Nied is Not Enough

Chapter Two

Harry was asleep for moments it seemed, before the glitter of morning grazed his eyelids. Five dreamless sleep potion bottles sat empty on his bedside table. Although dreamless sleep was sometimes called for in Harry's life, he had become almost addicted to the potion. Without the potion, he tossed and turned all night reliving the war, the deaths of some of his schoolmates, the hideous laugh of Voldemort, the situations he'd been in as an Auror, and the death of his parents. He couldn't seem to bear with those memories and kept them locked safely inside his mind.

He rolled out of bed, running his hands through his hair. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyelids, rubbed for a moment and let them fall to his lap. Stars crisscrossed his vision until he put his glasses back on. His room came into focus and he looked around the room. Dobby had laid out a clean set of jeans and Harry's favorite long-sleeved t-shirt across the footboard of his bed. As he dressed he noted a pain in his abdomen, hunger.

Barefoot, Harry made his way to the bathroom, relishing the feel of carpet in the hallway against his toes. Those black boots kept him from feeling very much.

Dobby sat at the kitchen table, his feet hanging eight inches above the floor. His feet kicked back and forth under the table s he read the latest copy of Witch Weekly. Harry entered the kitchen rubbing his stomach. He stopped at the sight of the table. It was covered with plates of pancakes, bowls of fresh fruit, scrambled eggs and his favorite little meat pies. He stretched his arms above his head, let out a great yawn and seated himself across from Dobby, who was half grinning, half amazed.

"Dobby thought Harry Potter was going to sleep forever," Dobby grinned as he slid off his chair and walked to the coffee pot. He filled Harry's favorite large cup, added a bit of heavy cream and carefully brought it back to the table. "Harry Potter has been asleep for quite awhile."

Harry's plate was piled with food and he was stuffing great big bites into his mouth. "Mmm jst fmmshd , Dbbby," Harry tried to say. Dobby sat across from him, staring wide-eyed at his friend. "Cnn I hv tht?" Harry motioned to Dobby's newspaper. Dobby handed it across the half-empty plates of food. One-handed, Harry flipped back to the front page and glanced at the date. His jaw dropped and a half-chewed bite of pancake fell onto the table. "Dobby? How long was I asleep?"

"Dobby thought it was best to just let Harry Potter sleep," he said with his head down.

"How long did I sleep, Dobby?" he asked again, his tone more serious.

"Harry Potter... slept....for.... three...days," Dobby finally managed to get out.

"So this date is correct?" Harry pointed to the top of the newspaper. "It's really Monday? Gods, Dobby, I have to let Hogwarts know whether or not I want the job today!"

"Well, Dobby answered the owl that came already this morning. I just stuck a note to its leg that said 'yes'. Dobby figured that Harry Potter needed a break from so much traveling and would like to go back to Hogwarts for a bit. Was Dobby wrong?"

Harry sat with his elbows on the table his face buried in his hands. He rubbed his face, trying not to be irate. "Dobby, don't you think that should have been my decision to make? This is brilliant Dobby. How am I supposed to take a year off from the ministry to teach at a bloody school? I don't even know if I could deal with children at this point!" He stood quickly, his chair sliding back away from the table and he started pacing. "I don't know how to stay in one place anymore. I don't even like kids. What on earth were you thinking? I barely got back from the states, slept for ever and now I'm supposed to change my entire life to go back to that bloody school?" He started to make his way towards Dobby when Dobby's little fingers snapped. Harry stood motionless in mid-step, his mouth hanging open and his finger pointed at Dobby's face.

"Dobby understands that Harry Potter is frustrated with him. First of all, Harry Potter looks horrible. Harry Potter is tired and cranky and needs to settle down for a bit. He isn't even fun to be around anymore. Harry is lonely and needs to be at his home."

With the last few words, Harry's eyes were as large as saucers.

"Yes, his HOME. Harry told Dobby eighteen years ago that Hogwarts was his home and that is where Harry needs to be. It doesn't matter if Harry likes kids or not. Harry was a kid once and has lost every bit of that in himself. Harry is too serious. Harry needs to get away from bad wizards and surround himself with the innocent energy of children to be himself again. Dobby has already sent a letter to the Ministry and Harry is fine to take sabbatical. Done, end of story. You are going!" Dobby snapped his fingers and Harry slumped on the floor.

