𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

Chapter 2

 "Tell me I didn't make a complete arse of myself today," Kieran moaned, thunking his forehead right down onto the tallest stack of parchment atop his desk.

      Harry grinned from the doorway. "All right. You didn't make a complete arse of yourself today." He folded his arms, still grinning at the mop of dark blond feathered over parchment. "Complete arsehood would've meant snoring loudly and obliviously for, oh, at least a minute--before being woken by the boss and knocking over the water pitcher."

      "Thanks mate. You really know how to make a bloke feel better." Kieran's voice was muffled by his hair, and paperwork. He raised his head and eyed Harry accusingly. "Why didn't you prod me?"

      "What, so everyone would know you were having a kip in the middle of the meeting?"

      "You could've kicked me under the table!"

      "I didn't want to surprise you! The water pitcher was right at your elbow!"

      "Yeah, I found out. Why didn't you move the bloody thing?"

      "I was about to, but it was too late! Nichols was looking right at you--"

      "And I spilled water everywhere. No parchment was spared." Kieran sighed gloomily.

      Harry laughed and came into Kieran's office, flopping down onto one end of the battered couch, set back from the desk. "Nothing a drying charm didn't fix."

      "Tell that to Nichols. Silk robes, Harry." Kieran got up from his seat and plodded over to the couch. "He had an anniversary dinner with his wife right after the meeting." He sat heavily and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "The meeting...of DOOM."

      Harry shook his head with a chuckle. "Oh come on, Kier. It's not that bad."

      Kieran pursed his mouth at the ceiling, then pulled out his wand and waved it at the door, shutting it.

      Harry didn't move as Kieran let himself slide to the side, until his head was propped against Harry's shoulder. He looked at his wand, spinning it between two fingers. "Well, working overtime to buy Nichols a new set of robes won't be a problem." He slid further, to rest his head in Harry's lap, still toying with the slender length of wood as he hooked his calves over the arm of the couch. "How long do you suppose it'll be before he stops grimacing at me? You'd think he'd be getting senile and forgetful with age but no, the old bugger's got to remember bloody everything."

      Harry half-smiled down at the furrowed brow, layered in wild wisps of dark blond. If he tilted his chin a fraction to the left, the light's reflection made it shine almost white.

      Harry tilted his chin and raised his fingers to the silvery hair. "It's okay," he said, thinking of another time. Another man.

***

      "All right, love?" Harry murmured, stroking Draco's hair very, very gently. "It's okay. You don't have to...say anything."

      Draco kept still, his head nestled in Harry's lap. He didn't see Harry's concerned gaze; he was staring off into the middle distance. Harry's fingertips continued their light, barely-there caresses.

      "My mother loved me, you know," Draco said abruptly into the long silence. His eyes were still fixed on nothingness. "Loves me," he corrected himself. Harry's wrist had stopped, surprised, but now it continued. "Some people think she and my father led me astray, took me down the wrong path, forced me into--" Draco's voice had turned sneering. "They don't know."