Teamwork

Chapter Warnings: Mild sex and teen angst

Canon Compliancy: Through Goblet of Fire

Notes: This was not actually written between GoF and OotP, but was plotted out then. I am actively writing it now. Thanks to sociofemme for beta work, and calanthe for beta work and Britpicking.

2 - Independence

Harry distributed the sausages he had just cooked to the plates on the breakfast table, and then returned the pan to the kitchen. When he got back, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were enthusiastically talking about taking Dudley to a boxing match. Dudley was replying to their questions in short grunts.

Eventually, Harry's aunt and uncle ran out of effusive things to say, and a silence descended. Harry swallowed his last bite of toast and cleared his throat.

"I'll be leaving for London in a few days," he commented, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "On Saturday. I might be gone for a bit."

"London!" Uncle Vernon snarled. "And how do you expect to be getting there?"

"There's a bus I can call," Harry said. "The bus for my sort."

"You are not going anywhere!" Vernon fumed. "Those ... freaks can threaten us all they like -- trips are an indulgence that you are not entitled to take."

"I have a court summons," Harry said flatly. "I think defying it would cause trouble for all of us." With satisfaction, he watched Uncle Vernon's face pale. "If the Mag-- the people who enforce these things showed up, and I said you wouldn't permit me to go...." He let the sentence trail off ominously.

Uncle Vernon attempted a sneer. "Ended up in court, did you? What did you do?"

Harry bristled. "I'm not the defendant. I'm a witness for the prosecution."

"One of your friends get caught?" Dudley taunted.

Harry had a brief surge of anger, which he suppressed with the thought that it was a wonder none of Dudley's friends had yet ended up in court. Harry found himself pushing down the impulse to say "my boyfriend's father." The backlash wouldn't really be worth the minute or two of entertainment, he thought.

"A man named Lucius Malfoy." Unable to resist hinting, he added, "His son and I are quite close."

"But you're testifying against him anyway," his uncle said darkly.

"So's Draco -- his son. Lucius is real homicidal bastard," Harry said. "Perhaps you'll get lucky, and he'll have one of his mates off me," he continued gleefully. "It's more your sort he usually likes to kill, though."

There was something perversely satisfying about terrifying the Dursleys.

Harry took the Knight Bus to the Leaky Cauldron, persuading Stan and Ernie, through combined gratuities and flattery, to let him leave it with his invisibility cloak on. Stan actually held the door to the pub open, allowing Harry to haul his trunk inside. Harry left the unwieldy burden by the door and slipped into the warm front room. He was struck, suddenly, by the memory of when he was thirteen, and he had lived here for two marvelous weeks. It wouldn't be the same now, of course. That was before Voldemort had regained his body, and even with the supposed threat of Sirius Black, escaped convict, he had been free to roam Diagon Alley as he pleased. Now, even if no one was telling him it was too dangerous, he would be aware of how dangerous it had become. The smell of beer washed over him, and incongruously, he found himself longing for tomorrow's breakfast, when the crowd would be thin, and that scent stale and bitter and comfortable.

Tom was behind the bar. When he stepped back into the kitchen, Harry followed. Once out of view of the patrons, he lowered the hood of his cloak.

"Tom?" he called softly.

Tom turned his head and dropped the bowl he had been about to fill with stew. It clattered on the countertop, but did not break. He was no taller than Harry, now.

"Sorry," Harry said. "I didn't want all of that lot to see me arriving."

"Understood, Mr. Potter! My pleasure!" Tom looked uncertainly at Harry's head, which Harry belatedly realized must appear to be floating in mid air. Harry set a hand to his hip, parting the cloak a bit, so he would have at least a column of his body showing. Tom seemed set at ease by this. "I should show you the Floo for private arrivals, sir."

"But I didn't come by Floo. My guardians are Muggles, you know."

Tom perked up. "You should have them put on the network! It can be approved for family, and it would make it easier for you to visit them."

Harry grimaced. "Why would I ever want to visit the Dursleys?"

