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Chapter Text

Harry

Exhaustion washed over every inch of Harry’s body, inside and out, he was tired down to his bones. But a more crushing wave than his fatigue was his inescapable grief and guilt. Cedric was dead, Voldemort was back and Harry was terrified.

Strong hands grasped his shoulders and tried to pull him away from Cedric's body as music sounded all around in celebration. There shouldn't be a celebration. This was all wrong. He heard his name called distantly and then the wails and screams of grief. Not safe, none of this is safe. And Cedric is dead and it was all Harry's fault.

Magic exploded out of him, his limbs grew light as air and he was pushed through the fabric of space. On some level he recognised the sensation of travel. Almost like a portkey but more close, more personal. However even in this recognition he felt,could feel, nothing but pain, he could think nothing but:

Away, safe

Away, safe

Away, safe

The hum of life and music came to an abrupt halt as his feet met solid ground again. His vision swam blinding white before it cleared briefly to reveal a figure, one known to Harry. One known to Harry well.

“M-Malfoy!” was all he managed to say, before his mind went black and he collapsed onto the other boy.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco

Twenty minutes earlier

Anticipation brewed all around him as the end of the challenge neared. Staying to see the conclusion of the tournament was unnecessary. Everyone knew Potter would win. It was unfathomable that anyone would even think anything different. He would win, gain the endless and eternal glory-- like he needed anymore- he would claim the winnings and be showered with more and more praise. More than he already was if that was even possible.

So no draco really needn't stay. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of a completely packed stadium. He would not give himself the anguish and jealousy. He was better than that. So he stood, smacked crab and goyle upside the head for cheering and strolled off. And yeah maybe it was petty and maybe it was childish, but both of these traits Draco had already presented unashamedly in his time at Hogwarts so who cares? Certainly not him.

He walked until the cheers of the crowd could no longer be heard, he breathed in the night air allowing the chill to sting his lungs, and made his seat by a tree to wait and stew silently, alone.

Damp grass, a waning moon and uncomfortable bark as his only company - Just the way he liked it - he fidgeted with his heirship ring, spinning it around his pinky and chewing on his stumpy nails. A disgusting habit that his mother had spent hours and hours berating him for. You are a Malfoy! This is unbecoming! He scowled to his hands at the memories and their familiarity. Malfoy, right! Like a badge of honor. Some sparkly fucking beacon in the sky that screamed superiority, supposedly silver or gold and in reality just a pile of rust. Malfoy means nothing. He didn't think it ever really had. But still he had to sit on his hands instead of destroying his cuticles. It was after all unbecoming.

Fireworks exploded in the distance, every Hogwarts colours and then another set, a crimson lion with a splashy golden mane leaping around through the clouds. Harry had won. That was all the confirmation Draco needed. He was right, same as always. Where was the doubt?

Draco watched as the final sparkles bled into the atmosphere, only to be replaced almost instantly by more massive explosions of light. Clearly Dumbledore was pulling out all the stops for his resident golden boy. He didn't get long to drink in the beauty of the celebration (even from afar, even with his childish jealousy, Draco couldn't deny the display was breathtaking) before a loud crack ripped through the quiet and then before him stood Potter. Bloodied and filthy. His glasses cracked and hair a mess, sticking up in all directions and defying fucking gravity. He looked like death on a stick. Shakely he called “D-Draco!” before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell onto, as he said, Draco. His head on Draco’s shoulder and his legs draped over Draco's own.

Stunned and frankly absolutely confused. Draco reached for him and gave a resigned shake of his shoulders. Potter didn't respond, he was out like a light and so obviously injured. He tried not to panic, honestly he did. But what was expected of him, really? This was not a situation one found themselves in every day.

He'd disapperated, that at least was obvious. No less confusing, prompting many, many more questions.
How? It's not supposed to be possible to apperate within Hogwarts.
Why? Out of every single place on this wretched planet, why would potter apperate to this specific tree where Draco just happened to be throwing a hissy fit.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? Something had obviously gone very wrong in that damn task. And what? It was just Draco’s responsibility now?

The rational side of his brain was coming up short on answers and that simply would not do at all! Pulling out his wand, Draco used the limited healing spells in his arsenal to try and repair some of Potter's injuries. His spellwork was messy and inaccurate and would probably scar but he managed as best he could. If he were to be asked about it at a later date though, of course he would recall how his performance was just what the git deserved. Not that he believed that himself, not that he would ever say that. He performed a mediocre diagnostic spell and checked Potter's vitals, he seemed to be stable, just unconscious. So at least he wasn't about to drop dead (well he'd already dropped, Draco supposed. So at least he wasn't just, dead). With no way to communicate to anyone his location, he resigned himself to letting Potter lean against him; he had to regain consciousness at some point. And yeah Draco could move him. He was definitely strong enough, he just, well he just, okay fine Potter was a massive lump of inconvenient lead. Quite literally crushing Draco's ribs as he tried to suck in any kind of calming oxygen.

Draco would wait until one of Potter's many admirers came to look for him, and call out for help. Or until Potter woke up. While waiting for his rescue team, intermittently, Draco cast the same diagnostic spell to check his heartrate and O2 stats, just to make sure he was still sitting steady and not actively shaking hands with his parents beyond the veil. Wouldn't that be something, Draco Malfoy caught with one dead Harry Potter. It had been maybe ten-ish minutes of this labour, before Draco remembered that he could send up a flare with his wand, like Hagrid had told him to in that forest, what seemed like a million years ago.

Raising his wand over his head and pointing it towards the castle, he sent a series of sparks, he hoped would be seen from this far. Vaguely remembering the fireworks his heart sank slightly before he realised they had stopped. He scolded himself internally for even wasting headspace on such a useless train of thought. He sent a few more and peered down at Potter, truly taking in his ruffled state, while he was injured, probably in immense pain and had clearly been through some kind of ordeal. He looked sort of peaceful, like he could be asleep. There were a few strands of hair falling under his glasses and onto his eyes, Draco raised his hand to brush them away but caught himself before his fingers made contact. This whole thing was making his brain go all fucked beacuse what the hell was that!

Help came a measly five minutes later in the form of a gang of griffindoors, many professors, the headmaster and the minister of magic himself. They were all shouting for Harry, some tracking spell Draco had never seen set in front of them. Draco wondered distantly if his flare had been at all helpful with what looked to be a very complicated, most likely very secure, spell.

“Over here” draco called back “hurry up, get him off of me!”

The group broke into a run at his shout. When they reached the pair they set straight into problem solving mode, slinging an exhausting number of questions Draco's way. Half the time he couldn't tell who was asking what. And they still hadn't removed Potter's burdensome lump of a body from Draco, opting instead to shine like fourteen different lumouses in his face while they checked over Harry's condition.

They asked things like, what happened? As if Draco knew, and he told them as much. Or what did you do? To which he replied explaining the few healing spells he'd performed. Even though that was really not what they meant.

Eventually Madame Pomfrey arrived and Potter was carried off to the hospital wing. Draco stood his legs like jelly, and for one reason or another found himself following after the gaggle of do-gooders.

Chapter Text

Draco

Granger and Weasley didn't leave Potter’s side the entire way, not for a second, clinging onto his hand or his shoulder repeating you'll be fine Harry as if he could hear them while unconscious, it was ridiculous.

The head nurse performed her own healing spells and even fixed some of Draco’s own, commenting that he didn't do too bad of a job and that it could have been worse. Draco just scoffed as a response. His spells had always worked plenty fine on himself.

The professors crowded around him and began, what Draco would describe as, an interrogation. Professor Dumbledore asked how Harry had disapperated, why he had gone to that seemingly random tree, how had draco managed to coincidentally wind up in the same exact place?

Professor Mcgonogal took a softer approach asking if Draco could run through the events from the beginning. It was all rather tedious. A waste of time really. Draco was operating under the exact same information as the two of them. What did they want from him? An in-depth monologue into the psyche of the chosen one himself? Well too bad for them. Draco had no fucking idea what could possibly have happened or why. And if he was being honest he didn't care, like at all.

Robes covered in blood and grime, he felt disgusting. He wanted a shower, a strong cup of tea and a nap, and more importantly he wanted to forget that this had ever happened. And yet even after his teachers had left off questioning him, Draco's feet were cemented to the ground. He watched as madame pomferey performed her last few spells, at which point Granger and her pet project Weasley glanced around the room their eyes leveled on draco an indescribable expression on both tear stained faces before they found the professors and called them over to extract more information. Probably Granger's idea, bloody encyclopedia of a woman. Honestly, sorted griffindoor was just an insult to her at this point. The girl didn't miss a beat, like ever.

Granger had a number of questions for their teachers and far too few answers by looks of it. She periodically looked over her shoulder to Draco assessing him with a look of confusion and suspicion on her face.

Nearly ten minutes passed in this way before Severus burst into the wing to proclaim to Dumbledore that he'd caught a certain death eater in his potions stores. One mr barty crouch junior. At this declaration a few gasps let out through the room, as Snape described a tale of poly juice potion, a reanimated dark mark [that dropped Draco's stomach to the ground] and a committed impersonation of the both respected and feared Auror Alastor Moody.

Instructed by the headmaster to send an owl to askaban and the ministry, to call for a team of aurors to deal with the escaped convict, Snape made for the exit pausing for but a second as he noticed Draco's presence. Mercifully he did not comment and continued his stride towards the door. As nosey as his godfather could be, Snape was never really one to draw attention to anything untoward, and as far as he knew Draco could have been there for some, well, bad reasons. Reputation proceeding him and all.

Potter stirred as the doors closed with a thud, in the echoey room. Draco held his breath in an attempt to go unnoticed as he waited another few minutes for Potter to wake up.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry

Blinking open his eyes he was met with yet another blinding white light, the clinical smell of the medical bay, and a shitload of worried voices. Chief among them was Hermione and Ron. He turned to the direction of their voices and drank in the familiar comfort that came from their closeness, his attention caught however, over their shoulders onto Malfoy, his grey eyes snapped onto Harry's like magnets drawn together, oddly he felt that same comfort but almost slightly intensified. It was a fleeting moment of insanity of course. Malfoy and comfort were literal antonyms.

Malfoy nodded and abruptly left the room before Harry could ask what he was doing there. He would have called after him but he found that he actually just didn't want to, if Malfoy had played a prank, thrown a hex, knocked him on his arse, then so be it, he was too tired to care. He passed out as the doors slammed shut.

