The Book of Mind

Dragon Head Knockers

It was a long shot.

He hadn't seen him in months--years--and for him to think there was even a remotely minuscule chance for agreement was stretching it too far.

The last time he'd caught sight of that reflective blond hair had been right after the Trials. Lucius had been dragged away after Narcissa and Draco had been pardoned, and the Lady had immediately stood and lead her sobbing son out of the courtroom. He'd run after them, pushing through the vicious crowd of reporters and floating quills, but alas had only barely received half a turn of the head when he'd called out his rival's name before his mother forced his head straight.

Right.

The door before him still stood proudly, still radiated all that charisma and confidence a Malfoy carried. He raised a knuckled fist towards the oak, feeling his magic mingle with that of the estate, and he hesitated.

This was it. The last of the Unmentionables had been caught, every last one, or at least the ones that were dumb enough to stay in the country and be seen. Usually, Narcissa would gladly put her face out for the Malfoy name, attend the briefings and testify against whoever was in the chair.

She was, however, unavailable at the moment, caught up in her husband's dwellings in Finland or somewhere equally as geographically stranded. Which meant the duty fell to the next available Malfoy in line, and that so happened to be the only Malfoy that he hadn't kept tabs on.

It'd be easier to just get things over with. No reason to be dilly-dallying when he had a stack of paperwork waiting for him in his office.

He opted for rapping his knuckles firmly against the door in favor of using the dragon head knockers--he'd have to take the tongue and bang it on the wood--pulling his hand away when a stout elf opened the door with a scowl.

"Erm," he shuffled on his feet, avoiding the elf's eyes. "Is...Draco Malfoy...around?"

"The Lord of the Manor must not be perturbed unless matters are being urgent. Your matters are being urgent?"

"I suppose so."

"Does you be having one official document for such matters?"

Harry's face lights up and he shuffles around his jacket before pulling out a semi-wrinkled parchment folded in thirds. He's glad he listened to Ron drone on and on about getting an official warrant, something about Malfoy not giving him an easy time because he's still the same git or whatever. He clears his throat and presses his lips as he hands it to the elf, who proceeds to open it.

"Master Potter," he says distastefully, smacking his lips together. The elf rolls his eyes away from the letter and looks up at Harry before handing the letter back. "Allow Scully one moment to fetch Lord Malfoy."

The elf doesn't give Harry a moment to answer before the door slams shut in his face. He nods to himself and swallows his agreement, taking the silent time to admire the architecture of the renovated mansion. 

He doesn't quite remember what Malfoy Manor looked like before this--all the rose beds blooming and the vines greedily climbing the walls. There's actual people working somewhere to the left acreage of the property--muggles, no doubt gardeners--he can hear shovels digging into the dirt and friendly laughter. 

There's no more cloudy windows, or dead grass. He's about to turn to examine a pillar when the door opens, making him jump back to place.

Draco Malfoy looks older, much older than he probably should, but the change is not unwelcome. He looks mature, wiser in a way, and very businesslike as he flips his pocket watch out before making eye contact with his guest. The time token is tucked back into his vest.

He makes a disgruntled noise but his face remains otherwise impassive. "Potter?"

His voice is softer, unsure, and not at all as snobby and nasally as it used to be. Draco regards him with a secured look across the front of his robes before focusing back on his eyes.

"Are you here on official business or has my mother invited you to tea?"

"Erm," Harry spares a glance down at his Auror robes and then back at Draco Malfoy, who has lifted a golden brow impatiently. "Your mum's not here."

"It is clear she isn't, otherwise I would still be nose deep in checkbooks and contracts. That was sarcasm, by the way. No, instead I was pulled to come get the door. Now I ask again, are you here on official business or--?"

"Yes."

Draco seems irritated to be interrupted but he sighs with a press of his lips. "And what, exactly, was so urgent it couldn't wait until my mother's return?"

"We caught the last of them, um, the Unmentionables. Your mother usually attends the briefings and trials. I owled her last night, but I suppose she was gone already."

Harry hadn't realized Draco had gone sheet white by then, and completely rigid to the bone as he clutched both the door frame and the door. His eyes were wide as saucers and the only thing Harry could read off his face was discomfort.

"I see. I suppose your visit means I am to attend these meetings, since she's currently out of town."

"Yes."

He nods, blinking down at his loafers. These matters were supposed to be taken care of long ago, all of them were supposed to be caught.

Draco also knows they haven't been because if that were the case, he'd have found leaving the comforts of the Manor a lot easier. Just thinking about walking past the front door racked his body with unpleasant shivers.

His voice is quiet when he speaks again, "When is the meeting to take place?"

"In a few hours. At eight," Harry mumbles, shuffling back a step. He clears his throat. "I understand if it makes you uncomfortable to attend. I can tell Kingsley something came up."

Draco's eyes harden suddenly, and his jaw ticks. "Doing me favors isn't going to send that bastard to Azkaban. I'm not a child, Potter."

"I didn't say you were," he raises his hands defensively, now on the edge of the stairs. "I just. I know how hard it may be for you to face these people again. I was trying to make it easier for you to deal with."

The Lord of the Manor is astounded by the lack of bite in Harry Potter's words as he descends the first two steps. He watches him take two more before turning around.

"If you change your mind, owl me. I'm not forcing you to do something that will traumatize you."

He takes the last two steps and marches on, and the gravel path seems shorter than it's twenty yard length as Harry keeps on it.

Something stirs awake in Draco's chest, something not awoken for a while. It's panic, searing panic expanding across his ribcage.

He's ruined it. Again. After Harry saved him and his mother from imprisonment, saved his life during the War, and was now, somehow, still saving him.

"Harry," he curses at his choice of name--should have been Potter--but it's too late, because Harry's turned around and there's this fiery resolve swarming in his eyes.

They stare each other down for a few silent seconds, the cool between-autumn-and-winter air flushing his skin pink, until Draco's not sure if he's conveying anything.

"Thank you."

Harry's head reels back a slither of a centimeter, a movement so small no one else could have caught it, but then he gives Draco the most brilliant smile he's ever seen. The kind of smile reserved for friends.

"You're welcome."