Work Text:
Brown and green eyes studied the twisted strand of jewels that lay in a heap upon the desk. Worked gold weaved triangular holds around pearlescent stones, each of which glowed invitingly in the lamp light. The result was a necklace delicate enough for any society beauty, yet bold enough to denote a warrior; an accessory that could turn a toilet troll into a veela.
“And you’ve no idea what this is?” Hermione Granger, Minister for Magic, asked her Head of Magical Law Enforcement.
“No idea,” Harry shrugged, peeling his eyes away from the mandala of gems to run his thumb through the pages of one the books Hermione had brought. Images of different objects flashed by like the world’s jerkiest flip-page animation. Bracelets, necklaces, teacups and books; all forbidden dark objects found and recorded by the Ministry. “But I’ll bet James’ broomstick it’s cursed to all hell.”
Hermione sighed and selected a tome from the stack on the table with more thought to its contents. She began to leaf through pages that depicted cursed gemstones. “We get these things in raids and then we’ve no idea of the extent of their powers.” She held up a picture of a necklace against the one on the table, but then shook her head. “That’s the problem with having a moral compass that has always pointed due north. We lack experience.”
Harry’s wand spun in his hand as he automatically thought the spell ‘point me’. He grinned. “Then we need someone whose compass points more north… north-west.”
* * * *
Harry had never been a fan of the tall hedges that boxed in the driveway running towards Malfoy Manor. Their overly manicured branches reminded him of the Dursely’s garden, albeit on a scale liable to silence even his voluminous Uncle Vernon. A decent infestation of the grubby walking-potato gnomes would brighten the tediously long walk considerably.
As the wrought-iron gates came into view, Harry flicked his wand. A silver stag leapt from the tip and tossed its heavily antlered head.
“Tell Draco his driveway is too long,” Harry instructed his patronus, watching as it passed through the hedgerows in a glint of silver light.
With his approach now announced, Harry did not slow his pace as he reached the ornate entryway to the estate, passing through the gates which dissolved into mist at his touch.
The summer afternoon light reflected off the diamond paned glass of the Manor’s many windows. As Harry approached the stone steps leading up to the house entrance, the door swung open to reveal a teenager holding a book with one finger stuck between the pages to mark his place.
“Hi, Harry,” he greeted him, before looking at the carefully wrapped bundle Harry was holding at an arm’s length. “What’s that?”
“Not something for the kitchen table,” Harry told him, careful to keep his body between the swinging package and Scorpius. “Is your Dad home?”
Scorpius considered the bundle with mounting curiosity. “You might do better with grandfather if that’s what I think it is.”
“Too west,” Harry replied, without thinking.
“What?”
“Uh, Never mind.”
A shadow moved from further inside the entrance hall before solidifying into an older version of the teenage boy as the figure stepped into the light.
“You’re an old man if you think this driveway so far,” Draco Malfoy told Harry. His eyes were also drawn to the bundle, noting the multiple layers of wrapping and Harry’s cautious handling of its unseen contents. “I’ll call for coffee.”
* * * *
“Do you recognise it?” Harry asked, watching as Draco scrutinised the necklace.
They were standing around a table in a ground floor study. Wide windows looked over ordered and gnome-less lawns, while floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined most of the wood panelled walls. The necklace lay on a heavily black-lacquered tabletop that Harry strongly suspected had held similar items in the past. The warmth of the pearls seemed somehow dampened on the lacquer’s dark surface.
“No…” Draco replied slowly. “But I think I’ve heard it described.” Using the tip of his wand, he lifted a section of the necklace away from the table’s surface and turned it in the light. Harry suddenly pictured himself in a jewelled collar. He could definitely pull that off.
Draco looked up at him, “May I ask how you have this now?”
Harry dragged his mind back from imaginary balls where abhorrently cursed pearl chokers would be a fashion statement and turned his back to the table. “Christmas present for Ginny from Borgin and Burkes…” he begun.
Draco shot him a sharp look of disbelief and Harry relented with a half-grin. “Raid this morning at an abandoned muggle paint factory. We weren’t expecting to find anything so… colourful.”