—-----------------------

He awoke again to a press of cold glass on his lips and a steady hand under his head. He had enough presence of mind to allow the liquid in and swallow. The potion was bitterly unpleasant, but medicine never really tasted nice, did it.

The hand placed his head back to the pillow beneath him, and he lay there for a moment allowing the potion he'd consumed to take action. He could feel his muscles unclenching, warming up from what could only be called freezing to the point of hypothermia.

“He should wake fully soon, if that boy hadn't attempted those spells this could have gone vastly different professor, vastly different!”

Harry knew where he was, he was almost sure he knew who was with him, the only thing he couldn't figure out was why? What had happened. The last thing he could remember was fog, or maybe that was just his hazy mind coming back to consciousness.

He heard the doors swing open and a steady set of footsteps follow.
“Any update professor?” that was definitely Hermione’s voice, he had been right about that at least.

“As a matter of fact, Miss Granger. There are several!” Dumbledore! Responded. Had he just come in? Harry could vaguely recall his distant sombre tone, calling for him by name.

Harry made to sit up and his vision adjusted to the scene before him, Pomerfey assisted his rise and he settled back against the pillows, as warm and plush as they were Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable.

“Harry! Are you alright? How are you feeling? Oh, you gave us such a fright, Harry. What happened? How did you do that?” Hermione was ever the inquisitor about whatever the hell she was going on about, her concern while welcome was absolutely confusing.

Until it wasn't. Everything came rushing back to him like a damn being bombarded in his mind. The bright green light meeting shocked red. His parents' spirit forms surrounding him. The cup, a portkey. Cedric. Cedric's death. Harry's fault, it was all Harry's fault. And the waves kept coming.

The cheers of a crowd, the unrelenting guilt, the pull of his body to somewhere. to , oh merlin to… Malfoy!

“I- I don't know. I don't know, cedric, cedric is he please is he i- i cant i” he cut himself off with a string of sobs, as Hermione wrapped her arms around him, he clung to her right back burying his face into her bushy hair. And let himself cry. Ron placed his palm on Harry's back and rubbed in soothing circles. Harry appreciated it, but he was undeserving because Cedric, Cedric’s dead.

He couldn't think of anything but the bright flash of green and the silent vacating of his soul from his body. He didn't scream or cry or SAY anything he just fell. Each time he thought of another detail he wailed harder, crying into Hermione's hair and leaving snot all over her shoulder. She wouldn't mind but still, it was something to be aware of. He couldn't though because, because…

When his wracking sobs settled into softer sniffles he extricated himself from Hermione's hair and noticed his two best friends in the world were also crying. Or had been at least, whether that was for Harry's current state or Cedric's; he was just so relieved that they were with him.

He steadied himself. “Voldemort, vVldemort’s back, I'm so sorry I couldn't stop him. I tried I-” on the verge of breaking down again, he shut his mouth to give someone else the opportunity to explain what was going on. Someone who might be able to fill in the blank.

“Harry my boy it's alright, we figured as much. I fear I must apologise to you, I have put you in immense danger this year. And for this I cannot apologise enough. I only wish that in time you will learn to forgive me.”

Harry didn't respond to the great wizard, it was true afterall. What kind of world is it that he couldn't go into hogsmeade without a permission slip but he was allowed to compete in a death tournament, kill a boy and raise a dark lord.

“What we know as of right now stands as this: the cup was a bewitched portkey, your professor for defence this year was not Mr Alastor Moody as we had all though, he was a rouge death eater escaped from askaban prison, with the intention of delivering you to Voldemort in whatsoever form he occupied at the time.”

‘Whatsoever form he occupied’, that thing, that slimy, boney,vile creature that didn't deserve a name, let alone a breath. That form that encompassed Voldemort's soul so picturesquely.

“We have examined your arm and have come to the conclusion that a revival ritual had occurred, this was made possible by the sliver of lord voldemort that still haunted our mortal plane. This death eater's name was Barty Crouch junior, who I hope you remember” Dumbledore tapped his wand to his temple twice as if to indicate the pensive memory Harry had watched earlier in the year, like he could forget.

“He was responsible for entering you into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He put your name into the goblet of fire Harry, but I alone allowed you to partake for which you remain with my most sincere apologies. Mr Diggory's body has been taken care of with the respect he deserved, this is a loss we will not soon forget. And I personally would like to offer my thanks and the thanks of his father. You brought him home Harry.” He paused for a moment as almost a tribute to that courageous boy, Harry's mind supplied kill the spare! All on its own.

“However the mystery remains, one which only you, my boy, can enlighten us towards. How did you not only disapperate within the grounds of Hogwarts, a feat I assure you should be impossible, but also how did you escape lord voldemort when your wounds suggest you resisted, and his revival suggests your attempts were in vain?”

Obviously living up to his title as a most articulate man, while still remaining the most non-straightforward bloke you could ever encounter. Harry picked through his questions and tried to scrounge up an answer for him

“In the graveyard, there was a moment. A moment where Voldemort’s wand and mine almost connected, I don't know how or-or why but it gave me just enough time to- to get away. To get away with cedric”

Dumbledore gave Harry a knowing look that hinted at a more private conversation in the near future.

“As for the …apparation?” he phrased the last word as a question because it was one, he supposed that made sense kind of even though it didn't, the old man nodded as if to confirm. “Well then your guess would be as good as mine, I know less than you do I'm sure of it.”

“Hmm, tell me harry in that moment do you remember anything, anything at all, even the smallest detail could give us a clue as to what occurred and protect you from it happening again”

So that was on the table? He might just randomly disappear and reappear somewhere random, would he go back to that same place? Well if that's not scary as shit he didn't know what was, speaking of shit, if it did happen again. What if he was erm- using the facilities.

“No , I don't really remember anything. It was loud and I was scared and so damn upset. And then I was just at that tree I don't even think I’ve walked to that part of the grounds before and I guess I felt almost –”

“Excuse me but young Mr Potter here still needs to rest professor Dumbledore sir, if you all wouldnt mind he should be stable enough for release in the morning, which is probably a more appropriate time for this conversation. My apologies but it really would be best” Madame Pomfrey punctuated her interruption with a wave of her arms towards the exit, in an almost shooing motion.

“Of course Poppy. Goodnight Harry and do try to remember as much as you can, it is afterall in your best interest.”

“See ya Harry” Ron waved.
“Goodnight Harry, get well, we'll see you tomorrow” Hermione intoned, then kissed his head, like a mother would a baby, and left.
The gesture was so soft and loving, and then Harry was alone with nothing but the reminder of his lack of family and his not so lacking failure.

—-----------------------

The sting of his failure only intensified when he received the winnings from the tournament. The fact that Harry should receive a reward for him getting cedric killed would be almost laughable, if it wasn't so damned painful. He gave it all away, every knut, every galleon to Fred and George. It was tainted and maybe they could do something good with it. His vaults were packed anyway. To be completely honest he wanted to spend as little time as possible, thinking about the stupid tournament at all.

When he left the hospital wing that morning he was still a little banged up, and bruised but he could stand at least. Dumbledore's end of year speech took on a sombre tone of grief and loss. The great hall, normally bustling with lively conversation, students breaking bread and singing their goodbyes, was silent bar Dumbledore’s speech. Harry tuned it out; he was sure that he still had more invading questions to answer, and he decided he would try his best to remember anything he could from the accidental apparition.

So when Dumbledore eventually found Harry in his dorm packing to leave his home for the summer, Harry relayed everything he could think of.

He spoke of the terror he felt the moment everything around him felt unsafe again, the bone chilling fear from all manner of things, and the fact that he just wanted to go away. He spoke of the split second he was still conscious when he reappeared, his confusion and obviously misplaced peace. He didn't mention Malfoy. He didn't need to. He didn't even really think too, considering he was such an unimportant part of the situation.

The professor's theory was that somehow in the moment his emotions were so heightened that his magic acted without him trying consciously. He described that it was a one time event, unlikely to happen again. Especially with the same power behind it- to be able to rip through Hogwarts' wards. Highly unlikely in fact.

It happened again that summer, during a truly horrifying nightmare.

Chapter Text

Draco

Life as Draco knew it was over. With the dark lord returned and father at his mercy, Draco's life of luxury and no worries had come to an abrupt end. In its place came boredom and constant worry, the stuff of his nightmares that no lullaby could soothe.

So he might as well make the best of it. What else was he going to do? Mope all day and night?

When he returned home from Hogwarts the summer after fourth year, his mother instructed him not to unpack his trunks at all but instead to cast extension charms and pack more. Which of course he obliged, a holiday he thought. Perhaps Greece, maybe Italy [Rome was lovely that time of year].

He was wrong in his assumptions though. The little information he gathered through the next few days, was that the manor was to be unoccupied by them that summer and that they [or more accurately, he and occasionally his mother] would be secluded to their away home in Devon. Rolling hills and glistening waters, beautiful and full of life. And completely temporary. This was in fact not a vacation but a daycare, somewhere that Draco could be placed safely away from the adult business, of which he was not to be privy too.

The condition of Draco's distance from the manor, and by extension his fathers dealings, was that it was only for now. His mother had argued that he was too young to be tied up in whatever was going on. Petulant as he was, Draco had put up a fight, arguing that he was mature enough to know what was going on in his own house. One sharp swing from his fathers cane, to his cheek though, was enough to quiet him long enough to get him to the countryside. Away, with the facade of safety.

He buckled in for a summer of endless sun and stage 4 boredom. His mother could leave the manor every other day, so on the even days Draco was alone. He'd never really minded isolation much but he had a feeling that this was only the beginning. Afterall with the dark lord on the rise and his mission to recruit and amass a following, again, surely the whole world was about to change.

He'd visited the house many times as a child, playing on the swing set outback, drawing in the sunroom or flying over the hills on a training broom. Every inch of the place was covered in exposed wood and brick, it had always felt more like a home to Draco than the manor ever had, with its worn [while still obviously quality] furniture, softer colour clad walls, and carpet, merciful carpet, it was more welcoming. Less sharp and cold. Still sizable while maintaining a comfortability that soothes one's soul. Yes this place was a home. And now it might as well have been a prison cell.

Locked away with his thoughts, no access to his friends or anyone outside of his mother for that matter. The place was still cozy, and was still the same. Timeless. But Draco was far different from the child who spent his summers there, without a single worry in the world. No monsters in the wardrobe, no villains behind the drapes. He no longer had the innocence that came with adolescents. He was conscious, he knew what was coming.

