Work Text:
Vault 1937 had been left untouched for decades, if Draco Malfoy was to guess from the depth of dust he systematically removed while moving between stack after stack and pile after pile.
"Thank Merlin my part in this is not the gold," he breathed aloud, "I'd go mad before the hundredth sickle or nut!"
Truthfully, the vault primarily contained seven large piles of Wizarding gold, along with a few pieces of furniture that Draco could barely keep from running his fingers over - the craftsmanship was astounding, with animals and fruits cascading over corners and table leaves.
In a corner near the entrance of the vault, he came across a magnificent dressing table with legs that made it seem as if the thing might run away if spooked! Slowly reaching a hand out, to see if any objects hid in the small layer of dust laying atop it, the young man found what seemed to be a pin or broach. Scribbling down notes about it and the dressing table, he rubbed the surface to note the pin's colour in the log: one small green apple pin.
It really wasn't all that large... seemed to be made of a semi-precious gem rather than an enamel. Peridot if he were asked to hazard a guess. The thing felt old, like much of his mother's own jewelry did. Honestly, it could be a small women's pin or, maybe, a tie pin for a wizard.
Draco knew he wouldn't mind wearing it with his dress robes, had it been his own. Looking into the dressing table's mirror and holding the item up, he thought it would look rather nice on his black silk tie, near his marbled grey dress-vest; a pop of color to connect to the green of the Slytherin colours he still wore on special occasions.
Finishing up his notes, head already wondering if he could commission someone down Diagon Alley to create something similar for him, Draco yelped when his ring finger was scratched deep by the sharp end of the pin. "Merlin's ghost, that hurt!"
As soon as he spoke, however, the young man realized something was wrong: his breathing altered severely, as if a troll were giving him a crushing hug, and Draco made for the door of the vault with grey eyes now wide with fear. Was it something that was putting him to sleep? Was it something that was going to kill him? And if it was something that was going to kill him, would it do it slowly or quickly? With his mind in this line of thought, the one thing Draco didn't want was to end up being lost in a vault that was barely checked on, and his head could only think 'get to the door' until another thought suddenly took over: 'soul mate, I'm sorry!' Because yes, what would end up happening to his possible soul mate because of what was going on with him?
His feet had barely gotten him just outside the vault, next to its plaque, when Draco fell to the floor feeling as if he were back in the Room of Requirement, fire at his heels. Hand out, the blonde called out as he had in the Room. "Potter!"
And then his vision blacked out entirely.
***
Harry felt as if he'd been wandering the highlands of Scotland for years rather than months! The only thing that helped him keep his sanity was the company, and guidance, of his 'uncle' Lupin.
Remus had - at Sirius' extreme insistence - agreed to go along because "our godson will be dealing with all sorts of furry pack people out there, and he doesn't know them nearly as well as you do!"
Despite Lupin's protests that "just because I am one doesn't mean I can deal with all of them", he was enjoying the opportunity to have more time with Harry. That he truly did enjoy!
"I'm not sure how well James would have taken to doing an assignment like this, Harry," the Lycanthrope admitted, looking around them to keep an eye and an ear peeled for anyone who might harm them. Adjusting his much-repaired coat, his focus went back to Harry.
"To be fair, I don't know how well I'd take to it, if not for the fact that I ended up spending months on the road with Ron and Hermione that last year of school," Harry responded, a bit of genuine laughter burbling in his voice. Noticing a flat area where they could pitch their magical tent for the night, he motioned to the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor just before a pinch or cramp seized him. Quickly Harry ended up down on one knee, and saw Lupin running up from behind his position.
"Harry! What's wrong," Remus called, wasting no time in getting down near Harry and glancing around them to once more check for danger, eyes wide. "Did something hit you?"
Harry concentrated on calming his heart down, letting Lupin check him over with shaking fingers before his green eyes caught the werewolf's blue ones. "I'm not sure," he admitted, "I think it was a ... I think it was my heart, doing ... something, but I'm honestly not sure."
Remus nodded, going for a coat pocket and handing a bit of chocolate over to the young man. "Maybe it's a sign that they're working you too hard," he commented, looking down at the grass they'd landed on. "What would you say to a vacation?"
"I'd say you're sounding a lot like uncle Sirius," Harry responded, despite the smile he couldn't help but have cross his face. As for the chocolate, he opened it up and began to nibble on it since that would make Lupin feel better. "But seriously, I'd say I don't have time for it right now." Closing his eyes, Harry tipped his head up toward the blanket of stars and waxing moon.
"Harry," Remus replied, brows furrowed.
