Rating:
15
House:
Schnoogle
Ships:
Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Ginny Weasley Harry Potter Hermione Granger
Genres:
Slash
Era:
Harry and Classmates Post-Hogwarts
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Half-Blood Prince
Stats:
Published: 10/22/2006
Updated: 01/26/2009
Words: 143,258
Chapters: 29
Hits: 81,858

Black Sheep

Jackie Stevens

Story Summary:
"Black sheep is a derogatory colloquialism in the English language meaning an outsider or one who is different in a way which others disapprove of. This can be someone who has been shunned by others, or one who has chosen to be an outsider, due to actions and aims that separate them from the rest of the people or 'flock.'"

Chapter 01 - In Which One Life Ends

Posted:
10/22/2006
Hits:
7,952

Chapter One
In Which One Life Ends

B
USILY WATCHING THE ROLLING HILLS to his right, the young man didn't at first notice the motorbike ahead of him. There was hardly ever anyone on the flat stretch of A4 that wandered across Wiltshire and, seeing the lone vehicle, he sighed in annoyance. He glanced into the right lane ahead but there was no oncoming traffic. Flicking his indicator on, he smoothly pressed the accelerator to the floor of his car, easing the old BMW into the opposite lane and overtaking the rider. Hardly sparing a glance as he passed, he pulled back into the left lane ahead of the bike.

Not bothering to ease his foot off the accelerator, he flew down the country road at well over the posted speed. The green hills continued to loom around the road and the young man looked lazily toward the slopes on his right, waiting for the tell-tale splashes of white chalk that always told him that he was almost home. It was a silly ritual, but before he had realized that, it had already become one.

Something flashed through his vision, interrupting his search. It was the motorbike. The cheeky little bugger had overtaken him. Glancing at his speedo confirmed that he was by no means running under the posted speed and, surprisingly, he felt a flicker of competition, long dormant, sparked into life somewhere deep inside himself. The corners of his mouth almost twitched into competitive smile.

"Oh, now you're for it," he whispered into the hush of his car's interior. For the first time, he took proper notice of the rider in front of him. The man was crouched over a small, low bike, nearly parallel to the ground. In his car, Harry - for that was the young man's name - realized that the rider was wearing no helmet and that the bright flash that had captured his attention had come directly from the rider's fair, unprotected head.

"Stupid," he murmured to himself as he pulled out alongside the bike again. He forced the accelerator all the way to the floor, watching his gauges as his engine jumped to 5,000 RPMs. But the bike paced him, not giving way for several long seconds. Harry's eyes darted from the rider to the road ahead of him, where oncoming traffic might approach at any bend. Just before he was about to give in and fall back behind the motorbike, he glanced to the left to find an empty road. The rider had given way.

The hint of a grin growing, Harry slid back into the proper lane, glancing back at the bike in his wing mirror. His heart was pounding and adrenaline was singing in his veins for the first time in perhaps years. Yet his triumphant glow couldn't last long because the rider wasted no time pulling alongside Harry again. Just as Harry had moments before, the rider now hovered precariously in the opposite traffic lane as they tore down the speedway together. He could have passed Harry without much trouble but rather drew alongside the vintage car for a purposeful moment and, just as Harry tore his eyes from the road ahead of them to glance at him questioningly, gave a mocking salute with one hand and moved to take the lead again.

He hardly had to try, though, for his opponent was suddenly gone. Harry had slammed on his brakes, leaving the squeal of burning rubber and an acrid smoke in his wake. The suddenness of his stop sent the fine old car into a spin and Harry let go of the wheel, helplessly watching the familiar countryside whirl past his windscreen.

Hearing the screech of tires, the rider immediately jerked around to see what had happened. He wasn't used to the Muggle contraption enough to check in his mirrors at such an unthinking moment and his hands, still gripping the handlebars, jerked the whole bike around with him, as if he were riding a broomstick and not 200 kg of metal and science. He had a moment's vision of the car he'd been racing with spinning a dozen metres behind him, but then he was flying and could see nothing but the brilliantly blue sky above, punctuated by picturesquely fluffy clouds.

Back in the car, Harry thought he saw the bike go down in the blur of the scenery, but couldn't be sure because before he made even one more revolution, his car had finally travelled sideways enough to strike one of the undulating hills and everything came to an abrupt stop. Harry flew sideways into his door, his head striking the frame, and his last thought as everything bled to black was a disbelieving name - a name from his past, one he never thought he'd have to remember:

Draco Malfoy?




