Learning to Live

Chapter 18: Surprising Visit

The Weasleys' cottage was still replete with Yuletide decorations no one had bothered to take down yet. The house felt lonely, bedraggled and tiny. Draco himself felt tired all over just at the sight. The knock on the doorway only produced a shrill "Go away, Ronald Bilius Weasley! I don't want to talk to you!"

"It's Draco," Draco yelled back.

"Oh Draco, thank goodness it's you!" Hermione bawled, flinging her arms around his neck and nearly sobbing into his shoulder. "I've just had the most horrible week and I haven't had a chance to talk to anyone about it and I was afraid you and Harry would be too busy and WHY DO YOU HAVE RABBIT EARS?" She stared up at him, an mixed expression of bafflement and distress streaked on her face.

"Harry, but I got him back for it. Where's Ron?" he asked, gripping her by the shoulders. "Is he still at the office? Did something happen with the baby?"

"Nothing's wrong with the baby. Ron's probably at some pub somewhere drinking himself to death. We had a row, and he said a lot of...I threw him out," Hermione sniffed, looking only moderately regretful as she sat down on her favourite sofa and looked dolefully up at the blond.

"Well, ah...these things happen. You've had arguments before," Draco ventured, sitting down next to her. "And er, they were always short." Consoling a pregnant woman who was NOT in mortal danger was something new to him. Doing it as an Auror was no problem. It usually involved a simple "Get down if you know what's good for you don't worry mum we'll take care of it." Talking through it with a friend--or someone who could be considered a friend--was very different. Especially when that friend was very good at hexing.

"But they weren't anything like this. This was just so vicious and mean and we both said a lot of things we didn't mean. I thought we were going to separate or something." She looked down at the silk handkerchief he offered her, and shook her head. "No thanks. We weren't like this during the war. It was just the worst row I ever--"

"So it's the worst you've ever had with him. That's all," Draco said, and shrugged. "It isn't as if the war being over changes anything about how you feel towards each other. You two are one of the most amusingly well-suited couples I have seen, Hermione. I haven't known you for long enough but I don't think you're the type to let that stop you from getting what you want. Merlin knows your marks were clear enough evidence of that."

"This is different now. It's not being the best or getting the most. It didn't feel right, yelling at him like that. I-oh- I slapped him, Draco. Ron! I slapped Ron!" she murmured, looking on the verge of angry tears again.

A grin instantly spread across his face before he tried to keep a straight face. "You slapped me third year and I didn't think it was so terrible. Oh come now, Harry and I will talk to him and set him straight. Don't do anything rash, and we will sort it out. All right then?" Satisfied when she nodded, he continued, "There are equally important problems tonight. Darko's won over WOOF."

"So I heard! Do you know if he's going to be made Minister? Oh Draco, have you owled anyone about it?" she asked, as appalled as he had been at the news.

"I was going to see if you and Ron could help us get some support and information about what Darko's planning to do, but instead I find you here bawling your eyes out and Ron nowhere to be found at his own home," Draco said.

"I was NOT bawling," Hermione protested. "And what DID Harry do to you?"

"Oh just a bit of the Twins' Hare Helpings. I should be able to take off the spell, only I'm not sure about how much they used," Draco said. "Harry forced them on me by way of pie."

"Well you do need to gain a bit more weight," Hermione said, eyeing him critically. "But I like the ears. They're cute." She reached up to stroke the fur, and his left foot tapped unaccountably in pleasure. He glared at its betrayal, but sucuumbed.

"Aha, just a little lower, yes...mm, thanks, Hermione," he closed his eyes and could have purred. Surely his tail twitched in delight? "Right there, yeah--" He got up abruptly--ears refreshed--when there was a knock on the door. "That'll be Harry, probably. He was spying on my date--"

"You were on a DATE? With who?" Hermione sniffled, intrigued. She had, possibly, assumed Draco was asexual, for all the privacy he put on his life. The prospect of Draco having a love life at all certainly cheered her.

