natured gibes like they were old friends. Harry was understandably baffled by the sudden shift. One minute Draco was looking at him with the eyes of a corpse, and the next he was teasing him with that classic Malfoy drawl.
What's happening here? he thought.
I believe it's called friendship, came the dry response.
Who asked you?
Draco wasn't sure what was going on himself but he felt—dare I say it?—comfortable with Harry; which really wasn't all that strange if he thought about it. Harry had always played a pivotal role in his life, had always been a keystone upon which he based so many of his actions. But wasn't that the purpose of an adversary? To give you purpose? A reason to push yourself, to test your own limits and limitations? For all that he couldn't stand him, Draco was forced to admit that Harry did have his uses.
But that still didn't explain why they were suddenly, what? Getting along? Draco shuddered at the thought. I do not 'get along' with Harry bloody Potter, he scowled.
"…a pink hippogriff?"
With a frown, Draco pulled his attention back to the present. "Pardon?"
Harry was grinning at him in that annoying Gryffindor fashion. "Oh, nothing," he said. "Deep thoughts?"
Draco sneered. "Naturally. So if you don't mind…?"
Curiously, Harry's grin seemed to falter at this—though Draco hadn't the faintest idea why—but he recovered himself quickly and stood. "Right, um…"
Draco noted his hesitation with another mocking arch of his brow. "Was there something you needed?"
Harry shook his head, feeling every inch the idiot he looked. What is wrong with me? I'm acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. In front of Malfoy!
Schoolgirl with a crush?
Harry scowled. Don't you start with me!
He wasn't sure why Draco's dismissal bothered him so much. It really shouldn't have surprised him. Had they not spent seven memorable years as bitter rivals? They certainly shouldn't like spending time with one another and yet…
For whatever inconceivable reason Harry found himself wanting to help Draco. Wanting to show him that he didn't need to suffer alone. A sympathetic touch from Ginny conveyed to him that, no matter what, she was on his side—"Through hell and high water," she'd say—and knowing that helped to bolster his wavering Gryffindor courage.
"I was thinking…" he began with moderate hesitation.
"I'll be sure to alert the press," Draco replied.
The dry sarcasm worked to re-stitch Harry's shattering resolve. Snarky bastard, he thought, refusing to look in anyway weak before Draco Malfoy. "I was thinking we might start our lessons," he said. "In earnest."
Draco stared at him with those cold, empty, silver-grey eyes. "Were you now?"
Harry bit hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming out his frustration. Bloody hell! Teaching a Dementor to waltz would be easier than this! "Cut the shit, Malfoy. We both know you made a deal with Dumbledore" he said. "So unless you fancy a stint in Azkaban I suggest you at least pretend to be cooperating here."
Draco bristled, a familiar spark behind his eyes. "And what if I do? What business is it of yours if I choose to rot away in a cold cell?"
"It won't happen."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"Because I won't let it!"
It was Draco's turn to hesitate. The vehemence of Harry's words unsettled him. Here was the seldom seen "savior" persona; the mighty "hero complex" he was so famous for. Draco had never before had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of Harry's righteous determination, and he was forced to admit that it was rather intimidating. And curiously flattering. To have someone so morally furious on his behalf was actually rather…nice.
Not that he'd ever confess to it. "Please don't tell me you care," he said with a disdainful curl of his lip.
Harry looked at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "Of course I care. They want to ship you off to Azkaban," he replied. "Azkaban. Do you have any idea what that's like?"
Draco laughed hollowly. "What? Precious Potter is about to tell me he knows what it's like to be locked up in Azkaban?"
Harry looked away, assaulted by a sudden image of Sirius as he appeared that night in the Shrieking Shack: filthy, half-starved, a film of madness clouding his eyes. He'd never seen his godfather without that haunted look in his eyes. God, he thought. We weren't given nearly enough time…
His heart aching, Harry forced himself to meet his adversary's gaze. "You'd be surprised."
"Yes," Draco breathed, the naked vulnerability in those emerald-green eyes stirring up an unfamiliar mix of emotion. "I believe I would be."
Ginny reached out a soothing touch, sensing his quickening anguish. Sirius had always been a sore spot for him. Would always be a sore spot. How could he not be? Swallowing the rush of memories and emotion, Harry drew in a slow, calming breath. He was not going to do this here. Not in front of Draco Malfoy of all people.
"So do you want to start these lessons or not?" he asked.
"Alright, Potter." Unfolding himself from his cross-legged position, Draco stood, brushing non-existent particles of dirt from this clothing. "Where do we begin?"
A flash of red light. A soft crack! The white hydrangea bush quivered, a pitiful curl of smoke rising from a single bud before extinguishing in the cool breeze.
Draco sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Damnit, Potter. You have to mean it."
Harry whirled around, an angry flush coloring his cheeks. "I don't want to mean it!"
"Well, if you want to survive this ridiculous war you had better learn to mean it."
"I—" Harry stopped, dropping his eyes to the still-flourishing hydrangea, twisting a pale-green leaf between his fingers. It was silly, really. Here he was, supposedly one of the most power wizards alive, and he couldn't even set a bush on fire. What's wrong with this picture? "I don't know if I can," he admitted, gently pruning the dead leaves with careful fingers.