—--------------------------------

William Shakespeare, a muggle playwright and author, told great stories of tragedy. Draco had kept copies of his plays in an empty cello case in the music parlor when he was a boy. He was amazed that they were still there and still in good-enough condition to read through, when he found them. Tatty and a little dusty, but the words still told the same tales.

His fascination with muggle fiction started as a rebellious phase against his father. Who refused to slaughter the peacocks that raised terror around the manors grounds, no matter how many times he wrote complaints to him. But it grew from then, he found the muggle's way of thinking intriguing, so similar to his own but just lacking key information that could make the stories flourish into something even more incredible. He learned to love the imperfectness of their theories and ideas. Growing up in a world of every-atom-in-the-right-place, not a hair out of line, no personality-perfectionism, the flaws just enhanced the beauty and brought it to life in a way so foreign it was addictive.

The bay window in the music room, like the rest of the house, was plush and inviting, letting the first whispers of summer through the stained glass, casting a kaleidoscope of color over the room. He'd been laid there thumbing through Macbeth for almost two hours when he was interrupted. Rudely.

A crack followed by a high pitched wail startled draco from the half-reading, half-asleep trance he had been in. rereading the same paragraph over and over, willing his eyes to open and his brain to absorb the words and make sense of them.

He dropped his book, losing his page, to turn and find Potter on the floor next to him clutching at his head and writhing in pain. He was asleep and he was obviously having some sort of mental episode.

A million questions assaulted draco but mostly he was just shocked, potter had the balls enough to apperate underage! Why he’d ended up with Draco again however, was absolutely beyond him. Unsure of what to do Draco sat up properly and flung his legs over the ledge of the seat and used one pointed food to nudge at Potter's shoulder. He stilled.

No longer wailing, or thrashing around like he'd been slapped with a crucio, Potter blinked open his eyes. His face turned from scared to confused almost instantly, and when his gaze landed on Draco, his face softened slightly with… relief? But only for a second before he went blood red with rage.

“What the fuck?!” Potter spat, as if Draco were the one who’d imposed on him.

“What the fuck, indeed! How do you even know where this house is? Are you stalking me? What are you doing here?” Draco was massively confused but mostly he was angry, Potter was acting like he was the one in the wrong here.

“Oh my god, my head!” he reached up to place a sweaty palm over an even sweatier mop of slightly matted hair.

“Your head! I don't care about your head, Potter. Go the fuck away!”

“I- i dont even. I mean how did this – why are you even. Where am I right now?”

“Why don't you tell me? You're the one who just disapperated, illegally might I add. Into my house on a random Thursday! Your in Devon now please fucking leave.”

“Devon! Apperated, Merlin it happened again but Dumbledore said–”

“- get out! Dumbledore said get out, I don't know why you're here. I don't know how you knew where this place was or how I was here for that matter. And I don't care. Go away”

Potter sat up still holding his head, face like thunder. “Neither do I! And trust me im fucking going”

Draco threw a blanket over his book and crossed his arms over his chest as Potter rose to his feet. At least he wasn't injured this time. “Good”

“Do you have a floo?”

Honest to Merlin, a floo. Bloody griffindoors.
“Downstairs you'll find it” Potter turned to the door and began to take his leave, “you owe me eighty two galleons for the robes you ruined with your blood and filth by the way!” there was a joke about filthy-blood in there somewhere, a missed opportunity, blasted. Potter didn't turn or respond, he just left.

Nearly twenty minutes later Draco heard the whoosh of the floo. “The weasley burrow!”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry

When Harry stepped through the floo into the burrow, his trouser legs covered in soot, he found it empty. Completely unoccupied. The family clock pointed most of the spoons to, away.

He'd been back at Privet Drive in Surrey for two weeks and hadn't heard from Ron [or even Hermione] since he'd left. So even though his reason for this unscheduled visit was absolutely terrifying, annoying, made him want to jump off of a clif, obliviate himself into next week, he was rather looking forward to seeing Ron and the rest.

He figured that maybe he would be allowed to stay for a day or two, to catch up with his best friend and take a well needed sabbatical from life with the Dursleys. With no one around however that didn't seem very likely.

Mrs Weasley's kitchen wasn't very well equipped to be used the muggle way but Harry made do, he wrapped a sandwich for himself, made a cup of tea - some wizard brand Harry wasn't overly fond of but that still contained caffeine. How long would it take to walk to Surrey?

Harry found a parchment and quill and began to write a note explaining the ingredients he'd used in his short stay and to wish the family well he was going to leave it on the counter for when they got back. But as if on cue Errol came bursting into the kitchen from god knows where, scooting across the table and onto the floor in a pile of brown feathers.

He scramble-hopped up to the table quick enough, unharmed by all accounts. Harry reached out a hand to give the poor excuse for a bird some scritches on his head, but was abruptly stopped when Errol snatched up his half drafted note and flew for the window.

Harry chased after the bird, if he was going to send a note it wouldnt be that one, but as if just to torture harry the birds lack of coordination seemed to disappear and he raced out of the burrow and into the horizon, leaving harry stood on the doorstep facing the garden in bewilderment. Damn owl.

—---------------------------

Harry stuck around for a little while after that, waiting for a response from the Weasleys; he wouldn't want to worry them. He went for a fly for a while, twisting between the trees hanging upside down a few times and sprawling out languidly and staring into the fading evening before it got too cold and he retired himself back to the house.

He could honestly say it was the most peaceful afternoon he'd had in a while. Which is obviously why it had to end eventually. He'd just sat down in the living room with another cup of tea, admiring the lived in feel of the mismatched furniture, relishing in what it felt like to be in a place so welcoming and mellow. When pops followed by a whispered argument came from just beyond the door. Harry barely made it to his feet before the door swung open to reveal three aurours, Mad- eye, Tonks, and Kingsley.

They rushed on him immediately, checking for injuries and bombarding him with diagnostic spells.

“Umm, hello?”

“Why are you here Harry, what happened, what was with that blasted letter, two slices of bread and a couple of tea bags, we thought some mad bloke had infiltrated” Mad-eye questioned, scrutinizing every inch of his person with that eagle eye.

“Er- no just me, whats. I mean what are you doing here? Where are the Weasleys? Where's Ron?"

“No time for that Mr Potter, we have to get you back to Little Winging this instant before anyone notices you're missing.” Kingsley intoned for him.

Harry peppered them with more and more questions as they left the burrow, all of which went unanswered. All of which made Harry's blood boil a little more.

By the time Mad-eye side-alonged him back to Privet drive, Harry was a ball of rage, almost screaming at the three aurours, demanding to know what was going on. They simply ignored him, Tonks flicked her wand and a strong gust of wind pushed Harry towards and then through the front door kicking and screaming. When the door slammed in his face he slumped onto the floor as they apparated away on the other side.

Someone entered the hallway and Harry looked up to his uncle's purple face with a huff. He looked mad, Petunia stood tall behind him as he waved his sausage-like finger in Harry's face shouting about insolence and inconsiderate silly boys and sent him to his room without dinner. lovely.

Chapter Text

Draco

He wasn't thinking about potter. He really, really wasn't. He didn't care about why he seemed to be stalking him, or why he was breaking the law or why he had seemed so shaken up. He didn't care, Potter could do what he wanted obviously, no one ever punished the filthy half blood. So why would Draco even bother complaining he would just be ignored anyways. Maybe he kept popping up just to annoy him. That did not really seem like his style but then again did Draco really know Potter’s ‘style’.

When Narcissa came back the next day Draco was only mildly distracted, focusing on not thinking about it. Sure it was really not productive. Trapped in this house like he was, though. Didn't really leave him room for much else.

They sat in the sun room with a pot of oolong on a constant brew of the perfect temperature. His mother looked prim and proper as always, hair pulled back into a neat bun, one knee draped over the other in the picture of regal bliss even though under the surface draco could tell she was worried, she was scared and overall she was uncertain. This was truly harrowing. His mother always knew what to do in every situation so if she was unsure of her footing then things truly were going to shit.

“You are rather quiet this morning” she said behind a sip of tea, then replaced it on the saucer her hands still cupped around the china elegantly as she leveled his with a blank expression.

This was something she often did, a trait Draco himself learned and perfected from her after all. But growing up with the woman he could see straight through it. She was upset, and maybe slightly confused, and definitely not in the mood to cut the shit and just speak her mind without the dance around.

Sometimes conversation with his mother was like an intense game of chess. Not just an exchange of information but a battle dressed up in polite and clipped statements, with underlying meanings. Sacrificing something meaningless to get to the elephant but still never speaking directly about whatever topic could be plaguing either party.

And to be honest Draco really wasn't in the mood for it. If he were, he would have said something like, as are you mother or im just basking in the lovely company on this fine day mother. Instead he said.

“Why am I here?” this is what he wanted to know after all. Objectively he knew why, it kept him out of the so called ‘danger’, but he wanted to know specifics as to what that could be. Just exactly how deep was his family wrapped up in this death eater business, what did this mean for them going forwards, should he even bother worrying about trying to beat grangers marks next year. He never could get that top spot, could he.

He did not expect her to answer him directly but he figured he could gauge some of the magnitude of the situation from her reaction.

She pursed her lips and took another small sip of tea, then laid her hands in her lap. She tried again.

“It truly is a lovely morning, perhaps we could take a promenade through the gardens this afternoon. And you could tell me about your plans for the upcoming term.” She smiled sweetly. He hated when she did that, it was always almost too convincing. Like nothing at all could be wrong even in the face of the stark evidence to the contrary.

“Talk to me! I want to know what's going on.” He didn't exactly shout at her but he definitely wasn't quiet either. She was unwavering, her only acknowledgement of his MINOR outburst was a sharp exhale.

“Im not sure we'll go back to madame milkins this year, her store is definitely a touch out of style, but i’m more than sure we can find somewhere suitable. I don't believe we will have to go to the alley for much else, your books are already on an owl order and–”

“ – oh for merlins sake” he clearly wasn't getting anywhere, he stood from the table swiftly, his chair skidding back slightly. He turned to leave but before he reached the door he remembered himself, and the manors engraved into his bones. He walked over to his mother, bent slightly, kissed her cheek and then the other and nodded before heading for the doors. “Mère”

She didn't even seem surprised by his blatant disrespect, like she had been waiting the past two weeks for him to blow up at her. It only made him more annoyed at the world and the injustice of it all.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry

It didn't happen when he was arguing with Dudley and his cronies.
It didn't happen when he was fighting off dementors in a ratty subway.
It didn't even happen when he thought Dudley was dead.
And it didn't happen when he got a letter from the ministry outlining his crimes and informing him of his expulsion.