"Wouldn't you love to know," chuckled Draco, but all trace of humour was wiped from his face when he opened the door. "GET DOWN!" He whipped his wand out at once to face the masked figure in the doorway, with more descending upon the walk outside. Surely others were entering by the back way, having distracted their attention with the front knock. "Protego!" The effect was instant. A glowing amber shield surrounded the door, and crackled when spells hit it. Hasty, but it bought enough time. Draco backed away to take Hermione's side just as it broke.

"Get away from her, Malfoy. We want nothing to do with you," said a voice Draco recognised as Warrington. He sneered instinctively. Warrington crashed against the wall with a flick of his wand, landing with a satisfying crunch.

Five surrounded them as they stood back to back, separated by another glowing half-sphere. No one reacted much to his ears and tail, but they looked as if they were conferring about what to do with the shield Draco had put up.

"No time for old comrades then?" Draco asked them. Who would strike first? Where was Harry and what was keeping him? Surely it wouldn't take him that long to get over his embarassment, unless they put an Anti-Apparation ward over the house. Even that was a small inconvenience.

"Draco!" Hermione hissed. "Does this shield let us fire curses out?" Draco's ears drooped noticeably. "Shit, Draco, what's wrong with you tonight?"

"First one that came to mind!" Draco hissed back irritably, but their squabble was quickly interrupted.

"Kill the Mudblood and her child, but leave him alive," a figure commanded. The effect was immediate.

"LIKE HELL YOU ARE! Not without a fight!" Hermione screamed at them with all the force of a raging typhoon. Even Draco, who had been subjected to Hermione's fury in the past, was surprised. She looked fit to Avada Kedavra, and the shields were breaking down. Well, time to let her loose on them.

This had to be done quickly. A hex flew towards him, but he had nowhere to duck. More were probably coming, but he had Hermione to worry about first. The shield was falling...

"Protego!" he barely got out of his lips before the curse ricocheted off his now-reinforced shield, burning a hole into the carpet. "Granger, how many did you get?" he asked as the two of them did their best to block. He deflected two as he avoided getting hit by the third, but he couldn't tell who was ready to strike and where. Working at their side was very different from having to face them with the masks on. It was like being attacked by the same person from many sides. They were going to lose.

He pulled her down and upset the settee. It formed a neat barrier between her and the rest, so he took the sofa. A cloth doily lay on his head, and the sofa shook and glowed. So many spells were hitting it...he could hardly hear.

His ears took refuge behind the edge of the sofa, just out of range, but it wasn't holding and neither was his new shield. A burst of light struck Draco between the eyes, and he blinked, losing it at the pain. He coughed, and blood stained his hand and the sofa, but he shook it off. That wasn't right; they usually cursed to kill--why be so specific? But there was no time to think no time no time no Time! Something swam before his vision and Draco squinted. No! He was NOT going to faint!

He struck back, his wand so tightly held in his fingers it was beginning to hurt. The shield finally broke. A Death Eater lunged for him as the other two tried hexes, but with a swift strategic kick Draco sent him flying. Hard to see now. The hex wasn't wearing off. "How many?" he yelled over the sound of whizzing hexes; she was getting a lot more attacks.

"Only two, and I didn't get a chance to put a--Protego!--jinx on them. Some Disapparated," she said breathlessly. "Are you doing defence or not, Draco?"

"I'm trying! It's a bit hard maintaining a shield when you've got--" he stopped trying to talk as another curse zoomed his way. He and Hermione knew the house better than their attackers; there would be a chance. He heard an "oh no!" from Hermione, and whirled around, clutching her tightly to him before diving behind the favourite sofa. He smelt the definitive sizzle of burnt cloth. A cushion flew between his ears.

"Ron would have stood and yelled at him for that," muttered Hermione, casting a Shielding Charm and looking around the edge. There were only two Deatheaters there, milling around looking as if they were debating their next course of action.

"What do we do now?" Draco asked, conferring with Hermione. "We can hit those two right now, but I don't know where the others are. Want to risk it?"

"Two less to deal with. I'll take the one on the right," Hermione said, and they both jumped at the same time, Stunning both to the ground. She turned to look at him in triumph, but she was instantly horrified by something behind him. Before he could turn to defend her a dull thud spread from the back of his head onwards. His mind quit on him, and, ears drooping, he fell forward into darkness.