Harry woke with a pounding pain in the right side of his head and an aching jaw. He pried his eyes open to look around himself dazedly and didn't recognize a thing. He was in a small room by himself, laid out on top of an equally small bed. He blinked slowly and felt a radiating pain each time he did. Reaching one weak hand up, he gingerly prodded the skin of his face. Reaching his temple, he expected to feel tender, bruised bone, but his fingers brushed against a thick bandage instead. Someone had bandaged him. He felt around the rough gauze and then let his fingers prod his tender jaw bones, grimacing, then trying not to grimace as he discovered the pain of moving his mouth.

An old man whom he vaguely recognized let himself into the room and suddenly Harry knew where he was - the one doctor's surgery in his village. He had seen the doctor around, but generally had as little to do with him as he had with all the rest of his cohabitants. The doctor obviously knew who he was, though, as he addressed him by name, "Ah, Mr Potter. I see you are back among us."

Harry narrowed his eyes unsurely and the old man continued, "Among the living, that is. Old Marcella Uppington - you know, the widow who works in the grocery - found you and another young man out on the A4. An accident, was there?"

And then Harry remembered what had happened, remembered what had sent him careening off the road. Ignoring the pain in his jaw, he asked in a fearful tone, "What of the other man?"

The doctor had come up to the bedside and was shining a penlight into Harry's eyes, apparently checking his responses. He muttered to himself, "Doesn't appear concussed," before answering the younger man's question. "He's in the next room. It's a miracle that he made it out as well as he did. No major injuries, just a dislocated shoulder and some minor abrasions. Both vehicles fared less fortuitously, though."

Harry wasn't sure if he was more relieved or dismayed to hear that Malfoy was relatively well and in the next room - for there was no doubt in his mind that it had been Draco Malfoy on that bike. Things would have been simpler if the other wizard had kindly disappeared. Or died, even. But no - Harry would have to get rid of the man himself. "Could..." the words stuck in his mouth painfully, but he forced them out, "Could I see him?"

The old doctor seemed satisfied enough with Harry's physical responses and so agreed, helping him up from his bed. Although the pain in his head surged, Harry felt steady enough on his feet and followed the doctor out of the room and into the narrow hall of the ancient surgery. The next door was open and there was no sound of threatening curses or anything else he might have expected. There was no sound of anything. Yet the foot of a bed could be seen and someone was obviously lying in it, a blanket drawn over them. Harry stood outside the door, painfully unprepared to walk into his past.

"What is it, Mr Potter?" the doctor's dry voice asked from the area behind his shoulder. Harry opened his mouth to respond and winced at the pain in his jaw, but of course there was no easy way to explain that he hadn't seen the other wizard since... well, not since a past which he didn't want to remember, let alone come face-to-face with.

A slurred voice issued from the room. "Potter? Merlin's beard, not Potter."

There was no mistaking that voice, steeped in its familiar sneering tones. Harry finally stepped into the room and saw a grown Draco Malfoy glaring blearily up at him from a single bed, just like the one Harry had woken up in.

Draco himself was still unmistakable. His white-blond hair, just like his parents' had been, was still an unlikely silvery white, rarely seen outside of babies and perhaps Veelas. The eyes squinting at him were the same inscrutable grey that Harry remembered from schoolday scuffles in the halls of Hogwarts, though they were set in a gaunt adult's face which looked more than ever as if it had been carved from marble.

"We sedated him to reduce the joint," the doctor started, only to break off when he saw the blank look on Harry's face. "To put his joint back into place, that is. Ever since then, he's been nattering on about God only knows what. We can't make heads or tails of it," the doctor said, trying to explain away the Wizarding phrases that would sound like insane babble to any Muggle.

Still not sure that he wanted to accept this piece of his past into his present life and even less sure that he wouldn't rather leave Malfoy to rot, he heard himself asking the doctor to leave the two of them alone. With only one dubious look, the old man left, heading for his office. He pointedly left the door open behind him. And then Harry stepped into his worst nightmare: his past.

He moved into the small spill of light from the one tabletop lamp in the room, placed on a small bedside table. The faint sunlight that trickled in around the curtains was dusky. It was late afternoon - several hours must have passed since the accident. What had happened to his car, he wondered. Could he repair it with something like a simple reparo or would he have to take it to a Muggle shop? Either way, it looked like he would be walking for a while...

