Within the Widening Gyre

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
- W. B. Yeats, "The Second Coming"

1.

The day of the funeral the sky was a clear, robin's egg blue, and the trees blazed with leaves the colour of Weasley hair. Harry stood on the pavement outside his flat, hands shoved deep in the front pockets of his dress robes, and Apparated alone to the cemetery.

At the gathering following the service, Harry consoled Molly with a gentle hand across her shoulders and listened to Arthur tell him he was a good man. George sat solitary in the corner, shoulders hunched forward around his ears, on the verge of tears. There was no longer a Fred, Ginny, Charlie or Bill; there was no longer a Ron.

When the last of the guests had left the Burrow, and the food stuff had been packaged away, Harry returned home. Glancing around, running calloused hands through his hair, Harry poured himself a drink and sat on the couch in the dark. Finally, when sitting upright became too much of a difficulty, he sank to the cushions, pulling one ragged maroon throw pillow to his chest and breathing in the familiar scent that lingered, ghost-like, in its fabric.

The Ministry granted Harry a week of bereavement. Harry Potter did not leave his flat the entire time.

2.

Harry stared at Moody's head in the fire and remained silent.

A new partner.

For three months the Ministry had assigned him nothing more taxing than shuffling papers from one file to another, and the desk across from his in the small cramped office on the ninth floor had remained empty.

A new partner; Harry wasn't quite sure he was ready, but he nodded grimly.

"Good. He will be there Monday, Harry." Moody's eye twisted grotesquely in its socket and he smiled cheerlessly. "Try not to be too . . . Just do your best, Harry. It's all we can ask."

Harry nodded again and turned away, picking up his drink and draining the watery mix before pouring another.

When Harry arrived at the Ministry on Monday morning, trousers wrinkled and looking slightly green in the face, nobody said anything. Harry joined the others in the elevator, crowding in with the morning rush, and stepped off on his floor. Rounding the corner that led to his office, Harry stopped.

The gilded lettering on the glass panel window of the door no longer read Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, Aurors, Second Class but had been changed over the weekend to proclaim the names Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, Aurors, Second Class, Division of Misused Spells, Artifacts, and Muggle Intervention. The paint around Malfoy's name still looked wet in the low fluorescent light of the hallway.

Harry stood in the hall for several long moments before pulling his wand from his trouser pocket and aiming it at the letters. Scourgify, he whispered at the door. Nothing happened. He tried several more times, his voice growing louder with each reiteration, until it echoed off the stones, before he finally walked forward and pushed his fist through the glass. He watched as the window shattered, hissing under his breath as his knuckles split open and began to bleed.

Turning, Harry walked slowly back to the elevators. He would notify the heads of his department that he was taking a sick day on his way out of the building. Right now, he really needed a drink.

3.

Harry returned to work on Wednesday, after much pleading from Dean and a rather nasty visit from Kingsley, in which he had ended up fully clothed in a bathtub filled with tepid water and a command to clean his flat. Malfoy had briefly looked up when he had entered the office, dropping his briefcase next to the bin, and smelling only faintly of stale lager.

Harry's desk was a mess of paperwork, manila folders shoved haphazardly across its surface and hastily rolled parchments scattered in lopsided piles. He sighed, closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair until it stood straight off his head at jagged angles, and began the task of going through the fluttering memos that flittered nervously around him. Grabbing one from the air nearby, he read the message marked "Urgent!" dated sometime late last week, and groaned.

A quite rustling across the room drew his attention to Malfoy, who was seated at his neat as a pin desk, bottom lip clasped between his teeth as he busily marked the paper before him in Slytherin green ink. Harry scowled and dropped his head to his desk, feeling his teeth jar at the impact.

Malfoy made a dismissive "hmmmm" and Harry heard the familiar rusty squeak of the chair being pushed away from the desk. Malfoy's voice was clipped when he stated "There's tea in the pot" before slamming the door behind him as he left.

Harry left his head on the desk for five minutes longer before lifting it and staring at the recently vacated spot where Malfoy had been. Fingers twitching around his wand, he pointed it at a spot dead centre and felt a small twinge of satisfaction as the neat stacks of paper and the new, disgustingly bright silver file sorters hit the wall with a muffled thump.

4.

Malfoy had never mentioned the mess when he returned. In fact, Malfoy never spoke to Harry except to state that there was tea in the morning (which Harry always refused by simply ignoring that he had said anything at all) or the occasional noise of acknowledgement when Harry stumbled into the office five, ten, forty minutes late in the morning; yawning and tucking his un-ironed shirt into his too loose trousers.

