Work Text:
“Potter, you’re in my chair.”
“Mine ran away again,” Potter said, spinning the chair with a negligent twirl of his wand. Draco gritted his teeth and opened his mouth to retort but Potter interrupted. “You’re giving yourself wrinkles.”
Draco gasped instead and touched his forehead, then scowled. “Potter!”
“Malfoy,” Potter mocked, smiling. His green eyes flashed amusement and crinkled at the corners. The git. He was enjoying himself.
Draco took the Weasel’s chair just as the ginger was about to sit, ignoring the indignant Hey! tossed out. He placed it in the spot Potter normally sat and then perched upon it, pulling his books and parchment out of his satchel one by one and placing each precisely in front of him. Draco took the moments before the instructor arrived to cast a discrete glance at Potter, forcing his eyes quickly back to the front when he saw Potter studied him openly. “What?” he barked out, resisted the urge to relax his forehead. Wrinkles.
He felt Potter shrug, ignoring the tension in his belly when he realized Potter sat close enough their shoulders were touching. Correction, he’d sat close enough. Stupid.
A raspy voice cleared his throat from the front of the room and Instructor Pillard, pronounced pie-yard as he so frequently reminded them all, took his place before the podium. He was a nervous looking wizard wearing his maroon ministry robes that had seen better days and decades. “Attention,” he rasped out, “Attention.” He tapped his wand against the podium, sending colorful sparks flying from the end of the battered hawthorn and students ducking under their desks.
The trainees still standing quickly took their seats, most of them far away from the front, and Draco heard someone in the back growl about not having a chair.
“There was one rolling down the hallway,” Pillard told him, waving his hand. “Hurry now.” The trainee muttered under his breath as he left the classroom. “Now, you and your partners should be well acquainted by now, and I will be passing out that questionnaire. If you fail it, then you fail the program, so that should stress upon you the importance of the matter.”
Draco rolled his eyes as the know-it-all in the front corner waved his arm around enthusiastically. He almost smirked as Pillard ignored the man. “You have the weekend to work on it. And yes,” Pillard ground out, glaring at Know-it-all, “you can work with your partner on it. Obviously,” he drawled out. “I hope you all remembered to bring everything on your packing list. Your testing room number will be written on your packets. Once both of you are inside, the doors will seal until Monday morning at 9 o’clock or until you both fill out your forms and place them in the bin provided.”
Pillard paused, the air in the crowded classroom tight with tension. It was their final class afterall. Three years of hard training to become Aurors down to this final weekend and all of it hinged on a stupid test about someone else. “Remember, just because you are in a sealed room doesn’t mean that not anything will happen.”
“Better phrasing would be ‘Anything can happen, even in a sealed room’,” Know-it-all added. “Sir.”
Pillard held his fingers pressed to his nose. He waved his wand and the stack of packets on his desk flew around the room to land on everyone’s desks.
Potter didn’t even bother to open his, but Draco reached out to open his. Potter held Draco’s hand down. “Let’s wait.”
Draco’s eyes widened. “Wait?” he whispered, thick was disbelief.
Ron leaned around Draco to look at Potter. How did he end up sitting between them anyway? “Harry, there is no way. I cannot be stuck in a room all weekend with Trenton,” Ron hissed.
Harry twirled his chair back and forth. “Shame. At least I have Draco.”
“Malfoy,” Draco corrected automatically, ignoring the thrill of pleasure he felt when Potter said his name.
Ron rolled his eyes. “You are such a prat,” Ron told Draco, though Draco couldn’t hear any malice in the statement.
“Wanker,” Draco muttered, trying to tug his hand free from under Potter’s. Why was Potter still touching him?
“No, that’s you. And Harry,” Ron smirked. He stood, dragging his packet closer with a finger reluctantly. “Whelp, if we pass, I will see you on Monday. If I kill Trenton though, Harry, I expect Draco and Hermione to muster up a good defense to keep me out of Azkaban, and if that fails, I expect you to rescue me.”
Potter laughed.
Draco leaned back, curious. “Why would you want me to help in your defense?”
Ron hit his shoulder playfully with the packet. “Because you’re a git, but you’re bloody brilliant too. Sneaky slytherin.”
Draco froze, trying to digest his feelings of pride that warred with his feelings of absurd. Three years of brutal training could not possibly have changed so much between the Weasel and himself. Potter tapped his hand, drawing Draco’s attention back to him. He frowned. “Your hair is a mess.”
Potter pulled his hand through his hair self-consciously. “And that’s different than usual how?”
“More than usual.”
Ron laughed and waved, meeting Trenton at the door.
“What’s the room number?” Potter asked.
Draco scowled and tugged his hand again. “I wouldn’t know since you won’t let me look.”
Potter finally released his hand and Draco opened his packet. The questionnaire was long, at least fifty pages. On the front someone had written 250 in bold dark handwriting.
Potter frowned. “Some of these questions are really personal.”
“That’s the point,” Draco said. “It’s a test after all. If you can’t work with your partner then you shouldn’t be an Auror. Aurors usually work with their first partner for their entire careers, you know. Statistically speaking, Auror partnerships last longer than most marriages.” He glanced at the instructions.
1. Questionnaires are spelled. When ready to begin, prick your finger and place one drop of blood on your parchment in the space indicated and do the same on your partner’s. Speak the words Tacitus Veritas Cupla to activate the secrecy bond. All trainees must fill in their own reports and any violations will call for prompt failure.