No, it happened when his uncle Vernon tried to take his wand, his protection, his armor. He'd grabbed at it screaming about how Harry had finally driven Dudley batty. And that without that blasted school Harry had no need for silly sticks. Vernon had almost wrestled it from his grip when Harry was pulled away.

He understood it this time, he was apparating, again. That was still a terrifying thought in itself but at least he had his wand. The relief he felt as the pull behind his navel yanked him through space and away from the dursleys was immense.

He tried to picture the burrow in his mind or the leaky cauldron or just anywhere familiar. At least he had enough presence of mind to send himself somewhere completely void of malfoy, because wouldn't that be something. After all Harry had avoided thinking about that as much as he could for the past few weeks, he had no idea why it was happening [him winding up with malfoy on these weird trips through the literal fabric of the universe, maybe it was some cruel trick] he'd settled on it was coincidence he'd never really been conscious enough to decide on his own.

Safe, the burrow.
Safe, the burrow.
Safe, the burrow.

—-----------------

He landed in a bedroom, a rather large bedroom with dove grey walls and light wooden furniture, plush blue carpets and a balcony looking out over so much green land, meeting the sea in the distance dancing reflections of the moon glistening so mesmerisingly against its waves.

He turned to survey the space he was in, it definitely wasn't the burrow but there was no malfoy so that's a step up if nothing else. There were few personal touches to the room itself, an unmade bed of cozy looking sheets, bits of parchment on a desk balled up with neat cursive lettering decorating the pages, no photos which was odd to Harry he treasured every photo he could get his hands on and most people held onto at least a few, and displayed them accordingly. There was a half played chess set on a creamy white sofa in the corner, a jumper thrown over the arm. A small sensible fireplace, a blanket in front of the hearth and a book lay open atop it.

There were two doors both identical, and Harry, with enough sense to realise he should probably leave, so as not to disturb whoever lived on these premises. Grabbed for the handle of the closest door, and was hit by a wall of citric smelling steam, a bathroom. A bathroom belonging to one half naked teeth brushing hair slapped back draco sodding malfoy.

The moment the door opened Draco's head snapped to stare at Harry mid way through a frightened yelp. And with the hand not brushing his teeth he threw one arm over his chest, scandalised. He should have seen this coming, obviously the universe didn't hate him enough. Assuming the stupid bedroom wasn't Malfoy's was a gross miscalculation. He had never felt more embarrassed for his own lack of intelligence.

“OH FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN. Wha- why- URGH –” he would have gone on shouting at the sopping slitherin, if the bastard hadn't slammed his hand over Harry's face, silencing him.

“Shut the fuck up!” Malfoy whispered every word sharp as a blade. He was absolutely 100% enraged but he was being quiet for a reason, the late hour probably, maybe Draco had neighbours. Harry didn't care. He bit Malfoy's hand who then let out a surprised shout and slammed his hand over his own mouth like he hadn't meant to be loud and was sorely regretting it.

Harry was just about to tell him where he could shove it when a knock came from the other door, the one Harry was now kicking himself for not going through. How the hell had this happened. And why and what the hell!

“Draco! What's going on, unlock your door right now or I will.” A woman's voice called from the other side. Draco looked at him eyes wide and burning with rage. He bared his teeth at Harry not saying a word and headed in the direction the woman's voice was coming from, closing the bathroom door behind him, locking Harry in. He should have been panicking and barging out. Instead all he could feel was the continued relief of being away from the dursleys even if it was with Malfoy.

The voices came a moment after the door closed behind Draco; they were muffled but only slightly.

“Well?”

“Well.”

“The shouting draco. What was all that? You've made nary a peep in the last week and now you're screaming at the top of your lungs, you may be in a mood but i am still your mother. Are you injured?”

“I slipped maman, nothing to worry about. Goodnight.” Harry could hear the click of the door closing. And another fierce knock followed by what could have been a very quiet [to Harry's ears] ‘Draco’.

“I said goodnight” he heard draco call before the bathroom door swung open with a blast of cool air, Harry hadn't realised how warm it was in there. Malfoy still looked furious, if not more.

Harry opened his mouth to talk but Draco just shushed him, closed the door on Harry again and locked it. Harry stood there bewildered, he would bang on the door and scream but the atmosphere and Draco's demeanor gave him pause.

He was locked in Malfoy’s bathroom. Malfoys shower steam, at Malfoy's house. Devon right? He had no fucking idea why, or how he was going to get home again or if he even wanted to go home. Maybe he could just squat at the burrow if the weasleys weren't using it.

He'd been expelled from Hogwarts, for underage magic. No one would talk to him. And he keeps disapperating [can it still be called coincidence if it's happened three times?] to draco malfoy. With no rhyme or reason. And no way of controlling it as far as Harry's aware. Just then he was struck with a thought, could it be Malfoy's fault. He wouldn't put it past him trying to mess with Harry but this did seem a little extreme. Malfoy was a bully, sure, and uptight bigot with no empathy whatsoever but when Harry looked closer these occurrences seemed to bother Malfoy almost as much and they bothered Harry himself.

Either way he needs to figure this shit out. And he needs to get out of this bathroom. He gave the door a pull, still locked. He surveyed his options, he had his wand but he did just get in trouble for underage magic so even if he knew how to apperate on purpose he could get into a whole lot more. He didn't think these accidental occurrences really counted as he has no control over them.

There was a skylight window above his head but no real way of climbing through it. He gave the handle another pull just to check but it was STILL locked. He sat on the damp floor. He figured Malfoy couldn't just leave him there drowning in his misery and the ridiculously hot sauna-like air.

He could hear Malfoy shuffling about in the other room. He waited.
He could hear the tell-tell sound of a sliding door [probably the balcony] opening. He waited.

For at least five minutes he kept his cool, he sat in silence sweating and very uncomfortable in more ways than just physically. When he heard the doors close and Malfoy's footsteps, he stood and jiggled the door again. Just barely restraining the urge to slam his palm against the wood and shout to be let out.

He kept pulling on the door handle until eventually it opened, and Harry stumbled backwards slightly. Malfoy sneered at him [dressed now atleast] and Harry headed straight for the other door, relishing in the chill from Malfoy's bedroom. His door was locked. Why on Godric's green earth were all of the godsdamned doors locked in this house!

He spun around sharply and almost blew his fucking lid at malfoy, but he remained quiet at Malfoy’’s finger against his lip and the slight shake of his head shushing Harry again. Honestly the fucking audacity.

Malfoy walked over to that desk in the corner and started writing with a quill. Reluctantly Harry followed behind him and looked over his shoulder at what he was penning down.

‘Im not joking, don' t talk unless you like, want to die’

Harry snatched the quill from him and wrote underneath Malfoy's elegant script in his own scratchy handwriting.

‘Gonna kill me are you’ he paused for a beat and added ‘let me go’

Malfoy just stared at him like his head was full of candy floss.

‘Not me! I cant, just be quiet this is your fault’

‘Why’

‘If you want to risk it, be my guest, please im begging you put me out of my misery for good, go on’ he dropped the quill and leaned back in his chair and turned it to face him. It must have been charmed to spin, like a muggle wheeley chair, Harry wondered if the prick would even know what that was.

At this Harry paused; he might not understand what was going on but for some reason or another he believed Draco, leaving this room wasn't a good idea. His dad was in the graveyard, he could be here. That wouldn't be good.

They stared at each other for a good minute, twin expressions of annoyance arms crossed over their chests before Malfoy picked up the quill again.

‘Disappearate?’ Harry's mouth twisted to the side and he shook his head.
This only made Malfoy look more annoyed. As he threw his arms out in front of him in a sort of why not gesture.

Harry took a hold of the quill again, re-dipped it in the ink pot.
‘I don't know how!’ Draco read that and muttered almost inaudible “bullshit”. He then stood from the chair by the desk and began walking over to his bed, but before he reached it he snatched up that book from by the fireplace. He reached his bed, shoved it under one of his pillows and dropped down onto it. Staring determinedly straight ahead of him, avoiding looking at Harry completely.

Harry could see the thoughts rushing through Malfoy's head, the cogs turning as his face switched from a sneer to pure rage to nothing and through the cycle over and over again.

Harry took a seat in that surprisingly comfy chair, and grabbed a fresh piece of paper from the stack, in the corner of the desk. He scrawled a large one-worded question over the whole page ‘owl?’ And held it up in Malfoy's direction, coughed to get his attention. Malfoy read it and shook his head.

No reason why, just no. Harry let out an exasperated huff, that seemed to spur Malfoy into a deeper anger judging by the clench of his already too-sharp jaw.

So this was happening.

Chapter Text

Draco

Potter fell asleep a few hours after his last illegible message, staring down at his feet his head propped up on his palm.

Draco didn't sleep a wink.

—------------------------------

Draco flicked him in the head a few times to rouse him from his -obviously uncomfortable - slumber. He'd heard his mother leave, quickly checked she was actually gone and ran straight back to his room to kick the stupid golden boy up the backside and out of his house.

Potter woke clearly confused, scrubbed his face with his hand, wiping his eyes under his glasses and the dried drool *shudder* from his chin. Draco could see the realization dawn on his face as he woke up fully, the softness of sleep swiftly washed away by irritation.

“Get out” Draco told him once he seemed conscious enough to take it in. Potter winced at the sound and shushed Draco sharply. Fucking idiot.
“Shes gone, get out”

Potter looked like he had a million things he wanted to say at that precise moment, it truly shocked draco when all he said was “whats the time?” His voice was sleep-deep and rough, his tone conversational. Really the opposite of everything Draco had expected about this encounter, it threw him a little bit, they had only ever spoke with pure and utter disdain.

“Uh, six-twenty” he answered, trying to keep the awkwardness from his voice and failing miserably.

“AM! Jesus you cretin, how long will she be gone?”

Draco continued confused and a little insulted. “She'll be back tomorrow not that it's any of your business, get out” he waved his arm in the direction of the door, a dismissal.

“Tea?” Harry asked, stretching his arms over his head, yawning his god-awful morning breath into the air, eugh! Draco just stared at him. “It's only polite, I did stay the night,” Potter said without an ounce of spite. Which only helped to confuse Draco further. The way he said it made it sound– nevermind.

“No, leave potter”

“So testy in the morning aren’t we, look I'm not leaving without some answers and unfortunately for both of us you're probably the only one who's got them or can help me figure them out anyway, so tea? Maybe a bit of toast if you'll spare it. I'm starving. Which way is the kitchen? ill make it bet you couldn’t if you tried.” he stood stretching again and heading for the door, in his socks Draco realised he'd taken off his shoes at some point.

