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“Your ticket, sir?”
Harry glanced up at the friendly, grey-haired conductor, feeling a pleasant relief in being addressed so anonymously, and handed him his ticket. The man smiled and said, “Have a good trip,” before moving along to the next booth.
The train’s whistle blew and Harry looked out the window as it pulled out of the station. He had boarded a train on its way to Scotland without fanfare, and now settled back in his peaceful booth. Traveling the muggle way had been the right decision.
The train made its way through rolling hills and forests, and as the miles went by, he thought of other train rides he had taken and everything that had happened since the war. Only three years had passed, but it felt like a lifetime. People were trying to pick up the pieces and heal, and for the most part, life had gone on. Hogwarts still welcomed and taught students. The ministry was still running. Ron and Hermione were married and expecting their first child.
But Harry still struggled. People were plagued with the same faults, children still learned the same bigotry, victims were locked in bitterness and sought petty methods of revenge. He was due to finally start Auror training, but, he had to admit, his heart wasn’t in it.
Maybe this trip would help him get sorted.
He was on his way to spend a week at the magical animal sanctuary where Buckbeak stayed now, and Hagrid had helped him set up the visit.
“Harry,” Hagrid had told him, “be sure to tell ‘im hi fer me. I know he is being well cared for there.”
“Sure, I will. I’m really looking forward to reuniting with him.”
“Of course!” Hagrid tapped his fingers together in front of his chest. “The thing I should tell yer is—ya see, ‘arry, the thing I’ve been meaning ta tell yer is—well, just remember, creatures are very wise, they are, very wise.”
Harry’s thoughts of Buckbeak, of course, wouldn’t be complete without remembering the ride he took in third year, the incident with Malfoy in class, and saving the hippogriff from the executioner.
Remembering Malfoy always created mixed feelings. He was the arrogant bully, yet at the Manor had played a big role in allowing their escape. Everyone said he deserved Azkaban, but Harry knew he had also been a victim of Voldemort.
Malfoy, the platinum-haired, silver-eyed git, had always been complicated.
Well, Harry thought as he rested his head on the back of his seat and closed his eyes, forcing Malfoy’s smirk from his brain, I’m not going to spend this trip thinking of Malfoy.
Harry finally arrived at his destination, and received a warm welcome by the staff, who all wore green vests with their logo in yellow. He was impressed with the facilities, and while not opulent or fancy, his guest room was spacious with a writing desk and his own bathroom. A bottle of spring water with a welcome note were left on his bedside stand.
The pleasant witch giving him the tour showed him the cafeteria where guests, employees and volunteers took their meals. It was very simple, scattered round tables decorated with napkin holders, salt and pepper shakers, and cafe-style chairs. There was a large, square table against the wall with a large bowl of fruit and an industrial coffee pot.
“Breakfast is at eight, and the guides will share the itinerary. Dinner is over, but we can find you something if you like,” she said, smiling at him.
“Thank you, but I would really like to see Buckbeak. Is that possible now?”
“Certainly. He’s being fed by the keeper, actually, so the timing is perfect.” She smiled, eyes sparkling over the rim of her glasses. “The feeding area is about a mile down the road. We discourage Apparating on the reserve, but if you don’t mind waiting a bit, there’s a shuttle that can take you.”
“Oh, I’ll walk. It’s a beautiful evening.”
“All right. We’ll notify the keeper you’re coming. We use muggle pagers. Enjoy your evening and stay. And if there’s anything you need, just let us know.”
Harry nodded. “I will. Thanks.” He walked over to the fruit bowl and chose an apple, putting it in his pocket.
Indeed it is a beautiful evening, he thought, walking down the road that cut through a field of grasses, the late sun on his shoulders and playing through a line of trees in the near distance. Insects buzzed among the blades of grass and honeysuckle and above passed a flight of what looked like blue Jays, but they flew and dipped silently, so Harry figured they were Jobberknolls.
