Altus Amor

Subtle Awareness

Draco waited nervously outside, teeth chattering as a bitter wind spun in circles around his body. He stood a few feet away from the Whomping Willow; a few feet away from it’s thrashing, violent branches: branches that threatened to grab Draco and pull him under their battering depths. It was the dead of night--three in the morning, to be exact--when the moon made its first appearance across the blackened sky, shedding faint blue rays of light on Draco’s pallid skin and washing out any remaining color.

Unconsciously he fingered the scar on his left wrist. Harry was right--it was deep: too deep to be cured immediately, even by a trained MediWitch. Now the scar, like his headache, was a reminder that he was part of something he couldn’t escape from; bound to an unwanted destiny. Those things aside, he was acquiring a bit of an affinity towards it. The scar stood out, contrasting with his pale skin. It reminded him of--well, wasn’t this ironic--Harry. Harry, like him, carried a mark that indicated a connection with dark magick; with death.

Draco still couldn’t believe what he was doing--helping the Order of all things--and he indisputably refused to fathom what it all meant. The only thing he could be sure of was that he had to do something; had to make the best of the short time he did have left.

Instantly he brushed that thought out of his mind. It did no good to think about the end. He had realized that when the persistent throbbing in his head intensified each time he contemplated what was to come. No. It would just have to be put off till later. No thinking about dying. No talking about dying. Don’t look back on it. Never look back. It was the mantra that kept him sane, though half of the time he debated with himself whether being sane meant much anymore.

“Draco?” came a hoarse whisper off to his left. He spun around, greeted by the sight of Harry Potter, who stood like a beacon under the moonlight. His face was ashen as well, yet shone with a strange inner light, though hidden under wisps of tousled black hair. His emerald-green eyes glimmered in the moonlight, and Draco wanted nothing more than to lose himself in Harry for hours. No. Work first.

“You came,” he said, a bit surprised at Harry’s familiar presence.

“Of course I did. You said ‘Whomping Willow at three.’ I’m not one to turn on that.” Draco nodded.

“Did you have any trouble getting out here?” he asked.

“No. Well, except for Ron and Hermione, but--”

“--that’s expected when their best friend goes off on a mission with their former enemy?”

“Yeah.” Harry paused.

“Let’s get going, shall we? The longer we stand here the more of a chance we have of getting torn apart by that devil-tree,” Draco voiced, gesturing towards the Whomping Willow. Harry nodded, and Draco lead him on a path away from the grounds, lurking in the shadows and hiding behind anything that would cover their forms from view.

Draco had never walked to Hogsmeade before. He always had the use of an aid, whether it be floo powder or broomstick or portkey. In all honest, he wasn’t quite sure he knew exactly where he was going, but did he dare reveal such a thing to Harry? No. Never. People in general perceived him as being in control, and he was damned if he was going to let Harry, above all, know the truth. He didn’t let anyone know the truth, though sometimes he debated whether he was ever really honest with himself.

“Why did you leave Hogwarts?” Harry suddenly asked. Draco stopped for a moment. Harry’s question had startled him, partially because it was so abrupt and partially because he hadn’t even thought about it since...God, he couldn’t remember the last time he thought about his leaving Hogwarts.

“I-I didn’t leave. Lucius pulled me out.”

“But, to be someone important, don’t you have to graduate? Isn’t that what he wanted for you?” Draco was silent. How was he supposed to tell this--this being of hope and light--that he was permanently tainted with Dark Magick?

“What I was destined to be successful in didn’t require a graduation,” he voiced. Harry was silent, and Draco knew he understood what he had meant.

“So why are you here? Why not working with you’re father in some Mudblood concentration camp?” Ah, the dreaded issue.

“Do you always have to ask such difficult questions?”

“Do you always have to be so remote?”

