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Chapter Text

Everyone remembered where they were and what they were doing that fateful day of 2 May 1998 when the sky tore open and a powerful shockwave drained the entire Wizarding World, changing everyone's destiny forever. That day when The Boy Who Lived and He Who Must Not Be Named faced each other for the last time, the air charged with so much magical power that the surrounding inhabitants from miles away could barely breathe, the atmosphere heavy and electrically charged. That day when Voldemort was defeated.

That day when, at 7:03 p.m., magic disappeared.

The shockwave destroyed everything in its path, sucking away all traces of magic. Most magical creatures perished under the blow, the implacable wave reducing them to dust. Most houses collapsed, forests were razed. Everything that stood or survived by the grace of magic was automatically consumed.

Voldemort perished like the other creatures that dared defy the laws of death, instantly decomposed, their ashes merging with the dust of a forever devastated world. Even the oldest wizards were lost in the wave's wake. Their bodies, drained of magic, couldn't sustain them.

Some werewolves survived the death of the wolf within them after a long illness. In the worst cases, mutations occurred, and the extraction of their magic created a deficiency. Their bodies were too weak. They were left disfigured, half-beast, half-human. If these unfortunates still lived, it would have been better to put an end to their suffering.

Magical objects returned to their original state, wands nothing more than pieces of wood, flying broomsticks mere cleaning tools.  Magic potions and powders held no more power than water and dirt. Ex-wizards were henceforth like Muggles. Nothing made sense anymore. It plunged them into an endless, irreversible darkness, leaving only desolation and despair. Many took their lives, seeing no way out and no reason to exist without magic.

The entire Wizarding community had collapsed.

Only Harry knew exactly what had happened that day, and even he had no logical explanation for the cataclysm he unleashed.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

2 May 1998

The final duel between Harry and Voldemort was epic. They both unleashed spells of immeasurable power, a black storm brewing in the sky. The two enemies were completely exhausted but filled with defiance and rage. They sent spell upon spell, trying to bypass the other's shield, feinting and attacking right and left, but it was impossible to say which of the two had the upper hand. The battle was ferocious.

Unfortunately, Harry weakened first. As he stared into the scarlet eyes of Voldemort, a vision rose in his mind: his mother crying in a green flash. Shaken by this unexpected assault, he lowered his guard for a second, sufficient time for Voldemort to hit him with Avada Kedavra.

That's when everything broke. The spell hit Harry on the head, but instead of collapsing, he seemed to rise a few centimeters above the ground. His scar began to shine, then a beam of light emerged from the lightning bolt engraved on his forehead. Harry yelled more from surprise than pain. Voldemort was stunned.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord let out a piercing cry. His head fell back, his feet left the ground, and a beam of light like the other rose from his mouth. The two beams shot into the sky, entangling, blinding. They left their hosts, their feet falling gently back to earth... and then suddenly there was nothing but silence.

Harry and Voldemort froze, still facing each other. Harry let loose the breath he'd been holding, and their spells raged again, Voldemort taking the lead. This time, everything was different. The battle turned more violent and frenetic. A second wave of energy had taken over.

The two adversaries, absorbed in combat, didn't notice the change in their magic, the aura surrounding them crackling dangerously, its color quickly turning to black. The violence around them grew to disquieting proportions, sucking up plants and uprooting trees around the perimeter, creating a crater around the two antagonists. They continued to launch attack after attack, calling their magic to its maximum... to its breaking point.

Soon, a breach formed above their heads. A roar followed by an explosion in the sky forced them violently from their bubble and threw them to the ground. Stunned, Harry lifted his head and was instantly hypnotized by the chaos before his eyes. The horizon had been sliced in two by a black hole, and it expanded before his eyes. He felt goose bumps rising all over his body, his hair beaten by the storm. A sensation close to the Dementors' Kiss seized his chest, only worse. His magic was sucked from his body, but he had no way to prevent it, no anchor. It felt as if his soul had left his body. Utter helplessness. Harry had no doubts.

I'm dying.

When he returned to his senses hours later, he almost wished that had been the case. All around him, the landscape was unrecognizable. A spreading desert and ruins in the distance. But what made him lose all color was the blackness studded with lightning overhead, which had swallowed the sky. No trace of blue. Nothing but black. The entire horizon veiled.

A world of shadows.

Then Harry remembered that he wasn't alone. He leapt to his feet, grabbing his wand and turning in a quick movement. No one. He turned to the other side. Nothing.

Slowly, Harry lowered his head, his fear-filled eyes looking at his hand and his tightly gripped wand. He turned his wrist to study his weapon. His heart started to pound in his chest. He no longer felt magic coursing beneath his fingers. The more he looked at his wand, the more it appeared to be an ordinary piece of wood. He felt nothing inside, and his hand loosened its grip to drop the wand on the ground. Panic froze him in place.

I've lost my magic.

"No, it can't be." He cried out loud.

But the breach, the explosion…

He remained lost in thought, his head bubbling with questions, but the strangely heavy silence and the stale air dragged him from his torpor. He took up the piece of wood again and left the desolate battlefield.

He walked on and on.

Far in front of him, he could see columns of travelers. Families in tears. He ran to get closer to a couple and their two children and was about to ask what happened to them, but the woman turned on him with such sorrow and such despair on her face that his voice remained stuck in his throat. It was with horror that he understood that something terrible had occurred while he fought.

The days passed and the columns were filled with more nomads. A veritable exodus. Little by little, as the travelers moved on, they discovered the true extent of the damage. With each new defeated face, each house in dust, hope thinned. Almost nothing was left. The more time passed, the more a terrible realization took hold of their spirits: the Wizarding World was no more. Even the Savior, the Boy Who Lived, was among their ranks. There was nothing to do but leave. But where would they go?

Councils took place in the evenings to decide on an emergency plan. Harry himself took no part in the discussions. His mind was numb, far from what was happening around him. After all, wasn't it his fault? Apart from some familiar faces, he found none of his close friends, and in his darker moments, he told himself he deserved this solitude. And yet, although everyone should have suspected that he had played a role in this apocalypse, no one had come to blame him or even ask him questions. Everyone knew that the battle had been necessary and that he also had lost everything. No one spoke the name of the Dark Lord. Not because it was taboo, but because the darkness was everywhere, and their only battle was surviving.

After heated debates, it became clear there was only one solution. Integrate into the Muggle World.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

September 24, 2006

Something pressed on Harry's face, something hard and damp. His mind was foggy and his senses muted. Water drops fell on his face. How odd.

A loud and persistent sound reverberated, like the wheels of a cart that would be pulled endlessly. Rumours here and there, sudden laughs. Voices far away, muffled. Was he dreaming?

Harry tried to move, but his body was unresponsive. When he opened his eyes, forms with blurry contours appeared. His eyelids were heavy, and it cost him a huge effort to keep them open. One, two flutters of eyelashes. Again, indistinct silhouettes.

He fought against the sweet numbness that overcame him, and saw shapes moving in the distance. Squinting with pain, he desperately tried to cling to his senses and his surroundings.

Red lights flashing, then the darkness.

No, something's wrong, wake up!

Harry opened his eyes again. This time it was easier, and he looked straight before him. Those were neon signs in the distance, but his vision was too clouded to discern anything other than their colours.

Something crossed his field of vision, a distant form. And again, two, three shapes that fell from top to bottom. He blinked in confusion, his surroundings becoming sharper as seconds passed. Then he realized that his field of vision was upside down and that he was lying on the ground. Then the sounds became louder at once, as though his ears had suddenly unclogged. What was only rustling and murmuring until now turned into rumble and hum. It was raining, and he was in a little dead-end street. From the ambient sounds and the lights in the distance, he had to be in Soho.

That’s when he sensed the danger. From the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed the dark and frightening silhouettes of a group of men. He recognized them instantly.

The Lestrange brothers and their cronies.

They were rapidly approaching, their footsteps echoing in the alley, and Harry's stomach tightened at once, a spasm running up and down his body. His first instinct was to search for his wand. Stupid reflex. After all this time, he still had this instinctive gesture whenever he felt threatened.

And each time, the same blow to the heart, his hand falling pathetically.

Then a searing pain shot through his left arm, and his face started aching. Suddenly it all came back to him, and he moved his head in all directions.

Where is he? He was with me.

A guttural laugh arose, one that he recognized with horror.

Greyback.

A hoarse and breathless voice rose. "Well, pup, it was quite a ride!” Greyback grinned. “Did you really think you could escape us? Huh? You think you can defy the League and get away like that?"

Then a violent kick landed on Harry's ribs. No sooner had he taken his breath than another one hit him on his side. Harry was now completely curled up, droplets running down his bruised face covered with scratches and bruises, his dirty clothes stuck to his body. Under the laughter and the blows, the red stain spread across his shirt and soon there was only a mass of pain. Slowly, he shut himself from the outside, the voices and noise growing faint.

How did he end up like this?

And at that moment, the first emotion that gripped his heart was one of despair, and with it came the image of a black hole in the skyline, so great that he could see neither its beginning nor its end.

He felt himself fading away and, behind his green eyes, empty and still, everything came back to him. All the images infiltrated his thoughts in a flood of memories.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

April 19, 2004

Bodies in motion, men, women, hypnotized by the frenzied beat of a bewitching electro sound. The air was filled with a suffocating heat born from the blue neons, the strobes and the overexcited bodies. The musky scent of sweat and sex.

Above the dance floor on the balcony, Harry was searching the crowd, his face focused. Even after all these years, he could still recognize them, those who had been forced into exile like him. The former wizards were like little fireflies in the teeming hive of customers below. Perhaps it was the discrepancy in their gestures or the shared sensation of disconnect but he didn’t need to search for the mark on their napes to see them. It was as though they remained forever marked by magic.

In Rosemary's Crib, the only entry criteria could be summarized in two words: power and beauty. The most influential people met there. The reputation of this very select club guaranteed them a personal welcome, good company and complete discretion regarding the transactions that took place there. As for the other mere mortals, they only swelled the impressive queue looming in front of the nightclub, trying desperately to coax the bouncer and to hook on the guests in vain.

On the runway, large purple velvet sofas lined the room, flabby men often accompanied by young girls skimpily dressed, striking sometimes sexy, sometimes ridiculous poses, pretty boys devouring mouths. A picture fit for a fashion magazine, considering the attractive physique of most customers and the elegance of the others.

Harry knew this world well. He had hobnobbed enough amongst this crowd these past few years. How quickly everything changed. His years at Hogwarts, the hunt for Horcruxes, magic, everything seemed so far away, like a dream. He had joined the party scene and the nightlife in impulsive distress with sheer abandon.

But this time, there was a veil before his eyes, a distance, and he felt like a lump in his stomach. He closed his eyes for a moment. He knew why he was there.

It was getting late, and customers were completely smashed. Everywhere, glass coffee tables were decorated with empty liquor glasses, straws, toothpicks scattered all over, and bottles that were opened or emptied to the last drop.

One table drew much attention.

Two burly men in impeccable black suits were seated at both ends of a curved velvet booth. They looked casual, but a careful eye would have noticed the slight tension in their body, the sharp eyes shot sporadically towards the dance floor and around the seats, prepared for any attack. The bodyguards. CRABBE AND GOYLE.

On the left, next to Crabbe, a young man with ebony skin, a sleek beauty. A slim silhouette, he wore a burgundy suit, Italian white leather shoes denoting a certain extravagance. BLAISE ZABINI.

On the right, next to Goyle, an imposing man, hair close-cropped and dark eyes, wearing a simple grey suit, a blonde girl stuck to his thigh. THEODORE NOTT.

The two friends were gesticulating, caught in a friendly debate, and cheerfully raising their voices.

In the center, a young man with platinum hair, grey eyes, a tailored black suit, charisma apparent in his aristocratic features and confident posture. His air was detached but he seemed to take notice of everything that surrounded him as he scanned the crowd. He had a hint of a grin as if he held a secret that no one else knew but him. DRACO MALFOY.

Their group seemed to stand out from the other clients, the waiters reverently approaching their table to make another tour, many anonymous glances at them, half-curious, half-fearful. The five men exuded power. Between them alone, they seemed to own the place.

Another man appeared from the bar and soon came to take his seat at the right of Malfoy. A five-day beard, light brown hair, a simple black shirt over black trousers. His attitude was more composed than his two sidekicks, and he seemed more acute. Like Draco, he had a sharpened look. MARCUS FLINT.

Minutes passed before two men, in their mid-thirties, made their way to the table. Immediately, Crabbe pushed back the closest of the two with a firm hand on the chest. The men did not give in but remained at a distance. Draco nonchalantly waved to Crabbe that it was okay. Nott pushed himself closer to Draco to make room, looking annoyed, and told his bimbo to get lost. The two men, nervous, sat awkwardly, keeping their distance. A brief discussion ensued, sealed by a handshake, and the two men left the table faster than necessary.

Further away, Harry was now sipping a cocktail at the bar. His jet-black hair contrasted with his pale skin, his big green eyes lighting up his face. He wore a thin T-shirt with a low collar and tight dark blue jeans, a casual but suggestive look that attracted quite a few looks around him. His thinner silhouette and fine features gave him an air of innocence, but the determination in his eyes contradicted any charge of fragility.

His gaze was fixed on the mirror behind the bartender. The reflection of Draco and his gang intermingled with the coloured bottles that adorned the shelves all around. An elegant, balding man near him tried in vain to get his attention, eyes shining, his hand glued to his glass. Harry acted as if he were not there, and after a few minutes, the man gave up and returned to his vodka.

As the minutes passed, the atmosphere grew more and more electric. The alcohol did its job, and people were getting wild on the dance floor, the music thumping louder and louder. Harry was biting his time. His eyes were still fixed on the mirror when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He did not flinch, did not turn. He simply pushed his glass down and rose from his stool. He found himself face to face with a man in his thirties, tall with a rough face, the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealing muscular arms.

"I couldn't help but watch you, you seemed so wrapped in your thoughts," the stranger said with a sultry voice. Then, with a smile on the corner of his lips, "You know you have beautiful eyes."

Harry suppressed a laugh at the cliché and took the man’s hand, guiding him onto the dance floor, not far from Draco. At least close enough to be able to catch his eye.

Game Time.

Under the strobe lights, Harry pulled his partner close and wrapped his hands around his neck. At the contact of his body, the man responded automatically. A grin appeared on his unshaven face as he grabbed the smaller man by the waist and pressed against him. He was going strong and fast, and it awakened unpleasant memories. Harry struggled not to recoil. The techno music was in full swing, and his heart pounded frantically to the rhythm of the basses. He counted every beat to focus only on them.

Thump Thump 1 ... 2 ...

He had to pull himself together, he needed to stay focused.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to drown in the sound, completely relaxing his body. He was used to pretending, he could do this.

So, he let everything go.

He huddled closer against the man, moving his hips suggestively, bringing his face closer, his black hair tickling his chin. He unlocked his hand from the thick neck to brush the muscular shoulder, then the arms, stroking up and down. He was the one in control.

Harry focused on the growing warmth of his body, the clammy skin against his own, imagining it was someone else, growing intoxicated with the sensations. He had to give himself completely to make it work.

The stranger lowered his face to lay a kiss on Harry's temple, his hot breath imprinting on the face of the young man. Harry turned his head slowly, dragging the man's lips along his cheek and then to the corners of his lips to finally initiate a heated kiss. The man assaulted his mouth, dominating the kiss with no preamble. Harry frowned a moment but quickly recovered, letting his partner play with his tongue and managing to respond with equal enthusiasm.

Harry pressed against him in an even more provocative way, arousing him shamelessly. The man dropped his hands to grab his ass in a possessive gesture, breaking the kiss to latch onto his neck. Harry moaned, an impish smile on his face.

The couple was vibrant with sensuality and drew stares around them. One, full of curiosity and envy: two grey eyes riveted on Harry.

Sensing a shift, Harry broke off his trance and turned his head. He locked eyes with Draco and the rhythm changed imperceptibly, as if deliberately. Their surroundings vanished in that sudden connection as though they were alone in the room, Harry lost in Draco's eyes. Draco was still just as slender and toned as he remembered, but his face had won over maturity. It was hard to believe this gorgeous man had once been his sworn enemy. In another world.

The years have been kind to him.

Draco’s stature was surprising compared to most of the rehabilitated wizards who had been acclimated to Muggle England through the much-talked-about government program, Wizard Benefit. Most of the former wizards lived off this aid, hardly able to sustain the standard of living they once had in the wizarding community. Many had been unable to bear the changes and let themselves waste away. Even Harry had nearly succumbed and drowned in his grief, letting himself go in artificial paradise and one-night stands.

The situation was more astounding still, considering Draco and his circle’s long-standing hatred for Muggles and half-bloods. Few would have bet on their successful integration in this new world, expecting instead to see them commit some desperate action. Who would have thought that Malfoy & Co. would end up in this select club, radiating luxury and success? Of course, back when he used to hang around the red-light districts, Harry had heard rumors about the Organization and its Snakes, as Draco and his henchmen had nicknamed themselves, mostly out of nostalgia. They had their hands on all the black-market networks and had built quite a reputation there. Harry didn't care to know much about it. He knew just enough.

And here they were, dazed with lights and noise, an invisible link binding them through the pit of bodies, leaving them each hypnotized by the other. Harry, in the arms of a stranger, Draco, surrounded by his fellows.

The situation was so erotic that Harry, still in the embrace, repressed a shudder. He felt a tongue drawing shapes down the length of his neck. He broke eye contact with Draco to look up at his dance partner, whom he had all but forgotten, and wrapped his arms around the muscled chest against him. Head nestled under his partner's neck, Harry was again drawn to Draco, his eyes resting on him. He was leaning forward on the sofa, elbows on his knees and eyes sharp like a predator facing his prey. A few seconds passed before green eyes could focus clearly on grey ones.

In that moment, Harry was lost.

He didn't even feel the man's caresses anymore. The music had changed twice before he realized he had yet to escape from the blond man’s stare. Then Draco looked away to strike up a conversation with Blaise. Just like that, the moment was gone.

Harry huffed.

It was not supposed to go that way. He swayed in his partner’s arms, staring at Draco intently, trying to compel him to look in his direction. When Draco ordered another drink, it seemed like the game was over. But neither of them could escape the pull for long. When Draco put his glass down, his eyes drifted again to Harry.

And the game was back on.

Harry turned his head towards the stranger, eyes half-closed, and sensually wet his lips, aware of the effect of his gestures on the predator, seated a few meters from him. Harry pushed his leg further forward, forcing the man to spread his. He complied with pleasure and entwined their thighs. Impudently, Harry threw a sideways glance, a naughty grin on his lips, provoking Draco. The latter reacted with an amused smirk.

Harry continued his seduction when a sudden movement made him start. Draco had risen.

Harry's heart was palpitating feverishly as he watched Draco holding his jacket out to Goyle and heading to the pit, looking straight at him. His face was flush against his partner's, who was naive to the other man's presence near them. Drops of sweat slid from Harry’s face to the hollow of his neck. His shirt stuck thickly to his skin, and his tight jeans were unpleasantly humid.

Draco never dropped his eyes, his body moving with the grace of a cat, seamlessly avoiding each obstacle in his way. He stopped only centimeters away from the couple so languorously tangled, and his presence immediately changed the mood of their dance.

Harry's partner was burlier than Draco, but the latter’s determined look and challenging posture left no room for mistake. He was no competition. The stranger suddenly sensed the change in pace. Affronted, he cocked his head as though he had been slapped and tossed a nasty look to his rival. The way Draco looked at Harry didn’t leave any ambiguity about his intent.

"Fuck off," the stranger barked rudely before shoving Draco's shoulder in dismissal.

But Draco didn't flinch. He seized the stranger’s wrist forcefully and twisted it with a rough yank. A muffled scream followed the painful crack. The man grimaced, and his whole body sagged. Five seconds passed before the man turned over Draco at full length and threw himself at him with a snarl. Instead of dodging, Draco charged. They grappled, and Draco lost his balance, grabbing Harry for support. The latter was standing stiff, aghast at the scene before him. Draco stole a look at him and pushed back his opponent with brute force, sending him flying towards a couple near him. The man didn't back down and bounced like a devil, throwing himself again at Draco. Suddenly, a strong hand inserted itself between them.

Crabbe.

The bodyguard didn't lose a second and struck the man in the jaw with his elbow, propelling him to the ground. At the same moment, a bouncer, an earpiece protruding from his ear, appeared out of nowhere.

"Are you hurt at all, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco caught his breath and adjusted the buttons on his shirtfront. He dusted off the shoulders of his shirt and allowed his neck to stiffen, regaining its proud carriage.

"No, just a trifle." He feigned a bored frown. "Although I’m not sure I’m inclined to visit a club that accepts this sort of clientele."

With a professional air about him, the bouncer quickly replied, "Don't worry Mr. Malfoy, we will ensure this patron never sets foot inside the club again."

The bouncer grabbed the semi-conscious man and disappeared quickly into the surrounding chaos. The crowd closed around him and continued dancing as though nothing had happened. After the initial shock at the turn of events, Harry realized Draco was still standing next to him. He was unsure what to do. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Though he had contemplated Draco’s face for what felt like hours, up close like they were, he hardly seemed real. It didn’t matter who they used to be or even who they were now. Here, at this moment, they could be anyone they wanted.

Harry boldly took Draco's hand and brought it to his face, allowing the man's palm to run across his cheek. He drew his thumb against his lips and caressed it with the tip of his tongue. Then, before Draco's raptured eyes, he took it sensuously in his mouth. He watched as Draco seemed captivated by the shape of the mouth that was now sucking against his skin.

"My, my, Potter, what happened to you?" Draco whispered, almost as if to himself,.

Harry stilled for a second, deciding whether to speak, when Draco brushed his finger against his lips. Harry's mischievous face finally compelled Draco to snake his hands around his hips and underneath his shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps on his skin. Then the agile hands were sneaking their way into his jeans, plunging more deeply and causing a surge of desire in both men.

"I, too, can play." Draco smiled maliciously, and Harry lost all restraint, planting a wild kiss on his lips.

It was a strange feeling, kissing the mouth that had once been so hateful to him. But it was soft and playful and tasted like sin. It shouldn’t feel that good. Harry bit Draco’s lower lip like an act of vengeance, making him jerk a little, hunger in his eyes. He grabbed Harry’s chin in retaliation, challenging him with his stare.

The confidence. The power.

Harry felt unbalanced for a second, wondering who this new Draco was, then the game was on again.

He grabbed Draco’s shirt to throw him off and brought his mouth down to his again. It seemed to amuse Draco, who chuckled into the kiss. Their tongues explored and teased and sucked. Unable to resist, Harry allowed his fingers to curl into the soft blond hair on Draco’s nape, grazing the crescent-shaped scar there.

The two bodies writhed together painfully, the urge to possess one another undeniably strong, regardless of the looks they were getting from bystanders. Harry, completely overwhelmed, threw his head back, exposing his neck, mouth open, panting, his body ablaze, when a hand patted the shoulder of the fairer man. Draco stiffened instantly and seemed ready to strike.

"Blaise!" he growled at the disruption.

Harry heaved a sigh of frustration, still shaken by the embrace. He watched as Blaise leaned into Draco's ear, one hand covering his mouth. Draco's face grew instantly cold. A brief nod and Blaise disappeared. Behind him, Nott and Flint were scrutinizing Harry. There was no doubt they had witnessed his brazen seduction. Embarrassment crept in, and he averted his eyes, waiting for Draco's move. Nott chuckled before leaving, though Flint watched Harry a while longer, gaze fixed, like he was trying to read his thoughts. The intensity was broken with a nod before the man joined his mates near the exit. Goyle offered Draco his jacket and helped him to put it on before stepping away, waiting for him.

Harry couldn't help but feel vulnerable as Draco turned to look at him. Then Draco strutted forward and stopped, his face a breath away from his. He leaned in closer still, and Harry’s lips opened to welcome his mouth, but Draco turned to his ear instead.

"Thanks, Potter,’ he whispered.

He slid his hand up Harry's thigh to rest on his hip. Harry’s breath quickened, anticipating his touch, but Draco made no further advances and slipped something inside his jeans pocket.

"I knew you'd easily find your place in the Muggle World."

When Draco's face reappeared before him, Harry saw a treacherous grin. He frowned, recalling the cruel, mocking Draco of his teens. After that gibe, Draco turned and vanished into the crowd, leaving him shaken and still. Nervously, Harry searched in his pocket and took what seemed to be a piece of paper. But what he found was a £50 note.

The music rushed back to his ears, as if he couldn't hear it before.

Thump Thump Thump 1… 2… 3…

Chapter Text

April 20, 2004

Around 11:00 a.m., Harry left the coffee shop where he had spent the morning sobering up. He strode along the streets back to his apartment, his mind clearer, dwelling upon last evening's events. The attraction he had immediately felt for Draco, the ease with which he had given himself up on the dance floor. He hadn't expected such a cold shower, just as he had let his guard down.

He couldn't help but replay Draco's words in his head.

"I knew you'd easily find your place in the Muggle World."

He recalled his despicable grin. He recalled the bill in his hand.

"Who does he think he is...?" he said through gritted teeth.

He kicked an empty can, sending it skittering across the sidewalk and sniffed, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. Of course, he knew he had it coming. After all, that's what he wanted.

But not like this.

An icy wind hit him at full force, and he turned up his jacket's collar to protect his neck. Draco's words plagued his head, and the anger returned with a vengeance, building as he walked up the street, until he reached the doorstep of an old building. He entered his key and turned, but it was already open. Had he forgotten to lock it on his way out? Good thing there was nothing of value inside. Harry let the door slam brutally behind him and tossed his jacket and keys on the entry table. He was so pissed off.

"Screw it," he blurted out loud.

He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was barely anything in there except for pizza leftovers and orange juice. He grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it.

"Rough night?"

The deep voice surprised Harry, who swallowed the wrong way and started to choke. He wiped his mouth and stopped at the kitchen doorway. A middle-aged man with a craggy face and salt-and-pepper hair was seated on the living room couch.

"McCarthy." Harry made a face that suggested the man's presence was not particularly appreciated.

"You were supposed to call at 9 o'clock sharp. I tried to reach you all morning. What happened?"

As a way of answer, Harry swigged some more juice detachedly. This, of course, only aggravated McCarthy more.

"You couldn't help it, on the first night!” The man viciously taunted, “I should have guessed, a wild cat like you. Yeah, I knew I got lucky with you."

He became harsh, spitting each word.

"But when I tell you to call me at 8 o'clock, you call at 8 o'clock. Whatever you do, wherever you are. And if you get fucked against a wall, I don't give a shit, you call, you hear me!"

Harry's blood was boiling in his veins, but he gave nothing away, leaning against the door's frame with a derisive smile. "What is it, you missed me too much? I couldn't guess you'd be jealous. I had no idea you were that close to your informants."

McCarthy's face turned to stone. He rose and in two long strides was face to face with Harry. He grabbed him by his collar with thunderous eyes.

"Fucking alien, who do you think you are? You know the stakes, don't you? You want me to cancel the deal? You know what will happen to you and your boyfriend?"

"Remus is not my boyfriend!"

"I don't give a flying fuck what you two do together, but if you want our deal to stand, you'd better watch your step. You think you can escape, is that it, huh? You lot are harder to track now but that doesn't mean we won't find you. We did it once, we'll do it again. So, you're going to learn to shut that big mouth and you're going to obey now!"

His tone turned dangerously calm.

"Do not challenge me."

Harry opened his mouth to counter him, but he thought better of it and kept quiet. After a moment of silence, staring at each other like this, McCarthy released him and sat back on the couch, assuming a more professional tone.

"So, you've made contact with Malfoy?"

Harry rubbed the nape of his neck and hastily readjusted his T-shirt.

“Harry?” the man insisted.

"Yes,” he answered reluctantly, settling on the chair next to McCarthy.

"And…?"

"And what?"

McCarthy stared at him with an irritated look.

Harry wrung his hands together, trying to find the words to describe his fiery reunion with Draco.

 "We… We danced together. And you could say there was… a connection."

"Well, did you sleep together?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, outraged.

"Come on, don't play the blushing virgin! You know very well what the mission requires of you. Malfoy’s a hard nut to crack, but he has a blind spot when it comes to his love life. That’s our way in, so if it didn’t work out-“

"No, it-it worked."

McCarthy furrowed his eyebrows, clearly annoyed.

"Then what? Stop with your elusive answers, did you fuck or not?”

Harry looked away.

"No, but there was… foreplay. I think there might be something.” He fixed McCarthy with a frank look. "It can work."

McCarthy nodded, satisfied.

"OK, in this case, we can move to phase two. Now that you've baited him, you'll have to catch him tight. So, you tease him, you open yourself to him, I don't know, but this time, you strike hard and you do it for keeps."

Harry raked his hand through his hair. He wanted to stop this trainwreck, but he knew he was backed into a corner.

McCarthy took out his notebook.

"They planned a party on May 3rd, some commemoration. The whole clan will be there. Malfoy and his guys, MacNair, the Lestranges, everybody."

"What? Are you bloody insane? You're throwing me right into the lion's den!" Harry yelled, standing up at once.

"Listen, we know what we're doing, and water has passed under the bridge. You're not in Wonderland anymore, ok?"

Harry opened his mouth, but no sound crossed his lips. He had no leverage, he was stuck.

"Ok, so the party will take place in their Manor in Dartmouth. It'll be our last chance. After this, the break ends and the Organization will resume business in their HQ, and it'll be over for us. The security surveillance will be reinforced, and it will be much more complicated for us. There won't be another occasion like this.  You see, you must be part of the trip... Once there, we won't be able to see each other like this. We'll find a secure meeting place where you'll give your reports and we'll find a way to reach you when necessary but we’ll need time to get everything all set up. Anyway, once you're there, you'll be on your own."

He corrected himself.

"Well, in a manner of speaking. By the way, did you spot our guy?"

Harry nodded his head weakly, looking preoccupied.

"Good. But be careful, you can’t blow his cover. No interaction except in case of emergency. In the end, you'll be left to your own devices. So, use your brain-" He looked Harry up and down."-and your other assets."

Harry turned his head in disgust, but McCarthy seized his arm to get his attention as if Harry had never faced more critical threats.

"There won't be a second chance."

"I know," Harry muttered.

McCarthy noted an address, a date and an hour in his notebook.

"You're going to go to the Treasure Box, Thursday at 8 p.m."

He handed over the flimsy slip of paper. Harry just grabbed it with an absent look.

"Your intermediary will await you there. He's your free pass to the Manor, he'll explain what you have to do."

McCarthy got up and put his notebook back in his inside pocket.

"You know, he's the one who suggested your name for this job. Considering your situation, I must admit it was perfect. A real gift for us."

"Who is he?" Harry frowned.

McCarthy flashed him an evil smile.

"Ah, I won't spoil the surprise."

Who was he talking about? A former wizard? If so, who? The Weasleys would never have betrayed him. But what if they were blackmailed, like him?

Then the man lowered his head to meet his eyes, his stare harsh.

"And if you ever think about wriggling out of this, think about your dear Remus, it will remind you why you're here in the first place."

Harry already knew the stakes, but the reminder was painful.

McCarthy straightened up and pinched Harry’s chin. Harry yanked his head away, his touch abhorrent to him.

"See you Monday, 8 o'clock, for the briefing,” the man said as he walked out of the room, leaving Harry to his musings. Then a shout at the door, “And be on time for once!"

Harry heard the door slamming shut. He slumped on his seat, a thousand questions rushing through his head.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

April 22, 2004

Thursday evening came sooner than Harry would have wanted. A torrential rainstorm battered the city. Harry was seated inside a bus, alone except for a group of teenagers who spoke and giggled loudly. He looked through the window, watching the buildings and the scarce shops go by. The raindrops and rivulets distorted his vision, accentuating his sinister surroundings, the dangerous atmosphere of the deserted alleyways and the dimmed streetlights.

The bus stopped. Harry took out a newspaper, brandished it over his head to shield himself from the rain, and got off. As luck would have it, his foot landed in the middle of a large puddle. Though he nimbly jumped aside, the bottom of his trousers was already completely soaked. He sighed.

"Just great… "

But under the torrential downpour of water, he had no time to grumble. Rapidly, he spotted the Treasure Box - or rather the Treur ox, the only lights illuminated - and ran towards the store. The front was decrepit, and the décor was kitsch with an ugly mix of plastic bibelots, copper medals and cotillions behind the window. One of those shops that sold everything and nothing. The doorbell rang out loudly at his entrance. The shop was a veritable bric-a-brac: jars on the shelves as far as the eye could see, scattered decorative objects with flashy colors. Two long tables at each side of the shop formed an alley. Atop them, old pocketbooks, kitchenware, porcelain figurines, snow globes from all over the world: London, Paris, New York, Tokyo…

The dark crimson paint and the green neon sizzling on the ceiling made the place seem like a frightening den worthy of a horror movie.

On the counter, next to an old cash register and a stand filled with packets of sweets, the shop owner complimented the bizarre scene. Hidden behind a magazine that covered his face, the man suddenly folded the journal, revealing his jet-black hair that fell past his shoulders. Pale skin, piercing dark eyes, thin, pursed lips, an imposing nose. Harry recognized him at once. SEVERUS SNAPE.

On the landing, dripping with water, Harry found himself winded. A chill ran across his skin. It had nothing to do with the climate, rather the shock of finding his old professor here, of all places. Drops fell from his jacket one by one, ticking away the seconds, the sound of the central heating pipes and the crackling of the neon disrupting the silence. Finally, breaking the stillness that had overcome the room, Harry dropped his hand, still clutching the washed-out newspaper. He took a step forward, but before his foot even touched the floor, Snape's dark voice pierced him dangerously.

"Are you blind?"

The words elicited a second chill. It felt like he was back in his classroom, scolded by the professor. Harry froze, his foot suspended. Then he saw it. He would have burst into laughter if he hadn't been sure Snape would have ripped his tongue for such an offense. A sign written on a simple piece of paper was taped on the entrance wall on his left, the writing elegant and neat:

"Please wipe your feet before crossing my threshold."

Harry looked at the worn, old green linoleum at his feet. If he didn't know the man, he would have thought it was a joke. He put his foot down and wiped it on the damaged rug. Looking down, he could barely decipher the word "Welcome" printed in its bristles.

Yeah, right…

After the short drying, Harry looked up, waiting for a gesture of approval from Snape. An approval that didn't come, for Snape merely set his magazine on one of the stands behind him.

Harry sighed before moving forward, feeling like the proverbial bull in a china shop. The objects on the shelves looked like secret boxes. Now that he knew the identity of the shop owner, he wouldn't be surprised if they contained special herbs with unsuspected properties. Admittedly, they would be practically useless now, though they would always remain a mystery to him. Had Snape kept a part of his stock? Harry would bet his life on it he had.

Harry came carefully towards the counter. A brief image crossed his mind, imprinting itself on the scene before him, the pupil approaching the professor's desk. Snape looked at him right in the eyes.

"You're early."

Harry stayed speechless, still shocked by Snape's presence in front of him.

"In addition to being blind, you are mute now?"

Harry's face hardened and he gathered all his strength not to react.

"McCarthy told me you'd be my free pass into Dartmouth. You’re the one who has things to say, not me. I'm waiting."

Snape sneered.

"Insolent as ever, Potter. I must conclude these last six years have not taught you anything at all. Am I surprised?"

Harry stayed silent, but his murderous stare spoke volumes.

"Very well, let's get straight to the point then."

Snape rose, imposing as ever in his black attire, and went round the counter, next to Harry. His voice was filled with disdain, "I never volunteered for this mission, and if there was any way I could have avoided seeing that awful scar again-" He looked at Harry's forehead with disgust."-I would have done it without hesitation."

Snape ended his words merely inches from him, his nose looking particularly threatening so close to Harry. The latter was not going to let himself be insulted.

"Because you think I volunteered for this!” He burst out. “From what I've been told, you’re the one who suggested my name! Before those agents came down on me and forced me to join their little vendetta, there were still things I cared about. Now I've got nothing left! And it's all because of you!"

He was breathing hard. The tension fell from his body now that he had cleared the air. They had to be entirely honest.

Snape's face relaxed, but didn't lose its coldness.

"McCarthy and his promises.” Snape hissed. “It is true, I gave him your name. But I wasn't given a choice either."

He didn't elaborate, even if, for Harry, the subject was far from closed.

In an abrupt turnaround, Snape swept past Harry, his former student following him with his eyes, picturing the hem of his robe swirling around under his path. Snape opened the little chiffonier's drawer and removed a key from within, gesturing for Harry to follow him.

Suddenly, the bell rang. Both turned their heads in unison. A Pakistani man crossed the threshold, his children popped from behind to run towards the trestle tables, their dirty hands already on the bibelots. Snape put up an appalled sneer.

"Hello!” the family man started.

Snape gave him a nasty look and closed the drawer with a sharp noise. "We are closed!"

The man looked confused. "But-Careful, children, no touching!"

He went over his two boys and gently chided them. Snape lifted his eyes to the sky in such an uncharacteristic display that Harry had to stifle a laugh.

"We are closed," he repeated, annoyed.

"But the sign-"

Snape cursed himself for his oversight and interrupted him.

"The sign says 'Closed'."

Then, with his wrist, he gestured toward the sign, which, of course, stayed the same. He winced, lips pursed. Harry lowered his eyes, he knew the feeling. Old habits die hard.

The customer kept babbling, "I assure you…"

"Well, it is a mistake. Now leave!"

The father swiftly gathered his children, and the family left with an offended air.

Snape started to go for the door, but Harry beat him to it and turned the sign himself. He faced Snape once more. Harry would almost feel compassion for the man who had once been a respected member of the wizarding world, but Snape’s eyes stayed cold.

"Don't just stand there, we have no time to waste," he snarled, peeved.

The key still in hand, he guided Harry to the back door. When he opened it, the room was plunged into darkness. Snape pulled on a thin cord. The bulb dimly lit the room, swinging jerkily from left to right on its chain, creating moving shadows across the plaster walls. The room was tiny and austere.

Harry entered in turn, and his eyes opened wide. Old magic books on little shelves, ancient manuscripts, vials in an aged glassed-in medicine cabinet. Harry had been right. Snape had carried with him the vestiges of their long-gone world. And apparently, he'd taken everything he could. Did he still flick through those books with nostalgia?

The room looked like a storeroom taken straight out of Hogwarts and Harry would almost believe it if it wasn't for the damned Underground nearby. The vibrations and the humming noises stopped his daydreaming. When he turned back to Snape, the man had already scattered some papers on the table at the center of the room. Snape took hold of a thick notebook and brandished it to Harry.

"I noted here everything I know about Draco and his schemes. Mind you, this is not a detailed profile of him. I couldn't care less about his favourite colour or what he eats for breakfast, but here you’ll find an overview of his ‘career history’ since he first came here, his relationships with his sidekicks and his previous partners. But I'm not here to give you all the keys. You will have to make your way into his circle on your own.”

Harry took the notebook and glanced through it.

"You know Draco by heart. I don't see why McCarthy needs me. Why didn't he pick you instead?"

"I am close to Draco, yes. I daresay, at one time, I was his only confidant."

Snape looked away as he proclaimed those words. Harry could feel the regret creeping into the man. Snape cleared his throat.

"Draco trusts no one."

"But you just said-"

"Things have changed," Snape interjected.

Harry frowned and looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

Snape hesitated, then finally spoke in a fast and annoyed tone, as if he was forced to.

"Someone betrayed him, someone close to him. Intimate even." Snape pronounced the word with distaste. "Since then, he is no longer the same man."

“And what makes you believe I can succeed where even you failed?” Harry asked, frowning increasingly. " Why would he trust me? He hates me, and the sentiment is mutual.” Harry was pacing now left and right. “He is scornful, arrogant…"

Harry was letting himself get carried away, nervously running his hand through his wild hair.

"What was I thinking? This mission is doomed to failure! What could possibly bring us together? Nothing, it's absurd!” Then, under his breath, "Completely absurd…"

"You don't know Draco," Snape retorted. "He's generous, loyal to the ones he loves. You have no idea what he has been through. What he needs is a challenge, someone who will stand up to him."

He folded his arms and looked at the papers on the table.

"Draco has been careless in the past. He used to lose all common sense as far as his… partners were concerned. He liked to boast. He foolishly leaked information about his operations to impress them. Predictably, his negligence cost him a lot. Since the last fiasco, he has become withdrawn. The woman who betrayed him was very dear to him."

Harry reacted to his last words. "A woman? But I thought he was…"

Snape ended his discomfort.

"Draco has no preference. Since the incident, he goes from one conquest to the other, no matter who...” He snorted. “The latest one was nothing but a parasite. Fortunately, they never last."

Harry turned pensive. From his face, it was easy to picture his brain's wheels set in motion.

"I don't understand. If you care about Draco, why are you here with me? You know it will end badly. Betrayed a second time, and by the hand of his mentor!"

Harry plunged his eyes into Snape's, trying to find some clue.

"I don't know what McCarthy holds against you, but I'm sure whatever his threats are, you wouldn't have accepted the deal. Unless there's another reason."

Snape gave a hint of a smile, probably surprised by the perceptiveness of the younger man, but it faded quickly.

"McCarthy knew that despite his blackmail, I would never yield, but he was well informed. He knew of my disapproval of the Organization. Draco knows it too, I was straightforward about it, and I daresay he respects me for it.” Snape paused, stressing the words, “Draco is heading the wrong path. It might hurt him, but whatever happens, he will be forced to leave the twisted little kingdom he created. At this rate, soon there will be nothing left of him."

Harry stayed silent, considering his revelations. All he could feel in this moment was pity, for Draco, for Snape, but also himself. The more he learned about the mission, the more he dreaded the outcome. But if, as Snape affirmed, something good could come of it, then maybe there was still hope.

The brief connection created between Snape and Harry was soon over, the time of confidence gone.

Snape spread the papers on the table, organizing them for Harry. There were files about every member who would be present at the party.

"Pay attention, you need to know everything there is to know about them. I’m sure McCarthy briefed you, but I don't trust him."

"Huh, because I can trust you?" Harry retorted with a skeptical tone.

Snape shot him an unreadable look before returning to the matter at hand.

After reviewing each profile and listening to Snape's repetitious droning of all the major details, Harry was close to slamming the door and leaving. He was sick of being spoken to as if he were mentally challenged, and he rubbed his eyes as fatigue started to overcome him. He wanted nothing more but to go home and put himself to bed, to bury his head in the pillows and never come out again. Alas, Snape was not finished.

"Now, we need to meet in the same place you saw Draco, it will be more credible."

Harry raised his head, furrowing his brows in confusion.

"Perhaps you'd rather I tell the guests I found you in a dog kennel next door and decided to take you in." Then Snape explained in an overly slow voice, "If we see each other in public a few days before the gathering, there will be witnesses to confirm our ‘chance meeting’."

He continued more evenly.

"I will inform Draco about our encounter and my intention to invite you to the soiree as a guest of honor. I'm sure he'll find the idea amusing."

Harry grimaced at that.

"I'll go with you to conclude this… parody. After that, it is in your hands."

No pressure then.

Harry sighed. What a long way to go yet.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

The day following his meeting with Snape, Harry slowly woke up to the sound of the rain lashing against the window. It soothed and lulled him into a pleasant lethargy. He did not fall back to sleep but stayed under the duvet, letting his thoughts wander. The situation with Snape had been so surreal. More incredible than in his wildest dreams, when he amused himself picturing the most unlikely places his former friends and professors could have taken refuge. But Snape's apparition behind his counter…

A short laugh escaped his mouth. He put on his glasses but stayed in bed, one arm behind his head. He studied the ceiling, his eyes running along the thin cracks there. He still couldn't believe he had just seen his old, dreaded professor who he believed to be lost forever.

He had not thought about him this past year, though he had looked for him for a long time, like all the others…

After their massive exodus, he had searched obsessively for his acquaintances amongst the refugees. But the task had been difficult. After the unregulated placements, the media debacle, the violent opposition to the integration of the "aliens", as the media nicknamed them, the localization of the former wizards had become nearly impossible.

The sudden influx of immigrants had created a huge crisis in the United Kingdom and its capital of London, where the cases were centralized. Soon, the social and governmental organizations were overtaken by the unprecedented situation. Thousands of immigrants, most of whom they had no record of, were left stranded. The proper authorities were overwhelmed, acting hastily and herding the refugees like animals into abandoned factories they had converted into "Welcome Centers."

In the beginning, it was easy to avoid the authorities by simply seeking refuge with Muggle relatives, but the situation changed, and things escalated quickly. The populace alienated the ex-wizards. Denunciations were encouraged. They were simply not welcome.

At first, the idea of a magic world had provoked amusement and disbelief. Some of the wizards had taken out their amulets, magic books and their wands to prove the truth in their words, begging for help. They had nothing left, no job, no home, no money. They had lost everything. Administration employees looked at their objects with bemusement, seeing no more than cheap rubbish, books, and pieces of wood. A group of eccentrics weeping and claiming they had lost their magic, what a joke! Indeed, but faced with thousands of people testifying to the same facts, that was another story.

Old files were reopened in lieu of the newcomers' tales, cases concerning strange events that took place in the previous years, isolated incidents for the most part, but recouping with the stories of the so-called wizards.

Though they looked harmless, the authorities had no intention of letting the aliens go on without surveillance. They feared the possible resurgence of their powers and abnormal phenomena. It was decided for the country's safety to equip each refugee with a surveillance device, a high-tech microchip implanted in the nape of each ex-wizard. The device was infallible. It allowed the detection of each of the ex-wizards, identifying them by number and giving access to their location and file. The device was impossible to remove as it risked damage to the nervous system. Some of the refugees confirmed the threat by soliciting the help of surgeons on the black market with fatal results.

Furthermore, each of them had to wear a distinct mark to alert the population about their nature. The crescent-shaped scar left by the pose of the implants on their napes was not visible enough.  Thus, authorities opted for a green armband that they had to display permanently. The security rounds made sure all the wizards wore their mark, and failure to comply would result in imprisonment or appropriate disciplinary action. Once they were easier to identify, hell broke loose across the country. Riots motivated by xenophobia followed and took on alarming proportions. The consequences were tragic, many found death in the wake of punitive expeditions.

The growing hostility forced them to assemble into underground communities to stay united and help one another. Public services initiated a solidarity campaign, creating mutual aid associations and alliances between the inhabitants and the newcomers. But it was already too late. The harm was done, and the number of victims increased until the day when the ex-wizards broke away their chains, the day of the St. David's Rebellion.

The operation was set up by the Lux brothers, two Muggle electrical engineers won over to their cause. After two years of unremitting work, they succeeded in creating a magnetic signal to deactivate all the microchips.

On the first of March 2000 at 7:00 p.m. local time, all over the country and notably in London, placed on strategic locations at Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus and in front of the Westminster Palace, every wizard tore up their green armbands, brandished them in the air and set them on fire, chanting, "We are not criminals!" The Lux brothers’ technology was shared all over the world, and soon, all the microchips were neutralized. The event brought uproar from the crowds, clashes between pro-wizards and their opponents, creating chaos, but there was no going back. The ex-wizards were finally free.

Harry's mobile phone abruptly interrupted his thoughts. He let his arm fall out of the bed, groping to find his phone under the box spring. He grabbed it and looked at the screen up close.

Ron

Harry had promised himself to cut all contact with his friend the moment his mission had been imposed on him. He didn't want to involve Ron in this matter, nor lie to him. He had enough on his conscience already.

Undecided, Harry brushed his finger across the screen, then finally let the phone ring. A few seconds later, a beep resounded. Harry called the voicemail and put the device to his ear.

" …message. Today – at 9:19. Harry, it's me, Ron. It's been a while since we heard from you. I left several messages. I hope you're okay… If you need any help, you know you can count on me." A pause. "I know I wasn't always there for you in the past… but we had problems of our own. I just wanted to make sure…" A sigh. When his voice returned, it was somber. "I wanted to tell you, I went to Bristol with Bill but the track fell through. It wasn't Hermione." Another pause. "Call me."

With a resigned air, Harry let the phone fall on the carpet and closed his eyes again.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

April 25, 2004

Over his face, a ray of light. The sun grew more and more generous, and quickly, Harry's face twitched. He whimpered, a pout drawing itself on his features. He grabbed his duvet and, with a sweeping movement of his arm, buried himself under the soft cotton. But peaceful moments never last and his mobile began vibrating.