2. Talk to your partner. Questions will be filled in as you speak and the questions will disappear when you have answered satisfactory. Be thorough. You must acknowledge the answer out loud to record.
3. When finished, place your parchment in the bins provided. Parchment will be destroyed upon review.
4. You must successfully complete 50% of the questionnaire to pass. You must use all your skills and training to survive the weekend no matter what happens.
Draco flipped to the next page. Question 1: What was your partner’s first impression of you? Draco scoffed. Wonderful. “Let’s get this over with.”
***
The room was decent enough despite being cramped. There was a window in the corner with a view of a tree that Draco felt fairly certain was spelled but it helped against feelings of tightness that danced through him at the thought of being locked in the room for three days. There were two beds and a small stand between them, and a round table for two in the corner with two comfortable looking chairs around it. There was a small dresser on the wall furthest from the door. By the door stood another small table with a tray on it. Spartan but it would do.
Draco opened his pack and began to take out the items they’d been told to bring. He started with a narrow table that he unshrunk and placed by the wall. It wobbled a bit since he hadn’t unshrunk the one leg correctly but after some muttering, some cursing, a mild hex to make him feel better, and an accident he got it to stop. Then he began to unpack the food supplies (Pack List item #4: Something to fill your stomach), aligning each box corner to the one beside it until everything fit precisely. After that he unpacked his clothes, carefully refolding them before placing them in the top drawer of the dresser.
One corner had a small looking closet that turned out to be a bathroom. There wasn’t a shower but there was a sink, at least, and Draco resigned himself to a weekend of cleaning charms. He hated cleaning charms, if only because they never really left him feeling, well, clean.
Beside him, Potter stretched out on the bed by the door with his feet dangling over the end, ignoring his own bag as he flipped through the questionnaire with a careful focus. His robe sat in a puddle on the floor, which Draco hung up on the wall with a sticking charm. Draco considered arguing for the bed closer to the exit but in the end decided it didn’t matter. Better to save his persuasions for something more valuable later. When everything was in its place, he picked up the questionnaire and sat at the table, keeping his back to the wall.
Potter remained prone on the bed, levitating the questionnaire over his head with a spell. He glanced over at Draco waiting expectantly. “Ready to begin?” Draco nodded. Draco took out the small tack he’d brought along (Pack List item #2: Something small and pointy sharp) and pricked his finger, dropping a spot of blood in the corner of the questionnaire. The parchment flared golden for a moment. Draco looked at Potter and then rolled his eyes, pulling a second tack out of his bag and handing it to Potter. “Here.”
Potter put down the quill he’d been sharpening. He blushed, smiling self-consciously. “You know me so well already.”
“I think if I had to make a list of Potter facts, one of the first ones would say ‘Fact: Potter doesn’t follow directions. Ever.’ Because I have yet to ever see you do so in ten years.” It was a criticism, but Draco hoped his smile helped offset the harshness. Potter laughed, so Draco assumed he didn’t mind.
“True enough. It’s not on purpose mind you, but I always prefer to do things my own way.”
Draco kept his smile hidden. “Hurry up. If you’re going to be giving away secrets it’s better we have these Questionnaires charmed so we’re not answering everything twice.”
“Draco Fact: Prefers doing things right the first time.”
“Yes, so hurry up.”
“Bugger off,” Potter muttered, his tone still amused. He stabbed his finger rather hard and winced as he allowed blood to fall on the parchment.
“One drop will do the trick Potter, doesn’t need to be an entire liter.” Draco waited for Potter’s parchment to flash before switching them and squeezing out another drop of blood onto his partner’s parchment. Potter handed back the questionnaire as he took his own. Together they whispered the enchantment.
“Tacitus Veritas Cupla!”
Both parchments flashed golden again, then flashed purple before the colors faded away. Draco felt the bond melt into his. It wasn’t uncomfortable, barely noticeable in fact, but somewhat itchy.
Harry cleared his throat, crossing his ankle over his knee. He rested the parchment against his leg and fluffed up his pillow. “Question number 6: What -”
“What happened to the other five?” Draco asked sardonically, raising an eyebrow as he flipped the page.
Potter waved his hand. “We can come back to those.”
“I’d rather go in order.”
Potter beamed. “See, we just answered number 6! Preferred method of completing lists, I prefer going for the ones I can answer quickly and returning to the more challenging ones while you prefer tackling problems in the order they arise.”
“That can’t be a question.” Draco scowled as the words Potter spoke filled in the questionnaire. The question did not, however, disappear. “Obviously our methods are not as simple as that.”
Potter scowled as well, glaring at the parchment as if the questionnaire would suddenly decide the answer was fine and move on. “Hmph. Well, how do you prefer completing lists?”
“Depends on the list,” Draco answered, striving for patience. “If I make it myself, I go in the order I set for myself. If it’s directional, then I would go in order, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Potter muttered.
“If it’s tasks, then I usually prefer to accomplish the most challenging problems first and circle back to the easier ones.”
Potter smiled. “I admit, I’m not nearly so aware of all my methods. I tend to just pick randomly.”
Draco watched as the answer changed and then flashed purple before fading complete. “Oh look, one question down, hundreds to go.”