Tom looked taken aback, and Harry tried sound calmer. "Look, remember the last time I'd stayed here? After I'd blown up my aunt? I have better control of my magic now, but we don't like each other any more than we did then. After I turn seventeen, I don't expect we'll ever talk, never mind visit. Besides, they hate magic, and they wouldn't allow a Floo connection even if they had a fireplace, which they don't."

"Ah." Tom scratched his head, as if uncertain how to fit this information into his concept of Harry Potter, or, Harry realized belatedly, he might just be wondering how a household managed without a fire.

"My trunk is in the hall," Harry told him, eager to change the subject. "Shall I get it?"

Tom waved a hand in dismissal. "I'll have it sent up. Close up that cloak, Mr. Potter, and I'll show you to your room."

"Thank you," Harry said, and covered himself once again.

Tom brought him into a good-sized, pleasant room, with a window overlooking Diagon Alley. Harry wondered how that worked.

"Now, this is our protected hallway," Tom told him. "Dumbledore requested it for you, but I would have known, I wager, the times being what they are! Remember to carry your key, or you'll run afoul of the Confundus hex on the stairway. If you want anything brought up, the slate on the door copies to the kitchen, but I don't have extra servers, so you may need to wait." He nodded formally. "Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Potter?"

"Do you ... Will you take a message to another guest? Confidentially?"

"I will that," Tom said confidently, accepting the coin Harry passed him with good cheer.

"If Draco Malfoy is here, please tell him that I have arrived, and would like to have dinner with him, if possible."

"Draco Malfoy!" Tom looked shocked.

"The son of one of the defendants? In my class at Hogwarts?"

"But you...!" Tom stopped himself. "Of course, Mr. Potter. I'll let him know straight away."

"Thank you."

Tom, rather than leaving, looked hesitantly at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Professor Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley both asked to be informed when you arrived. Do you wish to see them as well?"

Harry was surprised to find himself annoyed. He wanted a bath, he wanted to walk in Diagon Alley, and he wanted some pleasant time with Draco.

"Could you put it off till morning, Tom?" he pleaded. "Professor Dumbledore will have more elaborate schemes than Draco, and Mrs. Weasley --" He stopped. "Don't tell her at all," he said decisively. "It's none of her business where I am."

Tom looked uneasy. "I don't need to tell Mrs. Weasley, of course, but Professor Dumbledore reserved your room."

"He's not paying for it, though."

"Isn't he?"

"No. Even if he planned to, no. I won't have it." Especially as you'll take that as giving him authority.

"Still, he may wish to know you've arrived safely."

"I don't expect you to lie if he asks."

"But I did promise...."

And there was the problem, of course. Harry sighed. "Then tell him I'll meet him for breakfast or lunch, no earlier than ten. Not tonight."

Tom nodded, relieved. "Very good, Mr Potter. And I will enquire with Mr. Malfoy first."

Before Harry had finished unpacking, a knock came at his door. Anxiously wondering if it would be Draco or Dumbledore, he opened it, only to find Tom had returned.

"Oh, hello, Tom."

"Mr. Potter." Tom nodded, rather distantly, Harry thought. "Mr. Malfoy says he should not be seen with you in public, but suggests dinner in his room, at seven."

"Not be seen...!" Harry had imagined a warmer reception than that. He frowned. "Oh, fine! Tell him I accept."

Tom nodded again. "He also asked me to tell you that he is in room fourteen, just down the hall."

It wasn't fine, though. Alone once more, Harry wondered what it meant. He was a secret again? He couldn't be, really. Too many people had seen them together at school, and they must have told siblings and parents. It was a wonder it hadn't been in the Daily Prophet. Harry thought about that for a moment. It would be more likely to be in Witch Weekly, he decided, in one of those "Rumors" sections that Lavender sometimes read aloud in the common room. And maybe it had been; without Lavender around, he wouldn't know.

Still, what was the point in Draco trying to pretend there was nothing between them? Harry bit his lip. Perhaps Draco had agreed to break up with him in return for some favor from an ally? Or in his absence -- and Snape's presence -- he had become more dissatisfied that Harry wasn't a pureblood? Perhaps he was inviting him to his room only to tell him that he was ending it.