The path took him through the trees, and he was enjoying the sun dappling on their branches, when suddenly he saw—a golden snitch? No. Not a snitch. It had eyes like rubies and golden feathers, but it flew so fast, he couldn’t be sure. Then it disappeared as fast as it had come, and Harry looked after it in wonder.
Had he just seen a Golden Snidget? He hadn’t known they even still existed.
What a cool place this was.
Moving on, the path began to widen, and anticipation grew as he sensed he was getting close.
Soft whistling floated from ahead, and he paused, listening to whistling and a low humming murmur—not a bird, definitely human. Next came the unmistakable sound of hooves on the ground. Then a voice.
“Hmm, Buckbeak, you like that? I know this is your favorite treat.”
Harry froze, because he knew that voice. He would know it anywhere. Although, he had never heard it in that tone before. Soft. Low. Comforting.
It can’t be, he thought. What the hell was the owner of that voice doing here? Malfoy? Talking to Buckbeak? Where was the keeper?
Harry wanted to burst through and confront Malfoy, but the sound of Buckbeak crunching something juicy followed. Must have been an apple. Apples were his favorite. How did Malfoy know that? His apple burned in his pocket, and he felt cheated. Worse, he felt a stab of betrayal.
“Someone’s coming to see you, Buck,” Malfoy said then. “I’m sure he will be happy to see you. Me, not so much I don’t think.”
Harry very quietly stepped forward, careful not to scuff a rock, step on a stick, or breathe too loudly.
The road slowly opened and curved to the left, ending in a small dirt lot. Right ahead was a classic red barn with white trim. It looked freshly painted, a large watering trough against one wall. Surrounding the barn, the grass was trimmed short, but the fields beyond—they spread for acres, long grasses, purple heather, and buttercups covering rolling hills. In the distance he could see a pond glistening under the fading sun.
And in the foreground of all this, his back to him, stood Draco Malfoy, running a hand over Buckbeak’s neck as the Hippogriff now pulled a dead ferret from the stick Malfoy held.
Just what?
His hair, blond as ever, was longish, reaching the bottom of his neck, tied back. He was dressed in jeans, a long-sleeve tee, and he wore one of the vests that had the “Magical Creature Sanctuary of Scotland" logo on it. Malfoy was the keeper?
The slight tensing of Malfoy’s shoulders and the pause in his humming told Harry he knew he was there.
Buckbeak threw his head up then, whipping the carcass, his eye blinking Harry’s way in recognition. He swallowed the ferret whole, then sounded a greeting.
Malfoy looked behind him at Harry then, a half-smile playing on his lips, his eyes guarded. “Hello, Potter.”
“Malfoy,” Harry found his tongue, “what are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re the keeper?”
“Always the observant one, hm?” he answered.
Harry felt the old defenses rise, but before he could respond, Malfoy turned to him.
“I work here. Volunteer here. Live here.”
Malfoy stood there, not exactly defiant, but like he belonged there. Harry remembered what Hagrid had said. Hagrid knew. Harry took a cleansing breath, nodded, and stepped toward Buckbeak with a bow and outstretched hand. “Hello, old friend.”
The hippogriff lowered his head and trotted the short distance to him. Harry placed a hand on his forehead and searched for any signs he had been—spelled or something.
“It started as a penance,” Malfoy offered, “as part of my probation. I remembered how you befriended him, and it turns out Buckbeak is more forgiving than most people.”
Harry felt like he had stepped into an alternate universe.
“Well,” he said to Malfoy, “he would have to be, wouldn’t he?”
Malfoy turned back to Buckbeak. “Indeed. Buckbeak is proud, but I’ve found that creatures aren’t prone to holding grudges like people. They live in the moment. We’re more complicated. Aren’t we?” He glanced at Harry.
Harry didn’t know how to respond to the guru-type wisdom coming from Malfoy’s lips. Other than finding it made them more attractive. Wait—when had he ever found them attractive?
“I have an apple for him,” Harry said simply.
“He’ll love that.”
Harry removed the apple from his pocket and offered it on his open palm, which Buckbeak took gratefully, watching him with noble eyes as he crunched it and Harry pat his neck.