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Hiding behind his menu as he waited for Lynch to finish dinner, Harry took some time to ponder. What were Draco's motives in making nice-nice with his neuromancer? Was it to show that he was sane enough not to see her again? Or was this entirely for purposes of pleasure? Draco never told him anything important about himself, Harry reflected, at least not voluntarily. Not until you asked and wheedled. He would think Draco would tell him, of all people, the first wizard his age that Harry had met, his first adversary, his first annoyance, his first enemy-turned-somewhat-friendly. It wasn't Harry's fault Draco could never be happy or satisfied with anything at all. The state of Being Content was just not a part of Draco Malfoy's character or personal vocabulary. Being Content was just not something Malfoys did, apparently. But at least he could try, right?

His conversation with Lupin still irked him. Even if Draco was walking that path towards being a bitter resentful bas--Snape, Harry would see to it that he got turned around. Of course. Only a lot of the time when Draco was irritated Harry's scar hurt, and those years Draco had the Dark Mark Harry's scar hadn't even hurt in close proximity. So what was the matter now? It had only happened after Voldemort's defeat. Even now it was already starting to itch, and he put his hand instinctively to his forehead with a wince. Something was happening in the back of his mind, somewhere...he gave a gasp as his gut seemed to stay in place while his body took a nose dive.

That same old sensation came over him, of falling into someone else's body and someone else's dreams. These were definitely not his, yet he was definitely not sleeping. Half of himself was indeed still sitting in Hunkleberry's Ginzai Field, staring into his menu with his hand to his forehead. It was simply that the half in reality didn't seem to matter.

~

Green. Lots of green.

Verdant lawns stretch out before the blond boy's eyes, and he giggles, getting to his unsteady feet. It's only been a little while since he first learned, but since then he's been unstoppable, running up and down stairs, running on the lawns, chasing the Kneazle, even chasing down Aunt Prosperine. A tuft of grass lies in his hands, and he lets go gently, straightening it properly so it lies straight like the rest of it. Of course, magic keeps the grasses straight and upright, springing back up into perfection as soon as he steps off. It is the only reason he's allowed to terrorise the place with his new bipedal mobility.

He looks up at the enormous tree at the centre of the finely-groomed garden, and lets his mouth fall open. There's his pet Kneazle, Geoffrey, curled up against a branch. He giggles. "Come down!" his little-boy voice yells up, but the cat yawns and smiles down at him, flicking its two-pronged tail. "One...Two..." He shoots up the trunk, grappling one after the other. His legs and arms are going too fast for his small self. The blond boy overcalculates, and bumps the back of his head on a branch. He lets go at the pain never felt before. Suddenly the ground comes up before his vision and he bounces off in pure wizard fashion, but the pain in his head explodes. Immediately he cries, robes askew, silken blond hair blown up every which way as he sits in the garden, whimpering.

It is as if a fire has erupted. Mummy is the first one there, and, having pushed aside the wet nurse Draco no longer needs, she sees what's wrong at once. He's picked up, he's rocked and cradled and kissed on the forehead. Before the tears can fade Daddy comes, younger than Harry has ever known Lucius Malfoy, which means this is much younger than six years old.

"Don't cry, Draco," says Mr Malfoy, only it is not the tone of a consoling parent, but instead a command. "You are a boy and a Malfoy, and you mustn't cry, no matter what happens. Because we will always love you, and we will always do our best to keep you safe. Do you hear me?" Mrs Malfoy makes no remark, but Draco sniffles, about to cry again. "Draco, you will not cry again. You will be strong, and you won't let anyone hurt you if we're not there. Here, Narcissa, let me take him. This has to be nipped in the bud." He's transferred to strong arms and steadier hands, but it's only a secure place and does not give him as much comfort as Mummy's bosom. "People will try to hurt you, and accidents will happen even if you didn't do anything wrong. But you mustn't cry. You mustn't let them know you're hurt. Do you understand, Draco?"

"Yeh, Daddy," Draco half-sounds out, stopping his tears at Lucius' commanding look, but he's only a little boy after all, and he embraces his father around the neck, snuggling in.