“Yes,” Draco said, without skipping a beat. Whatever the case, he couldn’t tell Harry about the ritual; about his death. There just some strange primal concern that made him want to shield the other boy from harmful truths. Why, he didn’t know. But he did know that Harry was no baby, and had seen other things that wizards only see in their nightmares. He needed no protection, yet Draco still couldn’t shake the feeling of want--of wanting to wrap Harry in his arms until all of his sorrows melted away; to make it so he never had to see anymore death--Stop it, he mentally scolded himself. This isn’t the time nor the place to lust for Potter. Well, maybe the place, but--GAH! Shut up, Draco, you wanker.

“So are you going to tell me?” Harry asked, turning to stare at Draco with those beautiful emerald eyes.

“I--I’m just--not now, Harry,” he said roughly, his voice full of emotion. A knot welled up in his throat and chest, making in painful to speak and tiring not to pass out right their from grief and ardor alone.

“Alright,” Harry replied understandingly. “It’s just, don’t think that I don’t know where you’re coming from. I’ve seen a lot of death before.”

“Have you ever killed before, Potter?” The remark was out of his lips before he could think otherwise. Draco bit his tongue, forcing blood out into his mouth. Fuck.

“II”

“I didn’t mean that, Harry. I mean, well, I did, but--” Draco’s stomach sank. He knew he had scared Harry. How could he not have? Oh, but the last thing he wanted to do was to frighten him. He had enough worries.

“Draco, stop. It’s a given that you would have killed before. It just--unnerved me to hear you put it so bluntly.” Draco nodded. His hope was still there; still with him, not cowering away. There were a few moments silence, in which Draco contemplated his standing position. Were he and Harry friends? Surely not so soon. No, merely partners that set off intense energy. But was that all it was? Would that energy turn into something else? Draco could almost feel it pulsing inside of him, pushing; pulling towards the dark-haired boy.

“But, do you really hate your life?” Harry questioned. Draco was puzzled for a moment, before remembering the time Harry had gotten inside his head.

“No. There are...moments...when I think it’s not all pointless. But most of the time I’m just wondering if this is another planet’s Hell.” Harry chuckled, forcing a thin smile from Draco’s chapped lips.

“That’s a good way of putting it.” Draco nodded. More quiet followed, and he felt Harry sort of detach from himself. It was like that day when--

“Harry, don’t do that,” Draco muttered before the other boy found his way into his mind.

“I wasn’t going to. I was just going to see if there was anyone around.”

“You can--you can do that?” Draco was seriously stunned.

“It’s not that hard. All you have to do is expand your awareness...if that makes any sense. I’ve been practicing, basically as a relaxation method since I had to quit Quidditch.”

“You had to quit Quidditch? WHY?”

“Please. Can we talk about that later?” Draco’s curiosity grew. Of all things in the world other than his friends, Quidditch was probably something Harry couldn’t live without. He had seen him fly before--and he was good. It was as if his body was a part of the broom; of the air; instead of a mere rider. Harry loved it. Why had it been taken away?

“You owe me a story, Potter.”

“Ok. But since we’re all into this ‘sharing’ business, I believe you owe me one as well.” Draco made a ‘tuh’ sound.

“Fine. But if you ever try to get me to talk about my childhood I will make it my personal responsibility to shove my foot up your--”

“Draco?” Harry cut in, a note of tremor in his voice.

“Wha-What?”

“Where are we?” Draco stopped and gazed around, surveying the area. They were walking on a long dusty path that split in a ‘V’ before them. The original trail appeared to go away from Hogwarts--in the direction of Hogsmeade, he presumed, though he wasn’t all that sure. The moon had been swept beside by eager clouds, covering the land with a thick sheet of darkness. From what Draco could tell, they were on a path that cut strait through a wide plateau of rustling grass.

“I--err--”

“Draco?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we lost?” Harry questioned, his voice pleading for an answer he wouldn’t mind.

“No! No, of course not. Hogsmeade is right--” Draco turned around and peered off into the darkness. “It’s, uhm...” He whipped around in the other direction, squinting against the lack of light. “Hold on a minute.”

“I cannot believe you! You got us LOST?” Draco turned to face Harry.

“Hey, where did that ‘nice’ side of you go?”

