#fallen draco

Thank you @the-starryknight for the tag! 💜

A single figure moves, taking confident if not arrogant steps towards Voldemort.

For those wondering, yes this is Fallen Draco. Hopefully I’ll manage to finish it off this year 😅 My main project is Big Bang, but I’ll try and find time for this too.

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry

Word Count (Part 21): 3,035

Word Count (Total): 66,581

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic), war preparations

***

1st May, 1998 (continued)

The house flashes, lights ticking on and off in rapid succession. Harry thought it would be a good idea for me to practise some more while he and the rest of the troops train with standard spells. I had agreed, and while everyone else was too busy firing off hexes to notice me, I had slipped away into the basement kitchen. I’m now standing on the stone floor, alone, and toggling with the lighting. Sometimes I use the electric Muggle lights, sometimes I don’t. It’s more fun when I turn them off and use the tiny amount of natural light somehow making its way into the kitchen.

I do need to use the electric lights too though, so I drop my current spell and turn to face one of the ceiling lights. It immediately starts flickering, my power having grown so much that I barely have to think about it. It’s become so strong so quickly that a part of me is really concerned about it. Harry says not to worry and that it’s just the adrenaline and fear about the oncoming war. I’m still going to talk to Hermione about it after tomorrow is over though. If tomorrow sees an end. I might not make it long enough to ask. I push all of my frustration and worries into the magic, and it pulses from me in waves. It’s almost like I merely woke a dormant part of me when I Rose, instead of creating a totally new ability separate from the rest of magic. I’ll need to conduct some tests on it if I make it out the other side.

The lights spark and flash off, but I push it further. Not only are the lights no longer on, but they are actively absorbing any left over, naturally occuring light. It’s something I’ve discovered I can do within the last hour, but I think it could win the war. That—along with my ability to create reflections. Replicas of people and things. Mainly myself. Hermione took our research and has spent all day piecing it together into something that resembles some sort of report. She thinks that the replica is tied to my magical core somehow, so the sensations I feel when the duplicate is hit are just the connection to my magic supply triggering, and not that I’m actually being affected. I can only hope she’s right about that, because she hasn’t found an answer for what would happen if it dies.

I push harder, and the kitchen is now so dim that I’m struggling to see anything at all. Something sparks, and it illuminates the room so much compared to the darkness that I can see everything for half a second. Then it snaps. There’s bangs and clashes everywhere, and I fall to the ground covering my ears. That can not be a good sign. The bangs get closer, one after another they snap. It sounds like… it sounds like the electricity is slowly turning off all over Grimmauld Place. Have I broken the old house?

“Draco?! Are you okay?”

Harry’s voice echoes down the hall and into the kitchen, filling me with relief. He’s okay.

“I'm good,” I call out in response. “I think I might have broken the house though…”

I can hear Harry’s chuckle along with his footsteps. “You haven’t broken the house! Just the electricity circuit.”

“The what?”

Harry laughs again, and he comes into view with a bobbing lumos. “Electricity runs around the house in a circuit, so everything is connected. If one part of the circuit breaks, the whole thing won’t work.”

My face pales. “So I have broken the house!”

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “We just need to connect the circuit again.” He reaches into his pocket and draws out a second wand. I recognise it as Ron’s.

My eyebrows draw down but I don’t say anything as Harry lifts it above his head. He utters something that I can't hear and then slices the wood through the air. It sings, a lovely note filling the stone room. The house creaks and groans for a second. There’s another set of loud bangs and crashes, and then the lights come on again. My eyes are as wide as saucers.

“How the hell did you just do that?!” I ask.

Harry grins at me as he dims his own wand’s light. “Ron has a ton of spells stored in his wand in case he needs them, and when Hermione taught him about Muggle electricity he added a couple for this exact purpose. I just had to say the incantation and it would work.”

“And it did…”

I pause, lost in thought. Wands are so intriguing. There is so much to them that no one knows about. I never knew they could hold spells like Ron’s does, just waiting for the command to release them. I always thought wands acted on a person’s magic, but this knowledge changes things slightly. Maybe magic is merely a signal, not a source. Maybe that’s why the wand chooses the wizard, and not the other way around…

“Draco?”

I feel a hand cup my cheek and I look up. Harry’s emerald green eyes are right in front of me, and my heart stops for a second. I only speak when it kicks back into rhythm.

“Lost in thought, sorry.”

Harry smiles softly and pulls me in for a kiss. His hand tangles in my hair and I wrap my arms around him tightly. The world could end tomorrow. It’s the only thought rattling around in my mind as we keep kissing. I could go dizzy with this, lose my mind and everything else. Become solely Harry’s, because nothing else in the world is as important as he is. But I can’t. Not yet, not now.

I pull away abruptly, feeling a blush rise up and stain my cheeks. I curse my pale skin, angry at the fact that the pink will be on full display. Harry doesn’t say anything though, instead running his thumb over my lips.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmurs. He moves his hand back to my hair and presses our foreheads together. We stand there for a while, resting against each other and just looking.

***

“Who did you say was coming again?”

Ron and Hermione are sprawled out on top of each other, lying on the leather sofa. They look so comfortable and happy in each other’s embrace, and it makes me want to do the same with Harry. But I can’t, because even the thought of being so blatantly smitten makes me feel sick. I don’t like expressing my emotions publicly, no matter how much other people around me do.

“A lot,” Ron answers. “Most of our year group back at Hogwarts—so Seamus, Dean, Neville, Lavender, the Patil twins, and many more from other houses—the rest of my family, and all of the Order of the Phoenix. They have a large army that’s been training for months for the imminent end, and they are all preparing outside too.”

Hermione nods, her head bumping into Ron’s chest. “There’s quite a few from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw as well, but Slytherin I’m not so sure…”

I nod. “That’s understandable. I mean, most of them would have family on the other side, or are in a similar position to what I was earlier this year. I’m sure some do want what’s right, but they probably can’t cope with being the one to kill their parents or cousins.”

Hermione hums in agreement and Ron slowly nods. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Most people wouldn’t.” It’s true, I think. The majority of people think that everyone in Slytherin is inherently evil, but I believe we were born into a mess that no one else understands. A mess that we can’t fix alone, so we just go ahead with it in order to survive. Almost everything we’ve done has been under duress, and I can only hope that one day, everyone will see that.

“It’s about time too,” Harry chimes in from the armchair opposite mine. “Not everyone in Slytherin is evil. Hell, not everyone evil is in Slytherin! Yet that’s the way people think.” Harry runs his hands through his already messy hair. “I’m sick of that attitude.”

I don’t say anything, letting his words wash over me and the others. Hermione looks thoughtful, swallowing what he’d just said. Ron’s blue eyes cloud over and he looks to be concentrating on something, trying to work something out.

“Is this change in mentality brought on by dating Draco?” He eventually directs at Harry.

He pauses, thinking about his answer. “I think so,” Harry agrees. “I never actually thought they deserved what was being given to them, but I suppose I hadn’t really thought about how deep everything ran.” He smiles at me. “Draco has definitely opened my eyes.”

I swallow and match his smile.

Ron coughs loudly, startling the rest of the room. He holds his hands up in front of him, mock surrendering. “Sorry ‘bout that. A bit of air got caught in my throat.”

Hermione chuckles and presses her lips to Ron’s in a swift kiss. Then she settles back onto his chest. “Try not to dislodge my head again,” she jokes. Ron rolls his eyes but threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her closer.

Harry stands and cracks his neck, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back. “I should probably go get ready.”

“What for? You’ve spent all day setting everything up.” I tilt my head to look at him, trying to see the answer as if it’s written on his skin.

“There’s going to be a meeting assembly thing soon, and I’m giving a speech.”

“Oh. This is the first I’m hearing of it,” I say.

Hermione flushes. “I only suggested it a couple of hours ago while you were training Draco. I honestly didn’t think Harry would actually agree to it.”

“No, I’m amazed I did myself.” Harry chuckles and reaches out a hand to pull me up. I allow him to, locking our hands together as he pulls. Once I’m on my feet I move to leave the drawing room. I will have to make a good impression on the people arriving. We can’t afford to lose fighters just because I’m involved.

***

Night has fallen and the training grounds have once again been readjusted. As well as all of the equipment we set up, there is now a covered stage on which the speech will be said. Hermione is calling everyone in to gather around the base of the platform, and bodies press in close to hear what will be said.

“Come on, this way!” Ron is yelling, gesturing to the stage and sheltered standing area.

People squish in even tighter, and I find myself standing between the old Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor—Lupin, I think his name was—and one of the many Weasley children. I’m not sure which one he is, but he’s built like an ox and is considerably more tanned than the rest of the family. He clearly works outside often.

The standing area is beautifully decorated, with off-white pavement and deep wooden beams. Soft lights run up the beams and hang over the stage, setting a scene of peace and tranquility. It’s almost jarring against the heavy war preparations. It still looks stunning, and when Harry walks up to the stage everything falls into place. The soft orange glow reflects in his black hair, glinting off his glasses. His eyes bounce the light around, igniting the green and making it appear deeper than normal. It sits on his tan skin, the orange drawing out the natural colours of the dark flesh. Smiling, I allow my eyes to rove over his body.

“Get to it!” Someone calls, pumping their fist in the air. It triggers a laugh, and people start jokingly chanting to begin. It’s nice to think about the fact that even with great danger looming over them, that people can still have fun.

Harry smiles out to them and casts a charm on his throat. I recognise it as a Sonorous the second he starts speaking, his voice unnaturally amplified.

“Thank you for gathering here today, and for preparing to fight tomorrow. We’re in challenging times right now, and I’m so grateful for every one of you. This is going to be the last battle—the final fight against Voldemort and all he stands for. We will fight bravely to the best of our abilities, and with the knowledge that what we are fighting for is equality and peace. I can’t sit still and pretend that the world is fine when everyone in it is being threatened, and clearly neither can you. Voldemort won’t ever stop his ruthless pushing; if he’s allowed to continue, there will be chaos.

“There will be casualties tomorrow, I’m not going to stand here and say otherwise. Some of you might not make it out the other end, might not see the world finally put to rights. If it is for this reason that you are no longer willing to fight, no one will judge you for standing down. We can not afford to judge others when our world is being threatened by someone who does just that. By someone who uses ignorance, and the human flaw of dividing people away from each other. For those of you gathered here who want to fight regardless of the consequences and possible outcomes, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me. I am far from the only person who has been thrust into this situation, and I acknowledge the fact that many of you are giving up everything to be here. Thank you, and let’s get back to preparing for tomorrow!”

Everyone cheers at Harry as he steps down from the platform, trying to shake his hand or pull him into a hug. He politely shakes them all off, choosing instead to remove his Sonorous and make his way through the crowd towards me.

“How did I do?” He asks, his face pressing into my neck.

“Okay,” I murmur back. “Pretty brilliant for someone who hates speeches more than anything else.”

