Protection (Drarry)

Chapter Four

They both lay in their chairs, eyes wide and frantic. Malfoy had his head in his hands, shuddering, while Harry felt as though lying on the ground might be the only thing that would stop the world spinning.

"That wasn't quite how I remembered it," Malfoy said after a long pause where they both slowly ceased shaking.

"Sorry," Harry said quietly. "I - I think they're worse the second time around."

"Makes sense," Malfoy said. "Without the physical pain of your connection to distract you, you're left with only The Dark Lord's emotions, which are a little intense." He drew his head up from his hands slowly. "There was a man who could probably have benefited from a few anger management classes."

Harry snorted. He looked at the floor, and wondered if Malfoy would let him live it down if he just lay there for a while. Looking up, he saw that Malfoy appeared to be contemplating the same thing.

"Firewhisky?" Harry suggested.

"Finally, you have something intelligent to contribute," Malfoy said, standing up. "Lead the way."

Harry poured them two glasses at the kitchen table and sat down. Malfoy sat down and knocked his back in one shot. Harry shrugged and followed suit before pouring two more.

"I forgot Dobby was yours," Harry said when he was feeling considerably warmer and more sensible. Comparatively.

Malfoy looked at him shrewdly. "Yeah. Was. Do I want an explanation?"

"Probably not."

Malfoy shrugged. "I liked him. I'm sorry he died." He knocked back his second glass.

"Luna spoke beautifully at his funeral."

Malfoy spat Firewhisky all over the table. "She what?"

Harry burst out laughing. After a second, Malfoy joined in. Harry knew it was the aftermath of shock coupled with the whisky, but it was still strangely enjoyable, laughing with Malfoy.

"I never said thanks, did I?" Harry said suddenly.

Malfoy frowned at him. "For what?"

"For not identifying us back there. Well, for not identifying me, and for being as vague as you could about Ron and Hermione given it would be ridiculous if you didn't recognise them."

Malfoy shrugged.

"Your father really wanted you to identify us," he pushed, watching Malfoy closely.

It was only a flicker, but same angry look crossed Malfoy's face again, but he said nothing. It didn't make sense. Malfoy had been just as vocal about Voldemort's reign as Lucius. And he'd tried to Crucio Harry himself, so it could hardly have been compassion that stopped him from turning them all in.

"Well, thanks," Harry said finally.

"You're welcome, Savior," Malfoy said sarcastically. He leaned forward and poured them each another glass.

"So, I promised you that my memories wouldn't be as harsh as yours, and they turned out to be worse," Harry said with a wry smile, knocking back his third glass. Or was it his fifth?

Malfoy waved his hand dismissively. "Hardly, Potter. I just haven't had time to get used to yours."

"Doesn't seem like there's any point getting used to them. They were useless."

"Who said they were useless?" Malfoy said, looking up at him suddenly. His eyes were glazed slightly from the drink, and his relaxed lean on the table made him look almost coy.