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‘What about it?’ He pressed. She sighed and turned back towards him.
‘It was Harry. Ron saw you leaving Gringotts on his way to the shop in the morning and because you looked like you were raising the fires of hell—Ronald’s words, not mine—he asked Harry if he knew anything about it. Of course, Harry didn’t know a thing. So, he pulled strings in the DMLE and had you investigated. He basically bullied the goblins into overturning the decision. I know you’ll be angry Draco, but I just wanted you to know. He’s not angry that you left, he’s angry that you didn’t tell him you wanted go to.’
‘Right.’ Draco had no idea what to say. Harry had gone behind his back yet again. Maybe, if Harry had just asked Draco, he’d have told him. Then again, Draco had never given him much reason to believe he would tell the truth. He’d made such a mess. Still, he thought they’d turned a corner after their last meeting and he’d hoped Harry would have learned from his mistakes by now. Apparently not.
‘I’m really sorry to drop it on you like that. I just couldn’t face keeping it from you.’ She said, her face fraught with worry. He sighed and tried not to get angry. It wasn’t her fault Harry was a hot-headed prick, there was no point in shooting the messenger.
‘No. It’s fine. You were right to tell me.’ He said, although it didn’t really sound like his own voice.
‘I really need to go. Thanks for letting me stay.’ She dropped her mug in the sink and kissed him on the cheek before disappearing through the floo, all whilst he didn’t change positions.
Now with ice in his chest to match the dull ache in his bones and a numbness in his toes and fingers, he stumbled through to the box room he’d turned into a tiny potions lab to get his daily potion dosage.
As he waited a couple of minutes for the potions to take effect, he walked through the apartment and replenished his warming charms. A more skilled wizard than Draco would’ve been able to weave warming charms into to the apartment walls themselves, but Draco only knew how to replenish old charms. He could pay someone to do it for him, but since he’d effectively given Pansy and Blaise free run of furnishing the chateau when it was ready, he didn’t think he should be too frivolous with his galleons. Plus, walking around helped aid the blood flow to his extremities. He staunchly refused to think about what Hermione had just told him.
Eventually his potions took the edge off the morning’s shock, and Draco wondered how cold the winters would get here. He hadn’t had much luck finding a suitable lot for his apothecary, and he hadn’t even tried to find any suppliers because he’d been so focused on his new chateau. It was coming along well, and with Spungen’s help Draco was sure by the end of the next week it would be ready for Pansy and Blaise to do-over. Draco had of course set strict rules on design themes so that it would remain in-keeping with the style and history of the building, but they both seemed very excited at the prospect and Draco felt lucky that he had such supportive friends. Nevertheless, he knew his own fragility, and he pondered the wisdom of staying in a cold flat through the winter, the autumn had been tough enough.
Draco wandered over to the kettle to make himself tea and he thought that it was probably some sort of fate which stopped him fulfilling his plans. This way he could be back in England for Christmas, without the weight of an apothecary across the continent on his shoulders, and he could be home for Teddy coming back just as he’d promised. Just like he had with Harry, he’d tell Teddy the truth at the first opportunity, and hope that his transparency and honestly earned him the chance he probably didn’t deserve. If it didn’t, then he’d just have to hope that one day his little wolf would grow up to understand why Draco had done what he’d done, and that it didn’t mean he loved him any less.
Draco sat by the window to drink his tea, and he watched the sunrise creep over the rooftops of Paris suburbs. He’d become a much earlier riser than he ever had been before, and he’d grown to appreciate the still freshness of the dawn. As he slowly drank his tea, he became vaguely aware of a shift in the magic around him. Confused, he drew his attention away from the pink-streaked sky and glanced around. The room was still, and in the weak rays of sunlight, he could see dusty particles floating as if carried by an invisible breeze. Nevertheless, something was wrong.
He set his tea down on the windowsill and stood to investigate when he saw something he never expected to see again in his life. Every muscle, every ligament, every tendon in his body seized up at the same time.
‘Father.’ His voice echoed through the dimly lit room.
‘Draco.’ His father repeated in the same flat tone.
‘What the—you can’t be—you’re dead.’ He eventually stuttered out.
‘And yet I’m here.’ Draco’s heart pounded, his head span, his mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour.
‘No. No you’re not.’ Draco’s voice cracked. His father was dead, he couldn’t hurt him now. He could feel it, everything was wrong. Magic prickled harshly across his skin, like he was being stabbed with hundreds of tiny needles.
Suddenly bright green light exploded through the room. It filled every crack and every corner and reminded Draco sickeningly of the Avada Kedavra curse. His father laughed manically as a scorching hot pain lanced through Draco from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He heard himself scream in agony as he staggered, unable to take his own weight. He desperately fumbled around in the green for his wand, he didn’t remember dropping it. All he could think was that he needed Harry. Something like this wasn’t normal, even by wizarding standards, and Draco needed Harry.
Draco hadn’t cast a corporeal patronus since the day he’d left his marital home, but he’d be damned if he failed to do it now. He wasn’t being quick enough. The pain was getting stronger and his mind was fogging with the strain of holding on. He felt as if he was being split in two while a ghost of his father laughed on amused. The last thing he thought before he blacked out was that he would surely die here, alone.