Harry laughs gently, his head moving against me. “Thanks Dray. For everything.”

“Thank you too. Without you, I’d still be in the Manor. I’d still be under my father’s rule and I’d be preparing to fight against you and everyone else here. Thank you so much for removing me from that situation.”

Harry pulls back and wraps his hands around my neck. “If anything, I drew you deeper into the war.” His eyes flash with guilt, clearly concerned about what my thoughts are about it.

“You didn’t,” I assure him. “I would be fighting either way. Better to be fighting with someone I love than someone I would prefer to see die.” The words are ripped from my mouth without a second thought, and I fall silent.

“Someone you love?” Harry asks. “Who could that be?” He teases.

“Shut up,” I scold. “Don’t make me say it again.” Heat rises to my cheeks once more, and I wait in agony for him to reply. For him to say anything about the words that fell from my mouth.

“If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t want to be fighting this war without the person I love either.”

Harry beams up at me, and I find myself grinning back. We both admitted it without saying the actual words. “I love you,” I say to him, quietly so only he can hear the confession.

“I love you too,” he murmurs back.

People cheer around us, and for the first time I realise we have a bit of a crowd. My blush returns even stronger, colouring my pale skin all the way down my neck and over my chest. I’m thankful for the darkness, the only thing protecting people from seeing it.

“About bloody time!” One of the Weasleys—the one I was standing next to earlier, I think—calls out. The cheer rises again, and people whoop happily. They’re all Harry’s friends, and they’re all just happy to see him so comfortable. It warms my heart to know that he is surrounded by all of these caring people.

“Shut it Bill!” Harry shouts in return to the Weasley, smile lighting up his face. People laugh again before flooding out of the stage area and going back to training.

After the mother Weasely, who Harry tells me is called Molly, finishes fussing over him and hugging him to her, we manage to get away from the crowd. Harry explains who everyone is to me, pointing out those I would probably recognise and talking about those I don’t. Names swim in my head, not particularly sticking. It doesn’t really matter. Their faces will commit themselves to my memory, and as long as I don’t hurt them tomorrow everything will be fine. Tomorrow. It’s a funny concept. People take for granted that they’ll make it that far. Take it for granted that they will experience the next day, and the one after that. Now that I know I might not, I find the idea… almost foolish. Of course, so is the fact that I’ve become certain I won’t survive. I might; it’s still a possibility.

Swallowing down the thought and bringing myself back to the moment, I squeeze Harry’s arm. He’s wrapped it around my waist in a possessive gesture, declaring to everyone who sees us the nature of our relationship. I expect some curled lips and scrunched up noses, but no one seems to mind a gay couple among their midst. I find my heart warming to them again. I decide it’s best to stop thinking and just to live in the moment, and I touch my lips to the top of Harry’s head. He smiles and returns it.

Grimmauld Place is lit up for the rest of the night as people prepare for war, the soft orange glow of the lights bouncing around the house and training grounds, illuminating the soldiers and the possibility of a better future.

***

A/N: Get ready for war!! I hope you have a lovely and safe week Xx

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Dracon starts fallin in love with Harry

Word Count (Part 20): 2,860

Word Count (Total): 63,535

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic), war preparations

***

1st May, 1998

It’s the first day of May, a Friday. The day before the second of May. The day before the Battle. I shake in my seat, worry overtaking every other thought. The book I was trying to lose myself in sits open, up against my chest—unread. Harry isn’t here; he’s gone to help Ron with preparing the troops. Hermione is out researching something that I don’t have clearance to know about, and I’m all alone in Grimmauld Place except for Mother. It’s terrifying. At the start of the year, I was still being held in the Manor. Still being tortured. Still being manipulated into helping two psychopaths win a war I wanted no part in. I shudder, not even trying to stop it. I’m scared. There’s no denying it. Tomorrow, I will be going into battle. I will be going up against my oppressor and my father. I might even have to be the one to kill them.

Gulping and trying to take deep breaths, I stand up from my armchair. The drawing room is warm and cozy, but it gives me no comfort today. I might be down to my last twenty four hours, and I’m wasting away in an empty house. I want Harry. I need to know that he’s okay. But I can’t. I can’t do anything to disturb him. Not now, not when we’re so close to the final battle. I’ll have to settle for Mother. She’s still in the house somewhere, and she will be able to distract me. Hopefully. It’s quite possible that nothing will help me feel anything other than panic, but it’s worth a try. I’d try anything to feel normal for even an hour.

I all but run from the drawing room, calling out for Mother. There’s no reply. Terror grips my heart like an icy fist. What if something’s happened again? My face pales at the sheer thought, and I rush through spells in my mind. I remember an altered Four-Point Charm, so that instead of pointing north my wand would point to a person or place of my choosing. Whipping my wand out of my sleeve, I whisper the incantation. If someone has broken in, silence is crucial. My wand vibrates in my hand and then twists slightly so the tip is turned down and to my right. The kitchen. Sighing in relief, I make my way down the stairs and into the basement kitchen.

“Draco dear!” Mother cries when she sees me. “How are you darling?”

I smile through my mess of emotions and pull her into a hug. “Not so good, Mother.”

Her face creases, her arms straightening to hold me out from her body. “How come, Draco? Surely you know everything will work out as it should.”

“No, Mother, I don’t. Because there is a very strong chance that I’ll di-” I pause, the words getting stuck in my throat. “That I’ll die, tomorrow.”

Mother shakes her head. “Don’t say that dear! Harry will work it out and he will win.”

I sigh. “I can’t be sure, Mother. Anything could go wrong, and Lucius and his Lord could win.”

Mother exhales through her nose before pulling me back to her. “I know,” she murmurs into my hairline. “I know that. I just- I don’t waynt to think about it until I have to.”

“You mean until it’s too late? You won’t be able to think about it if you’re dead.”

“Draco! Don’t speak like that!”

I worm myself out of her embrace. “I have to. If I think about it now, it won’t seem as bad if it comes true.”

Mother just stares at me, like I’m something from another dimension.

“What’s going on here?” Harry’s voice fills the room, echoing off the stone walls. Mother takes a step backwards, putting more distance between us.

“Just talking about trivial things. Nonsense, you know?” I don’t think Harry buys my excuse, but he walks up to me and slings his arms around my waist and buries his head in my hair.

“You know,” he says after a moment of intense silence. “I’ve been thinking about you, Narcissa.”

“Oh?” She raises an immaculate eyebrow into a neat arch. I wonder if Harry now knows where I learnt how to do it.

“Yes,” he hums into my head. He pulls away after planting a kiss there, keeping his arms around my waist but loosening his grip a bit. I miss the warm tightness. “I’m going to take you somewhere.”

Mother tilts her head to the side, trying to work out what Harry’s saying. “And where would that place be?”

Harry blanches. “I’m afraid I can’t say.”

“Then why would I go with you?”

“It’s for your protection.” Harry trails his hands from my stomach around to my back and removes them. I unconsciously shift backwards to be back in his embrace, but he nudges me forward. “All I can say is that it’s a safe house under many enchantments and wards. You would be absolutely safe there.”

“What if someone were to find it? Would I be at risk then?” Mother is still trying to work as much information from Harry as possible.

Harry sighs, knowing this game all too well. “It is possible, but trust me when I say that it is crawling with wards and that you can’t be tracked to it.”

“It’s under a Fidelius Charm, isn’t it?”

Harry scrubs a hand over his face. “Yes, it is.”

“And you’re Secret Keeper.”

It’s not a question. Harry nods.

“Very well, then. Just let me pack a bag.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, instead turning away and leaving the kitchen.

“That went well,” I say sarcastically as I turn to face Harry.

He shrugs. “It didn’t go badly. She’s still going to the safe house.”

“Where is the safe house?” I ask.

“I’m afraid I can’t say. The less people who know it’s location, the better.” His eyes look haunted, like he’s lost in memories or thoughts.

I swallow. “Probably a good idea.”

Harry nods absently before pulling me in to him. He wraps his arms strongly around my shoulders, not wanting to let go. He murmurs something into my hair again, but this time I don’t hear what it is. I don’t reply, just worm myself deeper into his embrace.

***

“So this is the place?”

Harry nods, answering Mother’s question—which was asked the second after landing from the Apparition—while simultaneously gesturing to an empty space between the trees. The safe house is in the middle of a forest, hidden deep inside. Apparently, it’s right ahead of us, but I can’t see anything at all in the clearing. The forest is dark and gloomy, but somehow still very beautiful. The air is crisp and clean, unpolluted from magic and Muggle gases as it is.

“I can’t see it,” I tell Harry as I walk up to his side.

He grins in return, seemingly delighted by my confusion. “That’s because it’s hidden, remember? It’s under a Fidelius Charm, so unless I explicitly tell you the address or show you, you can’t see it.” His emerald eyes light up in excitement, but beyond the surface there seems to be something else there. Something darker.

Mother pushes forward in front of us, walking steadily into the clearing. She pauses, before continuing all the way through the middle. When she hits the tree line, she turns around with her hands on her hips and addresses Harry.

“And you’re positive there’s a house here?”

Harry smirks. It looks very good on him. “One hundred percent sure.”

He gestures for Mother to come back, and she paces through the clearing again. Harry reaches a hand out for her’s, and she takes it after only a second’s hesitation. Instead of asking for mine, he simply wraps an arm around the front of my shoulders and holds me to his chest. He’s warm and comfortable, solid against my back.

“If I walk you across the edge of the charm, the house will come into view.” Harry squeezes me before releasing my shoulders. He grabs for my hand, and I clasp his fingers strongly. He takes a step forward, Mother and I following him.

His grip tightens around my hand, and he pulls me closer. I’m nearly pressed against his back, and my thoughts go blank for a second. We take another step forward, and the feel of complex magic whooshes over me. A house immediately comes into view, almost like turning a corner and having it appear all at once. It’s a little cottage, covered in ivy and built from wood. It could almost be called a cabin, but it isn’t made from logs, just sheets of wood. Mother gasps, eyes running over the cottage.

“That’s amazing…” She sounds stunned, like she’s never seen magic this strong. It’s probably true.

Harry rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed at the proclamation. “It’s all yours until the war is over.”

Mother chews the inside of her cheek. “What if someone somehow finds it and gets through? Should I set up other wards?”

“No need,” Harry reassures. “It’s absolutely coated in them already. Nothing will get through, it’s basically impenetrable.”

Mother nods. “Okay then.” She makes no move to walk any closer though, choosing to run her eyes over it and its surroundings. The forest is really quite pretty.

“Come on then.” Harry tugs at my arm and I fall into step next to him. Mother walks ahead of us, pacing up to the front door.