He was stalling, and he knew it. He shook his head to clear it of any thoughts of his car, groaned at the pain it caused, and forced himself to look at the man in front of him. The blond man was trying somewhat futilely to focus on Harry and when he gave up, he gave an exasperated snort. He drawled in a distinctly slurred voice, "Harry Potter. To what do I owe this great pleasure?"

Harry blinked his green eyes, no longer hidden behind his trademark round glasses. He'd had them fixed just before...

The reason he blinked was surprise over the man on the bed in front of him. Just what had the doctor given him as a sedative? Malfoy seemed more than a little drunk. He was still glaring blearily at Harry. His gestures were overblown and his tone of voice suggested that he sincerely believed this all to be a dream. If only I were so lucky, Harry thought bitterly. But it was time to deal with reality.

"Well, Mr Malfoy, there has been an accident. Do you remember what happened?" He spoke like a stranger and hoped that Malfoy would do the same, but he was to have no luck today.

The blond tried to raise a light eyebrow sardonically, but it just sort of wobbled and he gave up in favour of speech. He adopted the serious manner that drunken folks often do, painting his story with great embellished phrases. "Well, yes, Mr Potter, I can in fact remember a few brief hours back. I was travelling along on the A4, when some git in a sports car - shall I presume that would be you?" He seemed to be asking rhetorically, flailing a slender hand at Harry's bandaged head, for he barrelled on, "Some git overtook me for no reason. And here I was already exceeding the speed limit as it was. I was galled by said git and overtook him in turn. Well, you know what happened from there. A competition of sorts was formed but then suddenly I was on my tod with only some tire tracks to keep me company. I turned round to see what happened to my erstwhile challenger and sent my own bike out of control and myself flying. I tried a little of this and a little of that," he gestured broadly, swishing and flicking an imaginary wand in turn, "Levioso! But to no avail. Gravity won out and I came to here in the most uncomfortable of circumstances." He finished with a flourish that almost resembled a bow. "Does that satisfy your curiosity, Mr Potter?"

Harry's eyebrows were beetling together. He knew he mustn't strike an injured person but it was so very tempting. He sincerely hoped it was simply the influence of the drugs that was making the former Slytherin so loquacious. Though it shouldn't matter to him either way. "Where is your wand now, Malfoy?" he asked flatly. He was still holding onto the hope that the other man would just apparate out of his life as abruptly as he had entered it.

The blond looked at his empty hands in genuine surprise. "Where is my wand now?"

Harry left the room without a word and headed down the hall until he found a coherent human being to speak to. He asked the doctor impatiently, "How long until those bloody drugs wear off him? I can't talk to him like this."

The old man frowned at Harry's rough language and replied a bit curtly, "Within a hour or two, I should expect." He paused and then asked more shrewdly, "Would I be mistaken in my impression that you know the patient, Mr Potter?"

Harry gaped for a moment, but of course it was true. "I do," he admitted, "though we haven't seen hide nor hair of each other for nearly five years."

"Do you know who we should contact then?"

"Contact?" Harry repeated faintly.

"Someone will have to come round to collect him, Mr Potter."

Harry bit his cheek and then said tonelessly, "I'll ask." But he thought he already knew the answer.

He forced himself to walk back into the little room, much as he wanted to turn around, walk out of the surgery's front door and keep walking till he got back to his own little house. He looked at the blond on the bed, whose eyes were following what seemed to be nothing around the room. He exclaimed irritably, "What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"Watching dust motes," the other replied indifferently. "It really is disgusting, how filthy this place is. Is that what you're so worked up about?"

"No," he said shortly. "The doctor would like to know who to have collect you."

The silver eyes looked at him sharply, seeming to actually see Harry for the first time. "You know there's no one," he said flatly.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and muttered, "Yes, well, I thought things might have changed in the past five years..."

But it was too late. The blond's infuriating good humour was gone and he said bitterly, "Nothing has changed. Now leave me alone, Potter. I don't want you in my dream any more."

Did you ever? Harry thought in exasperation, as he watched the blond turn away sulkily. He stood for a moment, watching the narrow back, then walked out of the room again. He poked his head in to the doctor's office and explained quickly, "He says there's no one to call. But I'll get out of your way and off to home now."

With that he tried to leave, but the doctor followed him, exclaiming, "Mr Potter, please! First off, I did not clear you to leave. Secondly, I think you have some responsibility to the patient, since you appear to have been involved in an accident with him and thirdly, you are the only one who has the foggiest idea who he is! My word, I'd heard that you were unsociable but to turn your back on an injured friend!"

But this didn't shame Harry as it might have once and he said resolutely, "He is not my friend and I believe it is your job to take care of injured persons, not mine."