Malfoy was there in the periphery, and the presence of his arch nemesis seemed incongruent to the gentle breeze, the fading sun’s rays, the surrounding beauty as he reunited with Buckbeak.
But Malfoy didn’t feel like an arch nemesis right now, Harry decided. If Buckbeak could forgive Malfoy and “live in the moment,” Harry could at least try. He just wasn’t sure how to, exactly.
“Do you want to ride?” Malfoy asked. The half-smile was still there, but humor now danced in his eyes.
The Malfoy smirk had always been there, of course, but it had always been previously bestowed with mockery. He wasn’t mocking now.
Malfoy’s sincerity was unsettling, in more ways than one.
“Absolutely,” Harry answered. “If it’s ok with Buckbeak.”
Malfoy stepped in front of the beautiful creature and made a bow. “May we up, Buckbeak?”
If Harry hadn’t witnessed it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.
The hippogriff bowed low, then Malfoy himself hopped on his back, hugging his neck, strands of his hair blowing in the slight breeze.
Harry was speechless at this image, one that seemed born of the most improbable wild fantasy.
Malfoy grinned with a bit of cockiness now and held out a hand.
“Well,” he said, “come on, Potter, we don’t have all night—or do we?”
“Erm—seriously?” Harry ran a hand through his hair, a gesture usually brought on by nerves.
“Don’t be scared, now. Come on, up!”
Okay, Harry thought, what the hell.
He took Malfoy’s hand, Malfoy pulled him up behind him, and the next thing he knew they were airborne, lifting to the sky. He grabbed Malfoy’s waist for dear life as Buckbeak sped to the clouds.
The last time he and Malfoy had been in this position the roles had been reversed, in a very different situation to be sure, but he remembered the feel of Malfoy’s arms and hands around his own waist.
Malfoy shouted into the wind, his arms stretched out to the sides. Harry was well acquainted with the feeling, and was tempted to follow suit.
But he didn’t. Instead, for some unfathomable reason, he used the opportunity to hug Malfoy’s waist and inhale the scent of his hair. Does Malfoy use lavender products?
Harry lost track of time as they soared over the countryside of hills and streams, sharing the air with magical flying birds. It was like being in a dream.
Later, Harry slid off Buckbeak and watched Malfoy deftly slide off after him like he had done it multiple times, which—obviously he had. Malfoy’s hair was now mostly free of its tie, and he had never seen it so disheveled.
Malfoy calmly reached up and gathered his hair, retying it, his shirt lifting to expose his navel and a sliver of creamy-white skin. Harry belatedly realised he was staring, and raised his eyes to find Malfoy watching him knowingly.
Harry’s face burned with mortification, and he turned to watch Buckbeak as he started digging through the ground for slugs.
“So, um,” he began, “that was—thank you. You’ve been here how long?”
“At least a year, probably more.” Malfoy spoke matter of factly. “I stopped marking time.”
He didn’t speak in a way that resembled the old Malfoy. And not because he no longer sounded haughty.
“How long did it take before he let you ride him?”
Malfoy smiled as he watched the hippogriff. “Not as long as you might think. I didn’t ask him. I was just happy he had accepted me. But one day he offered, and who could resist that? It was glorious.”
He sounded quietly confident. That was it. And Harry found it to be very very attractive. And, that was crazy, wasn’t it? How could he be attracted to—
Malfoy picked up the feeding tool he had used. “Want to see the barn?”
“Sure.”
The barn inside didn’t have traditional stalls, but seemed more a warehouse for storing feed and supplies. High open windows let light and air in.
“As you can see,” Malfoy said as he replaced the feeding tool on a hook, “this is mostly used for storage. All the critters are free-living here. During bad weather they sometimes take refuge though.”
“It’s nice and airy,” Harry answered, mostly to deflect the strangeness of the moment.
“It is.” Malfoy stepped towards him and asked, “Marlene says you didn’t get dinner?”