“Leave the puns to Weasley,” Draco told him with a slight exhale of exasperation. He slid the pearls back onto the table, gently prodding the strands to reveal the necklace clasp. “You must have had suspicions to go to that location.”
Harry hesitated. With unidentified dark magic and no arrests, the Auror-led raid had been kept out of the Daily Prophet on his own orders. Revealing the full details to a former Death Eater was hardly defendable. On the other hand, Harry had just presented said dark magical object to that same individual. ‘Defendable’ had stopped being an option about 30 minutes back.
Draco noticed his reluctance and straightened. “Ministry business. Of course.” His tone had cooled a notch. He moved away from the table and over to one of the bookcases, extracting a heavy, leather bound volume which he brought to Harry. “This lists the cursed objects collected by pure blood families,” he said. “It’s the Malfoy compilation. Hermione won’t have a copy.”
Harry put his hand on the book’s spine but does not lift it from Draco’s hold. “We have one eye witness account of a wizard leaving the building we raided,” he admitted to him.
Draco’s pale eyebrows raised in a question.
Harry wetted his lips and then lifted the book from Draco’s hand and onto his lap. “It could be Gregory Goyle.”
Draco stood still for a moment as he let the book slide from his grip. Then he turned back towards the table, bending over the necklace once more. “I’ve not heard from Goyle in years.”
“I didn’t ask…” Harry began but Draco’s raised hand silenced him.
“I know. I appreciate that.” With his wand, Draco tapped the necklace again. It emitted an inviting hum. Draco considered it in silence for a time. “The description I heard of this piece was from Crabbe, not Goyle,” he told Harry. “A long time ago. Obviously.”
Harry nodded, also remembering the starving, indestructible flames that had risen up around their maker during the Battle of Hogwarts more than twenty years before. He then realised Draco couldn’t see the gesture, but decided speaking now was a bad idea.
“Crabbe’s house is rumoured to be empty, so if the Ministry hasn’t confiscated anything of note…” Draco looked back at Harry. “Maybe someone else did. If it were there.”
Harry opened the book Draco has handed him. Tightly written double columns of text met his eyes.
Pink coral bracelet: 7.5 inches. Claimed the lives of 6 muggle women by 1842. Family: Rowle
Golden jug: 9 inches. Claimed the lives of 13 muggles by 1835: Family: Dolohov.
Silver pendent: 20 inches. Claimed the lives of uncounted. Family: Malfoy.
Despite having handled far worse during his career in the Ministry’s Auror office, Harry had to force himself not to grimace at the callous record of deaths the book totalled up.
Pale hands slid into view as Draco lifted the volume away from his knee and placed it on the edge of the lacquered table. “Allow me to aid your weak stomach,” he said with a humourless smile. The heavily inked pages formed a dark archway of ruffling paper as Draco pointed his wand at the sheaves. It fell open long enough for him to scan a column before his wand sent the paper back into motion. The seventh time the book fell still, Draco tapped the page. “Here.” He bent over the text before reading aloud, “Pearl necklace, triangular gold work. 18 inches. Family: Crabbe.”
Harry joined him at the table, looking over his shoulder at the short description and neglecting to read the final information Draco had left unsaid. “That could be it,” he agreed. “Thanks, Draco. This gives us a place to start.”
Draco nodded and picked up the book to return to its position back on the study’s shelves. Harry started to tug the sheafs of thick brown paper he had been using to carry the necklace into a semblance of order. Looking down at the unsaid portion of the description before him, Draco put out a hand to stall him. “I have something better.”
* * * *
Draco and Scorpius accompanied Harry down the driveway, which Harry strongly suspected was to make a point about its manageable length. In his hand he carried a box coated in the same dark lacquer as the Malfoy’s study table. The unequivocally jingle-able jewelled contents were oddly muffled inside the container.
“How is Ginny?” Draco asked him.