Harry rarely felt any emotion but anger. Dobby's words had surprised him, especially his last statement. House elves never spoke to anyone in the second person. Harry knew that Dobby was extremely serious and had given a lot of thought to what he had said. Dobby looked at his friend piled on the kitchen floor, "humphed" and stomped out the kitchen door. Harry heard Dobby's bedroom door slam shut and he winced at the sound. He lay back on the kitchen floor and stared at the ceiling.

He lay on the floor for about a half an hour when a great gray owl swooped in from the fireplace in the living room. It landed square on his stomach, but Harry didn't budge. He untied the note on its leg and opened it.

Dear Harry,

We are so pleased that you decided to accept the position. Enclosed, you will find the standards that each year must meet and a list of some of the textbooks we have used most recently. Start of term is coming up and we have enclosed a ticket on the Hogwarts Express for you. We figured you might like to ride the train (and it might help some of the students keep in line anyway). If you would like, you may send some belongings and furniture ahead and we will be sure to have your rooms ready upon your arrival. Dobby has forewarned us of your current feelings on the situation. Please understand that we need you here and the students of this school do as well. We shall see you in a few weeks.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts

p.s.

Harry, lighten up. You need some time off. Consider this a vacation from the real world, huh? Besides, you might even find that you are enjoying yourself. M.M.

The train ticket and lists were, in fact, enclosed with the letter. They rested on Harry's chest as he read the note. The gray owl nipped at Harry's finger and he pointed to the table still half-full of food. The owl bounced off his stomach and flapped up to the table. Just then, a smaller tawny owl swooshed into the kitchen, landing again on Harry's stomach. He untied the note from that owls' leg and opened it.

Harry Potter,

We expect you to uphold your position as Auror for the Ministry of Magic after your sabbatical. We understand the need for our best to take some time off every once in awhile to regain his or her composure. Your job is a dangerous and highly stressful one. Please keep in contact with us if your plans for the future change. Have a nice year.

Sincerely,

The Folks at the Top

Harry motioned to the tawny owl to take its pick of food from the table. He remained on the floor, letters lying on his chest. Both owls finished their picking and made their way up the chimney. "Damn it, Dobby," he finally said out loud. "Still, you are trying to save me." Harry sat up, put the letters on the table and walked down the hall towards Dobby's room.

Knock, knock. "Dobby?" Harry said quietly. He turned the handle and slowly inched the door open. The little elf was happily trying to find a place for his new hat. Every space on the wall was covered with hats he had collected over the years. The first hats Hermione ever knitted to free the house elves at Hogwarts were stacked, one on top of the other in one corner. Baseball caps, cowboy hats, head wraps, fedoras, top hats, pointed hats, straw hats and any other head gear imaginable crowded the walls and ceiling. Harry smiled as he noticed the sock he tricked Lucius Malfoy into giving Dobby in his second year at Hogwarts framed and sitting on the small dresser next to the bed. The bed wasn't much to speak of: it was a pile of old t-shirts and rags. Harry had tried several times to get a bed for his little friend, but Dobby insisted that he must keep some parts of his house elf habits, even if he was getting paid to take care of Harry's flat.

"Dobby sees that Harry Potter has quit pouting and picked himself up off the floor that Dobby spent all day cleaning yesterday while Mr. Sleeping-for-days lounged around," Dobby said without turning around. He continued rearranging his hats to find a spot for his new one. Harry noted how Dobby had become quite a bit more independent since those first years; far more willing to speak his mind to Harry than he used to be (which Harry was grateful for).

"I'm sorry Dobby. I just wasn't expecting you to make my decisions for me. I probably would have gone to Hogwarts anyway, but I really would have liked to make that decision for myself. You are absolutely right. I am far too cranky and tired for my own good. I just, I'm, well. You were right. And I'm sorry," Harry said.

With that, Dobby turned around grinning like mad at his friend. "Dobby knows. Dobby watches Harry Potter and knows when he needs a break. Does Harry Potter wish for Dobby to start packing for him?"

Harry smiled back, feebly, which made Dobby run towards his friend and grab him right around the knees for a great big hug. He let go and walked past Harry into the hallway. "Dobby will take care of everything, Harry Potter. First, Dobby needs to make sure Harry Potter's robes are in order," pointing out one finger, "then Dobby needs to clean all that old junk out of Harry's trunk," pointing another finger, "then Dobby needs to. . . ." Dobby turned into the kitchen and Harry lost track of what he was saying. Harry stood in the middle of Dobby's room, shaking his head.