~

He's older, not yet going to Hogwarts but excited about the prospect in a few years. He gets on his new broomstick and whizzes down the halls of the Manor, terrorising the house elves and amusing the portraits immensely. The flight goes so quickly, and he turns naturally, only once in a while careening into a statue or a suit of armour and needing a mending spell. Now he chases a boy in a portrait all over, trying to catch up with him, but the boy, also blond and a long-dead great great uncle, is much too fast for him. They laugh along, and Draco struggles to keep track of where he is.

"WATCH OUT!" the portraits suddenly shout, and he crashes headalong into the stone wall right above the glass garden doors. There are splinters everywhere, and Father, sitting for tea with Mother at the garden gazebo, sees from far away and opens the glass door. Draco's head throbs, and his lip trembles, but one look from Father silences him.

Later, bandaged and bruised in his room, he screams into a pillow.

~

It's Quidditch practise again, even though inside they all doubt they could ever beat amazing Potter and his amazing Firebolt and his bloody amazing team. Something slams into the back of his head, only he's on the ground. It's Nero's bat and Draco stumbles, gritting his teeth against the pain. He won't cry. He won't.

"Some Seeker you are, Malfoy. Too busy being self-centred to look for the Snitch, aren't you? Think you're so high and mighty, don't you?" Nero says, and it's all Draco can do not to throw a punch. His hands are certainly bunching into fists, but these are more for self-control than anything. A Malfoy does not sucuumb to such base emotions, even if his eyes are stinging. A Quidditch Beater bat to the head HURTS.

"I can have you killed, Asheton," Draco hisses with such venom that Nero backs away, then sneers to save face. No tears this time. Daddy would be proud.

~

The whole swarm of Muggles pass by him, and he looks for Ron and Harry in the crowd, only to see a redhead far away, trying to direct the horde of nonmagical creatures away from the trolls. It's all frantic and panic. People are pushing and kicking him to get out of the way, and he's barely able to keep an eye on the trolls' chains. He results to casting a shield over the lot of them and Banishing those closest to the trolls far away past the tree trunks, where other Muggles have gathered. Someone hits him on the back of his head with a strange, long metal thing, and a deafening shot goes off. It reverberates through his pounding head, but it also seems to have made the Muggles pay attention. He motions with his hands for them to run in the direction of his indication, where many are gathered, and casts more shields to protect them.

More and more shields fall into place, and out of the corner of his eye he knows what is happening even before it can register. A troll has gone off in the direction of his mother's horse. A troll. His mother. His legs are going in different directions, and he finally Immobilises every single Muggle under his jurisdiction, Banishes them as quickly as possible, and breaks off into a run towards the troll. Something wet and warm runs down the back of his neck, and he reaches up to wipe it away. His legs are still pinwheeling forwards on their own volition, his arms strike bushes and tangled vines. There is blood on his hand. Whatever hit him broke skin...his hair is caked with it, no doubt, and he recognises the trickling feeling on his scalp. Everything throbs, his head is ringing from that shot, and he bites down on his lip to stem against the pain.

The troll is knocked out with no trouble, but the horse...his mother... He's running even faster now, like never before, and the world is blurring by so fast and it's like his feet are flying and still it isn't fast enough and he blasts the horse away so quickly he can barely bother to see where it went. Those blue riding robes of hers are there, but it can't be her. This cannot be his mother, his beautiful mother who cradled and sang songs to him until he thought he was too old to listen. The ground comes up and his knees meet it like two old friends, and he can barely stand to touch her, in case it is real.

"Mother," he chokes out, hoping to wake her. There's blood all over his hands from his wound and he doesn't want to soil her pristine, beautiful body, even if he knows it's gone. "Mother, wake up. It's day. Mum..." He wipes his hand against the grass, and, with shaking fingers, brushes away a pale blonde lock from her beautiful beautiful face. It doesn't make sense to him. There's no pulse, there's no breath, and the spell he tries shows up negative. "Mummy?" It's no use talking to the dead, after all, and he sinks down beside her, face buried against her neck, as if he were whispering in her ear. People are coming up...it's probably Harry or Ron, but even if it were the Death Eaters he wouldn't care. "Please," he says out loud, not for her. There's no cry of pain. There's no trembling lip. There's no prickling of the eyes. "Let me cry." But no tears come.