“One Thousand, two hundred, and thirty-six actually,” Potter told him, sounding much too happy about the fact.
“There are not,” Draco said, flipping to the back. “One Thousand, two hundred, and twenty-nine.”
Potter blinked and frowned, flipping to the back. “Huh. Maybe they repeated it by accident? Or we answered more than one question? Although I looked through everything before we started and there were definitely more.”
Draco shrugged, just happy for any reduction. “So, question 1?”
Potter sighed and sat up, crossing his legs. “First impression….” He dragged a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more. “I saw you for the first time in Diagon Alley, you know.”
Draco frowned. “I thought it was the Hogwarts Express?”
Potter shook his head. “No, robe fittings. At Madam Malkin’s.”
Draco tried to remember but couldn’t. He shrugged. “I take it I did not leave a favorable impression.”
Potter’s smile was wistful. “Not precisely, no. Reminded me a bit of Dudley, in fact.”
“You’re bully, spoilt cousin?” Draco asked, horrified. He clearly remembered hearing about Potter’s cousin two years ago when Potter, Ron, Draco, and Theodore Nott had gone out to the pub after a day of harder-than-usual-positively-diabolical-striving-for-someone-to-die training and a mishandled spell had left a few trainees stuck together for four hours. A few other friends had eventually joined them. Nott had buggered out early once the spell freed him and Ron, taking Blaise Zabini, Luna Lovegood, and a few others with him. Something about “work hours” and “beauty sleep” and other excuses. Ron and Hermione had left shortly after with a clear “sex time” tossed over the shoulder. Potter and Draco had stayed and talked, trying to simmer down their animosity by mutual agreement after a year of terse exchanges. They’d left the pub that night not quite friends but certainly not enemies.
Potter held his fingers apart a smidgen. “A little.”
Draco barely managed to keep his groan inside. It wouldn’t do to lose his composure of course. “Apologies, Potter.”
Potter shrugged, flopping back onto the bed. “I can’t say you warmed on me over the years, but I felt I understood you a bit better after sixth year.”
Draco stilled, brushing his fingertips across his chest. He forced his hand to return to the table, pressing his palm flat. “I-” He swallowed. “Well, I can’t say I wasn’t a prat, but I can’t say you weren’t a prat either.”
Potter smirked. “Never said I wasn’t.”
Draco refrained from rolling his eyes. Barely. “Well, my first impression of you was on the train, I suppose. I…” He looked up at the ceiling, then down at the table top, rubbing a strange web of cracks with his fingertip. He wondered if a Reparo would fix them. “I wanted to be your friend. We grew up with stories about you, you know. I knew that you were powerful, strong, and famous and I was raised to believe in those qualities. So my first impression of you was that you were a mess. Your hair looked like it had never seen a comb, your glasses were taped together, your clothes were many sizes too large, you looked like you’d never seen a decent meal in your life, and you were sitting with a Weasley. But I thought, surely he’ll see that I’m better. And then you rejected my friendship, in front of my peers and my family’s enemies, and I was, to be frank, mortified.”
Draco met Potter’s green eyes, surprised the young man was sitting up on the bed again. “I had no reason to suspect you knew anything about me. I always assumed you just decided then and there that I wasn’t worthy to be your friend. So I promised myself you would always regret it.”
They sat quietly for awhile. The question vanished, and Draco checked the last page and saw a few other questions must have vanished as well. Potter eventually got up and began to unpack his bag. He added his own food to Draco’s table and tossed his clothes (Pack List item #3: Something to cover your naked form) haphazardly into the second drawer. He saw Draco’s look of horror and smiled broadly, tossing a roll of socks over his shoulder into the drawer before shutting it. A sleeve hung out.
Draco tried not to look at it. He counted the brinks in the wall. 704. He reorganized their food for the weekend so that all of Potter’s containers lined up with his. He was frustrated for a bit by a bag of chips that didn’t seem to fit in nicely with the other plastic containers and snack boxes, but in the end he settled for leaning it upright against the wall centered as if on display.
He put his back to the dresser and reorganized his workstation to his satisfaction, questionnaire five inches from the edge of the table, quill two inches on the left, ink seven inches diagonally left from the tip of the feather. He rubbed the back of his neck. He fidgeted. He tried not to. He tried to fix the cracks. He made them worse. He cast a Disillusionment Charm over them.
Potter stood and patted his shoulder as he passed, opening the drawer and tucking the sleeve back into it before shutting it. “Better?” he asked, his tone teasing but friendly. He took the extra seat at the table like a dog taking over the couch, his limbs barely fitting as he shifted awkwardly so that every part of him was off the floor. His questionnaire floated over from the bed after a murmured Accio.
Draco blushed and then nodded. “A little.”
“A little?” Potter asked, disbelief raising his eyebrows. “What’s the matter?”
Draco looked at his questionnaire, trying to think about his answer.
“Spit it out. Use your words.”
Draco puffed. “Look, I know what is looks like inside the drawer. It makes it difficult to think about other things.”
Potter studied him for a moment longer and then nodded. “If it makes you feel better, you can organize the drawer. Only the drawer though. Don’t think that if you are in my house and you don’t like how things are placed that you can just try to fix all of it. I have a system.”
“A messy system.” Inside his house? For a moment Draco pictured the state of Potter’s wardrobe at home, shuddered, and then banished the image hard, picturing the perfection of his own at home.