The doctor's voice rose in indignation. "Mr Potter, this is a village surgery, not a grand hospital. I do not keep patients overnight. I close these doors and I go to my own home. If you will not tell me where to send this man, then I will send him to you, since you are his only connection in the area."

Harry narrowed his eyes angrily. Lord, his head hurt. He knew that the doctor couldn't actually force him to take Malfoy, but he could call up the local police and get Harry cited for a hit-and-run if he really wanted to make things miserable. Of course, Harry knew there'd been no actual hitting involved, most unfortunately. At this moment, he wouldn't have hesitated a moment at the chance to hit Malfoy.

The blond's appearance had led to Harry injuring himself, ruining his car, antagonizing his fellow villagers, and remembering a past he did not want to. And despite all these grievances, there was still the sore feeling that he owed Malfoy. He tried never to think of those days but when the memories did sneak up on him, during nightmares or drunken fantasies, he still always felt... uncomfortable with how he had used the other man, when they'd both been boys of seventeen; one a Death Eater, the other the Chosen One. It hadn't been his idea, of course. Malfoy had come to him.

Would he be able to forget it all if he got rid of Malfoy? If he did this one little thing for the other man?

Would it change what he had done to him?

"Fine," he snapped and then strode back one last time to the room where Draco Malfoy lay. The other wizard was still turned away and Harry wasted no time jerking the sheet from the thin man and dragging him up to a sitting position. "We're going, Malfoy."

The blond looked up at him in annoyance and said, "I thought I told you to leave me alone. And going where?"

"Home."

"I haven't one." And with that, the blond flopped back onto the bed despondently.

Muttering to himself, "Well, I have," he grabbed the thin man's arms and pulled his former rival up and off the bed to a standing position. The blond weaved unsteadily, his light eyes nearly crossing, and Harry pulled the uninjured of the weak man's thin arms around his own shoulders, holding it there with his hand gripping Malfoy's. He looped his other arm around Malfoy's waist, his fingers digging uncomfortably into the distinct grooves between his ribs and brushing against the brace which held his bad arm in place. Commanding Malfoy to walk, he started forward, half-carrying the shuffling Malfoy and staggering out the doorframe. They passed the doctor without stopping and he jumped in front of them to hold the front door open. Harry didn't say a word of thanks for their treatment and with a resentful glare, he was gone.

It was a long walk to Harry's isolated house. Before five minutes were up, Harry was tired and his head was pounding. There was almost no one on the high street, even though it could have only been eight o'clock in the evening. That's village life for you. Fifteen minutes later, long after they had left the high street and the village main, they passed into the countryside surrounding the village. Here there were rolling fields, full of waist-high grasses, waving and glinting in the weak evening light. Occasionally a tree stood solitary upon a hill, perfecting the pastoral scene. It was obvious why Harry's parents had picked this place. He couldn't imagine that anywhere could seem more peaceful. Soon enough they passed the ruins that once been Harry's first home, decades ago. Harry nodded to the rubble, as he always did, and the movement almost sent the two of them pitching over.

Groaning at the nearly blinding pain in his head, Harry forced himself down the lane to his own home. The front door opened to his kick and then they were inside. Immediately he dropped Malfoy to the floor. The blond protested in his drunken manner, failing to catch himself with his arm bound to his side, but Harry was already gone. He had staggered into his sitting room and collapsed onto the couch there, closing his eyes blissfully.

As his heart slowed and ceased thundering in his ears, he began to notice a faint babble coming from his entryway. As he focussed on it, the sounds began to form words: "...really, what a shock. This isn't at all how my dreams usually go. Where's all the gold? The virgins? The adoring masses? No, I had to dream of bloody Harry bleeding Potter. Well, sod that. I'm ready to wake up now! Hear that? I'm ready to WAKE UP!"

There was a crazy man bellowing in his entry way. Harry pushed himself up with a curse and went back into the hall. He grabbed the blond like a ragdoll and half-dragged him to the one extra bedroom in his small home. Unceremoniously, he dumped the man onto the bed there and ordered him to, "Go to sleep."

"No, you miss the point as always, Potter. I want to wake up-"

But Harry closed the door on him and stumbled back to his inviting couch.




The next morning, Draco opened his eyes to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling. He craned his head from side to side to stare at an unfamiliar room. His shoulder ached and seemed to be bound to his side. This wasn't the manor or any other place he knew, and that all meant one thing: It hadn't been a dream.

Oh, bugger.