Harry’s heart sped up. “Right, but it’s fine. She doesn’t have to do anything special for me.”
“I haven’t had dinner either. I usually scrounge something up in my living quarters if you want to join me. You don’t have to, obviously,” he quickly added, “but I wouldn’t mind the company.” He shrugged. “Up to you.”
Perhaps after befriending Buckbeak, Malfoy figured befriending Harry Potter wouldn’t be so bad either. The day had already brought much more than Harry anticipated. And he had to admit to being intensely curious.
“Sure. Maybe I am a bit hungry after all.”
Malfoy’s smile widened. “All right, then. I usually walk to my place.”
My place.
“That’s fine, I like walking.”
They left the barn, and Malfoy nodded. “This way.”
Harry took a deep breath and asked himself what in Merlin he thought he was doing. I’m on vacation his brain answered. And talking to myself.
They began rerouting the road Harry had taken, though they soon took a path he hadn’t noticed coming in. It took them back through trees and was just wide enough for both of them. This, of course, put them in closer proximity than Harry had anticipated.
His chest felt a little tight and his pulse quickened. He was acutely aware of Malfoy’s breathing, the easy way he moved, his lavender-scented bloody hair, the near misses of arm contact.
“How,” Harry began, then cleared his throat. “How far is it?”
“Nervous, are we?” Malfoy asked in a way that reminded Harry of the Weasley twins.
“No, just...” He glanced over to find a familiar smirk—then Malfoy made eye contact.
Such a brief exchange of the windows to the soul, but a lot seemed to be said in that brief moment. An unexpected language, but one that was universal.
Harry’s heart sped up leaving him a bit breathless. He wanted to stop right where they were and snog Malfoy senseless. This was strange, this was weird, this was insane.
He looked around the trees desperate for something to distract him from the insanity. The sun was setting now, and the twilight made it more challenging. “Do you have Golden Snigets? I thought I saw one earlier.”
“Really? They are here, but you seldom see them.”
Harry waited for him to expound on this, expound on anything really. He should ask him more questions about the reserve, like he would have if Malfoy had been anyone else.
But neither of them spoke. The silence quivered between them like a tense wire, and it was crazy, because surely there were things to talk about after not seeing each for what, three years? Only perhaps in this magical place, where Golden Snidgets flew and they had rode Buckbeak together, those things seemed unimportant and far away.
“Look,” Malfoy suddenly whispered, stopping Harry with a hand on his arm.
The touch, the feel of Malfoy’s warm hand squeezing with just the right amount of pressure, distracted him more than whatever he was supposed to be looking at.
“Where?” he whispered back, not thinking of anything other than their physical contact.
Malfoy moved closer to him and pointed with his free hand to the trees. “There,” he now whispered in his ear.
Harry shivered. He couldn’t help it. Salazar. He forced himself to look where Malfoy was pointing, and there in the top of the nearest tree were tiny lights that fluttered in circles. He looked closer.
“”Fairies?” he asked in a whisper.
“Yes. They come out at twilight. One reason I enjoy walking.”
Harry's heart now pounded in his chest and a flame of desire flickered through his abdomen. He tried to speak, but could only take a slow deep breath instead.
Then Malfoy stepped away and began walking again, and Harry found his voice. “They’re beautiful.”
The fairies followed them from tree to tree until the path opened up to a clearing. In the clearing stood a cottage that could be from a muggle fairy tale.
Indeed, Harry felt like he was in one.
He should make an excuse to just go back to the center. If he followed Malfoy inside, he may end up doing something very stupid.
He watched Malfoy walk the path lined with flowers and what looked like solar-powered lanterns and up the steps. “It’s not fancy,” Malfoy said, opening the door. “But it’s comfortable.”
Harry followed him inside. It was actually quite lovely. An open floor plan with a kitchen and beautifully carved wooden table and chairs on one side, and a living area with overstuffed furniture and a small fireplace on the other. There were pictures on the mantle. A hallway off the kitchen led to what he assumed was the sleeping quarter.
