The Boy Who Lived

Breath of Life

Robards was in one of his moods. 'Bloody Golden Boy...' he muttered. 'Shitstaining paperwork...' he grumbled. 'Fucking Finch-Fletchley... you owe me, Potter!'

So, Justin definitely wasn't undercover.

Harry sat crossed-legged on the floor, listening through the Floo to Robards' grumblings and playing with Hercules ears as he lay with his head in Harry's lap.

'We'll talk about it tomorrow, Harry. Meanwhile, I've got some serious making up to do with my wife and I know that's going to be expensive. It's the bloody wedding anniversary tonight. Thirty shitladling years, Potter.' He sounded like he was blaming Harry for being married so long but Harry bit his tongue, waiting for the inevitable. Harry knew what was coming. Robards had told him about his plans a hundred times already. 'I'd got us box tickets for that bloody Muggle theatre show she'd been harping on about for ages, got Judy Dench and Maggie Smith in it, you know. Cost a fucking fortune and it'd sold out before they'd even printed a fucking poster. Fucking Finch-Fletchley... the bloody monkeyslut...'

'Do you want me to come in, sir?' Harry asked.

'No, there's no point. Anyway, you probably need to be looking after the Malfoy kid. Glad you got him out, Potter. That wouldn't have done at all, not on my watch. Fucking Finch-Fletchley. You said the House-Elf made it too?'

'Yeh...'

'Shame we can't book him for murder. Obviously don't mean...'

'I know, sir.'

'At least the wife got to take her bestfriend to see the play,' he muttered. 'Called The Breath of Life, you know. Quite wanted to see it myself. Fucking Judy Dench and Maggie Smith. Iconic! What a yeast-infected cumbubble! Ah well! We'll throw the book at him tomorrow, Potter, and he can stick that up his arsehole. Meanwhile, I'd better find some way to make it up to the missus, when she gets back.'

'What about that lovely restaurant in the Azures that I keep suggesting, Gawain? The time difference might just make it okay,' Harry suggested. 'Timing would be about right for a sunset meal on the beach...'

Robards grunted, 'one of these fucking days I'll take you up on that restaurant. Meanwhile, this conversation is no longer secure.' And Robards disappeared with a 'pop'.

Harry twisted round to find Draco standing in the doorway to the sitting room. The blond man only looked fit to faint.

'Hell, you should be resting. I shouldn't have told you to come down, you should have gone straight to bed. Can I get you anything, though?'

'I, er, I don't know. I felt...' He looked lost. His gaze roamed everywhere about the room, refusing to make eye-contact with Harry. 'I heard your voice so I came in here.'

'You okay?' he asked, getting up and going over. Harry studied him intently. He wanted to pull Draco into his arms again. He looked ill with shock. Harry's spare pyjamas were too short for the taller man. Harry couldn't help but slowly take in his well-formed arms. He noticed the tantalising sliver of naked pale flesh that showed just above the waistband of the brushed-cotton bottoms. The prominent Adams-apple. The grey haunted eyes. The white-blond hair, still damp and tousled with a wave inherited from Narcissa. He was shivering.

'Here.' Harry peeled off his hoodie and gently pulled it over Draco's head as he found the sleeves.

'Thanks,' he said quietly. 'And to think I've always sneered at your bloody hero-complex. I'm glad of it. Once again.'

Harry quirked a small smile. 'I'm glad you're safe.'

Only then did Draco make fleeting eye-contact, he looked scared. Harry led him over to a chair by the fire and his two cats emerged from the windowsill behind the curtains and rubbed against his legs as Harry knelt in front of him.