Harry, for his part, had decided that if he was going to be forced to share an office with the pointy faced git, then hostile silence was the only way it was going to be accomplished. This unstated agreement seemingly worked for both of them and for nearly a month they spent eight hours a day together and never spoke.

When Harry staggered into the office, on a random Tuesday some eight weeks into their enforced sharing of space, to find Malfoy pacing restlessly around the room, he did nothing more than grunt and slowly make his way to his desk. He had a splitting headache and was in desperate need of the Pepper-up Potion he kept tucked away in the second drawer. Malfoy's hand grabbing his arm as he passed startled him, and he jerked away, growling and instinctively reaching for his wand.

"Where the fuck have you been, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was careful and cold, an unfriendly reminder of Hogwarts and the thousands of reasons why Harry disliked even being within fifty metres of the man.

Harry yanked his arm free and began rifling through his drawers for the familiar turquoise bottle. "What business of yours is it where I've been, Malfoy?"

Harry could hear the noise of disgust that Malfoy made as he kicked the door frame. He looked up when the shadows around him changed, finding Malfoy standing over him, staring down with clear grey eyes. Harry scowled and opened the potion bottle, grimacing slightly at the taste; eyes never breaking Malfoy's stare. Finally the other man looked away with a sigh.

"There's been an attack in Darlington. The field division is retaining some of the Muggles involved for questioning. We were due there nearly twenty minutes ago."

Harry made a noise of disgust and placed his head on his folded arms atop his desk. "So why didn't you go?"

"Why . . . ? Potter, in case you are completely unaware of this regulation, both aurors are to show up for questioning."

"Hrmph." Harry's voice was muffled, coming from somewhere in his sleeve.

"Potter."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the potion flowing through him, dissolving his headache and leaving him with a strange tingling sensation at the back of his neck. After a few moments he lifted his head, carefully eyeing Malfoy, who was standing at the corner of the desk, hands uselessly shuffling papers back and forth. Malfoy's face was slightly flushed, pink tingeing the cheeks. He moved closer, one hand hesitating in the air over Harry's forearm.

"Potter, I know . . . I mean . . . We really need to go."

Harry stood up, running clammy hands over the front of his oxford. He took the top most paper from Malfoy's hand, finding the location printed in orange across the left hand corner of the page, and Apparated from the office without a word.

5.

By six o'clock on a Friday in late August The Leaky Cauldron was packed to overflowing with Ministry employees due to the Bank Holiday, and Harry Potter sat at his customary spot towards the end of the bar scowling into his whiskey. He hated it when the novices came out of the woodwork.

Harry had made small talk with Dean, Terry, and Seamus when they had approached him, but had quickly made it clear to them that he had no interest in joining them for the evening. In fact, Harry had little interest in anything other than slamming down shots repeatedly, and in quick succession, which was exactly what he did until he reached his fifth drink and the fire-like burn of the alcohol had become more of a dull roughness. Placing the glass on the bar, Harry looked at the bartender and ordered another shot and a lager, ready to slow things down for the moment.

A familiar feeling made the hair on his neck stand up on end and Harry lifted his gaze from the scarred wood of the bar in front of him. Turning slightly, he caught Malfoy staring at him from across the room and picked up his pint glass in mock salute. Malfoy arched an eyebrow quizzically and turned away. Harry snickered and returned to staring at the arrangement of multi-coloured bottles that decorated the backboard behind Tom as he wiped glasses clean with a dirty rag.

Malfoy's staring had become more and more frequent over the weeks, and it left Harry feeling unsettled.

A few hours later, Harry looked up and gazed somewhat blearily around the room. His eyes locked on Malfoy, who was leaning against the back wall with Blaise Zabini and talking animatedly to one of the newest aurors, a Ravenclaw who had been a few years behind them if Harry remembered correctly. Harry watched as Malfoy smiled and reached forward, pale fingers brushing against the other man's throat for brief seconds before they settled on the collar of his shirt and adjusted the tie so that it was centred. Harry bit his lip and felt his stomach tighten, a surge of something twisting its way through his chest.

When Malfoy leaned close to Blaise and whispered something in the dark Slytherin's ear that brought a smile to his angled face, and then walked slightly unsteadily away down the back hall to the toilets, Harry waited only a few minutes, fingers clenched to the point of white around his shot, before following him. Now, now was the time to tell the annoying git exactly what Harry thought of him, how much he hated being forced into sharing an office with him, how the very thought of having to see him every morning made Harry wish he never had to get out of bed, how completely and utterly vexed Harry was with having to be in the prat's presence every single bloody day! As if seven years hadn't been hell enough.