The young auror sighed. "I have to at least finish this assignment," he uttered, head dropping down to rest atop his arm. "It's not fair to anyone else, who'd just have to start the whole process over again, and it also wouldn't be fair to the packs we've already met with," he stated clearly, clarifying his position. "They've met me. They now know me. Somehow I doubt that the third pack would look at all favorably on somebody new being called in at this point."
Lupin nodded, knowing that Harry was right - the packs would respect him more for having done the work of meeting with all three of them. Harry truly had been a good choice for not only an auror, but for an auror who'd come to specialize in taking care of magical creatures and individuals. "Well, then let's get the tent up and see you to sleep," Remus stated, grabbing for the tent strapped to Harry's back, "that way you're well rested when we head down to see Thomas and his pack."
Harry yawned, nodded his head, and found himself falling asleep nearly the instant his head hit the pillow. The flickering of their central lamp left him with dreams of fire, a shadow reaching out to him and, next day, Harry fought off the overwhelming fear that somehow he wouldn't be good enough to help those who needed him.
*~*~*
After Harry had been out of the country for nearly a year, on multiple assignments from the Aurors office - running from what felt like one dumpster fire to another - thanks to the Ministry of Magic's antiquarian views on everything from werewolves (who had been given little more than lip service in regards to their plight) to the return of Voldemort (whose presence they had steadfastly denied over and over again until their lies could no longer be seen as anything but). Now, when the Wizarding World as a whole seemed to have the lowest possible opinion of the organization, they had the likes of Hermione, Ron and Harry helping to firm the place up. To make it the institution Arthur Weasley said it had once been.
It was running from one assignment to another, however, which had ultimately left Harry with very little in the way of a social life! Could he even say he still had one? So the Boy Who Lived had decided to become the Man Who Would Take a Vacation: speak to people with whom he did not work with on a day-to-day basis, and possibly find at least a pen pal.
Or a boyfriend.
Please, Merlin, let him find a boyfriend!
(Because making excuses for why it was just him and a good book before bed were becoming sad at this point in his auror career.)
So it was that the raven-haired 'savior of the wizarding world' stepped through the tall - and open wide - doors of the wizard Bank, flanked by Ron and Hermione as the pair discussed her latest attempt at drumming up support for Centaur and Minotaur rights.
"I swear the old coot's just holding onto a grudge like his life depends upon it," the muggle-born witch complained as her robes swished around her legs like angry cats.
Ron and Harry nodded, even though Ron leaned over behind Harry's back once they'd gotten in line to see a teller. Red hair shining like burnished copper in the filtered afternoon light, he tried to calm his wife down by grabbing her hand. The words that came out of his mouth, though he meant them to be comforting, backfired horribly. "In the bloke's defense, even a baby centaur's kick is painful."
"And I was headbutted by a baby goat once," she replied caustically, "but that doesn't mean I feel biased against anything having to do with their welfare presently!" That was when she'd batted his hand away and glared. At both of them.
"Hey," Harry burst out, "why am I getting the Death Glare?"
Hermione's eyes pinned him like a bug, and her hands went to her hips. "Because he", she replied, pointing a finger in Ron's direction, "is your best friend!"
The auror blinked. "So are you!"
She looked like he'd slapped her in the face, eyes wide. "So you're just going to let him get away with that?"
Harry was firmly beginning to rethink his life choices now, complete with rubbing the bridge of his nose and resetting his glasses to alleviate a blooming headache. "Why did I think that this outing was going to be fun again," he asked softly, "can somebody tell me that?"
"Because we haven't seen each other, really, for nearly a year," Hermione answered quickly, if a bit sadly.
"And because we said you needed to see the new attraction Gringott's has had up for almost six months, " Ron just as quickly added.
Behind his ever-present spectacles, Harry's eyes blinked in confusion several times in succession. "Attraction? Ron, this is a bank, not your brothers' joke shop..."
"And yet they have one back there anyway," Ron said firmly, "and they're letting people file past it as they go to leave the building."
Harry followed where his best friend's finger led, to see what seemed to be a casket set up about two thirds back in the lobby area itself, next to which he could see a Gringott's bank guard and ... "Narcissa Malfoy?" Malfoy's mum was there in the bank ... but why? "What's she doing here?"
Hermione coughed gently. "It's your turn at the window, Harry," she softly uttered.
Harry shook his head in an attempt to clear it of questions, and headed up to the first available goblin's window to retrieve a bit of the wizard money he'd been left with as a child. While the young wizard wasn't getting much out of his own vault, he'd figured it made the trip to the bank actually worth it in case Ron was trying to over-hype this mysterious 'attraction' there in the lobby. As it was, with Mrs. Malfoy there he hardly wanted to get any money out at that moment, but did so in order to not anger any of the patrons behind him, closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath in when the transaction was done. "Okay, let's go look at this 'attraction' of yours, Ron."