~

"Aah!" Harry gave a start at his table, suddenly sucked back into reality. Lynch had long vanished, but a few patrons were staring at him curiously, their gazes tracing his fringe and seeking out his scar. His Glamour Charm must have worn off. How long had he been in that...that trance? Nervously, he got to his feet and headed out of the restaurant, readying himself to Floo to Ron and Hermione's.

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The first thing Draco heard when his eyelids flicked open was a scream. The second thing he heard was also a scream, and he didn't wait long enough to hear a third. With a throbbing headache, what felt like blood on his face and a dizzy perspective he wildly stumbled upwards and landed a hex on the first Death Eater he saw. The element of surprise gave him enough time to gain his own bearings and be surprised himself.

So that was who was doing the screaming. Two Death Eaters were holding Hermione down on the sofa, her barely-showing abdomen exposed from where her robes had been torn. A ring of red grazed its surface, growing deeper with each passing second. It looked extremely painful, and he had no doubt that the abdomen's inhabitant wasn't a very happy wizard either. The Death Eater Draco had struck was already down and fixed. Where had the others gone?

He took down the one at Hermione's head first, before he could warn the others of the blond wizard behind them. A swift tackle knocked him and the chanter down to the ground. Somewhere in the flurry of robes and punches he could hear Hermione kicking with a screech. He wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer, not with his lesser weight. Already he could feel his bones protesting, his breath knocked out of him still. Stop the pressure. Stop the pressure. "Get off me!" Silly, yes, but it was surprising enough to give him a window. Another strategically placed knee and he climbed on top, twisting the wizard's arm behind him triumphantly. "Idiot," he declared, throwing an Anti-Apparition Jinx upon him before getting to his feet. He took his wand away and clamped a nullifier ring over it.

With a sigh he realised Hermione had more than taken care of her captor, since she was sitting on top of him, beating the poor wizard around the head with her fists. She was so angry that her screams were inarticulate, but Draco attempted to catch a few words as he caught his breath too. "How DARE you...my children...boil...inhuman...slimy...rot for eternity...hell." And it continued. Perhaps it would be best to wait until she was done. He leaned against the wall leisurely just in time to get slammed in the face by the door when Harry came barging in.

"Yer Floo grate was clo--what HAPPENED?" he asked, rushing to her immediately and pulling her off the cowering Death Eater. A fit of dizziness passed over Draco and he slumped to the ground, glaring at Harry. "What's over--oh, sorry Draco. I didn't see you there. Did they do anything? Are there any more? Are you crying?"

"What? No!" Draco answered, confused. He put his hand to his face. It hadn't been blood, because all the blood was in his mouth. These were tears...it didn't make any sense. He never cried. He couldn't. "I don't know what you're talking about." Seeing the look on Harry's face, he added, quickly, commanding, "It doesn't matter! What did they try to do to you, Hermione?"

"They were...they said I'm going to have twins. They were going to take them out. They were going to kill them, eventually." She gave the Death Eater another kick in the ribs. "You sick, foul, evil..."

"Hermione, I don't think he can hear you," Harry said, removing the man's mask. Her beatings had crushed his face black and blue. "Your mother's instinct went overboard."

"Yeah, well, he deserved it!" she replied, and Draco decided to stay well enough out of it. "If you hadn't been there, Draco..."

"I think you could have taken care of them, with the way you were acting." It was a rare occasion indeed, but he flashed her a smile. "I'd better call Hannah." He went to the Floo, opened the grate and asked for a Cleanup Crew from Auror HQ.

"Are you going to stay?" Hermione asked Harry as Draco spoke into the fire.

"Can't. We've got to get to Ron's office. He's best to contact anyway. You had a row with him, didn't you?" Harry asked, putting an arm around her shoulders. They were close enough to be brother and sister, and his own instincts knew what was bothering her. He'd seen disagreements between the two before. Her nod was all he needed to enfold her in his arms for a tight hug. It made him feel mushy and safe, and it probably made her feel the same way too.