Draco could do nothing but follow, eventually cutting ahead of him and stiffly leading the way to the kitchen. He kind of wanted some answers too.

They padded down to the kitchen in complete silence, once they reached it Draco sat himself at the table in silence and watched Potter pitter around the cupboards, presumably looking for tea and mugs. He was on the wrong side of the room for those things but Draco wasn't going to correct him. It was very amusing to watch him rifle through them, shutting each one a little harder than the one before; he looked like a lost bloody crup.

Eventually he paused the search turning to Draco with a huff “little help”
Draco laughed at him, a genuine full belly chuckle potter truly was incompetent. When he looked back up at the other boy he could see he was stifling an amused smile under a half hearted scowl. But when Draco bit a spiteful NO at him his attitude changed and he returned to his seemingly unaccomplishable task.

It took him 17 minutes to find the tea [not that draco was counting] and when he did he looked truly defeated.

“Coffee then” potter muttered at the box of assorted tea leaves, uncultured swine.

It took him a further ten-ish minutes to find and brew a fresh pot of coffee. Draco was pretty sure Potter’s pipe dream of toast went out the window sometime around a cupboard filled with expensive china -not special, just pricy- and the one filled with nothing but french labeled ingredients.

He poured two cups of black coffee and set one down in front of Draco and then sat across from him with his own.

“Milk? Sugar?” he asked. Potter stood again to look for them. He found them faster than Draco would have liked but then again he had passed them in his search for the tea a few times. When Potter set them onto the table, Draco simply lifted his mug to his lips and took a sip with a smirk. He doesn't take milk or sugar in his coffee.

Draco could see Potter biting his tongue. Oh this is so much fun he thought to himself. It got even better when Potter didn't use the milk or sugar either. So much fun indeed.

“So scarhead, you wanted to chit chat. Get on with it” Draco said once it seemed like Potter wasn't liable to chuck his boiling coffee in his face.

“Im going to talk–”

“ – oh merlin, obviously Potter stop dilly dallying” Draco cut in, because honestly how stupid can one gryffindor be.

“Well you didn't let me finish. And you're proving my point. I was going to say: I'm going to talk and you're NOT going to interrupt me until I'm through and then you can talk and then we will discuss after. Sound fair?” Potter sipped his coffee loudly, disgusting. Is that how he normally drinks or was that just for Draco’s benefit? He nodded agreeably, not talking, he could do that. He thinks he can do that.

“Good” Potter said and then ran a hand through his unruly hair and sat back slightly. Getting comfy are we? He wanted to say but refrained.
“Okay so i have so many questions, not much information and in case you were wondering this whole thing is just as painful for me as it is for you!”

Draco scoffed and Harry leveled him with a punishing stare. Its not like draco meant to scoff it was reflex to something so stupid, as bad for him no fucking way!

“Right then, the apperating. Before I left Hogwarts last term Dumbledore came to speak to me after, well you know. And he said that it was some freak accident, a complete coincidence, an unrepeatable event. Something about accidental magic, like what kids get, don't laugh, it's not funny. He said something about heightened emotions and erm” he scratched the back of his head sheepishly and after that slight pause continued, “ a-a lot of power. He all but promised me it wouldn't happen again. Didn't even bring your name up because again, coincidence”

Oh how he wanted to bud in, he could picture it, Potter and Dumbledore sharing a good old chuckle over this weird thing that happened, not even thinking about how it could have affected him and his soddin robes, which he still hadn’t been paid back for by the way.

There was no thanks for the, albeit juvenile healing spells, or calls for help. Draco could have left him there all by himself to bleed into the earth. Instead all he got was a shitload of suspicion, an interrigation and one truely fucked up evening. But yeah sure, nothing to do with him, right!

“But then as you know, it has in fact happened again” he gestured to his presence in Draco's kitchen, like he needed reminding. “And the only common factor in all three times is, well, you. So either this is your fault and Dumbledore had it so wrong, or its my fault and something truly fucked up is going on, and i dont know how to stop it, and this is going to keep happening, and I really could do with this whole thing not repeating itself its embarrassing enough as it is. So.”

He waved a hand to him, he was done talking for now. Draco's turn. So he sipped his coffee. He topped up his cup, adjusted his sleep top. And just basked in the silence as he processed what Potter had said, trying to come up with some kind of explanation or solution. He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to soothe the beginnings of a migraine, and caught Potter staring at him chewing on his bottom lip worriedly.

“To start, let me make this perfectly clear. You popping up into my life whenever YOU see fit, has fuck all to do with me. Do you honestly think that if i could summon someone to me, something im pretty sure is impossible, that I would actively choose your terrible company.” Potter didn't seem very reassured, then again Draco wasn't sure what he was saying was even true. He wasn't actively or consciously doing anything but considering he didn't know how it was happening and Potter didn't either he couldn't exactly rule it out. If he wants this to stop he would have to consider all the possibilities, even those that seem so very unlikely .

“As for how to stop it. If it does have something to do with your, ughk emotions. Then it's simple isn't it, just don't feel whatever it is you've felt when you do…this. At least that will keep you the hell away from me until your precious mudblood figures out how to save you. Oh dont look so thrown, mudblood Ooo would you look at that i said it again. Now are you quite finished here Potter because I'd really like you to leave so that I can sleep.”

“You really are an asshole you know” Potter spat.

“I do actually, it's by design” Draco spat straight back.

“While, don't feel is excellent advice Malfoy, truly stellar. I don't think that’s how emotions work, so no as a matter of fact not done here. Last night, that was your mum right? Why couldn't I have just left? Was your dad here too, was HE here, look if he was here then were going to have to figure something out in case this does happen again, you can come back with me or-or I don’t know”

“I told you already, and if you think for one fucking second im going anywhere with YOU, then clearly you have lost the plot”

“Ah yes the very informative ‘dont leave unless you want to die’ helpfull” he scrubbed a hand over his face and then looked at Draco pleadingly, it was unsettling. “Look, if this happens again -and trust me I'm avoiding it like the plague- I need to know why this house or your mum or whatever isn't safe, is it him?”

“Well then it looks like your out of luck Potter, i have nothing to report, now get the fuck out. And I swear to Salazar if you come back here I’ll just let you die, Merlin knows I regret not doing it when I had the chance” he stood from his chair leaving his half cup of coffee on the table, and just stared down at Potter. This entire conversation was pointless. “You know where the floo is” and with that he left the room, headed straight back to his bedroom where he waited for the rush of the floo on his bed, slowly drifting into sleep.

Chapter Text

HARRY

Harry didn't leave immediately like he probably should have, but then again Malfoy didn't come looking for him when he did not hear him leave at his express dismissal. Instead Harry had watched Malfoy retreating back and stayed seated at the barely used table, fuming. That conversation had gotten him nowhere. But what did he expect? It was Malfoy. And it was so fucking annoying, this whole situation was just so grating.

Harry finished his admittedly delicious coffee - ugh, even that whole thing was a nightmare milk? Sugar? What an absolute knob . He drained Malfoy's too, out of pure spite, and well he hadn't been sleeping particularly great these past few weeks. He probably should have felt awkward or at least unsafe, sitting alone in Malfoy’s kitchen. Yes it was less grandiose than Harry had pictured, more homey, but it was still MALFOY’S kitchen. Instead he felt weirdly calm [still very frustrated], very very strangely safe in this house that supposedly played harborer to someone who kept ill intent for Harry within her heart. And possibly others… But she wasn't there now it was just Malfoy, sniveling, snarky, stupid Malfoy. He literally couldn't hurt a fly.

Maybe it was just because he was away from the Dursley’s. That did always seem to make Harry extra chipper. The hold his family had over his emotional state (not to mention his physical one) was not without weight. He never thought about falling asleep and never waking up again, as much as he did when he was around them.

Harry hated his ‘home’ life, the constant yelling, the starvation and the emotional abuse, was just the tip of the iceberg. But Harry always brushed it off, it’s no big deal. Distance from them though, was like being able to breathe again after drowning for hours.

He stayed put for a while watching out of the window as the sun crept higher in the sky, and the night's clouds started to clear up. The surrounding grounds of this place were truly beautiful, natural and unkempt. A bit like his hair. And very unlike Malfoy's, and wasn't that a weird thought.

After nearly half an hour of him calming down from his almost civil fight with Malfoy. His blood returned to a neutral temperature and his hands no longer clenched hard enough to hurt. Harry made his way to the sink with both cups and set about tidying up the mess he had made that morning. He was still starving but wasn't going to help himself, not that he could in this labyrinth of a kitchen.
He poured the last of the coffee from the pot down the drain of the sink and scrubbed at the dishes until they sparkled and smelled only of the lemony washing up liquid. Yeah the coffee truly was brilliant, probably something outrageously expensive and expertly imported, but…damn.

After returning the space to its former perfection, with nothing left to occupy his hands and therefore his mind. He realised he definitely should not still be there, and he didn't want to be either, Merlin he did not. But he supposed it was the lesser of two evils. He could floo to the burrow again, try and hunt for Errol [who never seemed to be around when you needed him] and possibly get another extremely frustrating escort back to Surrey. Or he could find Malfoy's owl, send word for Sirius to come rescue him from all his troubles and go into hiding with his ‘criminal’ godfather.

Okay maybe that was dramatic, he didn't want to go back to the Dursley’s, sure of this he was certain. He couldn't stay with Hermione because she hadn't answered a single letter all summer and showing up unannounced at her home was inconsiderate, not to mention how he would get there, or if she was away on hols with her parents. Ron clearly wasn't around to talk to, either. And those were his options. So the streets then…? That didn't sound too unappealing in the face of going back to the Dursley’s. But not great either.

He landed on owling Sirius from here, if anything maybe he'd get to see him before being chauffeured away.

Walking down the twisty halls of Malfoy's house, Harry was relying on his hazy memory of where the floo was, praying they kept the owls close to it. It wasn’t such an out there theory, two means of communication being kept close together. But every room he opened, while being completely sure it was the room from before, he was met with another. Some sitting rooms [far too many if you were to ask Harry] a couple guest bedrooms, a game room, what looked to be a study and finally a small library, filled with tomes that looked to be financial records, family history and a few books that seemed to radiate a sense of imminent danger. He closed the door on the library and gave up his search.