When Harry and I cross the landing, Mother makes to turn the handle. Harry blanches and rushes to stop her. Sheepish, he places his hand flat against the wood of the door. The outline of his skin starts glowing, and his hand sinks into the wood. There’s an audible click, and the door falls open. My mouth gapes open, and I force it shut. It’s very un-Malfoyish to stand with your mouth hanging open. Without another word, Harry gestures for Mother to enter. He pulls me along after him, and I give in to the random temptation to kiss the back of his neck. Harry’s breath catches in his throat, and I grin against his skin.

“If I leave the cottage, would I be able to get in again without your hand?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, and I don’t suggest you try it.”

Mother nods and looks around the building.

The cottage is quite small overall, but Mother shouldn’t need it for too long. That is, not if we win. If we lose… well that isn’t worth thinking about. The first room is a quaint living area. It’s in all neutral colours, with greys and soft browns. Mother looks thoughtful, and I know she’s going to try to change the colours of everything. Harry does too, but aside from the slight tick in his neck, he doesn’t show any sign of annoyance. It is a safe house after all, not a holiday house.

The rest of the cottage is similar, nothing special but very safe. It is filled with little traps and tricks, and Harry explains all of them and then writes down a list to give to Mother. Time passes quickly, and now I have to say goodbye to her. I might not ever see her again. I could die tomorrow. There’s so much I could tell her about, but I don’t. I just pull her into an embrace and tell her I love her. There’s no use spilling my guts to her when she could be dead tomorrow too. Feeling melancholy all over again, Harry and I leave the cottage. Harry predicts my falling apart accurately, and as soon as the door is closed he scoops me up. He whispers nonsense into my ear, and I push my face into the curve of his neck. My eyes close with the squeeze of Apparition.

***

“It’s kind of ironic, putting your mother into a safe house like this.”

“What do you mean?” I ask Harry as we set up the training grounds.

Harry sighs. “In the First War with Voldemort, my mother and father were put into a safe house, under the same charm too. They were only discovered since one of their friends betrayed them and sold them out to him. That’s why no one but me is the Secret Keeper, and why the door can only be opened by my hand.”

I pause. “That’s awful Harry.” To think his parents were given away like that…

Harry nods his head, hair falling into his eyes. “Yeah. In Third Year, when Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban and came looking for me, that’s when I learned the truth. Everyone thought Sirius had sold them out, but really it was Peter Pettigrew.” Harry sighs. “He was hiding as Ron’s rat.”

I feel my eyes widen. “That’s why I never saw it again!”

Harry’s eyebrows raise. “You knew about Ron’s rat?”

I blush, feeling my skin heat. “Well, with all the attention I paid you to torment you and them, I noticed quite a bit.” I feel bad. Like I’ve awoken a memory we haven’t really talked about. Sure, we know there’s history between us. But I bullied him and his friends for six years. I look out across the extended lawn, thinking about how it will look when we’ve finished setting up the equipment, and trying to force that train of thought out of my mind.

Harry’s hand moves to rest on my shoulder, fingers rubbing circles into my skin gently. “I probably paid more attention to you though. Besides, you’ve really changed since then. This time last year you were caught in a trap with no way out, and the year before you were just a git. You may have been nasty and arrogant for a while, but it wasn’t you. It was a shield.”

Tears swim to the surface of my eyes, and I blink to dispel them. “How is it you can read me so well? I didn’t say a word about that.”

“No,” Harry agrees. “But your eyes change colour slightly, and just then they were darker than usual, cloudier. That only happens when you’re deep in negative thoughts.”

Without another word, Harry squeezes my shoulder and gets back to work. Grimmauld Place is going to be used as a training ground tonight. Hundreds of people willing to fight will crowd in, and prepare for the battle tomorrow morning. Once dawn sets in, everyone will be given potions and charms for pain or tiredness, and then we’ll set off for the Ministry. To our likely deaths. Swallowing, I turn and lose myself in assembling equipment. That’s the worst part about this, really. Boxes and boxes of random training gear that all need to be put together. Harry knows how to do this better than I do, but it will still take us hours to set it all up. Groaning to myself, I plant a kiss on Harry’s lips and bend forward to begin unpacking again.

After hours have passed and sweat has soaked through my shirt, the extended grass is finally covered in equipment. Harry looks around grinning, excited to have helped in some way. He turns and finds me watching him, and walks over. Without a word, he wraps me in a hug and pulls me close. He presses his lips to my forehead, and I tilt my head to bring our lips together. Harry all but groans, tightening his hold around my neck. I bring my hands down around his waist, leaning down so our height difference isn’t as great. The kiss turns needy, desperate. He winds his fingers into my hair, and I clutch at his shirt. Our tongues slide against each other, and Harry draws mine into his mouth so he can suck on it. Moaning, I give myself over to his mouth.

It’s nice, indulging in this when we probably won’t make it out tomorrow. There shouldn’t be any room for regrets, for worries or fears. The world as we know it will end tomorrow, regardless of who wins. Everything will change. Even so, I don’t want to go any further just yet. I don’t pull away though, instead choosing to slowly bring the kiss away from a heavy snog and back to light kisses. Harry loosens his grip slightly, but his hands stay in my hair. Eventually, he gasps into my mouth and pulls away.

“That was amazing,” he grunts.

“Yeah.”

Silence fills the small gap between us as we stare at each other. Harry’s eyes are blown wide with lust, and my heart beats faster knowing it’s for me.

“Sorry,” I say. “That I don’t want to go any further right now.”

Harry instantly snaps to attention. “That is perfectly fine Draco. Relationships don’t have to be sex driven to still be nice.”

“But are you really okay with that?”

“Of course I am! We aren’t even eighteen yet Dray, there’s still plenty of time.”

I don’t say anything, and his face falls. We’re both thinking the same thing. We might not have any time left at all.

***

A/N: I can’t believe this fic has made it to 20 chapters. It’s wild to me. It also the same word count now as Conflicted (my first ever fanfic), and it’s not even finished yet. Wow. Sorry this chapter is kinda short, I just have a great plan for the next one and I can’t start it in this chapter. Anyway, have a good week! Xx

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

This story is following a prompt set out by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry

Word Count (Part 22): 3,056

Word Count (Total): 69,636

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic), war preparations, beginning of war

***

2nd May, 1998

A hand on my shoulder shakes me awake, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I’m rolled over and shaken again, but I’m already alert. It’s Harry, crumpled with sleep and an expression he’s hidden away on his face. I smile up at him and pull him down for a kiss. We could die today, and I want to make the most of the time we have left.

Harry smiles softly as we kiss, gentle caresses with our lips. He pulls away, his smile fading.

“I’m sorry Dray, but I’m not in the mood.”

I nod. “Fair enough,” I say as I sit up. My head spins and my back cracks. I stretch, my arms lifting above my head. I roll my shoulders, the muscles stretching and burning as I move. It’s too bloody early. All I want to do is flop back over and bury my face into the pillow.

“What’s the time?” I grumble as I stretch.

Harry does a weird half-laugh-half-depressed-breath next to me, and doesn’t even pause to check. “5:31am, the crack of dawn.”

“Great,” I mutter as I stifle a yawn.

Now Harry does actually laugh at me. I want to be offended, but I’m just so happy to see him laughing that I let it slide.

“Here, take this.” A bottle filled with green liquid is pressed into my hand, the glass cold against my skin.

“What’s in it?” I ask.

Harry doesn’t reply, just raises an eyebrow and gestures for me to drink it. Trusting that he won’t poison me, I take the rubber stopper out and knock the liquid down. It tastes fine, nothing noteworthy. Nothing changes either. Until I feel my exhaustion lifting from me, like it’s being pried off my very bones.

“Wideye potion,” I say, suddenly wide awake with not a hint of exhaustion left over.

“Yep,” Harry confirms. “I’ve already taken one, but none of the others will have. Come on.”

Oh yeah, the others. Somehow, I managed to forget that there was a whole army worth of wizards and witches asleep in our house. Our house? Where did that come from?

I rush through getting dressed, putting on the clothes laid out for me at the end of our bed. Hermione must have chosen them, as they’re breathable, light, flexible, and most of all, fit me. They’re made of an especially stretchy faux leather, that’s been charmed to act like muggle gym clothes. The shorts extend to my mid thigh, and the shirt covers down to my elbow. I’ll have to spell shields around the rest of my limbs to protect them from enemy fire.

Harry tugs me out of the room the second I’m clothed, closing the door behind us and not looking back. It’s strange. I assumed that he would want a bit of time to look around. To remember everything that’s happened here, to take time to say goodbye. Chances are we won’t come back here after today. I thought he would have wanted to grieve his godfather’s house, but apparently not.

Voices clamour as we descend to the ground floor, people shouting to each other about trivial things to distract themselves. As we turn to the back door, I take in the masses of witches and wizards lounging around. Some talk with others nearby, some lay on the ground in pretence of sleep. All of them are tired, muscles aching and staring at Harry and I like we’re important. I guess we are; or we will be.

“Start passing these around,” Harry murmurs to me. He blinks and a tray of bottles appears next to me, floating. I want to say something about the display of magic, but his look cuts me off. I lick my lips anxiously and peck a kiss to his mouth. People coo at us but I ignore them and pick the tray out of the air.

“I’ll see you before we leave,” I promise him. Harry nods, all business now.

I weave through the crowd, thinking I might as well start at the back and work my way forward. The people sprawl out for ages, and by the time I’ve walked past everyone and spun around, I can barely see Harry anymore. If I squint, I can make out his shape talking with Hermione and Ron, but I shake my head. I have to work now.

The people around me jump to their feet and run to me, practically begging for this potion that will wake them up. I don’t bother to say that the fact they’re running already demonstrates some level of wakefulness, just hand out glass bottles. They nod and smile at me in thanks, and each grateful person fills a hole in my heart. I am well and truly on the right side now, my past forgiven by each of the people to wordlessly thank me. I can see it in their eyes that it’s more than thanks for the potion.

I smile as I pass out the bottles, enjoying the rhythm of the motions. It’s easy and repetitive, but doesn’t allow me much time to think as people keep asking me questions—most of which I can’t answer. Occasionally, someone will ask me something about Harry and I. I always blush no matter the question, and try to give them an answer. I don’t take offence, don’t think too much about it. These people want a distraction, and if I can give them one that also happens to be about the Boy Who Lived, who’s going to blame me?

As I walk back to the patio to refill my tray a few minutes later, Ron approaches me.

He looks at me curiously, raises a hand as I open my mouth to speak. I close it again, sensing that he wants to say something important. That he needs time to think of how to word it. He takes a deep breath, and starts.

“I haven’t mentioned this before because I didn’t think it was necessary, but since we could die today, I wanted to tell you that I’m cool with it. Cool that you’re with Harry, that you’re a Risen Angel, all of it. Just wanted to make sure you knew,” he finishes with an awkward cough and waits for my reaction.

My heart swells with happiness, a smile breaking onto my face. “Thanks Ron,” I say. “It wasn’t necessary, but I’m glad you told me.” It makes such a big difference, even if I’d never thought he didn’t accept me before this.