Harry was tempted to run straight down to room fourteen, but he didn't want to show up smelling of the Knight Bus and the artificial scents of Petunia Dursley's air freshener. Draco valued appearances, and if Draco was going to tell him to leave, he would at least do it with regret. Instead, Harry bathed and dressed as nicely as possible, in clothes he had bought while in Hogsmeade with Draco. He chose the loose-legged black trousers, and the silk shirt that had once been red and gold, but was now green, black, and gold. Susara flowed reassuringly around his neck before disappearing under the silk to settle around his arm. When he checked the clock, it was quarter to seven already. He went back to the mirror, and tried to decide if he was ready for dinner with Draco.

After composing himself a final time, Harry knocked on the door. It swung open. On the far end of the room, to one side, Draco stood with his wand out.

"Come in," he said.

The distance, after his warm letters, could mean nothing good. Harry, in the beginnings of a defensive fury, strode in and turned to shut the door. He heard Draco moving towards him. When he turned back, the blond was only a few steps away.

"It's wonderful to see you, Harry," Draco said. His voice was uneven with emotion. Harry felt his anger turn to churning confusion.

"Is it?" he snapped. "Well you certainly had me fooled!"

"Harry?" Draco took a step closer. "Look, idiot, don't be angry --"

"You won't see me in public! You won't even open the damn door!"

"I've had death threats against me. I wanted to be sure it was you."

"Oh."

Draco closed the distance and put his arms around Harry. "It's wonderful to see you," he repeated soothingly. "Even better to touch you. And --"

Harry didn't let him continue. As soon as Draco had raised his face, he had moved to kiss him, and not a word was he letting out. Harry doubted Draco's tongue could produce any speech more eloquent than its eager dance in Harry's mouth. Harry pressed hard up against him, and made no objection, this time, when Draco began to shift his hips suggestively.

Harry whined into the kiss. Tonight, he decided. I'm not holding back, tonight. And we'll see how Lucius Malfoy likes watching me comfort his son in the gallery.

But that's public, noted a harsh voice in his head. And you are only for private enjoyment. Harry pulled away.

"Nice to know it's mutual," Draco said cheerily. "You wouldn't believe how I've missed you! I've been protected into utter boredom at Hogwarts --"

"Better than my Muggle relatives," Harry retorted sharply.

Draco frowned at him. "You're still angry," he accused disbelievingly.

"I'm tired of being your secret!"

"It's just for another two days," Draco wheedled. His expression was very serious, all of a sudden. Harry thought it was odd how that made him look younger. "I'm sorry I couldn't explain in advance, but it wasn't until this afternoon that the matter came up. My solicitor is certain that my father's defense team will see our relationship as something to use to their advantage. He believes they have focused some of their strategy on revealing me as your lover. If you walk into the trial and openly sit with me, they'll be disarmed, and need to modify tactics in midair."

Harry thought through the implications of this. "So, rather than revealing myself as your boyfriend to increasing circles of friends, and have the idea distribute slowly, you want me to reveal myself as your boyfriend in the middle of a media frenzy, complete with photographers?"

Draco turned pink. "Sorry."

Harry sighed. "Well, at least it will be funny." And I'll get to watch the look on his face.

"You'll do it?"

"Better that than to have you refuse to meet me in the public room," Harry said. His tone was embarrassingly petulant.

Draco relaxed. He caught at Harry's hand and let him to the chairs. "Once it's underway, I promise -- dinner anywhere you like. For tonight, I've ordered a good meal -- as good as this place can manage, at least -- to share in private."

"I don't care if it's a ploughman's lunch, as long as it's with you," Harry said plaintively. He sat down. When Draco tried to step away, he tugged at his hand. "You're not going anywhere."

"Can't I sit?"

"On my lap, you can."

They kissed again, for a very long time. Harry enjoyed the way Draco shifted against him, but he was careful not to respond too enthusiastically. He didn't think he'd be able to stop if they really got going.

"So, how was summer at Hogwarts?" he asked, trying to distract himself. "I've always wished I could stay."