He was in his garden, sitting on the swing seat and watching Teddy tumble about on the lawn. He was already six and Draco couldn’t quite believe how quickly he was growing up, or how little balance he had, running around much like a toddler. Still, the knocks and falls didn’t seem to be bothering him at all. Draco had never been allowed to play like that in the manor gardens and he was determined that Teddy’s childhood would be the absolute of Draco’s own stuffy one. Children were supposed to be wild and have fun before the pressures and responsibilities of life caught up to them.
He watched as Teddy’s hair turned a deep ebony shade and he glanced around to see Harry crossing the law towards Draco, a beaming smile on his face as he saw Teddy wander off to the sandpit they’d built him—that really he was a little old to be using—and nearly fall headfirst into it. He’d heard Teddy’s mother had been incredibly clumsy and it wouldn’t surprise him if Teddy was just the same. He didn’t like to think about that though, Teddy was his little wolf now. He didn’t want to admit that Teddy wasn’t really his. It was so easy to forget when he could change his appearance so easily.
‘You’re such a housewife.’ Harry laughed as he sat down next to Draco. He swung his legs up into Harry’s lap and he didn’t complain.
‘I resent that accusation.’ Draco said playfully.
‘You know what I mean,’ Harry glanced at him sideways to make sure he knew Harry was joking, ‘you watch him like he’s a china doll.’
Draco shrugged.
‘He’s far more precious that a china doll, Potter, how dare you degrade our son like that.’
Harry shoved at one of Draco’s legs and it slipped off Harry’s lap, his ankle bone clanging on the edge of the seat painfully.
‘You little shit,’ he snapped. Harry just grinned at him.
‘I’ll take little shit over Potter. You’re going to have to stop calling me that eventually, you know.’
‘No I don’t.’ He said stubbornly, ‘how else will you know when you’re pissing me off?’
‘Draco, I always piss you off.’
Draco lifted his feet from Harry’s lap and repositioned himself so that he could plaster himself to Harry’s side. Harry wrapped an arm around him and Draco was hit with an unexpected feeling of coming home.
‘Not always, you’re not so bad sometimes.’
‘Oh just sometimes? Always so giving with the compliments. Anyway, if you keep calling me Potter when we’re married you’ll just end up confusing everyone.’
‘What utter rot.’ Draco rolled his eyes, ‘if I stop calling you Potter everyone will think I’ve gone mad. Besides, who said anything about marrying you?’ He watched as Harry’s face dropped into mock-horror.
‘I knew you just wanted a house out of me! I should never have agreed to build a potions lab for you, you’re way too spoilt.’ Draco grinned and kissed him gently, trying to keep it Teddy-suitable even though really, he was dying to rip Harry’s clothes off and take him upstairs. He could tell from the way Harry kept drawing him in that he was struggling with the effort too.
‘Do you think we’re doing this too fast?’ Draco asked him. It had been weighing on his mind since the article had surfaced. They still hadn’t figured out who had blabbed to Rita Skeeter.
‘Does it feel too fast? We’ve known each other since we were eleven.’ Harry regarded Draco carefully and he tried his best not to give away how scared he was of making another big mistake. Harry couldn’t be a mistake though, could he? Draco loved him with all his heart.
‘No.’ He admitted. He didn’t know why the gossip was getting to him, he was usually so good at blocking it out.
‘There you go then,’ Harry said with a smile and kissed him again. ‘I don’t care what anyone else thinks, I care what you think.’
‘DADDY!’ Draco’s attention was drawn away from Harry when Teddy came bounding up to them. He launched himself into the non-existent gap between the two of them, except instead of feeling the crushing weight of a little boy against his side, Draco felt like he’d been slammed into a side-along apparition completely unawares. He felt the temperature around him drop and he shivered. He’d been dressed for the summer sun and that been ripped so cruelly from him.
There was nothing, there was just blackness. He felt like he was floating, but maybe underwater. He couldn’t see anything or hear anything. He tried moving an arm or a leg, wiggling a finger or a toe, but he wasn’t even sure he still had a body anymore.
There was nothing, but there was pain. It was like he’d been thrown into the fiery pits of hell and left to burn out. White hot lances of pain whipped at him from all angles and he imagined this must be what it was like when a star died.
He had no idea how long he’d been here, suspended in nothingness. A minute? An hour? A day? Weeks? He doesn’t remember what came before. He doesn’t have the energy to reach into his mind and find out. He doesn’t much care about what his name is or where he came from. He just wants to get out.
Is there anything outside of this? He can’t see a way out, there’s nothing to see at all. Should he wait for the pain to go away or should he let it take him? He isn’t sure. Keeping track of time had never been his strong suit anyway.
Hey, at least he knew that about himself.
He was just about to give up hope when he saw a figure in the distance. It was strangely ghostly and for a minute he wondered whether he really was stuck between the planes of existence. He walked towards the figure. Or at least, that’s what he thought he did. He couldn’t tell if he actually had any arms and legs and he felt like he was moving through something that was much thicker than water but just as cold, but he got closer to it never the less.
‘Mother?’ He asked disbelievingly. Even his voice sounded as if it was underwater; muffled and warped and it completely contrasted with the fire in his veins. The figure turned, and Draco realised that it was indeed his mother. She was foggy and not totally in focus, but she was there, and just like that he remembered.
‘Oh my boy, what have you done this time?’ She said sadly, tears streaking down her face. She reached out a hand to touch his cheek, but he felt nothing, and her hand went straight through.
‘Mummy,’ his odd voice cracked, and he wanted nothing more than to cry in her arms like he had when he was a little boy. He couldn’t cry now though, he didn’t know how to.