“Good, mate,” Ron replies. His face flushes red and he turns around. I follow his gaze to find him looking at Hermione.

“Go,” I nudge him in her direction.

Ron flicks a glance at me over his shoulder, before practically running to her. I watch as he sweeps her into a kiss, one she easily returns. I smile, happy to know that they’re still going strong, even in the face of war.

I refill my tray and continue handing out the potions. People knock them back quickly, draining them. It’s entertaining watching as their faces gain colour again, as their eyes shake off sleep. I walk through the crowd, and each step I take fills me with a sense of purpose.

“Everyone, organise yourselves into your ranks! We will be leaving shortly!” Harry’s amplified voice rings out over the crowd, and everyone stares for a second. Then they start moving all at once. People gather their belongings and cross the ground, arranging themselves into an order I don’t understand. Realising that I have to move at some point as well, I charm the tray to float above my head and make my way over to Harry.

He’s sweaty already, face red and breathing heavily. When I lift an eyebrow, he nods to the stacks of random objects and crates. Portkeys. I smile at him, a soft, private smile to tell him I’m grateful.

I move closer and bend down so I can murmur to him. “I don’t know where to go,” I confess. “I haven’t been told what rank or whatever I’m in.”

Harry bites back a chuckle. “We’re in the front together, just stay close to me and that’s all you need to know.”

I nod at him and take his hand. He grins, kisses me quickly, and then tugs me out onto the grass.

Harry leads me all the way to the front line, and if that isn’t fitting for our relationship as a whole, I don’t know what else could be. Harry pulled me from the back of a war I wasn’t remotely interested in, and lead me all the way to his side. To becoming powerful and strong; to war. I swallow the thought and allow him to guide me.

The few things I have on me should be enough, but I check them all over anyway. There’s little I can’t do with my wand, so the only other things I have are spare wands, bandages in case I lose those wands, and a muggle dagger. I doubt I’ll use any of them, but I was told to take them anyway. I don’t think about where the spare wands came from. With one last look at Harry, I nod. I’m ready.

Arthur Weasley is walking around, random objects floating along behind him. As he works his way across the ranks, he sends them flying towards people in the crowd. He walks closer still, and I watch as groups form around the objects. Portkeys. A tiny vase slaps into my hand, and people rush to hold onto it. Harry’s hand is right next to mine, tan skin against white.

“How did they get so many?” I whisper to Harry.

“Ron persuaded Arthur to take them from the Ministry. Ron then charmed them all himself.” Harry looks extremely proud of his friend.

I nod in understanding. That makes the risk a lot higher—there’s no way the Ministry hasn’t noticed their Portkeys have mysteriously vanished.

“Get down!” Hermione’s voice rings sharply over the crowd, and the assembled soldiers immediately fall to the ground. I linger, not knowing what’s happening. Harry grabs my hand and tugs me down, and I land on top of him in the grass.

“What’s going on?” I ask as everyone around us starts putting up shields.

“It’s an army cry. Someone is armed.”

“We’re all armed!”

“No,” Harry says, no humour in his voice now, “someone outside is.”

“Someone’s outside?”

“Clearly.” Harry’s jaw is firm, teeth gritted. He is the picture of bravery; fake bravery.

I swallow. If Harry is scared, it can’t be good.

I look up, keeping my head down and trying not to attract any attention. I can’t afford to be singled out and killed before we’ve even left. My eyes rove over the crowd, looking for Hermione. I find her standing in the doorway to the house, head covered with her arms and a blue shield wrapped around her. She stands straight, trying to appear strong. She’s terrified though. Shields aren’t meant to be blue, they’re meant to be transparent.

The force of a spell hitting the wards knocks me back to the ground. I land with a thud on top of Harry, who instantly pulls me down again. A streak of red explodes through the air, colliding with the shields over the property. They shouldn’t be able to see the house, so I have no idea how they’re aiming at it. Harry’s wards seem to be holding though. This house has survived a war with Voldemort already, surely it can do so again.

An orange ball slams into the wards, but the shield doesn’t even shake under the force. An idea forms in my mind, and I smile slowly. With a wink at Harry, the sky darkens overhead. The house and property fall into darkness, the sky becoming black. Voices murmur around us, then rise into shouts. The spells have stopped after less than a minute, but no one knows how. I do though. With the sky dark over a non-existent house, the Death Eaters are terrified.

“How did they find Grimmauld?” I say at a normal volume to Harry. Nobody is able to hear over the cacophony of voices anyway.

“I don’t know,” he replies grimly.

“What if they placed a spell on Narcissa when she was taken to the Ministry, and they tracked her back here?”

I turn to find Hermione approaching us, standing normally now that the fear of wards collapsing has disappeared.

“That’s plausible, but the wards should have stopped any tracking spells.” Harry chews the inside of his cheek and tips his head to the side.

“There’s no other explanation,” I say. “It’s either that, or we haven’t been safe the entire time.”

Harry frowns. “Let’s go with Hermione’s idea then.”

“It won’t matter anyway,” Hermione speaks up. “What’s the chance that we’ll come back here after today?”

“Not high,” Ron’s voice joins in. “Sorry mate, but either the house will turn to rubble, or we’ll be dead.”

Harry looks like he could break down at that thought, spoken so plainly, and I wrap my arm around his waist.

A loud, high pitched sound reverberates around the crowd, and everyone stops talking to cover their ears.

“Thank you,” someone says over the noise. It rings out, and shuts off. I turn to look at the voice, and see that it belongs to Kingsley Shacklebolt. “Now that we appear to be protected, it’s time to leave. Your Portkeys will begin to activate within the next two minutes. There are no spares. Make sure everyone is holding on tight, we don’t know what we will see when we get there.”

I swallow hard. We have no idea what we’re teleporting into. It could be a trap, it could be a battlefield. I shake my head and turn back to the group. The vase is cold under my fingers, and I extend it out for the others to take again. Their hands all join mine on the vase, and we stand there waiting. I watch as the people around us move and get into place. So many wizards, so many witches. So many people that might never make it out of the Ministry.

The vase shakes under my hand, and then I’m being squeezed into nothing.

***

The Ministry is devoid of life, silent, their reflections the only ones on black glass. It’s odd. Normally the Atrium would be bustling on a Saturday morning, all the weekend workers eager to get started for the day. There isn’t anyone here though, and that doesn’t sit right with me. It’s too simple. Way too easy.

A flash of white light shoots across the wide corridor, slamming into black marble walls. Outraged cries rise up from our army, and I realise that we’re all still in our ranks and groups. The Portkeys were charmed exceptionally well, and I’m… proud of Ron.

“I saw someone move at the other end of the Atrium,” a wizard with long brown hair tied into a ponytail declares. “It’s no problem though, whoever I saw will be dead now.”

Shouts of fury fill the Atrium.

“Why would you kill when you don’t know who it is?!”

“What spell did you use?!”

“Where was the green light?”

“Why would you encourage the battle to start early?”

Everyone tries to talk over each other, all chastising the wizard and questioning his judgement.

“It’s a spell of my own,” the wizard says. “Not recognisable as the Killing Curse without green light, but essentially the same spell.”

Hermione scoffs from behind me, and I whirl to face her. I had no idea she was so close to me. I feel a slight bit safer with her at my back, knowing how capable she is with a wand.

“We don’t have the time to discuss this,” Lupin says. His voice is amplified to fill the room, the outcome of a very strong Sonorous charm. “We need to keep moving,” he announces before disabling the spell. There’s no room for argument, and the army starts moving towards the elevators.

The lifts aren’t that large, and there aren’t that many of them. It’s a problem normally, with so many workers trying to move about. It’s even worse with hundreds of people trying to get to the same floor at the same time. It would have made more sense to get a Portkey straight to the Department of Mysteries, but the wards prevent any form of magical transportation. The elevators will have to do.

The front line files into the first three lifts, the second line following. Lupin is in the same elevator as me, his face set and jaw clenched. His eyes look far away, as if he’s remembering something else. Something dark. I watch as he shakes his head and leans out the elevator to talk to Kingsley. They agree on something, and then the doors are sliding closed. Harry is opposite me, somehow in the same lift despite the chaos. I smile at him, and he returns it. He reaches a hand out to me, and I take it. It’s warm, full of life. It might not be by the time this ends. We stare at each other for a while, before the elevator’s voice announces the 9th Floor.

We walk out of the lift, standing ready for attack in the corridor. My wand firm in my hand, gripped hard. The incantation for the exploding charm on my tongue, I watch as Ron steps forward. He looks over his shoulder at us, eyes searching someone out in the crowd. He seems to find them, nods, and then turns to face the only door on this floor. Ron leans in close, his wand held up to the lock. Everyone holds their breath as he murmurs a password, moving his wand in a complicated manner. Arthur must have given him the password. I look around and find the man standing in the crowd towards the back, smiling and looking incredibly proud. I’d say I’m right.

The door clicks open. Ron puts a shield charm up immediately, acting as a buffer between the department and the rest of the army.

“Harry Potter…” A voice hisses from inside. “Why are you there? When you could be here, by my side?”

***

A/N: Aaah I’m so sorry for the wait! I got caught up with another fic for a fest (all done now, no I can’t say anything about it), and just didn’t have the time. Also note that I’m going into an exam period, so I can’t promise I’ll get another chapter next week either. But I’ll never drop this fic (especially not so close to the end!) so don’t worry about that. Have a lovely week Xx

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

Conflicted;

Only on AO3 here

Don’t Turn Your Back;

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

Cafés and Mistletoe [Linny];

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

Leather (And Skirts);

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

Fallen Draco;

On AO3 here

On Tumblr: Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty One, Twenty Two, Twenty Three (coming)

Desperation;

Only on AO3 here

Dared to Say;

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

Announcements & Bets;

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

Love is Healing;

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

Emotion Collection;

On AO3 here

regret: On Tumblr here | anger: On Tumblr here | shame: On Tumblr here | despair (halfway there): On Tumblr here | acceptance: On Tumblr here | ambivalence: On Tumblr here | contentment: On Tumblr here

A Fault In The Weather;

Only on AO3 here

Vanished;

Only on AO3 here

He’s Mean And He’s Mine:

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

Perfect Horoscopes:

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

You’ll Never Know (Until You Try It):

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

Message In A Bottle (Is All I Can Do):

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

A Little Piece Of Him (Is In A Little Piece Of Me) [Destiel]:

Only on AO3 here

Pull Me From Hell (Bring Me Back Again) [Destiel]:

Only on AO3 here

25 Days of Drarry Collection 2021:

Only on AO3 here

Not Just Quidditch:

On AO3 here | On Tumblr here

i’d meet you where the spirit meets the bones:

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry

Word Count (Part 19): 3,130

Word Count (Total): 60,666

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic)

***

29th April, 1998 (continued)

The second Harry claps twice, the game commences. Light is immediately extinguished, and everyone runs off in the dark. I look around, squinting and willing my eyes to adjust to the lack of light as quickly as possible. The point of the game may be to test my skills, but I would also like to get used to being in darkness. I turn around, lazily walking in circles and keeping my ears peeled. A scuffle off to the left of me alerts me to another person close by. Determined, I dim the lights even further and creep off away from them. The person turns out to be Ron, his disgruntled slurs very distinct.