“Wow. It’s great,” Harry said.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to just go change before preparing the meal.” Harry looked down at his own shirt. “You’re fine, don’t worry about it. There’s tea in that first cupboard.” Malfoy made for the hall. “I’ll be right back.”
He watched Malfoy disappear, then looked at the front door. Run! Now!
Instead, he found a cup and a teabag. His hands shook a little as he prepared it and listened to the distant sound of running water. Was Malfoy showering? Bloody hell. He tried not to picture what he looked like naked, standing there with water dripping off his lithe body, but he was only human.
He took his wand and waved a cleaning spell over himself and his clothes as the tea steeped, then took the cup and leaned against the sink dipping the teabag in and out of the steaming brew, trying to control his thoughts.
Wandering into the living area, he stopped in front of the mantle, where he set his teacup and picked up one of the pictures. Malfoy, in jeans and a tee, was sitting atop Buckbeak smiling into the camera, his face an expression of surprised delight, and then he laughed. The photo then began repeating the sequence. Harry held it, unable to take his eyes off of it.
He remembered the feel of Malfoy’s back against him, the scent of his hair, the joy Malfoy’d had during the ride, and felt a strong urge to jump into the picture.
Malfoy stepped into the kitchen.
His hair was damp and loose, and he wore a light-blue jumper that was roomy but still somehow showed the assets of his lean physique, his neck and exposed skin with a freshly-scrubbed glow, and lips turned up in a half smile. Had his lips always been that color pink?
“That was my first ride on him,” Malfoy said, quietly watching him, stepping into the living room. His eyes were seeking, a question in them but also a confidence, the combination irresistible.
“I, um.” Harry tapped the picture, looking at it, his mouth suddenly dry. “I could tell. You look. Well, you look…”
“How do I look?” Draco asked, his voice suddenly close, and just a bit breathless.
Harry looked up and those eyes, now a foot away, spoke that universal language, a language that pulled Harry hopelessly in.
“You,” Harry choked, replacing the picture on the mantel then facing him again. “You look happy. It’s a very good look on you.”
“You, um, have a—“ Draco looked to the top of Harry’s hair and reached with a finger. “You have a feather.” He looked back at Harry and swallowed. “May I?”
“Yes.”
Malfoy exhaled as if he had been holding his breath, then reached for Harry’s hair, his fingers tickling his locks, and Harry stepped into Draco’s space, their eyes locked.
Their lips met, and Harry stopped thinking as they kissed, gentle at first, Malfoy’s hand traveling through his hair, the feather forgotten. Malfoy’s hands felt glorious as they came to rest on his neck, and those pink lips asked for more. Harry happily gave it to him as his own hands found a place on either side of Malfoy’s face. What kind of skin care regime did he use? His hands traced down that beautiful neck, and a little moan came from Malfoy.
Gods. That little moan drove all sense from him.
They gently pulled apart, and looked at each other with a bit of wonder, Malfoy’s lips swollen and beautiful.
“Do you—“ Malfoy swallowed. “What did you want for dinner?” His hands slid back up through Harry’s hair. “I can whip up some sandwiches, or—”
“I’m suddenly no longer interested in dinner,” Harry whispered, deciding to throw caution to the wind. His hands found Malfoy’s waist, and then they were kissing again, hungry and desperate.
If this was a fairytale, it wasn’t going to end with sandwiches and awkward conversations of the past. There was no past, there was only the here and now, and he was going to live in the moment.
Malfoy pulled him in, and they somehow found the couch, Malfoy pulling Harry on top of him. “Fuck, Potter,” he gasped with a hunger matching Harry’s own.
“Really?” Harry panted with a grin, and then they were both lost at sea, along with their clothes, legs and limbs and skin and lips, exploring and delving into a feast no mortal sustenance could provide.
Somewhere in the back of Harry’s mind he knew he would eventually have to return to reality, but for now he would swim in the glorious lake that was Draco.
He’d been wrong about something. He was going to spend his whole trip thinking about Malfoy—and thanking Buckbeak.