Harry adjusted his hold on the box, tucking it under one arm. “She’s away until after the weekend, covering a Prophet feature on the training camp for the English National Quidditch Team,” he told the two Malfoys. “Lily has gone with her on condition that she is on her best behaviour. James is staying with a friend’s family, god help their parents. So it’s just me and Al. We enjoyed it for about five hours but now we’re feeling lonely.” He offered Draco a smile, who returned it thoughtfully.
“Come here.”
“What?”
“You and Albus. Spend the weekend here… Scorpius would enjoy the company.” Draco indicated his son.
Scorpius shot his father a slightly too knowing look, but did not protest his role as the main beneficiary. “You can fly in the gardens,” he told a doubtful looking Harry. “The walls are high enough for Quidditch if you like that sort of thing.”
His dismissive tone regarding the wizarding sport caused both Draco and Harry to stare at him in a mixture of dismay and shock.
“Huh. Wrong audience,” Scorpius acknowledged, turning back towards the Manor as the gates came back into view. “But you should come.”
Draco and Harry continued down the driveway in silence, stopping as the gates dissolved into mist to allow passage off the estate.
“He is right about the garden,” Draco said eventually.
Harry looked over his shoulder towards the house and tree lined grounds surrounding the building. Dusk had streaked the sky orange and red, turning it into a banner for airborne competitive sports. “The accommodation better beat last time.”
* * * *
Harry’s patronus the following morning produced Scorpius, who jogged out to meet them on the lane leading towards Malfoy Manor.
“You could apparate closer,” he said to Harry, as he grabbed Albus’ bag from his friend. “No wonder you think the driveway is long; you’re walking half the countryside before you get there!”
“Dumbl—,” Harry began and then generalised. “… I was told it was rude to not allow another wizard the opportunity of denying entry.”
Scorpius shook his head in disbelief at manners taken to such extremes. “But you’re expected!” he pointed out. He turned to Albus. “Come on, you can sleep in my room.”
Albus gave him a quizzical look as he allowed his bag to be dragged off his shoulders. “Because… you’re really short on space…?” he suggested.
“What? No! But it’s just more fun.”
The gates turned to wisps around them as they passed onto the Manor grounds. Harry felt slightly uncomfortable and hoped very much he didn’t show it. He had come to Malfoy Manor on many occasions since his first enforced visit when the property was hosting Voldemort’s headquarters, but there had always been something at least vaguely Ministry-related about his trips. Holding a broomstick and bag of personal effects, Harry felt strangely naked.
Typically, Albus seemed to share none of Harry’s reservations. Although this probably had less to do with his son’s opposing nature, and more to do with the fact he’d never enjoyed the hospitality of the Malfoy’s cellar. He and Scorpius roamed over topics ranging from whether Albus had recently seen his cousin, Rose Granger-Weasley (Harry noted that Albus was strangely vague on this subject, despite seeing Rose last week), to the running total of their Gobstones tournament (Scorpius was in the lead by three games) as they approached the house.
Draco met them by the Manor’s doorway. He looked at the broomstick in Harry’s hand. “You did replace the Firebolt.”
Harry released the broom, letting it hover beside him so its registration number could be seen etched in gold on the ebony wood. “This one Ginny rode while she played for the Holyhead Harpies,” he said. Tempting though it had been to buy himself the international standard racing broomstick to replace his lost one, it had been hard to justify once Harry wasn’t playing regularly. Stealing Ginny’s broom was the economical family compromise. “Now, we share it.” He looked across at Draco. “Still got your Nimbus 2001?”
Draco inclined his head. “The Nimbus is not as fast as the Firebolt,” he pointed out.
Harry snorted, suddenly feeling on firmer footing. “Malfoy, the broom alone cannot win a Quidditch match.”
Draco knew a challenge when he heard one. Grey eyes snapped up to Harry’s as his lips curled. “Care to put your tail twigs where your mouth is?”
Harry grinned and tossed Draco the Firebolt.
* * * *
Albus found his father and Draco in the Manor’s smaller living room, seated in comfortable chairs by the fireplace. Flames appeared to crackle welcomingly in the hearth, although they added no heat to the warm summer night.
“Dad, we’re not planning to leave stupidly early tomorrow, are we?” Albus asked him.