I force myself not to chuckle at how easy it was. It won’t be that easy soon. Grim, I decide to play it safe. Focus on not being caught, instead of on showcasing my new abilities. A footstep sounds to my right and, without thinking, I turn the lighting up. I am instantly blinded, and only then remember my focus. Oh well. It works, everyone in the room yelping, alerting me to where everyone is. Keeping my ears peeled, I continue to tamper with the lighting, dodging people and just being a general nuisance to these people who are trying to help me. I feel kind of bad, blinding them on repeat and then plunging them into darkness in the space of a second. A good friend wouldn’t do that. Then again, the people I face in the actual battle won’t be good friends, will they?

A shoe scuffs loudly right behind me. I don’t have time to do anything drastic, and my heart thunders in my chest. It sounds once again, slightly closer than before. Hands shaking, I jump to my right and make sure to land quietly. The next second, Harry’s voice cries out as he hits the floor. A sting of guilt shoots through me, but I push it aside. I wouldn’t deliberately hurt him, and he’s the one who tried to jump at me. Shaking my head and working for my heart to unclench, I prowl around the room. My footsteps are silent in the dark room, and I decide that I need to try one of the new challenges. Which one though?

There could be many benefits of wrapping darkness around myself and becoming invisible. It’s tempting—the sheer capability if I can pull that off is insane—but the room is pitch black. I’m practically invisible already! That leaves bending light to hide myself behind reflections. I can only imagine how taxing that will be on both my physical and magical energy, but I have to try. Harry will annoyed if I don’t; this whole game—hell, the whole day!—has been for my sake. To train me up so I can be useful in the battle. I can’t let this opportunity slide.

I think for a moment, allowing my mind to sink into memory. The books have been quite useful in the past, but I don’t remember anything about creating light mirrors. Sighing, I think back to the things Hermione and Harry might have said. Neither of them seem to know what to do either, my mind coming up blank. I’m alone in figuring this out. Maybe, instead of clenching and unclenching my fists, I could flatten them out? No, that’s too close to unclenched hands, like I’d do to brighten the room. I hum in annoyance. The next second I am being lunged at again, and I hurriedly dodge left. Ron exclaims loudly as he hits the ground. I scold myself in my mind. This is supposed to be a silent game. Shaking my head, I delve into my mind again.

What if I pictured a mirror in my mind? Or is that too close to imagining the sun? I groan silently, clenching my jaw tight. Maybe I could… I have no idea. There isn’t anything I can think of which I could use to channel the light properly. Someone utters something about bruising to the right of me. I don’t think they know I’m here. Smirking, I up the light so quickly it’s like the sun has been turned on. Everyone shouts and covers their eyes, and I realise that it was Hermione who was next to me. I darken the room again and creep into one of the far corners.

There must be something I can do. Harry wouldn’t have suggested it if he wasn’t certain I could find a way to do it. Throwing caution to the wind, I adjust the light so I can see a bit better. As everyone around the room starts to focus in on me, a memory strikes and an idea comes to mind. Smirking to myself and waving cheekily at the others, I turn my back on them and look over my shoulder. What Harry might have called a reflection, is in reality light being bent and stretched in a complete circle. This is easier to create than going invisible. In order to eliminate myself from view, I would have to bend light around myself and remove any naturally reflecting light. To mirror myself or anything else, I only have to hide myself and then amplify the reflected light.

Since the light is bending around a circle, it might make sense to face one way but look in the opposite direction, over my shoulder. It’s almost like I’m moulding myself into a circle. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. My eyes dart between the three people, each coming steadily closer. They’re suspicious, each and every one of them. They think I’m going to blind them, or literally remove the light from their eyes. Instead, I concentrate on morphing my body. I suppress a shudder; imagining myself contorted and blurred in space is not a pleasant thought. A gasp sounds out from somewhere in the room, and I wonder for a second if it’s worked. When my eyes dart around myself, I see a second me—an exact replica of what I look like right now—behind my body.

I snap my head back so I’m looking at the corner I’m standing in again, and then slowly turn around. My reflection does the same thing, and I’m left staring at the back of my own head. It’s not quite a reflection—as those normally face you—and is more like a duplicate of me a few metres in front. It doesn’t seem to change its position in regards to where I’m facing, always to the north of where I’m standing. As long as no one figures that out, they won’t know which is real and which is literally just a trick of the light.

“Draco,” Hermione breathes, “you did it.” Her voice is so quiet, like she’s scared it will shatter the illusion.

Ron has no such concerns, and lets out a wild whoop. “That’s wicked cool mate!”

Harry approaches slowly, his figure visible in the less-dim-than-normal light. “Dray,” he murmurs, walking towards the fake me. “This is amazing.” His face is taken over with pride and wonder, and he stops just short of the illusion. “Which one is real?”

I lift a hand and wave, my reflection doing the same. “Me, of course,” I say. My duplicate speaks at exactly the same time, no trace of an echo to give it away.

Harry shakes his head. “That doesn’t help.” A grin splits his face, and he backs away. “I guess that’s the point though, isn’t it?”

I nod my head at him, delighted at the prospect of the game continuing.

Without any warning, I lunge forward into the group and drop the light all the way down. It’s so dark I can’t see anything at all, not even the fake me. The other three gasp and shriek, and run after my duplicate. They don’t know they have the wrong one yet. Wouldn’t it be fun to mess with them a bit… Allowing a sly smile to cross my mouth, I wave my arms around wildly. Distantly, I feel my arm collide with something. The sensation is odd, not entirely present in a way. My duplicate must have hit someone. That’s interesting. That means that my magic has made it somewhat solid, instead of letting things fall right through the bent light. If the fake me is fatally hit, does the illusion disappear? I’ll need to ask Harry, and possibly do some more research.

Satisfied with my progress for now, I pull the light back and flatten it out again. My reflection wobbles and then curves, morphing around the empty space and flying back to me. Ron curses when he realises they were at the wrong one, and instantly jumps closer to me. I ram the light up and blind him momentarily again, only slightly apologetic for the trauma I’ve put his eyes under today. He drops to the floor and Hermione runs over to him. A second later she stands back up and laughs loudly, before running to where I am. I plunge the room back into darkness and sprint off, not really trying to avoid stepping on people’s toes.

***

“Time out!” Harry’s voice fills the room an hour later, and I turn the lights up so everyone can see normally.

“About bloody time,” Ron grumbles, stepping forward from the back corner where I created my duplicate. Maybe he was hoping I’d move back over there…

“That was brilliant, Draco!” Hermione smiles, nudging Ron as she passes and murmuring something that sounds like ‘be nice, your eyes can be healed’.

I blush slightly, pleased at the compliment from Hermione but embarrassed at the attention.

“Draco,” Harry says from the front, gathering our attention once again. “That was really good!” He leaves time for the other two to cheer and whoop, and I feel my blush deepening. “However,” his voice cuts through the room, “you have raised a lot of questions that I would like to have an answer for before Saturday.”

I nod, having expected the answer. “Yeah, the reflection is rather curious. It doesn’t seem to follow normal rules of magic or physics, and I have a couple of very particular questions.”

“Yes, I thought you might. It looks like we have a ton of research we need to get done, doesn’t it?” Harry pulls a face.

I chuckle at him. “Yes, it seems like we might.”

Harry pauses for a second, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. I only just withhold myself from teasing him about not straining himself. “You didn’t try to go invisible,” he eventually says.

I shake my head. “No, I didn’t want to try two new things at once,” I explain. “I also remembered something I overheard from some of the younger students back at Hogwarts, about going blind because light can’t hit the retina.”

Hermione looks amazed. “You know Muggle science?”

I glower at her. “I may have been raised by a psychotic father who wants to help a void of a man commit genocide, but yes I know Muggle science.” I pause, wanting to add something to soften my tone. “Also, it helped keep me occupied while I was trapped in my room.” I especially enjoyed the psychology books, but I don’t see the need to mention that.

She accepts my answer—and my harsh tone—with a simple, somewhat sympathetic, nod.

Harry draws our attention back to him, and when I glance in his direction he looks like he has a plan. A very detailed plan, I amend, now that I’ve noticed the glint in his green eyes.

“Let’s divide the research between the four of us,” he starts. “Draco, you should write down everything you’ve noticed about your abilities and any questions you have. Hermione, you and I will look through as many books as possible trying to gather information. Ron, could you sort the books into piles so that we have some idea of what to look for in each?”

Ron pumps a fist in silent applause. “If that means I don’t have to read a bunch of shit I don’t understand, then yes!”

Harry chuckles. “That is exactly what that means, yes.”

“Where are your books?” Hermione asks. I’m sure she knows exactly where they are, and by Harry’s smirk he thinks so too, but he points downwards to the drawing room anyway.

“They’re all piled down there from the last time we crashed it to do research,” Harry explains.

With a nod and a surprisingly energetic nod, Hermione bounds out of the room and down the stairs.

“How does she have so much energy?” Ron groans. I look at him, and for the first time I notice the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and neck. When I flick my attention to Harry, I see him flushed and sweaty too, his normal mop of hair somehow worse than normal.

“I don’t know,” Harry pants, shaking his head.

Harry walks over to the door and opens it, holding it out for both Ron and I to cross through before following us out. Harry’s hand finds it’s resting place on my lower back once again, and he presses into me to direct me back down the stairs and into the drawing room. A month ago I would have kicked him and tried to get away; it’s amazing how quickly things can change.

Ron calls out in what can only be described as frustration as he enters the room. He’s seen the books. Okay. Maybe Harry and I have gone a bit overboard with research, and maybe we have the equivalent of a small library strewn around, but it isn’t quite worth screaming over. Certainly, the piles of books on every surface are a bit daunting, but he isn’t going to be opening any of them past the index! A rush of guilt for Hermione and Harry jolts through me, but I push it down. I’ll help them after I tell them what my thoughts are, and it’s not like any of them actually complained. Hell, Hermione practically ran down to get started.

Wordlessly, Harry gestures for me to start writing everything I’ve noticed and every question I have down, and I pick up a notebook and Muggle pen off the bookshelf. Settling in on one of the arm chairs, I begin to note down anything that could prove useful. The Muggle science stuff is first, and my knowledge about bending and morphing light takes up most of the first page. Then come my observations. The fact that my duplicate is always to the north of me regardless of where I’m facing; the tiny reaction my own body had when the duplicate came into contact with someone. A couple more fill the rest of the page, and I turn it over to continue on the back. My questions follow my observations, and there are quite a few of those. What happens to the duplicate if I’m seriously injured or die? What happens if the duplicate is hit with an Unforgivable or otherwise fatal curse? Is there only a certain length of time that the reflected version of myself can exist for, despite me being in prime condition? Many more are written down, and the back of the page is now covered in my neat script.