Harry paused outside the closed door, beneath the flickering dim lights, swearing silently to himself. When the door opened, and Malfoy stepped out, Harry didn't move.

Malfoy eyed him for a long moment before merely nodding his head and saying "Potter", while trying to step past him to return to the bar. Harry made a noise somewhere low in his throat, an almost growl, and pinned the smaller man against the wall. Malfoy's eyes went wide and his hands flew to Harry's shoulders as he tried to push Harry away. Harry stared down for long moments, breathing harshly through his nose, and noticing the faint colour that swiped across Malfoy's cheeks, the slightly glazed look in his grey eyes; before leaning forward and capturing Malfoy's mouth beneath his own.

The kiss was wet and warm and drunkenly sloppy. Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind he half expected Malfoy to draw back and punch him, which is probably what Harry would have done had the tables been turned; but instead Malfoy's hands tightened against his shoulders, and he opened to Harry, biting down gently on Harry's lower lip before soothing the area with his tongue. Harry groaned and pressed forward, hands slipping beneath Malfoy's thin black jumper as he angled his hips so that his thigh rested between Malfoy's and he pushed up, feeling Malfoy's sharp inhalation of breath as Harry's leg pressed firmly against his crotch.

Malfoy's hands scrambled over Harry's upper back and into his hair as he yanked on Harry's head, turning it so that the kiss could deepen. When Harry's fingers ghosted over his nipples, and Harry broke the kiss to let his mouth and teeth wander jaw and neck, Malfoy made a whimpering, pleading noise and arched upward, twisting his foot behind Harry's knees so that his weight thrust forward and his hips worked small circles against Harry's own. Harry's lips found the pale shell of Malfoy's ear and he bit down sharply, eliciting a keening noise from Malfoy, whose head was thrown back against the wall so that his neck was exposed; face flushed and eyes squeezed closed, breathing in short pants that passed in damp exhalations over Harry's cheek.

Harry pressed his forehead against Malfoy's temple, grinding his hips forward so that Malfoy was pinned to the wall; feeling the slow burn of anger and lust deep in his belly. His voice was whiskey rough when he spoke against the soft hair. His tongue swiped wet paths through the sweat that dripped down the side of Malfoy's face, and he punctuated each statement with a slow thrust of his hips. "Is this what you wanted, Malfoy. You want to fuck the Boy who Lived in some back hallway like a common slag? Is this what you've been watching me for?"

Malfoy's eyes opened as Harry spoke and he stiffened, pushing angrily at Harry's shoulders until he released him. Harry dropped his hands to his side, breath coming sharp and painful, and he watched as Malfoy's eyes turned cold. They stood for long seconds just glaring at one another before Malfoy pressed past him with a barely heard "Fuck you."

Harry watched as Malfoy made his way back to the bar, his back ramrod straight. Cursing, Harry made his way to the Gents and spelled the door shut behind him before sliding slowly to the floor. He could still taste Malfoy on his lips and he rubbed his hands angrily over his mouth.

Slamming his head back against the tiles, Harry let out a string of swears until his voice was hoarse. His throat burned and his eyes stung; Harry fought down the sickening salty sensation that crawled up from his stomach and slowly stood. Opening the toilet door with a practiced wave of his wand, Harry headed back to the bar.

6.

Harry woke with a start; breath coming in short bursts and eyes still envisioning the decimated green fields around Castle Hill. He shivered as the scene faded; a scene he had relived a thousand times. A trap set by a small underground group of Death Eaters that he, Ron and a few others had been sent to smoke out of hiding. Harry felt his throat work reflexively as he brought his focus in on the stucco ceiling above the bed.

Next to him a form moved, pulling closer to Harry and making a sleep heavy question of "ok" as they nestled their head into the curve of his shoulder. Right. Malfoy. Harry closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing.

The thing with Malfoy had continued. Sneers and harsh words filled the once empty silence of their small office until finally Kingsley had stormed in and informed them, in no uncertain terms, that Malfoy would not be getting the transfer he requested, and that they had both better straighten out what ever it was between them ASAP. Hostile indifference had once again taken over; until the night of Finnigan's promotion party.