“It disappeared! Along with your sense of direction, might I add.”

“Look, we can find a way to Hogsmeade. Let’s just follow this path.”

“Which one?” Draco paused.

“Uhm, the left.”

“Are you sure?” After surveying each avenue, he shook his head. “Alright then, there is an easy way to find this out.” Draco looked at Harry like he was insane.

“You know, Potter, I’m betting that you’re just abnormal enough to survive.”

“Heh. No, but seriously, Draco. Since you and I don’t know any charms to find direction to a specific place--wait, I’m assuming you don’t. Do you?” Again, he shook his head. “Alright then. Just--give me some space.” Draco backed away from Harry, surveying the dark-haired boy closely. He sat down on the intersection of the dusty path, shut his eyes, and began to breathe deeply. Draco stared wide-eyed in disbelief. Had Potter gone mad?

“Uhm, Harry?”

“Sh,” he responded hastily, his head lifting up towards the clouds. No, no, I’ve heard about this. It’s what happens to a person when they are put under too much stress. They just--flip.

Draco watched with eagerness as Harry’s eyes flicked open and stared in concentration at the night sky. He looked--different, somehow. Like he was not just Harry, but part of something bigger; something unearthly.

Without warning Harry snapped out of his trance and let his eyes fall on Draco, who, at this point, was staring quite rudely at the other boy and biting his lip in a palpable confusion.

“You were right. It was the left path.” Draco was speechless as Harry stood up from the ground, dusting his robes off and straitening his shirt. “Magick doesn’t always require wands, you know,” he said, walking off towards the left. “You coming?” Draco automatically followed.

“What was that?” He asked as soon as he had gotten over his initial shock.

“Like I said before--all you have to do is expand your awareness. It’s pretty basic.”

“Where did you learn it?” Draco’s curiosity was bubbling over the surface.

“I sort of taught myself. First I just rested for relaxation, but then I began to actually feel things.”

“Feel things?”
“Yeah, like when someone was walking up the corridor, I could sort of sense their energy.”

“And that’s how you got inside my mind the other day?” Harry nodded. Wow. Draco was impressed. He had always known Potter was--talented--but magick without the aid of wands? Was it possible for anyone to do that?”

“You can do it too, you know. With some practice of course.” Draco’s heart leapt. But how would he learn it by himself?

“I can help you if you want.”

“Yeah, OK,” he said, anticipation rising within him. But Harry was willing to help him? Well, you are doing an awful lot for him right now.

“Alright. Consider us even.”

“Would you stop doing that? It’s creepy,” Draco voiced as nearly every one of his thoughts were answered by Harry.

“Sorry,” he replied meekly. “Well, let’s go, shall we? The night is young and I have an uncanny sense of alertness.” Draco looked intriguingly at the Gryffindor, before walking ahead into the dark of the night whether he was prepared or not, embarking on a mission that could save the wizarding world.

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Compared to the commotion of the night, Hogsmeade was rather barren in the mornings. A soft blanket of clouds covered the sky, dampening the air and creating a gentle, calming mood. Delicate sunlight was beginning to peak out over the horizon, turning the clouds brilliant hues of orange and pink, and showering Harry with a sensation of comfort.

Beside him, Draco walked serenely, gazing openly into the building dawn and ever so often inhaling deep breaths. The rest they had walked, finding some unusual energy within their tasks, ambling up mounds and down valleys, until the small wizarding town of Hogsmeade had appeared. It lay between two hills, the buildings and streets appearing picturesque; like someone had perfectly crafted it out of the earth.

Harry turned to Draco, who’s lithe form was swaying from side to side, gentle morning light tinting his cheeks a rosy shade and glinting off his clean, silver-blonde hair, which appeared to be undisturbed from their walk. Harry watched him carefully. Never, in six years, had he actually seen Draco Malfoy before; I mean really looked at him. He was surprisingly well built for that scrawny eleven-year-old that Harry had gotten so used to when someone mentioned the name ‘Malfoy’. But it wasn’t only that--his eyes--the hate appeared to have melted away from them, leaving some sort of unexplainable sorrow. Harry fought back the sudden urge to invade Draco’s mind. That would be wrong.

