[Fic:] Make you come home (Part 8/9)
Aug. 7th, 2018 08:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smirkingcatTitle: Make you come home (8/9)
Author :smirkingcat
Rating:PG-13
Word Count :858
Notes: used forhd_birthdaybash bingo card: picture square: “Slytherin scarf”;
and yes this is now really becoming a race against time.
Summary: When things get boring, a broom ride can make them interesting again.
Warnings: angst – because you know this is me writing it
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
It took a little over a week for Draco to get healthy again. A week he did not enjoy and made Potter suffer with him.
Draco did not remember being sick, except for when he got Dragon Pox from his grandfather. But back then he was still a toddler. So he actually didn’t remember it, he was just told that he had been sick back then.
Being sick as a grown up was absolutely no fun. Draco hated it, to be precise.
He hated that he was sweaty all the time, while he felt cold. He hated that he had a strange body odour, which even hot showers did not remove. Worse was, that he was only allowed to shower every other day.
And then there was the pain. Pain in his bones and joints. No matter what he ate his throat ached. And even worse were the waves of intense head ache.
If he had been able too, he would have tried to make more of a nuisance out of himself, but for the most part he was too tired.
Potter however had explained that the cold was a side effect of the freezing his body had endured. Not that that information helped in any way.
The only thing that made him grin every so often was when he saw the ends of his green Slytherin scarf.
A scarf he had once lost and Potter miraculously produced now.
He was sure that it was the scarf he had lost, and not a new one, because it had a hidden pouch in one of the ends, where he had put the silk handkerchief his mother had embroidered for him with his initial. And it still faintly smelled like her.
As a bonus Potter turned a nice shade of red, whenever Draco smiled at him knowingly.
However Potter did not stay all the time. Of course not.
He was out there fighting the ”good fight“ with the squibs, even though his magic was apparently a special price to behold as well. It all made Draco doubt his intelligence once more.
But he did come back, without fail, every night.
He would explain what was going on, and how they were trying to find the last of the attackers.
Whenever Draco was able to, he had worked through the files, and what he found was pure madness.
They believed that the Death Eaters were able to actually eat death. But in their interpretation is was not eating the deaths of other people, or trying to live forever, which was the Dark Lords final goal. No, they thought that with every kill they were able to actually gain magical power and that only pure-bloods could do that.
So now they tried to exchange their blood for the blood of pure-bloods. Apparently to steal all the power and knowledge. Draco could not help but laugh at the thought that merely his blood would give him knowledge. Especially considering the hour each day he had spent in private tutalage. Not even to think about the months it had taken him to learn both the Malfoy and the Black genealogy by heart.
Potter had nodded and told him that stupidity was everywhere. And that it was better not to look at it too much, but try to deal with it quickly.
Draco wished that dealing with that kind of stupid could be done quickly, but instead it took weeks. And the thing was fighting was not anything Potter enjoyed.
Which was one of the reasons he and Draco got into a fight roughly every third day.
Potter just looked horrible when he comes home late from one of their tactical meetings. Which in the first place annoyed Draco, because what sort of tactical meeting was needed to catch nine, and they knew that it were nine now, mad half-bloods and muggle borns?
He even offered himself as bait, just to make it end quicker. Not that Potter would allow that but still.
No matter what everybody said Potter was not the born fighter. And Draco wished he would stop and let those who enjoyed it, do the fighting.
Draco glanced once more to the clock. Another half an hour had passed while he went over his soon to be held argument with Potter in his mind. His fingers tapping against the rough wooden table, that in so many ways was worse than the tiny table in his dingy flat. Potter was late, again.
Draco did not enjoy waiting for Potter, he always came back with such a haunted expression when he was late.
In the silence around Draco the click of the lock was loud, and Draco’s eyes fixed themselves on the door.
”Err, hello?“ Potter said unsure, as he entered.
Draco opened his mouth to start the tirade, but Potter cut him off before he got the first word out: ”Caught them, all of them. Started the long process of telling people that they come back too.“
Draco’s eyes narrowed.
This was a statement of victory, but Potter looked anything but victorious.