That night had found Harry and Malfoy whispering angrily over a bottle of rum, telling each other exactly what they thought. Malfoy had made some offhand comment about Harry needing to get over himself, and Harry had responded by slamming the smaller man up against the closest wall. Somehow, in the middle of it all, they had wound up Apparating into Harry's living room in a tangle of half discarded clothing and twisted limbs; wrestling with one another to stand and finally giving up and having at it right there on the living room floor amidst the half eaten crisps bags, empty ale bottles, and stacks of Quidditch magazines that Harry had never quite gotten around to throwing out.

Afterwards they had lain side by side, breathing hard and not talking, until Malfoy had sworn under his breath and stood up, reaching for his robes and shoving his legs clumsily into his trousers. When he reached the door he had stopped, standing with shoulders painfully stiff, as if waiting for Harry to say something. Harry had just lain on the floor, closing his eyes tight until the door had clicked shut, before hauling himself off to bed.

Now he sat, propped against the headboard and legs extended, staring down at Malfoy's sleeping form.

He wasn't exactly sure why Malfoy had stayed. Their meetings were usually preceded by weeks of ignoring one another, followed by a quick fuck and maybe some take away if they were feeling particularly pleasant. Tonight Malfoy had looked tired and too thin when Harry had pulled him through the front door of his flat, hands already shoving down Malfoy's trousers before they even entered the foyer. When Harry had returned from the bathroom a while later, he had expected Malfoy to be gone, the way he usually was, but instead had found the blond curled into a small ball on the left side of the bed, sheets draped messily over his lower half.

Harry had stared for long moments before turning away and heading to the kitchen to make something to eat. After eating and watching the telly until his eyes started to droop, he had headed back to bed, only to find Malfoy still there; stretched out now on his side and snoring lightly. Harry had shrugged and crawled into bed, turning off the light with a quiet "Nox".

Malfoy kicked out in his sleep, tangling the blankets around his ankles and mumbling into his pillow. Harry watched his struggle and debated waking him up for a midnight shag, but watching Malfoy's face wrinkle in frustration, the bluish circles under his eyes even more pronounced than they had been earlier in the day, he decided against it. Harry sighed, standing and pulling the blankets up around the other man. He grabbed his pillow and headed for the couch, leaving Malfoy to sleep in peace.

7.

Harry Apparated to a quiet back hallway on the second floor of Dean and Terry's building, taking the stairs to the fourth floor where they lived. When he knocked the door was quickly answered by Dean and round of "Harry!" echoed his greeting; it looked like everyone was already there for the FA Cup.

Gathering to watch the game on Dean and Terry's wide screen TV had become something of an occasion among them all, and Harry still remembered the first time Ron had come over. He had barely been able to get him to leave after the match; Ron had been mesmerized by absolutely everything from the game itself to car adverts. It had finally taken Dean's turning off the set and threatening to never have them over again if Ron didn't stop before Harry had been able to convince him that it was time to go.

Harry had just found a spot on the oversized sofa and was telling Hermione's boyfriend, a Muggle from Hampton, that his money was on Arsenal for the match, when Terry walked into the room carrying a large bottle of lemonade and a half pint of vodka. Placing them on the table, he grinned at Harry.

"Heya, Harry. Where's Draco?"

Harry stiffened slightly and turned to stare at Terry. "Don't know. Home probably."

"Funny. We invited him along, sort of figured he'd come with you."

Harry caught Dean's hand movement out of the corner of his eye; a brief flattening of his palms that clearly stated "shut up." Terry glanced at Harry and nodded slightly. "Oh well then. His loss."

Everyone settled in as the game started, but Harry had lost his desire to watch. He sipped slowly on a glass of beer that someone had handed him, wondering why Terry had thought Malfoy would come with him. It's not like they were an item or anything as stupid as that; they were just . . . convenient to one another. And nothing more. Harry leaned back into the couch, scowling into his drink, and wondered why Malfoy hadn't said anything about being invited.

When the game ended, Harry couldn't even have said who won. He quickly excused himself, ignoring Dean's questioning look and Terry's invitation to stay for dinner, and stepped into the hall. He fully intended to head home, but when he appeared on the pavement in front of Malfoy's flat he wasn't really surprised. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Harry walked up the steps and rang the bell.

Malfoy answered the door wearing trainers, jeans, and an expensive looking button down. His hair was just the slightest bit messy, like he had just woken up, and his face was drawn and tired looking. He blinked once before motioning Harry inside with a soft, "Potter."

Harry stepped inside, standing in the living room and fisting his hands inside his pockets. He had only been to Malfoy's on a few occasions, and still felt uneasy. He preferred it when their meetings took place at his flat. Malfoy closed the door with a quiet click and turned to stare at him.

"Did you want something, Potter?"