If he couldn't find the floo room on this floor he'd just have to check the next, this godsforsaken place probably had its own personal owlery. He could find the stairs at least, and once he climbed the carpeted steps he just let his intuition guide him, went down the halls that seemed to glow instead of the ones that were shrouded in shadow. He was going where it felt safe. After all it was Malfoy's house Merlin knows what kinds of dark magic’s lurked behind the fashionable wooden doors.

Eventually his path seemed to get more and more familiar and he realised he was headed straight back to Malfoy's bedroom. This should have turned him in the other direction but he supposed if anyone knew where to find an owl at Malfoy’s house it would be the man himself.

When Harry pushed into the room, he was almost alarmed to find it completely dark, drapes drawn closed, overhead charmed lighting turned off, not even any lamps lit his path to Malfoy's bedside. Although he probably shouldn't have been surprised, Malfoy had mentioned something about going to sleep.

Harry briefly thought about returning the favour of his morning wake up call and flicking Malfoy in the forehead. But then he'd have to actually touch the ferret so instead he just repeated his name increasing in volume when his first few attempts proved fruitless. Malfoy stirred and Harry said louder still “MALFOY! I need an owl get your skinny arse out of bed before I drag you out myself”

He jerked awake sitting up immediately and letting out a startled shout at Harry's presence, he wasn't wearing a shirt, Harry begged his eyes not to look, it was just Malfoy but he couldn't ignore his own wrongness. His description of malfoy as skinny could only be accurate in the sense that he was lean, but he was also toned and solid, not scrawny at all, he had narrow shoulders and a narrower waist but he was athletic to say the least. And sure Harry had seen him shirtless last night freshly showered with a towel slung around his hips but Harry had been way too occupied trying not to die of angry embarrassment, or literally die for that matter, to take much notice. Malfoy was- nope. Harry's gaze only snapped back to Malfoy's face at the sound of his surname being spat like dirt.

“Potter! Why are you back AGAIN gods you need to figure out your shit, this is becoming a thing.” if he had seen Harry staring he didn't mention it. But he did grab a discarded pajama shirt and throw it over his head to cover his pale, smooth…stop. “Well go on then, you know where the floo is, fuck off”

“For your information, Malfoy! I cant find your fucking floo, honestly your house is a maze. I need an owl”

“An owl,” Malfoy repeated.

“Yes, an owl. You know it's that creature with wings, flys about dropping off post like that old fellow pat, it's got feathers, typically a beak, they like treats, they come in different colours. I've got white one, you've seen them. They go hoot hoot –”

“Alright alright, Merlin I know what an owl is you don't have to crack out the impression, shit by the way. You haven't even left yet?” Harry shook his head, “so what? You've just been traipsing around my house unsupervised snooping, probably stealing for hours”

“I haven't stolen anything you prat, and it's barely been AN hour, owl?” he saw his shoes by the desk, kind of forgot that he had abandoned them, went over to pick them up. He could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him as he did.

Then he stood and headed for his door, turned around to Harry to say “for the record i’m only getting you an owl so you can leave, honestly Potter do you not think its creepy to be here while i was just asleep, you are so fucking weird.” Malfoy continued as he led Harry down a few corridors [ones he could swear seemed darker earlier, more full of doom] “like you've used the floo before you could have found it all by yourself but no, you had to go and wake me up to find your stupid gryffindorky self a stupid shittin owl … you look a mess by the way … this can’t keep happening Potter, you need to figure this shit out like yesterday … bloody golden boy … how idiotic can one person be … I hope you know I hate you … practically instinctual at this point … who wouldn't" he finally shut up when he opened the door to a small room that was indeed reminiscent of the owlery at Hogwarts. A wide open wall letting in a chill, a few perches placed neatly around, a fair few stacks of parchment and wax seal envelopes on a grand looking table, the floor covered in at least a dozen feathers. And yet no owls.

“Shit”

“What? Where are the owls?" Harry asked slightly wary. Malfoy looked uncomfortable and more than a little angry he slammed the door before they even stepped inside the room. “What the fuck, malfoy I said I need an owl you cant just –”

“Shut up! You can use the floo… I'll show you where it is. Even though this is extremely rude,and you know where it is. Just because you love my company so much doesn't mean you're just allowed to be here.”

“Sure, the floo. And go where Malfoy?” He crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet to the ground. Malfoy turned back to him from where he had already started making his way presumably to where the floo was.

“Oh my Merlin, could you be any more annoying! Go wherever the fuck you want. Go where you went last time, floo to fucking croatia for all I care just want you to leave, honestly I dont think i’ve ever wanted anything more in my entire life. I want you to go the fuck away, i want to never see your ugly mug ever again, and i sure a shit dont want to here anymore excuses, you fucking stalker, I dont care if you have to walk your whole way back to timbuck fucking too, or whatever hole it is you crawled out of. Just. go. Away.”

Even though Malfoy had literally just screamed at Harry in a way that would be cathartic to most normal people he didn't seem to let go of even a sliver of that rage as he led the way to the floo, huffing out angry breaths as he sped walked through the house, Harry quickening his step to keep up behind him.

Harry can't go to the Weasley’s because no one's there and if he can't find Errol he'll be stuck there and starve to death, he'd be stranded. Or he was being impossibly dramatic, either way. This was a sentiment he wasnt sure would convince Malfoy to help him figure out another way to go about ‘fucking off’ especially as the blond seemed to be steeming at the ears a solid scowl resting across his featured in a way that could get stuck that way permanently if he wasn’t careful. “Im expelled, if you help me figure out how to get back to…Surry i guess. You wont have to see my ‘ugly mug ever again’ i can’t go by floo” Harry said defeated. He would have to go home.

Chapter Text

DRACO

Not only had Potter not left. Not only had Potter woken him up, when he was the reason he got no sleep in the first place. Not only had Potter intruded on his life, in such an exposing way. But he didn't seem to even care about what an interruption and imposition he was being. Honestly he must have been raised by pigs because who acts like that. It's down right rude. He had spent every second of their little, let's say blips, acting as if this were all Draco’s fault. As if he was the only one being put out by all of this, it was like he didn't even consider how Draco might feel about it. They weren't friends, they didn’t do each other favours, they barely tolerated the others presence in school. And yet forever Harry, act-first-ask-questions-never, Potter couldn’t seem to wrap his thick head around the fact that this whole thing was so fucked up, and wasnt happening to just him. And people say slitherins are selfish. Well they are but STILL.

But he was expelled. EXPELLED from Hogwarts and this was the best news Draco had heard in like, ever! Even with everything else going on in his life, this shocking news was enough to bring a grin to his face. No more immature arguments, no more having to listen to everyone praising the ‘brave, lad’ for all of his ‘adventures’. And honestly that was more luck than talent anyway.

“You're expelled? Salazar yule came early. I can't believe this. What a wonder.” Draco practically glowed with his excitement while Potter seemed unperturbed, oh right he probably hated this news. Well didn't that just make it that much greater, one final fuck you.

“Well this is brilliant. All you need to do is leave and my life will be perfect again” it wasn't exactly true but it would improve massively. “There are muggle ways of transport no? Can you use one of them… why were you expelled?” Malfoy realised Potter could be lying the sniveling little half blood. He had to know! The smile fell from his face as he worked through it internally. There was no way Dumbledore would let his precious prodigy be expelled. It would be like winning the lottery and never cashing the check. Watching Potter improve, and grow year after year just to turn away right as he started to find his feet.

“I haven't got any money with me. I didn't exactly prepare for this journey, I just had to leave. It's not a decision, we’ve been over this already”

“Right, I take it, galleons wouldn't help in that aspect. Oh wait shit i know”
Broom. Why hadn't he thought of it before, he was more than sure there were a few tatty old brooms tucked away here somewhere. Potter could have one of those and then he could fuck off, forever. Well maybe forever. Merlin please let it be forever.

—----

He went to find the broom leaving Potter in the floo room. When he returned with his father’s old, sky cruiser generation five, with its broken bristles and way too small seat. It might have been the worst one he could find, perfectly fitting. The broom was specifically made for taking in scenery, it barely went above ten miles an hour. It might give up on him before he made it where he was supposed to go. But well, if Potter wound up stranded in the middle of nowhere then, his promise of disappearing for the rest of time would definitely be held up.

Potter stared at the practically ancient broom in utter shock “you can't be serious” he said mouth agape, he sputtered and threw his arms out to the side, “are you mental!”

“Well as a fact potter I bloody well am, serious that is. This should do nicely”

“Thats practically a twig i dont think it would get me half way to your local Tescos and back let alone Surrey”

Draco was unrelenting, this was a truly inspired idea. What's a Tesco?
Muggle filth probably. He was always using these words Draco had never heard of, not that he would ever admit to not knowing something someone else knew, Potter in particular.

“Ah well you sir, will have to make do. And as payment for the loan all I ask, whileI hate repeating myself, is how did you get expelled? What did you do?” Draco couldn't help his little curiosity; it had to have been something absolutely outrageous, for the ministry to throw away Harry bloody potter even if he technically was a social pariah. In Draco's opinion he always had been,it didn't matter, wasn't important, he was still the boy who lived. Bogus also, everything he had said since last year was true as far as Draco knew, HE was back, the Ministry was just scared of panicking the public. Anyone with any sense of intelligence could see that. He was loving how much the Prophet was slandering Him in print though, he’d kept a few choice clippings for when he needs a good laugh. Most notably, Potters Pathetic cries for attention, a story of the boy who cried apocalypse. The exaggerations and descriptions of Potter's character were inspired, unmatched. Draco was honestly a little jealous he hadn't come up with some of the insults himself.

Harry mumbled something under his breath, Draco couldn't really make it out. “What was that potter?” Draco said, waving the broom in Harry's face just to remind him how much he was in dire need of help. Well he wasn't dying as of current but he did need help, that had been established.

“PATRONUS CHARM! Okay! God. I used a stupid patronus to save a stupid muggle and now the stupid ministry thinks I shouldn’t be allowed back!” letting out a breath that sounded almost relieved like screaming would make all of this untrue. Which of course it wouldn't.
“Satisfied?”

“Not particularly, no”

“Yeah well, can’t help you there mate”

It felt like it was Draco's turn to yell, Potter had dangled a golden apple in front of him and with only a sentence, ripped it out of reach. There was no way in hell Harry would be thrown out for that, it's absurd.
Draco scoffed in Potter's general direction and threw the broom to the floor “do try not to come back wont you? There's a good chap” he pat-slapped potter twice on the cheek none too friendly. Spun on his heel and left with a final “eighty two when you get a chance scarhead”
A Malfoy doesn't forget a debt, one against them anyway. He would have forgiven the debt though, if Potter’s tale of expulsion actually had any permanence to it.