In fact he looked lost.
”What happened?“ Draco asked, tone low.
Part 9
Author :
smirkingcatRating:PG-13
Word Count :858
Notes: used for
hd_birthdaybash bingo card: picture square: “Slytherin scarf”; and yes this is now really becoming a race against time.
Summary: When things get boring, a broom ride can make them interesting again.
Warnings: angst – because you know this is me writing it
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
It took a little over a week for Draco to get healthy again. A week he did not enjoy and made Potter suffer with him.
Draco did not remember being sick, except for when he got Dragon Pox from his grandfather. But back then he was still a toddler. So he actually didn’t remember it, he was just told that he had been sick back then.
Being sick as a grown up was absolutely no fun. Draco hated it, to be precise.
He hated that he was sweaty all the time, while he felt cold. He hated that he had a strange body odour, which even hot showers did not remove. Worse was, that he was only allowed to shower every other day.
And then there was the pain. Pain in his bones and joints. No matter what he ate his throat ached. And even worse were the waves of intense head ache.
If he had been able too, he would have tried to make more of a nuisance out of himself, but for the most part he was too tired.
Potter however had explained that the cold was a side effect of the freezing his body had endured. Not that that information helped in any way.
The only thing that made him grin every so often was when he saw the ends of his green Slytherin scarf.
A scarf he had once lost and Potter miraculously produced now.
He was sure that it was the scarf he had lost, and not a new one, because it had a hidden pouch in one of the ends, where he had put the silk handkerchief his mother had embroidered for him with his initial. And it still faintly smelled like her.
As a bonus Potter turned a nice shade of red, whenever Draco smiled at him knowingly.
However Potter did not stay all the time. Of course not.
He was out there fighting the ”good fight“ with the squibs, even though his magic was apparently a special price to behold as well. It all made Draco doubt his intelligence once more.
But he did come back, without fail, every night.
He would explain what was going on, and how they were trying to find the last of the attackers.
Whenever Draco was able to, he had worked through the files, and what he found was pure madness.
They believed that the Death Eaters were able to actually eat death. But in their interpretation is was not eating the deaths of other people, or trying to live forever, which was the Dark Lords final goal. No, they thought that with every kill they were able to actually gain magical power and that only pure-bloods could do that.
So now they tried to exchange their blood for the blood of pure-bloods. Apparently to steal all the power and knowledge. Draco could not help but laugh at the thought that merely his blood would give him knowledge. Especially considering the hour each day he had spent in private tutalage. Not even to think about the months it had taken him to learn both the Malfoy and the Black genealogy by heart.
Potter had nodded and told him that stupidity was everywhere. And that it was better not to look at it too much, but try to deal with it quickly.
Draco wished that dealing with that kind of stupid could be done quickly, but instead it took weeks. And the thing was fighting was not anything Potter enjoyed.
Which was one of the reasons he and Draco got into a fight roughly every third day.
Potter just looked horrible when he comes home late from one of their tactical meetings. Which in the first place annoyed Draco, because what sort of tactical meeting was needed to catch nine, and they knew that it were nine now, mad half-bloods and muggle borns?
He even offered himself as bait, just to make it end quicker. Not that Potter would allow that but still.
No matter what everybody said Potter was not the born fighter. And Draco wished he would stop and let those who enjoyed it, do the fighting.
Draco glanced once more to the clock. Another half an hour had passed while he went over his soon to be held argument with Potter in his mind. His fingers tapping against the rough wooden table, that in so many ways was worse than the tiny table in his dingy flat. Potter was late, again.
Draco did not enjoy waiting for Potter, he always came back with such a haunted expression when he was late.
In the silence around Draco the click of the lock was loud, and Draco’s eyes fixed themselves on the door.
”Err, hello?“ Potter said unsure, as he entered.
Draco opened his mouth to start the tirade, but Potter cut him off before he got the first word out: ”Caught them, all of them. Started the long process of telling people that they come back too.“
Draco’s eyes narrowed.
This was a statement of victory, but Potter looked anything but victorious.
In fact he looked lost.
”What happened?“ Draco asked, tone low.
Part 9