Harry growled and mumbled, "Can't believe it…" He gripped his alarm clock and read it with one eye "10:05".

He yawned as he picked up his mobile phone and threw it on a chair across the room. A few seconds passed, and his home phone began ringing in turn. A muffled wail, then suddenly, Harry emerged from the duvet and groaned again. He jumped off his bed in a T-shirt and boxers and stomped into the living room. As the answering machine continued, "a message after the… ", he unplugged the phone.

He flopped onto the couch, rubbing his eyes puffy with sleep, and stared at the wallpaper with an empty look. He rose unsteadily, dragging his feet on the floor and went to the kitchen to pour a cup of old coffee prepared the day before.

The day before? Oh yes, what a night…

Harry recalled his return to Rosemary's Crib. The vision of Snape at the bar.

Hard to miss him.

Snape looked impassive and cold, perched on his seat, his glass in front of him. His attitude dissuaded anyone from coming near him. But then, Harry appeared. He approached Snape shyly, playing the old acquaintance card, surprised and impressed. The unusual "couple" attracted saucy comments. From an outsider's eye, Snape looked like a John, picking up a young prostitute. Harry was painfully aware of it. And in this setting, the memory of Draco and his last words came back to his mind, haunting him relentlessly.

Changing tactics, Harry played the game of seduction, to his great embarrassment and no doubt Snape's too. Even if the latter, true to himself, didn’t seem the least unsettled by the change of scenario, his emotionless mask in place. How Harry envied him for it. But despite all, he successfully kept up the act, bending over him to whisper in his ear, caressing his hand looking at him with seductive eyes. If he was honest with himself, he took a certain pleasure in his former professor’s discomfort. When he murmured the name Severus, he had the impression he defied a taboo, and he overindulged in it, repeating his name each time he spoke to him. He was certain that even if Snape didn’t let anything show, he was seething inside.

Harry and Snape stayed a long time sitting at the bar to allay suspicion. Snape ended the masquerade with an abrupt, "I think it's enough."

Before going their separate ways, Harry gave him his number, and in a cheeky move, a peck on the mouth. This action unsettled the usual stoic man for Snape's eyes widened in a fugacious moment.

Harry blushed at the recollection and took another sip of his coffee. He put the cup down on the table in front of him and grabbed a notebook he had filled with information about Draco and his merry band of outlaws.

He would have to remind himself to plug the phone back.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

April 26, 2004

BANG BANG BANG

An indistinct shape under the covers moaned.

"Hmm?"

The shape moved inside the bed. A tuft of black hair surfaced, strands sticking up in every direction.

The banging didn’t cease, and Harry popped his head out of the covers, all sheepish in his bed, still disoriented, his eyes half-closed and his brows furrowed.

His landine suddenly rang, the sound blending with the knocks. Harry groaned and got up slowly, snatching his glasses before sticking his head outside the bedroom door. He put his glasses on and stayed rooted there, carefully watching the entrance door as if he saw it for the first time. The door vibrated under the tireless banging while the phone kept ringing in the back.

”Potter, will you keep me waiting all morning?" a voice screamed behind the door.

McCarthy.

Harry put his hands over his face.

"The meeting !"

He ran to the door and opened it to face the wound-up agent, his mobile pressed to his ear. The chain blocked the door, upsetting McCarthy further. The man roughly hung up his phone, ending the strident ringing in the apartment, and glared at him. Harry shut the door, muttering to himself, then tediously removed the chain. McCarthy pushed the door violently in the same movement, and Harry had to catch hold of the door so as not to lose his balance.

"Eight o'clock Potter. Are you doing it on purpose or what?"

"Sorry," Harry croaked, voice still raw from misuse.

McCarthy settled directly on the couch as if he were at home. Harry didn't appreciate the rudeness and looked at the ceiling.

"Have you looked at yourself?” the agent taunted with an energetic voice. “A complete log! I'm looking at you and I'm wondering, ‘Will this guy have the balls to go through with the job?’ And I swear to you I've got doubts."

Harry shrugged and slumped on the couch. McCarthy shook his head with resignation.

"So, the meeting with Snape? The reunion was emotional, I presume. The old student and his professor. A moment to write in your diary…"

He chuckled at his own joke. Harry stared at him as though he had two heads and stayed silent. The smile left McCarthy’s face as he regained his composure, his eyes fixed on Harry, the transition so quick that he became frightening.

"So, he must have filled you in about Malfoy."

Harry did not answer.

"Snape is a clever man, you know… very clever. That sneaky bastard's already planned his way out, I'm sure of it." With a frightening glow in his eyes, he snapped out, "But it won't work with me."

Harry observed the frantic man with fascination. McCarthy seemed to perform only for himself.

The man relaxed suddenly, stretching his tense shoulders and covering the couch’s cushion with his arm spread.

"Now, let me tell you what devil you're dealing with. You probably knew those kids back then, but it's a different story now. You may think they're just screwing around, playing tough, but the lure of money corrupted them." McCarthy looked away and twisted his mouth, looking sick. "They think they're above the rules, acting like little kings! They respect nothing." His hand stabbed the air like a blade. "Nothing."

McCarthy kept his bitter sneer as he went on.

"Four years ago, the city was peaceful, clean, everything was in order. We protected the city and the citizens thanked us in return, they gave us a little compensation for our help, it was only fair. It was a win-win situation. And the next thing you know, you little shit heads land on your spaceships and go ruining what it had taken us years to build."

He banged his fist on the armrest.

"A perfect system! And when a system works, why change it, hm?" He raised his voice, "But no, you turn up here, then you hoard our streets, our houses, you take advantage of our system, you steal our money, and then you run crying and start bandying around words like injustice!"

McCarthy's eyes filled with hatred and Harry took it square in the face. The attack was aimed at him too, and there was no way he would lower his eyes and keep quiet.

"McCarthy…" he said as a warning.

But the man continued with renewed vigor.

"You slyly worm your way into our lives, you build up your little organizations, and the city is yours!"

Harry suddenly rose with a shout.

"That's enough!"

McCarthy looked up at him, surprised. Harry was holding himself straight, fists clenched along his body. His voice was tense, full of repressed anger, when he said, "We'd better drop the subject before I say anything I might regret."

Before McCarthy had time to argue, he continued.

"Tell me about the mission. I suppose you've got everything settled with your team."

McCarthy was shaky. They were in a minefield here. Harry sat back slowly and waited for his answer.

The agent snickered with a condescending air.

"Of course, what do you think? Your case file is watertight. We fleshed it out a bit, but given your record, you will fit right in. Anyway, he's probably already got the information. Stick to your story, as we said."

He cleared his throat, the previous episode completely forgotten.

"Ok, now, I need to update you about the situation with the gang. Take notes, you'll need to brush up on this."

Harry sighed and prepared himself for an umpteenth briefing.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

April 27, 2004

A beeping sound. A hand sprang out from the bed, hanging limply above the floor, then picked up the phone.

"You have - two - messages. Yesterday – at 22:08. Harry, call me back, okay? I’m starting to get worried. Hum, it's Ron."

Another beep. "Today – at 9:10. Harry, what's … "

The sound of a key being pressed, then the hand let the mobile fall on the floor.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

April 28, 2004

Harry slowly opened his eyes and woke up, taking a big yawn and stretching like a cat. He pushed back his duvet with his feet and got out of bed, looking at the clock: 9:45.

He drank his coffee in the kitchen, still in his T-shirt and pajamas. The radio was on, broadcasting nonstop news that he listened to with only half an ear, more interested in the newspaper's comic strip, "Clare in the Community", and its sarcastic view on internet dating. He took a bite of his toast before hearing the phone ring.

Ron

Harry dropped his toast and wiped his hands on a tea towel. Maybe he had better reassure his friend. If Ron lost his patience and decided, despite Harry's previous warnings, to come and visit him… No, it would not do at all.

This thought provoked Harry to answer, though by the time he reached the living room, the answering machine had already caught it.

"Potter. Draco Malfoy speaking."

Harry froze on the spot. The poised and aristocratic voice sent an electric current through his body.

"I am calling you myself to inform you that I will be having a party next Monday evening. I would be delighted to count you among my guests..."

Harry hugged himself, arms crossed over his chest, embarrassed by his sloppy appearance, as if Draco could see him through the phone.

"Our last encounter was very … interesting." Harry felt his mocking smile behind his words. "But I'm afraid we haven't explored the matter fully. Monday evening, we will have the opportunity to make up for it."

His voice was languid and full of promises. Harry was under his spell once again. How was Draco able to disarm him with his voice alone?

"I insist that you come, for old time's sake…"

Harry swallowed a laugh.

Of course, a little get-together between friends…

"Severus has already kindly agreed to escort you. I will see you on Monday, Potter." Beep

Harry took a few moments before changing position, contemplating the answering machine. He ran his hand through his hair and bit his lower lip, pensive. He pressed the key.

"Today - at 10:05. Potter. Draco Malfoy speaking. I am calling you myself to inform you that I will be having a party next Monday evening. I would be delighted to count you among my guests. Our last encounter…"

Chapter Text

The imposing wrought-iron gate opened, and the black limo drove in slowly. Behind the tinted windows, Harry observed the lush park that surrounded the property. The limo pulled out onto the alley and stopped, joining the luxury cars parked in front of the manor. Nervous, Harry gripped the leather seat with his sweaty hands. He turned towards the window again, lowering his head to look at the red brick facade and the lights behind the tall white windows.

The driver opened the door. Snape exited first. Harry paused to compose himself before following him. When his feet touched the gravel, he stopped and looked over the premises. The Georgian manor was majestic, spreading across three stories and a west and east wing.

Snape had almost reached the entrance when he noticed Harry wasn’t behind him. He looked at the younger man and called impatiently at him.

"Potter, I believe the party is inside."

Harry nodded and caught up quickly with the man, ascending the white marble steps at his side. When they reached the carved wooden door, Harry straightened his jacket and took a deep breath, his heart throbbing.

Snape grabbed the heavy door knocker and rapped three times. The door opened and a tall, greying butler greeted them with a courteous smile.

"Mister Snape, welcome." He looked Harry up and down. "I see you brought an escort?"

Harry raised his brows at the inappropriate assumption and glanced at Snape’s reaction with amusement. Snape stared silently at the butler to browbeat him, which proved efficient as the butler immediately lowered his eyes and took his coat without further ado.

"Mister Potter's a friend,” Snape clarified, regardless.

The butler bent in agreement. “Of course, Mister Snape. Please accept my apologies, it was untoward of me.”

He held out his arm to Harry, and it took a second for the young man to understand he was waiting to take his jacket. Harry attempted to smile, but it came out as an odd grimace. The butler invited them in with a gesture.

Upon reaching the impressive entrance hall, Harry’s eyes widened, and he spun around to admire his surroundings. The golden moldings decorating the high ceilings were true pieces of art, and the vaults emphasized the grandness of the place. A grand double staircase led to the floors above, the long rail spreading out at each level.

Snape motioned for Harry to follow him upstairs when two girls wearing mini pleated skirts burst out of a small door in a corner. They slowed down to observe the newcomers, brushing past them amusedly. One of them winked at Snape before running up the stairs with her friend, the two disappearing with fits of giggles. A door slammed somewhere. Indifferent, Snape made his way up the stairs, Harry following suit.

On the first floor, faint music, voices, and feminine laughter reached their ears. Snape led the way to a half-open door in the hall on the left. He stopped and stared at Harry, making sure he was ready. Harry took a sharp inhale and nodded. Snape pushed the door open, and the voices and bursts of laughter intensified at once. The room was dimly lit, and the walls, papered in a royal blue, heightened its ominous glow. Hypnotic background music surrounded the space, and from the atmosphere of the room, it was clear that alcohol and drugs had already begun circulating.

Harry was merely surprised by the sight that greeted him. Guests had scaled all the imaginable surfaces to get laid or to trip, all in various stages of undress. Candles were strategically placed about the room, flickering here and there, flattering the silhouettes, lending a strange and forbidden quality to the scene. Lines of coke were drawn on a glass coffee table near designer clutch bags. Blasé waiters circulated among the guests, proposing champagne and vodka jelly shots.

Harry felt so far away from all this now. He had attended parties of this sort, sometimes in far seedier settings. These little gatherings had become sadly familiar. But that was before Remus. Remus had saved him from all this, and it was for Remus that he was here tonight. It only seemed fair. This sad reminder of his old habits made him uneasy, but he also felt the adrenaline run high at the thought of plunging back.

Harry picked a flute of champagne from the platter that a waiter held under his nose and took a swig to calm himself. He turned towards Snape, who didn’t look as abashed as he’d expected. He had probably attended many similar scenes at Draco's side. Snape was talking to a robust man whose shirt was half-open. Harry recognized Theodore Nott. The sanguine man was gesticulating frenziedly, leaving few doubts about his degree of intoxication. Snape’s expression was marred with distaste and when he saw Harry near him, he grasped his arm and promptly guided him away.

“Draco and his lost boys’ idea of a refined soiree…” he sneered.

Observing the guests around him, Harry lowered his eyes to his elegant waistcoat and shirt. "What was the point of spending hours on this outfit…"

Unfazed by the virtual orgy playing out in front of them, Snape retorted with his usual caustic tone, "Seduction demands subtlety, which, evidently, these people have not. Those vapid creatures may entertain Draco, but nothing more." He continued in his mellifluous voice. "Don’t let yourself be fooled, Draco won’t let you in easily. You’ll have to be cunning to capture his interest."

He glided across the long room and opened the side door.

"But from what I gathered, you've already cut a few corners."

Harry glanced at Snape as he trotted to keep the pace. The idea that his former professor had heard the tale of his impudent come-on at the club made him blush like a schoolgirl. Which seemed quite incongruous considering the activities that were taking place around them.

They entered a windowless room, smaller but no less animated. Harry briefly spotted Flint slumped on a loveseat, a girl in each arm. Snape kept walking, leading him to yet another door.

"And of course, it falls to me to correct your mistakes again."

They ended up in a corridor dimly lit by small chandeliers fixed along the wall, leading to big white double doors. Snape opened them wide. The brightness that assaulted them seemed to signify their entrance into a new territory. The atmosphere contrasted with the previous rooms, though it was just as opulent and richly decorated. The golden tapestry gave a warm glow to the scene, and two big mirrors above the marble chimneys on each side of the room amplified its size. A large crystal chandelier dipped lowly into the space from the ceiling, casting a pretty play of light and shadow.

Draco sat enthroned on a big Victorian-style chair, his white shirt open on his pale torso, a brown-haired boy with an angel face asleep, his head on his shoulder. At the center of the room, on a Venetian carpet, young Adonises kissed and caressed each other. Seated not far from Draco, Zabini watched them languorously. A glancing game began between the dark-skinned man and a boyish Asian man. Zabini finally rose towards the object of his attention and, without a word, leaned towards him and opened his mouth sensually. His conquest caught it swiftly with his lips and initiated a sensual kiss. An impression of voluptuousness radiated from the scene, but in this room, it was indolent, graceful. Maybe it was Draco's presence that swept everything away.

Draco, the brown head still nestled on his shoulder, spoke pleasantly with a young woman seated on the chair to his left. He kissed her hand, a charming smile on his lips. Harry was enthralled and remembered the smile the blonde threw at him at the club, the intensity of his look.

Snape decided to disrupt the scene with a scathing voice.

"Is this what you call a commemoration?"

Draco turned his head leisurely, no sign of surprise in his posture.

"But Severus, what better way to mark the end of a civilization than with this symbol of freedom and love?" Draco spread his arm, as if unveiling the decadent show around him. "Now that you’re here, we can celebrate properly."

Snape's mouth twitched imperceptibly at him.

For the first time since he had made his entrance, Draco set eyes on Harry. The intensity of his gaze hit him full force and made him lose his composure.

He can see right through me, I know it.

Draco rose elegantly and moved towards him with the grace of a snake cornering his prey. Harry fought his first impulse to get away and prepared himself for the confrontation. Draco stopped in front of him with a smile that looked disturbingly genuine.

"Potter, what a pleasure that you chose to accept my invitation. The party wouldn't have been complete without you, our guest of honour."

Suddenly, Draco was upon him, his arms circling him. Harry just stood there, petrified. He held his breath as they embraced, and Draco's smile turned into a conniving grin. Harry stiffened when Draco’s face brushed softly against him, bringing his mouth closer to his skin. Then, Draco gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He always knew just what to do to throw him off balance.

Before stepping away, Draco ran his fingers along the inside of his arm, leaving a feather-like tickle against his skin. Snape had watched the whole scene with a growing apprehension. He knew Draco was a player, and the glint in the blonde's eyes didn't bode well.

Draco chuckled. "The lion comes slumming it with the Snakes. I wonder where this sudden interest comes from. After your little show at the Rosemary's, you fall back on Severus! Tsk tsk… What's going on in your pretty little head? You have a death wish?"

Fortunately, Draco didn’t expect an answer from him, and Harry stood speechless and tense in front of him.

Draco clasped his hands behind his back and stared at him with a large smile, eyes shining maliciously. Harry expected to be stabbed at any moment without warning.

Draco turned back towards his other guests and announced loud and clear, "Well, as you all know, we are here today to celebrate the end of an era. Just six years ago, thanks to Harry Potter-" He designated him with his arm, "-we lost everything dear to our hearts, thrown unceremoniously into the clutches of the Muggles. Let's give him a warm applause!"

Draco raised his drink by way of toast before gulping its content. Harry's face lost all colour in front of all the judgmental stares. Draco's words had awoken a guilt long buried inside of him. How could he have believed this would go without a hitch? Of course Draco would unleash his wicked tongue on him. Count on him to hit where it hurt the most. A small applause echoed in the room, adding to the grotesqueness of the announcement. One of the girls broke the awkward silence with an atrocious laugh.

Draco turned around to face Harry and lifted his hand to stroke his cheek, but Harry twisted away with a disgusted gesture. Draco cocked his head, his voice coaxing, " Potter! A joke, just a joke."

Harry shuffled toward the corner of the room, far from the scrutiny of the guests. Draco laughed then, one of those distinguished sniggers, fake and affected. He turned towards the circle of couches at the center of the room.

"Besides, how could we not be grateful for what the muggles have given us? After all, without them, we wouldn't be here today, enjoying their champagne, their delicacies…" He leaned towards a young blond man seated on a couch, his head tilted towards him, "… all these tasty things."

In the end, Draco and his court had turned the situation in their favour. They had defied the Muggle laws and kept breaking them, taking away their wealth, seeping into parallel markets. They slipped through the corrupted coppers' fingers and the existing banditry networks and snapped up everything on their way. A sly revenge, as only Slytherins could hatch. Draco had finally beaten the Muggles, and watching him grab a toast of caviar and bite voraciously on it, Harry knew Draco was fully aware of this and savoured each moment of his victory.

After his thundering introduction, Draco seemed to have lost all interest in Harry, going back to his other guests, lying lasciviously on a couch. After a few minutes, Snape joined Harry in his hiding place.

"Harry."

"Yes, Severus" Harry replied gloomily.

"I’m not particularly inclined to spend my evening witnessing this sorry display. I believe you can manage on your own.”

Harry shook his head in dismay.

“Draco wouldn’t provoke you if he weren’t interested. That’s his way.”

Harry shook his head. “Right.”

“You’ll be fine,” Snape insisted, his sharp voice denoting his growing irritation. “I'll be in the library upstairs. Not that I authorize you to come and disturb me."

With these words, Snape took his leave.

"Perfect, just perfect," Harry whispered. "Like I could find the library in this labyrinth anyway."

He took another flute of champagne and some canapés from a tray, hanging his head and throwing looks about the room under his lashes. He settled in a velvet armchair, isolated from the others, and stayed alone for a while. He tried to lose himself in the feral mood of the party, but couldn't quite succeed after his humiliation.

Wherever he looked, his eyes seemed drawn to Draco.

The blond aristocrat flitted about from one body to the next, assessing his power over every person in the room. Always in control, he reigned high in this little world – of course, he had created it – yet he seemed so detached about it all.

Harry couldn’t help but be captivated.

Draco sat on one of the couches, took the chin of a girl lying there, and kissed her languidly. In Harry's eyes, each movement seemed to prolong itself in slow motion, the soft lips of the blonde reaching the ruby red lips, grey eyes closing, lost in sensations, the blond locks falling from his ear to caress the other face.

A wave of heat engulfed Harry, and he slid his hand along his shirt's collar to loosen it. He eventually undid the first buttons, but it was no use. He needed to get some air. With hurried steps, he exited the French window to the empty balcony. He closed his eyes, leaned on the white marble balustrade, and breathed. The fresh air brought immediate relief, and he slowly relaxed, running his hands on the coarse stone.

He thought back to the beginning of the evening and tried to plan an approach. He needed to regain the upper hand and get close to Draco without appearing manipulative. Things didn't look too promising right now.

Harry gazed at the garden with its high hedges and stone benches. How beautiful. The night was well advanced, and the breeze blew softly, sweeping his hair from his eyes. Harry smiled, forgetting for a moment where he was.

Minutes had gone by when a silhouette appeared behind him, in the window's doorframe. Silently, it loomed closer. Suddenly, a hand grabbed Harry's flute. He spun around to discover Draco in front of him. Slowly, Draco brought the glass to his lips and took a sip, watching Harry closely. He leaned on the balustrade, his attitude nonchalant.

"Harry, Harry, Harry…" he breathed out.

His name, uttered like a litany, sounded strangely foreign to him. Draco undressed him with his eyes, and it made him uneasy. He didn’t want to be fooled again, and he felt too self-conscious to let himself be drawn into this game of seduction. He didn't know what to do with himself and started fiddling with his shirt sleeves. Draco’s stare didn't waver though, and Harry had to look away, a rosy tinge spreading over his cheeks. Draco took another sip of champagne and smiled, pleased with his effect on him.

"You've changed," he stated.

Harry didn't know if it was meant to be a compliment. "Thanks… I guess," he answered shyly.

Draco handed him back the flute. Their fingers brushed against each other when Harry gripped it, eliciting shivers along his arm. Draco seemed to catch each of his reactions, and Harry grew more nervous under his brazen stare.

"The Manor is really impressive,” he blurted. “It's beautiful out here."

He made a clumsy gesture with his arm and a bit of champagne spilled on his hand. Embarrassed, he started to wipe it off when Draco seized his wrist. Harry gasped as grey eyes bored into him. Draco lowered his face and, without taking his eyes off him, slowly ran his warm tongue down the back of his hand, catching each drop of alcohol.

The sight, the sensation, it was unreal. Harry was paralyzed.

Who was seducing who?

Draco raised his head and passed his tongue across his lips to erase the last trace of champagne. The sensuality of his mouth made Harry dizzy. He could feel the humid trail on his hand, cold in the evening breeze.

Draco's voice reached him slowly.

"I was very surprised to see you at the club. I thought you’d gone into exile, left after whichever battle, but I certainly wasn't expecting you to join the nightlife scene. I thought you'd avoid this kind of place."

Harry slowly came back to earth. This conversation he could handle. He ran his hand through his hair to regain his composure. "You could say I took a different road. A lot of things have changed since Hogwarts."

Draco looked at him with interest. "Is that so?"

"I didn't move from London, but I had to keep a low profile." The words rehearsed a thousand times flowed naturally now. He turned his flute between his fingers, eyes lowered, feigning embarrassment. "I had a bit of trouble, a few run-ins with the police … serious enough for me to lie low for a while."

Draco let out a cynical laugh. "Don’t tell me the great Harry Potter has a criminal record!"

"Yes, as unbelievable as it sounds." Harry smiled.

"I thought I was the only outlaw here. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, wanted dead or alive. We'd make a great poster, don't you think?"

Harry answered him with a lovely smile, and Draco turned serious again. He moved away from the balustrade and raised his arm towards Harry's face. Harry tried to stay still, his heart racing. Then, Draco's hand was on his chin. With his thumb, he gently caressed Harry's lips, his jawline.

"I like this new Harry Potter very much," he whispered, lowering his face.

Then, in a sudden move, Draco took Harry by the waist and drew him against him. Harry looked at his mouth coming closer, oh so slowly, and then they were on his lips, soft and tender. He closed his eyes and let himself be dragged into the sweet kiss. Draco's tongue wormed its way between his half-opened lips and teased him. Harry reciprocated with enthusiasm, savouring the fizzing taste of champagne on his tongue. Rapidly, Draco became more pressing and the kiss more heated, mouths opening large and tongues more daring. The two men, holding their breath, explored each other with frenzy.

Draco grew more aggressive in his assault and, without breaking the kiss, he pushed Harry back until his spine was flush against the wall near the window, his body pressed tight against his. Upon contact with the cold marble, Harry broke the kiss to take a breath, his pupils dilated. Draco allowed him no respite and started fondling Harry's crotch, drawing a little moan from the smaller man, who closed his eyes with delight.

"Yes, I like him a lot," Draco murmured.

His hand ran across Harry's stomach, then up his torso, his other hand still on his waist. Harry's flesh trembled underneath his clothes. Draco continued feeding him his wicked tongue, tracing each corner of his mouth. His hand ran up Harry’s neck, massaging it delicately. Overwhelmed by his touch, Harry whimpered. It felt so good and yet so wrong. Then, Draco's mouth detached from Harry's, staying just on the surface of his lips, brushing them as he spoke.

"Hm…There's something I can't stop thinking about. You know what it is?"

Harry nibbled his lower lip and let out in a breath, "No… "

Draco's mouth came close to his ears.

"Why are you here, huh?"

Harry furrowed his brows, completely caught off guard by his question. Then he felt Draco's hand tighten around his neck, the caress transformed into a stranglehold. Draco's face contorted.

"You came to spy on me, didn't you? Who sent you?"

The comedown was brutal.

" What?  Wh-What are you talking about ?" Harry let out in a thin voice.

Draco looked dangerous as he stressed the words, "Why. Are. You. Here?"

He tightened his hand further on Harry's neck, the other painfully pressing his waist.

"I just think that it’s rather odd we don't see you for six years and all of a sudden, you appear at the club, and barely one week later, you go throwing yourself at Severus! Since when do you fraternize with the enemy? What kind of a fool do you think I am?"

Shaking his head, trying to wrench free from him, Harry replied in a high-pitched voice, "We're not in Hogwarts anymore! There is no enemy! I-I knew you went to that club, I had friends over there. I thought… I thought we could reconnect."

But Draco didn't buy his justifications.

"Who is it, huh? Division 8? You collaborate with those vultures?"

Harry tried to remove his hand, but the pressure kept getting stronger, and he felt himself weakening. He answered hurriedly, voice strangled, "What? What are you… No!" He struggled to stay coherent, "I wanted to find the others. When I found out where you were, I thought it'd be a chance… to start over."

"I don't believe you for a second,” Draco retorted coldly.

Harry tried to twist Draco's hand, but his grip didn't loosen, and Harry could no longer breathe. Thousands of little dots invaded his field of vision, and his legs would have given way if he hadn't been pinned to the wall. He cried out, feeling as though he were about to lose consciousness and begged, "Draco!"

The man didn't bat an eyelid. He seemed ready to go all the way, his look murderous. Suffocating, Harry was about to lose the fight when Draco brutally released him. Harry's legs instantly gave out under him, and he flopped down on the ground, coughing and taking ragged breaths.

Draco brushed his hair back in place and watched Harry at his feet with disgust.

"Now you sod off! You'll tell your little pals it takes a lot more to trick Draco Malfoy."

He turned and left the balcony, leaving Harry crumpled on the ground, head between his legs.

Harry’s erratic breath mingled with the sound of the wind as he rubbed his tender neck. He threw his head back against the wall and looked vaguely ahead. The night was dark now. The stars seemed to have hidden from view. His breathing gradually slowed down. He could not believe what had just happened.

So that's it? It's over?

He tried to think, to find a way to make things right, but nothing came, and he was too disoriented to assess the situation.

He stood up painfully, helping himself with a hand on the wall, and coughed again. Disheveled as he was, he looked like he'd been thrown into the street. He put his hand against the window and stepped inside, swaying on his way. As he crossed the large room, he caught the platinum blond hair straight away. Draco had already found another prey and was kissing a fully naked boy, spread on a fur rug. His hand crept slowly up the boy's thigh to his erect cock.

Harry had seen enough. He straightened up to leave with a semblance of dignity, but his feet dragged him away so quickly he almost ran to the door. He walked from one room to the next, blindly making his way through the bodies sprawled on the floor. He just wanted to get out of this place, but after he had passed twice in front of the same bald man dozing on a big white chair, he realized he was going around in circles.

He's Cerberus and I'm prisoner of one of the nine circles of Hell.

Harry ran a hand upon his clammy forehead and resumed his exploration. He finally found his way back and landed at the foot of the grand double staircase. It seemed he'd been here many hours ago. Harry mused momentarily on finding Snape, but he had no intention of losing himself in the maze of the Manor again.

Everything was ruined anyway.

Just then, he noticed the little door next to the stairs. It was the one the two girls had burst from when Snape and he had arrived. The bathroom, most likely. He entered.

The black marble walls fit his mood. Three washbasins on the left, large mirrors with burnished mouldings, three opened cubicles on the right. Harry's shoes rang out on the tiled floor as he moved forward. He stopped, turned the golden faucet and put his hands under the water, his mind befuddled, in automatic mode. He let the water run, hands braced on the sink, bending over it with all his weight.

"I screwed up," he murmured.

He sighed, then cupped his hands under the water and lowered his face to splash it thoroughly. He wiped it and sniffled, the sound echoing in the room.

He felt so alone. So useless.

He cupped his hand again and took a big gulp to soothe his sore throat. He turned the faucet off, droplets trickling from his chin and dropping down into the basin. Absently running his hand over his mouth, he raised his face to glance at his reflection. With heavy-lidded eyes, he looked at the fingerprints on his neck and put his hand over them, placing his fingers in the same position to cover the marks Draco had left. A movement at the bottom of the mirror on the right caught his eye. Startled, he turned in a flash.

There, in one of the open stalls, a girl was slumped on the floor, mascara running in dark streaks down her cheeks, pink lipstick smeared over her mouth. Her little black dress formed the shape of a corolla on the tiles. PANSY PARKINSON.

Harry stayed still, mouth agape. The girl was looking at the floor, her eyes half-closed.

"Pansy?"

Harry’s voice was hoarse, and he winced, holding his throat softly. The girl turned her head to look at him, but her eyes stayed at his legs' level. Harry had to crouch to stare her in the eyes.

"I think-I… Something's wrong," the girl mumbled.

Harry frowned. She looked so pale under the crude lights of the room.

Pansy didn't seem in her right mind. But what was her right mind exactly? Harry knew the girl’s history and her fragile mental state, but he didn't know the extent of it. She wasn’t supposed to be at the manor.

"Pansy, what-" he started but she interrupted him.

"I think I won't make it, I think I won't… "

For a split second, Harry feared the worst. Maybe she was having a bad trip or she got a bad mix. It could be serious. Pansy looked up at him with wide eyes.

"What you doin' here, why am I here… hm?"

Harry shook his head, at a loss. Pansy started giggling, wide-eyed.

" Harry Potter?" she asked, mesmerized.

Harry tried dully to smile, not used to this fragile and damaged Pansy.

"Yes. It's me, Harry."

She smiled and repeated, stretching his name, "Haaaaarrrryyy…"

She held out her arm for him. Harry looked at her dainty hand and hesitated. But then, she looked so forlorn. He approached her until she was within reach. He waited for her to move, to at least do something, but she let her hand hang limply. Confused, he came closer still and looked into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated. Totally gone.

Then, unexpectedly, she ran her hand through Harry's dark mane and giggled again.

"Always wanted to do that."

She kept on petting his hair, marveling at its texture, looking at the strands sliding between her fingers. Harry lowered his eyes and laughed deprecatingly.

"It has its own life, I can't do anything with it."

He looked at her, eyes frank and wide, and she smiled back at him. This girl in front of him was so removed from the Pansy he used to know. He couldn't help but feel a stir of compassion. He took her hand and pulled it softly.

"Come on, I'm sure everybody's looking for you."

He made to stand up, but she promptly withdrew and whined. "No, no… It’s nice here."

Harry crouched again. "Ok, ok, we're staying here."

She looked at him dazedly, then rested her head against the partition wall, letting escape a tired breath. The tip of her fingers touched Harry's hand. He met her fingers and interlaced them. It seemed to soothe her as she closed her eyes. They stayed silent like this for a few minutes until Harry started feeling awkward. He looked at Pansy, her breathing was soft and regular.

He pushed up and murmured, "I think it's time for me to go."

But Pansy shifted and mewled. She opened her eyes and weakly pulled him towards her. Harry hesitated, but her pleading expression got the better of him. So, he sat back and let her guide him towards her. She wrapped her arm around his and put her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. Harry had no other choice but to wait for her to fall asleep. He spread his legs so he could find a comfortable position and sighed.

What a night…

He looked at the room around them, the stillness, their bodies stranded on the flagged floor, and let his head fall against the wall before closing his eyes too.

Chapter Text

Lying on the cold floor, Harry woke up with a jolt, a headache brewing behind his eyes. His head was twisted in an uncomfortable position. When he shifted, his neck protested, and he scrunched his sleepy eyes in pain. As he tried to lift his hand, he felt a weight on his shoulder. He lowered his head to discover a mop of dark hair under his chin.

Oh yeah, Pansy…

Harry barely dared twitch, afraid he might wake her, but too late, the girl started to stir, mumbling unintelligible words. She glanced at Harry with cloudy eyes and frowned. Suddenly, she whimpered, let her head fall, and rubbed her eyes with her fists like a child. She unfolded her legs and tried to get up, movements abrupt and clumsy like a newborn foal. However, the girl was still out of it and failed to keep her balance. She moaned louder, exasperated.

"You alright?" Harry enquired, holding out his hands as a preventive measure.

But a whine slipped out of her lips, as if she were a wounded animal. She looked on the verge of breaking down. Harry frowned. It wasn’t normal, her system should have metabolised all the drugs by now.

Snape had told him that Pansy was unbalanced. Her parents had been killed in a riot during the darkest times, the first year of their arrival in London. Pansy had witnessed the violent aggression and watched her parents die under the blows of a raging crowd. The traumatic event had changed her irremediably. She had always worshipped the ground Draco walked on, and since the tragedy, he had vowed to protect her and keep her safe.

But the extent of Pansy’s mental trauma was unknown to Snape, for Draco sheltered her and, when asked, kept reporting she was "on the high road to recovery". The idiom, repeated for two long years, poorly hid the problem. Harry had proof of it now.

"Can I do something?" Harry asked before rephrasing, "Do you need anything?"

The girl only spoke one name, “Draco.”

Harry pinched his lips.

Of course, she wants Draco.

After their unpleasant exchange, Harry was in no hurry to meet his professed enemy again, but Pansy’s well-being prevailed over any resentment he harboured towards the man. He untangled from Pansy and stood up.

"Okay, don't move, I'll go get him."

Harry rushed out the door, the name Draco uttered again like an echo behind him.

The first light of dawn pierced through the big windows in the corridor, painting the hall with strokes of gold. They hadn't slept as long as he thought. He ran up the stairs and wondered how he would find Draco in the haze of the manor. He remembered the first door they had entered the night before and headed to the blue room. The party was over it seemed, the candles almost completely melted, the wax frozen in long slides, dry traces of alcohol on the glass table, dormant bodies on the couches and the floor. Under the rays of sunrise, it was the cold unveiling of crude nudity.

Harry carefully stepped over a man whose face he couldn't see, sprawled on the floor, a drink spilled next to his hand. He reached the door leading to the boudoir where Draco had first appeared, when a loud crash resonated from the hallway, breaking the suspended silence around him.

Harry retraced his steps to follow the commotion. It led him to an empty room he hadn’t visited before. A long mahogany table dominated the space, heavy-looking chairs aligned on either side. The room was austere, the decor kept to a minimum, two landscape paintings on the wall and a big antique vase on the sideboard.

Loud voices reached his ear.

“We didn't take anything! You're getting paranoid, Draco!"

Harry failed to recognize the deep and menacing voice. He tiptoed along the table and reached the ajar door at the other end of the room.

"And if you think I'm going to take your insults and shut up…!"

He crept closer with silent steps, striving to be as inconspicuous as possible, and focused on the conversation that was taking place behind the door.

"The cashbox just emptied itself then?"

Draco.

The other voice turned spiteful, "I told you, business wasn't so good this month. It happens. I can't bring money in when there isn't any!"

"Last month it was the same story, and the month before that!” Draco’s tone turned dangerously low. “I'm warning you, if you’re trying to double-cross me…"

A husky laughter rose behind the door, sending a cold sweat over Harry. Where had he heard it before? Harry pressed himself against the wall and peeped through the narrow opening. He saw a stir at the back, a dark figure crossing his view point.

Suddenly, a coarse profile revealed itself. Harsh features, a large forehead, greying hair falling over broad shoulders, a one-month beard with long sideburns and a square jaw. A ferocious eye, directed straight at him. FENRIR GREYBACK

Harry gasped in consternation and fear, his green eye widening in the door crack. He stepped back in retreat, but it was too late. Greyback barged from the door and faced Harry, towering over him, no more obstacles between them.

"Well, well, looks like we have company."

Greyback had changed. Still, Harry recognized him immediately: his scarred face was both the same and different, less distorted, less shaggy, and yet the beast which was once part of the man, remained there, in his feral expression and rough features.

As he identified Harry, Greyback flashed him a bestial smile.

"Hmm what a nice surprise, pup! Did you get lost?"

Two dark-haired men joined in, an intimidating air about them. They were of medium stature, with a natural ease in their walk and gestures. The eldest wore a beard that outlined the perfect symmetry of his face, whereas the youngest sported a trimmed goatee, his cheekbones sharp on his thin face. The two were obviously related. RODOLPHUS and RABASTAN LESTRANGE.

Rodolphus crossed his arms, staying a few steps behind Greyback while his brother leaned on the wall by the window, sizing up Harry with amusement and interest.

Greyback's grating voice rose again. "Draco, you hid your new friend from us! Why, you wanted him for yourself?"

Another man stepped through the doorway and scowled at Harry, a frightening glint in his eyes. It was not Draco but a tall and burly man, his thin black moustache emphasising his perfidious air, He was still as impressive as in Harry's memories. WALDEN MACNAIR

"Now I understand why you tried to cut our discussion short.” As he spoke, he circled Harry with appraising eyes. "That’s so unprofessional of you, Malfoy. I thought your past misfortunes would have knocked some sense into you. Never mix business and pleasure."

Harry glanced at McNair behind his shoulder, The man was fixing him with unconcealed desire. Pinned by his stare, the young man resisted the urge to balk. The four former enemies were now surrounding him like a pack of wolves.

The Clan of "The Elders" in full force.

Draco and his playmates had come up with the name. The former Death Eaters had been enlisted into the Organization early on. Draco was already involved with Zabini and Nott when he proposed the Lestranges join their little enterprise so it would stay "in the family". Greyback and MacNair had naturally rallied to their group thereafter, glad to get back in the mayhem business. Snape had related to Harry that, even though their association had been in their interest and Draco had amply proved his worthiness, the Elders had a hard time accepting subservience to a man they had seen in diapers.

The Elders stuck together and had naturally taken over the fieldwork. Their modus operandi: intimidation by force. They were in charge of picking up the commissions and the takings, making sure the operations went smoothly. Their playing field: the streets they now knew like the back of their hands. They appreciated its roughness and its violence. Zabini and Nott, later joined by Flint, oversaw "public relations”. They found professional partners and set up enterprises. And of course, Draco supervised his merry band of gangsters. The system was working out nicely, at least according to Snape. It appeared Draco hadn’t filled him in about the latest dissensions.

The leader of the Organization was the last to reveal himself, opening the door wide to make his grand entrance. He had changed his clothes. Gone was the decadent, wanton man who had toyed with Harry the previous night. With his black front-pleat trousers, impeccable shirt and cufflinks engraved with his initials, Draco was as distinguished as ever.

MacNair looked at him above Harry’s shoulder and taunted with a jut of the chin, "Do you share?"

As soon as his eyes landed on Harry, Draco frowned. "What are you doing here?”

“There’s a private matter-“ Harry started but Draco didn’t leave in time to finish.

“I told you to get the hell out!"

"Draco, wait.” Greyback intervened, showing his teeth. “Maybe we can have a little fun first?"

Harry had had enough of the intimidation game and the innuendos. It made him feel like a piece of meat.

May the best bidder win!

He was here under McCarthy's orders - he didn't need another person to pull his strings. But Harry knew he didn't measure up to the five men. In the claws of the enemy, he lifted a placating hand.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” he said slowly, eyes darting between the men.

But it was no use. MacNair had no intention of letting it go. He tutted and insisted with a smile, “I think we all need a distraction.”

Draco stepped in to Harry’s relief. "No, he has no business here.”

MacNair put his hand on Draco’s shoulder. "Listen, why not let Greyback enjoy himself? Unless, of course, you've become too attached to the little one. Have you?"

Draco lowered his eyes to MacNair’s hand, silently ordering him to get it off him. MacNair removed the offending appendage, but his malicious smile did not waver. And what could the blonde possibly retort to his insinuations? Harry knew what was coming.

Draco and Harry locked eyes in a suspended moment, then Draco stepped down, turning away and out of view.

The unspoken authorization felt like a cold slap to Harry. He’d come to Draco to help, and now he was free game in his acolytes’ twisted demonstration.

Greyback grinned and slunk closer to Harry, who stepped back in return. Unfortunately, he cornered himself, his back knocking against the sideboard behind him. The big vase sitting on the furniture swayed dangerously, the base spinning around with a maddening sound. It got quicker and quicker, mirroring Harry's shaky breathing. Then, just as the giant held out his hand to grab Harry's wrist, the noise stopped, and in a swift move, Harry hit the hairy hand away. Greyback showed no surprise, he just snarled. In the blink of an eye, he caught Harry by the neck, pressing on the bruises decorating his skin. Harry yelled and tried to unlock the large palm with both hands, but it was to no avail. He could tell Greyback was enjoying his struggle, feeding on his fear. Greyback braced his other hand on the buffet, trapping Harry completely.  The brute chuckled and turned to the Lestranges.

"Isn't he lovely, guys? So helpless,” he mocked. "You could just eat him."

With sickening glee, he bared his canine teeth and sank them into the base of the delicate neck. Harry cried out from the searing pain. No more razor teeth, a human bite, and Greyback had had to sink in hard to pierce the skin. In the middle of his cries, he wondered briefly if Greyback was acting like a blood-thirsty beast on account of his past condition, or if he had just been born a savage.

Greyback raised his head with an ugly smile, blood on his teeth. One hand still firmly attached to Harry's neck, a laugh escaped him, soon joined by Rodolphus and Rabastan's sinister cackles. The cruel interlude spurred Harry to spring into action. He felt frantically around the sideboard behind him, looking for a weapon, anything to fend off the beast. His fingers fumbled and finally found something. He could make out the shape of a pen. He tightened his hold, unscrewed the lid and, in a brutal move, stabbed it into the hairy hand that was resting on the furniture veneer. Greyback let out a howl and released his grip, gaping at his injured palm, the pen still impaled into it.

“You cunt!” he cried out.

Now enraged, Greyback ripped the bloody pen out, threw it on the floor, and dealt Harry a violent slap across the face. The clout sent Harry flying backwards. As he caught the sideboard to break his fall, the vase on it came crashing on the floor, adding to the chaos of the scene.

"That’s enough!" Draco's voice sliced through the air, brooking no defiance.

Greyback’s fists were clenched along his body, his lips trembling with fury, the urge to draw blood overwhelming. He looked at MacNair, and the man slowly shook his head 'no'. Greyback’s nostrils flared, but he obeyed and loosened his fists with a groan. The Lestrange brothers averted their eyes and seemed to be getting bored already.

With a shuddering breath, Harry slowly straightened up, his bottom lip open and Greyback's blood staining his cheek like a hideous blush. He turned to Draco with a determined face, as if he were the one who would seal his fate. The latter looked at him disdainfully.

"You're playing with fire here. What word didn't you understand in 'sod off'?"

Harry looked at him and cut to the chase this time. "It’s Pansy."

Draco's face morphed in a second, his spiteful stare replaced by an anxious one.

"Where is she?"

Harry tilted his head and took a tentative step towards the door, waiting for Draco to follow him. Greyback was still fuming, his eyes locked on him. He had to leave this room now. There was no debate as Draco immediately started toward the door.

Behind them, MacNair's voice boomed, "Malfoy, wait! We've not finished!"

But the two men crossed the threshold with deaf ears. The door closed, swallowing another call.

Harry wiped his cheek with his sleeve, getting most of the blood off, but his neck was killing him. He didn't care much now, too focused on the emergency at hand. Draco’s face was tense as they sprinted through the hall.

When they reached the stairs, Harry explained briefly, "She didn't look good last night. I thought she was having a bad trip, but this morning, she nearly broke down. You know what's wrong with her?"

But Draco kept his eyes straight ahead as if he hadn’t spoken.

They finally arrived at the bathroom door. It only took a glance inside, and Draco's expression shattered. He rushed towards the girl lying on the floor and knelt in front of her.

"Eh, princess, what's the matter?" he asked softly, eyes half-closed, full of tenderness.

Harry had never seen this version of Draco before, benevolent and protective. Kind.

When she saw him, Pansy threw her arms around his neck. Draco brushed her hair and wrapped her in his arms, murmuring soothing words in her ear. Harry could see a smile on Pansy’s lips, and her body relaxed as if she was finally at peace. The couple was endearing, and amid this intimate scene, Harry felt suddenly out of place. Silently, he turned around and closed the door, leaving the two alone.

Standing in the entrance room in the morning glow, after the fury and the fear had given way to quietude, Harry asked himself what he was doing in such a mess. He’d had a glimpse into the Snakes’ world, and that nest didn't augur well for him. In the span of a few hours, he had been humiliated and assaulted twice. He was a mere pawn on the chessboard, and his interference made the game more dangerous and unsure. Snape and McCarthy hadn't prepared him enough for this.

Harry was pacing across the black and white paving slabs on the floor, avoiding stepping on the lines, when the bathroom door opened. Pansy emerged from it with a serene expression. Draco held her by the waist to support her, then slowly unfolded his arm, making sure she could stand on her own. Pansy managed to walk steadily and even flashed a smile at Harry.

Draco offered Harry a brief look, he presumed it was gratitude behind the unfathomable eyes. The moment didn't linger, though.

"Well, Potter, I think it's time for you to leave us," Draco said unemotionally.

Harry pursed his bloodied lips and lowered his eyes to the floor. He knew all this hadn't changed a thing. He turned back to Draco, but the latter was already on the other side of the hall, phone in hand, signifying he had bid his farewell.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe there was another way to help Remus. He knew he was kidding himself, but he had lost the game.

Dejectedly, Harry put his hands in his pockets and faced Pansy. “I hope you'll get better."

She frowned. "You're leaving?"

"Yes, I think I'm not welcome here. Take care of yourself, Pansy."

"Can't you stay with us?" she asked in an insecure voice, fidgeting with her hands.

Harry was about to say no when an idea came to him. An evil idea.

Draco was still busy farther away. It was his opening. There would be no other chance.

"Listen, I’d love to stay, but Draco doesn’t want me to. That’s too bad because I know I could help you.”

Pansy looked at him curiously. “How?”

He whispered, as if sharing a secret with her, “You know I'm the boy-who-lived. I vanquished Voldemort and I survived.”

Harry bit his lips. He didn't like what he was doing, but it could secure his place with the gang and help him get Remus back. It was worth it. And if he had to play the saviour card to make it happen, he might as well go all the way.

“I could protect you. With me around, you and Draco would be safe.”

Pansy looked sceptical, but Harry had one last card to play. "You know, they couldn't even put their little tracer on me. They tried, but it was pointless."

He turned and showed her his nape. No trace of implant. Pansy gasped, her eyes wide.

"You see, no one can touch me. If I told you-"

Draco's authoritative voice cut him short. "Potter, what are you still doing here? You want me to hold your hand to find your way out?"

Harry feigned defeat. "No, don't bother, I'm leaving." He waved at Pansy and held her stare before turning heels.

