Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Enigma
Summary: Harry is a codebreaker in the war against Voldemort. Things have changed, and Draco Malfoy is at the center of it.
Pairing: Harry/Draco, Sirius/Severus
Rating: NC17 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Please don't hurt me.
Feedback: I am a junkie, feed my addiction. I especially like constructive criticism. If you can find something wrong with one of my stories, tell me so I can fix it. Just let me know anything you think.
E-mail: moriavis@hotmail.com
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Chapter 4
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Hermione hated working with others for one reason—the simple fact that people, as a whole, were as stupid as a herd of sheep. She preferred to research and work by herself because she knew that she was dependable, unlike anyone else in her squad. When the squads were first being assigned, she had hoped to work with Harry and Ron, but friendship had no impact when placement was based on who was needed where.
She still thought it was unfair.
“All right, girls, you can stop for today,” the supervisor called out, and Hermione looked at the clock, which said Time for Bed. She had come back for an extra session of research after seeing Harry off safely to his room, and Hermione squinted, estimating the hour it might have been. After a moment she decided it couldn’t have been any later than ten at night—but the day had been long, and she wasn’t going to complain about ending early… this time.
Hermione sighed and stretched, lifting the bushy mass of her hair up to cool the back of her neck. A shadow fell over her, and Hermione looked up warily only to find her supervisor leering at her, his fat jowls jiggling as he grinned wolfishly. “You know, you don’t look half bad with your hair pulled back,” he mused.
Hermione widened her eyes coyly, tilting her head to the side. “Did you know, Mr. Mermagen, that if you had hair, you wouldn’t look half bad either?” Mr. Mermagen glowered at her, a flush rising up his neck and flaming into his cheeks, and then stormed away, calling out instructions to the others in the squad. Hermione glared at his retreating back before rubbing her temple and giving a small, contemptuous snort.
In Hermione’s humble (and normally right) opinion, Mr. Mermagen was the stupidest sheep of them all.
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Harry puffed out a sigh as he restlessly tossed and turned on his too warm bed. His stomach was still uncomfortably full with the food that Hermione made him eat at dinner and he wished his stomach would make the decision of to nausea, or not to nausea, because at that moment, it really was the question. With an irritated sound, he sat up and spelled the lights on, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. He rubbed a hand through his hair, squinting, as he frowned at the clock (Shouldn’t you be asleep?) and nobly refrained from throwing it against the wall.
He hasn’t been sleeping at home the last two nights.
Where the hell could he be? Harry wondered, tapping his fingers anxiously against his bedspread. He flopped back down onto the bed and reached for the post card at his bedside, looking at the picture of a house on the front before turning it to read the narrow writing on the other side.
Poor you. So you won’t forget me. Draco
He traced the words gently with his fingertips and placed it back on the nightstand. Is he there now, I wonder? At home?
Harry jammed his glasses on his face and jerked his clothes on, grabbing his wand as he slipped his shoes on before leaving his room and heading down to the Quidditch pitch. They had cancelled Hogwarts classes since it became the headquarters of The Order during the war, but hopefully they hadn’t destroyed the old brooms. He managed to find a workable Cleansweep in the back of the shed and lifted off, the broom twitching and uncomfortable underneath his hand. He didn’t mind the discomfort, however—he had a mission.
He made his way into Hogsmeade in a little under half an hour and flew to Draco’s house, a decently sized cottage in the middle of the village. Harry landed quietly and ditched the broom in the hedges, lingering around the front door as he struggled with his faltering memory. “Ah!” He exclaimed softly, and leaned towards the second stone from the door, swishing his wand. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he whispered, and the stone floated upward, revealing the key to the front door.
Harry unlocked the front door and stepped into the small foyer, walking slowly down the hall. He stopped at the doorway of the rather large parlor and took a deep breath of the air.
“Go in there!” Draco called, gesturing to the parlor with a pale finger as he disappeared into the kitchen. Harry wandered into the room, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth of sunlight on his face. He turned after a moment to find Draco watching him in bemusement, two teacups in his hand.
“It’s beautiful,” Harry offered quietly.
Draco grinned. “So now you know where I am,” he said. “Rather off the beaten track, but after I was disowned, it seemed a rather intelligent idea not to stay at the manor. Did you know,” he continued in a scandalized tone, “that this was the biggest thing that I could find with my salary? It is an affront to the needs of affluence, and not to mention good taste! It only has five rooms! Five!” Draco shook his head in disgust and offered Harry one of the teacups. Harry accepted. “What on earth do they expect me to do with only five rooms?”
“Live like a normal person would, maybe?” Harry suggested.
Draco shot Harry a look that said he should be hexed at this very minute, and scowled. “No. I’m a Malfoy. Refer to me as normal ever again, and I will kick you out of here. Don’t think I won’t!”
“I am rebuked.” Harry grinned innocently.