“It works for me.”
Draco shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. But he did fix the drawer.
“My turn to pick the question,” Potter declared once Draco finally returned to the table, flipping to a random page.
“I didn’t realize we were taking turns,” Draco muttered.
“Question 154,” Potter read out loud, ignoring Draco. “Would you trust your partner with your life?” Potter scowled and his eyes moved across the paper as he read it again and sighed. He dropped the questionnaire, glaring at the parchment for failing him.
“Well,” Draco prompted after it seemed Potter wasn’t going to answer.
Potter messed with his hair. “It’s a complicated question. Why, do you have an answer?”
Draco nodded. “Yes.” Draco told himself that Potter’s hair looked silly, all long and unkempt and curling at the ends and glorious and soft looking. He told himself he wasn’t lying.
“Well, what is it?”
“Yes,” Draco repeated, his eyes steady on Potter.
Potter barked a nervous laugh. “That’s it? Just yes?”
Draco nodded, smiling slightly. It was always fun to discomfort Potter when possible.
Potter thought about it. “I don’t know.”
Draco wasn’t surprised. “Well, I suppose I haven’t given you much reason to trust me.” It hurt though, that distrust. They’d been partnered in training for the last six months after the Comparative Magical Signatures exam, but co-existed in some bizarre awkward friendship for years now. Surely Potter could trust him a little.
Potter shook his head. “It’s not that. I just don’t think I trust a lot of people.”
The room shimmered and vines appeared from the walls, wrapping tightly around Potter and Draco before they had a chance to react. Draco let his training take over and he took out his wand to burn the vines.
“Stop,” a voice called out. Draco froze, seeing the wand tip dangerously close to Potter’s eye. The wizard’s grey robes might once have been white and his hair hung long in thin, greasy clumps. His teeth, what remained of them, were yellowed and broken.
Draco held his wand calmly before him, perfectly positioned to strike at the first opportunity. His entire mind was focused on the problem before him. Save Harry.
The wizard stood behind Potter, no apparent opening available for Draco to finish him off. Draco felt the vines creeping up his legs, a pressing reminder that time was of the essence. “Release him,” Draco ordered, his voice cold as ice. He knew his face was terrifying. He’d practiced in the mirror often enough.
The wizard shivered but tightened his hold on Potter. The vines around Potter tightened noticeably in response and Potter winced. Draco’s free arm trembled slightly. If he was lucky, there would be one shot, but to strike so close meant that Potter couldn’t move at all. Not at all.
“I will not. He is coming with me,” the wizard wheezed then cackled. “Free from Azkaban and with Harry Potter in my control I will remain so.”
“I will hunt you until you are dead. And it will be an excruciatingly painful slow death,” Draco promised, meaning every word.
“I trust you,” Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The vine covered his mouth.
The wizard shifted less than an inch and Draco took the shot. “Stupefy.” The wizard dropped completely into unconsciousness, limp as an overcooked noodle. The vines quivered and attacked, flying out at Draco. He stunned them with a sweeping spell, dodging as one puffed out a cloud of pollen when a flower blossomed on the end. He covered his nose with his sleeve, casting a bubble charm around Potter’s head before doing the same to himself.
Draco cast Diffindo to get the vine off Potter, wincing a bit when he saw a thin slice in Potter’s jumper, but he moved on, stunning each vine as it appeared. Potter drew his wand before his feet even touched the floor and soon they were both casting spells against the overgrown plant.
Finally, Draco’s cutting cleared enough vines for him to spot the bulb but he couldn’t get a good view. “Potter,” he muttered, pointing.
Potter didn’t even hesitate, casting a Dehydration Curse at the bulb and the vine released an audible shriek and a thick burst of pollen as it shriveled up and died.
Draco coughed, his chest squeezing with a faint burn. He suspected he’d inhaled some of the pollen before managing the bubble charm but there was no use in worrying about it just yet. He set about Vanishing the pollen that remained, annoyed that he hadn’t done so when the first cloud appeared.
Potter opened one of Draco’s food containers and tossed the sandwich in the trash before scooping the shriveled up vine bulb into it and sealing the lid. He muttered a spell to send it to the evidence labs and then began to Vanish the remains of the plant alongside Draco. Draco glared as he finished up, hoping that wasn’t the beans-and-bacon sandwich Potter had tossed, his favorite. Granted it was covered in pollen but still.
“Can you wake him?” Potter asked when all that remained was the unconscious wizard.
Draco nodded, raising his arm to cast the counterspell, but the wizard and the remaining pollen simply disappeared. Draco stood dumb with his mouth open until Potter reached out and pressed on Draco’s wand arm until he let it drop.
“Huh,” was all Potter said.
Master of Understatement, Draco thought, rolling his eyes as he collapsed into his seat again. Potter could keep the one by the wall. Obviously it wasn’t the safe spot.
Potter put his chair to rights and sat in it carefully. He fingered the end of his ripped jumper mournfully. “Don’t suppose you know any sewing charms?” he asked hopefully. “It’s my favorite.”
Draco shook his head, ignoring Potter’s slump of sorrow, and cast the spell under the table to repair the jumper. Potter didn’t notice.
“Hey look, Question 154 is gone.”
It was Draco’s turn to slump. “Please don’t answer any more questions with the phrase ‘I don’t know’.” At least his chest felt better. He banished the Bubble Charms.