"Thanks," said she, but turned to Draco and waited for him to extinguish the fire. "Draco? You...you saved the twins' life tonight. And mine, probably." They exchanged glances.

"I know." Nothing more had to be said.

"Yeah, so, er, you're all right too, Draco?" Harry asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Yes. Sweet old bastards; they didn't want me harmed. Must be getting soft and sentimental about me," muttered Draco harshly, and looked outside the window before he opened the door this time. A troupe of Aurors, slightly more junior, entered, headed by Hannah Abbott.

"Hi Draco, Harry, Hermione. I'm so glad you're okay, Hermione! I don't know how we'd all react if you or the baby was hurt!" Hannah said immediately, and the two witches embraced with feminine concern. The other Aurors began their usual clean-up routine, securing the four Death Eaters and searching the perimeter for any more signs of Dark Arts.

A bit lost at the conversation while the two women spoke and exchanged their worries, Draco conferred with Harry, whose scar was still bothering him. "Maybe Hannah'll get some answers out of them. Just a Death Eater attack, but they said some odd things. I'd like to know what they're saving me for and why they wanted Hermione's child, so bring them to the Lockhouse and let me question them later. There were at least six, but three vanished and the three here were central to whatever procedure. I explained it all to Hannah already, and I will help file the report."

The women had finally stopped talking, but Hannah was looking at Draco in a new appraising light and Hermione could only beam. It made Draco uncomfortable, so he said, very quickly, "take care, Hermione. We have to leave now."

"I'll take care of everything here, so don't you two worry either," Hannah told them reassuringly.

"If you need anything at all just owl, okay? Or Floo t'Hogwarts. Anything. D'you really think you're having twins?" Harry asked, though he was still worried.

"We'll see, Harry," Hermione said wisely, and waved good-bye before they Disapparated.

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Ron's office may have been cluttered on the last visit, but it was a complete disaster area this time around. Files were stacked up and magically enchanted to keep from falling over. Much of the work was backlogged; the way they were fuming with smoke gave it away. They made unsteady towers--obstructing some of the London map--and wobbled ominously.

"Ron?" Harry asked the room as he approached the desk. "Oh no." Slumped behind it with a few casefiles as a pillow and a bottle of opened, stale gin in his hand was Ronald Weasley, top Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Weasley!" Draco looked outraged. "Wake up you lazy wank!"

"Shh...he's probably tired! Look at all this work!" Harry admonished.

"No I think it would be better if you understood more, Harry. His wife and unborn child have just been attacked, he has not been home in three days, and he sleeps with what smells like a year's worth of liquor stains! He hasn't been doing his job for a long while now, in any manner, at home or at work." Draco effectively sealed the conversation as he gave Ron a pinpoint nudge in the ribs with the toe of his boot, then pulled his dead weight up to his feet that cost him a lot more effort than he would have liked. He was still not at full strength yet; he had felt the consequences of that on his back when what sounded like your friendly Death Eater Darlington threw his weight on him. "Weasley! Get up, you lazy arse." He gave Ron a few slaps around the face, and then muttered, "Ennervate!"

"'Ssss nah my fault!" Ron protested immediately, jerking away, his eyes unfocused, his footsteps wobbly.

"I'm sure," Draco replied darkly. "I've heard of shirking responsibility but this is beyond even the worst of what I would have expected from you, Weasley!"

"Oh give it a rest! Ron, look, Hermione's been attacked, and Darko's party won the election. She's okay, but there's a lot we've got to get done and find out, so please sober up," Harry pleaded with his best friend.

A Restorative Draft could not have worked faster. Ron was wide awake in an instant, picking himself up from whatever his mind had defined as the ground and throwing aside the gin bottle straight into the dustbin. "What about the baby? What happened? And the attackers? I've got to tell Serena; there has to be someone in the office at least! I--" Harry gave him a good shake.

"They're all fine! Draco saved her life, I think. You've really got to stop that, by the way. People would think you cared, Draco." The only response he got was a shrug of Draco's bunny ears. Ron turned red. "Anyway, Ron, Darko's been successful. We need you to pull a few strings."