—---------------------------------

HARRY

How the hell Harry made it to Surrey on a broom made in the 15hundreds without directions, a whiff of his own protection charms or any real will to get back there. He couldn’t be sure but he did it. Yes it was a long journey, and he arse hurt and he had bird shit on his shoulder but he made it.

It was odd how he expected to feel a rush of relief when he touched down outside of the Dursley residence, a relief that he was somewhere moderately safe from harm. A relief that did not come. As he stood on the front step with his hand on the door handle he was filled with an impending sense of doom similar to that of stepping onto the Hogwarts express at the end of the year, not as crushing but still vacantly there. Kicking himself for finding Malfoy’s not-so eager company, better than that of his horrible families, he went to turn the door handle and let himself in.

Before he could get the door open, that reprieve did come, when the same rag-tag group of aurors turned up and told him he was heading out and he wouldn't be coming back to Privet Drive until the end of the next school year. He was off to Grimmauld Place. On another nobbly broom. And if he weren't absolutely elated with this turn of events he would complain about his sore arse.

—--

Harry didn't see Malfoy again until September.
That's not to say he didn't think about him or hear his name, Hermione was increasingly worried about his trips to Devon, no matter how many times she asked Harry couldn't give her a good-enough explanation as to how or why this was happening. Ron seemed to find the whole thing hilarious, Harry hadn't outlined details of his visits exactly, he spoke about how it was horrible and infuriating and extremely embarrassing. Instead of talking about how he almost didn't mind the company, sure he was a complete knob but Malfoy could be kind of funny if you took out the bigoted racism. He wasn't kind or caring like Harry's friends but he didn't want him dead and that was more than he could say about Vernon.

Hermione had been scouring the Black family library for any mention of anything sort of similar to his situation, she didn't find anything. Not a single thing but she remained confident that she would be able to find something at Hogwarts. Some book, or poster or sentence even hinting at a solution. She seemed excited about the prospect of spending an indefinite amount of hours hunched over a book chewing on the end of her hair until she found something. Ha, this was her golden snitch. An excuse to do what she loves most, research.

Sirius had been worried that if it happened again Harry wouldn't have another way to get back. Or worse that he would be in danger. So he took up giving Harry apparation lessons, within Grimmauld's wards. Apparently that was possible. Harry mentioned his anxiety of getting another court summons if he apparated on purpose he'd only just got his place at Hogwarts back. To this Sirius had said "I'd rather you expelled, Harry or arrested even, we can fix that. We can't fix death” and he had to surrender to the fact that he was completely right.

Purposeful apparation felt different to his other kind, his own brand of popping around. Maybe it was due to the difference in distance, sending yourself from one side of a garden to the other definitely takes less out of a wizard than it does, going two hundred plus miles. That wasn't the only change though, while he had to focus and picture in his mind where he wanted to be in order to force himself into apperation; the other way didn't need his concentration, he didn't need a mental image, it was instinctual. Like the sun coming up every morning, or the moon following after, it just happened.

When he saw Malfoy on the platform in Hogsmeade he thought he would be ignored, Harry was certainly going to ignore him. Nevertheless, Malfoy had other ideas. Getting all in his face and taunting him about his hearing, strolling off bragging about how he'd mentioned to his friends what a complete nutter Harry was. And in good old harry fashion, proving him right by lunging towards the git. Shouting at him to stay away from him, and then immediately felt like an idiot. He was the one not staying away afterall. But then again it hadn't happened in a while, maybe the issue had resolved itself. Or perhaps, Dumbledore was right the first time and the incidents (as Hermione liked to call them) were linked to his emotions. Staying with Sirius and the Order, Harry had scarcely felt any safer or happier.

“Right” malfoy had laughed over his shoulder, and harry flamed red whether embarrassed or angry he didn't really take notice, all he knew was that he wanted to scream at the injustice of his life. Neville always asked why it was always him and in that moment Harry felt like coveting his catchphrase because he felt that it was, in fact, always him.

Chapter Text

DRACO

Savage! Umbridge’s not so subtle take down was savage. Draco and his mates were still talking about it well into the night. What a way to start off the year. A Ministry drone, married to the colour pink and so clearly not-so-secretly evil. Draco was in love, she was just so stupid. ‘Progress for the sake of progress’ isn't that the whole point of evolution? It was Draco's opinion that she could be smacked over the head with some sense and she would remain every bit as ignorant as she was, on account of her head being shoved so far up Cornilius Fudge’s fat arse.

Undermining Dumbledore, gosh he could have kissed her. That stupid old twit just got shown up in front of the whole school, Draco could visibly see everyone's respect for the fool plummet, throughout the hall. He was hoping that that spectacle put a hefty dent in the man's ego. As authoritative and powerful as Dumbledore was he was brought practically to his knees by a kitten with only moderately sharp claws.

Given that his annual request for separate quarters was denied yet again, he found himself catching up with his peers that night under the familiar cover of their dorm room. Their belongings had been brought up for them preemptively like clockwork, and as is tradition Blaise managed to find some supposed ‘damage’ to his luggage and left immediately upon their return, in order to go and complain to Snape. Draco didn't really know why he bothered nothing ever came of his complaints, as the so called damage was imaginary, blaise just liked to complain. Draco had rolled his eyes at him the second he burst out the door to leave, he did so again when he came back miffed, tearing out his hair.

While draco had been known to, on occasion, dominate a conversation as if he were holding court, barely letting the other lads get a word in edgewise (i mean if he loves the sound of his own voice why wouldn't everyone else?). He didn't particularly have anything to brag about from his summer, in fact he didn't fancy commenting on a single thing he had done over the break so much that he suffered through listening to the rest of them drain on about their “amazing vacations” and such.

It went the way Draco had expected. Blaise had summered somewhere Draco couldn't recall, Hawaii or Rio or somewhere else that was full of life. Apparently the wizarding district was small so naturally his family didn't grace them with their attendance. Opting instead to stay somewhere “remote and spectacular, when i tell you lads you couldn't find this place with the whole of the ministries resources”, and as is expected of him by this point he spent the entire time, sunning and lounging about soaking up none of the culture surrounding him. Draco would have jumped at the chance to va-kay with Blaise’s family; they didn't hold the proverbial reins as tight as Draco's parents did.

Theo had spent his summer in a whirlwind of books and research, studying for not only the upcoming year but every other year until pretty much the end of time. Academic to his bones he didn't feel like sharing much, he never really did, Draco supposed he thought this gave him some kind of edge. Being so prepared. It never seemed to help much though. Draco could out test him without breaking a sweat. He did say something about his dad being away for most of the break, ‘a much needed respite’ as he had put it.

His loyal to-a-fault "bestfriends" Crabbe and Goyle were more interested in what Draco had been up to and why he had not responded to any of their letters inviting him to their estates. This should not have come as a surprise to them, when had he ever? It was the same every year, they would extend invites and Draco would ignore them.

He was a complicated man, feelings weren't something he much acquainted himself with in regards to those two, he kept them around of course, he shared a room with the brutes. And they had a modicum of usefulness. But he would never describe them as ‘chummy’. He would never really describe himself as that with anyone, though. It was a well known fact that those boys were stupid, and Draco didn't really have time for all that. Between them they probably couldn't empty a bucket, even if the instructions were on the bottom of it.

Draco blew off their questions with a wave of the hand “as you can imagine, my summer was adequate, nothing too interesting to report”

Apparently this had been the wrong thing to say as the more inquisitive lads in the room apparently took issue with it.

“My, my, my. As I live and breathe. You're telling me Draco Malfoy is turning down a chance to flaunt his wealth and stature. Whatever happened Dray, have you gone humble on us” came Blaise's deeply accented drawl, as he sat up from where he had been laying back against his pillows, assessing his cuticles, suddenly all ears.

“Oh, do tell us Draco, I'm ever intrigued now. ’Nothing interesting’, I didn't believe those were words you carried in your vocabulary” Nott added just to drive in the knife.

Sure okay, this was kind of breaking character. But his summer HAD been boring, if you removed the ‘Potter’ of it all. How much can you say about, arguing politely with mother, and re-reading the same five novels, that would be bragging? Improvising was never really his thing, it was why, when situations snuck up on him he felt like he was treading water. He much preferred to be even moderately prepared for whatever situation he found himself in, in order to appear as polished and perfect as he could. In short, he wasn't good at thinking on the fly, making up stories, so he just doubled down.

“Honsetly boys, your interest in me is just so flattering. Unfortunately you don't know me as well as you think you do, take what i say at face value, im not hiding some massive secret, there are no curveballs coming your way. My summer was… fine. I just felt like erm- giving you all your moment in the sun. But if you'd rather I spoke at length about the lavish activities of my break, I'd be more than happy to indulge” he said, calling their bluff. Draco could drone on, with proper preparations of course. And he knew exactly how to make it boring, while still painting every word he said as important and gripping. And he knew they knew this. Which is exactly why it worked.

“Good man, yeah. No, we can hear about it some other time, I’m sure you're very tired, been a big day. Right?” Zabini cut in before the two brainless gits could get a word out. They would probably listen to Draco talk until his voice left him permanently.

“Exactly, I think I'll turn in. Bigger day tomorrow, personally I can't wait to see what the kardian wearing demon does first” he announced excitedly shuffling under his blankets and drawing his curtains in, before they closed fully though. Draco asked Blaise if he would wake him around six thirty. And him, forever the earlier bird mumbled a sleepy ‘mhmm’. Brilliant Draco thought as he closed the curtains finally and settled in for the night.

A chorus of goodnights let out around the room started of course by crabbe, and like every night since the first Draco replied
“Dream of me, lads and don’t snore” everyone humm-laughed. And Draco smiled to himself, it was good to be back.

—---------------------------------------------

HARRY

Some people aren't familiar with the feeling of disappointment, they walk through life with exactly what they expect, everything they ask for, never wanting for anything and therefore never being let down when those expectations or those desires aren't met. Harry had known a few of these people throughout his life, or at least a few people who certainly act that way. Harry had never been one of those people.

He’s known disappointment from the ripe old age of one and a bit, when his parents died. Frankly from then on it went downhill, and he learned time and time again to not make presumptions about the rest of his life. He tried not to get too excited at different prospects,when they came up. So that inevitably when something happened and it all went to shit he wouldn't feel so defeated. Like exposing yourself to a small bit of poison and every day increasing the dose incrementally, to build up a tolerance.