"He'll be the death of me yet," Harry said out loud. "A teacher!" He threw his hands into the air.

The next three weeks flew by as Harry and Dobby readied things for the move. One by one, Harry's belongings were transported to Hogwarts to await his arrival. In the afternoons, Harry and Dobby would walk up and down the streets of Diagon Alley going over the list of books and requirements for the different years. Harry continued concealing himself. After the war and Auror training, he thought it best to not look like the boy-who-lived (twice) in public.

The week before the train left for Hogwarts, Harry and Dobby decided to stay at the Leaky Cauldron, for old times' sake (and since everything Harry owned was already at Hogwarts). The Friday before they left, Harry decided to have a little birthday celebration for himself. He and Dobby would have a few butterbeers in the Leaky Cauldron and loosen up a bit.

Harry had made himself look a few years younger and light blond. He changed his eyes to a deep blue-gray and charmed his skin into a much darker shade to hide his scar. He looked a bit like a beach boy. Dobby was quite used to Harry concealing himself by now, but this was something. His hair was quite long and pulled back into a braid. His skin glowed with the tanning charm. Dobby couldn't help but snigger as Harry walked out of the bathroom, flipping his braid over his shoulder. He wore a black v-neck sweater, which fit him closely. His dark jeans followed every outline of his lower body. "Just for fun, Dobby. Just for fun," Harry glowered at him. "You are the one who thinks I should bloody lighten up." Dobby chuckled out loud as they made their way down the hall.

"Oh, yes, Dobby sees that Harry Potter has loosened up quite a bit with his usual black. Nice hair. Harry forgot his glasses." He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"Dobby, stop. I'm wearing contacts. Oh, could you please call me um, Rhys while we are in the bar?" Harry asked a bit shyly.

Another snicker. "Um, sure. Dobby would be happy to call Harry Potter Rhys." Dobby mumbled something under his breath which sounded to Harry like 'Rhys. Ha. Harry Potter is going to get lucky.'

"What was that?" Harry stopped in his tracks, turned, and glared down at Dobby.

The wide-eyed creature stared up at his friend, "Oh, Dobby forgot, Harry, erm, Rhys, Dobby has a few things to do before tomorrow. And, um, Dobby is awfully tired and (stifled yawn) goodnight Har-Rhys." Dobby turned around and giggled his way back to his room. "Oh, and um, happy birthday!"

Harry made it about halfway down the stairs before realizing that quite a celebration was going on. Live music blared from the makeshift stage. Glowing orbs floated around the ceiling which changed color with the beat of the music. This usually musty, quiet gathering place was pounding with excitement. None of the older strange-looking folk were there. Young witches and wizards crowded the dance floor. Instead of wearing robes, they wore muggle clothes (even if they were a bit off kilter). If anyone walked in off the street, they would assume this to be a freaks-only nightclub, except for the strangely effervescent drinks.

Harry squeezed his way across the dance floor, and was groped several times along the way. He almost turned around half way to the bar to return to his room. Harry was not used to being touched, let alone all over his body by bloody strangers, for that matter. Being an Auror taught Harry one thing above all: don't trust anyone at first. Harry overextended that a bit into 'don't trust anyone, don't touch anyone and don't let anyone touch you.'

He remembered what Dobby and McGonagall said and forced himself to relax. He continued through the crowd of dancers until he reached the bar. Harry felt a hundred eyes on his back as he stood at the bar, noting that his jeans might have been a bit too tight. He probably would have gotten less attention as himself. He waived the barkeeper down and shouted over the music, "I'd like a Grand Marnier with a Fire Whisky back." The barkeeper gave him the one-eyebrow-raised look and started making the drink. "What's with all the people in here?" Harry shouted.

"We, uh, started this Friday night club thing for the younger magic folk about three years ago. Gets better every week," he shouted back. He slid the snifter of orange liqueur atop a glowing mug of fire whiskey across the bar.

"Put it on my tab. Room seven," he shouted. The barkeeper nodded and Harry was lost into the crowd. He squeezed by several people writhing together like snakes, trying his hardest to not touch any of them. He found his way to a small table in a slightly dark corner by the blue-flamed fireplace.

"God," he thought to himself. "Have I really been out of it for so long?" He brought the now-warm glass of Grand Marnier to his lips and remembered how much he enjoyed the stinging sensation of the alcohol fumes in his eyes. Not wearing glasses made the sensation a little better. He finished the Grand Marn and downed the fire whiskey. Before he had the opportunity to get up for another, they appeared on his table. He stood and looked at the barkeeper who waived at Harry, gave him a "thumbs-up."