Draco spoke up. "Find out who's on the secretaries list, see if you can get any of our people on the manifesto and above all, make sure that Darko doesn't know. Harry could use his political clout, but we don't want to over-do it lest we need it in the future. Malfoys, however, have been doing it for centuries, so I will owl the right people. That isn't going to change regardless of what side we take in the next war. Main goal here is that we make sure we get a say about who becomes Minister of Magic and who takes most of the party seats. So hop to it. You can find out about Hermione later."

"There're Aurors at your house already, and Hannah's cleaning up the situation, so don't fret. She's fine, a'right?" Harry tried to reassure him.

"Look, er, I'll check on Hermione, then get the people you need," said Ron distractedly, and promptly Disapparated.

"You come with me; we can worry about him later," Draco said to Harry, feeling that if he took charge now, perhaps he could get rid of the nagging feeling in his gut every time he looked at his partner.

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Harry sat at his old desk, watching as Draco made conversation over the Floo Network. How could someone who had been through all that torture and starvation for such a long time still remember how to talk, to be so polished, to remember how to address everyone, to remember their families and names...to simply be so poised? How did he keep himself standing at all? It was as if Draco had a default personality, trained from birth, that he could fall back on and use, one that could never be destroyed because it was born into him. Then Harry realised he probably did.

"Thank you very much, m'lord." Draco's voice was shaky as he extinguished the flames. Every so often when someone wouldn't cooperate he'd snatch Harry, hold him before the fire and make him say something positive. It made for a good arrangement, and being Harry Potter certainly had its advantages, though the going was slow. It was well into midnight before they found out that Darko, dissatisfied, did not plan on being M.O.M. after all, but it was unknown what he had his sights set on.

"What's wrong? I was writing an owl to Patricia Jorkin and I didn't hear," Harry said, putting down his quill.

"Daughnety thinks he might have a good clue as to who the new Minister will be, but he offers us, especially me, apparently, his full support. He promised not to believe anything they say unless we corroborate it first." Draco sat down, a shade pastier than usual.

"Who does he think it'll be, then?" Harry asked, sitting up. Was Draco going to faint again? Truthfully speaking, he had had quite a few head injuries of late.

"Father," choked Draco, hardly believing it himself as he looked dully into the flames.

It was a while before either of them could speak again.

"Lucius Malfoy? But...they can't! The charges! His arrest! How do you pick a Minister with a criminal record? It's not possible," Harry argued.

"Well they are doing it," replied Malfoy. "They've done it in the past with Lord Mad Bonkers Rushlinghavenstein. I wish I could say I'm glad it's Father but something doesn't feel right. He's got a larger power base than you might suppose. If he really is going to be MInister and propose changes the legal way, he will not hesitate to draw on that power."

"What can we do about it? Is there anyone else you can Floo? Anybody?" Harry asked, but he somehow felt that it would be useless. Yet why was Draco so unhappy about the prospects? Auror and spy or no, Draco still retained principles of pureblood superiority. So what did the son fear the father could do? "Draco, you've gotta let us know what you think your father wants. None of us can't predict his actions as well as you." Harry watched as Draco continued to pace his ears raised, tense and pensive. "Draco? Are you listening to me?"

"Of course," Draco said, stopping in front of the fireplace to look at Harry. The tips of his white ears went down slightly, and his tail was hardly wiggling anymore. "I hear too much. All the time. I cannot understand it. I can't hear it all." There was a strange element to his voice, the faintest ghost of another voice behind it that was equally familiar to Harry. Draco's hands were clenched into fists, and for a moment Harry was sure he saw crimson colouring those grey eyes. It was like-- "Well, anyway," Draco coughed, looking highly uncomfortable before he sat back down at the desk they shared and grabbed a quill. "That is...why were you following us on our date? I didn't get a chance to ask you that." He was so exhausted, but he still had all these letters to write.

"Don't try to change the subject, Draco. What does your father want? Specifically? Or what do you think he wants?" Harry pursued.

Surprisingly, Draco grinned. "You're changing the subject too. Why did you follow us? Neither of us was going to be in particular danger. Are you jealous? Think you'll be the only bachelor left of our little group?