"No, stay!" Pansy shouted, grabbing his hand to hold him back.

Draco sighed, apparently used to her caprices. "Pansy, let him go."

She turned to him with pleading eyes. "No, he needs to stay to protect us."

Draco chuckled and came close to her. "Pansy, this is ridiculous. Let this poor Potter go home." Then, looking at Harry with a tilt of his head and a smirk, "He has friends to get back to…"

"No, I don't want him to leave!" Pansy persisted.

Losing patience, Draco removed Pansy's hand from Harry's. "No, Pansy, you won't win this time. Potter is leaving, and that's final!"

Hysterical, Pansy shouted, "No, Draco, no! He’s special!”

Draco rolled his eyes and laughed forcefully.

“It’s true,” Pansy insisted. “He doesn’t have an implant like we all do!”

The information seemed to stun Draco. His eyes snapped towards Harry, intrigued. Then, his lips curled into a snarl.

“He’s a traitor, I’m sure he has his ways.”

“No, he’s here to help us! Don’t you see, it was meant to be!”

Harry stepped in slyly. "If Pansy needs me, I’ll stay. I’d be glad to help.”

Draco retorted with a venomous voice, "Oh, I'm sure you are. That's just what you wanted, isn’t it?" He turned to Pansy, trying to contain himself, his jaw tight. "Pansy, there is no way he’s coming with us. So, stop it this instant!"

But Pansy kept arguing until Draco reached his breaking point. He violently grasped her arm and ground out between his teeth, "That's enough! I won't stand for another episode, pull yourself together!"

Pansy winced and staggered back. Blinded with anger, Draco hadn't realized he had squeezed her so hard. His face collapsed, and he removed his hand instantly as she stared at him with a betrayed look. Draco cleared his throat and looked at her apologetically.

"I’m sorry, princess. I…” He sighed. “Look, it's Potter, not a lucky charm!" he told her, gently this time. "He's nothing special anymore, really. He's like the rest of us. What could he possibly protect you from that I couldn’t, tell me!”

Harry considered it wiser not to intervene at this point. After all, the exchange seemed to be turning in his favour.

"I've always taken good care of you, haven’t I?" Pansy looked at him, attentive. "Then, believe me when I tell you that Harry won't bring us anything good. You mustn't trust him, you hear me?"

Watching their exchange, Harry was amazed again by their strong bond. There was a mutual devotion between the two, and it was clear Pansy’s resistance distressed Draco.

Pansy responded in the same quiet tone, "You're wrong. Harry must stay with us."

Draco turned away and paced, shaking his head. "No way… No. Way."

He suddenly halted with a resolute air, as if he'd just made up his mind. He rushed to a concealed door behind the stairs and brutally slammed it behind him. Harry stood there, disconcerted, wondering if Pansy had finally gotten the better of him. But Draco came back a minute later, Crabbe and Goyle on his toes. The moment he came face to face with Harry, he instructed them, "Escort him outside. We've wasted enough time."

But Pansy threw herself at Harry, shouting in protest.

Crabbe neared Harry, his stance threatening as he grabbed his elbow to pull him towards the exit. Harry wrenched his arm free.

"Fine, fine! I'll follow you."

But Pansy clung to him, unwavering. Goyle carefully held her back by the shoulders, but it only made her scream louder, eyes full of tears.

Judging by the two bodyguards and Draco's reaction, Harry knew they didn't control anything anymore.

Right then, they heard steps clanking on the marble steps. As every head turned, Snape appeared in the stairs landing, his descent stately.

Draco let out a relieved breath.

“Severus, you arrive just in time.”

His stance noble and calm, Snape enforced his rhythm without a word. His mere presence seemed to pacify everyone in the room. Even Pansy's cries ceased suddenly.

"What's all this racket?" he asked.

Draco flopped his arms in resignation.

"Pansy's throwing a tantrum. I don't know what's gotten into her, she refuses to let Potter leave!”

Snape observed the scene before him with apparent detachment. He pressed Draco’s elbow to take him aside.

"Well, if there's no way to reason with her, why not compromise? Take Harry with you for now, and you’ll deal with him once Pansy comes to her senses."

Draco jerked his head with annoyance as Snape continued to dispel his concerns.

" What are you afraid of? You know perfectly well that Potter is no threat.”

Draco didn’t object, a pensive look on his face.

Harry watched as Snape put his hand on Draco’s shoulder and leaned in, impressed by his aplomb as he manipulated his protégé.

"You've always handled things wisely. I don't see how this would be any different. I must say I’m surprised you lost control over such a trivial matter.” A beat, then peering into his eyes. "Draco, you need to pull yourself together. I’d hate for you to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

At the mention of Lucius, Draco recoiled immediately, lowering his eyes with undisguised emotion. Snape braced his hands on his shoulders more firmly. “Act like the leader you are," he exhorted, like a commander bolstering his soldier.

Snape's speech had hit the right buttons, for the Malfoy heir straightened, chin high, and nodded. He whirled around to face Pansy and Harry. "Alright,” he said in a poised tone. “Potter can come with us."

A radiant smile appeared on Pansy’s face as she lunged at Draco and peppered his face with kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He embraced her, but his cold eyes were fixed on Harry. Pansy left him to jump into Harry’s arms with a squeal of delight. When she let him go, Draco motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to lead her out of the hall. Snape took advantage of this lapse in attention to send a knowing look at Harry, the only discernible sign of connivance between the two men. Then, he bid his goodbyes to Draco.

"Well, if all is settled, I shall take my leave now."

Draco nodded and stepped closer to him to keep a semblance of privacy, "Severus, you know you're always welcome at the cottage." He added in a low but sincere voice, "I miss you."

Snape's features softened imperceptibly. "Who knows, I might get a grip on myself and come and visit sometime."

He nodded his goodbye to Draco and left without a word to the others.

Draco stiffened noticeably after his departure. He walked to the far corner of the room and took out his phone again. Keeping his eyes on the screen, he addressed Harry, "Well, it seems I'll have to prolong my suffering and bear your presence a tad longer than expected."

Harry appeared sheepish. "I didn't plan this. I mean…" he hesitated. "I must go home to get some of my things, but I can-"

"Goyle will take care of it," Draco said dryly.

Then he raised his nose from his phone to look straight at Harry with a malicious air.

"Why? You need something specific, maybe? Ask Crabbe, he will be glad to be of service,” he said, his tone derisive. “And if I can do anything for you, if you have any demands…"

Harry shook his head, realizing Draco wouldn't let him get away with anything. Harry was going to be scrutinized and sifted through, no doubt about it.

"That's what I thought," Draco concluded.

With that, Draco strutted to the door. Before he made his exit, he stopped and threw a dangerous glare at Harry over his shoulder. A warning sign.

"Don't claim victory too soon. You'll leave this ship at the first opportunity. And believe me, I read you like an open book."

His glower was intimidating, but Harry refused to lower his eyes, holding his stare when all his senses told him to surrender.

Draco swirled around, and Harry could breathe again.

How could he have believed for one moment that it would be simple, that Draco would fall into his arms like a lover would and share his secrets with him? He'd mistaken him for a case from a file, a character easy to figure out, but Draco was more insightful than he thought, and strangely, he liked that. Maybe Draco wasn't the only one in need of a challenge.

Chapter Text

They arrived at Weybridge, in South-East London, at the end of the evening. The journey had not been overly long, but Harry had felt each minute pass. The gang was manifestly casting him aside, the discussions around him consisting of whispered words and suspicious glares. Pansy was the only one who acknowledged Harry, but Draco had kept her at bay every time she had tried to talk to him in the car.

At Weybridge, the luxurious private properties formed a quiet and upmarket district, and the White Cottage was no exception. They pulled over through tall double gates, a video camera pointed at the street, and a security agent inside, protecting the place from any unwanted visitors. A wide tarred path led to a big residence, closer to a villa than an actual cottage.

Harry exited the car and took his time to admire the beautiful place, so different from the Manor. The architecture was minimalist with modern, clean lines. The White Cottage's facade, as its name indicated, was pristine white. Harry could see an alley behind the main house that gave access to a secondary one, smaller but still grandiose. As soon as they were out of the car, MacNair and his team separated from Draco to settle in there, far from the rest of the group.

Harry tried to remain calm and confident, but now that he was in the gang’s headquarters, he would have to be careful and stay vigilant. As the entrance door opened, he knew a long and perilous road laid ahead, and there was no turning back.

He crossed the threshold after Pansy, followed closely by Crabbe. The lobby gave way to an impressive, white-tiled open space encompassing a living room, a gleaming kitchen, a fully stocked bar and a small library. The interior was elegant but cozy, the decoration eclectic. African masks were hung on the walls while statuettes representing Hindu Gods were displayed on a buffet table next to the front door.

Three big black couches surrounding a coffee table strewn with newspapers and magazines formed a large square section in the middle of the room. Harry could picture the gang sitting around here during their meetings, preparing their next operations. A small library was half-hidden next to a large white staircase, a hidey-hole where one could isolate quietly. The open kitchen was worthy of a catalog: chocolate brown units and shelves, a white quartz countertop surrounded by high leather seats, and a substantial fridge, all pristine. The oven looked as if it had never been used, and Harry doubted that any of the guys cooked.

Flint crossed the room and opened one of the patio doors, heading to the garden while Zabini dropped down on one of the couches.

"Ha, I missed this!" He let out a loud, contented sigh.

Nott went behind the countertop and opened the fridge to get a fresh lager. He grabbed another one, showed it to Zabini, who nodded in response, and threw it at him. Zabini caught it deftly and pulled the tab, the foam flying everywhere. He craned his neck forward, sticking his mouth on the can, and swallowed as much as he could.

Draco watched the boys with a displeased sneer. "There are some things I missed more than others. Pigs, all of you."

As for Pansy, she was so giddy she couldn't stand still, clearly thrilled to return to such a familiar place. She climbed the stairs at a run and disappeared into one of the rooms.

Draco signaled for Crabbe and Goyle to meet him in the lobby. A man Harry had never seen joined them. It looked like he was part of the security team.

Harry shuffled around, pretending to take a tour of the room, barely aware of his surroundings. His attention was instead focused on the discussion that was taking place behind him. He could make out a few snatches, “… locked… not a foot in the offices… any surprises…" Harry glanced through the books in the library as if unaware of the surveillance.

"Potter, Goyle will show you your room," Draco informed him sharply. "Don't get too cozy, you won't be staying long." Then to Goyle, "I don't want him downstairs today."

Harry had no choice but to follow the bodyguard. On his way, he threw an equivocal smile at Draco, who, in turn, glared daggers at him.

Once on the first floor, Goyle opened the second door to the right. The modestly sized room was charming: a great timber canopy bed with intricately carved frames, a little wooden desk and chair, a big wardrobe and a chest of drawers. A little door at the side of the bed opened to reveal a small bathroom with a shower and sink. Harry had supposed they would give him a tiny and dusty room. If this was the worst room they could pick, he wondered what the others looked like.

“You heard the boss, don’t leave your room,” Goyle ordered sharply. “You need something, I’m down the hall. Do not leave your room.”

Harry widened his eyes mockingly. “Got it.”

The door slammed behind him.

Left on his own, Harry sauntered around the bed, running his hand over the silk cover, the material soft to the touch. As he took in his room, his eyes caught a movement behind the windows. He looked down at the courtyard. There was a big swimming pool surrounded by a wooden terrace, two rows of deckchairs placed in a half-circle next to it. Flint was smoking a cigarette, his back to the wall. He glanced up at Harry, his cold eyes surveying him. They both appraised each other for a long moment, Flint taking one or two puffs, and Harry observing him passively. After a while, Flint averted his eyes, and Harry shut the curtains.

He turned around to the cupboard and opened it to discover his belongings already suspended on the hangers. He opened the chest drawer next to it and found his pajamas and underwear. They had been fast. Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. They had no doubt searched his place thoroughly.

He looked at the wardrobe again and found his travel bag with his papers, diary, cell phone and camera at the bottom. The batteries had been removed. They must have gone through all his stuff, looking for compromising evidence. Of course, everything had been set up by McCarthy. They only discovered what the man wanted them to find: dates in different clubs of London, phone numbers of strangers he met with ridiculous nicknames, late party photos or staged clichés with anonymous people, an old dealer's number, contacts from the last years, during what he called his "dark days". Harry had already taken care of everything that could link him to the Weasleys or their research. He was checking the content of his wallet when voices rose from downstairs.

Visitors already?

Curious, Harry unlatched the door and found Crabbe seated on a chair in the corridor. The man got up, the movement accentuating his massive stature. His stance was intimidating but Harry remained calm and asked demurely, "Hi. Uh, I'm famished. Is there any way I could have access to the kitchen?"

Crabbe pressed on his ear. "Crabbe to Peters. Can you bring up a sandwich upstairs? Ok."

He sat down heavily, looking at Harry as if he didn't belong. Harry received the message and closed the door, huffing and slumping down on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a sullen look. No cracks, no stains to observe. Just the emptiness.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

The next day, Harry was yet again confined in his room. A prisoner of these walls, he began to despair when the door finally opened, Crabbe informing him he was expected downstairs.

Pansy threw herself at him the second he set foot in the living room.

"Harry! I've been waiting for you for hours!"

He smiled at her as she took his hands and led him towards the couch. "I wish I could have come sooner, but the ball and chain on my feet slowed me down."

"Playing the victim again?" Draco whipped out from his seat in the library. He was half-hidden behind the partition wall, and Harry had to bend to catch sight of him.

“Seat!” Pansy ordered.

Harry complied, eyes still riveted to the library as if trying to pierce the wall. Pansy settled next to him, watching him with large eyes.

“What? He asked, uneasy.

She took Harry's chin in her hand, making him flinch. "Stay like this."

Confused, Harry studied her face curiously. Pansy just smiled at him and turned to a large sketchbook that laid on the table next to her. She took a pencil and gazed at him. Understanding her intentions, Harry gently seized her wrist and shook his head.

"Pansy, I think you should choose another model."

As a way of answering, the girl took his chin to still his face again.

"If you move, I won't manage. Stay still, ok?"

"Pansy, I don’t know, I don't think it's a good idea, you should-"

"Potter, let her have her way if that makes her happy," Draco interrupted him. “After all, she’s the only reason you’re here right now.”

Harry turned his head towards the library. Draco's shoes were dangling in the corner. Harry’s lips tightened, but when he looked at Pansy’s concentrated face, the pencil in her hand, he yielded to her wish.

"Fine,” then with a flourish. “I’m yours to do as you please."

Pansy's face lightened up as she began doodling on the paper, the sound of the pencil more and more furious. She was skilled, her gestures precise and assured, lifting her head every three seconds to look at Harry. He fidgeted uncomfortably at first, hands in his lap, but little by little, he acclimated to Pansy's meticulous examination and relaxed, staying perfectly still. Time went by pleasantly.  

Meanwhile, Draco went back and forth between the living room and the upper floor, a planner in hand, a preoccupied expression on his face. He took refuge in the library again, in the same position as before.

“Done!” Pansy announced proudly, putting her pencil down with a contented sound. She smiled at Harry and handed him the sketch pad. Harry scratched a hand through his hair, hesitant, but Pansy insisted with her eyes, pushing the pad into his hand for him to take. He couldn't resist her, so he grabbed it and turned it around. He looked at the drawing and frowned.

The gloomy expression, the haunted eyes. The boy on the paper appeared as a stranger. Harry studied the drawing, but the more he looked at it, the more it escaped him, and this miserable mirror into his psyche confounded him. He shut the sketch pad and gave it back to Pansy with a nervous hand. The girl looked at him oddly. Harry thought he had vexed her, but he wasn't expecting her reaction.

"Did you see something?"

Harry stared at her with curiosity.

"Sometimes I can feel the darkness behind people’s eyes. It used to scare me, like I could see everyone’s demons. But I thought, maybe my parents opened my eyes when they left me. So maybe it’s their gift?" she mused without any perceptible emotion. "You’re different too. You have a gift just like me."

Harry was scrutinizing her now, his gaze lost in hers, connected.

"I wouldn't say that," he answered darkly.

He dared hope she couldn't really see inside him, for it was not a pretty sight.

It took a blink for Pansy's expression to change from blank to cheerful, as if someone had pressed a button. “Don’t be daft, you know you’re the savior.”

Then she jumped up and went for the radio on the bar. A pop song flew into the room. Eyes sparkling, she turned to Harry.

"I love this song!" She was already dancing on her feet.

Her delight was contagious, and the change of mood was appreciated. Harry joined her behind the counter to pour himself a glass of water, bobbing his head to the music.

"Will you please stop this?" Draco asked from the other side of the room, forced to raise his voice.

Pansy didn't hear him, or didn't want to, and began singing along with the song.

Passingly irritated, Draco let a minute go by and revisited his work. But he must have read something he didn't like. Harry heard the rustling of papers, then a file roughly slammed down.

Draco left his hiding place, eyes slit and tired. He looked toward the counter, Pansy in front of the radio, her back to him, and glared at Harry. The latter rapidly averted his eyes, suddenly finding his glass of water fascinating. Pansy was practically dancing against the bar, oblivious to Draco’s ire. Harry was waiting for the outburst, but Draco just whirled around and disappeared into the courtyard, his mobile in hand.

Harry resumed his furtive observations, watching Draco pace on the lawn past the swimming pool. His lips were moving quickly and pursed whenever he stopped talking. A disagreement was taking place between him and the receiver. Despite the soundproofed doors, the music and Pansy's singing, his shouts still pierced the room indistinctly. Now, Draco left no respite to his interlocutor, yelling one last time before furiously flipping the phone off. He pushed open the sliding glass door, stopped for a second, and met Harry's eyes.

He then stepped inside, chest puffed out.

"Can you stop this awful noise!"

Pansy was too enraptured by the song to obey.

"Pansy, turn off this radio now!"

The girl’s indifference made Draco lose his temper. He walked to the worktop and unplugged the power cable with a sharp tug. Pansy snapped her head to Draco, looking bereft. The sudden interruption of the music cast a chill through the room, and Harry instinctively stepped back.

“I asked you a hundred times to turn off that damn racket!” Draco shouted, taking his anger out on Pansy. “What's with you?"

Pansy's face fell under his harsh tone, and her lips quivered.

"Draco, take it easy," Harry intervened.

But Draco kept on bellowing.

"Can't you see I’m trying to work here? Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

At this point, Pansy had withdrawn into herself. Draco had gone too far, and Harry felt the urge to protect the girl.

"She got the message, Draco! Would you cut it out?"

Draco whipped around, a murderous scowl on his face.

"Pansy, would you leave us alone, please," he asked, eyes glued to Harry.

Immediately, the girl scurried away to her room with glistening eyes.

"Potter, did you just give me an order?"

Harry remained stoic as Draco crept closer.

"Because for a split second, I could swear I heard you ask me to shut it. Under my roof! I think you're forgetting your place."

Harry cocked his head, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, and what is my place exactly?"

Harry was looking for a fight, and Draco wasn't stupid, he knew exactly what he was doing. But, judging by the gleam in his eyes, Draco was just waiting for this. He curled his lips with a vicious smile.

"I think we already established that, Potter. You belong on the streets.”

He paused for dramatic effect.

"I know everything about your past, all your dirty deals, all your sordid affairs. See, I like to know who I'm dealing with. And I can’t say I was surprised by what I found. You've been involved with some interesting fellows.”

Despite his efforts to reign in his emotions, Harry’s throat tightened at the remembrance, a shaky scoff escaping him as Draco continued.

“Even back at Hogwarts, I knew you were scum. Your title was nothing but a smokescreen. And now that destiny has decided to put us on equal footing, I’m the one who comes out on top…" Draco stepped forward, towering over him. "… and you've hit rock bottom. All is as it should be."

Harry was seething, his eyes sparkling with rage. He tightened his fists, ready to launch himself at Draco. Oh, how he craved to wipe that idiotic grin off his face.

"I couldn’t help but notice you associated yourself with Remus," Draco added anecdotally, passing his fingers over the back of one of the highchairs. He beheld his hand sliding over the wood absently.

Harry frowned at the reminder of his friend, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And slowly, Draco looked up at him and spat his poison.

"Was he one of your regulars?"

It did the trick.

Harry lunged at Draco with a roar, making him topple under his weight. Harry hit and grabbed wherever he could, pulling on Draco’s shirt, collar buttons flying off. But Draco gave as good as he got, kicking Harry in the stomach, winding him. It made them roll over, Harry landing flat on his back. Draco straddled him, his hair in disarray, eyes full of rage, and hit his face. Stunned, Harry couldn’t avoid the second blow. He managed, however, to push the heel of his hand against Draco’s chin. Hard. They growled like animals, blinded with rage.

The fight awakened a fire Harry had not experienced for a long time. He was trembling so bad he lost his grip and caught the blond hair instead, pulling with all his strength. Draco wailed, and his body slackened, granting Harry the upper hand. He pushed Draco off and bent forward to hit him in the temple, but Draco was quicker and punched Harry in the side.

It took Harry a few breaths to recover, giving Draco time to get back on his feet. Once he faced Harry again, he tried to kick him in the ribs, but with a sudden move, Harry caught his foot and pushed. Draco was about to fall but caught himself on the back of the couch. Harry launched himself at him again, brutally seizing his wrist. They both rolled over the couch, ending up on the cushions, groaning, scratching, tearing and beating each other.

They barely noticed when hands grabbed each of them by the shoulders. Harry was pulled upwards, Goyle's hand on his shoulder, but his body was still high on adrenaline, refusing to submit. Goyle's other hand came around his waist to secure him firmly. Harry was wiggling madly but he tired quickly, unable to break Goyle's hold. Draco was in a similar state, but he settled almost immediately. He shoved Crabbe's hand off him and took a few steps back to pull himself together.

The two young men stood on opposite sides of the room, utterly ragged, Draco's half-open shirt undone, and Harry's T-shirt collar ripped. They were heaving loudly, eyes burning into each other’s like bulls facing off. Harry grimaced, rubbing at his jaw while Draco massaged his wrist, grinding his teeth.

“Are you alright, boss?” Crabbed asked wearily.

Draco put his collar straight with a shrug to tidy himself up, but the missing buttons didn't help.

The red fog of fury had dissipated, and Harry realized he had jeopardized the whole mission. He didn’t know what had gotten into him. No matter what he did, Draco always knew how to get under his skin.

Draco turned his head towards the glass doors, still gathering himself.

"It's okay, everything’s fine." He cleared his throat, then, with a tilt of his head towards Harry, "Take him back to his quarters, I don't want to see him again today."

Stunned, Harry watched Draco leave the room with a limp in his step. He had expected to be dismissed without fanfare. What was Draco playing at?

Goyle's hand was still on his shoulders. He removed it with a hard jerk and walked back to his room.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Following their violent altercation, Harry and Draco kept their distance. Although their interactions hadn't changed much since Harry's first days in the house, Draco now made it a rule to never speak directly to Harry. The latter was often confined to his room, and he suspected it was Draco’s way of tormenting him. Everything happened out of his sight, and Harry didn't know how to handle this new situation. Even when he was authorized to join the others downstairs for the meals, he felt he was on slippery ground, Draco allowing no remark from him.

Harry might have been sidelined, but he made the most of his exclusion, quietly analyzing the group’s dynamics. Draco was distant with his team and often lost his temper without provocation. Whereas a frank camaraderie united Zabini, Nott and Flint, Draco kept his reserve, barely laughing at their jokes and refusing to join them on their nights out. He was shutting himself out.

As for MacNair and his jolly fellows, Harry had yet to see them in the Cottage. Since his arrival, they hadn't set foot in the main house. Were they out on a mission, or did they keep in their quarters, away from prying eyes? Perhaps they had well-marked territories. This was still to be defined. The rules of the residence were still unclear to Harry.

Draco was often alone in a corner of the house. He stayed prostrate for hours, just gathering his thoughts. On forced quarantine, Harry's situation was quite similar, and it was not unusual that they both found themselves silently isolated in a corner of the living room, each on his side, while the rest of the team was in the room. Sometimes, he could feel Draco’s penetrating stare on him, as if he found more interest in appraising Harry than in joining the conversations around. Harry withstood his inspections, but Draco always overstepped the limits, staring at him for too long not to yield. Was it intimidation, or was something else in play? Harry couldn't say.

Four days after their fight, Harry found Draco seated at the edge of the heated swimming pool, the legs of his trousers rolled up to his knees, calves immersed in the water. It was night. The LED illuminations at the bottom of the pool and the misty fog created a lunar ambiance, the water mirroring at its edge, light rays twinkling on the surface. Draco was wiggling his legs in the water, making a soothing to-and-fro sound with each movement, the water lapping against the side. Harry was standing behind him by the open patio door, observing his laid-back posture, the reflection of the misty light on his blond hair, his grey eyes lost in reflection. He felt he was glimpsing a rare moment, witnessing one of Draco's hidden faces.

Draco’s head suddenly jerked to the side with a little start. Without looking at Harry, he warned, "Rules, Potter. I know the concept is unfamiliar to you, so I’ll repeat it one more time. You are forbidden to leave your quarters without my permission or that of the security team. Are we clear?"

Harry quipped cheekily, "I’m sorry, I’m not sure I got that. What are the rules again?"

Draco turned to Harry, his back to the light, and his eyes shone with ferocity on his dark face.

"Potter, you're on an ejection seat. Push me even just a bit, and no matter what Pansy wants, I'll kick your arse out, is that clear?"

Harry wasn't discouraged, quite the contrary. He wanted to break Draco's defenses, so he pushed his luck.

"Irritable, much?"

Draco didn’t take the bait, turning his face away. "I think I preferred when we didn't talk at all,” he stated, then harsher, “Now piss off. I'll need to have a little conversation with Crabbe et Goyle."

"Crabbe's not far behind me. Don't fret yourself, you trained your watchdogs well."

"Well, they should know you're not authorized to come and disturb me when I'm alone."

Nonplused by his elusive attitude, Harry provoked him again, searching for a reaction.

"Why, Draco, what are you afraid of? What’s with the special treatment?"

Draco narrowed his eyes with annoyance. "Knock it off Potter, I know what you're doing, but you blew it. Now we're stuck together for Pansy's sake, but it's a matter of days before her bearings return, and then you can crawl back to the hole you came from. Just stop all these pretenses, okay? Save you and me this pain."

He gazed down, eyes lost again in the motion of his legs in the water. But Harry wasn’t about to let this go. He stepped forward, standing right by Draco so that he could see his face.

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not a spy!"

Draco shrugged. "If you want to play it like that…"

"Listen, this is getting ridiculous. Why would I do such a thing?"

A quiet huff was all the reaction he got. He thought the discussion was over when Draco spoke again, his voice laced with bitterness.

"I know Division 8 and their methods. You’re not the first one. I've already seen their agents in action. They come to you, all innocent, and worm their way into your life. They win your trust and then, before you know it, they stab you in the back."

Draco had all Harry's attention, and Snape's words came back to his memory.

"Someone betrayed him, someone who was close to him, intimate even."

Harry knew he had to be persuasive.

He allowed agitation to seep into his voice, "Yes, but I have nothing to do with them! I know those scavengers.” He sighed heavily. “In the interest of full disclosure, Remus was trapped by the Division as well. So, you see, I have as much reason to hate them as you do."

He slowly sat on the edge next to Draco, his legs folded so they wouldn't touch the water. Draco was listening to him attentively. Harry put his hands on the side of the pool and scoffed bitterly.

"Those bastards decided that Remus was too risky a case. You should have seen him then." His eyes filled with bitter memories. "He was so weak he could barely stand. Some fucking threat..." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and went on. “One of his Muggle friends denounced him.”

Draco shook his head while Harry continued.

“I never understood why Division 8 was so interested in werewolves. Then I made contact with someone working in their detention center, someone who had access to their files. Turns out they had everything wrong. They believe that, for us…" He gestured with his arms to illustrate his point, "… the magic is exterior, something we just… tap into, but that for the werewolves, the magic comes from inside. From within their flesh and blood. When they realized that few werewolves survived the shockwave, it just confirmed their hypothesis and made them more precious. They segregated the ones they caught, and then they built their bunkers."

Harry's shoulders were tense as he rocked himself slowly to the rhythm of the water undulating before him.

"Once the werewolves were at their mercy, those bastards conducted tests on them, using them as guinea pigs."

Harry tried to contain his rage, teeth clenched and eyes bright, remembering the scars of torture he had witnessed on his friend, his body broken.

"Remus was part of the first wave of incarcerations."

Harry took a pause and looked away. He tried to keep the same emotion in his voice as he lied, "He died in their center a month ago. My contact disappeared a few days later. I guess they got rid of him too."

Draco’s voice was soft as he spoke, "I got a couple of reports in hand, but I didn't know he had passed. I’m sorry."

Harry maintained a tone of confession and summoned tears to his eyes. He didn't have to go very far to find them. "That's why I had to get in touch with you. I couldn't do it without Remus. I can't go on alone…" He buried his face in his knees, huddled up.

Draco’s eyes were on him, studying him pensively.

"Greyback's been through it too,” he said. “But once with us, he was untouchable."

He lowered his head towards the pool, eyes wide, unseeing.

"I wish I could have done something for our people. I wish I could help more…" Draco blinked and added on a more objective note, "But even with my contacts, I don't have much leeway as far as Division 8 is concerned. A couple of years ago, maybe, but the game has changed. I've been in their sights for quite some time now, it’s too risky."

Surprised by Draco's words, Harry turned his head back towards him.

"I didn't know you to be this altruistic."

"Not altruistic. Vindictive, yes. Consistent too. My aversion to Muggles is nothing new, you know that. Everything that happened only strengthened my convictions. These last six years have been revealing, even you can't deny it."

Harry had to admit that the climate of hatred that had hit them had shaken his certainties. The denunciations, the anti-wizard groups, he would never have expected such a reaction from the Muggles. But he didn't want to let himself be invaded by a similar sentiment.

"I'm only defending my beliefs and our people," Draco explained.

Harry smiled at that. "You're trying to be the new saviour?"

Draco swept this idea aside with a smile, "There's only one Harry Potter."

Unsettled by the declaration, Harry met Draco’s eyes. Both stayed side by side in a peaceful silence, their hands so close on the wooden floor that their fingers almost touched. The lights twinkled on the water and shimmered against their faces, the glow and the shadows changing them for a moment. Their eyes were spellbound, as if they were discovering each other. The soft sound of the water wrapped around them, the moment intimate.

"Uh, am I interrupting something?"

Draco and Harry turned their heads at once. Zabini was leaning against the patio door's frame, looking at them with a cheeky smile.

"Because if I am, I can come back later…" He teased, pointing inside.

Draco lifted his legs out of the water, feet leaving wet prints on the floor, and walked to the door, now at the same height as his friend.

"Zabini," he warned, eyes narrowed.

"Really Draco, all this sexual tension here, it's too much for my little heart." Blaise put his hand on his chest mockingly.

Harry blushed at the insinuation while Draco took offense.

"Would you like me to move you to Greyback's room? One more word and it's an immediate transfer."

"Oh, Draco, you know I love manly men, but the hair on the back is really not my thing…"

Draco waved his hand as if to push Zabini away. "I've heard enough nonsense for today."

He dried his feet with a towel lying on one of the chairs and rolled the leg of his pants back in place. Squinting at his sidekick with an authoritative air, he snapped, "Tomorrow, 9:00 a.m. Zabini."

Then Draco glanced back at Harry, his voice cold again.

"Crabbe will fetch you tomorrow as usual. And make sure you don't dawdle all night."

Harry got up in turn and nodded, back into the role of the prisoner on probation. The truce couldn't last for long.

Inside, Draco shared a few words with Crabbe who eyed Harry from a distance before ascending the stairs. Zabini was heading to the bar when Draco gave a last order, "Keep an eye on him!" before leaving the room.

Harry didn't know whether he should join Zabini or not, so he kept his distance. The man opened one of the shelves, removed a bottle of scotch and unscrewed the cap, dropping it on the table. Harry turned his head to see he had set two glasses atop the table. He joined Zabini shyly, uncomfortable alone with him. The truth was, Zabini looked like a buffoon, always joking with Nott and making crude comments, but Harry knew better. The man was no fool, it was just a façade. Harry didn't know what to expect from him. Zabini considered him, amused.

"So, what's the story?"

Harry raised his brows. "What?"

Zabini leisurely poured the alcohol into both glasses. "What're you doing here?"

Harry gave him an acerbic laugh. "You're not going to start on me too."

"I'm not talking about your presence here. I'm talking about your little interaction with Draco."

"I don't know what you're talking about. We were only talking."

Zabini looked unconvinced. “Uh-huh, if you say so."

He pushed Harry's glass to his side of the table. Harry took his drink and watched Zabini sip his, trying to gauge the man. Zabini sat behind the counter, inviting Harry to do the same.

"You're here for what… one week? And Draco is already bearing his soul to you."

“We were just having a conversation..."

Twisting his beverage right and left in his hand, Zabini turned serious all of a sudden.

"When Draco isolates himself, it's best that everyone leaves him alone. Believe me, I'm talking from experience here. When he needs his space, no one can talk to him, not even me… He distances himself more and more from us."

He brought his face closer to Harry's, his arms resting on the table, his eyes fixed with intent.

"And you, you come here with your big green eyes and your innocent smile, and he melts like snow under the sun."

Harry shifted in his seat. "You're deluded, Draco hates me.”

Zabini smiled enigmatically, so Harry doubled down. 

“Draco is the coldest man I've ever met! He's treated me like a prisoner since day one and made it clear that I am not welcome here."

"You don't get it.”  Zabini's expression turned mournful. “Draco never confides in anyone, hasn't for a long time. But you, he talked to you. Really talked."

Harry searched Zabini's face. Had he overcome an obstacle without even realizing it?

"I don't know how you did it, but he opened up to you. So, I can only encourage you to keep doing…whatever you're doing," Zabini stared at his drink, looking preoccupied. "Draco needs help. The others might not care, but I do. He's my friend, and he needs someone to confide in. Even if that someone is you."

With this, he swallowed the rest of his scotch and pushed away from the bar. He bent close to Harry's ear and whispered his final sentiments. "But don't you dare hurt him, or I promise I'll hunt you down and murder you."

Humorous or not, the threat dejected Harry, as he knew full well where the insane game he’d been playing with Draco would lead them.

Zabini tilted his head toward the staircase and smiled. "Shall I walk you back to your dungeon?"

Lost in thought, Harry took a pause before putting his glass down in the sink and followed him upstairs. Crabbe was already posted in the corridor next to his door. Zabini kept walking, hands in his pocket, leaving Harry alone.

When he entered his room, Harry caught sight of a silhouette on his bed. Pansy was lying on top of the covers, asleep. Harry sighed, turned on the bathroom light and changed into his pajamas. He carefully joined the girl on the bed, trying not to weigh on the mattress. Angling towards her in the semi-darkness, he traced the contours of her face with his eyes. She was lying on her back, her hands on her belly, legs folded to the side, her body strangely twisted. She looked so fragile. He pulled the corner of the duvet over her legs to keep her warm and settled on his back, running a hand on his hair absently. A few rays of light pierced through the blinds from the terrace outside and he recalled Draco's silhouette at the edge of the pool, his blond hair stark before the blue water.

"There's only one Harry Potter."

Listening to Pansy's soft breathing, his eyes lost in the glow tracing thin stripes across his face, Harry smiled.

Chapter Text

May 15, 2004

For the fourth morning in a row, Harry found himself confined in his room. As always, he peeped out the window, trying to see what was happening, but no one was outside, and the patio doors below were kept tightly closed. Something was up, something big, he was sure of it.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Pansy rushed in, looking preoccupied. Harry didn't expect her visit so soon. Usually, she slipped into his room in the early afternoon. It became a regular rendezvous. The climate had become so hostile lately that Pansy felt more comfortable up here. She joined Draco in the evenings, when he was in a better mood. Sometimes, Harry had to convince her to go back to the living room, eager for information, but for now, luck was not on his side. An atmosphere of secrecy enveloped the house, and nothing leaked out. Draco was back with the cold-blooded boss act, and Harry felt so useless.

"Is everything okay?" he asked Pansy.

"I don't know, I wanted to see Draco, but I heard shouting downstairs. I got scared."

Harry took the girl’s trembling hands to reassure her.

"Crabbe is still surveying the door?"

She nodded. No way to see what was happening then.

"I'm sure it's just a little discord,” Harry reassured. “You know what they were talking about?"

She shook her head. "No, Draco never lets me attend their meetings. Not that I would want to. I'm just worried, Draco has never looked so anxious."

It confirmed Harry's suspicions. Something was afoot.

"I just want him to be safe. You'll protect him, Harry, won't you?"

Pansy’s naiveté and blind trust gave him a little heartache. "Yes, I promise," he said. Even though he knew that whatever might ensue, he would be the end of Draco.

Pansy sat on the bed and leaned against him. Harry rested his chin on Pansy's head and comforted her for a moment. When she seemed appeased, he questioned her again.

"I have the impression that a lot of visitors are coming by lately. Is it always like that?”

"Hm, yeah, it's been crazy the past couple of days," she mumbled below him. "Draco's on the edge. He doesn't like meeting new people."

"I understand.” Then Harry tried and bluffed, "I saw a man in the courtyard earlier, he didn’t look friendly."

Harry’s eyes shifted hesitantly, and he was glad the girl couldn't see his face. "Do you know who it was?" he asked in an absent-minded tone.

Pansy lifted her head and turned slowly toward him, suddenly very lucid. She narrowed her eyes and stared at him as if he were a stranger.

"Why are you asking me this?"

Harry held his breath. This Pansy was so different from the one he had seen till now. Her eyes stayed pinned on him, implacable, and he expected her to shout, “Off with his head!" at any moment.

He did his best to keep nonchalant, feigning innocence.

"I'm worried, just as you are, Pansy. I like it very much here, with you and Draco, and I don't want anything to happen that might break us apart."

A dreadful silence followed. Pansy seemed to ponder this, twisting the chain of her necklace around her fingers, then her face softened and she rested her head back on Harry's shoulder.

"No, nothing will break us apart."

Here it was again, the familiar and gentle face of his Pansy. He wrapped his arm around her, but her darker side chilled him to the bone, and it took him a moment to be at ease again. Pansy shuddered and cuddled up against him. Harry closed his eyes, vanquished by his fragility.

"It's going to be fine...” he whispered, “Everything's going to be fine."

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

“You’re cheating!”

“I am not!”

“Yes, you are!”

Harry’s shoulders sagged. “How?” he asked good-humouredly.

Pansy pouted. “I don’t know. I’m not convinced you’re magicless.”

Harry chuckled at that.  “Come on, let’s play again.”

He held out his hands palms down, and Pansy mirrored him, her hands palm up beneath his. She hesitated a second, then flipped her hands over to slap Harry’s, but he was faster, and she missed again.

“No!” she whined. “You’re not playing fair!”

Harry spread his arms, helpless. "Do you want me to let you win?"

“That’s not-”

Then, a raucous noise resounded, and Harry and Pansy started at once. Shouts coming from downstairs. Pansy moved next to the bedpost to get away from the door. She was frantic. Harry bolted to the door to get out, but Crabbe jumped in front of him, blocking his exit.

"Go back inside."

Harry kept moving forward, looking for an opening, and pushed against Crabbe’s arm, but he didn’t move an inch.

"But you heard, something's wrong!"

Crabbe placated him with a calm and professional voice.

"Everything's under control. Go back inside."

Harry ran his tongue along his lips, itching to see what was going on, but since he couldn’t find a way past his minder, he gave up with a sigh. Pansy was curled up in a ball on the bed, her head buried in her arms. Harry closed the door and headed straight for the window.

Someone was in the courtyard below, but he could only see their back. The person was talking to someone inside, gesticulating in disagreement. Then, the person turned around and brutally slammed the sliding window shut. It was Greyback

The door opened again, and, without surprise, the Lestrange brothers appeared, visibly furious. Harry watched them retreat to their quarters, their backs disappearing down the alley. He waited another couple of minutes, but MacNair was nowhere to be seen.

Another fight. The situation between Draco’s team and the Elders was contentious to say the least.

Harry let his observation point and sat by Pansy, who had folded up on herself. He rubbed her back soothingly and turned his eyes towards the window.

One hour later, Crabbe knocked at the door and informed them they could leave the room. Pansy had fallen asleep in Harry's arms. He softly untangled from her and watched her shift on her side, her head furrowing on the covers, still asleep. His forefinger on his mouth, he signaled for Crabbe to stay quiet before heading downstairs.

In the living room, the tension was palpable. Zabini, usually so verbose, stood silently, his elbows on the counter, a drink in his hand. Nott fumed, leaning on the buffet, arms crossed, while Flint fiddled with his packet of cigarettes on the couch not far from him.

Draco was flipping through his notebook on the opposite couch when he heard Harry’s steps. He clicked his tongue and asked with a frown, "Where’s Pansy?"

“The shouting match scared her. It took her a while to settle down, but she’s sleeping now. She’s worried about you, you know.”

Draco’s eyes were harsh as he snapped, “She shouldn’t be.”  

At that moment, Nott pushed himself off the buffet and stormed out of the room.

Flint pocketed his pack of cigarettes and got up with a sigh. “I’ll go check on him.”

Harry noticed Draco following their exit with his eyes, his hands clasped. Then, Draco’s eyes turned to fix Harry with open hostility.

Since his arrival, his less-than-enthusiastic hosts hadn't made things easy for him. They made him feel like he was always in the way. A hindrance. The last time he had been subjected to such treatment was with the Dursleys. It was not a situation he wanted to revisit. Yet, he had no choice but to bear it for the mission’s sake.

Harry went to sit on one of the high stools at the bar, away from them.

Do not disturb.

When Zabini joined Draco on the couch, glass in hand, he patted his knee. “It went well, wouldn’t you say?”

Draco didn’t seem to appreciate the sarcasm.

Harry was pouring himself a glass of juice when he spotted something outside the patio doors. Silhouettes coming up the alley in the courtyard. MacNair and Rabastan this time. The latter was trying to hold his friend back by the arm, but MacNair pushed him away. No one else had noticed their imminent arrival, so Harry had a head start. He assessed the situation, observing the conflict between the two men and the contained rage of MacNair.

He needed to be here for the confrontation, but Draco would surely send him upstairs as soon as they’d arrived. He had just a few seconds to react, so he smashed his glass in the sink, the glass breaking into pieces with a loud noise, juice spilled all over. He had managed to cut his palm but not too deep.

“Shit,” he cried out. He looked at the two men who had risen at the noise. “I cut myself,” he said, showing his bloody hand to them.

“Can’t you be more careful, Potter?” Draco sighed. “There’s a first aid kit in the cupboard.” He pointed to a door in the corner. “Blaise, show it to him.”

As Zabini retrieved the kit, MacNair made his entrance, Rabastan in tow.

"If you came to discuss what happened, I have nothing to add," Draco warned.

But MacNair jumped the gun and hit hard, allowing Draco no time to protest.

"Well, I do! May I remind you you're not the only one making decisions here!"

"Whatever you might think, MacNair, we are not operating in a democracy here. We might be working together, but only one person has the final say, and that person is me."

"Even if you're acting like a twat?” Mac Nair retaliated.

Harry was wrapping his hand with gauze when Zabini stepped in, leaving Harry behind.

“Hey, show some respect!” Zabini shouted.

But Draco put a hand on his shoulder to quiet him as MacNair continued.

“I don't know if you noticed, but Addams supplies about twenty clubs, half of them in London, you realize the market that represents?"

Draco’s voice grew irritated as the discussion progressed.

"Here we go again. I told you I don't give a shit about what your man can bring us. I do not. Take. To that guy. I trust my instinct, and it tells me that Addams will bring us nothing but trouble.”

"So we're supposed to acquiesce on an intuition? What are you going to do next, consult the cards?  Wake up, Draco, we can’t afford to be dreamers in this world. We need to be pragmatic, and with this man, it's a guaranteed jackpot!"

“The guy has no ethics!” Draco stressed. “He is a simpleton and an opportunist. He’ll forget about us the moment a better offer comes along."

Rabastan’s voice rose then, condescending, “You’re out of your depth, Draco. And you’ve been for a while now. I’m not sure you’re the right man for the job anymore.”

Draco turned frighteningly stoic.

"Blaise, would you please take Harry upstairs?" he asked in a strained voice.

Harry froze, trying to make himself as small as possible in his corner. Fortunately, Zabini resisted.

"No, I want to hear this!"

“Zabini.”

“It concerns all of us.”

Zabini stood his ground and Draco had to admit defeat. Forgotten behind them near the cupboard, Harry absorbed everything in silence.

Draco's voice turned dangerous as he turned back to the two Elders. "I forbid you to defy my authority in front of my team."

MacNair snickered. 'Your team?' Do you know they all agree with me on this?”

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed as he glanced at Zabini. The latter looked down with embarrassment.

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought we were part of the team, too. Are you trying to tell us something?"

Draco straightened up. "Take it as you wish. I am simply warning you to tread lightly. Whatever impression you may have, we do not share power here. I am the only leader."

MacNair didn't set his face against him, instead, he pleaded his case.

"We need to be up to the mark, Draco, we can't back out now! Everyone's waiting to pounce on us since you sidelined our last two dealers. The 30th will come before we know it, and if we're not up to it, Ellis will be only too pleased to pull the rug from under our feet."

Harry registered the names. Addams, Ellis. He couldn't get much out of it for now.

"I have another candidate, alright?” Draco retorted. “I’m meeting with him next week."

"Really, who?"

A silence.

"You shouldn't concern yourself with the details, that is my job. Let me handle my business, I know what I'm doing."

“I hope so,” MacNair concluded under his teeth.

Another silence ensued, and the two men bowed out reluctantly.

Harry looked at Draco and Zabini standing in the middle of the room in a heavy silence. The confrontation had highlighted the rising tensions within the group, and he wondered if it would help him turn the situation to his advantage.

Draco turned to Zabini with a questioning look, but he wouldn’t find any answer now.

“I’d better check on the boys,” Zabini uttered, looking at him somewhat disapprovingly before leaving by the front door.

Draco’s face remained emotionless, but he had to be shaken by what had happened. His leadership was fraying.

Harry was still covering his hurt hand near the cupboard, his body rigid. The moment they were alone, Draco caught sight of him, but instead of berating him, he sat quietly on the couch. Harry couldn't fathom his intentions.

Draco broke the silence then.

"Still lurking?"

Harry fixed the end of the wrap on his hand with tissue tape and put the kit away, closing the door behind him. He turned to Draco and sat next to him.

"Why do you keep pushing me away?” he asked.

Draco laughed at that, and Harry wondered if his act was that obvious.

"You know why."

“I thought you'd have more faith in me."

"Faith?” Draco chuckled. “You're not a hero anymore."

Harry gave him his most honest look.

"Maybe I’m not, but I can save you."

Draco burst into laughter, eyebrows raised with disbelief.

"Save me? From who? From what?... The gods’ wrath? Eternal damnation?"

Eyes intent, Harry leaned in. "From yourself."

Draco swallowed back his smile and clamped his tongue between his teeth.

"Potter, I don't need your help. I'm fine as I am, thank you." He put on a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm living the dream!" he said a bit too emphatically.

Draco turned his head away and Harry used this distraction to seize his hand. Draco flinched and Harry was sure he would be rejected, but Draco didn't push him away, nor did he attempt to free his hand. Emboldened, Harry gathered his courage and closed the distance between them.

They stayed face to face, speechless. Draco was the first to break eye contact.

“There’s a party tonight," he said without preamble. “I’d like you to come.”

Harry stared into his eyes, trying to find the catch. When he couldn't, he nodded.

An invitation to a party, a real one this time. A first date.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

The party took place in a large duplex with tacky and kitsch decorations. The acid-colour walls were covered with modern art paintings and retro objects adorned the shelves. The guests had come en masse and the pop art room was crowded. Music filled the space, but only a few were dancing. The guests were a blend of well-groomed, bourgeois bohemian people and edgy fashionistas.

Draco wormed his way through the compact pack of people, his loyal companions at his side. The Elders had bailed, surely suffering the effects of the earlier argument. Pansy had quietly stayed at the cottage under Crabbe’s surveillance. Draco rarely let her accompany him to such outings, especially after the debacle in the Manor. Harry kept a step behind the group, observing as numerous handshakes and hugs were exchanged.