As if feeling Harry’s eyes on him, Draco turned to him. It was then that he noticed he was staring.

“Interested, Potter?” Draco remarked, a smug grin on his face. Before Harry could stop himself, he smiled, and a flush arose around his neck, forcing him to give weak attempt to cover his embarrassment and roll his eyes. I’m pathetic.

“Let’s stop at the Three Broomsticks, eh?” Harry asked, recovering from his lack of words.

“No--too soon--Flint could be in there already.” Pause. “Hell, if you’re that hungry, Potter, then go to Honeydukes. Cauldron Cakes ought to fill you up. Is are seven enough? I don‘t have that much money with me.”

“Are you trying to get me on a sugar high?”

“If it means you’ll keep yourself occupied with other things while I’m working, then yes: I am trying to get you on a sugar high. What, did you think it was for some other reason?” Harry shook his head.

“No, I just--”

“Yes, I can see the headlines: ‘Draco Malfoy Drugs Harry Potter’, ‘Harry Potter Found Arse Up in the Backroom of Honeydukes’, ‘The Famous Gets Shagged by the Infamous’--”

“Alright, you can stop now,” Harry cut in, leading Draco into Honeydukes and grabbing a couple packets of Cauldron Cakes off the shelf.

Harry paid for the cakes, and as soon as they were out of the store, stuffed one in his mouth, noting amusedly how Draco stared at him with doubtfulness while taking careful bites out of his.

“I think I‘m gonna be sick,” Draco said, staring at Harry’s chocolate-filled mouth.

“Wha?” Harry replied, his mouth full.

“Remind me why you are here?” Draco asked. Harry began to chew more rapidly, swallowed, then began to cough quite gracelessly as he devoured too big a piece. After regaining his composure, he spoke.

“Because I’m in on this too, because I want to help, and because goddamnit Draco, you will probably find some way to screw things up unless I’m here.” The blonde raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, so you’re here as my babysitter?” Harry shrugged. Honestly, he didn’t care all that much why Draco thought he was going along with him, as long as he was there. And whoever decides that they want to figure out precisely why I want to go on this mission so badly is going to get a very dirty boot shoved roughly up their--

“Well I hate to break it to you, Potter, but I don’t need a babysitter. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to go find a bitchy Death Eater in order to get your information, so I think I’ll be going. Ta!” And on that note, he turned pointedly and began stalking off down the street. Harry ran to catch up to him, stomach lurching with each step as the undigested Cauldron Cakes shifted in his stomach. He tried to ignore it.

“Where should we meet afterwards?” He asked, as soon as he had once more fallen in step with the lustful blonde (*giggle*).

“Hogsmeade isn’t that big of a place. I’ll find you.”

“Draco,” Harry said, his tone firm.

“Alright. Shrieking Shack, say around noon. You can busy yourself until then, can’t you?”

“Draco.”

“What?” he yelled impatiently.

“Shouldn’t I be there with you? I mean, not with you, but at least by the building. You know, in case there is trouble?”

“What could go wrong? It’s not like anyone had any idea that I’m helping the Order. To Flint, I’m just on another errand for Lucius.” Harry nodded, yet his face remained undecided.

“I know, I know. But I still want to be close to there. Look, Zonkos is right across from the Three Broomsticks--can’t I wait there?” Draco paused for a moment, then answered.

“Alright, but stay inside, Harry. You don’t know how many Death Eaters flock around Hogsmeade, and I’m guessing they won’t take to kindly to you.”

“Unless there is trouble. Then--”

“Then you come in and save the day. There won’t be any trouble, Potter.”

“Fine. And you’ll meet me at Zonkos when you’ve gotten what we need?”

“Yes, yes. Now go!” They split up; Harry walking into the joke shop and Draco, across the street to the tavern. Harry watched intently as his retreating form entered the building, then was swept away into a crowd of wizards. If anything goes wrong, anything at all...