Potter laughed. “Question 2?”
***
Draco learned that Potter talked in his sleep. Incessantly. All night in fact. Clear, precise, logically, methodically...it was a bloody one-sided, never-ending conversation. Draco tried to cast a silencing charm but apart from the room flashing violet the spell had no effect. Draco wondered at one point if Potter had cast Sonorus before falling asleep.
Potter learned Draco is not a morning person. At least, that’s what Potter told him when he finally joined Draco at the table. Draco had tried to cast a hex at him but the room had once again flashed violet with no other effect. Potter flashed a devilishly charming smile at Draco but Draco, for once, was immune. Merlin, he would kiss Potter for a cup of tea. Alas, he’d already searched his bag and Dandikins, his house-elf, had apparently forgotten to include some.
“Draco?” Potter asked, sounding concerned. Draco blinked, realizing Potter had already called his name a few times.
“Malfoy,” he corrected, brows together.
“Malfoy, where is the food?”
“Over-” Draco frowned. The table was empty. “Well then.” He rubbed his face. He was much too tired for this. And hungry. His stomach growled. “Doomed,” he declared, not caring if he sounded dramatic.
“For Merlin’s sake, Draco, it’s not the end of all life. We’ll be fine until Monday.” Potter glanced at his questionnaire.
Draco sat up straight. “That’s it?” he asked, frowning. “You’re not even upset that this stupid room stole our supplies?”
Potter shrugged. “Why bother? It’s not the first time I’ve skipped a few meals and I’m certain it won’t be the last.”
Draco shivered. “Why did you skip meals? During the war?”
Potter nodded. “Then. And before.” He waved it off. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Before?” Draco leaned forward, covering Potter’s Questionnaire with his hands. “You skipped meals before the war?”
Potter said nothing, pushing back his chair. He opened the door and stepped into the small bathroom, barely squeezing inside. He tried to close the door but his elbow got in the way, and then his knee. He finally just sat on the toilet, his knees tucked under the sink, and shut the door.
Draco sighed and looked at the next question. Question 47: How important does your partner rate food? “Important,” Draco muttered. The question filled in and flashed. Apparently, Draco needed to find Potter some food.
Draco tried to call his house-elf but after several minutes with no loud Pop! Draco assumed the room was sealed against house-elf magic. Next he began to search through his bags. It took awhile, but eventually he had a growing stack of stuff-and-things on the bed from other trips. Near the end he discovered a covered plate with the Hogwarts crest stenciled into the top. If he remembered correctly it was the Halloween feast in seventh year. He’d kept quite a few because, well...because. Food had been challenging to come by that year.
He cast a quick spell on it and found the stasis charm intact. Impressive considering the charm was five years old. He muttered a warming spell underneath and set the plate in front of Potter’s place at the table, remembering to take the covering lid off to hide the incriminating evidence.
He had just finished placing everything back carefully into his bag when Potter finally opened the bathroom door and scooted out. He looked fine with his lips curved into a smile and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “It is strange how convenient you think it is that you can wash your hands while still on the loo, but then you realize you’re still on the loo and when you finish you’re still going to have to wash your hands.”
Draco pointed at the table. “I left your breakfast on the table.”
Potter looked cute in his confusion. Not that Draco was looking of course. “Where’s yours?” Potter asked, slowly taking his seat. “Why does this look like a Hogwart’s feast?” His eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Are you saying I hoard food?” Draco asked, keeping his expression clear.
Potter hurriedly disagreed. “Of course not.” He frowned. “Do you?”
“Then eat.” Draco ignored the question.
Potter almost did but he paused. “Where’s yours?”
“I ate it already.”
“When I was in the loo?”
“Yes?” Draco asked, quickly coughing to clear his throat. “Yes,” he said with more certainty.
Potter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously; Draco tried not to fidget. He called upon everything he’d learned to avoid the Dark Lord’s attention, keeping his eyes focused on Potter’s as he willed him to let this go.
Potter scoffed. “You’re lying. Eat half,” he demanded, using a Duplication Charm to create a second plate, frowned when he realized he didn’t have a fork and then shrugged and used his finger to push half of everything onto the other plate. He put the plate in front of Draco’s seat and gestured with a happy smile. “Sit.”
Draco scowled. “I ate.” He crossed his arms, knowing it was petulant and not caring.
“You didn’t. I know you and you looked peaked, paler than usual. You’re practically quivering from hunger.”
“That is a gross exaggeration and not true in the least,” Draco told him as he sat. He considered dumping the food back in front of Potter. He sighed.
“What’s the matter now?” Potter asked.
“It’s just…”
Potter put his face in his hands. “This is about your compulsions, isn’t it?”
Draco looked away. “I don’t have compulsions.”
Potter switched their plates. “I only touched what I put on yours. I didn’t touch anything on this one.” He smiled. “Better?”
Draco swallowed thickly and nodded. “Thank you. For being kind.”
Their questionnaires shrank further.
Hours later they’d worked through a significant chunk of the blasted questions. Potter, Draco had discovered, had a keen mind for reading people. Draco felt raw and laid bare and it was a struggle not to lash out and snap at Potter when he asked probing questions and made entirely too accurate guesses when Draco refused to speak. When they became field partners Draco decided Potter could conduct the interviews.
