𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐒 2008

My Nawa Jujun (2/6)

My Nawa Jujun Part 2 of 6

Harry was panting as he arrived in the Leaky Cauldron. The patrons gave him a quick glance and then went back to their drinking and eating. He stumbled over to the bar. "Hannah, I need a room." She handed him a key and Harry fished out the payment from his pocket. The quizzical look she gave him was short lived. Harry mumbled, "Work related." He rushed up the stairs, unlocked the room, and collapsed on the bed. There was no way he could go home to Grimmauld Place in this state. If Ron or Hermione happened to be around there would be questions, and he didn't have any answers.

He got up from the bed and opened the window letting the cool March wind blow over him. He reached into his pocket and fingered the coin. He could give the message so easily and he knew the relief that would come, but instead, he removed his clothes and lay back down on the bed. He had too much to drink and he knew better than to do it while even mildly pissed.

The glasses were set aside, and he crawled underneath the covers. He took ten deep breaths and imagined himself getting up from Draco's kitchen table and catching Draco as he tried to run away. And then... Harry thought, and then holding him tight, making his troubles disappear. Slowly, the anxiety retreated as the Draco in his fantasy succumbed to the embrace.

It never occurred during the thick of a chase or capture, only when confronted with someone else's anguish, something he couldn't fix. He set his wands next to his glasses on the bedside table, and then snuffed out the hurricane lamp candle. He welcomed the darkness and tried not to think about Draco Malfoy as a leopard, or what he was doing now, or about the half-animal half-human witches, or about the damn half-eaten goat in the bathtub. It was a near impossible task.

*********************

The door was sealed, and the coven was safe for one more day. The discussion had been fierce. He knew he had violated their code of secrecy, not that the coven existed, but how they communicated. He paced the long hallway, still amazed at the benevolence they had shown to him. They'd all experienced the images of Harry Potter over the years, and knew he would be coming to them someday, and that Draco would be the conduit. However, he was supposed to consult with them when it came time to reveal their inner-workings. He had expected them to punish him with their silence. He begged for the discipline he knew he deserved. If the rules of the coven weren't obeyed, the consequences would be detrimental to all.

It was Anna, who came forward and denied his request for the punishment of silence. She explained that he was human now, and humans make mistakes, and the mistake he made was forgivable considering it was Harry Potter he'd been speaking to. Draco opened the bathroom door and set to cleaning up the blood and goat remnants that remained. He didn't deserve their kindness, he was the reason they were in the condition they were in. The clock from his small library chimed three. The irony didn't escape him, the rewards and punishments for a deed were always returned threefold.

Draco's agitation wouldn't subside. The loo was now immaculate and the kitchen sparkling. Indulging in more alcohol wouldn't be wise given that Saturday was his busiest day in the shop. He opened the door to his bedroom. His mother hated this room; the simplicity of it went against everything she was raised with. The hawthorn bedposts were the only thing decorative. He had carved them the first few months after his successful transformation; the leopards' bodies stretched lean as they wrapped around the poles. The hooks all strategically placed, including the ones from the ceiling.

The cream walls were plain, void of any pictures or mirrors. The bedside table, with its lone candle and the large trunk at the end of the bed were all of the furnishings in view. It was the trunk that Draco opened and rummaged through. Already, he felt the first tingle of calmness he craved. He extracted long, silky, red ropes and set them on the bed. He stripped off his clothes, banishing them to basket in the adjoining loo. He lay upon the warming covers and whispered the spell, "Incarcerous" . The red rope slithered across blankets and began its work. Each wrap, each knot, each tighter bind brought him peace. Slowly, his breathing stilled, his heartbeat calmed, his racing thoughts diminished. The ends of the rope finally encircled the two bottom hooks, the final knots instigating the full restriction of movement and raised him off the bed. Only then, tightly bound, and suspended in the air did Draco cede to peace.