A thin man with long, ash blond hair approached Draco, arms open, a toothy smile on his face.

"Draco! What a pleasant surprise! I’d heard you were overbooked."

He pulled him into a wobbly embrace. The tension in Draco’s stance revealed his discomfort, though he put on an appropriate smile.

"I wouldn't have missed this for the world. It’s been so long since we last caught up."

"Hmm, I’d rather say you came to assess the competition."

"Ellis, you know I never mix pleasure and work. I needed a distraction, that's all."

Ellis. This was the man who threatened their business.

The two men engaged in a lengthy discussion full of unspoken words and innuendos. Harry felt they were more than rivals. They were assessing each other, guarded and perfectly in control. One of them wasn't going to make it through the game. Of that, he was sure.

The revelry was in full swing. Draco and the gang in their element, surrounded by delicious temptations of every sort. It was clear that Harry was not included in their circle and was simply hanging around, which made him wonder why Draco had invited him in the first place. He hadn't been granted one look since they'd left the Cottage.

Harry finally headed to the bar and asked for a glass of champagne. Seated there on his own, he gave the impression he was miserably alone.

"I can't say that I remember you. I wouldn't forget such a lovely vision." The tone was light and bubbly.

Harry turned to see Ellis, a hand on the bar, his eyes lascivious and unabashed.

"This is a private party, you know,” Ellis quipped. “You just saw the lights and tumbled in?"

Harry straightened up, trying to appear composed, thinking about the best way to navigate this. Ellis hadn't made the connection between Draco and him. Not surprising since they acted like perfect strangers. Harry quickly scanned the people clustered around the room and spotted a tipsy man looking in his direction. Harry waved at him with a big smile on his face. The man answered his gesture, his hand a tad hesitant

"I'm with him."

Ellis looked at the man. "Miles? Really?"

He didn't sound convinced, so Harry carried on with aplomb.

"Hm, we met earlier today. I didn't plan anything for tonight. I'm new in town, you see, so I felt lonely." He shrugged. "He told me it wouldn't be a problem. But if it is, I should just-"

Puppy dog eyes in place, he moved to hop down from his seat, but Ellis stopped him. Maybe he swallowed his story, maybe not. It didn't matter, Ellis seemed amused. The man held out his hand.

"Ellis Jester, your humble host."

"Harry Potter."

Harry shook his hand, and Ellis held it longer than necessary.

"You should know Miles is not good in the sack. Really, you could do so much better."

He gave him his hand back, and Harry answered, "I've spotted someone else, but I think he's out of my league."

"Oh, angel, don't underestimate yourself. Who's the lucky chap?"

Harry spotted him right away on a canary yellow sofa, chatting with a man wearing a red distressed T-shirt with a deep V-neck revealing a piercing on his nipple, the two sitting far too close for his liking. The simpering guy was brushing Draco’s thigh shamelessly. Harry had the sudden urge to tear his stupid shirt to pieces.

"The good-looking blond man on the sofa."

Harry's voice had sounded more fragile than he had wanted.

"Ah, you haven't chosen an easy target, that's for sure."

Ellis took a sip of his gin tonic, still eyeing the object of their attention.

"Draco Malfoy. That's his name." Then, with cloudy eyes. "A very, very good lay."

Harry sipped his champagne to soothe his dry throat, transfixed by the suave way Draco crossed his legs toward the man and slid his hand inside his shirt.

"Is he?"

Ellis jerked his head, brows raised as if to say, "You have no idea", and Harry felt knots in his stomach again.

"Are you two…?”

Ellis laughed.

"Oh, we're well and truly over. It never even began. Draco is a wild stallion. If you're up for a one-night stand, you can try your luck, but nothing more."

"But I saw you two embracing before."

Ellis stared at Harry, surprised. Harry was afraid he was playing it all wrong, so he bet on his innocent side and lowered his eyes with his most impish look.

"For a minute I thought, what a pity, the two most beautiful men at the party are taken."

Desire lit Ellis’ eyes, and the next second, his mouth was on Harry’s neck. Though abrupt, the feeling wasn’t unpleasant, so Harry allowed it to continue. Ellis was about to speak when another voice interrupted him.

"I see you’ve been properly introduced.”

Ellis straightened in his seat, and Harry peeked up. Before him, Draco's gorgeous face looked like a blinding sun. The effect he had on him was disturbing, and at this juncture, Harry cursed himself for being so weak.

Pull yourself together.

Draco bent towards the counter to pick some pistachios, his arm interposing between Harry and his neighbour. He seemed so laid-back with his malicious eyes and smile.

"So, you have met my dear Harry."

Harry turned pale for a second and threw a guilty smile at Ellis.

"Yes, we were just getting acquainted," Ellis said, eyeing Harry mischievously.

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to steal him for a moment."

Draco didn't wait for his answer. He grabbed Harry's hand and guided him away from the bar. Ellis watched them leave and winked at Harry, his voice fading in the background as they lost sight of him.

"A rain check then, angel… "

Too absorbed by the sensation of Draco's hand in his and the anticipation of what was coming, Harry had already forgotten the man. Draco led him to a large red couch in the alcove. He sat beside two loud girls talking about their exes and tapped on the empty place next to him.

When Harry joined him, Draco wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

"So, did you get any good intel?" he slid in his ear.

Harry scoffed, feigning annoyance. Draco laughed and removed his arm to slide closer to the girls on his left. He whispered something that made them laugh. Harry looked at the crowd before him, yapping on about art, finances and relationships, and the disconnect was jarring. He was like a lone island in the middle of the sea.

The next moment he focused on Draco, the blonde man was sharing a joint with his new groupies. He did not look or speak to Harry, who felt like a discarded toy. So, he grabbed his drink to occupy himself, looking at the bubbles bursting and disappearing on the surface.

A hand closed suddenly around his knee. He lifted his head and found himself inches away from Draco’s face. The blonde put the joint between his lips, inhaled and leaned towards Harry. He brought his face closer to his, one hand cupping his cheek. Draco’s eyes were half-closed, his nose brushing Harry’s skin. His lips hovered so close they grazed Harry's in the ghost of a kiss.

Harry understood the gesture and half-opened his mouth, hypnotized by Draco’s eyes, mesmerizing in their proximity. Draco blew gently, volutes of smoke escaping from his mouth to slip inside Harry's like a cotton cloud. He blinked and inhaled deeply, eyes lost in his contemplation, Draco’s face their only landscape. The communion was sensual, the white smoke lingering between their lips. The suspended exchange had lasted only a few seconds, but the effects lingered long after that.

And it seemed the magic was back, because there was no way the tingling sensation on his skin and the euphoria rising inside were anything but that. Harry unconsciously closed his eyes and released the smoke, letting his mind fly away, a blissful smile on his face. Draco's face drew slowly away from him.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Harry didn't know how he ended up on the balcony. He was seated on a chair in a corner, away from the party. Above him, the sky was pitch-black, the buildings around silent and dark. Hours must have gone by. Half of the guests had already left, and Harry decided to enquire about the others. He staggered a bit inside, his head spinning, and looked around him, eyes squinting.

He spotted Nott just two meters from him, snogging some girl with skimpy clothes on a leather seat. No sign of Draco, Flint or Zabini.

The music was no more than dull background noise as he journeyed across the main room and opened the first door he saw. Inside the bright yellow doorway, there were bodies slumped on coats strewn on a bed, but he didn’t recognize them. He shut the door and went to the next, a deep purple door. No sooner had he opened it than explicit moans reached his ears, and he glimpsed a jumble of legs hanging off a bed. He was about to close the door when he heard one of the men whine loudly.

"Draco! Aaaaah!"

Harry snapped his head around. He couldn't have moved if he’d tried.

Indeed, it was Draco on the bed. His pants were down to his knees, his bottom bare as he lay on the red T-shirt guy, the one Harry had spotted earlier. The bitch certainly got what he wanted. Draco was bent over him, fucking him wildly from behind, the guy grimacing under the thrusts and mewling like a cat in heat. The mattress springs creaked under Draco’s assaults.

Harry was petrified, feeling his blood leave his body.

Then Draco turned his head towards him, the action slow and intentional, as if he knew he was there from the beginning. He looked Harry straight in the eye, without stopping his thrusts. The scene was turning obscene.

Harry’s face fell as he watched him, dumbfounded.

What the fuck was that?

The moment prolonged itself, and their stares didn't deviate. Draco's eyes were cold. Merciless.

Harry's throat tightened. He tried to swallow but couldn't.

He shook his head as though regaining his senses and turned around hurriedly, closing the door behind him, his hand still on the knob, sure it was all a mirage. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find his bearings again, abashed by his own reactions. Why was he so affected by what he had just seen? It was Draco, the cruel and heartless bastard. What did he expect? Besides, they owed each other nothing. They were nothing to each other. It was a job, nothing more.

No, nothing more.

Harry didn't give a damn, he just wanted to get out of this place. He rushed towards Nott and gripped his shoulder, shaking him off his hook-up.

"I want to leave," he said impatiently.

Nott pushed his hand away and groaned, “Hey, leave me the fuck alone!"

But Harry didn't let go and shook his shoulders harder.

"I want to leave, now."

Nott, now really pissed off, brutally pushed him away with a "Bugger off!".

Harry had to hold onto the back of the seat to stop his fall.

"What an arse," Nott whispered before snogging the girl again.

Harry retraced his steps, thoroughly annoyed, and found Flint smoking on the balcony. Two drunk couples laughed and chatted nearby.

Harry slid against the wall to sit on the cold ground, his legs folded against him.

"I suppose I must stay till you guys are ready to leave, is that it?" he asked in a flat voice.

Flint blew his smoke away.

“Nott and Zabini usually leave last, but Draco never lingers,” he answered without looking at him. “Just wait for him, he shouldn't be long."

Harry averted his face. "I wouldn't be so sure…”

He looked like a little boy brooding, rubbing his face with his hands, his elbows on his bent knees.

“Everything’s so fucked up," he said, picking at the bandage on his hand. "I’m not sure I’ll be able to bear it much longer."

Flint took another puff, then a second one. They stayed like that in a companionable silence.

Three songs later, Draco emerged from the room. Flint went to talk to him while Harry stayed on the ground, quietly waiting for instructions. Draco finally appeared at the window's opening, his face half-hidden.

"You coming?" he simply asked.

Harry got up with a tired sigh.

Crabbe led the way. Harry silently followed Draco to the door… to the elevator… to the car… to the White Cottage's door.

Harry slammed the door hard behind him. Anger oozed from his body. From his heavy steps, from the way he threw his jacket on one of the pegs and pushed a seat out of his way. He did everything he could to show his frustration, but nothing came out of his mouth. Eventually, Draco grew exasperated by his childish behaviour.

He took off his jacket and asked with a dry tone, "You have something to say?"

" Huh?” Harry furrowed his brows almost comically, all sarcasm. "You're worried about me now?"

Draco immediately revised his conduct and opted to abort the conversation. From here, it could only turn sour.

Draco headed for the stairs, but his retreat galvanized Harry, who saw this as an opportunity to get back at him. He stepped towards Draco to block his way.

"This Organization thing is such a joke! What the hell are you doing exactly? Besides prancing around, partying, getting wasted and fucking whores?"

Draco withstood his glare and stepped forward in turn, towering over him.

"What's it to you? You aren't even supposed to be here." Then, scornfully," We took you in out of pity for Pansy. You are a fucking liability."

"You're so pathetic," Harry bit back.

The word seemed to trigger Draco. His face turned furious, eyes blazing with anger.

"Look in a mirror, you piece of shit! Who are you to judge me? You are nothing! NOTHING!" Draco eyed Harry up and down, disgust on his face and in his voice. "You’ve always been a beggar for attention. You’d do anything for a bit of affection."

Goyle, who had stayed behind to prevent the situation from worsening, chose this interlude to come forward. Draco stopped him with his hand, eyes riveted on Harry.

"You've done nothing with your life! You couldn't even dream up the things I've built."

Harry countered him with a high-pitched laugh.

"What, this house of cards?" He craned his body forward, defying Draco. "Your 'gang'? You can't even handle them! You’re losing control, and you call yourself a leader! You make me laugh."

The tension in Draco’s body seemed to ease at once. Impervious to Harry's jibe, he smiled and wet his lips. This newfound calm contrasted with Harry’s restlessness. Draco looked down on him and concluded with a stone-cold voice.

"Nobody wants you, and that's the truth."

Harry saw red. He came dangerously close to Draco, and only Goyle kept him from throwing himself at him. He was yelling now.

"Your boat is sinking! I’ve been here for what? Ten days? And you’re already a mess. You turned soft or scared, I don’t know, but MacNair, Greyback and the others, they will all betray you! Everyone knows it, but nobody has the guts to tell it to your face!" He lowered his voice. "The worst thing is you can't even see it!"

He let out shaky breaths, the pressure easing then.

There was something behind Draco’s wide eyes. Behind the defiance. Whatever it was, he was shaken. Then he pulled himself together and nodded.

"You're out," he said in a definitive tone.

He took a step back, then turned to Goyle.

"You pack his stuff, and you send him off first thing in the morning."

Harry stood still, staring at Draco blankly. The outburst had been uncontrolled, all the words had left his traitorous mouth in a sea of fire.

There was nothing more to add. Everything had been said.

Goyle walked upstairs, Harry following suit without a peek behind. In the landing, he heard Draco's voice.

"Pansy will do without you. Believe me, no one will miss you."

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

One hour later, silence had invaded the house. Goyle had allowed Harry a few minutes out of his room to gather his belongings. It was his last night here after all. The living room was plunged into half-obscurity, the lights dimmed, when Harry walked downstairs, sure to find Flint in the room. He had no such luck.

Sitting on the couch, drink in hand, Draco reacted automatically to his intrusion.

"What are you doing here? I don't want to see your face."

With no excuse at the ready, Harry approached the table and, fortunately, found a book that was lying about.

"I'm just collecting my things," he said calmly.

He barely finished his phrase when Draco snapped, "Goyle will take care of it. Get lost!"

Harry contained himself. It wouldn't do him any good to add fuel to the flames. He just wanted to be done with it. He headed for the stairway, too slowly perhaps, because Draco unexpectedly rose to curse him some more.

"Go on, get the fuck out of here!"

Harry did nothing to provoke him and kept walking, but when he reached the stairs, Draco suddenly pulled him by the arm. Harry stumbled back, taken aback. When he found his balance again, he pushed Draco off him wildly.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Draco stared at him intensely, then pushed him hard on the shoulder. Harry staggered and stepped back. He gritted his teeth and reigned in his temper, unwilling to aggravate his opponent further despite the tension rising inside him. It had been a long night.

Draco had no such restraint and pushed him again. Harry couldn't hold back anymore. He brutally shoved Draco, who hit the counter with a cry. The next moment, Draco propelled himself forward and threw himself at Harry. Harry grabbed his arms to stop him and landed flush against the kitchen wall, Draco’s body pressed against his. The moment halted, their eyes ablaze, faces flushed, bodies interlocked. Then suddenly, their mouths crashed into each other, the rage turning into a searing desire, consuming everything in its path.

The embrace was far from tender, their lips biting at each other, teeth clashing, heads shifting from one angle to the next, trying to devour each other. Their limbs moved frantically, hands feeling each other as if they couldn't get enough of it. They were driven by lust and their bodies answered with pure instinct.

Harry fell to his knees at once and unbuckled Draco's belt. In the urgency of desire, his hands trembled uncontrollably. He fought with the zip then manage to free Draco’s erect cock. He stared at it raptly for a couple of seconds, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. A secret revealed. He sucked the head reverently, savoring the forbidden taste of the man who breathed so much life into him. The resulting moan above him filled him with satisfaction and he opened his mouth wider, swallowing his length avidly. Draco threw his head back, a deep groan escaping his mouth. Harry sucked him skillfully, eyes closed, his head bobbing at a steady pace.

"Yeah, like that… “ Draco breathed. “Fuck! "

Draco gripped Harry’s wild hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other.

Harry couldn’t quite compute that it was Draco filling his mouth, big and warm on his tongue, and he wanted to take it all, to give him everything he had.  He knew they wouldn't last long. They had gone too far too quickly. As Draco’s breaths increased, Harry accelerated his pace. The suction noises were indecent in the silence of the room as Harry tried his best to please his lover, using his tongue to massage the underside of his cock.

“You’re good at this,” Draco mused, encouraging Harry to take him further with a pressure on his head.

Harry relaxed his throat, and Draco moaned loudly as he took him to the root. Harry looked up to meet the feverish look pinned on him. It was an entrancing sight. The parted lips, the blond strands of hair falling over the enraptured eyes. His total abandonment in pleasure got the better of Harry, who only had to touch himself once to come in his pants.

Draco was not far behind. He stared at the mouth wrapped around his cock, those big innocent eyes in such a sinful situation. He immobilized Harry's head and, after three hard thrusts, emptied himself inside the soft mouth with a silent cry. Harry kept him between his lips for a few seconds, feeling Draco’s seed in the back of his throat. Then he felt the shaky hand releasing its hold in his hair as Draco pulled out. The bitter taste lingered in his mouth, marking him. Harry was still on his knees like a devout when he looked up at Draco, oh so beautiful in his debauched state. He looked dazed, leaning on the counter, heaving, his cock hanging from his open trousers. The glorious sight was enough to make Harry crave him again.

Draco removed his hand from Harry’s shoulder to grip the counter behind him, and the absence of his touch left him suddenly empty and lost. He was still trying to catch his breath in the aftershock of his orgasm when noises suddenly broke out from behind the door. Laughs, voices and the sound of a key in the lock.

Panic.

Harry jumped up as if he'd been stung while Draco zipped up his pants.

The door opened, letting the light of the outside lanterns in, and Flint, Nott and Zabini noisily crossed the threshold. Harry wasted no time and ran upstairs, leaving no chance for his mind to consider the consequences of what he had done. He rushed to his room, Goyle frowning as he passed in front of him, then he closed the door and collapsed on his bed, head buried in the covers.

Fuck Fuck Fuck

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Early the next morning, Harry made his way down to the living room all packed and ready to go. His face was ashen and his eyes puffy. He hadn't slept much. Too many questions in his head, questions he didn't want to answer. The images, the sounds of Draco, and most of all the sensations he had experienced the previous night nagged at him. He had never felt such passion before.

But reason always took over. It had been a fuck without consequences, no strings attached. At least, he had succeeded in shaking dear Draco up. He bowed out with a bang. It was his farewell gift.

Harry sat behind the kitchen counter like a zombie, Goyle behind him. Muffins, sausages and beans were already served on porcelain plates. He poured himself a glass of orange juice, looking through the windows, shoulders hunched. If there had been a pillow before him, he would probably have fallen upon it.

Behind him, Goyle announced, "The car's ready."

Harry turned his head around, but the bodyguard wasn't facing him. He hadn't addressed him. Then Harry saw Draco at the far end of the couch. He hadn't even noticed him. Draco looked worse for wear, slumped on the cushions, his clothes from the day before on, his eyes glassy. It looked like he’d spent the night here. He had a strange expression on his face, tense but determined at the same time. The face of someone who had carefully thought things through.

Draco was staring ahead when his grating voice rang out.

"He stays."

He got up and left the room.

Chapter Text

May 17, 2004

Draco hadn’t left his quarters since their little romp and, as the morning wore on, Harry kept imagining all the ways their next encounter could go as he lay on his bed.

“He stays.” Two words that could change everything.

That night, he had acted on the spur of the moment. The episode had been rushed, unplanned. No romance, no declarations, but sex at its basest form. Would Draco act differently towards him now that they had opened this door?

Crabbe disrupted his reverie with a knock, informing him he was expected in the game room. Harry didn’t know there was one in the first place.

On his way, he caught sight of Pansy on one of the deckchairs by the swimming pool. No break in the glum weather, yet she was lying in a tank top and short skirt as though expecting the sun to appear miraculously. Harry opened the patio door and poked his head out.

"Pansy? Aren't you cold?"

She looked at him with a smile on her lips. "No, I'm just waiting. You coming?"

Harry tilted his head to the sky to see a bunch of dark clouds swallowing the morning light.

"Uh, maybe later?"

Pansy had already closed her eyes, so Harry didn't insist and returned inside. He turned to Crabbe, apologizing with his eyes, and followed him to one of the doors whose access was usually forbidden to him. Crabbe knocked and opened, granting Harry entrance before leaving.

The game room was big and comfy and consisted of a billiard table on the right, a poker table next to the windows, a large leather sofa lining the wall on the left and a bar on the back.

Nott was bent over the billiard table, concentrated on the balls, calculating the best trajectory while Zabini watched him patiently, cue in hand. Nott positioned his own over the green baize. Circling the tip with his finger, he hesitated a moment before straightening up and changing position. Zabini sighed.

"Whenever you're ready… "

His comment earned him a dirty look.

Standing at the other end of the room in a tailored suit, Draco was on the phone, his back to them.

Harry looked at his impeccable silhouette, and the image of a disheveled Draco leaning on the kitchen counter superimposed in his mind. He shook it away and turned around, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, awaiting instructions.

He had not seen Draco since their little misdemeanor, and he had no idea how to handle the imminent confrontation. As nervous energy coursed through his body, the object of his anxiety hung up and turned to Zabini with a nod and a smile.

"Yes!" Zabini yelled, closing his fist tightly in victory.

Nott looked up and laughed upon seeing their cheering faces.

"Finally, good news," Draco said triumphantly as he joined them at the pool table.

Zabini clapped Draco on the back. “I never doubted you boss.”

Draco chuckled good-naturedly. Though Harry was confused, he couldn't help but rejoice for them.

Draco turned and tapped Nott on his shoulder. "Theo, go fetch Marcus, will you?”

Nott’s smile fell. He groaned and threw his cue on the table. He wouldn't score today. His exasperated expression was amusing, and Zabini put his fist against his mouth to repress a laugh. Nott narrowed his eyes and shoved his shoulder on his way out.

Harry was observing their antics when Draco turned and walked in his direction. Suddenly embarrassed, Harry looked everywhere but at the man's face. He feared a nasty outcome. Draco would take advantage of his weakness and put him down in front of Zabini to screw with him. But Draco just walked past him to reach the bar, and Harry released a relieved breath.

Draco grabbed a few mini bottles of alcohol, tossed one to Zabini, and handed another to Harry.

Harry took it cautiously. “It’s only noon.”

“We’re celebrating,” Draco argued.

He stared at Harry as he took a swig, unsettling him. Harry held his vodka tightly, the drops on the cold bottle running down his fingers.

“Good job, Draco!” Flint cheered as he entered the room with Nott.

Draco turned and handed bottles to his men. He clinked them to toast their success.

"Now that the deal is on, we can organize the pick-up. Things are looking up, boys!"

The transparency threw Harry off. Even though no specific details were revealed, Draco was speaking openly about his business in front of him. That was a first.

It looked like Draco was trying to integrate him into their circle. Had his little treat had more impact than he expected? It was unlikely. It was too fast.

Harry opened his bottle and took a sip, but pretending to be one of them, when his status in the gang had yet to be defined, felt odd.

Draco took a black notebook out of his inner pocket and rummaged inside.

"Alright, enough with trivialities, I can't miss my one o'clock. The meeting’s not far from the property, so I thought I’d go to make sure everything runs smoothly. Blaise, Theo, pack up. You're going with me."

Flint furrowed his brows, prompting Draco to explain himself.

"Sorry, but I need you here. Pansy’s been off all morning, and I don't want to take any risk."

Nott came to Flint's defense. "Harry's here for that, isn't he?"

"Yes, but I want him to join us after the meeting."

Harry’s eyes widened at the announcement.

“What about Tweedledee and Tweedledum?” Flint complained.

Draco sighed, his face bristling with impatience. “Crabbe’s coming later this afternoon and Goyle already has his hands full with the Elders. Do you have further questions?”

"Ok, fine, chief," Flint relented, lighting a cigarette. “How long will you be gone?”

“A couple of days. I won’t linger there more than necessary,” Draco trailed off, introspective.

He turned to Harry, who tried his best to hold his gaze.

"Be ready by four. Crabbe will drive you."

Harry nodded mutely, weary of this sudden turnaround. Draco just smirked at him, eyes unfathomable.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

The boys were gone, and Harry was left to his own devices in the living room. No trace of Crabbe, which was uncommon, but every sensitive area had been locked. Harry was perusing the room when a noise alerted him to Flint’s presence in the library. He hadn’t been left without surveillance after all.

Sensing he was no longer alone, Flint tensed in his chair, hiding a paper under a book. Then he caught sight of Harry and relaxed.

“Can we talk?” Harry whispered, leaning against the wall.

Instead of answering, Flint moved to the radio on the bar. Once loud jazz music filled the room, he sat in the corner, his back to Harry.

"Draco didn't reveal the place of the pick-up, but it'll happen on the 30th," he said, sifting through a book.

"I know," Harry said without looking at him.

From afar, it looked like they weren’t chatting at all.

"How?" Flint asked with a frown.

"I witnessed a conversation with MacNair.”

Flint hummed. “There’s a new player involved, you know anything about it?”

“No, nothing.”

Flint went on, "Draco’s grown wary lately. He briefs us at the last minute, which leaves us no wiggle room to make plans. We have a date, it's already something, but we need to find the rest. Draco’s contacted someone for the next job, and I've got nothing on him, no name, not even a hint. You'll have to find a way to gather more information."

“I’ll do my best,” Harry answered weakly.

McCarthy had warned Harry that Flint and he wouldn't interact much. Indeed, given Flint's position, they wouldn't have many opportunities to collaborate without arousing suspicion.

Flint had infiltrated the gang from the beginning. It was McCarthy who had put him in Draco's path. No blackmail had been involved as far as Harry knew. Flint had volunteered for the job when McCarthy had first approached him. With his help, several of Draco's operations had been thwarted, and a couple of his partners in crime apprehended. But for the last couple of months, Draco had turned increasingly suspicious, and rightly so. Flint, Nott, Zabini, the Elders and his middlemen had all been screened thoroughly. They were no more privy to Draco’s secrets. All these precautions had derailed McCarthy's plans, hence Harry's addition to the equation.

"How do I contact McCarthy?” Harry asked. “Do I go through you?"

"Uh-uh."

Harry sighed, not very keen on having to play the messenger.

"Don't worry, everything's been arranged. Draco plans to take Pansy to Stefano's next week. It’s a little Italian restaurant she loves. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble convincing Draco to take you with them.”

Harry made a face at the allusion in Flint’s tone.

“There’s a kiosk right across the street, you can't miss it. The patron’s been briefed. All you have to do is write down the information. Same thing if you have any suspicions, anything. Even if you've got nothing, note it. There’s a money box on the counter. You'll leave the paper in it discreetly, and that’s it.”

Harry nodded, attentive. "And if I want news about... I mean, if I have questions, can't I contact him directly?"

"No, never use his number, you know that." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Flint cut him off. "Write it down, and you'll see if you have an answer at the next meeting. We'll manage like this for now.”

“What about the ‘property’ I’m supposed to go to?”

"It’s a country house in Reading. All you have to know is Draco's not very fond of it. He makes his yearly visit to check if everything's in order and to take care of the maintenance, but that’s about it. We rarely go there anymore.”

Flint searched around the room to ensure they were still safe and put on a solemn look.

 “Watch out, especially down there. Knowing Draco, we can never be too careful. Sometimes it feels like he has eyes on us all the time. He may look like he let his guard down with you, but believe me, he won't give you a rest."

Harry nodded and scratched his head, a hint of nervousness. Suddenly, they heard a noise upstairs. Flint turned his head away and took a step back.

End of the briefing.

Flint casually lit a cigarette and left the library to go upstairs, as if their conversation had never occurred.

Alone in the room, Harry took a few moments to reflect on Flint’s warnings. Draco and McCarthy proved to be as dangerous as each other. Stuck between two devils, how could he possibly win?

He decided to join Pansy near the swimming pool. He suddenly felt like lying on the deck chair under the dark clouds.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

The property was a huge country house with majestic balconies and thick ivy covering the walls. A vast and well-tended garden surrounded it, leading to a lake far off in the distance. Clashing with the stately house, video cameras were perched at every corner of the house, and two security guys stood guard in a cabin up the alley.

Crabbe was already inside when Harry walked up the stony steps. but the moment he was about to enter the house, the bodyguard stopped him and led him back to the car.

On the way, Harry had plenty of time to contemplate the gigantic property and his wooded surroundings.

"Draco owns all this?" Harry asked.

In the face of Crabbe’s silence, Harry shrugged and returned to his contemplation.

The car stopped behind a Chevrolet already parked there. Crabbe and Harry stepped out and walked down a little dirt road lined with tall grass. Far from the claustrophobic ambiance of the Cottage, Harry could enjoy nature fully, taking a deep breath as he watched the horizon, happy to be allowed this small liberty. The sight of Crabbe with his leather shoes and the cuffs of his smart trousers smudged with mud alone was satisfying.

They arrived in an open-air field. The thick, heavy clouds invading the sky lent a crepuscular atmosphere to the landscape. In the distance, Draco's profile rose from the high grass. Harry slowed his walk to admire him, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his blond hair swaying softly in the wind. Aligned beside him, Nott and Zabini had taken off their jackets too. Harry was still too far to make them out clearly.

A sudden detonation echoed in the field, followed by the sound of broken glass. Harry started, instinctively protecting his head with his hands, while Crabbe kept walking, unfazed. He urged Harry to come closer with his eyes as Nott's hysterical laugh rang out.

Another detonation. Once again, Harry shuddered and stooped his shoulders under the noise, but this time, he kept moving. He walked past Crabbe, who took one last look at him before taking his leave.

Harry turned his eyes back in time to watch Draco stretch out his arm with a fierce look, his posture powerful. In his hand, a silver gun. Draco aimed and shot twice. Two glass bottles perched on a broken wooden barricade exploded in a row.  

Zabini whistled. "Nice shots!"

Nott stepped forward and lifted his arm in turn, the gesture casual. He started to shoot maniacally, wasting bullet after bullet, making holes in the wood again and again, more interested in the destruction and the damage that he could cause than the initial targets. He shouted while he kept firing off, and Harry’s face crumpled with repulsion. In moments like this, Harry perceived the darkness Pansy spoke of, evil at its purest. Nott’s face contorted, his look wild and his body jolting, as if possessed.

"Easy, Theo!"

Draco's voice cut through the wrecking noise. Nott's laughter died down, leaving only the sound of the wind on the grass and the trees behind it, but the echoes of the blasts seemed to hang in the air.

Draco stretched his arm again, his aim sure, and shot down another bottle that crashed on the ground. He stayed with his arm outstretched, gun in hand, and turned around, pointing the weapon straight at Harry. Draco's face was expressionless. Harry flinched, and his brain shut off. He could see nothing but the gun's barrel aiming at him, the threatening little dark hole.

With a turn of the wrist, Draco handed him the grip.

"Your turn."

Harry exhaled. He licked his dry lips and stepped forward slowly.

He didn't reach for the gun, so Draco had to lower it and practically put it in his hand. Nott snickered at Harry’s discomfort, whereas Zabini observed the interaction between the two men with interest.

Harry wasn't at ease, but under the impatient gazes of the three men, he raised the gun slowly. He tried to take it more firmly in his hand, his palm closing and reopening several times before he found the right grip. His arm was limp, his stance hesitant, as if he were expecting the gun to explode in his hand. He screwed up his eyes and then the shot fired, missing the targets completely. Under the detonation, his body propelled backwards, his heart beating wildly.

Draco lowered his eyes while Nott laughed mockingly.

"Wow, I think we have a crack shot among us!"

Deaf to his sarcasm, Draco stepped behind Harry and grasped his shoulder.

"Calm down. You're all tense," he whispered in his ear.

He aligned himself with Harry, pressing his torso against his back.

"Stand straight," he instructed, clinging closer to him, a hand on his hip.

Harry obeyed shakily, troubled by Draco’s proximity.  Draco wrapped his hand around his elbow, accompanying the gesture.

"Slowly… but stay firm. Look, it feels like your arm weighs a ton. You have to keep it straight and steady."

Draco's breath in his ear made Harry shiver, his body against his back feeling so robust, all strength. No hesitation in his gestures. Enveloped like this, Harry gained confidence, as if Draco had breathed force into him. His look became more determined. He aimed and pulled the trigger, the shot sharp and precise. The sound of the broken glass rang out like the sound of victory. Draco broke his backward jolt, and the involuntary embrace sent Harry’s senses haywire.

"Not bad," Zabini commented. “Draco’s one-on-one tutoring sure does wonders, huh?”

At these words, Harry jerked away from Draco as if burned. The blond man rolled his lips and when he turned to his henchmen, the spirit of camaraderie was gone.

"Could you two find Matthew to inquire about his maintenance needs?" he asked them.

Nott looked at him with bemusement, while Zabini merely smiled. “Sure, boss, whatever you need, boss,” he winked, stepping slowly backwards.

"I'll catch up with you," Draco added, his voice laced with exasperation.

The two men took their jackets off an old tree trunk nearby and sauntered away.

Harry and Draco found themselves alone on the improvised firing range.

Hands in his pockets, Draco faced Harry, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"They can become tiresome after a while.”

To have Draco’s undivided attention was both exhilarating and crippling and Harry was at loss for words. Draco seemed aware of his predicament, for his smile grew as the silence stretched on.

“So, you want to give it another shot?"

Harry threw him a confused look before realizing he was talking about the firing.

"I'm not sure it's my thing,” he confided. “Guns, I mean."

Draco nodded with understanding. "You've never used one before?"

Harry shook his head. Draco stepped closer and folded his hand on the gun between Harry’s fingers.

"Is it the sense of power that scares you, or the brutality of the act?" he asked in a hushed voice. "That's what turns me on.”

Harry fluttered his eyes up at him, heat rising as Draco’s face came closer.

“The rawness. The coldness of it." The words left Draco’s lips with surprising sensuality.

Harry leaned towards him, his mouth drawn to his, but at the last minute, Draco pulled away. The spell was broken, and Draco’s words suddenly penetrated Harry’s cloudy mind. He shook his head and spoke with an ardor that sounded like an admonishment.

"Why? It's merciless, there’s no humanity behind it. Even the sensation... I can't get used to it." He turned his hand and looked at the gun. "This deadly machine… It's just a mechanism."

“Precisely. You don’t have to mean it, you don’t have to feel it, and you don’t need to be powerful to kill with it. No bullshit.”

Harry scrutinized Draco, wondering how the reluctant, frightened teenager caught in a battle greater than him had turned into a hard-hearted criminal.

"We're not at war anymore!” he griped. “This is not about the Light versus the Dark side, but about personal interests, and I'm not willing to put lives at stake for it."

Draco looked at him incredulously. "I beg to differ, Muggles and their crusade against us is an act of war. They started the hostilities, and we should turn the other cheek? I'll pass, thank you." He paused and towered over Harry, hammering the words with his hand, “It’s them against us."

"Maybe at first but look at you! You already won, and yet, you still want more. It's you against the world!"

Both men circled each other like wrestlers waiting to see who would make the first move.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to preserve what is rightfully ours," retorted Draco. "I'm only defending what is mine! And if there’s collateral damage, that’s too bad."

Harry gaped, horrified by his warped logic. "How can you say such a thing? Does human life have no importance for you?"

Draco waved the question away with raised eyebrows. "Depends which one."

Harry scoffed and shook his head, dumbfounded. Draco’s cool demeanour fractured, and he snatched the gun from Harry’s hand.

"Despite what you proclaim, you still see the world in black and white,” he snapped.

His eyes were trailing Harry’s, trying to force him to look at him, but Harry kept moving away, eluding him. Draco stepped in his face, following him like a shadow in a strange dance.

“Good against evil, hm?" he jutted his chin out.

Growing weary of this game, Harry halted to a stop.

"And you think I'm evil, right?" Draco asked, lowering his face to catch his eyes.

Harry looked uncertain, as if he were debating with himself.

"Then what are you doing here?

Harry blinked at him. What could he answer to that?

Draco smiled. "You knew who you were dealing with. So, let me ask you again. What are you doing here?"

It had become easy to hide the real reason, but the question went further in Harry’s head. Because despite his mission, he couldn’t deny the reality of his growing attraction for Draco anymore. It wasn’t just a task. But he needed to smother it, because whatever he might feel, he had to go through with the job. He would not fail.

"I know you don’t believe me, but I'm here for you.”

The half-truth didn’t seem to satisfy Draco, who was still examining him dispassionately.

Harry reckoned he had to give a little of himself to appease him.

“You don’t know me, Draco. My life’s been such a mess. I tried to escape it in all the wrong ways, I just wanted to forget everything.” He lowered his head, for the weight of Draco’s gaze on him was hard to bear. “I didn’t realize how bad it was until it was too late. And I’m not sure I’m–“ He swallowed the emotion in his voice. “I’m not sure I can be redeemed. But now, with you, at least I feel… I feel real again. You know what I mean?"

The admission had overwhelmed Harry, and his hands started shaking despite his efforts to stay strong. When he looked up, instead of reassuring Harry with an answer or a comment, Draco kept staring at him.

As the tension rose, a couple of droplets fell on Harry’s face, making him break eye contact with Draco. He lifted his head and brushed them away from his cheek. Draco was already moving over to the barrier when he turned to him again. Harry ran a hand through his wet hair, eyes sweeping around the grizzle-veiled field to get his bearings.

"What you told me the other night, it made me think.” Draco removed the broken glass to let it fall on the ground and continued, “Your words were harsh, but I needed to hear them."

Harry wasn't expecting his reaction, but Draco looked frank and if he were bluffing, then he was a damn good actor.

"You were right. I've been spreading myself too thin lately. I foolishly let past mistakes dictate my decisions, and, as a result, I let the gang down. But I’m set on getting my business in order.”

Once the plank cleared, he put the last two bottles in the center. The rain streamed down the glass, creating tinkling sounds like music notes.

"We started on the wrong foot, you and me, but I want to rectify that." Draco stepped next to Harry. “It's in my nature to be cautious, and it’s been working out for me so far." He looked at him mischievously. "And you have far too many secrets for me to let you come too close."

He positioned his arm straight towards the target.

“You'll have to earn my trust."

He shot once, twice. The two bottles exploded.

"But I'm willing to give you a chance," he ended.

This change of heart surprised Harry. It boded well for the mission, but he felt something else, a deeper satisfaction he didn’t want to face.

Harry ghosted a smile. "That's all I'm asking for."

They looked at each other with a newfound respect, then, in a matter of seconds, the rain intensified. A flash of light illuminated the field, and a roaring thunder ripped through the sky. Harry and Draco’s eyes scrunched close as a deluge fell over their heads. Harry opened his mouth, and a shocked sound escaped it.  

Draco picked up his jacket and grabbed Harry's arm. "Quick!’

They broke into a run on the dirt road, shielding themselves with their jackets over their heads. Harry started to laugh, soon imitated by Draco as they joyfully floundered in the mud to the car. They entered the Chevrolet, breathless and soaked to the bone. Draco smoothed down his hair, and Harry shook his head wildly, spraying the dashboard with rain, smiling like an excited little boy.

They turned towards each other, their faces glowing, unguarded. They knew what was going to happen. Their grins faded as their breaths evened out, the raging rain battling the windows around them. Then Draco pulled Harry closer to him, the leather squeaking under him. Harry swallowed and looked at Draco’s glossy lips. Draco’s eyes lowered too, and he inched closer until their mouths met softly.  

The kiss was going on lazily as they mapped each other's mouths. Harry's hands wrapped around Draco's neck while fingers buried in his dark locks. The only sounds they could hear were the beating of their hearts and the downpour like a torrent of stones against the car.

Harry lowered his lips to Draco's neck, licking the raindrops from his skin, as Draco slid his hands under Harry's translucent T-shirt. Harry moaned and unbuttoned Draco's shirt in a rush to feel his skin, his damp hands caressing the thinly muscled torso, leaving humid traces on their way.

Draco threw their jackets on the dashboard and climbed between the two seats to reach the rear bench seat, grabbing Harry by the collar to drag him behind. Heads bent and backs hunched, they wiggled and writhed to keep from banging on the roof and their feet from catching on the tiny space between the seats. With their hands on the windows, the seat, the roof, their bodies clumsily interlocked, they tried to position themselves, frantic and avid for deeper contact.

Draco put a hand on Harry’s torso and pushed him so Harry found himself lying on his back. Slowly, deliberately, Draco caressed each recess of his body, from his thighs to his stomach, lifting his t-shirt to his shoulders to reveal the soft expanse of his torso. Harry let himself be explored, surprised by Draco’s gentleness. Draco looked rapt, as if trying to commit every curve of his body to memory. A flash of lightning froze the whole scene like a snapshot. Then, Draco drew back to open his trousers and pulled them down to free his erection. Harry mirrored his gestures, unzipping his jeans and lowering them past his knees, contorting himself to remove them altogether with a whine.

The narrowness of the space restricted their movements, and the two men were breathing hard under the effort and the frustration. Draco jerkily lifted Harry's legs, the knees rubbing against the seats as Draco hooked them over his shoulders. He licked his fingers, making a show coating them with saliva before sliding them between Harry’s buttocks. He looked at them disappearing inside his lover’s entrance with heated eyes.

“That’s it, open up for me,” he whispered.

Harry whimpered at the pressure. He looked at Draco’s face between his legs, the usually put-together aristocrat now rumpled and feverish with desire. He wanted him to fill him so badly.

“Come on, Draco, I’m ready!” he cried.

“Aren’t we a bossy little thing?” Draco chuckled. “Patience. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Draco added another finger, watching Harry squirm under his ministrations with obvious pleasure.

“Draco, now!”

He didn’t have to ask another time, for he felt the fingers replaced by something warmer and much bigger. He jerked his head back and forced himself to relax and accept the intrusion. Draco penetrated him slowly, face tense, restraining himself.

“Fuck you’re tight,” he breathed out.

Harry whined as he pushed further. Draco pulled out, then in and out again, Harry panting with pain until his body slowly yielded. The next thrust was more forceful, and Harry let out a muffled cry, his breath cut. They locked eyes, sweat mingling with rain on their trembling skin. Then Draco started a fast rhythm, the shag turning urgent, the leather squeaking in rhythm. At this point, Harry was unable to form coherent thoughts. He could only close his eyes and surrender to Draco. His hands clenched against the seat's edge as little cries escaped from his mouth in time with Draco's thrusts, his feet dangling wildly. The tempo accelerated, the car hot and humid, fog forming against the windows as the rain kept battering against them, enclosing them in their little world of lust.

The craziness of the situation crossed Harry’s mind as he looked at Draco’s contorted face. His former nemesis was inside him, the man he would soon have to betray. But it all faded under the intensity of his pleasure.

With a groan, Draco grabbed Harry’s calves and leaned completely over him, bending him in half, forehead against forehead. Harry opened his eyes, gazing at Draco's face, watching his mouth twist in pleasure, his eyes lost in ecstasy.

“Shit shit shit,” Draco muttered, his voice low. “What are you doing to me?”

Harry was breathing Draco’s breath and as the blond locks tickled his nose, he was once again overwhelmed by the act. Draco ignited a passion inside him like no other did, their bodies responding to each other instinctively, in perfect synchrony. The way Draco possessed him completely, this was an intimacy he'd never thought possible and yet… A particular thrust made him see stars.

“Yes… Yes!” Harry panted, entranced, unable to verbalize his emotions.

He was about to kiss him, but Draco nipped his shoulder instead, sucking the flesh between his teeth. Harry pushed a hand above his head, against the window, trying to take him further, while Draco pushed in, deepening the penetration. With his other hand, he grabbed Draco’s nape, planting his short nails against the scar on his skin. They rocked against each other harder, the mass of limbs moving furiously, seeking release and wanting to ride the peak forever at once.

Draco moaned and Harry felt the pressure rising inside, the need to come imperial. Draco was huffing, his hips snapping back and forth faster. It was all too much. Harry stiffened, feeling the tide of release crashing over him. He shouted Draco's name without even realizing it. Draco put his hand on the window next to Harry’s to support himself and shut his eyes while Harry tightened around him. With a long, drawn-out groan, he came inside his sated lover. He stayed still a few seconds, panting, enjoying the last wave of pleasure, before slumping against Harry like his strings had been cut.

Their bodies, wet and burning, heaved with each breath, calming progressively as the downpour eased outside. The gentle sound of the rain tapping against the car lulled them into their post-coital coma.

Harry absently ran his fingers along Draco’s pale back, his eyes closed, a blissful smile gracing his lips. Cradled between his thighs, Draco lifted his head, scrutinizing Harry’s peaceful face. Before Harry could notice his troubled stare, Draco turned and pulled out. He stretched his arm to catch his jacket and picked up a handkerchief from his pocket. After he wiped his torso clean, he let it fall on Harry’s belly so he could clean himself.

Harry propped himself on his elbows. “It was amazing,” he said dreamily.

Draco smoothed down his hair and lifted his pants under Harry's lazy gaze. Harry was still waiting for a reaction, brushing his hand against Draco’s arm, but Draco withdrew, climbing between the front seats to take his place under the wheel. Watching him slip his shirt back on, Harry realized he would get nothing out of him.

In a few seconds, Draco was dressed up and ready to go. He switched on the ignition, the car roaring, whereas Harry was still half-naked in the back.

Thrown off by the speed with which Draco had erased all traces of their union, Harry didn’t dare speak. He wondered if Draco treated all his lovers that way. He thought it would be different with him, that he had managed to reach Draco somehow, but he wasn't so sure anymore.

Once dressed, he stayed seated in the back seat, looking at Draco’s impassive face in the rearview mirror. The end of the drive went by in a tense silence, and soon enough, the car stopped in front of the property.

"Stay here," Draco ordered after taking the key off the ring.

He slammed the door shut, leaving Harry alone in the car. The young man felt keenly like an old tissue, used and thrown away. Empty. A sensation he was used to and still struggled to suppress. Too many emotions he couldn't control. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. It was a mission, just a mission. Draco’s rejection was a simple reminder of that fact.

While he nursed his bruised ego, Harry clung to the idea that he would be the one to make Draco fall.

Chapter Text

Harry had been authorized to enter the property half an hour after Draco had left him in the car. The place was luxurious, like everything that surrounded Draco. Still reeling from Draco’s cold shoulder, Harry assumed a blasé attitude as he entered the spacious hall, his face an emotionless mask. Draco was ending his discussion with a tall, emaciated man in a black uniform. He looked somewhat uneasy, more fidgety than usual.

"Matthew, would you kindly show our guest around the house?" Draco asked.

Harry made a full turn, looking right and left, without showing much curiosity about his surroundings. "No, thank you, I'm good," he said curtly.

Draco wasn’t fooled. "What's your problem now?"

"No, what's your problem?" Harry retorted in a flash. "Why do you want to show me all this? To impress me? I've seen enough. I know your type."

"I've got nothing to prove, and least of all to you. Do as you wish."

He started climbing the stairs, but Harry wasn’t finished.

"You may delude yourself into thinking you own everything, but you can't have it all."

Draco caught the banister with his hand and bent forward on the step with a vicious look. "I got you, didn't I?"

If he was looking for a reaction, he certainly got it. Harry pinned him with a furious stare, seething.

"No, you didn't. Not for one moment."

"Yeah, right, Potter, whatever you say," Draco smirked.

Harry turned away, teeth clenched. He could never have the last word with this pretentious prick.

He walked out, unbothered by the drizzle, and went to sit on the front steps, fuming silently. He stayed there, observing the garden from afar. Try as he may, he couldn't get Draco out of his head. He rose abruptly and walked along the gravel, eyes downcast, hitting the stones with the tip of his shoes and pushing them with irritation. He looked up to see a bush of beautiful orange roses before him. A touch of beauty on this dreary day. He reached out to cup one of the rose’s head and leaned in to smell it. The scent calmed him momentarily.

A low-pitched buzzing sound caught his attention. He turned to seek the source of the noise and found a camera pointed at him, perched in one of the corners of the house. He stared straight into the lens.

Why was this place, deserted by Draco and his team, under such high security? The property looked more like a family home than the Cottage, yet the latter wasn't nearly as secured as this house.