“I wonder how Ron and Trenton are doing,” Potter pondered, setting up a game of wizard chess (Pack List item #6: Something to keep your brain busy). Potter was terrible at the game but he often indulged Ron and Draco when they wanted to play. Draco and Ron had actually worked together to create a tri-wizard chess version last summer but it was complicated enough that Potter preferred to bow out of those games after being forced to help in the testing phase.
“Trenton is a prick.”
“He’s not that bad,” Potter protested. “His arse is nice.”
Draco growled before he could stop himself. Potter dropped his pawn, his eyes wide with shock. “Did you just growl at me?”
“No,” Draco said.
“You did.”
“No,” Draco repeated calmly. Malfoys would never growl.
“What made you growl? Me sticking up for Trenton or me admiring his arse? Couldn’t be the latter, I’ve seen you do the same.”
“I didn’t growl,” Draco said again, putting Potter’s pawn in the final spot. He ignored the rest of Potter’s preposterous questions.
Potter smirked and moved his pawn. “What’s the next question?” He eventually asked when it became apparent how bad he was losing. Since Potter had reached for his questionnaire Draco assumed the question was rhetorical and destroyed Potter’s bishop. “It’s your turn, so Question 422: Explain completely your decision to be an Auror.”
Draco grunted. “Completely?”
Potter ignored him. “Well, the decision for me felt easy. I was good at it. And teaching Dumbledore’s Army in sixth year taught me that I enjoyed teaching to a degree. Mostly though, it felt like an honourable profession, a chance to give back and use what I know to prevent another Voldemort from rising up. But, if I discover that I’m pants at it after all this time, I do enjoy Transfiguration and Charms, and McGonagall told me I’m welcome to teach at Hogwarts in a few years once I get some ‘life experience’ in me, quoting her.”
Draco leaned back in his chair after claiming Potter’s king, satisfaction warming him despite the relative challenge of the game. Potter played with little strategy but occasionally he made some creative plays that caused some anxiety for Draco. Draco wouldn’t ever admit it, but Potter could have won the game in three moves if he hadn’t moved his pawn in the prior turn.
“So?”
“It’s not that simple for me,” Draco explained reluctantly. He knew there was no reason to dance around the answer. The question would never disappear until he told the truth. Skipping the question didn’t even occur to him.
“Nothing is simple with you,” Potter pointed out. “I think you could make opening a door complicated.”
“I grew up believing the Dark Arts were just a means to an end and so long as you got the results it didn’t matter what methods were used. I believed that wizards who refused to use any power available to them were fools and weak. But, things happened that forced me to change my mind.”
“Voldemort,” Potter supplied.
“Yes. But not just him. The Death Eaters were in my home and no one, no where, was safe. There are still rooms in the manor that I have blocked off because they aren’t fit for habitation. I still carry scars from the various punishments I received, not just -” Draco touched his arm, covering the mark.
“I saw you sometimes,” Potter admitted. “You know I was...bonded, for lack of a better word, to Voldemort. I saw how much you were suffering.”
“You know when you were captured? I lied because I knew you were the only hope we had left. And I remember thinking that there were people trained for that, people trained to defeat the Dark Lord and his followers, and they weren’t there.”
“But you became an Auror anyway?”
“Yes. Because they weren’t there. We were children and fighting in a war we could barely understand. I refuse to be a pawn, Potter.”
By evening they’d knocked out a significant amount of questions, but not before they’d battled Wrackspurts (well, Potter had because Draco refused to believe in them), a garden gnome infestation (It would have been nice if Potter could stun them before they’d bitten Draco), a boggart (Draco was so NOT afraid of Professor McGonagall), some kind of gas with bloodsucking leeches crawling in it (Draco’s shoes were ruined, RUINED!), and a timed potions test that made Draco vindictively pleased that he always packed his portable apothecary supplies since the ones the room had provided were barely usable. Draco felt emotionally exhausted, magically drained, and certain that his stomach was devouring his organs from the inside out. Potter didn’t appear much better, which made Draco feel at least a little better.
Potter lay sprawled on Draco’s bed, claiming his was too far and he was too tired to make it. Draco suppressed his snort of disbelief. “It’s barely two steps.”
“Two steps too far.”
“Could you be any lazier, Potter?”
“Of course,” Potter agreed. He tapped Draco’s leg with his fingers. “So, spill it. Sexuality?”
“That isn’t in the questionnaire.”
“It is,” Potter told him, holding up the packet from a distance too far away for Draco to read. Draco squinted. No, it didn’t help.
“It isn’t.”
“I thought you trusted me,” Potter said, his voice wobbling with hurt.
“Stop being cheeky. It doesn’t suit you,” Malfoy told Potter in his driest tones.
Potter laughed. “Seriously though. It’s Question 692.”
“Why are not finished with this yet?” Draco lay back and closed his eyes.
“Just answer and we can call it a night.”
Draco didn’t even know why he didn’t just tell Potter. It wasn’t like it was a huge secret after all. Potter had seen Draco out on a couple dates at the Leaky Cauldron and the Auror Trainees routinely bragged and joked and compared stories about their romantic encounters. “Gay,” Draco finally ground out. “I’m gay.”
Potter whispered a quiet “Nox” and darkness devoured the room. Draco felt adrift in the shadows. “Me too,” Potter admitted.