I tap Harry in the armchair next to mine, and silently pass him the page. He grins at me and scans it quickly, before flipping his book back to the index and navigating to a totally different page than the one he was on when I tapped him. He then floats the paper over to Hermione, making sure it hits her in the face. She glares but looks it over all the same. She taps Ron with her foot, and he looks up from the ground where he’s sorting the books into categories of some sort. He takes the page and reads it quickly, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he continues with his pre-existing piles. When Hermione rolls her eyes, I realise why. Hermione thought he’d have to start again after seeing my notes. And Ron was correct all along!

Smiling to myself, I pick up my own book and open it to the index. It’s a big, heavy book on Fallen Angels, and I scan the list of contents. I find a section devoted to Risen Angels’ powers, and I flick to it. Most of it’s probably useless, but it’s worth a try.

***

“Would anyone like a cup of tea? Or something stronger?” Harry asks the room a while later. Night has long set in by this point, and a mug of coffee sounds like the only way I’m going to stay awake. I’m utterly exhausted, my body becoming sore and stiff from hours of disuse after hours of activity.

“Actually, we probably have to be going,” Ron says. “I have some more organising things to do, and I might not have enough time to do them if I leave it much later.” At this he pulls a face, his lip curling and nose scrunching up.

Hermione smiles a small smile at him before turning back to Harry and I. “I can come back if you need me to, but…”

“But you’d rather be with Ron,” Harry finishes for her. Even though the words ‘since you might only have two days left’ aren’t said out loud, they linger in the air, heavy.

She purses her lips and nods. She begins to say something but Harry cuts her off. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll be fine. Off you go.” He practically pushes her and Ron towards the fireplace. They exchange hugs and halfhearted reassurances, and then they’re gone in a plume of green smoke.

The drawing room is astonishingly silent very quickly. The fire crackles in the grate still, but apart from that and our breaths, the house is quiet. Mother checked in on us a while ago, growing tired and heading off to bed. She had teased us about spending all day working and training, but she sounded very proud of me and our progress. Now though, she’s in her bedroom and sleeping soundly.

“Draco?”

I startle back into the present, Harry’s face right in front of mine. His green eyes are tired and weary, but his mouth is crinkled into a smile. I return it and lean forward to press my lips against his. He sighs contentedly, his arms wrapping up around my neck.

“Come on,” he murmurs into the tiny space between us. “I’m going to draw you a bath.”

“Okay,” I reply just as quietly. Despite clearly being exhausted, Harry scoops me up and carries me into the closest bathroom to get me ready for a relaxing bath to help soothe my muscles.

***

A/N: Sorry for the delay, uni got the best of me with new assignments. Here it is though! I hope you’ve all had a good week and are staying safe Xx

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry.

Word Count (Part 14): 3,216

Word Count (Total): 45,312

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic), graphic injuries

***

26th April, 1998

It turns out Harry did have a plan. Multiple, actually. After that dinner with Hermione and Ron two days ago, Harry firecalled someone who he trusted to rescue Mother from the Ministry. Once Harry told me that the rescue team was on its way back to Grimmauld, I couldn’t stop pacing around the drawing room. But now, as Apparition cracks on the doorstep, the only thing I feel is dread. What if something's gone wrong? What if she’s terribly hurt? Harry glances over at me with reassuring green eyes, before rising from his dining room chair and answering the door.

“Right this way- over here!” Harry’s voice echoes down the corridor, bouncing off the walls. I clench my hands into fists trying to calm my nerves. Giving up immediately, I jump up from the leather sofa I was reading on, and walk to the mirror. Gazing into my reflection I sigh heavily. I pull my wand out of my pocket and wave it over my entire body. My wings slowly fade out of sight, as do the remainders of my cuts and bruises. Turning and leaving the dining room, I walk as slowly as I can towards Harry. Slowly ends up being slightly faster than normal, but it’s better than sprinting which is what I feel like doing.

“Lay her down here,” Harry is saying when I arrive at his side in the kitchen, next to a couch that’s been transfigured into a small bed.

“How is she?!” I ask Harry, my voice raised above normal pitch with worry.

Harry turns to look at me and places a hand on my shoulder. “I can’t be certain.”

I swallow hard and pull him into a hug. My head rests on his shoulder as his arms wind around my back.

“Thank you,” Harry nods to the wizard carrying Mother, a stranger to me. The man nods back and walks out into the corridor. Harry releases me from his arms and I finally turn and look at her.

Mother’s pale skin has turned black, blue, and purple with bruises. Red lines run down her skin in the form of cuts and blood trails. I feel the warmth drain from my face as I take in a particularly harsh graze down her left side where the skin looks like it’s been peeled away and stuck back on as an afterthought. Suppressing a shudder at her delicate figure being torn apart, I pivot around to face Harry.

“We need to help her.” There is no room for argument in my voice. This has to be done and I want to be a part of it.

“Let’s get started then,” comes Harry’s response. No questions asked. He knows how much this means to me.

Harry summons a stack of books from somewhere in the house, and I listen as they thud the whole way down to the basement—no doubt running into furniture and knocking things over. Harry catches them with a swift hand and puts them on the rounded end of the bed, where they wobble for a while before settling in. I scan the titles quickly before finding one about testing for internal damage. The book is a massive volume in a red cover with a white cross on the front. Harry scoffs at it for a second, the colours and symbol clearly meaning something to him. Opening the cover, I search for an index on the front page. I find a section called “Magical Scans for Internal Bleeding” and flick to the referenced page.

A wall of text and nothing else is there, and I swallow hard.

“Maybe we will need Hermione…” I whisper. “I don’t understand a word of this.”

Harry takes the book from my hand and runs his eyes over the paragraphs. “Neither,” he confesses. “But hold on… I can fix that.” I watch as Harry pulls his wand from his pocket again and waves it over the book. The words rearrange themselves and shorten, the entire book thinning out slightly by the time he’s done.

“There we go…” he murmurs. “Now we can read it.”

He hands me the book back and my jaw drops. Harry has essentially translated it out of scientific-medical terms into something we can easily understand. Overwhelmed by the thought, I press a firm kiss to his mouth before reading over the page. Harry wraps an arm around my waist as I read, kissing my forehead every so often.

“Okay… so we need to cast this spell and then write down the results so we can see how her body and magic are functioning,” I tell Harry. I hold up the book so he can read the spell’s incantation and see the required wand movement. “I probably won’t be able to cast it, so can you do it?”

“I can give it a go,” Harry says with a nod. He turns to a pillow not being used and transfigures it into a small mouse. I quickly freeze it in place so it can’t scuttle around and ruin the bed. Trust Harry not to think of something like that.

“Salutem taxationem,” he enchants, flicking his wand to form a cross in a circle. I watch with bated breath as numbers and words rise above the mouse, detailing everything from heart rate and blood pressure to magical signature—in this case a zero, because it’s a mouse.

I hug Harry tightly before reversing his transfiguration. “I guess I’ll scribe then,” I suggest. He nods and turns to face Mother.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks. “What if something goes wrong, it’s not like I’m a professional.”

“Then we’ll take her to St Mungo’s, I just don’t want to risk something else happening to her.” I can’t allow her to be taken again. Not when I have her now and have already failed her.

“Sure,” he replies. “Okay then,” he murmurs under his breath. I summon a muggle pen and a notebook like Hermione’s, getting ready to take down information.

“Salutem taxationem.” Harry casts the spell over Mother and we watch as the numbers and words rise up once again. I immediately start moving the pen over the paper, jotting down her heart rate, blood pressure, blood sugar, oxygen levels, magical core strength, and a whole range of other figures. The spell wavers a couple of times but never dies out, a testament to the strength of Harry’s power.

“Finished,” I say, the second I write the last word. Harry drops the spell, the results wavering and flickering out of existence.

“Let’s see them,” he replies with a raised eyebrow. I watch as different expressions cross his face. Harry seems to understand what he’s reading completely, and I feel kind of stupid that I don’t. I know what some of them mean, but that’s only a handful, and the rest I’ve never even heard of.

“Everything looks alright Draco,” Harry declares a couple of minutes later.

“Really?!” I ask, excitement bubbling in my chest.

“Yeah, it’s all external damage apparently.” Harry puts the notebook and pen down on the ground before stepping closer to me. “Now we only have to clean and close her wounds,” he states.

“Oh thank Merlin,” I breathe. I peck Harry’s lips again, finding it addictive now I’ve started. I still can’t believe he lets me.

Harry grins and kisses me a bit longer. “Come on, let's get her healed up.”

With reference to another book—this one titled “Cleansing and Closing Wounds”—Harry and I manage to remove the excess blood and any dirt or possible causes for infection. The waste is gathered into an empty potions vial and set aside for Hermione in case she wants to run any tests on it. Then, it’s my job to knit her cuts back together. My stomach squeezes as the pale skin shifts and reforms under my wand, memories of the same on my own body coming to the forefront of my mind. Harry’s hand on the small of my back keeps me concentrated, the only reason I manage to finish the task without being sick.

“Is that all of them?” I ask once I can’t see any more lines.

“It appears so,” Harry confirms behind me.

“Thank Mordred for that,” I say on a heavy breath. I never want to have to do that again.

“You don’t want to thank Mordred,” Harry chuckles. “He’s basically Voldemort but in the past!”

“Technicalities,” I wave the argument away. “It’s a saying, and I said it.”

Harry shakes his head, black fringe falling into his eyes. “Come on, let's get her to bed.”

“Which room?” I ask. “It can’t be the one she used to be in.”

“I know…” Harry chews his bottom lip for a second. “What if she’s in your room?”

“Would there be enough space for both of us?” I say with a tip of my head.

“Probably not,” Harry confesses. “But you could stay with me…”

“Harry Potter! Are you saying what I think you are?”

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says, throwing his hands up to show his innocence. “But I’d like having you next to me.” Harry blushes an adorable dark red.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it…” I admit.

“Which part?”

I slap him. And then kiss him. “So we’re doing this?”

“I guess we are.” Harry kisses me again.

I pull away first, my breath gone and my heart pounding. “We have to move Mother.”

Harry sighs, presses his lips to the side of my mouth, and levitates my mother off the makeshift bed. He walks out of the kitchen with a backwards glance at me, and then makes his way through the corridor and up the stairs. I wait a second, not knowing what to do, before deciding to follow too. I catch up pretty quickly and walk just behind Mother’s floating feet. The stairs prove to be slightly difficult, given the sheer number of them, but Harry manages to get her up and onto the landing. I offer to help, and once Harry agrees I take over the charm. Harry all but collapses in on himself, exhausted from the amount of magic he’s used today. I levitate Mother’s body into my room—or… my old room—and carefully drop her onto the bed.