His gaze slid from the camera to one of the windows upstairs. His eyes fell on a silhouette, shiny eyes seeming to pierce through the glass: Draco again. Harry frowned for a second but kept his eyes glued to him. They surveyed each other as they would contemplate a painting, each detailing the other, trying to reach inside. Harry looked away first. When he looked again, Draco had disappeared as if he had never been there. Draco kept playing games with him, but Harry wouldn’t entertain him this time.

Harry sighed and walked around the house to explore the grounds. He landed in a wooden hut that sat nearby. When he pushed the door open, he came face to face with a young Hispanic man with a ponytail. The man was putting away some tools in his box, his body sweaty, his T-shirt clinging to his skin. Harry apologized briefly, and the man glanced at him: no cordial nor curt words, only a piercing and dark look. Harry hated him at first sight. It was visceral. The man had a rough physique and a plain face, but there was a sensuality emanating from him, an animal magnetism. But instead of drawing Harry in, it repelled him. Harry closed the door behind him as quickly as he could and jumped when he met the face of a severe man in a black uniform. With his tall frame, his high cheekbones and sunken eyes, the man was almost scary.

"Sir, did you finally change your mind about the tour?" the man dressed like a penguin asked.

After his initial shock, Harry recognized the man he had seen earlier with Draco. From the way he had popped up out of nowhere, seemingly jumping in front of him, Harry was beginning to wonder if he had been commissioned to keep him in line.

"I may have a few questions, but I don't want to bother you."

The man -Matthew? - looked at him curiously, as though he were considering his options. Or his instructions.

Since Matthew didn't oppose it, he asked away.

"Does Draco own this house?"

"No, Master Malfoy doesn’t."

“Who then?”

Harry had hoped for an answer, but looking at the man's face, he knew he would have none.

"It looks ancient," he noted.

His hands behind his back, Matthew turned to face the house with pride.

"There is so much history in this house. It was built in 1903. It harboured the resistance during World War II,” he informed Harry in a pompous tone. “The house has suffered damage since this period, but consequent renovations have made it as good as new."

Harry nodded, falsely impressed. Matthew took a few steps forward and lifted his head, his eyes scrutinizing the house.

"It hosted eminent figures over the years. It’s a house full of secrets," he mused.

Harry scowled. Was he purposely obtuse, or was he trying to scare him again?

Matthew led him back inside, and naturally, Harry's questions earned him a little tour of the house.

As Matthew enumerated the various treasures of the property, sparing him no historical details, Harry observed the comings and goings of the house's employees. He noticed the advanced alarm system next to the door.

He directed his attention back to Matthew as they crossed the big living room with its antique furniture and imposing tapestries. Wide windows opened into the garden. They passed the door to the dining room, a long mahogany table throning at its center, then to a well-equipped library.

“And what is there?” Harry asked, pointing towards the door under the stairs.

“The cellar. Its access is strictly reserved for Master Malfoy and his associates.”

Interesting.

“What about there?” He turned to the two doors on the left.

"This is the kitchen and the staff room. Master Malfoy never wanders here."

On the first floor was a long corridor with the guest rooms, a luxurious bathroom, Draco's study and a common room with a striking red damask wallpaper. On the second floor, what looked like an ancient ballroom stood unused, a beautiful crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling and great mirrors covering the walls on either side. The door next to it led to Draco’s bedroom and his private bathroom. In the corner, another room had been condemned.

The house seemed frozen in ancient times. The rooms were well kept, but they were all so impersonal. Besides, the place, classical and austere, looked nothing like Draco. Harry felt he would get punished if he dared move even a chair. Everything was very neat and symmetrical, chairs aligned straight behind the tables, objects arranged with precision. Nothing stuck out.

The tour ended, and Matthew left to tend to his tasks. Harry, who started to feel like time was passing miserably slowly, hung around in the living room. It didn't look like he was under surveillance, but he knew this was an illusion. The staff turned out to be particularly indiscreet. Harry had spotted a young woman and two men in uniform coming and going as though checking his whereabouts. He sensed he was being observed, not like a potential threat but like an object of curiosity. He could hear their whispers and see their stolen glances.

Then, Harry heard loud female voices coming from the kitchen. The door hadn’t been closed properly. He opened it and peeped inside. Two women were busy preparing dinner, chatting with little white aprons over their black uniforms, very old-fashioned like the rest of the staff. The first, a corpulent woman in her thirties, was preparing a broth, bent over a large gas stove. The other, smaller and older, was seated at a wooden table, peeling carrots next to a ceramic bowl. Harry entered discreetly, and the two women, still conversing, turned their heads to him.

The corpulent woman reacted first. "Oooh, but what are you doing here, young man? You've lost your way, I bet. Tut tut, you had better go and find Master Malfoy, it wouldn't do if you got him cross. He can be so difficult sometimes."

"Emma," the other woman scolded. She addressed Harry crisply. "Can we help you?"

"Uh, I was just looking for company. It’s a bit lonely in there," he said with his most charming smile.

"Are you hiding?" Emma questioned with mischievous eyes while turning her spatula in a huge casserole.

"Huh, I see there’s no fooling you,” he answered shyly.

"Well, you found the right place. Master Malfoy never sets foot here. It is from him you're hiding, isn't it?"

Harry nodded as he neared the table, grabbing the back of one of the chairs with his hand.

"You're Harry, right?" she whispered with a pert face.

“Yes, it’s me,” Harry smiled and extended his hand to her.

"I've been told you're curious, and we received very strict orders concerning you, oh yes, very strict."

"Emma!" the other woman chided.

"Why, Millie, you can see this young man is lovely! I'm a good judge of character." She turned to Harry. "I know I can be a bit eccentric, everyone tells me I talk too much…"

Harry smiled. "Actually, I find it quite refreshing. I can give you a hand if you want."

"You can't be serious! This isn't your place," Millie answered, shocked.

"I don't mind."

Harry sat next to her without waiting for permission. She stared at him, embarrassed, but accepted the help anyway.

"Don't worry, Draco couldn't care less about what I do," Harry said.

"Oh, I'm sure he does!" Emma interposed. "He can't stop talking about you since he arrived."

"To set up the rules," Harry suggested.

"Not only! It's the first time he's talked about someone with such interest since Astoria."

Millie cut her short, "I think you should watch your mouth, Emma."

Emma closed her mouth like a clap, realizing her indiscretion, and retreated into silence.

Harry's eyes darted between the two women. He knew he could get more out of them. He had done well to invite himself here.

Time flew by quietly as Harry finished peeling the carrots with Millie at the table opposite Emma. The latter was preparing the chicken, plunging her hands into the carcass to remove the giblets. The sight made Harry grimace. Millie laughed under her collar, watching him shrink in his chair.

After washing her hands, the effusive Emma ended the silent treatment.

"So, now that we are better acquainted…" Harry smiled at this, they had barely talked. “I've been dying to ask, are you and Master Malfoy an item?"

The word was so inadequate, and the mere mention of his relationship with Draco clouded Harry’s face.

"I don't know, you'll have to ask him," he answered dryly.

Emma leaned over the table. "We know he's a handful, and he's terribly mistrustful, but he’s been through a lot,” she said in a confidential tone. “And just the fact that he brought you here with him…"

Millie threw her a dark look. "Emma, no."

"What? Matthew never told us anything about that, I don't see why we shouldn't discuss his character." She looked at Harry and smiled. "Harry must know what he's getting himself into."

Harry leaned forward with an air of connivance. "I have to confess I'm a bit at a loss with Draco. You have all my attention."

A smile lifted the corner of Emma’s lips. Millie looked cautious, but didn’t stop her.

"Well, Master Malfoy has an erratic temper as you certainly know," Emma said. "I remember when he first arrived here, he had this way of looking at us, very haughtily.”

Harry chuckled at that, reminded of the Draco of his youth.

“He hadn't got a grasp of kindness, always angry at everyone. One day, he introduced us to this beautiful, very classy girl, Astoria Greengrass." She searched through her memories as she buttered the chicken in her hands. "He wasn't immediately seduced, no, she was so subdued. But little by little, things changed. I think they fell in love on one New Year’s Eve, remember Millie?"

The other woman didn't utter a word and started shelling peas.

"They formed a nice couple, but Miss Greengrass began acting distant with him after a while. Master Malfoy was very affected, you should have seen him moping around. He was so sure of his charm. In this regard, I don't think he has changed much.”

Harry smiled as he kept listening intently.

“She blew hot and cold, which drove Master Malfoy up the wall. She was very clever, this girl."

"She kept her cards close to her chest, the little bitch," Millie let out.

She brought her hands to her mouth, as if she'd just noticed she'd spoken out loud. She blushed, then Emma giggled, amused.

"Indeed, I couldn't have said it better myself. The poor boy was going crazy trying to get in her good graces. She led him around by the nose. She was so demanding, wasn’t she Millie? And he gave in to all her whims. He took her to travel everywhere, bought her the most extravagant gifts."

Her eyes saddened.

"And then, one day, she left. No one saw it coming. From what I've heard, she was the one who denounced him, telling who knows what lies to the authorities. They turned up one day without notice, what a fuss! We had to suffer their questioning. It even went to court, can you imagine! Fortunately, Master Malfoy was cleared. But from then on, they wouldn't leave it alone."

Harry remembered McCarthy's rage and his obsessive desire to bring Draco down.

Emma rose to put the chicken in the oven as she kept speaking.

"After that, he started bringing all these detestable people."

"The house looked like a knocking shop,” Millie grumbled.

Emma slammed the oven door shut. “Master Malfoy went from one conquest to the other. Like Felipe”

Harry frowned so she specified. “The handyman."

He remembered the man in the hut and made an involuntary grimace.

"An attractive young man, but a cunning one. I saw it right away. He tried to seduce me, you know. Yes, it's the truth," she added, as if the mere idea was ludicrous. "Master Malfoy is probably with him as we speak. Hm, what a waste."

The idea that Draco could bed the man he had taken an instant dislike to put Harry off. He swept aside the jealousy that threatened him and resumed his investigation.

"With so many bad memories, it was courageous of Draco to stay here," he asked innocently.

"Oh no, Master Malfoy didn't stay long. He left with a kafuffle right after the scene with his father."

The information had been thrown into the conversation without warning, yet the Earth stopped turning for a moment.

"Lucius?" he asked in a breath.

Millie looked at Emma as if she'd betrayed a huge secret. Draco never talked about his parents. No one did. Only Snape had mentioned Lucius in passing to Draco. Harry had assumed the man had died in one of the violent episodes that had occurred after their assimilation into the Muggle world. Why had he not been briefed about him?

Emma opened and closed her mouth like a fish, then chuckled awkwardly. “Don’t mind me, I tend to exaggerate when I speak. A lot."

Harry strove to appear contrite. "I see I've put you in a quandary. If it upsets you, we don't have to talk further about this. But your stories are so captivating…"

Unfortunately, Millie, more perspicacious than her colleague, knew a smooth talker when she heard one and decided to cut his visit short. She stood up, the big bowl of peas in her hand. "Well, I think we're done here. We won't keep you much longer, I’m sure you have more important things to do."

Harry didn’t overstep his welcome. He thanked the ladies for their little chat and left the kitchen.

It all made sense now. The property probably belonged to Lucius, but from the looks of it, he had been absent for a while. Where was he? And why all this secrecy? And what about his relationship with Draco? They didn't seem to be in touch, albeit he couldn't be certain of it. How come McCarthy had made no mention of him?

So many questions without answers. Regardless, Harry felt like he had made important discoveries. He knew Lucius was a key element in this story, if only in the enigma that represented Draco.

Harry mulled all this over in his head, wondering what the gang could be up to. Oh yes, Draco was probably banging the Latino hunk. He could picture Draco and Felipe going at it on the cold ground of the hut.

No, think about something else.

The long chestnut tresses spread over Draco's pale skin.

Stop.

Harry ruffled his hair and walked out.

The humid herbs and the droplets falling from the trees were the only signs it had rained before as he headed to the lake with short strides. He reached a long pontoon, his shoes tapping against the wooden planks as he walked, eyes riveted on the horizon. Once at the pontoon's end, he hunkered down and sat, letting his legs swing over the edge. He shivered under the cold wind and gazed at the water below his feet.

What should be his next move? How could he plan anything with the moody blonde man? When he thought he’d made one step forward, he’d stepped back two. But the information he had gathered had cast a new light on Draco's past and given him more clues to investigate.

Harry was trying to foment a plan when footsteps resonated behind him. Harry braced himself for the encounter, and Draco immediately opened the hostilities, as expected.

"Tempted to jump in the water and end it all?"

Harry answered with a sneer. "Why did you want me to come here?"

Draco stood still behind him.

"You complained about being sidelined, and now you complain about being included. Can you ever be satisfied?"

He sighed.

"It was a misguided attempt on my part to integrate you into our little community. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Funny way to do it. Tell me, do you sleep with all your mates?"

Harry succeeded in unsettling Draco who took a few seconds before answering, “There's nothing wrong with having a good time."

"Aren’t you tired of all the meaningless sex?"

"I don’t remember you protesting when I shagged you in the car.”

The jibe made Harry’s resolve crumble. Draco spoke on.

“Why, you're going to show off your second-rate psychology? Let me do it for you.” He took on a mocking tone. “I'm running away from my feelings to avoid being hurt and promiscuous sex is my coping mechanism.” He put his hand on his heart, his face falsely emotional. “I won’t find true happiness until I open my heart."

His forced expression melted into his usual cold one.

“Is that it?” He squatted down next to Harry. "You want to fix me?"

Harry turned his head away, brushing off the question, although, in truth, it found an echo within him. Draco leaned into his ear.

"I may be a whore, but you’re one too. We take our pleasure wherever we can. There’s no reason to apologize for that."

It hit a raw nerve, and Harry had no intention of letting himself be dragged down to Draco’s level.  

“You and me, we’re nothing alike!" he shouted. "What happened between us was a mistake. I was foolish to think it’d go any differently.”

Draco snorted. "We finally agree on one thing, there is nothing between us. We had fun, nothing more."

Mission or not, there was just something about hearing that finality in Draco’s words that crushed him inside.

A minute passed, and Harry expected Draco to tire and leave, but he didn’t. When Draco’s voice returned, it sounded ethereal, the previous exchange forgotten.

"I used to love this lake. It’s so vast and quiet. I could stay here for hours just contemplating it.”

A bird took flight out of his tree, gliding above the lake. Harry followed him with his eyes wistfully as Draco’s voice rose again.

“After magic vanished, I couldn’t stand how weak and limited we had become. It was hard to realize that our minds and bodies are all we can rely on now. We all had to make our peace with it, I guess.” He stared into the distance. “This lake’s so big I challenged myself to swim to the other shore. I remember the first time I tried, I failed miserably, I was so mad, but I kept trying. One day, I gave all I had, and I made it, I was so proud. But from that moment on, the lake felt different. I conquered it and it lost its power."

Harry contemplated his story. It was revealing - intimate even – and he had trouble understanding what had pushed Draco to confide in him.

The momentum was broken the moment Draco turned away.

"Time to go inside,” he said coldly. “Dinner must be ready."

“I’m not hungry.”

"Come on, it's getting colder."

Draco motioned for Harry to follow him, but Harry didn’t budge.

"Glad to see you're concerned about my health," Harry snapped.

Draco didn't take the bait. He threw something in the water before walking away, his footsteps slowly fading in the distance. Harry's eyes drifted over the lake to watch the orange rose floating dolefully. In a different context, this might have been a sweet, romantic gesture, a flower Draco would have left for him. But here, now, it reminded him of a funeral - some ominous, fateful sign.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Eventually driven away by the cold, Harry returned to the property to discover a nervous Draco speaking on the phone. Harry instantly felt something was off. Draco hung up as soon as he saw Harry and threw an odd look at him. He moved towards him a little too hastily, grabbed his neck and slurred, "Hmm, I want to fuck you.”

What had gotten into him?

Draco pressed his nose on the side of his face and began to chew on his earlobe. The sensation made him weak in the knees. Damn him. Then Draco grabbed his belt and started undoing it.

“What are you doing?”

Harry glanced around him, mortified at the idea of being surprised by one of the staff. He closed his belt hastily, but Draco, undeterred, kept grabbing him.

"Come on, I know you want it."

It became oppressive, it was so unlike Draco.

“Stop it!” Harry yelled, prying his hands off. “I'm not at your disposal, so cut it out! I don't spread my legs in a snap!"

"Could have fooled me," Draco retorted nastily.

"Go fuck yourself Draco!" Harry bit out, pushing him away.

It seemed to wake Draco from his strange state. He let out a dark laugh.

“It’s this fucking place.” He smoothed his hair back frantically.

Harry backtracked towards the stairway to keep his distance. Draco couldn't stand still, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

“Where the fuck are you?” he mumbled. Then he pulled his little black notebook from his inner pocket and searched inside it nervously, wrinkling the pages. It wasn’t the first time Harry saw him consulting the precious notebook. Draco put it back inside his jacket and paced around the room, looking feverish. If Harry didn't know better, he would have thought Draco was under the influence.

He approached him cautiously. “What’s wrong, Draco?”

His fingers brushed Draco’s shaky hand. Draco looked at the tentative gesture and took his hand, distress apparent in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I…”  He shook his head, the words suspended.

The sound of a car driving up the alley interrupted them, and Draco pulled his hand away.

A moment later, Nott and Zabini crossed the threshold, loud and cheerful.

“I’m telling you, zero coordination!” Zabini laughed. Nott elbowed him jokingly.

"Where are you coming from now, huh?" Draco asked, his voice overly energetic.

Zabini’s smile wavered as he observed Draco while Nott answered, "A nice little bar. Very, very friendly."

Zabini moved to Draco and slung his arm around his shoulder.

"You should have been there, alcohol was flowing like water, loose men and women everywhere, your kind of scene.” He hooked his arm around Draco’s neck and tugged on it playfully. “Come on, what do you say we keep the party going?" We're not at the Cottage, you don't have your little wife worrying at home. Pansy won't expect you till tomorrow, right?"

Full of nervous energy, Draco leapt at the proposition.

“Good idea,” he said before turning to Harry. "Come on, let's go clubbing."

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

The club was noisy, the sound system at full blast. Impossible to talk to each other, let alone think. People were enjoying themselves, sex and recreational drugs on offer. Were it a few years before, Harry would have been tempted to slip back to his bad habits, but now, his position as an observer allowed him to keep his distance from all the excess.

From his seat, Harry watched Zabini and Nott dancing under the violent strobes of the dance floor. Behind him, Draco was working his charm on a gorgeous blonde at the bar. Whatever had troubled Draco an hour before seemed forgotten, exorcized by alcohol and the perspective of a good lay, but Harry tried to keep his head clear so no trouble would arise.

"Harry? Eh, long time no see!"

Harry whirled around, and his face crumpled instantly. Bloodshot eyes and an idiotic smile on his face, the man towered over him and took him in his arms. Harry didn't even recall his name. One of Jerry’s friends.

It was so distant now. But the man remembered him clearly, and Harry felt as if a part of him he had buried deep down inside had been unearthed and thrown in his face.

 “We missed you, you know?”

Harry avoided his stare. Perhaps the ghost from the past would go away if he pretended he was not there.

"So, mate, where have you been all this time?" 

"Here and there. You know how it's like," Harry answered vaguely, having no desire to keep the conversation going. But the man, oblivious, kept going.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I was busy too.”

Harry nervously searched for Draco. Fortunately, he was still flirting at the bar. He had at least the guarantee that he wouldn't be caught with his old acquaintance. Harry turned his head away, giving the impression he was watching the dancers aside.

"Eh, you're a little tense, man. You look like you need a little downer."

Harry turned back to him. In front of his eyes, an open palm. In it, a small pill with a black heart atop it. He had never seen this symbol before. A new drug.

He allowed himself to wonder how this one would feel. Would he feel this tremendous need to get close, to touch, everything so soft and vibrant? Or would the heat invade him first, making him feel more alive than ever? Suddenly, the chaotic atmosphere and the dancers’ energy, which he felt so far from him a minute before, became smothering. He felt the need to lose himself too.

Someone else eventually decided for him.

"Hmm nothing very appetizing tonight. You're lucky," a bored Draco moaned.

Harry took no offence, crestfallen by the situation. Draco sat beside Harry, paying no mind to the stranger before them.

The man spoke first, eager to catch his attention. "Hell of a party, yeah?"

Instead of answering, Draco looked at Harry. His smile grew wide and he raised his brows, as if saying, "That's what you chose?". His reaction defused the tension and reassured Harry. The other man might not be such a threat after all. Draco showed no interest in him and there was no reason for it to change.

Harry relaxed slightly. "You’re having fun?" he asked Draco in a light tone.

Draco shrugged and picked an olive from the cup in front of him. "You're still hiding in your corner. It's a bad habit of yours."

The man tried to join in, "The music's great, yeah?"

Another olive, then Draco asked Harry, "You want to dance?"

Jumping on the occasion, Harry nodded quickly and took his hand to lead him towards the crowd. As soon as they reached the dance floor, the man called out, "Ok, well, see you soon then, Harry. Don't wait for years this time, yeah?"

Draco stilled abruptly and Harry couldn't hide his panic, his hand trembling in Draco’s hold. Draco turned to stare at him and a Machiavellian smile crossed his face. He turned around and held his hand out to the man.

"Draco Malfoy."

The man shook his hand and gazed at him, enraptured. Winning Draco's attention was like being graced by the light after a long winter. In his state, the man didn't even think about presenting himself.

Just my luck.

At this second, the need to remember where he met the man and what he knew about him became vital. But at the rate things were going, he would find out his name too late.

"We’re always too hurried to jump on the dance floor. Let’s take the time to get acquainted properly,” Draco drawled. “After all, Harry's friends are my friends."

Draco eyed Harry with unconcealed trepidation and motioned him to sit down. The man-with-no-name followed him, but Harry stayed rooted to the spot, his body refusing to cooperate. He felt physically ill.

"Harry, you’re playing hard to get. Come here."

Draco held his hand out to him. Harry looked at it and took it reluctantly. The gesture that would be so pleasant in other circumstances appeared now like a death sentence.

Draco sat and motioned for the two men to settle on either side of him. He smiled, so self-satisfied, like a pasha on his throne. Harry sighed. It was going to be a long night. He placed himself to Draco's left, looking despondent, while the other man sat with a wide smile on his face, unconscious of the tidal wave he had provoked. Harry was sitting his hands between his knees, face screwed shut, while the other man was bouncing on the sofa.

Draco wrapped an arm around the man's shoulders. "So, you and Harry, you're old pals?"

"Yeah, yeah…" he answered, his eyes oscillating from left to right, watching the dance floor, wiggling.

Draco tapped his shoulder to keep him focused.

"So, you know how secretive Harry is, always afraid to be a bother. For one, he never mentioned you." Draco feigned surprise and made a funny face. "What's your name already?"

The 1000 points question.

Time slowed down. The moment was crucial, and no one even noticed.

"Brett, but they call me Spill."

Harry's eyes widened under the realization.

Brett Spillane. Spill.

It was bad. Very bad.

"Spill, what a nice name. So, tell me about Harry and you? How did you two meet?"

"Hum, at a private party. It was wild, yeah, we were tripping all the time back then! Harry was like our mascot," he laughed.

“Really?” Draco asked, leering at Harry. “How so?”

Not this.

Harry didn't want Draco to hear about this period of his life. From what he had gathered, he knew some of it, but the details -  it was the details that made his story so sordid.

"Harry tried every drug, every bed, always ready to party. Even after all we did, he was still our sweet boy."

It was like an out-of-body experience. Harry’s former world clashed with the scene around him, his memories blurring with the club.

The yellow elastic snapping on his arm. The flame of a lighter under a spoon. The syrupy liquid boiling. The little pain of the needle. Warmth. Ecstasy.

"He was so eager to please, you know. Jerry always said it was like he was trying to make up for something, I don’t know."

Draco stared at Harry, intrigued and playful. "And what were you trying to expiate exactly?"

Harry shook his head, petrified. Despite himself, his mind kept plunging back to the life he'd left behind.

A hand on his shoulder that pressed hard. "You’ve got a pretty mouth. Why don’t you put it to good use.”

Spill's voice came from far away. "My buddy Jerry took him under his wing, Harry was his favourite. You know he's in Liverpool now?" he added to Harry.

Harry was looking blindly at the table.

“Jerry didn’t lie, you're a great piece of arse."

"We had a good little thing going on, you know. Harry was always bringing the best clients. Like a magnet, mate. He looked so innocent, you know. Plus, I think he had a thing for the big shots. More money, you know. And Harry likes to be taken care of.” He pinched Harry’s face. “Huh?”

Harry wrenched his face away.

Shut up, shut up.

Draco turned quiet, letting the flow of words reveal Harry’s secret life.

"You remember our parties in Brixton?”

Harry tried to get out of his trance to deny everything, his eyes dulled by the physical pain he felt with the simple evocation of that period.

"Cut it out," he said weakly.

Draco had withdrawn somewhere in the conversation. His initial interest had turned into something else.

Not pity, anything but pity.

“Fuck yeah, good times. Coke and sex. It was wild."

The smell of tobacco and alcohol. "Come here, I want to test the merchandise."

Numb.

Harry got up, barely standing on his feet. He had to get out of here.

He thought he saw Draco rise behind him as he staggered to the dance floor. He bumped everybody on his way, looking for an exit.

He found a door and crashed through it with his shoulder, landing in the back alley, next to big dumpsters. His stomach turned and he threw up everything he could, the gag reflex bending him in half until he was dry heaving. A girl pressed against a wall by some guy, her clothes in disarray, moved away, throwing him a disgusted look. Harry wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and when he looked up, Crabbe was in front of him.

“Fuck, not a moment alone,” he muttered.

He crouched down against the wall, head between his knees, acrid breath in his mouth and his head ready to explode.

Calm down, breathe. It's all behind you. It's not you anymore.

“Harry, are you okay?”

Draco’s voice behind him.

Harry sighed and drew closer to himself. He wanted to disappear right then, but it seemed Draco had no intention of leaving.

“Can I do anything?” Draco asked, uncharacteristically kind.

Harry shook his head dully, eyes misting with tears. He covered his face with his hands as the silence stretched on.

“I’m cold,” he said in a small voice, looking at Draco’s shiny shoes. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at his face. He didn’t want to see what would be reflected on it, he was so ashamed.

“Here,” Draco said, removing his jacket before putting it on Harry’s shoulders.

Harry pulled the lapels tighter together to shield himself against the wind.

“Crabbe, we’re leaving. I’ll get the guys.” Draco announced.

“Wait,” Harry said, wiping his nose with his sleeve as he got up. “I’m a mess. I need to freshen up.”

“Of course.”

Draco opened the door for Harry, and they were engulfed again by the loud music. Looking at the floor, Harry pushed through the crowd, making his way to the back of the club.

When he entered the toilets, the reddish hue of the room felt like the perfect projection of his mental state. He walked to one of the sinks and washed his dirty mouth, watching the water spiral down the drain with absent eyes. The paper dispenser was empty, so he dried his hands on his jeans and slumped against the wall, eyes on the ceiling, trying to regain his senses after this clusterfuck of a night.

He felt an adventurous hand on his hip and pushed it away without looking to see who had made the pass at him. The moment one of the stalls opened, he pushed past the man waiting before him, slammed the door shut and locked it, deaf to the man’s insults.

He put the toilet seat cover down, sat on it – it looked clean enough - and rubbed hard on his face, wiping the budding tears with his hands. He stayed like this a moment, trying to calm himself despite the music’s beat reverberating through the walls. While his eyes drifted to the scribbled messages and crude drawings covering the walls, his thoughts threatened to drift to that dark place again. But he couldn’t let it get to him. Not now.

No time to dwell on what happened. He pulled the notebook from Draco’s jacket and leafed through the pages.

Notes from past meetings were written down but they made little sense. On the 24th, the name “Sammy” was double underlined. It was important.

He turned the pages to find the key date, the 30th. No horary, just a word: "Dawn".

Was it the time of the meeting? A first name? Or maybe the name of a place?

He kept flipping through the notebook but there were only names and hours without more information. Draco had made sure to be as cryptic as possible. Towards the last pages, he found a list of names written in tight lines and scribbled notes beside them. There were a couple of names he had not heard about in years, but most were foreign to him. He finally found the name he was looking for, a smile on his lips.

"Lucius, here you are," he whispered.

A bang rattled the door. “Harry, you here?”

His head snapped up.

Draco, at the worst moment.

“Yes, one minute!” Harry yelled.

He looked at the rest of the notes, fingers trembling, knowing Draco was two feet away, virtually in front of him, as he was betraying him.

In the notebook, crossed-out addresses in France, Switzerland, Germany, and next to the places, interrogations with dates, as if Draco tried to track his father down. He turned another page. The last note indicated "Glasgow?"

Quickly, he put the notebook back in the jacket’s inner pocket and flushed the toilet.

When he unlocked and opened the door, he found Draco staring down at him.

But the eyes weren’t accusatory, they were full of sympathy. That was unusual. But it came too late.

“Feeling better?”

Harry’s eyes were puffy, the answer obvious.

“Can we go now, please?” he asked, voice heavy with exhaustion.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

The drive back to the property passed in a blur, the city lights flashing up on the windows as Harry looked blindly outside.

Nott and Zabini's drunken laughter. Draco's soft voice. The white noise in his head.

Once in the house, Harry stood immobile in the living room, his thoughts muddled. He shrugged Draco’s jacket off his shoulders and handed it to him. Draco took it carelessly, focused on him.

"Harry, I’m sorry about tonight,” he said earnestly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” Harry interjected.

He looked at Draco who was waiting for a sign of forgiveness or a conversation maybe. But Harry wasn’t ready to open this can of worms again. He didn't have the strength for that. He just wanted to seek refuge in his room, fall asleep and forget it all.

“I'm tired, I'd better go to bed," he said, his voice barely registering.

Draco tried to hold him back with his eyes, but Harry walked away, leaving him alone to brood over the events of the day.

Chapter Text

It was the day after Harry’s breakdown at the club and the night had been rough. The nightmares had returned and, with them, dark memories and bad omens. He saw the corpses of his friends, those delirious nights shared with faceless bodies, the black hole, Voldemort congratulating him, “I couldn't have done better", his snake tongue wiggling in a sadistic laugh.

When he had found himself amidst the dazed families, leaving behind only ruins and desolation, it wasn’t anger or sadness that crippled him, but the incredible guilt weighing on his shoulders. He was the one who was supposed to save the Wizarding world, but instead, he had destroyed it. All of this had been his fault, one way or another. He had unleashed this chaos. Throwing himself into the nightlife had been a way to leave the past behind and forget himself. He had willingly cast himself into oblivion.

Goodbye, Harry Potter.

At first, he had embraced the debauchery and the emptiness of it all. Then, the rude awakening, and in the mirror, the ghost of his past self. The recovery had been long and difficult, and despite the passage of time, the wound had never completely closed.

That morning, Harry carefully avoided the gang, staying in bed until noon and only venturing out of his room to use the toilet. But the need for food drew him out of his self-isolation. He tiptoed through the corridor and was about to reach the stairs when a voice stopped him.

“Harry?”

He closed his eyes, silently cursing his luck.

Wait, when did he start calling me Harry again?

He feels sorry for you.

He composed himself and turned to find Draco standing nonchalantly in the common room doorway, his face inscrutable.

“We need to talk.”

Harry’s body went rigid. Had Draco seen through his deception the night before?

Finding no reason to refuse, he followed Draco reluctantly. The moment he stepped inside, his uneasiness grew tenfold. After the gloomy weather of the day before, the sun had reclaimed its rights and the bright light streaming through the large windows made the red wallpaper more vivid and oppressive. The brass candle sconces on the walls accentuated the bleakness of the decor.

“We call it the red room,” Draco explained. “We used to handle delicate business here.”

Harry spun around and looked at him, trying to disguise the fear in his eyes. He clearly didn’t do a great job at it, as Draco picked on it immediately.

“I don’t like it either, but I guess it’s fitting. No one will bother us here. Please, have a seat,” he said with a sweep of his hand.

Harry stared at the sofa, unable to move. Draco proceeded to sit quietly, gently tapping on the space beside him in invitation. Finally, Harry relented and sat on the edge of the cushion, ready to bolt. The sound of the antique longcase clock ticking in the corner made the situation even more unnerving.

“This is not an ambush, but I can’t let this go,” Draco announced firmly.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room and Harry grabbed his knees to anchor himself, dreading the conversation’s outcome.

"You think you’ve got us all fooled, but I see right through you.”

This couldn’t be happening. Harry glanced at the door, eyes fluttering, waiting for the axe to fall. Taut with adrenaline, his body was in flight mode, but Draco grabbed his arm, holding him back.

“Wait, you don’t have to be embarrassed. Not with me.”

Harry frowned, unable to make sense of his words.

“We all have baggage,” Draco continued.

Harry gaped as realisation hit him. Draco didn’t have a clue about the notebook. 

“We were on the verge of adulthood when our lives were turned upside down, and we had to grow up faster than most, in worse circumstances than most. We’re bound to be a little damaged.”

Harry lifted a hand to his temple, troubled by the turn of the conversation.

“Harry, you were trying to find your way in this rotten world, like all of us. And if you found solace in – "

“Let me stop you there, Draco,” Harry interjected. "You don’t know me. Don't presume that you do because of the ravings of a shit-faced bloke I knew years ago."

Draco looked contrite. “I’m only trying to help.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Harry chuckled darkly. “Thanks.”

Draco seemed thrown by his hostility. Harry didn’t mean to be rude, but all the reminiscing put him on edge. It was not a topic he wanted to address, least of all with Draco.

There was a shift in Draco’s demeanour, as if he was trying to navigate the minefield that the conversation had turned into. When he spoke again, it was as if the conversation had been reset.

“About last night, I shouldn't have been so insistent with your friend.”

Harry recoiled. “He’s not my friend.”

Draco shook his head. “Of course not. I–What I meant to say was that…” He sighed and weighed his words. “What I did was inconsiderate. I don’t know what I was trying to accomplish with all my questions. But I assure you it was not my intention to humiliate you.”

Remorse was etched on his face, and the genuine apology moved Harry. He tried to readjust his attitude in turn.

“I know, Draco, I’m not blaming you,” he said quietly. “My past is what it is. I can't make it go away, as much as I want to.”

“You did what you needed to survive, just like I did.”

Then, Draco rested his hand on Harry’s, soft and warm, a gesture that showed nothing but empathy. Harry’s defenses crumbled. He felt the sudden eagerness to confide in Draco, to make him understand.

“I feel so lost. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I was meant to be the Saviour, but who did I save? No one. I fought for nothing.”

“You defeated the Dark Lord, Harry! We’d be facing a much ghastlier fate if that monster were still alive.”

“Maybe. But we’d still be us.”

Draco shook his head vehemently. “You’re wrong. I’d be nothing but a miserable sod bowing down to that reptile man. And you’d be dead. How is that better?”

Harry lowered his eyes, and his silence prompted Draco to add, “What happened isn’t your fault.”

The simple statement couldn’t quench the burning guilt consuming Harry, but it felt good to hear it.

“All I’ve ever wanted was to belong,” he said timidly. “I want to be happy like everyone else,” he shrugged. “But it feels like every time I come close to it, it’s stolen from me.”

Draco tightened his hold on Harry’s hand. “I know the feeling.”

Their eyes connected and Harry felt seen. Truly seen. He scooted closer and interlocked his fingers with Draco’s, his throat tightening with emotion.

“Then please don’t judge me based on what you heard last night.”

"I don’t,” Draco reassured him with a soft smile.

Abashed, Harry smiled back at him and bowed his head. "Good," he said with a nod, falsely resolute.

Bodies fully facing each other, they played with their entwined fingers, simply enjoying the moment

“We’re not so different, you and I,” Draco mused. “My past haunts me too, and it has made me suspicious of everyone. It impaired my judgement and you paid the price for it. But I was wrong about you. I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner anymore, I want things to change between us.”

“Really?” Harry asked mischievously. “How so?”

Draco tilted his head, his eyes sparkling. “What do you have in mind?”

It was the perfect opportunity.

“What do you say we go out? I mean without the gang.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Draco asked, mock-horrified.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Harry half-laughed. “I know you’re not the type. But we could go out with Pansy. Just the three of us.”

“That could be arranged. My schedule is packed, but I’ve been planning to take Pansy to a restaurant next week, if you care to join us.”

“I’d be delighted.”

As they sat side by side, their knees brushing, a pleasant silence fell on the room, disturbed only by the ticking of the clock. They couldn’t take their eyes off each other, matching grins on their faces. Harry looked down at Draco’s lips, tempted to lean in, but he knew it would be unwise. Green eyes drifted back to grey ones. They had followed the movement, Draco’s smile widening, knowing.

The clock’s chime broke the enchantment. 

Draco’s eyes drifted away, a small shake of the head revealing his amusement.

“Well, it was lovely and I’m sorry to leave, but pressing matters need my attention.”

Draco rose, and when his hand left Harry’s, he felt its absence acutely, like it had always belonged there.

“Of course,” Harry teased. “Plans to make, important business to attend to.”

“Right,” Draco snorted derisively. “But it’s safe to say it won’t be half as interesting as you.”

Harry’s eyebrows lifted with surprise. Their eyes met once again and they stared until Draco tore his gaze away.

“By the way," he added, beginning to walk away. "We’ll return to the Cottage tomorrow morning.”

When he opened the door, he paused, hand on the handle, and turned to Harry.

“We shouldn’t let the past dictate our future,” he declared with a pointed look.

And then Draco was gone.

The saying was cliché, Harry knew it, but it struck him regardless. He wanted to be hopeful, but the past paved his path. It always had.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

May 24, 2004

Stefano’s was half-empty when they arrived, the colourful decor reminiscent of the fifties. On his way inside, a little kiosk across the road had caught Harry's attention. All he needed now was a way to get there unnoticed so he could transmit his report to McCarthy. But, with Pansy and Draco at his side, this might prove to be a difficult task.

The restaurant’s owner, Gino, a little bald man with a moustache, greeted them warmly. The man was overly deferential to Draco, treating him like a guest of honour.

Italian standards played in the background as they were guided to a round table in the corner, far from prying eyes. Draco ordered promptly, and before they knew it, the table was full of small plates with tasty dishes they could pick from. Pansy was already diving into the calamari when a man clad in a tan leather jacket approached their table.

“Hey Draco, long time no see!” he greeted with a thick American accent.

Draco put his glass of Chianti down and looked at him under his lashes with irritation.

“What are you doing here? You’re two hours early.”

The man shrugged, hands in his pockets.

“I’m busy, man. I have three more appointments this afternoon, and I’m hungry,” he said, plucking a grissini breadstick from the wicker basket on the table and taking a bite. “I figured you wouldn’t mind bumping me up, since I’m basically doing you a favour. I’m sure your friends don’t mind.”

“I don’t think–“

“Thanks, you’re a pal,” the man interrupted, pulling up a chair.

Draco sighed but took it in stride. He asked the waiter for another plate and continued eating.

“Don’t be fooled by your Highness over here,” the American said good-humouredly. “He loves me.”

He slapped Draco hard on the shoulder.

“Your manners are charming as always,” Draco sneered.

Though irritated, Draco was obviously fond of the man. Entertained by the interaction, Pansy and Harry exchanged amused looks.

“Won’t you introduce me to this lovely girl?” the American asked.

“I’m Pansy,” she said coyly.

He grasped her fingers and kissed the back of her hand.

“Don’t believe a thing Draco says about me. I’m a gentleman. By day at least.” He winked.

Pansy giggled, hiding her smile behind her hand.

“I’m Sammy, an old friend of Draco’s.”

The name jumped at Harry. It was the name double-underlined on Draco’s notebook.

Sammy outstretched his hand to him.

“Harry,” he said, shaking it slowly.

The whole affair quite unsettled Harry. It was clear Sammy had joined them on business, yet there they sat, casually, Pansy carrying most of the conversation with her questions, Sammy humoring her, eating and talking in equal measure. At most, he told Draco about mutual contacts who had moved or settled down. Nothing of note, but it painted a long-standing business relationship, a lucrative and trusting one.

Sammy was a bit of a scrapper, energetic and crafty. Draco and he seemed comfortable with each other, unaffected like old mates rekindling their friendship, although their meeting was anything but anecdotal.

On the table lay half-emptied dessert plates, two cups of tea, a hot chocolate and a coffee. Sammy had finished recounting his dreadful trip to Bruges when he put his cup down and leaned back on his chair, his eyes turning serious.

“Real talk now. What did you need that I had to cancel two prospects to come here?”

Draco eyed Harry and Pansy warily, and it didn’t escape Sammy’s attention.

“We’re between friends here, right?” he asked.

Draco nodded. “Yes, we are.”

The mark of trust comforted Harry, who listened intently.

Draco pushed his plate away to put his joined hands on the table.

"I think it's the perfect time of year to do a clear-out at Ellis’. The radical way. And soon."

This was nothing like Harry had expected. Draco wanted to whack Ellis?

The corner of Sammy’s mouth lifted in surprise. "You weren’t joking when you said it’d be something big! But it won’t be cheap. I’ll need more men and supplies than the usual gig. And if you want to do it quickly, the price will rise."

Draco smiled at him, probably used to his ways.

"Are you haggling? With me?"

"Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do. I like you, but I'm no dope. You're not talking about a petty theft or something. On this one, there's going to be considerable risks. But you know me, I never say no to a dare."

Draco’s eyes were twinkling, his posture relaxed. Harry couldn't stop noticing the way Draco's face came to life when he was in his element. A natural leader.

But it was a crazy idea.

"Ok, you name the price. You can pick whoever you want. Trustworthy men, of course. I tell you what I have in mind, you tell me what you need."

While Harry watched the two men talking, Pansy played with her dessert, not sparing one look at them. She knew when to make herself scarce.

Harry, by contrast, decided to put in his two pennies. “If you want to double-cross Ellis, you're crazier than I thought! You think you're invincible now?"

Draco looked at Harry as though he had crossed some imaginary boundaries.

"Harry..." he warned.

But Harry kept arguing, crossing and uncrossing his arms.

"There must be rules, no? You can't suddenly decide to eliminate a big-time dealer, a man who I’m sure has a tight security team and contacts in every corner, and all that–”

"Harry…" Second warning.

“–on a whim. There will be reprisals! You're heading straight for a massacre!"

"Harry, shut up!" Draco exploded, slapping his hands flat on the table.

The table vibrated and with it the plates and cups.

Sammy looked entertained and intrigued by the uncharacteristic outburst, his eyes darting from Draco to Harry, while Pansy looked panic-stricken, twisting the tablecloth with her hands.

Harry reclined on his seat with a defiant stare. It was the perfect opportunity. "Ok, if that's how you want to do this," he snapped.

Then he took the plunge. His chair scraped on the floor as he pushed it back, storming off as if in a trance, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He heard Draco call him as he walked through the door.

As soon as he was out, Harry tried to conceal his face and turned sharply to his left to evade Goyle, who was waiting patiently inside the car. Once out of sight, he rushed to the kiosk, heart pounding, forcing himself not to run. He couldn't draw attention to himself.

When he finally reached the kiosk, the tourists crowded the turning racks filled with postcards, key rings and other souvenirs. Grabbing the first newspaper he saw and one of the Union Jack pens, he scribbled quickly on the margin and tore it off. Then, he dropped the pen next to the discarded newspaper and tried to clear a path, head turning toward the restaurant every five seconds, terrified of being caught before delivering his message.

How much time had passed? How much time exactly?

He had the impression that minutes were flying by. Frantic, he unceremoniously pushed a lady who was blocking the way. Unfortunately, when he reached the counter, he saw nothing but stickers and sweets. There was no money box and no one in the little cabin.

“Hello?!” he called out loudly. “Hello, anyone!?”

No answer.

“Damn it!”

Everything was ganging up on him. Fear wrapped around him like a cold blanket.

He contemplated leaving the note inside the booth, but what if it got lost? He couldn’t dump his precious information like that. He squeezed the piece of paper in the palm of his hand.

Just as he was about to lose hope, a head popped up from under the cabin. A gruff man muttered something like "Bloody tourists… " and in his hand was the providential steel box Harry was looking for. Harry found his breath again and dived for it, inserting the crumpled paper in the little slot with a pound for the paper he had damaged. He didn't even have time to make eye contact with the man. The moment the note was inside, Harry tore himself away from the kiosk, escaping the group around him. Then, a hand came down on his shoulder, pulling him into the middle of the sidewalk.

All colour drained from Harry's face.

"What the fuck are you playing at?" Draco asked, face closed off.

Had he seen him?

Harry had no time to entertain any doubts, he had to allay suspicion. So he improvised.

“Did you expect me to wait for you in the car like a good dog?"

Draco grabbed his arm in anger but kept his voice steady.

"You had no right to talk to me like you did. Especially in front of Sammy. I thought you'd be mature enough to know your place."

"What about Pansy? I thought you wanted to protect her from this!"

"She knows it’s business, nothing more. Now you just put these ideas of… of danger and slaughter in her head!"

"Let's be honest, Draco, Pansy's not stupid and she’s not nearly as naïve as you think. She sees right through your ‘deals’. Might as well play it straight."

"It's not up to you to decide."

Draco tightened his hold on his arm. Harry winced and wrenched himself out.

"But I’m not deciding anything, you made that clear!”

Draco held his hands out.

“Ok, Harry, calm down.” He sighed and looked away. “Go back to the car and we’ll join you in a minute.”

The pacifying order only heightened Harry’s anger.

“I’m not yours to command!” he lashed out. “And stop giving me the runaround! I'm not a prisoner, isn't that what you said? So just leave me alone!"

Draco blinked at him, calm and composed. Harry’s outrage had nothing to bounce up against and it deflated instantly. He had only meant to cover his escape, but his emotions had blindsided him. Draco had a way of making him fly off the handle.

"I don’t want us to fight,“ Draco said.

Harry huffed and averted his eyes, watching passers-by skirting around them. He ran a hand through his hair and looked up at his tormentor with jaded eyes. Draco seemed to read him.

“Come here," he whispered.

Harry wasn’t keen on obeying yet another order, but the way Draco looked at him was persuasion enough, and he stepped closer. Draco cupped his cheek with his hand, thumb tracing the smooth cheekbone. Harry shivered, forgetting how to act.

They didn’t feel the need to talk. It was all in their eyes. In those precious moments of harmony between Draco and him, their link was almost tangible, and Harry felt like leaving everything behind and just huddling up to Draco, hidden from the outside world.

Draco brushed dark locks off his face and kissed him without warning. Tender but firm, the perfect combination. It made Harry tremble and before he knew it, Draco’s hands left his skin to open his jacket and wrap it around him, holding him tight. Draco let out a contented sigh as he turned his head to deepen the kiss, his nose grazing Harry’s cheek.

Tightly entwined, the two were lost in their embrace when giggles and snatches of foreign voices reached their ears, too close to ignore. It was enough to pierce their fragile bubble. Harry’s eyes darted sideways to find they had an audience – the same group of tourists that had invaded the kiosk was now looking at them with little discretion. Harry hid his face on Draco’s shoulder with a chuckle, feeling it shake against him as Draco laughed in turn. A car honked repeatedly in the distance. For a moment, Harry had forgotten when and why they were there. He breathed in and looked up.

“Are you trying to kiss your way out of this?” he quipped.

Draco’s eyes were soft on him. “Why, is it working?”

Harry bit his lip coyly. The man could play him like a fiddle. But he couldn’t let the matter slip by as if nothing had happened. It was too important.

"Please, don't try to control me."

"I’m not," Draco reassured him. But it was a lie and Harry wasn’t ready to cave in.

He disentangled himself from Draco. "If you think I'm going to forget you're about to throw everyone's lives in danger–"

I know what I'm doing,” Draco cut him off, his exasperation rekindled. ”I don't need you to tell me how to handle my team. They’re safe with me."

"You want to move things up, fine, but you can't rush into danger like that just because you’re trying to prove yourself!"

A smile ghosted across Draco’s lips then. "Funny, it reminds me of a boy I used to know."

A veil passed in front of Harry's eyes, and for a second, he couldn't find his voice.

"Yeah, well look what good it did me," he whispered.

"Harry,” he sighed. "You know that despite everything that happened between us, I care about you… in my own way."

Draco brushed the back of his hand against Harry’s cheek and looked away, putting his mask up.