Draco was almost asleep when he realized Potter was still lying on his bed, his feet up on Draco’s chest. “Potter, your bed awaits.”
No sounds came from Potter and Draco left himself drift into sleep.
***
Their supplies were back on the table the next morning and Draco wasted no time in preparing a large breakfast for them both, avoiding the awkwardness of sharing the small bed by getting up first.
Potter chatted in his sleep the entire time that Draco cooked using a charmed fire to make omelets and hash. Cooking was a recent hobby of his that he’d tried after watching a how-to show on Ron and Hermione’s telly one night. He wasn’t creative about it but it was edible. Most of the time. Draco thought Potter’s chatter might be adorable if Draco had managed to actually sleep himself. In the mean time, Draco learned that Potter had one-sided conversations about how to become an animagus with Professor McGonagall (you eat toads, of course), and that Potter liked to listen to rain (sounds like music on a moon apparently), and Potter thought house-elves should learn to hit their heads against walls much quieter (the Dursleys will hear).
He put Potter’s food under a warming charm and ate his quickly, casting the charm to clean the dishes in the meantime. Draco enjoyed watching the spell struggle with the small sink for awhile before the spell finally managed to get the correct angle for spraying water, soap suds and dirty dishes to come together as one. Granted, the entire bathroom was soaked by then but Draco just shut the door. Potter could deal with it when he woke up since Draco had been wonderful and kind and cooked.
“Why is the bathroom wet?” came the sleepy question from behind him some while later. Draco analyzed everything and decided Potter sounded confused and possibly a bit angry? Mopey? Bemused?
“Breakfast,” Draco muttered around his cup of tea. He didn’t know where the tin had come from since it hadn’t been in his supplies or Potter’s but he wasn’t going to question its sudden appearance on their side table. He was just grateful for the tea.
Potter flopped into his chair and pushed his messy hair out of his eyes. It needed a trim. Draco considered suggesting it but opted not to in the end since the unkempt nest was somehow inherently Harry Potter.
Harry eyed the food before him with interest. “Did you make this?”
“No, Potter, I had the house-elves bring it.”
“But…” Potter frowned. “The room is sealed.”
Draco sipped his tea.
“So you made it then. Thank you,” Potter decided, digging in. He paused with his fork halfway to his lips. “Where did the tea come from?”
Draco scowled. “Who cares? It’s here and perfect.”
“Because all of this food was stuff I know we brought with us. I already noticed there wasn’t any tea. Where did it come from?” Potter insisted on knowing, even as he continued emptying his plate.
“It was included with the rest of the food this morning.”
Potter’s fork clattered on his plate as he dropped it. He scooped up his wand and cast a series of Detection Charms, groaning when the cup glowed red. “Poisoned.”
Draco gaped and then closed his mouth quickly lest Potter find him uncouth. And relaxed his brow. Wrinkles. “What?” he squeaked out. Was that his voice?
“Your stupid tea is poisoned. How much did you drink?” Potter asked calmly.
Draco counted in his head. Three cups? Four? He settled for a sheepish shrug and took another sip.
“Gruugh!” Potter said, pulling his hair. “Stop drinking it!”
Draco looked at the tea in his hand. “I can’t help it! You’re making me feel stressed out and tea is relaxing!”
“Poisoned tea is not relaxing!”
“You’re not relaxing,” Draco muttered childishly, putting his cup down with a regretful sigh.
“Do you feel sick yet? Hot? Cold? Feverish? Nauseous? Delirious? Dizzy? Faint? Light-headed? Constipated? Chilled? Pained? Depre-”
“Enough!” Draco growled out, pushing away Potter’s hand from his forehead. “I feel fine.”
“You can’t be fine. You just consumed poison.”
“Well, I feel fine.” Draco pushed back from the table and rose. Oh, hello floor. “Potter, I’m not fine.”
“Obviously,” Potter muttered, pulling Draco up and then dragging him to the closest bed. “Describe what you’re feeling?”
“This room is a death trap. We were never supposed to complete the test. They’re going to do everything in their power to kill us and or leave us in here forever where no one will ever find us. I am feeling extremely distressed.”
Potter dropped Draco on the bed, breathing a little hard. “You are heavier than you look.”
“Fuck you, Potter.”
“It was a compliment!” Potter protested, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Kind of. You look skinny, but you weigh, uh, healthy,” Potter said, blushing fiercely.
“Potter!” Draco growled. “If I could move my arms I would hit you.”
“You can’t feel your arms?” Potter started rubbing Draco’s arms. His eyes were dark with worry. “And your legs since you can’t stand. Is it getting worse?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “There are three well known poisons that cause these symptoms. It’s unlikely to be Hectate since it didn’t make the tea bitter, and it’s probably not Cinic since I can still breathe even though I can’t feel my chest. So that leaves -” Draco’s mouth grew lax and his eyes widened in panic.
Potter looked panicked also. “Fuck, Draco, I don’t know as much about poisons as you do! For once in your life could you not just get to the point!”
Draco eyes glared a thousand words.