Harry turned to look at his son, trying to hide how uncomfortable even that small movement made him. “That wasn’t the plan, but you still shouldn’t stay up all night,” he replied.
“Yeah, yeah,” Albus flapped a hand and left the room, evidently meeting Scorpius back in the hallway. Harry heard their footsteps climb the stairs as Albus said, “He can barely move. We’ll be here a while.” Scorpius’ response sounded cheerful and perturbingly unconcerned.
Harry looked over at Draco. “We can still leave early if that’s more convenient,” he told him.
Draco gingerly uncrossed his legs, stretching them out individually. “I’m not escorting you down that driveway until at least Wednesday,” he said with a grimace.
Harry attempted to imitate the movement and decided his legs were better bent. “Flying at 40 is a little different from 14,” he admitted.
Draco’s gaze moved past Harry to where their brooms were still propped against the wall. “I did tell you the Firebolt—“
He was interrupted by the dust grey apparition that burst though the window panes. The smokey tendrils swept across the room to spiral before Draco’s chair, although even the fabric of the curtains did not so much as rustle. Within the collected shroud of particles a face appeared that seemed to Harry to deliver a silent proclamation.
To Draco, the ghostly visage was clearly not silent. He rose suddenly to his feet, his pale skin becoming still more bloodless even in the warm glow of the room.
“Draco?” Harry inquired, forcing his aching body into an upright sitting position as he prepared to rise.
Draco waved a hand to stop him, his eyes flicking towards the grounds and then back to Harry. “It’s the gate guard. I’ll deal with it.” He swept from the room, letting the door fall slowly closed on its hinges.
Since nothing short of a double packet of U-No-Poo could cause Harry to move so swiftly at present, this interruption suggested an unwelcome turn of events. Harry grimaced as he pulled himself to his feet, his hand slipping into the folds of his robe to curl around the holly stem of his wand. A flick sent a small gust of wind streaming from wand tip to door, catching the heavy wood a few inches before it snapped closed. Treading carefully, he crossed the room and lent against the wall so he could see into the Manor’s foyer.
The door to the living room was partially concealed by the wide sweep of the staircase leading to the floors above, but beyond this Harry could see the entrance of Malfoy Manor. Draco was silhouetted at the open doorway, his posture so reminiscent of this father that Harry did a momentary double take. He was looking down on the driveway, addressing someone out of sight. “You cannot be here.”
“Malfoy!” the grunting reply sounded out of breath. “I have to stay.”
Draco attempted to block the entrance, but his visitor barrelled past him to stand stooped over in the tiled entrance hall, panting as he clutched his knees. Draco twitched his robes straight, continuing to stand by the open door which he made no motion to close. “Goyle, you will leave.”
“We’ve got support, Malfoy!” Goyle straightened, wiping sweat and spit off his stubbled face with one cleaver-sized fist. “We just need a base. We had a warehouse but…” he snarled his displeasure. “Ministry came with Potter…”
These words were greeted with a sharp clunk from upstairs. Both Draco and Goyle spun to look towards the second floor balustrade. Harry silently cursed. His current location offered neither a view up the stairs, nor a route to his son and Scorpius that didn’t pass straight by the front door.
“Who else is here?” demanded Goyle. He lifted his wand in the direction of the staircase, making to step in that direction.
Feeling it would be a very bad idea for Goyle to find out about the two teenagers, Harry stepped out from the living room. The controlling breeze dropped behind him to let the wood fall shut with an audible click. Goyle spun around, his wand pointing at the ceiling, the floor and finally, Harry.
“Well, you did say my name,” Harry told him, his wand also raised as he took a step into the open space of the foyer. He looked past Goyle at Draco, whose mouth was fixed in a tight line. Harry made the smallest gesture to flick his eyes upwards towards the second level.
Draco made no acknowledgement, but Harry saw his lowered wand tip twitch and a trail of light move behind Goyle and pass through the ceiling. There was a muffled yelp and the sound of a door closing before the lock slid into place.
Goyle was still staring at Harry. “Potter! At Malfoy Manor?” He laughed, extending his wand arm to point directly at Harry’s chest. “Malfoy, how long did you play cat and mouse for this?”