"But stop interfering with my business. I have come to include you in my world, don't abuse my generosity." A pause as he closed his jacket. "Now go back to the car.” Seeing the murderous look Harry must have given him, he added a small "please."

The conversation was over, so Harry swallowed back his words. Draco was too stubborn to see reason and he wouldn’t tear down his walls today. Harry needed to consult Flint, maybe he could help change Draco’s mind. Flint had been sent to the property to supervise the last changes to the security system, so it would have to wait a couple of days.

Frustrated, Harry headed to the Chevrolet and opened the rear door. Goyle turned his head at the intrusion and Harry threw him an irate look, slamming the door shut once seated. In the wing mirror, he could see Draco on the sidewalk where he had left him. Draco was looking at the car. A moment later, he turned around and walked back to Stefano’s.

Harry sighed. At least, he had done his part. The message had been delivered. He only hoped McCarthy would answer him soon. He remembered the exact words he had written in his note.

Pick-up set for the 30^th. The word “Dawn” is linked to it.

Draco’s tracking down his father. The last date was last month: "Lucius. Glasgow?"  What’s his role in this? Why didn’t you mention him?

Draco’s planning to attack Ellis Jester soon.

I want news about Remus. How’s the transfer going?

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

May 27, 2004

Two days had passed since their argument. Having trouble reconciling the image of the man he desired and the criminal he was conspiring against, Harry had pushed Draco away at every turn, and now, Draco couldn't take his eyes away from him, overtly longing. Of course, Harry knew he would give in eventually, but on his own terms.

That Thursday, the weather was unusually clement in London and its suburbs. Draco had taken the opportunity to organize a pool party in the evening. This was a rare occurrence, since Draco had been adamant about the Cottage being a place of business and “not some frat house." Harry saw in this sudden change the need for Draco to start afresh.

The house, which had been run like a jail since Harry’s arrival, was full of chatter and music as guests swarmed to the living room and the courtyard. Nott and Zabini had fun jumping in the pool to splash the ones who had yet to put on their swimsuits. Pansy had appropriated two deck chairs, one for her and one for her snacks and pool bag. She liked to have her space but she clearly also enjoyed bothering the guests.

The party was well underway when Harry entered the courtyard in a white T-shirt and blue swim trunks. He felt a tad melancholic, surrounded by all the noise and laughter. Around him, people were playing, throwing beach balls at each other, and bombing in the pool.

He felt like a stranger in this crowd, and Ron and his family’s image sprang to mind, leaving a pang in his heart. He wanted to see them. To hug them. Had they found Hermione? Ron used to say that if the worst had happened, he would have felt it. As long as there was hope, he would look for her. That was true love, right?

Harry couldn’t say he had been very present in their lives. He felt like he had been on the run since his arrival in London. He’d holed up for three long years, lost in an artificial fog, and when his friends had finally found him, he'd had to run away with Remus and leave them again. And now here he was, back at the start with new shackles on his feet. Would he ever be free?

Harry loomed over the vibrant blue water, looking at the distorted tiles under its undulations, and jumped in. The voices and noise muted as he touched the bottom of the pool. He stayed there, watching the ballet of legs dancing around him. Little bubbles escaped his mouth as he let himself drift in the murmur of the water and the faint sounds above. His thoughts quieted. It was bliss.

But soon enough, the need to breathe became imperative and he swam up with a push of his legs. The music’s decibels and the hubbub rushed back to his head. He turned around and ran his hands down his face to take the water out of his eyes. Like a vision, a silhouette stood still on the deck at the other end of the pool.

Draco, his body toned in black fitted swim trunks.

At the sight of him, Harry ached to reach out and embrace him. The need was not only physical, but emotional. And that was the crux of the problem – Draco was the only one he felt close to, the only one who understood him. Why was everything so complicated?

Draco turned his face towards him, and Harry felt pinned by his stare as he stood in the water, dripping wet, his T-shirt sticking to his skin. He didn't trust himself not to do something stupid at that moment.

Draco had fewer reservations. He stepped forward, crouched down, his hand on the wooden floor, and graciously let himself fall into the water. He smoothed his hair down, wetting it on the way, a few strands falling over his eyes.

His face was like marble as his eyes swept over Harry. A beautiful grey stare.

The shouting and laughter faded to no more than murmurs, the sound of the water clapping around them hypnotic. As they looked at each other from both ends of the pool, a deep connection was blossoming. They knew something important was happening.

Draco moved slowly towards Harry, the water rippling softly around his body, his eyes boring into Harry’s. The guests blended in with the background as if they were nothing more than décor. Harry and Draco were alone in the world.

Harry stood motionless, cocooned by the water, his heart galloping wildly with anticipation. He felt the temperature rise steadily as Draco approached, droplets of water shining on his skin. Another heartbeat, and Draco's breath was on his face. Harry was cornered and something within him came apart. It wasn't just lust, it was something else. 

Harry was so confused he panicked and recoiled, the water lapping around them at the sudden movement. He was the one who had to set the tempo, but here, he wasn't in control anymore. Draco grabbed him by the waist, pressing Harry’s back against the pool’s edge. No escape now.

Time stopped.

Harry shuddered, both expecting and dreading the next step. Draco’s face slowly bent down as though he were trying to tame Harry, leaving him time to retreat. Then his face closed the distance, and his lips landed softly on Harry's. The kiss was tentative as Harry's face timidly lowered, his body perfectly still. Their mouths unlocked, their cheeks delicately brushing against each other. Draco's lips caught Harry's once more and pulled away only to come again as delicately. The flavour of first kisses, tender and cautious. 

Harry closed his eyes, his mouth half-opened. Draco took advantage of it to sneak his tongue inside and suck Harry's. He took his time, and Harry tilted his head, entwining their tongues, inviting Draco closer. Grabbing the hem of Harry’s T-shirt, Draco broke the kiss to swiftly pull it off and throw it on the deck floor. Draco pressed their chests together, wet skin gliding against wet skin, and slotted his legs between Harry’s, making him moan at the contact. Their bodies seemed to merge into one another, no more space between them.

Their embrace became more intimate as guests sent malicious or lusty looks in their direction. Slaves to their mounting desire, Harry and Draco were too overwhelmed to pay attention, their bodies driven by need. The kiss turned passionate as Draco grabbed the side of Harry’s neck, and Harry couldn't help but harden at the possessive gesture. They seemed attuned to each other’s reactions, their bodies responding to each other’s every move. They only interrupted their kiss to take their breaths, unable to end their caresses.

Suddenly, Draco’s hands were under Harry's arse, impatient, desperate, lifting him so Harry could wrap his legs around his waist. Their lips separated, Harry gazing at Draco with lust-filled eyes, his lips quivering. Draco nipped at them before lowering Harry's trunks down, sliding them just beneath his arse. Harry was shaking, whereas Draco's gestures were confident and without hesitation. When he closed his eyes, he felt fingers sliding between his cheeks, then entering him carefully. Draco pushed him further against the pool's edge to get a good grip before pulling his trunks down one-handed. After their quick exploration, his fingers retreated.

Any moment now.

Harry tucked his face into Draco’s neck, his breath quickening against the wet skin, then Draco breached him slowly. Harry gasped with pain and let out a small, high-pitched cry. He gripped Draco's neck with all his might as he penetrated him deeper still. After a tortuous moment, Draco stopped moving, letting Harry accommodate his size, looking overwhelmed himself. They stayed motionless for a moment, Draco panting with restraint, rubbing his lover’s hips soothingly and Harry trying his best to relax. When the pain ebbed, Harry’s hands glided down Draco’s lower back and pressed to signal he was ready. There was a breath full of relief and want, and Draco’s hips rocked back and forth. It was gentle at first, but then Harry whimpered as discomfort was replaced by pleasure and the rhythm became more intense.

Harry’s legs covered Draco, but their behaviour left no doubt about what was happening and several people climbed out of the pool. Alerted by the sounds of the water and the hushed voices and giggles, Harry looked out of the corner of his eyes.

“Draco,” he whispered as a warning, out of breath.

Now very much aware of their public display, he muffled his cries, burying his mouth against Draco's neck and pressing closer. Draco caught on and tried to keep his movements discreet, his thrusts more controlled, the penetration deep and slow. It made the moment even more intimate, their bodies full of self-restraint, light and languorous under the water.

Harry hung on to Draco as if he were his lifeboat, legs locked around him. He felt so safe there, no harm could touch him in those arms. He tightened his hold, feeling him everywhere, inside and out.

The torturous rhythm made Harry light-headed. He kept moaning and panting low while Draco's breathing got heavier. Suddenly, Draco’s hands gripped Harry’s waist tightly as he started accelerating the rhythm, uncaring of their audience now that release was close. His hips jerked harder and deeper, water sloshing with each move. Harry clung desperately to him and mewled, his face feverish, his body wrecked with the power of his thrusts. He glanced up to watch Draco unravel: blond brows furrowed, lips wide open, the sight was breathtaking. A sharp thrust, a moan. A sharp thrust, a groan. A sharp thrust, hips held flush against Harry, a breath held, and Draco shot inside him, Harry following him in a silent scream.

It had never been this powerful.

The soaring pleasure made way to gentle satisfaction as they stayed entwined, little shivers running down their bodies. The air cooled down against Harry's damp back, but Draco’s breath caressing his shoulder warmed him up. It felt peaceful and quiet. Something Harry wasn’t used to. It was only when someone whistled and another applauded that reality crashed in.

Embarrassment. Confusion. Doubt. And another feeling Harry didn’t want to name.

He looked around, a small group of guests still standing in the water at the other end of the pool, their voices returning gradually. His eyes couldn't settle anywhere, he was so mortified by what he had just done.

He quickly pulled up his trunks, wincing at the soreness, and hoisted himself up the edge, the water dripping from his body. Eyes on the floor, he pushed through the curious guests with short, awkward strides, leaving wet footprints with each step. Without a glance behind, he grabbed a towel from one of the deckchairs and dried himself quickly before leaving the courtyard.

Harry didn't see Draco's despondent look follow him until he disappeared inside, nor his hand, suspended in the void Harry left.

Chapter Text

May 28, 2024

Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror with a dull expression. The pillow mark on his left cheek and his puffy green eyes betrayed a restless sleep. His overactive mind had kept him awake a good part of the night, the latest developments replaying in his head like a film stuck in a loop. His attempts to chase away the memories of his romp with Draco had been in vain.

His mission was slipping out of control.

When McCarthy had first revealed his plan to him, Harry had found it preposterous, but down the line, the idea that he could take down his former nemesis and save Remus in the process had seemed like poetic justice to him. But the tables had turned and Harry didn’t feel as indifferent about Draco’s fate as he had once been. Quite the opposite in fact. Because, try as he might, he couldn’t get Draco out of his head.

His troubled face faded away as a brief fantasy crossed his mind: Draco and him getting rid of the bad guys and riding on a horse towards the sunset.

Record scratch.

No happy ending in sight for them. Another image replaced the previous one: Draco in handcuffs, betrayal in his eyes.

Harry opened the faucet to wash his hands and covered his eyes with his forearm, the water still running as he tried to get his thoughts in order. When he looked at his reflection again, Draco's face appeared behind it as if Harry was facing the Mirror of Erised itself. Harry frowned and ran his hand over the glass, tracing the noble face’s contours, when a chuckle echoed in the room. He turned around to come face to face with Draco. A blush spread on his cheeks as he turned the faucet off and dried his hands hurriedly, embarrassed by the sappy gesture Draco had witnessed.

"I knocked, but you didn't answer."

Harry let out an awkward laugh. "I was lost in thought."

Draco grinned. "Yeah, I saw that."

Harry put his hands on the washbasin's edges behind him with lowered eyes. Looking at his washed-out T-shirt and boxer shorts, he realized he hardly looked his best, while Draco was handsome as ever in his long-sleeved fitted shirt and dark blue jeans. Even in such a casual outfit, he lost none of his elegance. Did he wake up looking like this? In comparison, Harry felt like a ruffian. Draco didn’t seem put off, though, if the way his eyes lingered on Harry’s slender form was anything to go by.

"I wanted to talk about yesterday. Things certainly took… an unexpected turn.”

Draco stared at Harry but his only reaction was a timid “Yeah”.

“I didn't plan for any of this to happen."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. It was a discussion he would have gladly avoided, especially right out of bed. In a matter of weeks, his relationship with Draco had been a rollercoaster of emotions. He didn't know what to make of the night before. If he had caught feelings, he had to smother them, and quickly. He couldn't get involved with Draco. Not really.

Draco narrowed his eyes as he scrutinised Harry. "I don't know what's going on in your head.” He exhaled loudly. “You're always so slippery and temperamental. And stubborn–"

The portrait wasn't flattering, and Harry opened his mouth to defend himself.

"–and I’ve probably lost my mind, but I want to give it a shot."

Harry’s eyes widened.

"What?"

"Last night, it wasn't just a casual fuck, you know it as well as I do. That's why you fled."

Harry shook his head agitatedly. "I don't know."

Draco moved closer to him and Harry automatically let go of the washbasin, not knowing where to put his hands or fix his eyes.

“Will you stop running away from me?” Draco asked as he took another step forward, his face filling Harry’s entire field of vision. "Listen, when you showed up, I tried to keep my distance. I thought you'd come to bring me down, true to the Boy Scout you used to be. But we’re not kids anymore.” His eyes trailed over Harry’s features with tenderness. “And we’re both trying to rebuild ourselves."

For once, Draco was surrendering, opening up, so when his hand lifted Harry's chin, Harry surrendered too. Wrapping his arms firmly around Draco's waist, he closed the distance.

Draco lowered his head to peer at Harry. "Perhaps we could take this journey together.”

The proposition was appealing, and in other circumstances, they could have had something real. As it were, Harry could only pretend it was.

"I’ve never…” he started, then silence followed.

“You’ve never?” Draco asked, eyes riveted on Harry, trying to coax the words out of him.

Harry exhaled nervously. “I’ve never been in a relationship. I mean, apart from Ginny.”

Draco snorted at the name. “Ah yes, the Weasley brat.”

His jibe earned him a tap on his side. Draco chuckled before wetting his lips, staring earnestly at Harry.

“So? I’ll be your first man. I’m up for the challenge.”

“Doesn't it scare you?" Harry asked with disarming sincerity.

Draco threaded his fingers through Harry’s wild hair. “We'll take it day by day,” he said without breaking eye contact. "No demands, just good times and crazy sex, hm?"

He wiggled his brows suggestively and Harry burst into laughter, surprised by his playful attitude.

Draco smiled. "You and me, it's both the most improbable and the most natural of things, isn’t it?"

He moved his face closer to Harry’s and captured his upper lip, sucking it before letting it go. He chased it again, then unhurriedly slipped his tongue inside the offered mouth. Harry moaned and the sound must have triggered something inside Draco, because the next moment, he grabbed Harry’s arse and pulled him flush against him. Harry’s arms wrapped around his neck to kiss him deeper.

“Do you know how addictive you are?” Draco whispered against his mouth.

Then Draco lifted him up over the washbasin’s edge, hungry lips landing on Harry’s jaw. There was a throaty sound and Harry couldn’t tell if it came from him or not as he leaned his head back to bare his throat. Slow, sensual licks trailed down his neck. He wrapped his legs around Draco and closed his eyes as soft hands explored his lower back beneath his shirt. The caress made his skin prickle and his body alight. He pulled Draco closer with his calves and started unbuttoning the pressed shirt when someone knocked on the door.

An annoyed huff. Draco’s hands stilled.

"Yes?!" he yelled, turning his face towards the door.

"Sir, your appointment has arrived."

Draco sighed, his head hanging low. Then loudly, “I’ll be down in five minutes!”

“Very well,” the voice said before disappearing.

Draco turned back to Harry. "Sammy, always early…"

But Harry pretended he didn’t hear and slid his fingers inside Draco’s shirt to stroke his belly.

“No no no,” Draco protested gently while pulling away. “I don’t want Sammy to get the wrong idea if this," he adjusted his crotch uncomfortably, "doesn’t go down before I meet him.”

He kissed Harry one last time, a brief wet kiss. "Stay here, alright."

When he moved to the door, Harry stopped him. "Wait, I want to go with you."

“You’re already too involved as it is. I'd rather you stay out of this,” Draco retorted, authoritative. “Crabbe will come fetch you when the way's cleared, alright?"

Harry simply stared at him and his silence seemed to satisfy Draco as he took his leave. But the restraining order was infuriating, and Harry slammed the door shortly after his departure.

When would Draco finally let him in?

Harry removed his clothes with more force than necessary and entered the shower. His head under the water jet, he let his anger fade and started soaping himself, running his hand on his chest and arms. Then he cut his movements short.

Draco and he were official now. So what now? Did the same rules apply? Would he sleep in Draco's bedroom?

His excitement was childish and he tempered it. He knew better.

First and foremost, it's your passport for new information about the gang and their plans.

Because Draco would start to confide in him. It was the reason he was here after all.

The thought left a bad taste in his mouth as he rubbed his skin harder, letting the water wash it all away.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Flint finally returned to the Cottage in the evening. The gang was reunited and a visit to the pub was in order.

The place was packed and noisy but homely. The five of them were propped up on wooden highchairs at the end of the bar, voices louder, laughter easier and tongues looser after their fourth round of pints.

His drink yet untouched, Harry was all smiles as Draco played footsie with him, a lascivious grin on his pointy face. The usually dapper man looked drunk, slumped on his seat, his collar undone.

Nott and Zabini were debating animatedly next to them.

“What about that one?”

“She’s alright, I guess. The one with the pixie cut is hotter.”

“Nah, she’s average at best,” Nott grumbled as he looked at a group of excited girls sitting at a booth across the room.

Zabini threw him an incredulous look. “You’re telling me that if this girl came up to you and told you, ‘I want you right now', you’d throw her to the curb.”

“Hey, who said anything about sex, we’re talking about aesthetic appreciation!” Nott protested. “Sex is a very, very different beast.”

A cigarette hanging from his mouth, Flint looked at them dispassionately as they kept bantering.

“Oh yeah? How?”

“The ugliest ones are freaks in bed, mate. They have to compensate, and who needs to see a face in the dark anyway, you’re feeling me?”

Harry shaded his face with his hand. Nott could be so disgusting sometimes.

“I’m feeling sorry for you is what I’m feeling,” Zabini answered. “You’re vile.”

“Stop pretending you’re any different, Blaise.”

“I beg to differ, I have standards–” Zabini interrupted himself as a muscular man in a tank top walked by him. “My goodness, look at his biceps!”

“You were saying?” Nott snorted.

Zabini took a mouthful of beer and licked at the excess. “The man’s magnificent. I’m tempted to make a move.”

“I don’t think he bats for your team, mate.”

“I shall let you know that I converted more than one self-proclaimed hetero.”

Flint’s tired voice interrupted their exchange. “Lads, can we talk about something else for a change?”

“Don’t be a killjoy, Marcus!” Nott grumbled. “We’re here to unwind, so loosen up a little.”

Unfazed, Flint took another drag of his cigarette. “I’m good,” he said, his voice breathless as he held the smoke inside. He lifted his chin to blow the smoke upwards. “I don’t feel the need to objectify the fine gents here, that’s all. We call that respect, ever heard of the word?”

“Marcus has a point,” Draco chimed in, his words slightly slurred.

“Please, Loverboy.” Zabini lowered his eyes to Draco and Harry’s intertwined legs pointedly. “Like you don’t objectify Harry yourself.”

The unexpected remark made Harry swallow his beer down the wrong pipe and cough in shock while Draco turned unsteadily on his seat to face Zabini. 

“I do not!” he objected.

“Come on,” Nott scoffed. “You kept bragging about what a great fuck he is –” 

“Now wait!” Draco stuttered, wagging his finger at him.

 “– and how tight his –”  

“Shut it this instant!” Draco shouted, his face reddening.

A second later, he tried to get up from his chair and almost lost his balance. Fortunately, Flint caught him by the shoulder and helped him sit straight.

“It’s alright, you should be proud,” Zabini teased, eying a very flustered Harry.

Nott burst out laughing as Harry stared at Draco with disbelief. There was an awkward moment when Draco’s face morphed, trying to settle on an expression, then he turned to Harry with an apologetic air. 

“That was before, we weren’t… A–And it was told in confidence, or so I thought…  and it was pure appreciation, I swear!”

“I’m sure,” Harry muttered.

Draco narrowed his eyes at his two merry friends mocking him. “You tossers.”

The laughter kept coming in waves, helped by the alcohol and Draco’s inability to look threatening in his state.

“Boys, play nice,” Flint warned. “Our fierce leader can’t stand his alcohol.”

“You’re all awfully disrespectful tonight!” Draco frowned.

Flint looked at the pool table that had just been vacated and jutted his chin at Harry.

“Come on Harry, let’s get away from these pervs.” He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “A game, one-on-one, what do you say?”

Harry glanced at Draco who was half-laying on the counter, and nodded readily. 

“No more drinks for him,” he warned Zabini, before hopping off his seat. 

“See what you did, you scared him off!” Draco whined behind him.

The silly reproach made Harry smile as he followed Flint to the pool table, but when he turned and saw Flint’s haunted eyes, he sobered up. Was he bringing bad news?

Flint grabbed his cue and removed the triangle on the green felt. Then he leaned over, eyes scanning the table, and broke the rack, the multicoloured balls scattering in all directions, a couple sinking into the pockets.

"You sure you saw Lucius' name?" he asked quietly, bent over the table.

"Yes, I'm sure," Harry answered, surprised to be questioned.

"Did you look carefully at the date?"

Harry grabbed a cue and reiterated a firm “yes” to quell his doubts.

But Flint didn't relent. "It could be an old meeting place."

"I'm telling you I'm sure about the date! What's going on?"

Flint scratched his neck, eyes lost in emptiness. It was the first time Harry had seen him this troubled.

"It's nothing," Flint answered dismissively.

He moved around the table, observing the disposition of the balls on the baize.

“I can see something's wrong, tell me,” Harry insisted. “Lucius isn't supposed to roam free, is he?"

Flint scoffed. "He isn't supposed to roam full stop."

Harry’s confusion was written on his face.

"He died in a car accident two years ago."

The news puzzled Harry.

Flint leaned over the table and lined up his cue. He glided it back and forth and took his shot, the targeted ball sinking into the corner pocket.

"You see, Lucius was like a Godfather. Draco's Organization is nothing compared to what Lucius built. He managed to set up a huge criminal ring, starting with high-level scams. His goal was to reestablish wizarding supremacy. He never considered himself less pure or worthy without magic. On the contrary, it fueled his desire to get revenge against Muggles. He’s the one who built our whole network: the alcohol smuggling, the guns, the drugs, it was all him. Where do you think Draco and the gang are coming from?"

Flint shifted and repositioned his cue as Harry tried to take in all the new information.

"I thought Draco recruited everyone?"

“Zabini and Nott, yes, but things really took off when they convinced the Elders to join them after they deserted Lucius. Draco took up daddy's torch.”

"Why did they desert Lucius?"

Flint sneered and kicked the ball. He missed the shot.

"Because he flipped his lid.”

He straightened up, holding his cue between his legs to focus on Harry.

“You see, he decided to move to more radical methods by purely and simply eliminating as many Muggles as he could. And if there were former wizards among the victims, it was just collateral damage. Remember the bomb attacks back in 2001? He instigated them.”

“What?” Harry cried out. Then, remembering he had to be discreet, he lowered his voice. “But I thought they arrested the terrorist.” 

“A scapegoat.”

Harry gaped, flabbergasted by these revelations.

“Lucius became paranoid and tyrannical. His close associates got scared and dropped him one by one. His kingdom collapsed."

"That’s insane.” Harry whispered. “Why was this kept from me?"

"That's the skeleton in Division 8's closet, McCarthy's great shame. Lucius had protected his business so well they never suspected him of anything. Lucius put them on a false trail and the poor fellow was given a life sentence.”

Flint interrupted himself, visibly sickened.

“It was all over the newspapers' headlines, a big success. Anyway, Lucius got careless on his last coup and the police caught an accomplice of his. The bloke denounced him and told them all about the terrorist operations. Of course, the Division was in deep shit, they were supposed to protect the public against attacks like that but they hadn't seen it coming."

Flint lit up another cigarette. He took a drag, blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth and resumed his story, his tone bitter.

“The man who was wrongly accused took his own life in his cell. They couldn't tell the media, 'Sorry, we made a mistake, an innocent man died, but it's okay because now we know who did it.' So they buried the case and the official version stuck. Lucius disappeared, and by the time they picked up his trail, he was already dead. His car crashed into a bridge and exploded. They found his charred body inside."

Harry gasped. "So they could have made a mistake identifying the body.”

Flint shook his head. "Impossible, they found his microchip inside. They’re all numbered. And there's no way to remove them, you know that."

Harry put his hands on the pool table's edge, trying to comprehend the meaning of Draco’s notes. "I don't know, maybe Draco's intel is false."

Flint hummed. "Or maybe Draco’s losing it too. Lucius has always been a touchy subject with him."

Harry remembered Draco’s breakdown and the words he had mumbled.

“Where the fuck are you?”

“The other evening at the property, he acted so unhinged he scared me,” Harry remarked.

Then, without warning, Flint threw his cue on the table. Harry pulled his hands away instantly, looking at him with wide eyes. Flint took a few breaths and held his palms out, signaling to Harry he was alright.

Harry observed the nervous man and offered another hypothesis. “We don’t know where he got his information. Maybe someone’s playing with him.”

"I hope so…” Flint mumbled. “I hope so.”

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

The next morning, Harry awoke in Draco's arms. He had finally been granted entrance to the master bedroom. The king-size bed, covered by night blue silk sheets and satin duvet, dominated the room next to a large, mirrored wardrobe. Draco hadn't officially invited Harry to share his bed yet. They had ended up there after over-enthusiastic goodnight wishes in the corridor. Nonetheless, a boundary had been crossed.

The blinds were half-opened and the light filtering through flattered Draco's naked body, following the contours of his torso, the sheet carelessly draped over his hips, hinting at the hidden treasures beneath. Harry put his head on Draco's chest, a smile on his lips, when he felt a fluttering under his cheek. Could he have woken him? Lifting his head to glance, he saw Draco was still asleep.

Emboldened, Harry rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder, tracing the thinly muscled chest with his fingers, touch light and soft, lingering around the nipples. Their path led them to the toned stomach where they drew arabesques. Then he placed his palm against the warm skin, feeling Draco’s body slowly rise with each breath. He lay his cheek on Draco’s chest and listened to his heartbeat with closed eyes. The beatings quickened then, Draco's body twitching. Looking up to see him half-open his eyes, Harry smiled at him. Draco stretched his arms above his head, taking care not to dislodge Harry from him and mewled.

"Hey you," he said with a rasping voice.

Harry answered with a soft "Hey" and lifted his head to kiss him. Two little smacks. The casualness of the greeting strangely exhilarated him. He looked at Draco's face and brushed a few blond hairs away, allowing himself to admire his face. Draco barely blinked under his exploration.

Harry satisfied himself with this simple moment: Draco's face on the white pillow, offered to his contemplation, his grey eyes void of malice. Then, Harry closed his eyes and thought about the moment he would have to get out of bed, Draco's meetings, the stakes of the “Dawn” deal, and, of course, his own involvement in the situation.

If McCarthy had found the meeting place, would Draco be locked up tonight? Harry was afraid of what the agent would make Draco endure once in his hands. He knew McCarthy was making it personal and wouldn't hesitate to abuse his power. But things were already on the move, it was too late now. Would either of them recover from this?

Harry felt a hand on his cheek and opened his eyes to find Draco staring at him with concern. Knowing his worries must have shown on his face, he relaxed and smiled at Draco, decorating his chest with small kisses. He brushed Draco's chin with his forehead before pulling away to lie on his side. Elbow on the bed, head resting on his hand, Harry turned his face towards Draco and looked at him. For a brief moment, a hint of confusion flickered across Draco’s face, then he smiled and shifted on his side to mirror Harry, eyes intense. They kept silent and motionless, like a staring contest, except there was no awkwardness.

And like every time he was in Draco’s presence for too long, a need rose inside Harry, unbidden and sharp. He stayed put nonetheless, waiting for a gesture, a caress. Sweet nothings.

Then, Draco bent over him and took his bottom lip between his teeth, biting on it playfully. He let it go, staying close, and asked Harry off the cuff, "Is it a game to you?" His eyes became piercing. "Hm? Are you playing me, Harry?"

Harry looked up, eyes still clouded with desire, and shook his head no. He kissed Draco again, then managed to form a trembling "no", then another one before pressing his lips against Draco’s, slipping his tongue in and out, teasing him. The kiss turned languorous, and Draco rolled over Harry, the sheets tangling around their legs.

When their mouths parted. Harry licked his lips, still dazed, while Draco stared at him, eyes filled with desire.

“This is real,” Harry whispered. Hearing his own words, he didn’t know if he was talking to Draco or himself.

Draco tenderly rubbed his nose against Harry’s, initiating an Eskimo kiss, before drawing away and capturing his lips again. Harry wrinkled his nose and Draco let out a sensual laugh.

"Good," Draco whispered.

He looked at Harry as though he were something precious. As if waking from a dream, Harry blinked and stared into grey eyes, waiting for something to break, for Draco to reveal his true nature, but his expression didn’t waver.

A few days before, they had been fighting like cats and dogs, and now, they were entwined like passionate lovers in Draco’s bed. Harry’s cynical side reminded him that it was exactly what he had planned and went one further, planting doubts in his head: was Draco trying to exorcise Astoria, or were his feelings real?

These somber thoughts were soon extinguished. All that mattered was this moment: Draco and Harry sharing a genuine, tender embrace like real lovers would.

Instead of comforting him, it made Harry ache. He felt his eyes mist and buried his face against Draco’s shoulder to hide his distress. It felt warm and peaceful, and the guilt and fear abated as he opened his legs to invite Draco inside him and let himself drift away.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

May 30, 2004

Harry was seated on a metal chair, arms crossed, tapping his heel on the dirty floor nervously. Two of Draco’s security men were waiting next to makeshift tables pinned against the wall. The warehouse was humid and cold, and Harry couldn't bear the dreadful silence. He had been waiting for hours.

Was it over? Did McCarthy turn up and lock everyone up? What if they had raised their weapons? No, it was best not to think about that possibility.

The heavy metal curtain opened suddenly with a roaring sound. It stopped at waist level. Harry jumped up and stood in the middle of the room. The Elders entered one by one, bending in half to enter, and Harry lost his composure as their faces came into view. They were looking furious. Zabini, Nott and Flint followed suit with barely contained rage. When Draco finally appeared, Harry let out a sigh of relief, but seeing his face completely closed off, he dreaded the debriefing that was about to come. 

The moment the sheet metal bumped against the floor, the whole gang erupted, talking over each other. Nott's "Shit, we've been done!" and Zabini's "I knew it! It was just a matter a time… Over-fucking-zealous cops!" were met with Rabastan's assured "No way, nuh-uh, there's been a leak. Can't be a coincidence!" 

"We can't just stand there, we need to fight back!" Greyback shouted, as Rodolphus let out a loud "Fuck," and Flint silently lit up a cigarette with his zippo and spat on the floor

"It's a no-brainer, there's a mole, and we all know who it is!" MacNair's voice cut through the cacophony.

Harry tensed. Raising his eyes, he saw MacNair's furious gaze pinned on him, ready to kill.

"You!" MacNair jabbed his index finger in Harry’s direction. " You turn up out of the blue, and as if by chance, the pigs chose tonight to control the docks and fall straight on our shipment. You’re trying to screw us!"

“You’re crazy!” Harry yelled as he backed away. “I have nothing to do with it!”

"You rat,” Greyback snarled, closing in dangerously on Harry, showing his teeth. “You'd better spit it!"

Harry wanted to run, but there was no escape. He braced himself, clenching his fists, when Draco surged between them. Greyback tried to push him away but Draco clasped his arm and faced him, commanding and cold.

"Greyback," he shot, " Harry’s one of us, you don't know what you're saying."

"Oh, I know exactly what's going on. This little shit ratted on us," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at Harry.

Harry stood strong, but inside, fear was mounting. What would come of him now that the truth was exposed in this seedy garage, in front of everyone?

MacNair tried to win Draco to their side. "You told us yourself you didn't feel him. Well, now we've got proof!"

Harry knew that if he defended himself, the others would redouble their accusations, so he just stayed there, looking at the Elders going into a tailspin, waiting for the verdict.

Behind him, Flint piped on, "It was a control routine. It happens. We were out of luck, that's all."

"Hold on, you swallowed this story!” MacNair yelled. “They arrested Gordon, for fuck’s sake! Gordon! A man who's seen more police raids than any of us, not the kind to let himself get caught in a bloody control routine! They fall upon the biggest drug delivery of the year by chance! Woah, Christmas has come early for them. Are you a moron, or are you purposely dense?”

Flint flicked his cigarette on the floor and advanced on him, his body coiled tight.

“Wow, wow, easy, mates,” Zabini intervened. “We're not going to fight each other too!"

The two men weren’t listening and Flint grabbed MacNair by his jacket. Draco was forced to intervene again.

"Stop it!” he shouted. “Now!”

Flint obeyed the order grudgingly and wrenched his hands away from MacNair, turning on his heels with disdain.

“Harry didn’t know a thing about the deal,” Draco declared adamantly. “He couldn’t have done anything!”

“How do you know?” MacNair asked. “You were too busy fucking him to see what was happening right under your nose.”

“Yeah, Astoria, now this,” Greyback snapped. “You keep thinking with your dick.”

Harry winced at the remark whilst Draco’s eyes turned murderous.

"Say that again,” Draco challenged, moving towards Greyback until their chests touched. “No, really, say it to my face."

Both men stared at each other, measuring up, trying to impose their domination. Then Greyback sniggered and violently pushed Draco away. But Draco kept on at him, stepping right into his face again.

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Greyback,” he warned, voice dangerously low. “I don’t want hear another thing out of your fucking mouth.”

Greyback stood his ground, defiant, but didn’t make another sound.

Draco turned to look at the rest of the gang with authority. "I’m vouching for Harry, is that clear?"

Harry looked at him, eyes round with surprise – he hadn't expected to be defended with such fervor. He had achieved the unthinkable: earning Draco’s complete trust.

"Bloody kidding me..." MacNair scoffed before turning around, fuming.

Draco backed up and looked at the rest of the gang. "Is that clear?" "His tone brooked no argument.

Greyback groaned and stationed himself in the other corner of the room to seethe.

MacNair didn't insist either, but when he spoke up again, his tone was blistering. "Ok, so now what? What do we do, boss?"

Draco didn't rise to the provocation. "I don’t buy the control routine either. But there is no mole among our ranks. No, if you want suspects, look at Gordon's men, they could have double-crossed him. It wouldn't be the first time. But if you want my opinion, Ellis is behind all this." He shook his head, chuckling darkly. "He knew we had a big shipment coming in, and he has his sources. They must be celebrating right this moment."

Harry watched Draco transform in front of him as his vision took form in his head: his look turned fierce and he began to pace the room, his temper flaring.

"Imagine the impact on our reputation now that our biggest deal is dead. He’ll steal away all our clients! Well done, Ellis. Well done." He stopped and lifted his chin up. "We need to act quickly."

Harry didn't want to hear the rest. When did it go off the rails? He had given Draco the last impulse to go through with his plan to eliminate Ellis.

Draco tightened his lips and nodded resolutely. "We bump Ellis off. Tomorrow."

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

May 31, 2004

Flint was doing laps in the swimming pool when Harry joined him, sitting at the other end of the pool, far from the patio doors.

Outside, by the water, there was little risk anyone would hear them.

Flint finished his lap and stopped near him.  

"Last night, that was a close one,” Harry said. “I can’t believe McCarthy pulled it off."

"Yes, thanks to you. 'Dawn' was the name of Gordon's boat. All it took was a police raid to do the trick."

"But why didn’t McCarthy bust Draco?"

"I think he's waiting for something bigger."

"What can be bigger than this delivery, that was the most substantial…" His voice faded and his eyes widened. "A murder! He wants to catch Draco for murder! And with his vendetta against Ellis, Draco will give him exactly what he wants." Harry rubbed his face with frustration. "We can't let this happen!"

Flint laughed. "You want to try and convince Draco?"

Harry’s shoulders slumped. "He locked himself in his office as soon as we got home. He won’t let me in. But we have to try and dissuade him. McCarthy, Ellis and Draco in the same line of fire, it’s a disaster in the making."

"It's not ideal, that's for sure.”

Flint seemed so offhand, Harry was getting edgy. He tried to keep his voice low, but it came out harsh as he spoke between his teeth. "You're not listening! We've got to do something!"

“Gimme a fag,” Flint asked Harry, tilting his head towards one of the deckchairs. Harry pulled his legs out of the water and grabbed a cigarette and a lighter from the packet left there.

He settled on the edge again and held the cigarette out. “Really? Smoking in the pool?”

Flint put it between his lips and twisted his mouth to answer, “We all have our vices.”

Harry pursed his lips but lit the cigarette nonetheless. Flint took a deep puff and smoke escaped from his mouth as he spoke.

"It might be hell, but that's not our problem. Just tell yourself that this time will be the last. Mission over. We get to go home. Isn't that what you want?"

"I guess," said Harry without conviction.

He sometimes doubted McCarthy would fulfill his part of the deal. What about Draco? He would rot in a cell, or worse, get himself killed, all because of him. And Pansy? Would she survive the separation?

Despite the gang and their misdeeds, he felt like the villain of this story.

"Did they say anything about Remus?" Harry asked, even though he suspected the answer.

“Remus?” Flint lifted his brows, surprised. “No."

Harry lowered his head, swinging his legs in the water, the sensation soothing him.

"Where is your home?" he asked.

Flint swam closer to hook an arm over the edge next to Harry, his expression melancholic.

"I have an uncle in Crawley, and I take care of my mother. She's in a clinic in Brighton, not far away. I try to visit her as often as I can, but you know how it is... It's just the three of us. So I can't wait for this to end."

Harry used the turn of the conversation to ask a question that had been nagging at him for a moment now.

"What made you volunteer?"

"The sense of justice," Flint answered point-blank.

Harry had no time to dig further, because Nott chose this moment to open the patio door and yell at Flint.

"Marcus, we need you here!"

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” Flint yelled back, pinching the butt of his cigarette with his wet fingers.

He left it on the deck floor and swam to the other end of the pool. While Flint dried himself, Harry could hear Zabini griping in the living room.

“We’re on the starting blocks and he’s taking a dip!"

Flint hurried inside. They were called to battle stations. Harry could feel the night's stakes were high.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Draco and his gang were heading for disaster. Faced with the imminent vendetta, Harry couldn't help but try to play the negotiator. He camped in front of Draco’s office, rehearsing his arguments in his head, and the minute Draco stepped out with his phone against his ear, Harry pulled him back inside.

Draco frowned at the interruption but cut his conversation short, “Good, yes, let me call you back later, ok?”

He flipped the phone off, and Harry attacked, "Draco, there’s still time to call it off. This whole operation is a knee-jerk reaction. I know your pride’s been hurt, but is it worth declaring war?”

He knew he was trying to sabotage McCarthy's plan, but at that moment, he couldn't come to terms with the idea of losing Draco.

Draco had listened to his plea, still and expressionless. Then he raised his chin.

"You're right, we’ll call it off.” The easy compliance surprised Harry, but in a heartbeat, Draco’s voice turned sarcastic. “I'll go meet the guys and tell them their new boss, Harry Potter, has decreed it was a bad idea, and after that, we'll all sit around the fire to smoke the peace pipe."

He swung his arms to emphasize the ridiculousness of the picture. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Draco beat him to it.

"I won't back off,” he said, uncompromising. “This ends tonight.”

Draco was about to walk out, but Harry jumped in front of him, blocking the door.

"Sammy and his men can handle it. You hired them for the job, no?”

“We’re all going. We’ll need all the firepower we can get to bring Ellis down.”

“But you’re the boss, they don’t need you there."

Draco grabbed his jacket and declared with a cruel voice. "I want to see his eyes when they put a bullet in his head.”

Harry shook his head, horrified, and Draco took advantage of his shock to shoulder him out of his way.

Harry looked at him walking away with pleading eyes. "Draco, please, don’t go.”

Though impatience marred Draco’s features, he had the courtesy to turn back to Harry.

"Listen, Ellis and I, we go way back. This bastard’s been threatening my business since day one, and now, he's taunting me. He declared war, not me."

Harry’s eyes fluttered as he mulled over the situation. He couldn't sit in the stands while hell was about to break loose. A determined expression replaced the worry on his face.

"Then I want to come with you."

He wanted to be able to intervene if McCarthy went too far. And if Draco had to fall, he wanted to be there to see the end.

"No, it's too dangerous.” Draco’s tone allowed no room for argument.

"I'm not a damsel in distress,” Harry protested. “I was fighting when you were still too scared to pick a side! I can handle my own."

Draco’s face softened as he moved closer to him.

"I know, Harry, but this fight is not yours.” He straightened the collar of Harry’s polo. "I have no clue where you and I are going, but while I figure it out, I want you safe. You're not coming, end of the discussion."

Harry peered into his eyes, torn apart between duty and heart, as if two different voices were battling inside of him.

His mouth opened, ready to confess, "It's a trap, the Division is waiting for you!” but all he said was, "Be careful."

Draco smiled at him. "Always."

He dropped a kiss on Harry's lips and was about to pull away, but Harry held him by the neck to prolong it. When Draco found his breath again, he looked tenderly at Harry and left without another word.

Harry stayed immobile in the corridor, the sensation of a last kiss lingering on his mouth.

Chapter Text

It was dark outside, hours had passed since the gang had left. The ambush had taken place and Harry expected the worst, pacing in the living room, fear coursing through his veins. Pansy watched him go around in circles with worry in her eyes. Being on the sidelines was a special kind of torture and Harry hated waiting like a wife for her husband to return from war.

The phone’s ring broke the silence.

Harry jumped and rushed to the receiver, while Pansy arose with a start. The reception crackled, screeching sounds and raised voices piercing through, then Zabini's frantic voice emerged.

"Harry, take Pansy and get out of the Cottage, now! We'll be at the front in thirty seconds."

Harry was about to speak but Zabini had already hung up.

He held his hand out to Pansy. "Come, quick!"

The moment she grabbed it, he rushed out the front door and ran into the alley towards the gates. There, one of the security men stopped them.

“You’re not authorized to leave the premises,” he said robotically.

“You don’t understand,” Harry blurted out, eyes darting from the man to the dark road behind the wrought-iron bars. “It’s an emergency, Draco’s coming to get us.”

He tried to bypass the man but a hand on his chest pushed him back. Pansy was squeezing Harry’s hand hard now.

“Let us through!” Harry cried out with exasperation.

Harry was about to explain the call when they heard a violent braking sound, a controlled skid. Draco's Chevrolet hurtled to a stop behind the gates. The car’s front window lowered to reveal MacNair in the passenger seat.

"Liam, let them out!" he yelled.

The guard’s demeanor changed in a second. Alert and obedient, he whirled around and opened the gates, motioning for Harry and Pansy to go.

Harry moved quickly but Pansy’s hand held him back as she stayed rooted on the spot, looking frightened and disoriented. He turned to reassure her when MacNair shouted, "Move it!"

Looking back at the car, Harry saw Rabastan open the rear door for them, so he pulled Pansy out of her torpor with a kiss on her forehead.

"Pansy, you trust me?” he whispered. She nodded feebly. “Then follow me.”

Hand in hand, they ran to the Chevrolet. While they climbed in, MacNair warned Liam, "Might get nasty tonight, get all your men ready. We're on red alert."

Tires screeching, the car sped down the road.

Harry was uncomfortably squeezed against the rear door, Rabastan and Zabini next to him, and Pansy on his lap for lack of space. Their bodies swayed left and right as Crabbe negotiated the bends as fast as he could. Suddenly, Pansy whimpered and buried her head in Harry's chest. Harry looked around to see what had caused such a reaction and noticed the paleness of Rabastan’s face. His eyes lowered to find blood seeping through the Elder's trousers. Then they slid to Zabini, who bore no trace of physical wound but kept throwing glances through the rear shield agitatedly. They drifted next towards the front seats, spotting blood on Crabbe’s hands on the steering wheel.

"What happened?” Harry asked, panic-stricken. “Where's Draco?"

He already had a good idea about what had gone down and was afraid to hear it.

"We've been conned again,” Zabini answered agitatedly. “They potshot at us the second we stepped out of the car."

Harry cursed McCarthy in his head. "The police shot at you?"

"What? No. Ellis and his gang. They knew we were coming and brought out the big guns. They were everywhere. We managed to shake them off, but it was a close call. The fuzz arrived after the party this time."

"They took us by surprise," MacNair added gruffly.

"Where's Draco?" Harry asked for the second time.

"We got separated,” Zabini resumed. “They smashed into the other car, and with the crossfire, we had to leave the others behind."

Harry pictured the chaos of the scene and its possible outcomes, dread seizing his heart.

"But do you know if he's okay?" he asked faintly.

MacNair didn’t answer.

“Blaise?” Harry asked.

Zabini shook his head. "I can't get him on the phone."

"Where are we going?" Pansy asked in a small voice.

"The property,” MacNair answered. “The emergency plan was to meet there and take the two of you with us."

Harry’s jaw clenched, and it felt like bile was rising in his throat. Draco had planned to protect them if things turned bad, while Harry had helped send him to a trap. Hell awaited people like him. His thoughts plagued him for the rest of the ride as he ran circles along Pansy’s back, finding a small comfort in her presence.

The Chevrolet hurled down the alley leading to the property and two men in black ran to meet them and check their identities. Once done, they hurried to let them in. From the windows, the house seemed empty, shrouded in darkness, but when the car neared the entrance, Harry caught sight of a group of men gathered by the entrance.

“Rabastan!” Rodolphus croaked out with relief.

Harry observed the small group and recognized Lestrange and Goyle among the armed strangers – most likely the new security Flint had helped hire. At the thought of his accomplice, Harry realized Draco was not the only one missing. There was no way to assess the casualties yet.

The Chevrolet stopped and Harry waited for Pansy to get out before hopping off. Zabini, Crabbe and the two Elders joined the rest of the team at the entrance while Harry stayed in the alley, lost and dazed. The wind had risen and his hair was flying in all directions, obscuring his eyes. What was he supposed to do without Draco there? The thought brought an emptiness like a gaping hole inside him. He couldn’t fathom a world without Draco in it.

Lost in his dark musings, he thought he had misheard Pansy shrieking behind him. He turned and saw her run to the pontoon excitedly. There, in the distance, a familiar tall silhouette emerged from the darkness, the trees bristling around with the force of the wind.

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes at first – wouldn’t let himself believe – but it felt like a weight had lifted off his chest and he could breathe again. On impulse, he started to run towards the pontoon in turn.

When Harry reached Draco and Pansy, he let them have their moment. Their laughter and the warmth of their hug erased all the dread of the past hours. Then Draco released Pansy and gave Harry a deep stare. Though exhausted, Draco’s face was so open and unbridled it stirred something deep and Harry’s eyes watered, emotions overflowing with relief. A little nod from Draco told him it was reciprocal. The next moment, Draco grabbed him by the neck to pull him into his arms. Eyes closed, Harry welcomed the embrace, clinging to Draco as if to make sure it was really him.

"I was scared to death,” Harry whispered shakily against his shoulder. “I thought they got you." He could barely finish his sentence.

Draco tried in vain to tame Harry’s hair and kissed him tenderly.

"Me? O ye of little faith," he joked.

Harry could hear an edge in his voice, but he laughed for good measure and loosened his hold to look up at Draco.

"What happened? How did they find out on such short notice?"

Draco shook his head. "Ellis has ears everywhere. I should have listened to you."

“You couldn’t have known.”

Harry put a hand on Draco’s biceps to comfort him but it made Draco wince and jerk his arm away with gritted teeth.

"You're hurt?" Harry asked with a frown.

Draco badly disguised his pain with a dismissive "Just a scratch."

But Harry didn’t call him out on it and let Draco wrap his good arm around his shoulders, Pansy hanging to his waist on the other side.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Draco prompted. “A storm’s coming.”

Harry looked in front of the house and caught Rodolphus embracing his brother.

