𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

Chapter 20

"What does it say, love?"

The owl had come almost an hour before, but Draco hadn't moved from his position by the window overlooking the water. Edward had watched him, curious, as he'd opened the letter and read it quickly, a peculiar look crossing his face at the message inside, but Draco hadn't said anything. Most likely it was a note from Snape—they came often these days, filled with vague statements about the ongoing wizarding war. One thing was certain, however; Voldemort's side was gaining strength in numbers and Draco was worried about his family's position.

"Draco?"

There was still no reply, and Edward let it go, trying, and failing, to turn his attention back to his novel. He knew better than to press Draco when he was thinking. The blond would come to him when he was ready.

The owl, a scraggly creature with knowing yellow eyes, perched on Draco's chair next to the fire, warming itself from its undoubtedly tiring journey. The winters were harsh here. Luckily, by unspoken agreement, Edward and Draco usually kept the fire burning during the long, cold nights.

The cottage was comfortably furnished in a plain but tasteful style, with a breathtaking view of the rocky shoreline of one of the Outer Hebrides' most remote uninhabited islands. Though the land was stark, low-lying, and relatively barren, the arrangements were nicer than the cabin in the Forbidden Forest they'd set out on foot from six months before. Things had almost gone badly when Draco had caught the scent of human campers. Luckily, they'd been far enough away that Edward had been able to regain control of Draco before he attacked, but he'd gotten his arm wrenched out of the socket in the process. After the bloodlust had abated and they'd moved downwind of the humans, Draco had been contrite and had apologized in his own way by fussing over Edward, though by then the injury had already nearly healed. It was impressive Draco had been able to resist at all, and Edward told him so—foolishly, perhaps, because Draco never tired of reminding him again, and again, and again.

Draco's accidental magic had been more difficult to master, but he'd made substantial progress in the past couple months. Edward only very rarely wound up levitating during sex these days, and weeks had gone by without the ceiling caving in. Still, Draco would need training, and he was eager to flex the untapped power they both knew he possessed.

Draco's light tread drew Edward's eyes from the page he'd been pretending to read. He held out the letter.

"It's from Potter," he said.

Surprised, Edward took the paper and looked it over.

D,

I hope this letter finds you well, if it finds you at all. My own owl has been killed, you see, and you never know with these rentals.

Anyway, you're probably wondering why I'm contacting you. There's no use denying we've never been friends, but things are different now, at least for me.

I think we might have a job for you—with your bloke, if he still is—but I can't elaborate more given the circumstances. If you're interested, send an affirmative reply and we'll set a place and time to meet.

H.P.

"A job," Edward said, re-reading the letter and finding it frustratingly absent of detail. "With the resistance fighting Voldemort?" He tried not to focus on the phrase "if he still is" and the jealousy that threatened his composure. It no longer bothered him to be jealous, especially since the revelation that Draco was even worse than he. About two months before, Alice and Jasper had visited and stayed for a week. It had been over a year since Edward had seen them, but the slight initial awkwardness had given way quickly, and soon it was as if no time had passed. Yet despite their best efforts to include him, Draco had maintained his distance, sullen and moodier than usual. When Edward asked what was wrong, he'd received a characteristically snippy retort. One day Draco had flown into a rage as Edward and Jasper roughhoused on the beach, using his magic to drag Edward's brother off and toss him into the water nearly a mile from the shore. Jasper had swum back with little problem and laughed it off, but it hadn't exactly ingratiated Draco with him. Still, Edward hadn't been able to stay angry, replaying what Draco had said as Jasper dangled from one ankle as if held by an unseen hook: Get your hands off my mate.