Harry sat back down and swirled the new drink in the snifter. He smelled it, took a sip. Just then, he felt as though someone was staring at him intensely. His Auror training had allowed his sense of visual energy to develop. He could feel that energy upon him but he couldn't tell from which direction. He glanced around with just his eyes trying to find the source. He took another sip and located the starting place.

A very tall man was leaning with his back against the bar. His elbows were propped up and his left knee was bent allowing his foot to rest on the foot rail. His light hazel eyes were radiating energy that Harry could have sworn he had felt before. The man gracefully stepped away from the bar and took his martini glass in his right hand. With each step, Harry felt entranced by the way the man moved and the way the people on the dance floor instinctively didn't touch him. He never took his eyes off of Harry, which made it difficult for Harry to position his hand over his wand without looking obvious.

As the man approached the table, Harry noticed a vaguely familiar smirk on the man's face. His silver blond hair was short and brushed slightly forward outlining the most perfectly milky skin on his forehead. Harry felt himself tense inwardly, ready at any moment to cast a defense spell. At the same time, he felt himself wanting to reach his hand out and touch the man's smooth skin.

Harry stood when the man stopped at the opposite side of the table. His wand hand was ready.

As an Auror, Harry had learned early on to control his breathing and heart rate. Something about this man made it quite difficult for Harry to do so. He kept up an outward appearance of stability, while inside, his heart raced. He tried to keep his breathing steady but found that he was not getting enough oxygen.

The man, still standing across the table from Harry took a sip of his martini. "Are you going to invite me to sit?" The man's deep voice made Harry's stomach twist inside him. "Or am I going to stand here all night?"

Harry motioned to the chair the man stood behind. The man took a few steps back and ran his hand over the chair. It slid back away from the table. The man sat down. Harry continued standing just watching the man in amazement.

Harry had met only three people in his career that were capable of wandless magic. It was one of the most difficult things to master. He himself picked it up as an Auror, but it took a great deal of concentration and practice before he mastered it. The man now sitting before him had used it as nonchalantly as Harry generally did, meaning he had been trained and used it often. The chair behind Harry moved to the back of his legs, breaking his position. He sat forcefully down. The man across from him continued smirking.

"I thought you might get tired from standing there so long," the man said evenly. "Let me introduce myself. Draco Malfoy." His hand gracefully reached across the table.

A deluge of memories rushed into Harry's mind: a child reaching his hand across in the same way at a robe shop twenty years ago, a teenager on a broom following closely behind him chasing a golden snitch, an adolescent spitting the word Mudblood at his dear friend, the elder Malfoy chasing after him in the Department of Mysteries, the young Malfoy disappearing during their seventh year, never returning to Hogwarts.

Harry felt his hand go over the table to shake that of Draco Malfoy. A powerful surge of fear and detestation flowed through his veins. Their two hands met in a strong handshake and Harry felt suddenly calm. He felt as though a wave of magic spread from his hand up his arm and quickly covered his body. He gave a slight shiver and let go the man's hand. The magic he felt was strong, a mixture of dark and light, a balance so overwhelming that Harry felt his eyes close (which an Auror never did in the presence of other wizards) and just let the remnants of energy wash over him. His eyes snapped open as Draco Malfoy spoke.

"Communication magic," the man said, still smirking at Harry. "I am no real threat to you, we seem pretty equal. It's not often that happens," he continued. Draco sat back in his chair and gave Harry a quizzical look.

Harry studied a bit of communication magic during his Auror training, but preferred not to use it during his career. It seemed to be a far too intimate magic for his taste. Someone who had never studied the magic wouldn't recognize it as anything more than a warm feeling when it was used on them.

Another Grand Marnier appeared on the table in front of Harry. As steady as he could, Harry picked up the glass and took a sip. He studied the man's features. How did he not recognize Draco immediately? The man across from him was the second greatest enemy he had during his time at Hogwarts, the blond git whose whole purpose it seemed was to torture Harry. He wondered where Malfoy had been these years and what he had been trained for.

"I saw you come in. Not much for crowds, are you?" Malfoy had placed his elbows on the arms of the chair, weaving his fingers together in front of his chest. "I don't think I've seen you in here before. Am I right?"