She looks ethereal there, her blonde hair a halo around her pale skin and eyelashes. Despite being really injured a couple of hours ago, she looks much better now. Her skin still has a certain tone to it, revealing recent trauma, but for the most part she looks to be healing nicely.

“She looks good Draco.” Harry’s sudden voice behind me makes me jump, unaware as I was with my surroundings. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Harry murmurs into my ear.

“You didn’t!” I protest. “And yes, she does.”

“I definitely did, and I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. You should have seen your face!”

I scowl at Harry from over my shoulder. He tickles me in retaliation. His fingers dig into my skin, rubbing against my ribs and waist.

“Fine, fine!” I give in. “I forfeit!”

“Do you admit it?”

“Guess so,” I huff.

“Oh come here,” Harry says with an eye roll. His lips land on mine and I allow myself to smile into him.

“We have things to do Harry,” I murmur as his mouth connects with my throat.

“Mmmm,” Harry hums against my skin. “Yeah, you.”

“No, Harry. Like preparing for a war.” That sobers him very quickly and steps away. “Sorry, that was uncalled for,” I apologise.

“No, no. You’re right,” he sighs. “I’ll call Hermione and catch her up with Narcissa, we’ll figure something out to keep her safe.”

I only nod in response. We turn and leave the room together. “I guess I’ll cook some dinner for us,” I offer. “Merlin knows you can’t cook.”

“Thank you Dray,” Harry smiles. I scoff at the nickname.

***

The water finally starts boiling, and I carefully pour it into the two mugs sitting on the kitchen counter. The teapot is heavy and very hot, and I rush to put it back down as quickly as possible. Scents of peppermint and chamomile fill the kitchen, and I tip my head closer to take it in. I push my hand through my hair, annoyed at it falling in my eyes. It’s growing very quickly, and is steadily reaching my shoulders. Sighing, I search through the cupboards to find a tea tray. As I bend down to open the bottom row of cabinets, a sharp pain cuts down my back.

Not again… I bring a hand up and around to touch my spine, and find it covered in blood. At this point I’m just sick of it. Gasping in pain, I stand back up and hunt for a towel or something to clean up the blood I know is about to come. I don’t see anything immediately, and give up when I feel my wings twitch where they’re connected to back. A groan pushes past my lips and pain shoots down my back again. I twist and bring my hand back to my skin, finding it warm and wet. A drip rolls downwards, tracing down my skin. I feel around for the bones I know are jutting out of my back and grip them hard. They feel solid and normal in my hand, and I travel up to where they split into branches. The feathers are soft but droopy, and as I’m touching them they curl in towards the bone.

A scream is ripped from me as they start to fall out; memories flashing before my eyes of the days spent in the Manor, and the pain I experienced, merging with the current pain underneath my skin. I force my hand away from the feathers and back down my bone. It’s twitching, shuddering inside my skin.

“Draco!” Harry shouts, running into the kitchen. “What’s happening?”

Relief fills me when I meet emerald eyes. Harry will help me. He always does. His question goes unanswered, but he catches on once his eyes roam over me. Blood is dripping down my back and arm, red lines a stark contrast against my skin. His eyes bulge, he swallows hard, and then he’s rushing towards me.

“They’re going back in Draco,” Harry explains as he looks over me. “Your wings are withdrawing into your back.”

“Ughhh,” I groan as I feel them shift slightly. Now that he’s said it, I can feel them moving beneath my skin. It’s going to be a slow process this time. Bone grates against bone and I shudder at the sound and feeling. It’s like being exposed to the cold, and it sets my teeth chattering in the most uncomfortable way imaginable. A rush of warmth follows, and I’m repulsed to discover it’s a wave of fresh blood. My head spins, the room going blurry and spotty with purple dots.

“Nu- numb me,” I gasp out to Harry as the pain rapidly increases.

I hear Harry patting himself down, hunting for his wand within his clothes. When he finds it, he recants a long, intricate spell. Must’ve gotten it from the books.

A cool relief washes over my body, and the pain dulls down to a bearable level. I can still feel every push into my skin, every time something catches or grates, but the pain isn’t there.

“Thank you,” I manage to get out in a whisper shout. I shudder again, my body twitching, as the bone sinks in further. “Where is it up to?” I need to know how much longer. I need to prepare myself mentally for this.

“Just where it splits into the branches,” Harry replies. His voice is unsure and worried.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, swallowing hard.

“I’m not totally sure…” he says. “It just- the feathers are curling in and falling off. Has that happened before?”

“I don’t think so…” I murmur. “But my memory isn’t working too great right now.”

“Oh Draco, I’m so sorry you have to go through this.” Harry walks around to face me, his hand on my shoulder and his eyes sympathetic. He rests his forehead against mine, his tan skin filling my vision and making me dizzy for a totally different reason.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I say as the first branch shifts under. One of the sharp bones catches on my skin, and I feel it tear. I gesture to Harry, who goes back around and carefully unhooks it.

“There’s no way I wouldn’t be here,” Harry replies.

The moon is high as time passes while we stand in the kitchen, the charmed windows reflecting the sky above ground. Eventually, the entire bone structure recedes into my back, and feathers litter the tiles. Harry collects them all with wandless magic, conjuring a jar and placing them gently inside. The numbing spell starts to wear off and I can begin to feel Harry’s hands wandering over my skin gently. We stand pressed up against each other for a few minutes, wrapped up in the comfort and warmth. I feel safe and at home in Harry’s arms. But something is off.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Why haven’t they regrown yet?”

Harry sighs, rubbing his hand over my arm. “I’m not sure.”

I feel tears burn at my eyes. I’ve gotten so used to having wings these past few months, and now it feels weird to not have the weight pressed into my back. Searing pain shoots down the entire length of my spine again, and I almost laugh at the timing. It feels different than normal though, the pain is more… distant. It feels far away, like it’s not happening on the surface of my skin, but rather to a different person entirely. The very-most tip of my wing prods against the inside of my skin, and then it breaks through. It doesn’t stop. The bones keep rising out of my back with no intention of slowing down. The pain still doesn’t register, even as the skeleton becomes fully visible.

“Merlin Draco!” Harry shouts as he realises what’s happening. He whips around to face my back, gasping with the sight he sees. “They’re fully regrown! Draco, they’re fully regrown!”

“Let me see!” I call out, excitement filling me to the point I can’t control my voice.

Harry conjures a large mirror and holds it up to my face. Sure enough, the webs of bones are back in place.

“Feathers?” I breathe. I raise my hand to touch them, but quickly withdraw when I realise just how soaked through with blood they are.

“Let me clean them,” Harry offers with a kiss to my cheek. “Tergeo!”

I watch as the blood is siphoned off my wings, and my jaw drops.

“Harry. Harry are you seeing this?! Please tell me I’m not imagining it!” I gush.

Harry lifts a reverent hand and strokes it over the feathers, eliciting a shiver from me. “Definitely not imagined…” he murmurs. “Dray, they’re white. Actually white,” Harry laughs with amazement and joy.

I twist to face him, sharp pain reminding me that my back has just been split open. I wince, my face screwing up. But none of that’s relevant, because my feathers are white, and I’m fully restored.

***

A/N: Another chapter out on time! I hope everyone is staying safe and that you’re looking out for yourself. Stay home! and spend all day reading fic because why not? Xx

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry

Word Count (Part 17): 3,022

Word Count (Total): 54,381

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic)

***

29th April, 1998

“Hey, Harry?” I ask, my question quiet in the loud kitchen. Harry is bustling around, preparing a large brunch for the two of us plus Mother. It turns out that he rather likes cooking when it’s for multiple people, and living up to my Mum’s standards makes him grin sappily.

“Mhmm?” Harry replies from where he’s standing over the frying pan. He insists on cooking like a Muggle, carefully waiting and watching, before flipping over one of the pancakes.

“I’m worried…” I murmur, suddenly aware of how absurd the statement is. It’s a lovely, crisp Thursday morning, my boyfriend is preparing a meal for us to share, and I woke up late enough to actually be well-rested for once. Yet here I am, concerned about the upcoming war that I have no control over. Except I very well might...

“Worried about what?” Harry asks, turning away from the kitchen and towards me.

“The war,” I answer shortly, making sure my voice is clear and stable. It doesn’t work very well.

Harry crosses the room, a look in his eyes that I can’t quite decipher. He holds his arms out as he approaches, and wraps me into a tight embrace. I focus my attention on his hands rubbing into the small of my back, on his face next to mine, and on the smell of him, wafting up from his collarbone. Even so, tears burn at the sides of my eyes, threatening to spill over.

“So am I…” Comes the whispered confession.

“You are?” I pull away to look at his face, and find wet tracks down his cheeks. That’s what tips mine over too.

“Oh, don’t cry Dray,” he tries to comfort. His hand resumes it’s circular motion and he calms me down, but I feel like a jerk. He’s the one who’s going to have to do the unimaginable soon. He’s the one who has the right to be crying.

“I’m- s-sorry,” I hiccup.

“Don’t apologise! You haven’t done anything wrong Dray.” Harry pulls out of the embrace and holds me at arms length, his eyes shining and searching. “The war is going to come no matter what we do.”

I nod. “I know,” I manage to say without being interrupted by my own body. “But I-” hiccup, “can't bear the thought of- of losing you…”

Harry smiles shallowly, tears betraying him. “You won’t, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Merlin I sound miserable, like a girl in a romance novel whose boyfriend is going off to war. Except that’s exactly what’s happening… albeit I’m going too…

Harry finds the parallel too and chuckles under his breath. I shove him lightly. “I know Dray,” he sighs. “I feel like my world is going to end in three days. Hell, it probably is!”

“Nonsense!” I immediately argue, instincts leaping into action to prove him wrong. Years of arguing don’t vanish overnight. “You’ve put so much work into everything, and all of the plans are finished. I’ve seen the way people act for you, Harry. You’ll have thousands of people fighting.”

Harry grins at me. “Well, if you’re so confident in me, why are you worried?”

I roll my eyes, a smile on my face. “Shove off, Potter.”

“Potter, am I? Whatever happened to Harry?”

“You made a point, Potter.” Harry’s grin only widens, enjoying the banter when there’s no venom behind it.

Harry pulls me back into a hug, but a loud bubbling sound from the kitchen, followed by a sharp crack, has him instantly running back to the stove. He groans loudly, a wild and panicked sound, and starts rapidly moving things around and waving his wand.

“I thought you were cooking Muggle style?” I mock.

“I was,” he quips. “But it’s burnt now and I’d rather like to salvage it, so magic it is.” Despite being turned away, I can practically hear the contradicting smile in his words.

For the next couple of minutes, there’s silence (except for the sounds of cooking, of course). Pleasant smells begin filling the room, and I happily watch Harry’s back as he moves. He’s so good at cooking, yet he refuses to mention why or how. Whenever I ask there’s some sort of panic behind his eyes, and his face inevitably closes off. I stopped asking after only two attempts. It clearly doesn’t hold any enjoyable memories, even though he seems very happy when he’s doing it.