Draco gave him a calculating look. “I don’t believe you,” he announced. “At any rate, the people who deal with the spacing issues discovered I had two bedrooms, so they asked me if Granger could share my house with me. I told them, of course, that they were asking the impossible, as there is hardly enough room here for me, but the heartless buggers were unmoved. Fortunately, Granger seems to be a fairly neat person, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to adapt to her presence.” Draco took a sip from his teacup and sprawled out on the couch. Harry took a chair opposite Draco and took a sip from his teacup as well, jolting in surprise at the odd taste.
Draco noticed his expression and gave Harry a little smile. “There’s no sugar, but it’s lapsang. I always thought sugar rather spoils lapsang, don’t you?”
Harry shrugged and took another sip. “I wouldn’t know. You’re my first lapsang.” Draco gave a snort as his smile transformed into a smirk, his eyes flickering briefly over Harry's body. Harry blushed furiously. “That’s not what I…” Harry blushed deeper and busied himself by looking into his pocket, finding the program of the Bach concert they had just attended.
There was a moment of silence, and then Draco leaned forward, setting his teacup on the coffee table with a small ‘clink’. “I knew you’d ask me out,” Draco professed.
Harry looked at him in confusion. "I thought you were the one who asked me out?”
Draco gave an unrepentant grin. “I had to get you started somehow, didn’t I?”
“You’re incorrigible.” Harry laughed.
Draco preened, and then looked at Harry with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Any pretty girls in Squad Six?”
Harry started. “How’d you know where I work?”
Draco examined his fingernails and shrugged. “Let’s just say that intercepts aren’t the only thing we watch for on Squad Three.”
Harry put down his cup and glowered at the other man. “You aren’t supposed to tell me where--”
“Listen, Potter,” Draco interlocked his fingers and stared at Harry, a playful smile still lingering about his mouth. “You’re rumored to have done something clever, and I want to know what it is.”
“How do you know I did anything?” Harry hedged anxiously.
“Because, it was supposed to be a huge secret, but Granger was upset about something, so I figured you’re the one who beat her out on cleverness this time.” Draco straightened and looked down his nose at his guest. “I have my own sources, you know.”
“Well, you aren’t going to find out anything from me, so you should drop the subject.” Harry advised.
Draco made a sound that could have been an agreement or a negation, and leaned over the table, grasping at the corner of the program to stare at the writing. “Harry?” Draco looked up at him, his eyes dark with something unidentifiable. “Can I keep this? I want to put it in my scrapbook.”
Harry nodded, releasing the program to Draco’s hands, and was rewarded with a blinding smile. Draco shot down the hall, and Harry followed after he set down his cup. “Here’s where Hermione will stay,” Draco declared, pointing towards the second bedroom. It was designed in soft beige and peach, and through the single window the sun shone brightly. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
“I think dislike will be the least of your problems, Draco.”
“And here’s me!” Draco continued, walking into his bedroom. It was designed in a multitude of green and silver shades, and Harry frowned. “I know they’re Slytherin colors,” Draco said with a sigh, seeing Harry’s expression. “But it’s nice, isn’t it?” A floorboard creaked as Draco went over to a large scrapbook and flipped it open to a free page. Harry looked around the room again and decided it was rather nice. It wasn’t oppressively dark or cold, but rather like a moon-dappled clearing, all green and fresh. Harry noted with some amusement that one of Draco’s walls was a large message board, with pictures and lines of remembered plays and novels posted up with thumbtacks. There was a picture of a quaint cottage on the shore of an ocean, and Harry touched it curiously.
“Where’s this?” he wondered.
Draco propped his chin on Harry’s shoulder as he looked at the picture, pulling back as Harry turned to face him. “That’s Loch Feochan, in Scotland.” Draco murmured. “It’s where I’d like to be old, if I’m ever old.” Draco tilted his head, looking at Harry curiously, a soft, hesitant edge to his voice. “Do you think it’s beautiful?”
Harry padded softly down the hall, and made his way to Draco's room, which was much as he remembered it. He trailed his fingers over the slightly dusty scrapbook and lingered over at the message board, which was still covered in miscellaneous information. The picture of Loch Feochan was missing. There has to be something here, Harry thought to himself, going over to Draco’s vanity and pulling open the drawers. Comb, brush, hair products… nothing important, and Harry started guiltily at the thought, thinking that Draco might have heard him, wherever he was. He pulled open the next drawer and found a couple of small tools, but then, Draco had tended to collect a few of what he called ‘Muggle eccentricities.’ His hand brushed by a small container of cologne and his breath hitched. He carefully unstopped the bottle and took a deep breath, comforted as the smell of Draco surrounded him.
“So, how did you get into breaking Caligromancy codes?” Draco asked as he stared into the fireplace.
“It’s not really the Caligromancy that I like, but the Transfiguration.” Harry shrugged and watched the firelight reflect off Draco’s face.
