Hard Time

Chapter Thirteen: Messages

Harry was sitting at the desk in what had been Lucius's study before he'd taken it over--all the papers and files had already been confiscated by the Ministry prior to Harry's purchase of the place, to build the case against Lucius, so the place had been rather clean when he moved in. It was certainly a very nice study, with a red cherrywood desk and shelves--now for the most part empty. Harry wondered how many volumes in the shelves had dealt with Dark Magic. Or the Malfoy family estate.

Kreacher appeared at his elbow, making Harry jump slightly. He looked at Harry expectantly, and Harry nodded for him to speak.

"Master Malfoy is asleep," Kreacher reported in his low quiet voice, so very different from Dobby. Harry was still trying to get used to the differences.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been sitting in here earlier when he'd heard the awful noise from down the hall, when Kreacher had come to warn him that Draco had collapsed and seemed to be in pain. He had expected some kind of reaction, some time, to the new conditions and surroundings, but he hadn't expected anything that strong, that soon. Also unexpected had been his reaction to it.

It had seemed perfectly natural to just hold Draco, because he knew the sound of heartache and grieving; just because he'd refused to allow himself such tears, they had still been inside him at Fred and Remus's funerals, a silent cacophony, rending him in two. He understood that part. What he hadn't understood was his body's reaction . . . after. Harry wasn't sure when it changed from simple comforting to something much more physical, but it had, and for a moment there it had even seemed like Draco been responding. And then--but he didn't want to think about that. What had he been thinking?! Of course the answer to that was that he hadn't been thinking at all. His body had merely been reacting. His hand--he hadn't even recalled moving it, but oh, the want that had gone through him when he felt the muscles twitch on Draco's stomach . . . It was wrong, it was completely insane.

Ginny would be laughing at him about now. So much for not having any reactions to anyone.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The worst thing was, his erection hadn't fully subsided since the ordeal, even with Draco's shouted warning, even knowing he'd been doing exactly what he shouldn't be doing, what Draco probably most feared at the moment. Stupid, stupid. You're a perverted monster. Draco's distress should NOT turn him on. It just shouldn't.

To get his mind off such things, Harry picked up the latest two messages he had received by owl today. One was a letter from Kingsley.

Harry, I understand that you were successful today in convincing the staff at St. Mungo's to allow you time to rehabilitate Draco Malfoy. I highly commend your efforts and your desire to help heal the Wizarding community. But I wish you hadn't chosen such a personal case.

Be careful, Harry. Don't trust Draco; he has been raised to be his father's son, and I think you more than anybody knows what that means. I don't approve of the way the staff at Azkaban are handling the younger generation of Death Eaters, but I also don't think it's appropriate to take this personal an interest in one of them. I've read the files, Harry. Draco's not exactly an innocent.

Please keep me updated. And please, take care of yourself. If you have anything you want to talk about at all, come see me.

--Kingsley

Harry chewed on his lip; well he couldn't blame Kingsley, but at the same time, the letter irked him. Couldn't Kingsley trust that he knew what he was doing?

Well, despite the fact that he had absolutely no idea whatsoever what he was doing. All he knew was that Draco wasn't the Draco he'd remembered from before Voldemort's return. There was still that acid tongue, yes. But he didn't see the evil that he saw in Lucius or the other Death Eaters. Harry set the letter aside and moved to the next one. This one was from Hermione, and he was anxious to read it.

Harry,

I’m writing you to let you know that Ron and I are back from Australia, and we were successful in bringing back my parents, though I have to admit that my parents weren’t exactly thrilled when I explained to them what I did. Still, they had to admit that it succeeded in keeping them safe.

I’m grounded for the next two weeks, but I’d be thrilled to have a visit from you if you’re able. We’ve missed you, and we hope you’re well. I’ve talked to Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, and I know you’ve been a bit quiet, and that apparently you’ve bought the Malfoy place? Harry, I know I’m going to sound like Ron here, but . . . are you mental? Whatever made you think you'd like to own that piece of trash real estate? I'm sure you could make a profit by selling it again, but really, I'm still shaking my head over it.

I'm getting my paperwork in to Hogwart's so that I can return in the fall--I've been poking Ron to make sure he gets his in on time as well. I do hope you've gotten your paperwork in, Harry, though I'm sure Mrs. McGonnagall would probably let you slide by. But then again perhaps not; she always was a stickler for rules. So you'd better be prepared, Harry.

That's all for now--please do write back, and come over when you can.

--Hermione

P.S. What's this I'm reading about you helping out Narcissa? Harry, please talk to me. You're really starting to worry me.