"Boring mostly. I'd have died of loneliness, if it hadn't been for the quiris."

Harry snorted. "Still messing about with those, are you? What a good little boy! When does Horsyr leave?"

Draco ducked his head in response to Harry's sarcastic comment. "She already has." He laughed nervously. "Two of the quiris stayed with me: Cheefi and Tuktuk."

Harry stared. "You allowed this? It was Dumbledore's idea, I presume?"

"Horsyr's, I think. It's not permanent -- she just wasn't sure they'd be safe where she was traveling, so she only took the older two, who have more control and are easier to conceal." He bit his lip for a moment. "And she said Cheefi didn't want to leave me. I may regret it, but I had been missing them in advance, and she asked me in front of them, so of course I jumped at the chance."

"But she'll take them before term starts."

"Maybe." Draco's brow crinkled as he looked at Harry. "What does it matter to you?"

Harry stared back. "You don't think that's a little suspicious? You're suddenly the ideal person to leave them with? Dumbledore arranged it, I'm sure. Either I break up with you, or he knows if I've been doing Dark Arts."

Draco's astonishment hardened to anger. "And people say I'm conceited. Everything is all about you, isn't it?"

"I don't know whether or not Dumbledore wants to control you. History has shown that he likes to have me loosely, but decidedly, in hand."

"I do appreciate that it restrains me, but you! Why should you care? I thought you weren't going to do Dark Arts, anymore."

Harry looked away. "Look it's--" He wasn't sure what it was. The loss of an option? "I don't like being controlled," he decided. "And what if I need to?"

"Need to," Draco repeated.

"Draco, don't get moralistic on me! You know better. I am going to win, do you understand? I kill Voldemort. I don't care if I survive it, and I don't care if my soul survives it. I win." He dared a glance at Draco. The blond had his forehead resting on one spread hand. Harry couldn't tell if his eyes were open or shut.

"Draco," he said gently, "I'll try."

"I don't know why I care!" Draco snapped. He pushed away, getting to his feet. Harry's lap felt cold where he had been. He watched Draco take a restless step clear of him and then turn back angrily. "I've done more Dark Arts than you've heard of. I can imagine situations where I wouldn't care what you used, but ...."

"You understand, then. But Dumbledore won't. You know that."

"Look," Draco said. "You can still use Dark Arts without him finding out, if we arrange things correctly."

"Can I?"

"Yes. You simply aren't with the quiris often enough for a four week gap to show -- assuming I even still have them, which I might not. I'll still know, but if you convince me you need to, we can keep it from everyone else."

"I'm still being watched, I just have a more flexible guard."

"If you can't convince me, what the hell are you doing?" Draco protested.

The question cut through Harry's anger. "I suppose that's a point," he admitted.

While Harry was still catching his breath, there was a knock on the door. Both of them froze. "I'll answer it," Harry volunteered.

It was dinner. When Harry opened the door, Tom stepped in, still looking rather wary, with a laden table floating behind him. He set it down by the window.

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked politely.

"That will do, for now," Draco answered, instantly shifting into an imperious manner. "We may want dessert or drinks later. Check back in an hour."

"Of course." Tom nodded, and backed out of the room. Harry's presence had not been acknowledged in the entire conversation. He felt curiously unreal.

Draco let out a long breath and sent Harry a friendly smile. The whole room seemed to lighten. "There. Let's move to the table. Had we finished our argument?"

"I suppose," Harry agreed. The food smelled delicious. Lunch had been an apple, he realized, and the table held roast beef, and thick slices of dark bread, and a dish of butter, and a jug of gravy, and mashed swedes, and a vegetable mix of green beans, yellow beans, and long slices of carrot. There was also a carafe full of garnet wine. Draco poured them both glasses of it and raised his in a toast.

"To Now," he said firmly, and Harry echoed him and clinked his glass against Draco's.