“Transfiguration, really?” Draco questioned. “Well, I suppose I’m not surprised. That old witch McGonagall always liked you.”
“Hey, Minerva is a good woman.” Harry frowned, and Draco grinned disarmingly.
“So’s Professor Snape.” Draco said.
“Professor Snape is a good woman?” Harry asked in mock surprise, and Draco smacked him in the head with a pillow.
“Anyway,” Draco continued, glaring at Harry. “What do you like about Transfiguration?”
Harry stopped sniggering in order to grab the pillow. “Well, I just think Transfiguration is… It’s like this.” Harry looked around and picked a rose out of the vase on the table in front of them. “See this rose? It’s just a flower. You can make it float with Charms, or wilt with Potions, but with Transfiguration,” Harry picked up his wand and spelled the flower, watching it melt into a lily, “you can change its reality completely. When I lived with Muggles, I always dreamed of having some sort of control over my reality. Now I can. And if I ever get tired of the lily?” Harry transfigured it back into a rose; “It doesn’t always have to stay a lily. Fantasy and beauty are the same thing don’t you think? With Transfiguration, you can always change the truth of how things are.” Harry shrugged and frowned as he pricked his thumb on one of the rose’s thorns. “Without it, it’s just painful reality.”
Draco took the rose and placed it on the table before taking Harry’s hand in his, examining the wound. Harry watched Draco silently, admiring how the firelight washed his fair hair with gold and flushed his cheeks rosy with warmth. Draco brought Harry’s thumb up to his mouth and sucked gently, licking the blood from the pricked flesh. Harry held his breath as Draco’s tongue caressed the whorls of his skin, and after a long moment, Draco raised his head, eyes nearly amber in the dim light.
“Don’t you think that sometimes reality is worth the pain?” Draco asked, his lips damp, and Harry tilted his chin upward.
“It might be for you,” Harry whispered, and Draco leaned closer, pressing a stinging butterfly kiss to Harry’s mouth. Then another. Small, brief caresses that ended just before Harry had a chance to respond. Harry brought his hands up to cradle Draco’s face, stilling the other man just long enough to place an earnest kiss to his lips, and Draco melted against Harry, hands twining in hair and around waists as they gentled even further. Harry had thought that their first kiss would be angry, passionate—a resuscitation of their old rivalry on an entirely different battlefield—but it wasn’t. Their touches were soft, wistful, and Draco tasted faintly of cherries.
Harry licked experimentally at Draco’s mouth and was rewarded with a small sigh, silken lips opening under his instantly. Their tongues moved against each other in a slow, unhurried dance, and Harry relaxed further into the embrace, clutching Draco tighter as he let himself drift in the sensation. Teeth suddenly tugged sharply at his bottom lip, and he jerked away, blinking at the unexpected discomfort of the bite. “You aren’t with me anymore, Harry,” Draco hissed into his ear. “This isn’t some fantasy. This won’t work if I’m here alone.” Draco rose to his knees on the couch cushions, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair and jerking Harry’s head up. “Do you think you can trust this to be real? Abandon whatever fantasy you have about us?”
Harry swallowed, looking up at Draco’s serious face, heart still thrumming with desire. “Yes.”
“Then kiss me again, Harry.” Draco commanded softly, teeth gleaming in the glow of firelight. “I can’t promise that I won’t bite…”
Harry slammed the stopper back onto the cologne bottle and shoved it back in the drawer. "There has to be something!" Harry growled, turning toward Draco's bed. He tore off the coverlet and shook the pillows out of their cases, turning the mattress over in anger as nothing showed itself. The floor creaked as Harry stormed over to Draco's closet, pushing the clothes around and searching the pockets. "There's nothing here!" He snarled, tearing down the clothing rack. Silk spilled around his feet, and he kicked the clothing to the side, heading toward the door of Draco's room. The floor creaked again, and Harry stopped cold. He went over towards the bed, crouching and pushing aside the green rug before knocking against the wooden floorboards. One rang hollowly, and he traced over the screws driven into the wood before going to Draco's drawer of tools, rifling through it until he found a screwdriver. He went back to the board and unscrewed it carefully, lifting it out of its groove and setting it aside.
Inside the compartment were several sheets of paper, and Harry grabbed them, frowning as he scanned page after page of carefully inscribed Caligromancy interceptions. He clutched the notes tightly, pale and shaky.
A shadow appeared at the door, and a wand started to wave, cutting off in the middle of a gasp of recognition. "Oh, Harry!" Hermione stated breathlessly, stepping into the room. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"I was worried about him, so I came, and I..." Harry's eyes glinted Slytherin green in the moonlight shining through the window. "I..."
"Harry, couldn't this have waited until morning?" Hermione rubbed her eyes irritably. "I should call the Aurors on you!"
"They'd arrest Draco first," Harry murmured numbly, showing Hermione the intercepts.
Hermione's wand tumbled to the ground. "Oh my god, Harry. What has he done?"
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TBC...
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