--your friend always


Harry sighed, setting the letter aside. He missed Hermione too--and Ron, but particularly Hermione at the moment, and all her sagely advice. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain this all to her, what he'd taken on, but he really could use her advice at the moment. Perhaps in a day or two he'd be able to meet up with her and discuss things. That of course was assuming that she didn't take off his head for trying to help Draco. And today, his physical reaction . . . well he didn't even know who he could talk to about that particular problem. For some reason, he had a feeling that Sirius would have known. But Sirius was gone.

Harry began writing a reply to Hermione, debating how to tell her the news about Draco, when a black owl began beating its wings on the study's window, looking harried and urgent. Harry rose to open the window, and a letter with the Minister's official seal landed on the floor. The owl hooted, pacing back and forth on the window sill, watching him with yellow eyes. Harry frowned, picking up the letter and breaking the seal. A second letter from Kingsley? What did he have to say now?

Sitting down once again, Harry read the letter.

Harry,

I'm sorry to disturb you so soon after my last letter, but a piece of very important news just came to my office. I'm sure you recall Fenrir Greyback, the notorious werewolf that Remus and Tonks fought so hard to bring down at the last battle.

It seems that Fenrir is alive; it was just discovered that he has dug his way out of the burial plot where the Death Eaters were laid to rest. I knew we should have cremated his body.

I am telling you because I am sure you are high on the list of those he is likely to come after. You might want to put the Manor under a Fidelius Charm--I'm sure you have friends you could trust with the secret. Of course no doubt the Manor has its own defenses and enchantments, which you'll want to research. Please, get yourself another owl. I know you are still mourning your first one, but I would feel better knowing you could get word out quickly if you needed help. You could also send your Patronus if you needed to get word to me quickly.

Take care, Harry. Keep me updated.

--Kingsley


Harry stared at the letter, feeling his insides go cold. Greyback alive. And of course his name would be high on the list; he'd spoiled all of Greyback's fun. He wondered if the werewolf would try to kill him--or infect him. He reckoned Fenrir would consider taking Draco as well as a bonus; he remembered that look in Fenrir's eyes the night that Dumbledore died, when Draco had seemed horrified to learn what he'd let inside the school. Swallowing, he set aside the letter. There wasn't much he could do about it right now. He'd talk to Hermione on that as well. She'd make a good Secret Keeper, though he wasn't certain something as well known as the Manor could be hidden, especially when Fenrir knew exactly where it was.

He wrote Kingsley a simple note of thanks, and that he'd be careful, and attached the note to the black owl's leg, nodding for it to return to Kingsley. Kingsley was right; as much as he hated replacing Hedwig, he really needed to get himself a new owl. Perhaps tomorrow.

"Kreacher?" Harry asked, summoning the house elf. Kreacher popped into the room, holding a pot in one hand and stirring it with the other. It looked like mashed potatoes would be one of the items on the menu tonight. Kreacher looked at Harry expectantly.

"Once you're done in the kitchen, I need you to do some research for me. Find out about what kinds of defensive spells this manor might have, or some that I could put on it for protection." Poor Kreacher was probably overworked between caring for the house and watching Draco, but there was no help for it; he was the only help Harry had at the moment.

"Yes, Master. Kreacher will see what he can find once dinner is ready. Will Master Harry be requiring anything else?" Kreacher stuck his finger into the white pasty glop and tasted it; muttering, he conjured forth some pepper to add in.

Harry smiled and shook his head. "No, thank you. You're a great help, Kreacher. I'll be down in a little bit."

Kreacher left, and Harry set down his pen, unable to concentrate on his reply to Hermione. It was quiet down the hall; Draco would probably sleep for another half hour or so, if he was any judge. Harry could still remember the weak pallor in Draco's face, the almost dead eyes when he'd first entered the Manor. No, he certainly wasn't the same Draco Harry remembered from Hogwarts. He wondered what the last year had been like for him.

Padding quietly down the hallway, Harry approached Draco's bedroom door, warring with himself. Part of him wanted, needed to see the resting figure, and know that Draco was still there. To have a chance to look at him sleeping, when he couldn't object. Harry swallowed, feeling his cheeks burning. I sound like some kind of stalker. That's not why I rescued him. It's not. But there were certain things he could no longer deny.

Harry gripped the door handle, ready to turn it. But he couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk either the possibility of Draco waking and seeing him peeking in, or not waking, and the flood of images that would bring to mind. Slowly, he let go of the handle and forced himself to move past the door.

He certainly could not deny more than a passing interest in Draco. And not for altruistic reasons only. He could not deny that he wanted Draco.

And that Draco probably hated him.

***

TBC

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