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Draco strode in to the three Broomsticks, readily inhaling the sweet scents of butterbeer and breakfast meals, enjoying the warmth he was greeted with as he entered. This won’t be too hard, he thought. Flint is almost always available in here.

Taking a seat in the center of the large room, Draco surveyed the area. All around him wizards cheerfully conversed, and the temptation to order a butterbeer and crash here for a day was overwhelming. Remember what you’re here for--thousands of witches and wizards. Don’t forget that.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Right as Draco was going to give up on waiting, Kieran’s dark hair and lumbering form emerged from the crown. Draco stood up, motioning for the man to come over to where he was. Flint spotted him, and eagerly took a seat.

“Mister Malfoy, how pleased I am to meet you. Are you on business again?”

“As a matter of fact I am.”

“Good. And I must apologize for my lack of facts that I gave you last time.”

“So I trust Lucius talked to you?” Kieran shuddered, then nodded.

“Alright. Right now I need to know everything you do--times, the location of the device, anything that could be helpful.”

“Ah, your father thought right in sending you with a detailed ambition. But I fear that I can only tell you the when, for I myself am not granted such--exclusive information.”

“I don’t blame them for not trusting you. Never mind that. When are they planning the destruction, then?”

“Seven days from now, on the mark.” Draco gasped.

“Seven days? Isn’t that a little soon?”

“Not at all. I dare say we’ve waited long enough already,” Flint replied, his voice wavering on a note of excitement. Silently, Draco shuddered, cold pangs of dread seeping into his already-volatile body.

“Yes...yes. Say, where did you get your information? Who’s your higher?”

“Comair.” Judging by Draco’s puzzled expression, he continued. “Tynan Comair--your father would know him.” Draco nodded.

“Alright. And you’re positive that you don’t know anything else?” Kieran eyed him suspiciously, and Draco mentally slapped himself for pushing too far. Death Eaters may be pathetic creatures, but they weren’t stupid.

“No. No, I don’t. Just out of curiosity, young Mr. Malfoy, why doesn’t your father ever stop by to--catch up?” Draco panicked. He couldn’t let this--this maggot discover him, whatever he was doing.

“I would think, after last time, that you wouldn’t have any trouble trusting me, now would you, Kieran? What motives do you have to not tell me all you are worth?” A wide grin spread over Flint’s face.

“You’re father can only do so much to me. Strictly speaking, he can’t kill me, or permanently disable me, or his neck will be hung by Lord Voldemort himself. I know you have this little fantasy going that your father is all powerful, but compared to my higher, he is simply a speck of dust.” Draco remained silent, fighting off a strange feeling of hilarity that accompanied what Kieran was saying.

“So now the question, Mr. Malfoy, is what are your motives in all of this? Why are you so keen on what I know?” Draco gulped. He hadn’t expected to be interrogated so fiercely.

“I was only here on Lucius’ orders. Otherwise I wouldn’t bother with you,” he spat.

“That’s funny, you know. Why would he send his son out if he was planning on coming here anyway?” Draco’s heart lurched. What?? Kieran peered over his shoulder, and Draco reluctantly turned his head to the entrance of the Three Broomsticks. There Lucius’ cold, austere form stood, half hidden by a throng of people, silver-blonde hair noticeable in the crowd. Draco cowered in his seat, unable to take his eyes away from the cruel man.

His eyes were averted, though, by the sight of messy black hair poking up in the window of a side door to his left. Two eyes popped up, planted firmly on Draco, then on Lucius. Harry! Draco though madly. I told him to fucking stay inside! Quietly, Harry opened the door and slipped inside, carefully making his way over to the back wall. Fucking IDIOT! Draco screamed mentally, then: if they so much as lay a finger on him I swear I will fucking Avada Kedavra the whole damn place!

“Excuse me,” he said to Flint, then stood hastily and fought his way through the bustle to the back of the Tavern, weary as to not be seen by his--father.