“You know Dray,” Harry says once he’s rescued the pancakes, “you look gorgeous today.”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the blush creeping up my neck. I am not in a romance novel! “Indeed I am, Potter,” I reply. “But why is that relevant?”

“What, Potter yet again? And there isn’t anything irrelevant about it,” he says. “Malfoy,” he throws in.

“Hmph,” I huff. “For what it’s worth, you’re not so bad yourself.”

“That’s it?! That’s the best compliment you could think of?!”

“How’s this?” I ask. “I would let you bend me over right here right now if you wanted to.”

Harry’s breath catches. “Draco!” He shouts. “You can’t just say that!”

I smirk at him as he turns to face me, and he sticks his tongue out. We haven’t done that yet, but seeing his expression overtaken with want makes me seriously consider it. But no. My mother is in this house, and I do not want her to witness that.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say into the comfortable silence. “I want to help. To train and actually help.”

“Changing subject are we?” Harry laughs. “Help how?”

“I don’t know, but I want to try something! If I don’t prepare I will be useless in the battle.”

“Ahh,” Harry hums. “Why don't I firecall Hermione, and she can help you with that?”

A rush of disappointment runs through me. “Why won’t you?”

“I’ll be there!” Harry practically trips over himself to say. “Of course I will! But I’m afraid I don’t really know much about magic like yours, and Hermione does.”

“How could she possibly know that much?” I ask.

“Please,” Harry scoffs. “All she’s done these last three days—I guarantee it—is read every book ever created that could maybe have the slightest chance of helping you.”

“Why would she do that?” I furrow my brows. “It’s not like I know her that well. And I was an absolute shit to her just last year!”

Harry turns fully to face me again. “You may have been an arsehole in the past Draco, but she’s since seen how you truly are, and probably considers you a friend!” He exclaims. “Besides, she got you back when she punched you in Third Year.”

I groan at the memory of bone cracking under her fist. “That hurt,” I grumble.

Harry chuckles and turns back to the food. “I’ll call her, and she and Ron can probably come up with something to help.”

“Thank you Harry.”

***

After a delicious brunch—that only vaguely tasted like it had been dropped in a fire and left to burn—Harry left Mother and I to go call Hermione.

“He is an excellent cook, dear,” Mother says out of nowhere. “You chose a good boyfriend.”

“Mother!” I say, aghast. “I didn’t choose him out of a lineup or something! It just happened.” The end becomes less defensive and more sensitive, and I internally scold myself for showing any sign of weakness to her. In the past, that very same weakness has been criticised, punished.

“Well, he’s still a good cook,” she continues. “Although, it is strange he doesn’t have a house elf?” It’s posed as a question, and I feel my blood boil.

“For a start, Mother,” I begin. “He actually does have a house elf, Kreacher, he’s just moved him elsewhere so he can prepare for the war without worrying about another body.” The light slowly fades from her eyes. “Second, why does having a house elf determine someone’s worth?”

Mother has the sense to look sheepish. “I’m sorry for that, Draco. It’s a habit left over from-” She cuts herself off.

I nod solemnly, my anger fading. “Yeah. I know.” I’m not going to make her say it out loud. As much as she is flawed, I love her, and she doesn’t need to dredge up her recent past. Less than a year ago, life was normal. We were living in the Manor, listening to Lucius’ rants; and yes, maybe I did have to follow orders on the threat of my family’s painful death, but before that it was fine.

The silence becomes awkward and strained. As much as we were on good terms two days ago, the reality has since sunken in. There is a war set for three days from now. In three days time, the world as we know it will either stay relatively the same, or it will be flipped upside down into a time of terror. Whichever side wins, people will die. By the end of it, people I know—guaranteed, with my mess of a family—will be dead, and there is no slowing it down. I sigh and rise from my chair in the dining room.

“I’m going to go shower,” I announce to the air. Mother doesn’t respond, lost in thought as she is, and I cross the room into the hallway. I’m halfway up the first flight of stairs when Harry comes rushing down them. He halts upon seeing me, his face lighting up for a second before it’s schooled into a calm expression. When he managed to make such a good mask, I don’t know.

“Draco!” He says quickly. “I’m glad I’ve got you. Hermione and Ron are going to be here in the next five-ish minutes and you should probably change into something you can exercise in.”

“Well that was a rush of words,” I tease.

“Sorry.” Harry’s hand rubs the back of his neck. “Where were you going?”

“Shower, but I guess I won’t bother now.”

“Probably a good idea. I’d save the shower for after.” He let’s a smirk cross his face. “I could always join you…?”

“Harry James Potter, get your mind out of the dump.” I shake my head. “We have a war to win, and that is much higher on my list of priorities than getting laid!”

“Quiet down Dray, you wouldn’t want your mother to hear those words coming out of your mouth.”

My face darkens, even though she’d probably approve of what I said. I shake my head yet again, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m going to go get dressed.”

Harry grins, pulls me in to peck me on the cheek, and then goes back to running down the stairs.

***

“How have you used them so far?” Ron is standing in front of me, his red hair a mop over his forehead. He’s dressed head to toe in black workout clothes, just like I am, and is brandishing his wand at me. The sunlight is glaring harshly and I lift a hand to shield my eyes.

“I’ve uh- I’ve dimmed the lights a couple of times,” I start, shuffling uncomfortably under his scrutiny. The grass crunches underfoot. “I also faded some glare when I went outside yesterday.” It sounds pathetic and weak, there’s no use for that in an already dark room.

“That’s a good start,” Hermione says, seemingly appearing from nowhere. Trust her to notice the tiniest hint of self-deprecation. “I’ve come up with some drills to focus your magic, and Ron has made a course for you to run once you get more confident with it.”

Ron nods his head. “It’s under a concealment charm right now so you can’t worry about it. It looks quite intimidating, but it shouldn’t actually be too challenging.”

Hermione walks away from Ron and beckons for me to follow her. Her blue and grey clothes are a stark contrast from Ron’s and mine, and her hair is tied neatly behind her head. Well, as neatly as it can be, considering it looks like it’s trying to spring out of the hairband, and with the strength of her curls it’s quite possible. She whirls back to face me and points to the sky.

“Try to remove the glare, not entirely, just lessen it a little.”

I tip my head to the side. “I already know I can do that.”

“I know, but I want to see it,” she insists. “Come on.”

Sighing, I screw my hands into fists beside me and close my eyes tightly. Light dances behind my eyelids, yellow and red spots all I can see. But as I concentrate and the glare dims, the spots fade and shrink, becoming blue and purple instead. When I open my eyes again, I’m not confronted with a blinding light like I would normally expect.

“Wow…” Hermione mutters. I can’t help but notice her usual notepad and pen, covered in new notes. “Try brightening it again!”

Ignoring the fact that while I’m training I’m also becoming her new test subject, I once again tighten my fists. This time, instead of closing my eyes I focus on widening them as much as possible. I’ve found over the last couple of days that in order to alter the lighting, my eyes need to mirror the action. Light off, eyes closed; light on, eyes open. I stare intently up at the sun—my eyes somehow unaffected—and watch as the glare slowly returns. Eventually I rip my eyes away and unclench my hands. I blink a couple of times to clear my newly-spotting vision and turn to Hermione again.

Her jaw is now dropped open, her hands fallen—momentarily forgotten—by her sides. I watch as her brain whirls behind her eyes, the cogs turning as she thinks through what I’m doing. Just as quickly as she fell silent, she leaps into action once more. Her hand starts moving so swiftly across the paper that she can’t possibly be thinking about what she’s writing before it’s written.

“That’s amazing!” She exclaims. She keeps writing, making sure to jot down everything she thinks is necessary. I think it’s a bit overkill, but if she wants to do it, who am I to stop her?

“Could you try fading the sun? Like, not just the glare but the light in general?”

“I’ve never tried that before…” I say. “I don’t see why not.”

Unsure of how to do that, I start as I usually would. My hands tighten into fists and I squeeze my eyes closed. I focus in on the lines and dots that are now all I can see, and try to—for lack of a better word—extinguish them. I hear a faint pop and my eyes jolt open. Everything is exactly the same as it was before, with no sign of the cause of the noise. I hum in annoyance. Instead of getting worked up and annoyed at my failure like I would have a year ago, I grit my teeth and force myself to give it another go. My hands move to rest on my hips, my head tipping backwards to look into the sun. I close my eyes again and this time concentrate on removing the light I know is above me. It wavers and flickers behind my eyelids, but it never goes out or dims for more than half a second. I open my eyes and return to my normal stance again, rolling my neck to relieve the strain.

“Hmmm,” Hermione says. “I’ll have to think about that for a while.” She writes down a couple more notes, her eyes squinting in the glare from the sun. “Move over to Ron, give his thing a try.” She waves her hand dismissively over to her boyfriend’s area of the backyard without pausing in her notes.

“You’ve finally passed Hermione’s testing, hmm?” Ron calls out when he sees me approaching.

I grin at him. “It seems so,” I reply with raised eyebrows. “So… What am I doing?”

“You are going to run this course, and then we are all going to play a muggle game called Murder in the Dark.” His face lights up in excitement. Why, I’m not sure.

“Murder in the Dark?” I ask. I’ve never heard of it, although since it’s muggle that’s not that surprising.

“Yes, but only after completing the course. Ready?” Ron doesn’t leave time for me to answer, pivoting around and waving his wand in front of him. The air ripples and lifts up, reality distorting as a mass of random objects and transfigured walls come into view. “It’s messy I know, but it should work perfectly.” His face flushes with what must be pride at his creation.

“What do I do?” I ask. It looks like a maze mixed with an obstacle course. That is, if both were meant to be pitch black.

“You work your way through to the other side, avoid the obstacles, and alter the lighting the whole way through to reveal different path options and objects to dodge. New routes will appear depending on the light, as will obstacles. Take your time, but if you’re not out within the hour I’m concealing it again and you’ll come flying to wherever I am.”

I swallow hard. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Yep,” Ron says cheerfully. “Harry told me you work well under time constraints and worry.”

“Did he now…?” I murmur to myself, fixing a glare to the window which shows him sitting and watching from a sofa. “I don’t know where he got that idea, but he will definitely pay for it later.”

“Probably because you managed to send him a letter from the Manor, through all of the wards and right under Voldemort’s nose. Not to mention the series of torturous changes and injuries you’ve survived without time to heal properly, all while helping Harry prepare for a war,” Ron says, sounding gleeful as if it should all be obvious. “So yes, I quite think he’s right. Anyway, get to it!”

Just as I’m about to question him as to how he knows all of that, I’m pushed a few steps ahead and into the entrance of the maze.

***

A/N: Sorry this is a week late, it just got to Monday and I figured I’d rather post it later 🤷‍♀️ Hope you enjoyed! Xx

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