By unspoken agreement, they kept their conversation at light as possible, given the circumstances, although weightier matters crept in from time to time. Draco gossiped about the staff at Hogwarts and about various of his relatives, but he also related that he had exchanged several tense letters with Pansy. Harry couldn't fully appreciate the food without remarking how good it was not be given the worst pieces of everything, and he admitted that he and Ron had not been in communication at all. For all the unpleasant elements, Harry felt his anxiety melting away. Spring hadn't been some sort of hopeless fantasy; being with Draco was really that good.

Harry tugged Draco a little closer to him. The room had no seating intended for two, so he had settled on a carpet on the floor with his back against the base of a stuffed chair, and Draco was sitting between his legs, leaning back against his chest. Draco sighed and relaxed further into Harry's embrace, and Harry stretched forward to kiss him.

"Certain you don't want more dinner?" Draco teased.

"Completely."

"More wine?"

"We finished it."

Draco giggled. Harry moved to tickle him, but then changed his mind. He started undoing Draco's thin shirt, instead.

"Ah!" Draco's head tipped back. "Harry, don't tease," he pleaded.

"Who said I'm teasing?" Harry heard his own voice drop to an unfamiliar growl. "Term is over."

Draco's pale eyes widened. "Oh!"

He twisted further, and Harry moved to take his mouth again. He felt a ferocious welling of desire that made him want to bite those bright lips, but kept his assault to a fierce pushing of mouth and tongue that made Draco whimper.

Someone knocked at the door. Draco looked uncertainly at Harry. "Want dessert?"

"Besides you?" Harry didn't stop to consider it. Nothing was worth the time away from Draco's lips. "No. Not waiting."

"Mr. Malfoy?" Tom called from the hallway. "Will you be wanting anything more?"

"Not tonight, Tom," Draco called. "I'd rather not be disturbed."

"All right, then," Tom answered. They heard him retreat down the corridor.

"Mm," Draco said. "Where were we?"

"On the edge of new territory."

"Ah. So we were."

Draco got to his feet. Harry had only time for a moment's confused hurt before Draco reached a hand down to him. "Come to bed?" he asked, his voice low.

Harry followed readily. He was trembling with excitement and uncertainty, making it hard to control his movements. Draco seemed the epitome of grace as he turned back the covers and beckoned Harry to lie down.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No," Harry muttered, blushing, and Draco responded with visible delight.

"Oh! My Harry." He reclined next to Harry and pushed him gently back to the mattress. "Lie down. I want to undress you."

Harry didn't know when he'd lost control, but he wasn't going to argue. He wasn't entirely sure he could speak. He lay back and let Draco unbutton his shirt and cuffs, and kiss at the skin underneath, resisting only long enough to push Draco's shirt off, so he could touch Draco's pale skin with whatever hand he had free.

"So lovely," Draco sighed, kissing along Harry's shoulder and down his arm. "Curl up a moment; I want this off."

Harry raised his torso, but couldn't help staring at Draco's soft trousers while he held that position. With the concealing drape of his shirt gone, it was obvious that Draco was hard beneath them. Harry felt a surge of panic. What if he didn't know what to do? What if he didn't like it, after all? He shook harder as he reached to touch. He had intended a caress, but it turned into something more like a grab. Despite that, Draco closed his eyes and arched in apparent bliss.

"Sorry I'm so clumsy." Even his voice was shaking.

"You're a virgin," Draco retorted. "It's sexy, the way you're trembling. Be graceful for me some other day, when it makes sense."

"I ..." Was this normal? Harry wondered. Before he could decide what to say, Draco was opening his trousers and lightly returning the touch. "Draco! God."

"Mm. Let me slide these off, right? I want to make you feel so good...."

Harry raised his hips and the last of his clothes were gone, dropped carelessly on the floor by the bed. Draco paused to remove his own as well. Harry reached for it again, but Draco knelt across his legs, taking most of his body out of reach.

"Get back here!"

"Shhh." Draco kissed Harry's stomach, then lifted just his head, his hair falling straight along his face. "Patience."

"Please?"

"Mm." Draco kissed lower. "No," he said lightly. "I want to be right here."

When his mouth descended, wet and warm, Harry couldn't claim he disagreed.