Draco did not reply. His eyes moved slowly from Goyle to Harry as his wand remained loosely grasped in his downturned fingers. Harry slowly inhaled through his nose, his eyes focussed on Goyle’s wand while he kept Malfoy in the corner of his vision. His mouth went dry.
Goyle glanced rapidly towards Malfoy and then snapped his attention back to Harry. “What, friends with the ‘Chosen One’?” he mocked. “Going to sell out the Malfoy name and shadow yourself to…” his wand bobbed up and down as he took in Harry’s figure. “… this?!”
Harry knew this moment was the time to act. Goyle was distracted and Malfoy apparently undecided. The confusion could allow him to disarm both opponents. After that, he could… what? Take them both to Azkaban? Malfoy’s inaction would put his family back on the Ministry watch lists for dark magic activity. Draco’s careful rebuilding of his family’s image would be destroyed and Harry would always be left with doubts in his true allegiance. But if he lost against Goyle, what of Albus? Whichever way the situation developed, his friendship with Draco was now at an end. He looked across at him, his green eyes meeting the grey Malfoy gaze.
“Malfoy, he never fights alone!” Goyle bellowed. “We can start your family’s rise again!”
He raised his wand still higher.
Harry lowered his. He didn’t break eye contact with Malfoy as he returned the wand to the pocket of his robes.
“Ha!” shouted Goyle in triumph. “He knows he’s—“
“Expelliarmus!
Goyle’s wand shot from his hand and skidded across the flagstones to smack into Draco’s feet. He spun around, staring at his former housemate in dumb shock.
“I told you before,” Draco said coldly. “Get out.”
Goyle stepped towards him and Draco raised his wand, his face expressionless. Goyle’s face twisted in an ugly leer as he spat on the floor. “We were friends for years,” he said. “You have no idea what friendship even means.” He barrelled out the door, striding away from the Manor.
Harry walked forward to watch his retreating back go through the gates which solidified behind him. He turned to face Draco, who flicked his wand to close the doors.
“Draco…”
He received no reply as Draco stepped over Goyle’s dropped wand and walked away from Harry deeper into the house.
* * * *
Harry found Draco in the study where they had examined the necklace Goyle had presumably stolen from Crabbe. Draco was standing with his back to Harry, his hands grasping the edge of the empty lacquered table as he stared down at its dark surface.
“Knock…” Harry vocalised as he took a couple of steps into the room.
There was silence for such a long moment that Harry wondered if he should leave. Then Draco finally spoke. “He was wrong. Goyle.” He didn’t turn towards Harry. “We were never friends at Hogwarts.”
Harry waited silently, his fingers idly twisting his wand like a stunted baton by his side. During their days at Hogwarts, Crabbe and Goyle has been as inseparable from Draco as he, Ron and Hermione. But despite Harry’s name being known throughout the wizarding world, it was Draco who ran his trio as a one-man show. No one could pretend it was an equal relationship.
“But he was right about friendship,” Draco continued. “I don’t know what that means.”
Harry dropped his wand back into his pocket and came to stand behind Draco. Slightly awkwardly, he rested a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “You convinced me you had the idea this evening,” he offered.
Draco managed a mirthless snort. Harry felt his body tremble slightly under his hand. “You wondered though.”
Harry squeezed his shoulder. “Draco, I’m head of Magical Law Enforcement. If I didn’t wonder, Hermione would fire me.” In truth, Hermione probably would fire him if she knew the risk Harry had taken in putting his wand down. But Harry saw no reason to mention that now or ever in the future.
The noise of acknowledgement from Draco contained more genuine humour. Harry rubbed his shoulder blades as Draco continued to stare down at the table. Harry noticed despite its highly polished surface, the inky blackness offered no reflection.
“We never touched much in our family,” Draco commented.
“Sorry—“ Harry started to withdraw his hand but Draco shook his head.