"What about Flint? And Nott?" he asked.

"No idea, we had to split to lose Ellis and his men. I just hope they're safe."

"They may already be on their way," Harry added, hopeful.

Draco nodded but his face was closed off.

"Do you think we’re safe here?" Pansy asked shyly.

Draco kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry, princess. They’d never imagine I might come back to the property, of all places."

Always this impersonal term "the property", as if it weren't his own. Harry was reminded of the quarrel between father and son that had driven Draco away. Until now.

"And the security is impeccable,” Draco continued. “With the extra help brought in last month, we’ll be safer than anywhere else."

Harry wondered if Draco had anticipated Lucius' return and reinforced the security to that effect, or if he’d had other plans for the house.

As they neared the entrance, Pansy’s fears sprang out again.

"But nothing's going to happen to us. They won't come to catch us, right, Harry?”, she asked naively. “You won't let them."

Harry smiled the best he could. "Yes, Pansy. Everything will be fine."

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Given the late hour, Draco had already dismissed the property staff. They had regained their quarters in the attic while the gang settled down after the night’s ordeals. Greyback had taken Draco aside to tend to his wounds, so Harry had retired with Pansy to his room on the first floor.

A pack of cards lay on the bed around them as they tried to play War, but Pansy kept changing the rules. Harry didn’t mind, unable to concentrate on the game, too focused on the Ellis situation. Pansy must have noticed his vacant eyes and monosyllabic answers as she soon abandoned the cards.

"Are you scared?" she asked.

Harry's head jolted as if she had awoken him. He looked into her eyes and sighed. "I just want this night to be over."

The wind howled and whistled, rattling the windows, causing the wood to creak under its pressure. Pansy rolled on her stomach and leaned on her elbows.

"You're here, nothing can happen to us," she said naǐvely, smoothing down the bed cover.

Harry offered her a sad smile. "I’m not infallible, Pansy. I have my weaknesses."

Pansy stared at him with confusion. “Really? Name one."

Harry smiled and patted the girl's nose with his index. "Well, you for example."

She giggled, then Harry looked away, his smile fading as his mind wandered.

"Draco too. And a lot of ghosts."

"Ghosts can be a strength though," Pansy mused.

She slid her hand inside her sundress’ décolletage and pulled out a locket hanging from the thin chain around her neck. She opened the clasp and gave the necklace to Harry.

Opening the locket, Harry looked at the small, old black and white photograph of a couple with a baby in their arms. He wondered what the picture looked like before, when it was still moving, as clear and real as when they were alive. But the odd frozen picture had the beauty of nostalgia. The couple looked happy, admiring their daughter.

Pansy’s face lit up as she explained in a soft voice, "You see, my parents protect me. They're always there with me."

Her innocence was so endearing that Harry found his smile again. "You're right.”

He pinched her chin and handed her the necklace when a noise like a firecracker erupted far away, soon followed by a second one. Harry's head jerked up.

"What is it?" Pansy asked worriedly.

Suddenly, closer, a sound of breaking glass.

Harry jumped off the bed as the alarm went off, lancinating.

Pansy cried out with shock when Draco surged into the room a second later, gun in hand.

"Draco!” Pansy yelled. “What's–”

"You're going to hide on the second floor,” he cut her off, voice authoritative. “Go to the study, I'll meet you as soon as I can."

He removed another automatic from a holster on his ankle and handed it to Harry, who backed away. Draco pushed the gun’s grip against his chest insistently.

"I need you to protect Pansy. I know you'll do what’s necessary when the moment comes."

Harry looked at Draco, and his fighting instinct kicked in. He nodded and took the gun when shouting sprang outside, rushing them into motion.

In the corridor, the alarm was blaring.

Harry turned to see Draco heading towards the stairs, gun drawn. There was a clatter of shattering objects downstairs, voices yelling incomprehensible orders.

"Draco," Harry called back in a whisper.

They looked at each other for a few seconds. They didn't need words to understand the weight of the moment. Draco gave him a half-smile then strode back downstairs. Harry moved in the other direction when he noticed that Pansy wasn't behind him anymore. He walked back to the room and almost collided with her. Hands on the precious necklace around her neck, Pansy mouthed, "I forgot it."

Then a shout echoed on the stairs, "Greyback, behind you!" It was MacNair.

Three gunshots, a cry of pain.

The sound of steps in the stairway.

They were already closing in.

Harry drew Pansy towards him and guided her to the study with a finger on his lip. He opened the door and the light from the corridor revealed a side door in the room on the left. That was something, another way out.

Yes, but also another way in for them.

They tiptoed inside, barefoot, Harry locking the door behind them. It was dark but the moonlight filtering through the small opening between the curtains allowed Harry to discern the outline of the furniture around him. He grabbed Pansy’s hand and led her to a small desk against the wall. They both crouched down to hide under it. Despite the darkness, he could see Pansy was terrified.

"It's okay, I'm here," he whispered, running his fingers through her hair.

Pansy tightened her lips and nodded weakly, clasping his hand.

Crashing noises reached their ears. Hurried steps downstairs, doors opened or smashed.

They're shaking down the whole place.

Suddenly, steady gunfire saturated the air, followed by an agonizing cry.

Pansy launched herself into Harry’s arms. Holding her tightly, he felt powerless. Who knew if Draco and his team would come out alive, if there were already victims on their side? Each second, a new shout erupted, a new blast, and that nagging alarm that kept ringing. Harry tried to assess the situation, but it was impossible by sound alone, and his imagination was going wild. All he could do now was shelter Pansy.

Then, suddenly, the alarm ceased, and the silence turned more frightening than anything.

There were no more gunshots or crashes.

Doors opening and closing.

Footsteps.

Then, Harry heard a creaking noise outside the door. Someone was there, in the corridor, not far from them. Pansy let out a weak moan and Harry immediately put his hand over her mouth. Her eyes were open wide as Harry shook his head, signaling her to keep quiet.

The footsteps grew nearer and nearer, then the light under the door shifted. As the shadow came to a halt, Pansy and Harry held their breaths, as if it would make the intruder go away. Seconds seemed to last for hours as Harry fixed the two dark lines under the door with utmost concentration, but the moment they moved away, he took advantage of the respite to crawl and usher Pansy out. 

They crept across the study, feeling the way as they went, until Harry reached the lateral door and opened it slowly with gritted teeth. Every squeak, every rustle seemed to reverberate in the silence of the room. Even his breath sounded loud to his ears. As he stepped inside, Harry could barely see a thing but he recognised the red room from the ticking of the longcase clock. While he moved carefully to the window, Harry kept an eye on Pansy, who had taken position behind the door, her ear stuck to it. Parting the curtains ever so slightly, he leaned to look outside, but there was no one there. Suddenly, muffled noises came from above, struggling sounds.

Harry frowned as he came closer to the window, trying to make out what was happening. Suddenly, something hit the glass in front of his face, like a heavy package that someone had thrown. It came rebounding off the parapet to end its fall down on the ground, leaving a bloody smear across the window.

It was a body.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat, eyes bulging. 

Crabbe lay lifeless, contorted on the grass below, arms and legs bent at impossible angles.

Harry stumbled back, stunned.

"I think the path is clear," Pansy whispered behind him.

She hadn't noticed anything, too absorbed in her surveillance. When she moved away from the door, Harry ran to her and took her in his arms, hoping to divert her attention from the window. He didn’t let go of her immediately, and Pansy didn't dare to move out of his embrace, too confused by what was happening. 

Without warning, the doorknob began to turn. Harry’s head spun around and he seized Pansy to hide behind the door when it opened slowly, the light pouring in. The moment Harry saw a gun peeking out, he didn’t hesitate: he hit the intruder’s head with the butt of his automatic with all his might, once, then again, and Pansy let out a little squeak as the man flopped to the ground, moaning under the balaclava concealing his face. The violence had been swift and instinctive. Harry stood there, shaken, but when the dark eyes opened, cold and angry, he didn't lose another second and booted the man on the head, making him collapse for good.

They had made too much noise not to be heard, so Harry tucked his gun in his jeans and grabbed Pansy's hand, dashing out of the room towards the stairs as quietly as possible. From the steps, he glimpsed the masked men downstairs, walking across the hall with purpose. All of a sudden, one of them moved their head up and Harry jumped back, hugging the wall, neck craned and body stiff. One hand against Pansy’s stomach, he held her close 

How were they going to get out of this? And where were Draco and the others?

No, this wasn’t the time to panic. 

Focus. 

Harry took a deep breath and moved up the stairs, Pansy a pace behind. He reached the second floor, looking left and right, when a door opened suddenly and another balaclava-clad man crashed down on him. As soon as he recovered from the surprise, Harry caught sight of the gun in the man’s hand and grabbed his wrist before he could aim it. He squeezed it hard, trying to dislodge the weapon, but the man was holding tight and they pushed and pulled, fighting for dominance in front of a petrified Pansy.

Filled with adrenaline, Harry pushed the masked man hard against the wall but his hand still wouldn’t let go of the gun. They struggled when an elbow struck Harry in the plexus, stealing his breath for a second. Despite the pain, he retaliated immediately, kneeing his opponent between the legs. Bent in half, the man still had the strength to lift his gun towards him.

Reacting on instinct, Harry charged at him with a groan, hitting him full-force like a bull. All Harry felt was that foreign body pressed against his chest and head as he pushed and pushed. The man stumbled back, arms flailing, until suddenly he toppled over the balustrade with stunned eyes. It happened both too fast and in slow motion, and before Harry could react, the man’s scream echoed on his way down. A gruesome noise followed. 

Harry was standing frozen when someone yelled, “There’s more upstairs!” 

Footsteps approached at a fast pace. 

There was no time to think, they had to hide now.

Harry grabbed a dazed Pansy and entered the door the masked man had come from.

It was the old ballroom – there were mirrors everywhere. Just his luck. The only furniture was a round table covered by a cloth and a tall antique armoire between the two entrance doors. It was too late to turn back, so he closed the door and opened the armoire, feeling the shelves with his hands. They left no place to hide. Under the table, they would be like sitting ducks. The only alternative was the thick curtains framing the French windows.

The hideouts were so obvious it was laughable, and Harry cursed himself for entering the room. Too late, the enemy was close. He pushed Pansy towards the curtains.

"Hide yourself," he whispered against her ear. She looked panicked but obeyed.

They were waiting in the dark as seconds ticked by, nerve-wracking.

Then the door opened. A man entered and pushed the switch, face yet again concealed by a balaclava. The chandelier’s light brightened the room, the walls and mirrors suddenly luminous. His leather shoes squeaked as he moved, gun in hand, in the stillness of the room. As he kept walking slowly, his silhouette multiplied itself in the mirrors like a paper-doll chain. He reached the table and leaned down, lifting up the tablecloth with a brusque gesture.

Then the squeaking noise started again as he turned towards the windows. There had been a movement on one of the curtains. A faint blow but a shift nonetheless.

"Three, two, one,” the man sing-songed as he walked forward, voice muffled by the black fabric covering his mouth. “Ready or not, here I come!"

He opened the curtain with a sharp tug and unveiled Pansy, her face livid.

“What an unexpected find.” He raised his gun to her face, finger on the trigger. 

The next moment, an automatic was pressed against his nape.

“Drop your weapon,” Harry ordered.

After Pansy had hidden, Harry had hastily climbed up the armoire, and when the man had made his entrance, Harry had observed his advance and waited for the wind to camouflage his descent to rush to the window.

“Now!” he shouted, pushing firmly against the man’s neck.

There was a moment’s hesitation before the man’s hand released its hold and the gun fell on the floor with a clank. Pansy cried from relief as Harry kicked the gun to the other end of the room with his foot. The tables had turned and Harry had the advantage: Pansy was safe behind him and the intruder was at his mercy. 

But now what? Shoot?

“What are you waiting for?” the man asked, scornful.

The provocation was meant to destabilize him and it worked. Harry couldn’t answer or move. The man turned his head to look in the mirror and his body started shaking – he was laughing. Though baffled by his reaction, Harry kept the gun firmly in hand.

Then the voice turned taunting.

"My angel. I knew we'd meet again."

Harry gasped.

That voice. Ellis!

"So, Draco and you, huh? If I may, I think you made a big mistake."

"Shut up!" Harry shouted with a broken voice.

He licked his lips nervously and tightened his hold on the gun as Ellis started to turn around slowly.

"Don't move!" 

But Ellis continued turning, ever so slowly, until he was facing Harry, the gun only a couple of inches from his head.

"You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man.” Eyes feigning innocence, Ellis showed Harry his open hands before removing his balaclava carefully. 

In front of Harry, hair in disarray, Ellis looked calm, his attitude measured and in perfect control. Harry was the one holding the gun, but he wasn’t sure he had the upper hand in this duel.

"I’m at your mercy,” Ellis teased him in a sultry voice. “What’re you going to do now?"

Nothing much, since Harry couldn’t kill Ellis in cold blood, but he would keep guard until the gang returned.

Same result.

He chased away the thought. He had no choice, Ellis was a threat. He had killed and would kill again. Ellis’ sardonic voice interrupted his thoughts again.

"You're still innocent, I can see it in your eyes. I know you're not like the rest of them."

"Don't act like you're any different."

"I'm not perfect, but I would never do you harm, not to you, nor your friend. Angel, let's stop all this, ok? It's already gone too far. Come on, you don’t need to point your gun at me."

Harry knew Ellis was lying, but he couldn’t bring himself to harm a defenseless man. The hesitation must have shown on his face as the next moment, Ellis’ arm sprung up and, with a swift movement of his hand, he took possession of the gun.

The moment the weapon was taken away, the atmosphere changed. An exchange of power. Ellis rolled his shoulders, the pressure easing from his body, while Harry and Pansy anxiously awaited their fate.

"You see,” Ellis said, brushing Harry's cheek, “it wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Harry couldn't even look at him. What had he done? He had failed to protect Pansy!

"Your little friends are done for. It’s over."

"You're lying," Harry spat.

But then, as if on cue, bursts of gunfire rang out downstairs. Though muffled by the distance, the sound was unequivocal.

"No, Draco’s fine!” Pansy yelled heart-wrenchingly.

But Ellis didn't acknowledge her, his eyes fixed on Harry. "You know it's true. Game over."

Harry refused to believe it. Draco was a cunning devil, he always found a way to bounce back. He had to be safe.

Harry looked at Pansy crying beside him, and the perspective of Draco’s death and their imminent demise turned his mind clearer.

She, at least, he could save.

"If you let her go, I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

Ellis frowned at first, but his features softened as he considered Harry's offer.

"I knew it,” he said, a feline smile on his face. “As soon as I saw you, I knew we'd get along."

He looked at Harry with half-lidded eyes and gestured at the door to Pansy.

"Harry…" she cried.

“Pansy, go. I’ll be fine, don't worry."

But she wrinkled her eyes incredulously. “No,” she whispered.

"Go," he repeated with a firm nod, then with a faint smile, “You know I’m untouchable.”

It took a few seconds before she reacted, lips trembling and face soaked with tears, but she walked away nonetheless. She looked at Harry behind her shoulder one last time and then she was gone.

"Now, it's between you and me," Ellis beguiled.

Before Harry could react, he was grabbed by the neck and propelled against one of the windows. Ellis tucked his gun at his back into his pants and took a knife out of his pocket.

"I always preferred knives, it’s more personal."

His left hand slid down to grab Harry’s arm, keeping him in place, and the right pressed the knife against Harry’s neck. Harry twitched as the blade pierced the skin, a thin trail of blood trickling down his skin. Visibly captivated, Ellis tracked its pathway, while Harry’s face twisted with pain. Mind reeling, trying to find a way out, Harry turned his eyes towards the mirror and saw the gun's butt sticking out of Ellis’ belt, but he was held too tightly to have a chance to pull it out.

"Again,” he whispered. 

Seemingly pleased by his reaction, Ellis plunged the blade into the soft skin between the neck and the shoulder. Blood dripped down Harry’s neck and Ellis smiled maniacally. Harry had already experienced this kind of kink. He knew how to handle it. Let him have his fun first, then control him.

Harry moaned, feigning pleasure, and Ellis seemed enthralled, squeezing Harry's arms hard enough to leave marks.

"Yes…" Harry hissed.

He moved his arm slowly towards Ellis' waist, his hand creeping closer towards the gun. It was almost there, almost, when Ellis gripped his wrist hard and locked eyes with Harry's.

"It's not nice to fake it," he berated in a low voice. "You thought you could trick me that easily?"

Then his face surged forward and he bit Harry's lips violently, drawing blood again. Harry had barely time to react before his face was slammed against the window, his jaw burning as the blade sank into his flesh. He closed his eyes with pain, blood pulsing under his skin.

“Hm, gorgeous,” Ellis whispered.

Harry tried to break free, but Ellis crushed him with his whole body and he couldn't move. When he opened his eyes, he could only see the mirror. It was enough, as he saw blonde heads reflected everywhere.

Draco!

Harry was unable to contain a sound of surprise. Noticing his response, Ellis snapped his head around. At the same moment, Draco knocked him to the ground with a boot to his thigh.

Unfortunately, Pansy chose this moment to cross the doorway, distracting Draco. It left enough of an interval for Ellis to attack him with his knife, slashing Draco’s left calf. It all happened in a trice. Draco fell next to Ellis with a thud, and Harry threw himself at Ellis, crashing into him full tilt, making him drop his weapon. But the man was fierce. He recovered in no time and pushed Harry off him.

Suddenly, a bullet sliced through the air to lodge in the parquet. Everyone froze. Hunched on the floor, Harry turned his head to see Pansy looking at the gun in her hands with bewilderment. Ellis jumped up then, but Draco was already on his feet, gun drawn. The two men were now face to face.

After the hysteria of the last seconds, it was as if time had slowed down. Short of breath, Ellis threw Draco a distraught look.

"Hold on, Draco, hold on,” he said with a frightened voice. “I give up, you won!" While he spoke, his hand sneaked behind his back. 

Harry caught the move in the mirror and gasped when Draco shot. Fast and precise.

Checkmate.

The bullet pierced Ellis' head, a jet of blood gushing out of the back of his head. He fell on his knees, eyes empty, and collapsed on the parquet like a rag doll.

Pansy screamed, and Draco rushed to her side to hold her in his arms. He pulled the gun from her hands and removed the magazine, letting it fall on the floor.

“Sshhh…” he soothed, caressing her hair. “It's ok now.”

Draco turned his head and looked at Harry seated on the floor against the window, blood trickling down his neck. The moment seemed unreal and Harry's whole body sagged as he stared at Draco. They had made it out alive.

"It’s over," Draco whispered.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

The Chevrolet pulled into the street, followed by a Corvette taken straight out of the property's garage. Goyle and MacNair, respectively at the wheel, began honking wildly. Zabini opened the rear door and unrolled a large blanket. 

Ellis' corpse fell heavily on the ground, the bullet hole on his forehead black in the darkness, eyes blank.

Zabini closed the door and the two cars drove off fast, leaving the lukewarm body on the tarmac.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

When the gang got back to the Cottage, the camera at the gates was destroyed.

Bullet holes littered the walls of the facade and two security men lay dead in the alley.

The entrance door was smashed.

Inside, a hurricane seemed to have befallen the Cottage as papers, books, broken dishes and bottles littered the floor, the cabinets open, the patio doors broken and the couches disemboweled. Harry saw feet sticking out of the courtyard. Another one of Goyle's men.

Pansy shrieked at the sight and ran off to her room, banging the door behind her. 

Draco was about to go after her when Nott burst out of the courtyard, relief on his face.

"Thank fuck, I was freaking out!” He dragged a hand down his face. "I was starting to believe I'd never see you again."

Zabini leapt at him to hug him. "Well, it was a close call. Good to see you, mate.”

Nott greeted Draco and Goyle with a pat on the back and offered Harry a simple nod.

"What about Sammy?" Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. I saw several of his men get shot, they were on the front lines. I'm not sure he made it. Rabastan is on his way to the clinic with Rodolphus. Bad leg injury." He paused and announced somberly to Nott, "Crabbe is dead."

Nott's face fell at once. "No..."

Harry had one question left, but he wasn’t sure it was appropriate. He asked it anyway.

"What will they do with his body?"

No one seemed to take offence.

"We’ve got cleaners taking charge of it,” Draco answered.

The term made Harry uneasy. "You're going to get rid of the bodies like rubbish?"

Surprisingly, it was Goyle who answered placidly, "That's what he would’ve wanted, fast and clean, no frills."

“But his family?”

“He had none left.”

His face, usually inexpressive and cold as a statue, looked defeated. It was the first time Harry saw Goyle acting so human. He had lost numerous men tonight, but also a friend.

Without transition, Nott recounted, “When I arrived, those bastards were already gone. One of our men is injured, but the others are dead. All the rooms were ransacked. They must have taken all the files. It's a mess."

“I’ll take stock of the losses,” Goyle announced before leaving the room.

Draco kept a cool head. "With the package we left in front of their headquarters, they won't be acting clever for long. Ellis recruited a gang of feather-brained pawns. Good soldiers, but without their boss, they're nothing."

"You took Ellis out?" Nott asked, impressed.

"Mm-hmm, I think we don’t have much to fear now."

The conversation was interrupted by MacNair and Greyback's storming into the room. "The bastards, they blew the safes up!” Greyback yelled, furious. “There's nothing left."

Draco didn't fret. On the contrary, he seemed so calm it was unsettling.

"I made a transfer a week ago,” he said with glowing eyes. “I think they'll be disappointed by the loot."

“So much for trust!" MacNair snapped.

But Draco stayed nonchalant. "A simple precaution. And after what’s happened, I think it was a good decision, don't you agree?"

Nott, on the other hand, cheered loudly, clapping. “For a minute I thought we were screwed!” Zabini clasped Draco’s hand in a handshake before pulling him into a shoulder bump. “You are pure class, boss."

In the corner, a feral smile on his lips, Greyback congratulated Draco in his own way. "They thought they played us, but who’s laughing now?”

Amidst the general jubilation, Draco looked triumphant. "I’d wager our ranks will grow in no time now that Ellis is out."

Harry felt ambivalent as he watched them shake off the night's pressure. He wanted to share their joy – after all, they were alive and safe – but so much had gone wrong. The mission had failed, a lot of people had died, and he had the distinct impression he was forgetting something. Or someone.

Then, it came to him in a flash. "And Flint?” he asked abruptly. “Any news?"

His question cast a dark shadow around the room. Nott shook his head, and Draco's demeanour turned sour in an instant.

"He must have found a haven,” he hazarded somberly. “We'll launch searches tomorrow, no need to worry."

His words didn't appease Harry. Flint was the only one who could explain to him what had gone wrong, how McCarthy had failed to apprehend Draco and his men when he’d had all the cards laid out for him. He needed his wingman.

Let's hope he's safe and sound.

Without further ado, Draco took Nott by the arm and guided him towards the courtyard, stepping over the broken glass with a slight limp.

"Did you call for the cleaners?" he asked.

"They're on their way. I also called for the engineer to come and assess the damage. They'll start fixing the e lot tomorrow."

"Good,” Draco said as the two walked further away, towards the Elders’ quarters. “Now, tell me everything."

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Harry’s hair was still wet from the shower and he was shirtless, flannel pants low on his hips, the bandages on his neck soaked through despite his best efforts.  Draco’s bathroom was bigger than his, with a large bathtub and a separate shower stall. The blue tiles brought a serene touch to the room.

The calm after the storm.

“Pansy’s asleep,” Draco announced as he walked in. “She fell unconscious the moment her head hit the pillow.”

“The rest will do her good,” Harry commented, but he wondered how Pansy would recover from the shocking events in her fragile state.

He scratched his neck unconsciously, making the incisions bleed again.

“Don’t,” Draco cautioned, grabbing Harry’s wrist and lowering it down.

He took out a first-aid kit from the medicine chest and motioned for Harry to sit on the bathtub’s edge while he rummaged through it, taking out the disinfectant and some cotton. Draco had yet to clean himself up, his open shirt stained with blood.

"What about you?" Harry protested. "Your arm cut? And your leg?"

"It's nothing. Leave it to me," Draco answered quietly, soaking the cotton with the solution.

"You should have gone with the Lestranges. What's this clinic by the way? Won't they ask questions?"

"It’s not really a clinic, more of an ambulant medical team. We call them for emergencies, they provide their services in a safe spot, quick and efficient."

Harry's eyes roved over Draco's face, then lower down at a nasty contusion on his collarbone. He opened the shirt wider to discover other marks on Draco’s chest. 

"Look at all these bruises," he whispered, fingers hovering over Draco’s skin. “Forget about me, you need to be looked after.”

Draco didn’t react and Harry was about to protest again, but he kept his mouth shut at the sight of Draco's disapproving look. He sighed and tipped his head backwards to present his neck. A satisfied smile bloomed on Draco’s face.

"It will sting, don’t move," he warned as he started to apply the cotton to the cuts, but Harry was already flinching. Draco grimaced and kept up his meticulous work. The blood vanished slowly, leaving only long reddish lines on Harry’s skin.

"That sick bastard…" Draco rasped. “Marking you like that. I'd rip his eyes out if he weren't already dead."

Harry couldn't help but smile despite the morbidity of the declaration, appreciative of Draco’s protectiveness.

"Hm, but you know my body’s yours," he answered cheekily.

"Exactly," Draco said before softly blowing on his wound. "I'll have to mark you myself then."

Draco sucked gently on Harry’s neck where the skin was untouched and Harry closed his eyes, savouring the intimacy. Then Draco pulled his lips away to look at the love-bite with contentment and replaced the bandages on his neck with deft hands. Once he was finished, Harry looked up at him.

"Take off your shirt, I want to see where you’re hurt."

Draco seemed unprepared for the role reversal. "I told you it was fine."

"Draco, please."

Harry stroked Draco’s waist, eyes pleading, and managed to break his resistance.

Straightening up with a sigh, Draco shrugged his shirt off to reveal a large bandage on his biceps.

“Let me see,” Harry said and, without waiting for Draco’s permission, lifted the corner of the dressing.

He gasped. There was a long gash running across his arm, but what shocked Harry was the black thread sewn roughly through the flesh.

"Draco, you need to go to the clinic!"

"I told you I'm okay. Greyback took care of it.”

“What about your leg?”

“Another great job from our stitcher in chief,” Draco answered in a playful voice. “All bandaged and good as new.”

“Draco,” Harry chided.

Draco lowered his eyes. “I knew you wouldn't approve, but the wounds are clean, I’m fine.”

Harry's eyebrows stayed knitted, so Draco reassured him again. “Greyback has patched me up countless times, he knows what he’s doing. But if it worries you so much, I'll go to the clinic tomorrow to be sure it heals properly. Happy?"

Harry lowered his head, suddenly ashamed. "And you cleaned my nicks."

Draco lifted his chin up to look him in the eye. "Greyback took care of me, and I took care of you."

"I don't want you to hide anything from me,” Harry said, running his fingers over the tub’s white enamel. “We're together now, aren't we? I want you to tell me everything."

Draco locked eyes with him." I promise."

Oh, the irony. Harry was asking Draco for his total honesty while he cloaked himself in lies.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Later that night, Sammy had finally shown up, arm wrapped in a scarf and head bleeding. Though in rough shape, he had still acted tough. "It's nothing a little rest won’t fix." 

Nott had disappeared with Goyle, and the rest of the group had settled in the destroyed living room, sitting on the floor around the intact coffee table and talking like old veterans. They passed around a bottle of scotch that had escaped the destruction as an animated Zabini told Sammy about the night’s exploits.

"Our guys fought well. They charged at the enemy head-on. We were shooting like crazy. Me, I had a plan in my head, but they all turned up en masse, we were forced to fling ourselves into the throng.” A sad smile appeared on his face. “Crabbe had his moment of glory." Turning to Greyback, he continued, "You know, with those two pocket-sized men, they were small but vicious! They attacked us from behind. Then, Crabbe shot them full of holes. It was wild."

A small laugh escaped him, then his smile faded as his eyes clouded. He took a sip of his drink and continued emphatically.

"It wasn't a pretty sight. They outnumbered us, and we lost the security team in barely five minutes. In the end, we were what, six against twenty, no, twenty-five blokes?"

Greyback corrected him, amused. "More like fifteen.”

Zabini waved the remark away.

"We all retreated to the cellar and the fools followed us. I’m sure they were already bragging about their victory." He slapped his thigh and suddenly shot out, "What a mistake! They didn't expect us to have an arsenal down there. Nothing but high calibres, packed with munitions, and Greyback quietly hidden there."

Greyback smiled, surely recalling the scene.

"He went out with a gun in each hand, it was a blast!” Zabini exclaimed excitedly. “And we didn’t do half-bad ourselves.” He elbowed Draco, who smiled tiredly.

“Hey, don’t forget the rest of us!” MacNair interjected good-naturedly. “I was in top form, even you can’t deny that.”

His head nestled in the crook of Draco's shoulder, Harry was half listening as the gang shared their moments of glory. Their voices became more and more distant, and he thought he felt the brush of lips on his forehead when his eyes fluttered closed. It had been a long night.

Chapter Text

June 1, 2004

The day after the attack, security had already been reinforced and new men in black were on the lookout as Goyle checked the new alarm system. In addition, a whole crew of workers had invaded the house to repair the damage that had been done to the Cottage, turning it into a building site. Everything had been ransacked and there was a lot to do. Draco had gone to the clinic as promised, and the rest of the gang had seemingly disappeared, leaving Goyle to supervise the work and Pansy and Harry to fend for themselves.

The two had taken refuge in the courtyard to take their breakfast around a small, green garden table, wearing plastic goggles Harry had borrowed from the renovation team. It was meant to put a little levity after the tragedy of the past 24 hours and cheer Pansy up.

She hadn’t lost her appetite, digging quietly into her jam muffin, which was a good sign in Harry’s book, but she was less talkative than usual.

Harry eyed two workers in blue overalls talking agitatedly to each other behind the hole that used to be the patio door a few meters away. They were pointing at the new glass panes laying on the floor.

“No Bert, this has to stop now,” Harry mimicked with an overly gruff voice as the bearded worker gestured to his fresh-faced colleague. “You can’t lick the client’s windows, it’s unprofessional. What do you have to say in your defense?”

Pansy smiled at the scene and joined in when the younger worker spoke in turn.

“But Gert, I’m helping clean them,” she answered with a deep voice. “And it tastes good too!”

“Bert, we’ve talked about this,” Harry retorted the moment the bearded man opened his mouth again. “That is a disgusting habit, and I’m appalled at your sloppiness, it’s–”

He interrupted himself when the man stopped talking and Pansy took over.

“Clients never complained. It gives the windows an extra layer.”

She snorted with amusement as Harry let out a laugh in disgust. Seeing Pansy like herself again filled him with joy after the way she had walled herself off upon their return at the Cottage. 

He readjusted his goggles, his face turning serious as he stared at her.

“You know you were very brave last night.” Pansy blinked at him, visibly unsettled. He paused, letting the words sink in. “You saved us, you realize that?”

Pansy lowered her eyes to her plate.

“It’s true,” Harry insisted. “You’re my guardian angel.”

Pansy looked at him sheepishly through the plastic lenses and grinned. “Like my parents are mine?”

“Exactly.” Harry answered, taking her hand in his.

“Your guardian angel,” she whispered. “I like that.”

A clanking noise startled Harry and he turned his head towards the house. The young worker was looking at a metal rod lying haphazardly on the floor, a sorry expression on his face.

“Gert’s a bit of a clutz, isn’t he?”

Harry chuckled but when he turned back to Pansy, she was staring at him somberly. His brows lifted as he waited for her to talk. When she did, it was with a disengaged voice.

“You know, after I lost my parents, they tried to put me away for good.”

Harry had heard very little about Pansy’s whereabouts before Draco had taken her in, and his jaw dropped in shock.

“The Division?” he asked with a lump in his throat.

She nodded. “We were mobbed, and I don’t remember much but I know I was hysterical when they found me. I couldn’t speak for days and they said there was something wrong with me, that I was one of the ‘defective aliens’.”

The detachment with which she spoke was chilling, yet her words resonated strongly inside Harry. He knew first-hand how devastating it was to be ostracized when you had no bearings and no one to turn to.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” she asked with a small voice. “Am I a bad person?”

It was devastating to hear and Harry fought to keep his emotions at bay. The question was best suited to the rest of them wretches. Amidst all the darkness, Pansy was a ray of light and the fact that the Division could have broken her made him seethe.

“Pansy, I can affirm with certainty that you are not. You might be the best of us all.”

“Then why don’t I feel worse?” she asked uncertainly.

Harry frowned and let her explain.

“When I saw Ellis with his knife, everything stopped in my mind. All I wanted was for him to disappear. I don’t even remember picking up the gun, but I know I aimed for his head.” 

“You have nothing to be guilty about. You did what you had to do.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t feel guilty at all. I would have killed him without remorse.”

“To save us,” Harry interjected. “Pansy, you can’t control your emotions in situations like that.”

She shook her head in disagreement. “But I should feel terrible. If anything, I should feel sorry for all the people that are gone, and instead I feel like… I feel lighter. I feel like I could take on the world.”

“You’re glad to be alive, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yes, I’m still here. And you’re here and Draco’s here. And I’m not so scared anymore.”

It sounded like Pansy had had a breakthrough, and Harry felt a surge of pride. She looked at him as if waiting for an explanation, so he smiled at her.

“It’s called healing.”

Pansy seemed to contemplate his words, her goggles making her expression funnier than it should have been. Then she nodded slowly and bit into her muffin with renewed appetite.

They kept eating their breakfast leisurely, their bond strengthened as brother and sister in arms.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

June 2, 2004

The house was still busy with renovation workers making repairs and moving furniture around, coming and going from the living room to the bedrooms upstairs. Draco was too busy to devote time to Harry and disappeared for hours on end, so that day, like the previous one, when Harry wasn’t helping tidy up the Cottage, he spent time with Pansy outside, keeping her in good spirits.

Since that memorable night when the gang had gathered for a drink in battle-forged camaraderie, the atmosphere had strangely deteriorated. Harry had joined their morning meeting and it had almost ended in a fight. Draco and his team had had trouble communicating, the Elders pressing for retaliation while the Snakes wished simply to enjoy Ellis' fallout. Caught in the middle, Draco was torn between the two sentiments.

The gang was elusive, staying out of Harry’s sight most of the day, and Draco was more subdued than usual. It was understandable, given all the disruption in the Cottage, but Harry couldn’t help thinking something fishy was going on. Though no new accusations were made against him in the wake of the ambush, he feared the gang was beginning to suspect him again. This new situation was hard to bear.

That night, Harry awaited Draco for hours, but after nodding off over his book, he resigned himself to the fact Draco had deserted their bed again.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he opened bleary eyes to see the door half-opened and Draco groping around his night table.

“Draco?” he croaked out sleepily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up but I left my painkillers there,” Draco whispered, showing him the box.

“Does it hurt a lot?”

Draco sat on the edge of the bed, silhouetted by the light of the corridor behind him. “It’s manageable, don’t worry.” He pushed Harry’s hair from his face and asked softly, “What about you? I hope you changed your bandages.”

Harry brought his hand reflexively to his neck. “I did, it’s healing nicely.”

“Good.”

A yawn escaped Harry before he could stifle it. “What time is it?” 

“Too late for you to be awake.”

“I’d sleep better with you beside me,” Harry cajoled, resting his hand on Draco’s.  

“I know,” Draco sighed, stroking Harry’s fingers gently. “But I have too much work to do right now.”

In the darkness, Draco’s face was unreadable, but Harry kept wondering if there was a hidden agenda he was not privy to. When Draco was about to rise, Harry gripped his arm.

“Draco, what’s going on? You promised me you’d tell me everything.”

Displeased with the veiled reproach, Draco pulled his hand away.

“What are you getting at? I’m not hiding anything from you,” he responded, irritated. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Ellis left us quite a mess to clean up. I need to take care of the property and the Cottage. I have allies to appease, prospects to organise. The gang is worked up and we can’t agree on anything.”

Draco was getting agitated, and Harry instantly regretted his question.

“I didn’t mean… I’m sorry,” he hastened to add. “It’s just–I miss you.”

The effect of his words was immediate. Mouth closing slowly, Draco scrutinised Harry and the sudden silence made his response all the more meaningful.

“Me too,” he whispered before leaning over and kissing Harry. “Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to make up for it when it all dies down.”

As Draco rose, a question sprang to Harry's mind.

“Wait, do you have news about Flint?”

Draco paused and shook his head despondently. “We called everyone he could have reached and checked all the hospitals, but nothing for now.”

“Wouldn’t he have called the clinic if he was hurt?”

“Depends on how bad it is. If someone else found him, he might not have had the choice.”

Harry hummed. “I hope he’s ok.”

“You know, in our line of work, we have to make peace with the fact that any one of us could die in a moment’s time.”

Harry knew that too well, and his heart constricted.

“I’m not saying Flint is gone, but it’s a possibility,” Draco added. “Now go back to sleep. See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Harry whispered, rearranging his pillow and turning away.

Draco closed the door and the darkness fell on the room again.

Harry stared into nothingness, refusing to believe Flint could be dead. But then his mind suggested another option: what if an extraction had occurred without his knowledge? Flint wanted out. He had planned for the attack against Ellis to be his last mission. If he had made a deal with McCarthy, he might already be out – back to his family somewhere, protected.

Harry hoped it was true but Flint’s absence left a big void in the house. There was no one he could share his secret with anymore, and it felt terribly lonely.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

June 3, 2004

Another day had passed, and the work supervisor kept running from one room to the next, barking orders and checking on the finishing touches. New furniture had replaced the old one, restoring the Cottage’s prestige. Movers were still coming and going when MacNair braved the cluttered living room with a tense expression. Running up the stairs, he walked to Draco’s bedroom and knocked sharply.

“Draco!” he called out, but his voice was drowned out by the surrounding noise.

He opened the door impatiently and what he saw left him stunned in the doorway.

Harry was on all fours on the bed, back arched and legs spread as Draco knelt behind him, pounding him into oblivion, one hand clenched on Harry’s hip, the other gripping his dark locks. They were both naked and panting obscenely, their clothes in disarray at the foot of the bed.

It took a moment for MacNair’s fight-or-flight response to kick in as he seemed mesmerized by the erotic sight, but when Draco noticed his presence, MacNair found his voice again.

“I–We need you downstairs,” he babbled, leering unapologetically at their joined bodies.

His voice startled Harry but he couldn’t do a thing about it, immobilized and wrecked as he was. Draco, on the other hand, grabbed a discarded pillow and threw it at MacNair, hips never losing their frenzied rhythm.

“Get the fuck out!” he screamed. “Out!”

MacNair chortled but complied hastily, closing the door behind.

Back to the task at hand, Draco grabbed Harry’s hair again, thrusting away like a man possessed. Harry’s eyes half-closed with abandon, his body rocking back and forth. Draco was rough but Harry didn’t mind being at the receiving end of all his pent-up energy when it felt so good. He could barely hear the noise in the distance, entranced as he was.

“Arch more,” Draco commanded.

Harry complied dazedly, pushing his arse up, sweat pearling down his back. He felt at Draco’s mercy, held tightly in place.

“Look at you… Beautiful,” Draco praised as his balls slapped against Harry’s arse with each thrust. The sound of flesh against flesh was filthy. 

Harry’s arms started shaking as he desperately tried to keep his balance, hands fisted on the sheets, when Draco, far from tiring, tightened his grip on Harry’s hair and pulled. A whine left Harry’s mouth as his face tensed under the stretch. It earned him a slap on the arse, and he gasped, more in surprise than pain, Draco’s hand imprinted on his flesh.

“Take it.” Draco groaned. “Your arse is mine, you hear me?”

The roughness turned Harry on more than he’d like to admit. He braced himself and wailed uncontrollably as Draco deepened his thrusts.

Draco had always been a bit controlling in bed but this side of him, savage and utterly dominant, was new. After what Draco had gone through, though, Harry understood his need to unwind, and if he could help Draco sate his basic needs, then he would gladly be of service. Admittedly, he needed the release too.

Draco was up to the hilt when he broke his rhythm to roll his hips with a long moan. He let go of Harry’s hair to grab his arse with both hands, gyrating slowly, and Harry’s head fell forward, face red with pleasure and exhaustion. He was painfully hard, Draco toying with him, pushing him onto the edge again and again expertly. It was maddening.

Harry mewled as Draco ground deeper, a drop of sweat falling from his nose.

“You like that?”

Harry was too far gone to react, so Draco slapped his arse again.

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, head snapping up.

The punishing rhythm resumed then, Draco grunting as he invaded Harry mercilessly. It felt like he had been on his hands and knees for hours and it was getting harder and harder for Harry to keep the position. He was getting light-headed when a particularly vicious thrust made him lose his grip and he collapsed on the bed, back bowed and arse up.

Draco slightly repositioned himself and picked up the pace, biting his lips, grip bruising on Harry’s arse.

“Draco!” Harry howled before burying his mouth in the satin fabric, eyes scrunched.

He needed to get off but when he moved his hand to his erection, Draco batted it away.

“You’ll come on my cock alone,” he berated.

Harry whimpered and gripped the sheets again, his body driven forward as Draco’s hips hammered at him.

“Draco, please,” Harry whined, lifting his eyes to him. “I need to… I need …”

The brutal tempo didn’t waver and Harry let Draco use him, his body surrendering to the crude possession. He felt completely owned and his eyes glazed over as a sense of contentment washed over him.

Then, inevitably, the pleasure turned overwhelming, rising steadily until Harry cried out, his release hot on the sheets, body tense like a coil. Draco responded with a grimace and a grunt, then his hips bucked up. His movements jerky, he pulled out at once and grabbed his cock, pumping it furiously while keeping Harry in place with his other hand. His cry of release came from deep within as ribbons of come flew out onto Harry’s back and arse. When he finished emptying himself, he wiped the tip of his cock on Harry’s entrance with a satisfied sigh.

The moment Draco let go of him, Harry’s legs gave out, his body spent and his chest heaving. Sex between them had always been intense, but the unbridled pleasure Harry had taken from Draco’s dominance was something new. He was far from inexperienced, yet with Draco, it was different. Every time felt like a first and it was exhilarating.

The mattress dipped next to Harry as Draco crawled over and slumped down on his back with a huff. Their heavy breathing filled the room while they recovered, the noise from downstairs louder now. Harry turned to look at Draco with a lazy smile, pleased to see him relaxed again. The last few days had been stressful for everyone, but particularly to Draco, who burned the candles at both ends, always busy or out.

As if Draco had heard his thoughts, he kissed Harry’s shoulder. “That was hot,” he slurred. “You good?”

Harry nodded and propped his head on crossed arms.

“I’m all sticky,” he said coyly as he felt Draco’s semen sliding down his skin.

Draco glanced at his handiwork on the smooth back. “Looks good on you.”

He grinned, running his fingers along the curve of Harry’s side. Harry meant to wiggle his hips playfully but the movement made him wince.

“You sure didn’t hold anything back.”

“I hope I wasn’t too rough.”

Harry snorted. “Well, I can’t complain. I enjoyed the ride.”

Draco leaned to plant a kiss on Harry’s mouth, caressing his face tenderly, then smiled.

“I love that you’re game for anything. If someone had told me that Saint Potter would be so uninhibited in bed, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

Harry opened his mouth in false outrage and swatted at his chest playfully.

“Wait,” Draco protested roguishly, protecting himself with his arms, “all I’m saying is I would have tried to corrupt you sooner if I’d known.”

Then he grabbed Harry’s face and captured his lips again, putting a halt to his assault. Harry sank into the kiss, his hand covering Draco’s as he welcomed his tongue. He had missed the intimacy, and when their mouths parted, he couldn’t stop smiling.

“You’ve worn me out,” Draco groaned with a sound of satisfaction as he turned to look at the ceiling, stretching his back languidly. “I really needed this.”

“Hard day at work?”

Draco hummed as a way of answering.

“Is everything alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Draco retorted casually.

Harry looked at him with disbelief. “You want a list?”

There was a silence, then the answer came with dispassion. “Everything’s under control.” 

Harry knew it was Draco’s way of closing the matter, so he didn’t press further. To his surprise, after a moment of silence, Draco spoke again, his voice far away.

“This life… Don’t you ever wish you could do it all over again?”

Harry looked at his profile with concern. Had the shootout rattled Draco more than he had let on?

Eyes unblinking, Draco lifted his elbow to his forehead. “I wonder… If I had taken a different path, if I had made different choices, where would I be now?”

The same question plagued Harry to this day, but it was the first time he heard Draco reevaluate his life choices. This train of thought could only bring regrets though, and Draco didn’t need that right now, so Harry answered lightly, “You wouldn’t be in this bed with me for one.”

Draco turned his face to Harry with soft eyes and kissed him once more.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

It was late at night and sleep would not come. After tossing and turning in his bed, Harry abandoned his fruitless attempts and sauntered to the kitchen downstairs in his T-shirt and boxer shorts. He poured himself a glass of water, took a packet of biscuits from the shelves and sat gingerly at the bar, still sore from his wild romp with Draco. All was silent, the only source of light the outdoor illuminations. As he stared vacantly at the newly furnished room, he noticed a chink of light under the little door behind the stairs. He didn't know what was behind it, he had never entered there – it was one of the forbidden areas. 

Curious, he approached cautiously, grabbed the handle and lowered it: it was unlocked. His hand stilled but he didn’t hesitate long before pulling it – after all, he was part of the gang now. The light created a triangle of brightness in the living room as the door opened. Inside, there was a spiral staircase whose end he couldn’t see. He shuddered as he stepped in, his feet bare on the icy stone. What had been kept hidden from him down there?

Harry closed the door quietly, pushing his hands against the catch until the click sounded, nearly imperceptible. He had to make as little noise as possible. His feet light on each step, he moved down slowly until he heard a gurgling coming from downstairs. Despite the unpleasant tingling along his back, he kept creeping forward. When he got to the last step, voices reached his ears: MacNair and Greyback.

Had they set up private meetings down there so Harry wouldn’t be in the know?

With silent steps, he progressed cautiously along the wall, his hand trailing on the stone as he moved closer. It was a long corridor, the walls naked and humid, darkness concealing the end of its path. His heart was beating out of his chest – he had a bad feeling about this.

Harry skirted around a little table resting against the wall, a couple of glasses and a bottle set on it, and found an opening on his left. As he edged closer to it, he heard a blood-chilling scream.

What the hell was that?

Erratic and loud breathing intercut with Greyback's cruel laughter.

A shaky hand on the wall, Harry leaned forward slowly and caught sight of bloodied feet on the floor. His eyes travelled along legs covered in burns and cuts, then across a scarred exposed torso, then higher on a neck marked by strangulation lines, before landing on a face swollen and bruised. His breath caught in his throat when he recognized Flint’s profile. Sitting on a chair, hands tied behind the bars, his body was a shaking mass of red and glowing flesh.

Harry’s blood rushed to his head and he put a hand over his mouth not to betray himself.

"Why are you making this so hard?” Greyback rasped. “Talk and it ends now.”

A razor slash to the chest.

"You're a tough bastard, hm."

Someone moved forward and punched Flint. It was Nott.

Flint's face waltzed backwards, a groan coming out of his mouth, but he stayed mute.

“We won't get anything from him,” MacNair drawled. “Three days without a word, there's no point flogging a dead horse."

Three days.

"What about Flint? Any news?"

"He must have found a haven. We'll launch searches tomorrow. No need to worry."

“You know, in our line of work, we have to make peace with the fact that any one of us could die in a moment’s time.”

Three days of torture.

Draco had lied to him. Flint had been locked up in the basement all this time.

Then it occurred to him that Nott and the Elders might have taken the initiative without consulting Draco. Perhaps he didn't even know they were here.

"He won't talk,” Nott concluded. “We know he sold us out, it’s enough for me." A break. "Boss?"

Harry shook his head in disbelief.

No.

Draco took his cue and bent over Flint, thus entering Harry's field of vision.

Of course Draco's there, what were you expecting, jerk!

Harry wanted to cry with rage and despair.

Draco looked at the prisoner coldly. "You're not alone, huh? Tell me who you're working with and I might let you live. Who is it, hm?" Silence. "You really want to die here, like a dog?"