Harry lifted his head. "What? No. I just . . . thought I'd stop by."

Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him in question and Harry noted that the dark circles, a common site around Malfoy's grey eyes, were so pronounced that they seemed almost black against the pale skin. Harry stepped forward, but then stopped. He fidgeted nervously from one foot to the other; talking to Malfoy wasn't what he did best, and he wasn't exactly sure how to go about it.

Malfoy stared at him evenly for a few moments before stepping around him and heading down the hall; calling back over his shoulder to ask if Harry wanted any tea. Harry shook his head, then, realizing Malfoy couldn't see him, followed the other man into the kitchen.

"No. I'll take a beer if you have any though."

Malfoy eyed him carefully before turning and pointing his wand at the kettle on the stove. "Sorry, Harry, I don't keep alcohol in the house. Just tea."

Harry gave a nod and leaned against the worktop, arms crossed over his chest. "So why didn't you tell me that you were invited to watch the match?"

Malfoy closed his eyes for a second before sighing and reaching for the milk. "I didn't think it would matter."

Harry scuffed his toe against the polished wood floor. "Well, it didn't. Not really. It's just that, I guess, Terry thought you were going to come is all. With me."

"Oh?" Malfoy poured milk into a printed ceramic mug, his hand trembling so much that the liquid splashed over the edge and onto the worktop. Harry heard a muffled "damn" before Malfoy put the jug down and looked at him. "Well, I'm sure they'll get over it. It's not exactly like they're my friends, now is it?"

Malfoy wiped up the spill with a sponge from the sink. "Not even sure why they thought I'd want to go in the first place."

Harry shrugged in answer and watched as Malfoy stared at his wand for a long moment before walking across the kitchen to grab the sugar. When he stopped next to Harry to reach into the cupboard, Harry stopped him, wrapping an arm around his waist and dragging the other man between his legs.

Harry stared down at Malfoy, noting the light freckles on the bridge of his nose that a recent week of spring sun had brought out. He moved his hand slowly, ghosting it over the top of Malfoy's head, down his neck, before pushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Malfoy's gaze was steady as he watched Harry until he finally closed his eyes, sighing and leaning forward into the embrace. Harry captured Malfoy's partially open mouth with his own, moving slowly, almost as if he were afraid Malfoy would break if he didn't.

They stood for long moments just kissing and touching with feather light glances of fingers and lips. Malfoy released a soft whimpering noise and pressed forward, deepening the kiss and sucking on Harry's tongue as he aligned chest and hips; nudging Harry's thighs apart so that he could settle between them. Harry felt the bite of the worktop edge against his spine and moved, picking up Malfoy and heading for the bedroom.

He settled Malfoy on the centre of the bed, stepping back to toe off his trainers and slowly undress. When he was finished, he kneed up onto the mattress, hands moving for the buttons of Malfoy's shirt. Harry clumsily missed on several attempts and Malfoy made a desperate noise, pulling the half undone shirt roughly over his head. Malfoy's chest was flushed a pale pink, and his eyes were wide and glassy as he watched Harry. Harry's breath felt heavy in his chest as he stretched out beside him.

Harry moved tentatively, unsure. He pressed soft kisses to Malfoy's mouth, neck and chest; his hands making gentle patterns over the pale skin of stomach and thighs. Beneath him, Malfoy whimpered and sighed before pulling at Harry's head and twisting so that they were trapped in a deep kiss, Malfoy's body pressed atop Harry's own. They moved slowly, each step a discovery, something new, until they found a rhythm that left them both panting and sweaty, breathing heavily against one another's shoulders.

They remained there for the rest of the evening, talking, touching. Around seven Malfoy ordered curry from a place down the street from his flat, only pulling on jeans long enough to answer the door for the delivery, before climbing back into bed naked with the take away boxes.

When Harry finally left around midnight, Malfoy walked him to the door. They stopped at the end of the hall, Harry with one hand on the knob. He looked down at Malfoy, seeing a settled sadness in the other man's eyes, and leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss to Malfoy's swollen mouth. Malfoy responded by clinging to Harry's neck, fingers pressing tightly into the skin there and mouth opening slowly beneath Harry's own. He finally pulled back, pressing one hand to Harry's chest.

"Goodbye, Harry."

Harry felt the knob turn under his fingers and stepped into the hall, staring at Malfoy the entire time. Malfoy smiled faintly, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, and closed the door.

Harry remained frozen watching the wood for long moments. Finally, pressing his fingers to his eyes and inhaling several long, shaking breaths, he walked away.