“Don’t. It’s… nice. Just, since Astoria…”
Harry admittedly could not picture Lucius as much of a cuddling father, although he had noticed that Albus and Scorpius had far less reservations in that department. He rested his hand back on Draco’s shoulder, squeezing his arm with the other. The gesture made the sleeves of Draco’s robe rise slightly to reveal the tip of a red mark on his left forearm. Draco reached across and tugged the material lower.
“Draco, I know you carry the Dark Mark,” Harry said quietly. He slid his hand down Draco’s arm and curled his fingers about his wrist. Gently, he pulled at the material to reveal the bottom of the twisted design of snake and skull. “You don’t need to hide it from me.”
Draco did not stop him, but turned his head away from the exposed scar. “It is not something I am particularly proud of,” he said, his voice husky.
Harry shrugged, his body close enough for Draco to feel the movement behind him. “Both of us are scarred by Voldemort.”
The involuntary spasm at the sound of Voldemort’s name passed through Draco and he shuddered. Turning his head, he glanced back at Harry’s forehead, reaching over his shoulder with one hand to knock away the unruly black hair that concealed the lightening-shaped cut. “You didn’t ask for that,” he pointed out.
Harry’s expression grew contemplative. “Do you know what I learned when Albus and Scorpius went back in time?” he asked.
Draco turned back to the table. “To never ever give them a time turner again?”
“Yes,” admitted Harry. “But also… Cedric was in Hufflepuff. None of his family were Voldemort supporters. Yet, changing his experiences in the Triward Tournament turned him into a Death Eater,” he paused, trying to put his thoughts into understandable words. “I think the difference between supporting or defying Voldemort is more to do with your experiences and the people around you, than it is to do with you as a person.”
Draco’s head tilted and Harry suspected he was smiling. “Like father, like son?” he suggested wryly.
Harry grinned. “Your words, not mine.”
Draco straightened but did not move away from Harry. He turned over his left arm, rolling up the cuff of his robe and shirt to show the full extent of the Dark Mark. They both looked down at it. Once black when activated by Voldemort, the design now looked like scar from an old aggressive wound. Harry’s hand slid under Draco’s and he ran his thumb over the slightly raised flesh. Once this brand had denoted a true follower of the most powerful dark wizard in history. Now, it marked out the only person Harry knew who could understand what it was like to live under a legacy.
“I never want this for Scorpius.”
Harry shook his head, his hand sliding over Draco’s wrist to conceal the Dark Mark as he intertwined their fingers. “Won’t happen.”
Draco’s fingers curled around Harry’s own. “I do want to be friends.” He turned to look back over his shoulder, meeting Harry’s eyes. When Harry did not move away, he pressed his mouth to his lips.
“… friendly,” Harry confirmed, taking a breath when their faces parted. Draco tried to take a step away, but Harry’s hand tightened on his own as his spare hand took a handful of his robes. He kissed him again, pushing him hard into the table.
Draco pressed back against Harry before forcing their hands apart so he could turn to face him. Harry noted with some satisfaction that Draco’s hair was no longer smoothly tied back and his face was flushing red. As they came together once more, it also occurred to him how ridiculous the rumour about Draco’s and Astoria’s childless status had been.
As Draco’s hand slid down the front fastenings of Harry’s robe he asked, “Stay here or move?”
Harry caught his breath as Draco’s cool fingertips slid over his bare skin. His hand moved past Draco to support himself on the lacquered table top. Its overly smooth surface slid beneath his damp palm. He looked over at it. “Exactly how many cursed objects has that table held?”
Draco glanced over his shoulder at the shadowy surface. “I recommend upstairs.”
* * * *
“Might need to expand on your definition of friends,” Harry mumbled sleepily into the pile of silk pillows that topped the double canopied bed.
Draco lay on his front, one arm still draped over Harry’s back. “This one worked fine.”
The morning light was storming the crack in the heavy velvet window drapes, causing Harry to screw his eyes shut in protest. He turned over, not dislodging Draco’s arm as he stared up at the dark green fabric above his head. There was something important he needed to remember. Something beyond the obvious situation of just bedding his school nemesis.
“Draco…?”
“Mmm?”
“… did you leave the boys locked in their bedroom?”