Harry couldn't find his voice and just shook his head. He wasn't sure if he was going to leap across the table at the man in front of him and wrap his arms around his neck or curse him into next week. Harry hadn't seen anyone from school since Ron those years ago. It didn't seem to matter that it was Malfoy sitting across from him; he just wanted to remember his youth.

"Not that I come here all that often," Draco continued. "I'm only in town for the evening. Heading somewhere I haven't been in quite a long time."

Draco looked a bit to Harry's left, watched the flames in the fireplace. Harry noticed a vague sadness wash over the man's eyes. For some reason, he wanted so badly to take this man into his arms and tell him things were going to be fine. He remembered running into Malfoy during their fifth year after Harry helped catch Lucius at the Department of Mysteries. He remembered the threat Malfoy made, you're dead, Potter. He remembered watching Draco during their sixth year sink into an irretrievable depression. He thought back to their seventh year when, during the war, Voldemort had killed both of Draco's parents. He felt an unbelievable connection to the blond boy after both had lost their parents to the dark lord. A few days after his parent's death, Malfoy disappeared. No one knew where Malfoy went. Harry knew that Draco had removed himself because Dumbledore took him aside that year, explaining that Malfoy had not, indeed gone to become a death eater, but rather had been moved away from his situation and the influence it held. Harry had often wondered when he would be sent to catch Draco Malfoy. He thought that darkness ran in the bloodline and Draco could be no better than his father.

Harry watched the expression on the other man's face change from sadness to a cold glare and finally to serenity. He felt that old connection begin in the pit of his stomach, almost bringing him to the point of expelling its contents. He choked down the nausea and looked back at Malfoy. "I know you." He sent his thoughts towards the blond man at the table. "I know what it's like, Draco. I'm so sorry." For an instant, he thought that Draco might have heard his thoughts because the hazel eyes shot a look of deep understanding towards Harry.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the younger witches and wizards dance and drink in the bar around them. Harry finished his third glass of Grand Marnier and set it on the table. At this, Draco stood and reached his hand across the table once more. Harry stood with him, reaching out to the other man's hand. Their hands came together and Harry felt the communication magic washing over him again. It was different this time, however. He felt something quite unusual in the pit of his abdomen as the man's eyes met his own. The magic felt red and warm. It radiated from his own center and flowed through his fingertips into the other man's hand. He watched as his once-enemy's face light up, eyes astounded.

Although Harry didn't prefer to use the magic, he knew fairly well how to. He fully intended to send the man only a bit of compassion but it ended up being a bit more. Draco and Harry stood staring at each other. As he looked into the eyes of this man before him, he let flow feelings of mistrust, confusion and understanding. Harry uncontrollably let that first feeling of wanting to touch the man's milky skin slip between their hands. Draco's features softened and he took in a short breath. Harry realized the last emotion he had sent and immediately let go of the other man's hand. He turned from the table and made his way through the crowd to the stairs.

Draco Malfoy stood looking after him. "Wait!" he hollered, but Harry was already out of sight.

Harry walked quickly to his room, unlocked it and stepped inside. He leaned against the inside of his door and let out a large breath. He looked around the room, not knowing what to focus on. He took a few steps to the bed and sat down carefully, resting his elbows on his knees. His head fell into his shaking hands. Quickly, his hair changed from the long braid to its normal tousled black. He let the concealment fade and returned to his normal self. He lay back on the bed realizing that only a few minutes ago, he let slip an emotion he intended to keep for himself, something he had trained himself not to even experience. Harry Potter, Auror for the Ministry of Magic, did not have time or even want to succumb to the ridiculousness of human emotion, of physical need, of well anything that kept him from paying attention to his duties. "And he's a man," Harry said out loud flinging himself back on the bed.

His thoughts wandered back to the small table as he remembered the man walking across the room toward him. He felt a small twist in his stomach as he thought of the way the man almost glided across the room towards him, the way his smooth palm felt against his own, the charge of energy which spread over him at the man's touch. "It's Malfoy, for gods' sake!"

He rolled off the bed, frustrated with himself and got undressed. The shower was cool against his skin and he let the water run over his face and chest. With hands and arms in front of him, he leaned against the wall of the shower, let his head fall. The water slid down his back and he shut his eyes tightly. Malfoy's smirk slipped into his thoughts and he turned the water off.

Next to his bed was his dreamless sleep draught. He uncorked the top and drank. Harry pulled the covers close to his chin and closed his eyes. Draco Malfoy's face was the last thing Harry saw as the draught took effect.