Loathing the word, he found Harry leaning against the wall. Immediately he strode up to the boy, anger weighing each step.

“What the FUCK are you thinking, Potter? Do you know how FUCKING dangerous is was for you to come in here?”

“In case you didn’t know, Lucius is standing not fifty feet from us. And unless my eyes are betraying me, you weren’t doing so well with Kieran Flint. So, I’m here to ‘save the day’ as you would have it.”

“More like fuck up the day! Harry, do you have any idea what you have done?” But Harry wasn’t paying attention to his words. Instead, his eyes were avidly fixed on Lucius, who at that moment was stalking over to where they conversed, an enraged Kieran by his side.

“SHIT!” Draco half yelled, half cried, then took hold of Harry’s robes and dragged him over to a small corridor that sprouted off from where they were. “Where do we go now?” he yelled angrily at the dark-haired boy.

“There’s a latter leading to the roof--the entrance is in a closet down here a bit further,” Harry panted, feet pounding roughly on the stone floor of the hallway.

“That’s great, Harry, it really is. But on the good chance that I do not want to break my neck today, do you think you could muster another idea?!”

“You won’t break your neck!” he said, running faster down the endless corridor.

“Really? So, I’m just supposed to go real limp, you know, kinda like a dummy, and then when a foolish passerby sees me he’ll try to catch me, because hey, free dummy, right?”

“No! And, where the hell did you get that from?” Draco briefly wondered why Harry was even bothering to fathom the strange inner workings of his mind. “No. You are forgetting a simple six letter word, Draco. Magick! How do you think I survived falling off my broom?” Draco nodded understandingly.

“Sure. But if you end up falling off the roof and break both your legs, don’t come running to me.” Harry shot a warning look at Draco. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. Still, I like my dummy idea,” he commented wryly as they came to a ramshackle closet that lay at the end of the hallway. Behind them, they could hear quick paced footsteps.

“Quickly, Harry.”

“Alohamora!” Harry commanded, and the door swung open. Quickly they clambered inside, Harry first, Draco quickly following. The latter swayed underneath both of their weights, but they promptly ignored that in a race to get to the top.

A small opening lay at the top, and the two boys fell out onto the stony roof of the Three Broomsticks, greeted with the sight of Hogsmeade nearly forty feet below them.

“You first,” Draco said, ushering Harry towards the edge of the roof.

“Applico!” he yelled, feet carrying him over the edge. Draco winced as he watched Harry’s form hurtle through the air. At first he thought the charm hadn’t worked, but them Harry began to slow down, and landed with a soft ‘thud’ on the dusty ground.

Nervously, Draco turned his wand on himself and muttered a halfhearted ‘applico’ before rocketing off the building.

Cold air enveloped his body, and he shut his eyes tightly in an attempt to block the noise of the screaming wind against his ears. He dug his nails into his palms, creating red half-moon circles; reminders of how much tension had accumulated throughout his body.

Finally he began to slow down; the ferocious currents of air quelling to a light breeze, and he landed on his feet next to Harry. They didn’t need to be told what to do next; they ran like hell away from the Three Broomsticks, not daring even a glimpse of what lay behind them.

“In here!” Harry yelled, grabbing Draco and veering him off to the right and into Honeydukes.

“Um, Harry--”

“A secret passage--just trust me!” Cursing, Draco realized that for once he had no other choice but to completely put his trust into another person. For the umpteenth time that day, he realized that nothing in life was a guarantee.

Harry tugged him along throughout the store, rushing past the cash register and down the stairs into a musty cellar, disregarding furious yells from the shopkeeper.

Draco stood behind Harry as he fell to his knees and started carelessly pushing boxes out of the way, feeling around on the floor for something. A latch. He tugged hard on it, and a small opening appeared as the door flew open.

“In!” he cried, and Draco tumbled into the dark hole, feeling Harry jump in behind him and slam the door closed. Then, the only noise that could be heard was that of hard, strangled breathing, the strong scent of earth, and absolute darkness.

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