Harry closed his eyes, the need to run inside and free Flint raging inside. But what could he do? If he went in there and defended Flint, his intervention would be as good as a confession. Besides, there was no guarantee Flint wouldn’t crack and divulge his role if he saw him now.

Flint coughed and spat blood, bringing Harry out of his thoughts.

"I'm already a dead man,” he wheezed painfully. “I know the drill, no need to play games with me.”

Draco smoothed his hair down and walked to the far end of the room, out of sight.

"Let me finish him," Greyback slurred.

A silence, then MacNair's call to order. “Draco."

Flint let his head fall forward with exhaustion, his features haggard. It seemed all the fight had left him and Harry could only look at his face with sorrow. Suddenly, Flint’s good eye opened and stared straight at Harry, making him lose his breath. It felt like seeing a fellow soldier wounded in a battlefield and Harry wished it was only a bad dream, that they could be anywhere but here. He searched for a sign in Flint's face.

What can I do?

Flint’s lips twitched, as if trying to put on a smile. Overwhelmed with emotion, Harry shook his head. Flint couldn't go like this. He had to do something. But then Flint gave him a small nod. An assent, a sign that it was ok.

"I wouldn't say no to a cigarette,” Flint said faintly.

"Sure, a last request,” MacNair mocked. “You may want a glass of wine with that?"

Laughter followed the snide remark but was cut short when, in a surprising show of respect, Draco granted Flint’s request, awkwardly placing a cigarette between bloody lips and lighting it. Flint took a puff and fell immediately into a coughing fit, the cigarette dropping on his lap. Draco bent to put it back, but when Flint opened his mouth, it was to spit on his face. Nott’s reaction was immediate: he surged forward and gave Flint a right hook, making his head jerk aside, the blow so brutal blood splattered on the wall. Harry flinched, bumping into the table behind.

His heart stopped as he brought his hands towards the table.

Too late. One of the glasses went crashing to the floor, the sound like a bomb in the empty corridor. Time stopped. Harry froze as space closed in on him. It could have been a second or a minute, but the moment he came to his senses, he leapt towards the stairs, and rushed up towards the exit door. He crossed it with relief when a cold and painful weight pressed on his temple.

The barrel of a gun.

His eyes slid up the arm holding it and found Goyle staring at him, cold, unforgiving. Numb all over, Harry didn't move an inch. The pressure on his temple was strong and he knew that, at any moment, the shot might ring out. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes.

"Put that down right away!" Draco yelled behind him.

Harry’s eyes snapped open as Goyle dislodged his arm, leaving a perfectly round print on Harry's skin.

"Where the hell have you been, you were supposed to come down ten minutes ago! Idiot, you left the door open! What were you thinking?"

Harry didn't hear Goyle's answer. He turned slowly, dazed.

Draco was facing him, skin clammy and features tense. He looked at Harry but all he got was a shocked gaze.

“What’s he doing here?” MacNair asked as he appeared through the open door with a disapproving air. 

It only took two consecutive shakes of his head for Draco to dismiss both MacNair and Goyle, leaving him alone with Harry.

"What’s going on?" Harry managed to blurt out with a shaky voice.

"Marcus betrayed us, that’s what’s going on,” Draco spat, scornful. “The day of the ambush, Theo went on an errand for us and on his way, he saw Marcus in a phone booth. He didn’t think twice about it, but after the fiasco at Ellis’, it couldn’t be a coincidence. Theo confronted him about it and he couldn’t find a decent excuse.”

The explanation took Harry aback. He couldn’t believe Flint had taken the risk to go and contact McCarthy after he had told him he didn’t care and wanted out.

“He’s the rat, it was right under our nose.” Draco shook his head, twisting his mouth distastefully. “All the setbacks we had, only someone in deep cover could have given us out."

"You knew Nott took him down here to be questioned that night?”

"Of course I knew. I ordered it."

It was like a slap in the face and Harry stood stunned, crushed with anger and guilt. He had seen none of this coming.

"And while we were drinking and joking and fucking,” Harry uttered, seething. “All this time, he was locked in the basement, agonizing."

Draco was getting upset too, if the way his body squirmed was any indication.

"It was him from the beginning, Harry. He was in cahoots with Ellis!"

Draco was still off the mark and it infuriated Harry further.

"No, you're wrong!” he yelled.

"Harry, he confessed."

Harry shook his head while Draco continued.

"He admitted he was seeking revenge. It was easy after that to make the connection with Ellis. It’s all connected, don't you see?"

"Revenge? What for?"

"It’s an old story…” Draco trailed off. "What matters is that he ratted on us!"

As panicked as he was, Harry had to be clever. He could see Draco was determined and he needed new arguments. So he changed gears.

"Alright… Ok… So, he sold you out,” Harry conceded, reining in his voice. “He learned his lesson. Now you can let him go.”

Seeing the disbelief written on Draco’s face, Harry tried to conjure empathy through his words.

”It's Flint. It's Marcus for heaven's sake! His–His mother is sick, and his uncle–” Draco was shaking his head, so Harry interrupted himself to plead with renewed vigor. “You’ve known each other since Hogwarts! He used to be your friend. He did something stupid but the harm is already done. Just let him go."

"Harry!" Draco snapped, stepping closer to him. "He's a traitor. I can't let him live."

Harry begged Draco with his eyes. He didn't know what to do or what to say anymore. What words would put an end to this nightmare?

While silence had fallen again, Harry and Draco's shaking breaths the only disturbance in the room, a noise resounded, faint but harrowing.

A gunshot like a blow to the heart.

Downstairs, far from Harry's eyes, Flint’s sagging body was trussed up on the chair, a hole in the middle of the head.

A summary execution.

Though the sound had reached them weakly in the living room, Harry felt as though the gun had gone off next to his ears. He could hear nothing but a buzzing sound muffling everything else.

It was over. Nothing would ever be the same.

Harry looked at the man so unperturbed in front of him. Something passed in Draco’s eyes. Concern for Harry maybe, but nothing for Flint.

Harry’s breathing grew heavier as rage built inside him like Fiendfyre.

He shoved Draco hard on the chest, to hurt him, to make him react, feel, anything.

"What is wrong with you?" Harry yelled with a voice coming from deep inside of him, rough and hoarse.

Incensed, he shoved Draco again, pushing him further against the door.

Unresponsive, Draco let him lash out, taking the blows without retaliating, arms limp by his sides. The lack of reaction only aggravated Harry and he grabbed onto the pristine shirt as if to fight Draco, or embrace him. Draco’s hands reached for Harry but before he could touch him, Harry pushed him violently away, stumbling back.

Eyes piercing and body tense, Harry looked down at him with disgust.

"We’re done," he said, his voice final. "You're nothing to me anymore."

Draco winced as if his words had physically struck him, Harry’s eyes judging him silently. After a moment of stillness, Harry turned and walked up to his room robotically, slamming the door behind him before collapsing on his bed.

Flint was dead.

And beyond the sorrow, all Harry could think about was that it could have been him downstairs, tortured and killed in cold blood. If he was found out, would he suffer the same fate at Draco’s hand? Would he be nothing more than a traitor to Draco too?

The thought chilled him to the bone. He pulled the cover around his body and closed his eyes. In the dark room, he fell asleep like a stray, curled up, his arms around himself.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

June 4, 2004

For the first time in a long while, Harry woke with no recollection of his dreams. He rubbed at his eyes, tempted to go back to sleep, but as he turned and tried to read the clock, pain stabbed at his head, forcing him to sit up. What had he done to feel so miserable?

As he rose and opened the blinds, noise from outside reached his ears. Raised voices, then Greyback’s deep laughter.

The sound made him gasp as the previous night’s events came rushing back to his mind like a wrecking ball.

Flint.

Yes, this nightmare was indeed reality.

The moment he had lowered his guard, let himself believe he was a full member of the gang, they had massacred Flint behind his back. 

They had probably gotten rid of the body by now, cleaned everything up. Would his mother and uncle ever know what happened to their boy?

A dreadful feeling tightened in his chest. 

Flint's quiet and reassuring presence had given him strength. With him, Harry hadn't had to bear the burden of the mission alone. From now on, he was on his own, and Flint's fate had been a tangible reminder of the danger looming over him.

He was going to die here. 

Would anyone even care? 

Down in the courtyard, Nott and Zabini were chatting over a beer, as though nothing had happened. It felt surreal. Sick to his stomach, Harry stepped away from the window and headed to the bathroom.

Catching his reflection in the mirror, he lowered his eyes, unwilling to face his image yet, and opened the medicine cabinet. In front of him, all the body and bath products were neatly lined up, the toothpaste, the aftershave, the deodorant, the aspirin tube, everything in its place, and it made him erupt. Swiping at the shelves, he threw it all on the floor, making a terrible clatter, and when there was nothing left to destroy, he slammed the cabinet door violently, making it bounce against the magnet. 

As his anger abated, he held himself to the washbasin's edges, head hanging low.

He had made quite a racket, but nobody came in to see if he was alright. Not even Pansy. But it was not surprising. Draco, the master in command, had surely dispensed his orders.

Harry turned, pressing the small of his back against the basin and rolled his shoulders. He looked at the mess at his feet, toiletries scattered everywhere.

Everything was falling apart.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

It took a while for Harry to collect himself, but as the morning drew on, he had to leave his bedroom eventually. Not nearly ready to face the gang, Harry dragged his feet down the corridor when he heard an animated debate coming from downstairs.

“I just want to say I'm against it.”

All the clan was gathered around the living room, and when Harry made his presence known, Zabini's voice died down a few seconds before resuming.

"I think it’s too soon.” 

Harry threw a somber look at the group. The message was clear: nobody get close.

Seemingly unbothered, Draco took the floor. "Very well Blaise, you’ve made your point."

His voice made Harry react despite himself, his heart beating stronger. He wasn't indifferent, but he sure as hell wouldn’t show it.

Seated on the couch, Draco had made no sign to acknowledge him, but Harry didn't care one bit. He took a glass from the kitchen cupboard, filled it with water and dropped an aspirin into it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the portal to hell, the dastardly gateway under the stairs. He half expected to see flames spewing from the doorsill and Flint's ravaged body to storm out with a feral scream.

This house, which had become almost familiar, was now stained by death, and Harry’s only goal was to get out of this charnel as soon as possible.

He turned to the center of the room, standing next to the bar, and swallowed the fizzy water, the effervescent tablet still singing. Behind his feigned indifference, he listened in on the Snakes’ conversation.

It was Nott who spoke this time.

"Well, I for one agree with the Elders. We have to show them we're not playing around. They can't walk all over us and go unpunished."

"Singer, Patil and Humphrey," said MacNair. "Those are the next targets. So how do you want to proceed?"

“I'll plan this more carefully with Sammy tomorrow night, but I want to take care of the three of them at once," Draco answered.

Harry had promised himself he would not interfere, but Draco’s words left him no choice but to butt in.

“I thought the message with Ellis was supposed to be a warning for the competition." Harry’s voice had come out hoarse and broken, but he kept going anyway. "Has there been more trouble since?"

Surprised by the intervention, they all turned to him, except for Draco who kept his eyes on the floor. Yet, he was the one who answered.

"After further reflection, it would be stupid on my part to welcome potential traitors into our clan. Their allegiance to Ellis won't change overnight."

Harry couldn't help but be stern and sharp with him. "You said it yourself that you would get more powerful with his men beside you, now you won't even give them a chance?"

Draco laughed frankly. "This isn’t charity. I admit I got carried away, cheating death made me too optimistic. Elimination will be far more effective. It will also secure our position and rid us of all the parasites."

“Are you listening to yourself? Another massacre will only stir up emotions,” Harry countered, his words biting. “You’re reigniting the violence, and for what?”

“Watch your tone,” Draco warned sternly.

“Has this taught you nothing? Do you want to lose someone else?”

Draco threw the file he was holding over the table. "We'll do without your comments. You can return to your room."

Harry stepped closer to the couch as his ire burned brighter. "Here we go again, you feel bigger when everyone’s at your beck and call, don’t you?"

Apparently it was the last straw as Draco leapt off the couch to confront Harry, standing dangerously close to him now.

"I forbid you to talk to me like that in front of my men, do you hear me?"

"I'm not one of your subordinates," Harry bit back. "I'll do whatever I want."

"Not in my house. If you want to leave, the door is wide open."

Harry opened his mouth but couldn't find a retort. He couldn't leave the Organization. Therein lay the problem.

He would have loved to scream "Fine!" and slam the door without a look back, but even this dignity wouldn't be granted to him. He had to stay for Remus, and now to avenge Flint.

In front of Draco, he had no other choice but to attack. "You're getting off on this, huh, controlling everything, deciding who has to live or die. You are sick.”

A twisted smile grew on Draco's face. That was not the expected reaction. Harry braced himself and then it came.

"That's rich coming from an ex-junky who'd get fucked by anyone for his dope."

The counterstroke had been cruel and the blood drained from Harry's face. How could Draco have used that against him? It was a low blow. A swipe to hurt, and it worked. Rage welled up despite him, even as he had to hold himself to keep it at bay.

Impassive, Draco turned his back on him. Had he even sensed what he had ignited?

Though his voice wasn't strong, Harry hit hard too. "You know something, Draco, you’re just like your father."

Draco’s back stiffened and he whirled around in a flash. Harry didn't see his face, just his fist swooping down on his cheek. A left jab. The strike knocked him down, making him collapse at the foot of the bar. It took Harry a moment before he recovered his senses, scrambling to get up, but once on his feet, he flung himself towards Draco. He would have crashed into him if Zabini hadn’t jumped up and held him back by the arm.

"Harry, don’t!” he yelled. “Let it go!"

Draco looked stunned, frozen and wide-eyed, as though he only now comprehended his gesture. Harry didn't want to analyze his reaction. Draco had gone too far.

Zabini pushed Harry towards the stairs to put some distance between Draco and him. Enraged, Harry struggled to free himself.

"Better a lowlife than a murderer!” he yelled over Zabini’s shoulder. “I'd rather crawl back to my hole, at least down there, we don't make up excuses for ourselves."

Zabini was still holding him back, but Harry resisted. "Let go of me. Get off!”

He pushed Zabini and managed to break free, his breathing heavy. He looked in every direction, running a hand through his hair, the basement door right next to him. The vision of Flint covered in blood on his chair.

"I can't," he said more for himself than anyone else. They were all looking at him, either unbothered or annoyed, looking so fucking nonchalant. A band of murderers.

Harry bolted upstairs to his room and opened the door so strongly that it banged against the wall. He opened the cupboard to take out his travel bag, threw it violently on the bed, and picked up all the clothes he could in one armful, putting them jumbled up inside. Next, he emptied the chest drawers. If he left things behind, he didn’t care. Only one thing was in his mind: leaving this place.

The horror of the night before, the punch and the humiliation he’d just suffered were too strong for him to think about the consequences of his departure. He buried the voice of reason deep in a recess of his mind.

Leave.

He hurried downstairs, and as he strode through the living room, he noticed the others were still seated on the couches, avoiding his gaze. Zabini threw a look at Draco, but kept quiet all the same. No one cared to hold him back.

Without a look back, Harry opened the front door, crossed the threshold and took a mouthful of air. Everything was churning around in his head, but as he looked at the gates outside, the street behind, the wind of freedom blew through his heart.

Bag in hand, he stomped determinedly towards the exit. He had made it to the front of the gates when one of the new guards stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

Harry held out his hand to push the gates, but the man took a firm grip on his shoulder.

"We haven’t received any orders."

Harry was tired of all this.

"I'm free, alright. If I want to go, I go,” he barked, banging his bag on the wrought-iron bars.

Imperturbable, the guard blocked him again, but before Harry could protest further, the man turned his head towards the house. Harry followed his stare and saw Draco standing stiff and emotionless on the threshold, so different from the man Harry thought he knew. So far already.

Draco turned his face to him and, though something felt irremediably broken, when their eyes connected, Harry couldn’t deny the pull was still there. After a long stare, Draco nodded his head to the guard and walked back inside. Harry's gaze stayed pinned to the door. He had the feeling he was leaving a part of his heart behind, but it was for the best.

Once on the other side of the gates, Harry didn't even know which way to proceed. It was like he had changed the course of his journey, but he saw nothing ahead. Finally, his steps carried him away from the gates, the Cottage disappearing behind him.

He was about to turn at the street’s corner when he heard a voice screaming his name.

It made him stop in his tracks.

“Harry!” screamed again in anguish.

Pansy.

In his blind anger, he had forgotten about her.

At a loss, Harry turned around, his resolve wavering. But he couldn't go back. He wasn’t sure he would be able to leave again if he did.

Tightening his hold on his bag's shoulder strap, he resumed his walk, Pansy's cries no more than a faint sound behind him.

Chapter Text

As he roamed the streets, Harry tried to rid himself of his anger, his doubts, his confusing emotions, only stopping when his feet started to tire to take a break in a small pub. The unassuming place was empty so early in the day, but he appreciated the quietness after his dreadful fight with Draco at the Cottage. Once settled at the bar, his travel bag on the floor, he hailed the bored-looking bartender and ordered a beer.

Despite Harry’s efforts to erase the memories from his mind, the shot that had killed Flint and Draco’s words kept ringing in his head. His cheek still hurt from the blow, yet it stung less than the cruel insult. He should have known better than to let Draco worm his way into his heart.  Angry with himself for being so damn hurt, Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead while his knee tapped nervously on the stool’s foot rest.

The pint banged on the coaster next to his hand, interrupting his thoughts. When Harry lifted his head, the bartender had already turned on his heels to replenish the empty shelves. The lack of conversation and attention suited Harry just fine. After taking a gulp of beer, he exhaled loudly. Far be it from him to drown his sorrows in alcohol – he knew he couldn’t allow himself this weakness – but the simple act of drinking in a pub like a lone wolf was liberating. The mundanity of it. The freedom. He had missed this.

Harry was scraping the notches marring the counter’s wood absently, his pint almost empty, when someone spoke next to him.

“You’re starting early.”

Pretending he didn’t hear the unwelcome comment, Harry took a sip of beer, eyes locked on the counter.

“That’s unwise,” the unknown voice remarked.

Now unnerved, Harry rolled his eyes at the man’s insistence. He just wanted to be left alone.

“What’s it matter to you?" he shot back, voice dripping with annoyance.

“I'd rather you'd be sober when you see McCarthy."

The mention of the name was enough to bring Harry out of his gloom, his head snapping around to face the stranger with shocked eyes.

“What did you say?"

The man didn't return the look, acting casual.

“Keep your eyes forward. You don't want to draw attention."

With a nervous shift of his jaw, Harry turned around. Just what he needed, an impromptu visit from the Division. Tempted to blow the stranger off, Harry’s hand tightened on his drink. Why couldn’t he catch a break?

“No one followed me," he retorted tensely.

“How do you know?” The stranger’s cutting voice contrasted with his neutral expression. “You didn’t spot us, did you?"

Harry couldn’t disagree.

“Take the backside exit, a car is waiting for you."

It was useless to delay the inevitable. McCarthy wouldn’t leave without seeing him. With no alternative other than compliance, Harry pushed up from his stool and rose tiredly on his feet.

Think about Remus. There may be news.

Pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder, Harry made his way through the worn tables and the alcohol stench over to the back door. With a deep breath, he pushed it open and came out into a dirty back alley. As planned, a sleek black car with tinted windows was parked there.

They’ll never let me go.

Feeling cornered, Harry stood still, staring at the car’s windshield as if he could pierce through the tinted glass. Then, the driver’s door opened. A suited man exited and walked towards Harry, stopping in front of him with a lifted hand. There was no point in making this difficult, so Harry gave him his bag. After putting it in the truck, the man opened the rear door, more in a summons than an invitation. Harry had no choice but to climb in.

Seated on the backseat, hands joined on his lap, a very poised and cold McCarthy welcomed him. Harry had forgotten how intimidating he could be, especially in such close proximity. If McCarthy was there, it was not a courtesy call, and Harry dreaded what was to come.

The door snapped shut and the lock clicked down, effectively trapping Harry as he waited for his handler to decide his fate. Hands flat on the leather seat, he looked out the window as the car drove off, feeling claustrophobic all of a sudden. The picturesque houses passed before his eyes in a blur, seeming so distant, when suddenly, McCarthy tapped his knee, both casual and threatening, an odd combination.

“So, Harry, you're trying to slip your leash?” he asked with a mocking tone. “I wonder who did the breaking up."

He grabbed Harry's chin none too gently to admire the bruise on his cheek.

“Did you get smart with the boys or was it a lover's spat?"

Though Harry didn’t take the bait, reining in his anger, he freed his face with a sharp movement. It only made McCarthy grin.

“One or the other, I don't give a fuck, you're going back."

"Flint is dead," Harry announced with a grim voice.

“Shit.” McCarthy’s assured expression wavered but only for a moment. “He was supposed to contact us the day after if things went awry, so I had my suspicions. Well, he knew the risks."

Harry scoffed with disgust. They were only pawns. Disposable.

“We fulfilled our mission,” he sneered back. “We served you Draco and his team on a platter. It's not our fault if you weren't up to the mark."

McCarthy grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forward, short of bumping his forehead against Harry’s. Defiance always threw him into a fit and Harry took pleasure in rattling him.

“Little shithead, I‘ll tell you when this is over! Your tipoff arrived last minute. You think an operation like that can be hatched at the snap of a finger? Now it's up to you to fix this and give us new opportunities. And if that's not enough for you, you can say bye-bye to your dear Remus, because he won't make the night if I send him back to section A."

Harry’s expression changed, hopeful but also wary.

“The transfer?"

“Was successful. Remus is out of danger. For now. One word from me and he goes right back under the knife. Is that what you want?" Docile now, Harry lowered his eyes. "That's what I thought."

While a sense of relief washed over Harry, the promise of Remus’ liberation had been dangled in front of him for months now and he needed guarantees.

“I want to talk to him.”

“I can arrange it."

Harry was about to protest when McCarthy’s words computed. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected.

“It’s only fair I reward you for a job well done. I’m not the bad guy here. If you keep up the good work, we’ll get along just fine.”

Harry wasn’t fooled, but this new agreement appeased him. He longed to hear Remus's voice, to be sure he was alive and well.

“We’ll contact you soon,” McCarthy said dismissively, eyes on the road.

On cue, the car stopped abruptly. But before he made his exit, Harry had another important question to ask.

“Flint, why did he volunteer?"

“Ah, little Marcus.” McCarthy chuckled darkly. “He was a bitter boy when he came to me. His stepfather killed himself and he thought I was to blame because I was the one who put him in jail. But it was Lucius Malfoy who set him up. He killed that man as surely as if he had hanged the poor bastard in his cell himself. Marcus’ mother was so devastated she ended up in a psych ward."

The scapegoat for the bombings. That’s why Flint had been so upset when they’d talked at the pub.

“His stepfather…” Harry whispered, taken aback. “He never told me."

“One of those alien sympathisers.” McCarthy’s mouth twisted with disdain. “I don’t know if Malfoy Sr. targeted him or if the poor schmuck was just a random pick, but when I told Marcus, things turned around. He was thirsty for revenge, so we helped him infiltrate the Organization. Quid pro quo.” An evil smile spread on his face. "I knew Marcus would be a good element. He had so much fight in him. Having a common enemy makes for the strongest alliances.”

Harry closed his eyes at the tragic tale.

Flint had been sacrificed. Remus was in the hot seat. And in the name of what? Revenge. Settling scores that weren't theirs to begin with, fighting others' battles – again.

But something didn’t add up.

“That is on Lucius. Why are you so bent on bringing Draco down? He has nothing to do with this."

“Draco and his father are the same!” McCarthy barked, leaning over him. “As guilty as one another, acting like kings when they’re nothing but vermin. Astoria, now Marcus, they think they’re so clever, but this time I will crush them down."

Surprised by the sudden outburst, Harry stared at him with bemused eyes. The vein popping on McCarthy’s forehead and his dilated pupils made him look like a madman. Then, as if a switch had been turned off, McCarthy straightened up and spoke plainly.

“Go back to your apartment for now.” He searched his pockets. “There's a bus stop right ahead."

When Harry saw the £5 note in his hand, he pushed it away. He couldn't stomach the gesture.

“Suit yourself.”

When Harry exited the car, the sun blinded him, his eyes narrowed as he looked around. Behind him, McCarthy shouted, “And don't be a smartarse, alright?"

Harry found his travel bag on the sidewalk. The moment he bent down for it, the car drove away and he was left alone and disoriented.

Outside, the sun was blazing. Harry took his sweatshirt off as he moved to sit in the bus shelter nearby. As he observed the couple waiting there with their children licking ice creams, making a mess of it and laughing, he wondered why he had strayed away from this world. Disconnected from the everyday routine, so distant from these carefree existences, he ached to get on the first bus and go far, far away.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

As soon as he crossed the threshold of his one-bedroom apartment, Harry dropped his bag on the floor. Looking around the place he still struggled to call home, he was struck by the smallness and emptiness of it. No more ruckus, no more banter, cries or laughter. No more companionship. He was on his own again.

The leftovers and half-empty bottle of juice he had left in the fridge looked so nasty he threw them immediately in the trash. He hadn’t thought he would be catapulted into the Organization and enter Draco’s orbit so soon after the Mansion party. It felt like it had been years ago. So much had happened in such a short span of time, and though he was back right where he had left off, Harry was no longer the same.

Before the mission, he had been drifting along, on autopilot, but his journey with Draco and the gang had broken his defenses and, for better and for worse, the feelings he had locked away had resurfaced in the most surprising and brutal way. Only now, he didn’t know what to do with them.

With heavy steps, he walked towards the couch and slumped down on it. A pause to empty his mind and enjoy the feeling of safety far from prying ears, the noise of the traffic below filtering through the windows the only reminder of the world outside. He let his head fall to the side, eyes landing on the high shelves filled with books. Everything seemed in order, but not quite. Goyle had done a good job searching the place.

With that thought, the mission returned to the forefront of his mind. He had barely left the Snakes, and McCarthy already wanted to throw him back in their nest. It was too soon. He was not ready to face the music and pretend again. Memories of Draco sprang to his mind, vivid and painful. No matter how many times he chased them away, they came back like a curse. A shout of annoyance left his mouth as he got up to pace in the small room. He wanted to forget everything and found himself yearning for a fix. Shaking his arms brusquely, he banished the impulse. He wouldn’t spend his life running away. He was stronger than that. Besides, Remus was his responsibility now.

Is he?

Hoping to drown the confusing voice in his head, Harry busied himself and went searching for his mobile phone’s battery, which he promptly found in his nightstand drawer. The moment his phone was on, it beeped incessantly, the voicemail full. He knew without checking who had tried to contact him. It was a good thing he had unplugged his landline before leaving, his answering machine would have been filled with messages from the Weasleys. Ron was probably worried sick by now and would surely track Harry down and barge in if he didn’t give at least some sign of life. With the Division and the Organization both on the lookout, Harry couldn’t put the Weasley family at risk. Their work was too important. Best they be kept away from him for now.

Eyes locked on his phone screen, Harry hesitated for a moment before settling for a text he hoped was both reassuring and dissuasive:

Sorry for the radio silence, I’ve been busy. Don’t worry, everything’s fine, but please, don’t try to contact me for the time being. I’ll explain later. Send everyone my love.

The delivery receipt came shortly after he sent the message and he imagined Ron’s sullen face when reading the dismissal. It was bad enough Hermione was still missing, now Harry was giving him the cold shoulder too. But they each had their own battle to fight. Ron would understand.

After tidying up his place, Harry found the neighbour who had kindly allowed him to stock some of his things in his cellar, and went to retrieve a battered shoebox from it.

On his bed, spread all around him, the remains of his life: his old wand and invisibility cloak now musty from disuse, and a few letters and pictures. With every image and word written, old memories flew back, sparking old joys and hurts. Between his fingers, a picture of Remus and him surrounded by a Scottish family who took them in for a couple of weeks in Edinburgh – one of the few fond memories of a journey interrupted too soon.

Their story had been more chaotic than the version Harry had told Draco. Remus had indeed been tortured in one of the Division's centers, but Harry had managed to set up an operation with the help of the Weasleys and a high-placed contact he had won the favour of. After a last-minute rescue during a transfer, the plan had been to hide Remus at the “Weasley Fortress” until he recovered and find him a place to stay under a new identity.

At the time of the breakout, Division 8 was an entity that struggled to handle the sheer number of ex-wizards they surveyed, their centers overcrowded and their funding insufficient. It had rendered them vulnerable and fallible. But after the breach, the discredited Division had undergone a complete restructuring, their systems reinforced and their setup upgraded. A national manhunt had been spearheaded, forcing Harry and Remus, now fugitives, to hit the road sooner than planned. They couldn’t jeopardize the Weasleys’ operations. 

The aftermath had been complicated with Remus in rough shape and Harry still fragile after his detox. On their way to Aberdeen, where Arthur had trusted men, they had struggled to stay afloat, running from one town to another. At night, they had shared their woes and hopes, Remus mourning Tonks and Teddy’s disappearance, hoping they were still alive somewhere, and Harry trying to move on from his past mistakes, imagining a new life where his adopted family could finally be reunited. Despite the obstacles, they had made it through. At least for a while.

Merely a few miles from their destination, the late hour and exhaustion had compelled them to take refuge in a little inn. Remus had been particularly agitated that night, convinced something bad was going to happen. Listening to the voice of reason, Harry had done his best to stifle his friend's fears and was successful as Remus had finally relented and fallen asleep.

It was the last time Harry had seen him.

The next morning, McCarthy had come down on Harry with three of his oafs. At the top of the Division, the feared agent, renowned for his thorough methods and pugnacity, had come to arrest them himself. Harry had struggled, crying out his friend's name when McCarthy had announced with sadistic pleasure that Remus was already in the convoy heading for the detention center among the other "monsters". Harry hadn't even had the chance to see Remus one last time. No goodbye, no farewell.

Harry looked at the picture in his hands sadly, running his finger along their smiling faces.

Despite its dreadful outcome, the rescue mission had saved him, giving purpose and meaning to an existence that wasn’t much of a life at all anymore.

With haunted eyes, he gathered the pictures into a pile and back in the shoebox where a letter from Ginny caught his attention. Harry left it in its unsealed envelope. He wasn’t keen on reliving all his failures in one afternoon.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Later that night, Harry found himself seated on the living room carpet, the coffee table strewn with boxes of Chinese food he had ordered. He hadn't taken more than a few bites. Wherever his eyes went, the stillness of the place brought him back to the White Cottage and its boisterous energy. 

He turned the TV on. An insipid reality show was being broadcast but the background noise filled the silence. A woman was crying in a close-up, pouring out her heart in front of the cameras. Bored with the performative display of emotion, Harry switched to the news. The ticker displaying the usual list of wanted ex-wizards scrolled across the bottom of the screen while the reporter presented a rehabilitation program for “inactive aliens” with workshops and social assistance. In the current political climate, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if these initiatives were a genuine step forward or yet another way to control them. He switched back to the reality show and ate some more, his mind wandering again.

Once Remus was safe and sound and McCarthy out of the picture, Harry’s life would get back on track and he could forge ahead with the Weasleys’ help. Build a new life. Be someone people could count on again. 

But he was getting ahead of himself. It wouldn’t be long before McCarthy contacted him again, and then what? Would he have to crawl back to Draco? Forgive him like nothing happened? Impossible.

Really?

Harry could still feel him inside. Still taste Draco’s skin on his mouth. The sensation of his hands against him. The way Draco called him, like Harry had never heard his name before. 

Why was he so obsessed? As if his heart had ever belonged to Draco in the first place. 

Harry had never given himself to Draco completeIy. His lies and secrets had at least allowed him to keep a part of himself hidden and it had been his saving grace. Their story had never been and would never be real. Draco belonged in a cell and Harry belonged out there, with Remus and the Weasleys.

As resolute as he was, when he went to bed, Harry kept to his side on the left, the phantom of a warm body against his back almost tangible.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

June 5, 2004

When Harry awoke, it took him a moment to recognize his surroundings and his thoughts drifted to Draco again. The thrill and ache his presence had provoked in him. The tenderness and the passion. The butting of heads and the fierceness. Suddenly he missed it all.

Living with Draco, Pansy and the others had felt like finding a new family. Admittedly a dysfunctional and rotten one, yet somehow, it had drawn him out of the solitude he had so carefully crafted after Remus’ imprisonment.

But it was silly to dwell on it again. He didn’t belong in the Organization and Draco was not his either. It was only a fool’s game.

Instead of wandering and waiting idly for McCarthy’s signal, Harry resumed his old routine. After getting ready for the day, he bought some groceries at the supermarket in the street’s corner, then the paper at the newsstand and his favourite drink at the coffee shop nearby. The ordinary life of an ordinary man. The day passed by uneventfully, and as Harry was about to prepare dinner, he realised it suited him fine. 

He was about to turn the heat on the stove when the buzzer rang, making him start, his hand gripping the casserole’s handle tightly. It had been less than 48 hours since his meeting with McCarthy and he was already being summoned. With a sigh, he strode to the intercom and pressed the button.

“What?” he barked.

“It’s Goyle, come down.”

It was the last voice Harry had expected and his mind reeled at the implication of Goyle’s presence.

“Why, what’s going on?” he asked with a frown, but the line crackled and no answer came.

Harry stared at the machine, trying to put his thoughts together before settling on the most logical explanation: Goyle had come to bring him the rest of his stuff. He grabbed his keys and left the apartment quickly. On the sidewalk, a familiar Chevrolet was parked further down the street, Goyle standing next to it.

Suspicious, Harry stayed at bay and raised his voice, addressing Goyle as he would a friend, “Missed me much?"

The jibe didn’t seem to amuse Goyle who threw a cold look at him. Harry scoffed at his usual stoicism, wondering what the man was waiting for. Then the back door opened and, like a tornado, Pansy ran out of the car.

“What?" Harry let out in a surprised whisper.

A big smile on her face, Pansy threw herself at him. Though confused, Harry returned the hug immediately, nose buried in her hair.

“You left without saying goodbye!" Pansy reprimanded him with a pout.

“I know, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Harry lifted questioning eyes towards Goyle, but Pansy was already grabbing his hand.

“You’re lucky I adore you. Come on, everyone's waiting for you."

Had he missed an episode?

When Harry drew near the car, he was surprised to find Draco sitting in the front seat, eyes fixed on the windshield. A pang of sorrow filled his traitorous heart, then Zabini popped his head out from behind.

"It's Snape.”

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Standing still on the sidewalk, Harry observed the art deco façade of the EMD*, an abandoned cinema, with curiosity. The windows were blackened and covered with posters pasted one on top of the other, preventing the light from entering. 

Nearby, Draco was staring at the cinema’s entrance, eyes filled with nostalgia. It was the first emotion he had shown since Harry had joined him in the car. Not once during their drive had Draco spared a glance or a word at him, the tension palpable, and it suited Harry just fine. 

“The Elders are already inside,” Zabini announced, eyes on his phone.

An unusual message from Snape asking them to bring his team, Harry included, to the deserted location had alarmed Draco, who had dropped everything to meet him. This unexpected rendezvous was wearing McCarthy's mark all over, Harry would have bet his life on it.

Goyle led the way and, against all odds, the front door opened without difficulty. The group advanced along the red carpet and looked astounded as they entered a luminous and clean baroque hall. Ahead of them, a white hexagonal ticket office stood at the centre, almost yellow under the warm light. Mirrors adorned the walls, some of them unfortunately broken, a snag in the middle of all this beauty.

Harry spun around, observing the premises. The empty old place seemed to have come back to life despite the cracks of time and it was almost frightening. The rest of the gang didn’t seem fazed, too busy helping themselves with the popcorn and soda machines that were surprisingly in service. Nott filled himself a big carton of popcorn while Pansy's face lit up as she tried to decide what snack she would pick from the candy counter. Even Zabini filled himself a cup of coke. More cautious, Draco was keeping his distance, scowling at his crew as he would children. Something was amiss.

After a call to order, Draco gathered his team and led them upstairs to the auditorium. The empty room looked like an old theatre, with its balcony, high ceilings and chandeliers. The red worn-out seats looked clean even though the upholstery had burst in some places. As they walked carefully down the stairs, they came closer to the imposing stage and the long red curtains covering the screen, a big dusty organ throning in the corner.

The Elders were nowhere to be seen, the place empty and silent – eerily so.

Harry had an uneasy feeling about this, and Draco seemed to have the same hunch, as he slid his hand inside his pocket, ready to draw his gun. Draco’s eyes scanned the room left and right as he called Snape’s name. 

Suddenly, the curtains on the stage lifted up with a scraping noise, making the gang stop in their tracks. A small group of elegant people – the Elders, Sammy, and Snape among them – was slowly revealed. Draco looked as confused as Harry in the lingering silence, the curtains almost completely folded. 

Another second passed and, when the electrical sound stopped, they all yelled at once, "Happy birthday!" 

The shouts made Harry start while Pansy bounced towards a shocked Draco, clapping wildly.

“What the…?" Draco blurted out, taken aback.

A bewildered smile bloomed across his face as he turned to Zabini. “I didn't even notice the date with everything that happened."

Zabini gave him a little pat on the back. "Well, mate, you better believe it. One year older but none the wiser. Happy birthday, Draco." With that, Zabini hugged him warmly, soon joined by Pansy who latched onto Draco with mirth.

“One year closer to the grave,” Nott joked with a raucous laugh and a big clap on Draco’s back. 

Surrounded by his friends, he looked relaxed, the anxiety that had altered his features moments ago now gone and forgotten.

As he extracted himself from the gang, Snape met him on the stairs.

“Severus, I should kill you for this,” Draco quipped before stepping down to Snape’s level to embrace him. “You put the worst fears into my head."

Snape looked at him with a faint grin. "You're not the only one who knows how to put on a show."

It made Draco chuckle. “How did you do all this?" he asked, looking around.

“Uttering your name sufficed to open doors and your friends arranged for a couple of much-needed renovations. A one-time special, for memory’s sake. Believe me, it didn't require much effort on my behalf."

A skeptical air on his face, Draco rested his hand on Snape’s shoulder, and his voice sounded most sincere when he whispered, “I appreciate it.”

The moment Snape drew away, friends and acquaintances crowded Draco, cheering loudly and congratulating him one by one.

Propped against a wall, immobile, closed-off and sullen, Harry observed the jovial faces with detachment. Celebrating Draco’s birthday was the furthest from his mind.

Much ado about nothing.

The voices of the party receded into the background as he retraced his steps back to the main hall. Glancing distractedly at his reflection in the wall mirror, he saw the purple mark on his cheek and cast his eyes down to the red carpet under his feet.

What was he doing here?

Ambling down the few steps leading to the ticket office, he wandered around morosely to finally enter the booth and sit, like a clerk expecting customers. Rummaging around, he inspected the drawers, but there was nothing to find, so he just waited, elbow on the small table and cheek on his fist like a bored kid.

His solitude was soon interrupted by the opening of the door. Harry's head jerked up to find Snape looking at his bruise with a slight grimace. Embarrassed, Harry turned around to hide the mark. Fortunately, Snape didn’t comment as he sat next to him. Harry was grateful for that but it didn’t make the silence between them easier. Still and forlorn behind the booth’s big window, they made a strange pair.

It was Harry who broke the silence first. 

“Did McCarthy ask you to make me come here?"

While his question met no response, Snape didn't deny it either.

“What has he got on you?” Harry asked, staring at his impassive face.

As expected, Snape deflected the question. "There has been trouble between Draco and you, I presume."

Harry simply nodded.

“Draco invited me here at a time where we were still grasping for a sense of belonging. I was quite reluctant. Trust the Muggles to come up with the most artificial, mystifying inventions. But the escapism was nonetheless welcome in these dire times. Draco made a point to make it a regular rendez-vous before the place closed.”

The thought of Snape enjoying himself in such a common setting made Harry grin despite himself.

“To brand Draco as a villain would be small-minded, especially for someone in your position,” Snape scolded with a commanding tone, like he would his pupils, and Harry’s lips turned down. “Now, whatever occurred between you two must be mended.”

Harry scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say, you weren’t there, you don’t know what happened.”

“I know enough.”

Snape’s guarded stare betrayed no emotion and Harry wasn’t keen on asking about the extent of his knowledge. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly while Snape tried to reason with him again.

“Merlin knows how you did it, but you managed to affect Draco greatly. It would be unwise to turn your back on him now.”

Harry frowned, unconvinced. “Draco doesn’t care about me. And right now, I wish nothing more than to throw him into the Division’s clutches, but I can’t even seem to do that right. It’s hopeless.”

“Potter, you are not alone in this.”

Maybe it was the unexpected reassurance or the privacy of the small space they had huddled in, but deep-seated emotions flowed to the surface and Harry fought hard to rein them in. “Yeah, well it doesn’t feel like it.” 

No retort would appease him, so he didn't let the silence linger and asked bitterly, "You know about Flint?"

Snape nodded but Harry had to let it out. 

“They killed him. Flint wanted to avenge his family. It always comes down to that, isn't it? Revenge. Did you know about this?”

Snape’s silence spoke for him.

“Of course you knew.”

Harry shook his head. He was always the one in the dark, one step behind.

“Ellis ambushed us and everything went awol. Because Draco had to make a point. I'd warned McCarthy there would be trouble with Ellis, but I guess it was too little too late.”

“Don't let yourself be fooled, McCarthy’s the culprit,” Snape countered darkly.

“No, Ellis was the one–"

Snape cut him short. “If Ellis got wind of Draco's plans, you can be certain it is McCarthy’s work. Be it a messenger or an anonymous phone call, he is not above it as long as he has his way.”

“It doesn't make any sense. He would let everyone kill each other and risk his career for it?"

“A bunch of dead thugs and aliens,” Snape uttered the word with obvious distaste, “means little to his kind. A good riddance, most certainly. By making it look like a revenge killing, his involvement could never be suspected.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief but the more he contemplated Snape’s take, the more it made sense. 

“McCarthy is a narcissistic, obsessive man,” Snape warned. “And the Malfoy name is a stain on his record. A tarnished reputation is hard to live down for men like him.”

It reminded Harry of his conversation in the car and the way McCarthy had lost his temper at the mere mention of his strife with the Malfoys.

“So it’s all about Lucius," Harry ventured.

Snape stared at him with piercing eyes. “You’ve heard."

Harry nodded.

“Lucius’ death should have put an end to McCarthy’s vindictive crusade, but Draco rose to the occasion. Lucius’ spawn picking up the torch was the worst offender.” Snape's voice turned solemn as he looked at Harry intently. “The sins of the father will fall upon the son." 

In his mouth, the words carried all the more weight. Was it another way for him to make amends? Harry couldn’t be certain. And at that moment, it wasn't important. 

His eyes turned glassy as realization hit him. “McCarthy wants Draco dead."

“Yes, I’m afraid I found out too late about his nefarious plans. He will fight tooth and nail until Draco gets his comeuppance," Snape concluded.

Harry bristled. The affair was more desperate than he had thought.

“And I'm supposed to keep going knowing that?" He caught himself, forcing his voice back down. "I might have seen a side of Draco that I hate, yes, but I wouldn't wish him dead. So tell me, what do I do now? Because I won't give McCarthy the weapon to shoot Draco with.”

“You will know what to do when the time comes," Snape answered wisely.

“How?” Harry erupted. “My hands are tied. There are two lives at stake, and if I choose one, I’ll sacrifice the other."

“Why should you choose?"

Snape's cryptic answers and measured voice started to irritate Harry.

“Because they're making me,” he cried out.

He looked at Snape with inquisitive eyes but received no word of wisdom. Instead, Snape rose to leave. As he looked at his retreating back, Harry tempered his emotions to refocus his thoughts.

“Is that why you didn't tell me about Lucius?" he asked with a calmer tone. “You were afraid my choice would be biased, like Flint’s?"

“Don't make the same mistake. Draco is not Lucius." Snape paused without turning back. "The film is about to start. You don't want to miss it."

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Harry headed straight to the empty balcony, far from the small assembly downstairs, and sat on one of the chairs in a middle row, bending his knees to perch his feet on the back of the seat in front. He could hear voices and laughter coming from the orchestra stalls.

Draco wouldn't even notice his absence.

The lights went out and Harry welcomed the darkness that enveloped him like a protective cloak, carrying him out of the world, out of time. The projection began and he felt himself relax in his chair. The title appeared on the screen: "Alfred Hitchcock's Notorious".

As the plot of the film was revealed, Harry appreciated the irony: a film noir with Ingrid Bergman as a spy and Cary Grant as the agent recruiting her. Yet, Harry let himself be caught up in the story, forgetting where he was for a blessed moment.

Until Draco entered the balcony in the middle of the kissing scene.

Harry felt his presence immediately, his hair standing on end. Even so, he didn't show any sign that he noticed him. It was Draco who came to him, taking the seat next to him. Harry lowered his feet and straightened up, keeping his eyes on the moving images, the glowing faces of the actors invading the screen as the kiss was interspersed with dialogue. 

“This is a very strange love affair."

"Why?"

“Maybe the fact that you don't love me."

Draco was sitting still but Harry was aware of every small movement, every breath, as if Draco had invaded the whole room. Harry’s heart was beating so fast he was sure Draco could hear it, but he tried to mask his emotions and focus on the film as best he could.

“When I don't love you, I'll let you know."

“You haven't said anything."

“Actions speak louder than words."

Harry expected a word or a reaction from Draco but he stayed static and quiet. They both watched the film in silence, the projection's beam of light skimming the air above their heads.

As the film went on, Harry was swept away by the story, sharing Ingrid Bergman's fears when she was thrown into the villain’s clutches, and her tormented love for Cary Grant. The tortured relationship brought his feelings for Draco back to the surface. He felt as if the film was speaking only to him.

“Oh you love me! Why didn't you tell me before?"

“I know. But I couldn't see straight or think straight. I was a fat headed guy, full of pain. It tore me up not having you."

Harry felt tears pooling in his eyes and forced himself to suppress them, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Oh, you love me. Oh, you love me."

“Long ago. All the time, since the beginning.”

As Harry's hand rested on the arm of the chair, something warm touched his skin. A quiet gasp left his mouth. Draco had put his hand over his. They weren't looking at each other, eyes riveted on the screen, but Harry's body and heart were bursting with intensity. How could a simple touch bear such heat? It was as though all his senses were converging on his hand. Harry tried to contain himself. He didn't want Draco to feel him responding to the touch.

“I'm sorry."

There was a catch in Draco's voice, and the feeling it betrayed made Harry's throat tighten. Harry was surprised to find he wanted to hear more, but immediately berated himself for it. His emotions were all over the place and he was not ready to give in. He pulled his hand away.

“You'll probably never forgive me,” Draco whispered, “but I want you to know you're precious to me."

Harry didn’t grace him with a reaction. He wanted to believe in Draco's words, but he knew the two of them could never be together. Their story was doomed from the beginning.

“Oh, don't ever leave me."

“You'll never get rid of me again."

“Never tried to."

Harry had deceived himself to believe in a spectacular escape with Draco, running together to Remus' rescue, braving the Division and the gangs around, but it was a foolish dream.

“I need you, Harry."

The words had been barely whispered, but Harry had heard them loud and clear.

As the words “The End" appeared onscreen, he felt a hand brush his cheek tenderly. The caress gave him shivers but he kept his face immobile as his eyes shone, staring at the screen. The light came back on, and he squinted under the brutality of its brightness. By the time he turned to face him, Draco was already up. Harry followed him with his eyes until he disappeared behind the exit doors, then hunched over with shaky breaths, elbows on his knees. He needed to pull himself together. Why did Draco make him so weak?

After a deep inhale, Harry left the balcony to return to the empty hall. As he sauntered towards the orchestra stalls, he found the room unusually quiet. The select few that had come to celebrate were all looking towards the stage. When Harry followed their gazes, he noticed two muscular men in suits standing in front of the empty screen. He didn’t remember seeing them before.

Draco was still descending the stairs towards the stage while Snape, Zabini and Nott were standing immobile at the bottom of the stairs with grave looks on their faces.

"What is it?" Draco asked. “You look like you've seen a ghost."

A well-known laugh answered him. Draco spun around and his face fell.

The two men in front of the screen parted to reveal the man, once so dreaded, seated in a wheelchair. The voice, dark and distinguished, sprang out and echoed in the silent room.

"Happy birthday, son."