"No! Of course not!" Harry refuted indignantly. "Why would you think that?"

"Oh I don't know," Draco said, and his ears did the shrugging for him. "Just the fact that you've been so very hostile to everything concerning her while I seem to be coping well with the idea of seeing a neuromancer in more ways than one. You're Harry Potter; you should have no trouble finding a girl. Cheer up."

"Yeah. Sure," muttered Harry glumly, signing his lettter and tying it to one of the waiting Auror owls. "I'm just not used to seeing you with someone." He grabbed another sheet of parchment. He wanted to say, 'someone else instead of me,' but he'd sooner kiss Dudley than admit that not hanging out with Draco so much was making him lonely.

"What, you think I'll be an old spinster forever? Stag at every party? No thank you," said Draco, missing Harry's sharp look. "I need heirs. For some reason the thought of little Malfoys walking about the manor strikes my mind."

Harry snorted. "Yeah. Never took you for the fathering sort, Draco, not to mention I thought the phrase is 'little Malfoys _running_ around.'" Had he remembered that drunken night conversation with Harry? Harry sincerely hoped not.

"No, it's not that," Draco said. "And Malfoys don't run around. We walk in a dignified fashion as befits all gentlewizards of breeding," Malfoy smirked suddenly. "Did you enjoy the good show? Lynch and I?"

"What? I did not--" Harry spluttered.

"It's all right. I don't care. But...just let me live a little, Harry. Let me have my fun. I've only recently remembered what it feels like to have the sun on my face." Draco looked so pathetic and sad Harry hardly knew what to say.

"All right. I know. I'm sorry for following you. No one should ever have to watch you kiss anyone, Draco. I'll have nightmares for weeks!" Harry joked.

"Yes, well..." Draco left it at that, a funny expression on his face that Harry desperately hoped was not love. Maybe he was thinking about nightmares. Draco started a letter to Charlemagne Bloom.

"Can I ask you a personal question, Draco?" he asked. Draco, nodding, added cordial regards to Mr Bloom's wife and daughter.

"Lately, just lately, Draco, have you been having dreams about your childhood?" Ah. Draco's stiff look told Harry everything he needed to know. "Around six? You took your dad's broomstick and played with the Muggle village children?"

"I don't ask you about your dreams, Potter. You needn't ask me about mine," Draco told him, eyes boring into him.

"But if we're having the same dreams, Draco, we could be powerfully connected. We could help you with whatever it is you can't remember! We can help!"

"Whatever I made myself forget, it was probably for a good reason, so stop pestering me about it!" Draco stared at the letter before him, looked around, then at Harry questioningly. All the blood drained from his face. His fingers rolled the paper into a tight, anger-packed little ball and threw it into the dustbin before he rose softly. "I'll take care of it all." He stretched, the sleeves of his robe falling down to reveal a blood-soaked bandage.

"You're still bleeding?" Harry asked in alarm, rising as well and making out to reach for it. So there was still residual power in Draco's Dark Mark, but not in any others. Snape had never shown a sign of a bleeding Dark Mark. Then again, you don't really parade something like that.

"None of your business," Draco hissed, and he Disapparated without any warning at all.

With a groan, Harry flung himself back into his seat. There was nothing he could do that didn't make the situation politically sensitive, nothing he could say without driving Draco further away and more towards Lynch. He picked up the ball of parchment and opened it to see if he could finish the owl. What he saw made his jaw drop.

The letter began cordially enough, with Draco's elegant hand. But somewhere in the middle it morphed into the spidery handwriting Harry's twelve-year old self had seen, so long ago in a forgotten diary with hidden powers: "Make it happen. Do it. Aid him in your own defeat. Aid him. Make it easier. Make it happen. You are not good enough. Never good enough. But you are mine. Make it happen. Get it done." If Draco had been talking to Harry, how had he paused to carefully mimic and write Tom Riddle's own hand? He looked down at the words again. "Merlin, Draco. What's wrong with you?" It was only then that, with a chill, he realised Draco's last words had been spoken in Parseltongue.