***
Narcissa looked down at the crystal and gold coffin that held her son's still form and prayed. Yes the bank goblins had told her he was asleep, but they had let her know it was a charm only his soulmate could free him from. That was why she'd agreed to the display at all - the idea that his soulmate might happen by, and free him.
It was the only thing that kept the witch from breaking down in public.
She kept her eyes pinned to her son, his blonde hair curled over his right shoulder due to it growing out. It was still nothing like his father's - as if in silent protest, Draco's bangs feathered down from the middle of his forehead, framing his face; Narcissa wondered, suddenly, if he'd done it in order to hide from mean looks behind his own personal blonde-white curtain.His skin also appeared paler as the goblins had decked him out in a pale off-white outfit accented in silver and white-gold. The only thing that stuck out, like a thorn among roses, was the horrid Mark on his left forearm. The young wizard's right arm was crooked so his hand fell over his heart. Otherwise Draco looked like a prince just waiting to be woken up. "Draco," she murmured, wishing she could touch his hand and reassure him that things would be ok. But that was something she didn't even know for herself.
"Mrs. Malfoy," a voice breathed as a warm hand placed itself on her shoulder.
Looking up, Narcissa saw the wide emerald eyes of Harry Potter pinned on Draco's form. "Mr. Potter... what are you doing here?"
Harry put his free hand up over his heart, unable to tell if it was still beating as he tried to tear his gaze away from that creepy crystal coffin before them. A coffin he could see Malfoy through. "I ... Draco," he breathed, dropping to his knees at her side.
"Harry Potter, are you alright," Narcissa asked, looking up to see Ron and Hermione coming over as well.
It felt like there were a thousand eyes on him as Harry moved the top of the coffin out of the way, without bothering to ask anyone's permission, so that he could lean closer to the one 'sleeping' inside it. "Draco, Draco you can't do this to your mum." He blinked, and felt like he was back in the Malfoy Manor, with Draco being asked if Harry - busted face looking up at him and only him, as if that would help with no glasses on - was actually Harry... and Draco hadn't told his own family who he really was. He had not told Lucius or Bellatrix, which was beyond brave! The young Slytherin had risked who-knew-how-much to help Harry escape, in that moment alone, and this - a possibly eternal sleep as mean mutterings about him having been a Death Eater filtered around his resting place - how could this be the end he'd earned!? As if any of the witches or wizards there could say they'd done even half so much as Draco in their own lives! "You can't do this to me," he whispered softly, voice breaking before some unseen force began to squeeze in on his ribs.
Harry shifted and nudged up against Narcissa, snarling at those around them with eyes nearly glowing acid green. The lobby, blessedly, actually went silent in reply to his mood. Tears broke down his cheeks and, for a moment, no words came from a mouth that seemed to be stuck on simply opening and closing. After the longest 60 seconds of his life, a shaking hand reached out to lift Draco's head as Harry's own leaned toward it.
And they kissed.
True, at first it was simply that the young auror had pressed their lips together, but Draco's own arm began to move and found a resting place at the back of Harry's head, keeping him close before his eyes fluttered open. Grey eyes slid open, blinked, and locked with green ones. Sitting up together, as if it were choreographed, the young Malfoy moved his hand down over the Gryffindor's heart as something within him seemed to click into place. "You saved me, again, ... Harry."
Tears bubbled up in Harry and Narcissa's eyes.
Harry placed his own right hand over Draco's heart, and Narcissa swore she could hear their bond seal just before green eyes slid shut and the raven-haired young man bumped his forehead against her son's. "You said my name."
Draco's eyes closed now, too, and he felt his breath mingle with Harry's. "Harry, Harry, Harry," he repeated musically, a smirk playing on lips not entirely used to it.
Harry chuckled, happy tears in his eyes, and then peppered Draco's face with tiny kisses. "My Draco," he murmured, "my beautiful dragon."
For once Draco was so happy he felt as if he might burst into tears, and then he saw his mum silently looking his way; the tears streaking down her cheeks caused his own to fall, and he dove into her arms. They hugged each other for several heartbeats before Narcissa reached out and pulled Harry into their tiny circle. "My Harry," Draco said in return.
Hermione looked as if there were a slew of questions she'd love to ask him and, just as obviously, Ron was doing his level best to hold her back. To let them have their 'moment'. In the end, Granger got her info - after all, noone had suffered this charm's effects for roughly 300 years - the goblins got their full lobby back into working order, and Draco was given ownership over the contents of vault 1937. That was the price he was paid for suffering the charm, after all, as left in the will of the witch it'd previously belonged to.
He didn't care about all that, however, next to the fact that when he left Gringott's that day, Draco did so flanked by his mother and his soulmate.
He had them. His small world. His family.
And that was all he needed.