Draco sighed again, patiently this time, and sat down on the nearest bench. "Look. I know this is hard for you," he said. "What with that absurd Gryffindor conscience of yours. But if you don't learn to the take the offensive you will get yourself killed."
Harry looked at him with an amused twitch of his lips. "Why, Malfoy. I never knew you cared."
"I don't," he sneered. "But if you end up dead because you're too pansy-assed to throw a decent curse, Dumbledore will have my head."
"Not to mention every other member of the Order and half the wizarding world."
"So you can see my motivation here. I'd rather not end up cursed by those mudblood friends of yours."
Harry bristled, eyes flashing dangerously as the hydrangea suddenly burst into flames. "Don't you ever use that word."
Draco lifted a patronizing eyebrow, extinguishing the fire with a flick of his wand. "Now that's more like it," he smirked.
Harry blinked, a frown tugging at his mouth. "You…you tricked me!"
"Of course I tricked you. Slytherin, remember?" he said with all the condescending swagger of an aristocrat. "How else did you expect me to get past that bloody conscience of yours? Hand holding and gentle encouragement?"
He has a point, remarked his ever-present inner voice. You do tend to need a good shove to get going.
Harry scowled. Oh, shut up.
"Fine. I see your point," he said, glaring into those still-amused silver-grey eyes. "But don't you ever use that word in front of me again."
Draco looked entirely unimpressed but nodded all the same, a slight curl to his lips. "Deal."
Harry flinched, a look of equal parts bafflement and disbelief crumbling his features. There's no way it's that easy. "Really?"
"Merlin's honor."
"Yeah, well. Strangely enough I don't believe you."
"I'm not surprised."
"Can you really—" His scar suddenly exploded with pain, driving him hard to his knees…
Lord Voldemort was pleased.
He sat in a narrow, high-backed chair stroking Nagini's head. The room was dim and warm and smelled faintly of burning flesh, stale wax, and something else. Something sweetly metallic and cloying. Something like blood. The rugs were worn and faded from decades of disuse, the wallpaper dried and peeling. A water stain spread across half the ceiling, bits of plaster rotted away.
A dozen robed figures kneeled before their lord and master, faces concealed behind their black hoods. A single figure stood out among them: short and stout and cowering at Lord Voldemort's side, his right hand made of silver.
"Wormtail!"
The figure scurried forward, pressing his forehead to the floor at Voldemort's feet. "Ye—yes, master?"
Nagini hissed at him and Wormtail shrank back with a squeak.
Voldemort narrowed his scarlet eyes. "You have done well, Wormtail."
"Thank you, master."
"Such loyalty must be rewarded," Voldemort hissed, lifting his arm. "Crucio!"
Wormtail screamed. A blood-curdling sound that echoed off the walls as he writhed in agony on the floor. The other figures remained motionless and unmoved by his torture, heads turned to witness his reward.
"Malfoy!"
One figure rose and broke away from the others, stepping over Wormtail's twitching form to kneel before Lord Voldemort. "My lord?"
"Tell me, Lucius," he rasped. "How is your son?"
Malfoy stiffened, drew in a sharp breath. "My son is no more," he drawled. "Draco has proved himself a blood-traitor and so I have wiped my hands of him."
Voldemort raised his wand. "That has yet to be seen," he said. "Crucio!"
And as Malfoy collapsed in a heap of twisting limbs and tortured screams, Voldemort returned his attention to Wormtail. "Tonight," he hissed. "Bring them to me tonight."
"Of course, master."
Voldmort laughed, cold and hollow. "Bring me his family, and Harry Potter will come to me."
"…hear me? Come on, Har-Bear. Wake up."
Harry stirred. Warm, gentle fingers smoothed the hair from his face; a familiar scent of flowers wafting past his nose. Ginny was soothing his raging emotions with soft strokes of their soul-bond, calming his pounding heart. He fluttered his eyes open slowly, carefully. He was lying at the base of a white hydrangea, his head pillowed in Ginny's lap. Ron and Hermione hovered over her shoulder looking frantic and worried. Draco stood several feet away, his expression hard and unreadable.
Ginny smiled sweetly, running her finger down the bridge of his nose. "Hey there."
"Alright, mate?" Ron asked somewhat anxiously.
"Oh, yeah," he groaned, pushing himself up. "Just a few crucios. You should try it sometime."
Hermione knelt down beside him, touching his hand. "Tell us what happened."
Harry froze, eyes wide as his muddled thoughts started to clear. "Oh, god," he murmured. "The Dursleys. Voldemort's going after the Dursleys."
TBC
A/N: Okay, yes. I am a terrible person for leaving you with a cliffie when I might not be able to update for a while but, well, I couldn't help it! I swear! It was this or no update at all and I opted for the cliffie. Sorry folks. However I fully intend to TRY and update as quickly as possible. It all depends on how much time I have to write while I'm away. In the meantime, please review! I really want to know what you thought of this chapter and Harry and Draco's budding relationship in particular. Thanks!