“Think, think,” Potter muttered, tugging on his raven locks. “Bramble? No, that’s not a numbing poison.” Potter quickly went back to the table and sniffed the tea. “Really, Draco, this tea smells like gasoline.” He picked up the tea tin and sniffed that also. He gagged. “Ugh. It’s even worse in leaf form - wait!” Potter dropped the tin and ran to Draco’s Potions Lab still set up on the dresser. He opened the book they’d been working from yesterday and flipped to the marked page. “Drephrene!” He beamed at Draco. “Draco? Shite,” He hurried to Draco’s side and patted his cheek. “Come on, wake up.”
Draco reluctantly blinked his eyes back open. So heavy though. Potter’s concerned face hovered over him.
“Draco, blink once for no, two for yes. Is it Drephrene?”
Draco forced himself to blink twice. It was harder than it should be. He heard Potter rustling through the book. “Oh, thank Merlin it’s just a spell. Prodvenenu!.” Potter twisted his wand in a swirl and dip. Warmth and pins raced through Draco and he took a deep breath, groaning.
“That tea costs two galleons a pound, Potter,” Draco muttered. “Salazar, am I drooling?” Draco rushed to wipe his chin. He closed his eyes, utterly mortified. “Please tell me this weekend is almost over?”
Potter kissed him.
It was...horrible. And painful. Draco winced as his lips hit his teeth and he tasted blood. Potter mouth was rigid and rough against his. Draco shoved him off.
“Sorry,” Potter said, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “Yes, that was awful, but you scared the magic out of me.”
Draco’s eyes widened and he coughed to cover up his surprise. “It’s...quite all right.”
“Can I try again?” Potter asked, only slightly hesitant. He didn’t wait for Draco to answer, just bent over and placed a gentle, slightly damp kiss upon Draco’s lips. It tingled with power, the magic in Potter just barely contained by his skin. It sent blissful waves through Draco, a kaleidoscope of colors bursting behind his eyes as he gasped, feeling the ebb and flow of their combined magic dancing through them in an erotic tide that never happened in training. Combining their magic in training felt like two people merging together but keeping their cores separate. This felt like Potter had taken his soul and merged it with Draco’s. It burned like a winter fire, sweet like a cuddle during the sunset, and Draco finally let himself be swept into the embers.
Potter leaned back, blushing red and smiling triumphantly. “Brilliant.”
Draco shivered. “Potter, explain.”
“Draco, I think that was perfectly explanatory on its own.” Potter got up and used his wand to vanish the tea off the floor and the cup sitting on the table. “Come on, if we finish this early we can go home and shag.”
“We will not be shagging, Potter,” Draco said, slowly sitting up. He wiggled his toes just because he could.
“Well, maybe not right away. Dinner first I think.”
Draco rolled his eyes again. Behind Potter’s back he shook his fists at the sky.
“We have one question left,” Potter said, sounding stumped.
“Really?” Draco laughed. “Just put it in the bin then. We only had to answer fifty per cent after all.”
“No, we should finish,” Potter decided and Draco agreed, resuming his place at the table. “Question six hundred and seventy two,” he drew out, sounding a bit like Snape. “What are your partner’s greatest strengths and weaknesses?”
“You act before you think, but that’s sometimes a good thing when decisive action is needed,” Draco answered immediately. “You are loyal long past the point when you should let someone go, but you don’t trust easily. You are too quick to put yourself and your skills down when you should be claiming them proudly, though you’re arrogantly reckless with yourself and your life, but that’s why I’m your partner, of course. And you have terrible taste in tea.”
Potter flicked Draco’s head. “Prick, judge yourself!”
“Ow,” Draco whined, rubbing his head as he gave Potter his most injured expression. “You’re also chaotic, undisciplined, and occasionally foolhardy, though you probably think of it as bravery, and you hit like a girl.”
Potter laughed. “Don’t have anything nice to say?”
Draco smiled. “You kiss nice when you’re trying, you have the perfect arse, you have good taste in men because you like me, you have moments of cleverness, you are incredibly powerful, and the strongest wizard I’ve ever met.”
Potter blushed and cleared his throat. “You’re an utter arsehole to everyone you don’t like and only a partial arsehole to those you do. You’re absolutely brilliant, comparable only to Hermione in the sheer amount of stuff you know. You are beautiful, gifted, and secretly kind.”
Draco scoffed. “I am not kind.” He had no problem with the rest of Potter’s statement. Except maybe being second to Hermione. He was at least equal.
“I saw you help that child in Diagon Alley last year and I know you still send her presents multiple times a year.”
“So, she was precocious and I happen to like precocious children,” Draco muttered.
“You also tend to over-think everything, you’re obsessive, compulsive, arrogant, and rude.” Potter finished. “But you do kiss nice too.”
Their questionnaires flashed violet, then gold, and vanished leaving a swirling cloud of smoke before both of them. The door clicked open and they both turned to look. “Looks like we’re free,” Draco said, pushing back from the table. He turned to begin packing up his things.
“Pack quickly, Draco, don’t take all day. We have dinner and a shag to get to,” Potter told him, stuffing Draco’s clothes into Draco’s pack haphazardly.
Draco sputtered. “Potter! Stop manhandling my things!”
Potter smirked. “I haven’t manhandled your things yet. We’re getting to that, if you’d just hurry up.”
Draco froze. “Oh fine,” he muttered, saying a spell to pull all his things back into his pack. Let Dandikins deal with it later. “Let’s go.”
Potter beamed and took Draco’s hand. “Imagine if we’d never had that Sticking Charm cast on us.”
Draco smiled and dragged Potter home.