Apparently he never really learned his lesson. Earlier in the evening, when he got back to the common room he had blown up at Seamus. He couldn't help it, all of this ‘Potter/plotter’ bullshit plastered all over the papers was just really getting to him. The people who matter believed him, Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron and his family but that didn’t make it sting any less when the people who were supposedly his friends or the damn government choose to ignore his warnings, out of fear, and just dismiss him. For Seamus to go a step further and blatantly mock him in front of everyone was just cruel. Putting his mothers own insecurities onto Harry, it's just not fair.

When Ron stood up for Harry, he should have been grateful, relieved even, instead he was just more pissed off. He shouldn't need standing up for he shouldn't need anyone in his corner fighting his battles, because there shouldn't be any battles. He should be being taken at his word. They should believe him, he wasn't lying! and it was infuriating.

When the nightmares came back that night for the first time since he started staying at Grimmauld, he was surprised. Hogwarts felt different this year already, vacant and cold. When he shot up in bed to stare into Ron's concerned face. He was disappointed. Because everything was okay but there was no comfort to his concern, he just felt worse for having Ron there.

And now not only was he let down by the fact he'd woken up without someone to yell at, he was also disappointed in himself for even thinking that. For being upset that… Well, let's not dissect it. That's probably healthier.

Chapter Text

HARRY

He got his chance to yell. He let it out in class that next morning, Umbridge was prattling on, sticking to her whole ‘Harry is lying’ thing, the whole ‘voldemort isn't back’ thing. Just like most everyone else. He couldn't help it, even the idea of only learning theory of defensive magic was just laughable. Hypothetically, let's say Harry was lying and old moldy wasn't back. Does the ministry really expect to educate an entire generation of wiccan without practical exercises, it would result in a major handicap in abilities, the repercussions would be detrimental.

So yeah! He had to say something, and considering the fact he WASN’T lying, he felt completely justified in calling that out. He may have underestimated her slightly though. As purgative as his rant was, he wound up with detention. This wouldn't really matter much, Harry was no stranger to detention or punishments, if it weren’t being held WITH HER.

Something about the pink, prickly bitch (sorry, witch!) just rubbed him the wrong way. It was like she believed every word she was saying, and Harry could not believe that someone that dense would ever be employed at Hogwarts let alone The Ministry of Magic. ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’, or ‘never say never’, or ‘life is full of possibilities’. Whichever way you want to spin it, there's a reason that quotes about open mindedness and potential for change exist; it's because nothing is truly set in stone. So it's very hard for Harry to believe that someone so close to the minister can't even admit to the possibility of you-know-who’s return. It's just too troubling.

The first thing Harry thought when he stepped into her office was, eww. He knew professors could choose to decorate as they pleased, but this was just ghastly, practically puking pink. Terribly unsettling. He felt extremely out of place in the space, his black robes stood out like a kazoo solo at an opera, against the monochromatic room. Even the woman herself was dressed head to toe in sickening shades of pink. It upset his stomach to say the least.

“Come in Mr Potter” she said in that cloyingly saccharine voice, evidently he'd been standing in the doorway gaping at the scenery. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him as she adjusted a few pencils on her desk. He didn't know whether she was, an obsessive or brain damaged or just genuinely thought she was as sweet as she so clearly wanted to seem, but Harry didn't trust it. She smiled at him and hummed as if this was going to be a lovely evening spent together, instead of an unjust punishment.

He didn't know if he should apologise, he wouldn't even if he were asked to, but he did wonder what this detention could entail. You never really knew with Hogwarts. First year had him traipsing through the forbidden forest in a wild hunt for unicorns. Second year was sorting through ‘fan’ mail with Lockheart and polishing all the silver in the trophy room (better than expulsion he supposed). In third year he avoided getting in trouble with snape after being caught out of bed, but lupin had taken the map. Even if he got it back later that very same year, it was a kind of punishment. And he had been made to spend a few free periods in detention scourgifying the particularly sludgey cauldrons until they gleamed, but Malfoy was right there with him for that one, so he had always thought of it as more of a free entertainment hour. Watching the privileged priss muck around cleaning -and getting it wrong- something Harry was pretty sure he'd never had to do before coming to Hogwarts. Silver spoon and what not. And last year he could vaguely recall pickling some rats' brains with Ron. He may have been more preoccupied with not dying in the tri-wizard though.

If he had to guess based on a cursory look of the room, he could be polishing the cat-plates, scrubbing the ceiling, or maybe dying her hair; it was the only part of her ensemble not flamingo pink.

“Sit,” she said. There was a small desk in the corner of her office, with an accompanying chair. It was charmed pink and looked splintery. He dropped his bag from his shoulder into his waiting hand as he walked over to the set up. Without a cushion he could confirm the chair was just as scratchy as he had originally thought. Once he had sat and looked at the professor expectantly she said “you're going to be doing some lines for me today”.

Reaching for his parchment he placed it on the desk and went hunting for his quill and ink. This appeared easy enough, which was peculiar because she had been quite irked in class. Went on a whole tangent about ‘dissuading everybody of the notion that a certain dark wizard was back at all’ and everything.

As he was rooting around in his bag for his quill (he really should take Hermione up on her offer of helping him organise) her treacly voice came again “not with your quill. Hm” she hummed pleased “your going to be using a very special one that I have”.

Her clicking heels against the stone she practically skipped over with a large feather, jet black and unexpected. She placed it down and informed him that he wouldn't need any ink. He just rolled his eyes to himself, some punishment.

“What am I writing?” he asked bored.

“Well ‘i must not tell lies’ obviously” she answered virtually singing. He was apprehensive, none of this fit, didn't make any sense. But there was nothing for it. “The whole page or? How many times?”

She was nearly laughing when she said “lets say, until it sinks in”

He didn't get her meaning immediately, but ‘sink in’ it did. Starting off as a mild itch, the script cutting into his skin quickly turned sharp and painful. Harry just stared down at his chicken scratch writing working its way across the back of his hand, wincing at the burn of it, the humiliation of it.

It was like his mind couldn't catch up to get through a single thought. Spinning in circles, this is wrong, this makes much more sense, what the hell, i need to leave, i should scream, react dammit! He just balked at his hand hypnotised, eyes glued to the sentence slowly making its way deeper into his skin.
Internally he was panicking, breathing increasing until he was as good as gulping for oxygen, fight or flight responses screaming at him but he was just locked in, trapped, like he had come across medusa herself and made the unfortunate mistake of looking in her eyes.

He could feel his magical core pushing at him, and against all odds he leaned into it, it seemed to be the only thing he could do. He'd hate to admit it but he was relieved when he began to feel that reflexive disapperation, all but willing it to wash over him. Now! Hurry up! Wasn't it usually faster than this? Harry didn't think he'd ever sat in it this long.

Something was wrong. He didn't have time to think through what was happening with his apparently stubborn, willful, mind-of-its-own magic, before Umbridge stared dead into his eyes and his gaze snapped to hers.

“Yes?”

Harry gulped he needed to leave, the manual way, or whatever. “Nothing” he managed to get out. He would think about this all later. The only thing he knew for certain right now was the two words he was screaming at himself over and over ‘get out!’

He stood grabbing his bag from the floor, he was pretty sure hed started sweating buckets. He was leaving as Umbridge was saying “that's right, because deep down you know that this is what you deserve”. He wasn't sure he agreed with that in any way, but whatever got him leaving. He was suffocating in this pink void of pain and panic.

When the door closed shut behind him, he ran. Breathing be damned.

—-------

By the time he reached his dorm he was furious and in the mood to scream or fight or something. And there was one person perfect for that. It was an atrocious idea, terribly stupid, incredibly problematic, just all around awful.

Searching the map for that name though, and finding it, unoccupied and accessible, he was steadfast in it and left.

—-----------------------------------------

DRACO

“See you don't mind my healing spells do you? We should get you some food, what sustains your kind anyway? Hmm?” This evening was turning out better than most. While Draco had read about the Dreaming Delphis that could be found around especially magical bodies of water like loch ness, don juan pond or lake von, he'd never actually encountered one. Didn't even really consider the black lake to be in the same category. He was glad to be proven wrong though, this blue little guy was just so stinking cute.

Draco had been out for an evening stroll in an attempt to avoid Pansy and her shameless attention. She was gorgeous, clever and above all pure, but her advances just made him uncomfortable. Since they got back, It's like she'd turned fifteen, grew some boobs and suddenly discovered how to flirt, relentlessly at that. And yeah they both knew eventually whether they agreed or not they were to be wed. Their parents had been arranging for some kind of connection practically since their birth. But just give a guy a minute alright.

He had come across the Dreaming D’ by pure chance. He'd heard a faint croaking and curious as he was, went to check it out, the poor little frog had snapped one of his back legs, been abandoned by his family and left for the grindylows. Draco sympathised with the lil’ fella, having personal experience in the aspect of being thrown away this past summer, different reasons for sure, but still.

After he had healed its back leg the mini-beast had stuck around, this famously timid species of frog just hopped up onto his knee and blinked at him. One massive (in comparison to his size) eye after the other. Draco couldn't help it. He smiled despite himself settling into the damp ground, he didn't think they were poisonous, the minimal knowledge he had about the critters was that they were blue most of the time, notoriously distrusting and liked water. Was there something about them bringing luck in that book? He didnt know couldnt really remember, the thing was cute but not endlessly fascinating like…dragons. He'd only skimmed the passage about them, but no, poisonous he didn't think they were. He pet the slimy thing on his back, its skin was smooth and cold. It just kept blinking and licking its eyeballs with its long spinilly tongue.

Draco laughed, genuinely giggled. If anyone needed proof that cuteness aggression was a real thing Draco would happily hand over his memory of this encounter. Four ‘fingers’ on each foot and a goofy little ‘smile’ the thing was adorable, Draco would squeeze him if the feeling in his chest had anything to say about it.

“Well, do you have a name?” Draco asked expectantly to the frog who just kept on blinking and twisting its head to the side.

“Why yes, I know I am devilishly handsome and forever fascinating. But you're not so bad yourself you know, you reckon you could use a mirror? Erm…Archabold!” he exclaimed and went on chatting to the frog as if he would understand a word Draco was saying.

Eventually, he ended up laying down on the wet grass leaning up on his elbows with Arch sat on his chest drifting off to sleep. This might just have been one of the most ridiculous things Draco had ever done and he'd done a great many ridiculous things. But befriending a frog truly was up there.