emmagrant01 | FIC: Surrender the Grey (25/30)

NOTE: This is the first draft of this story. The final version can be read HERE.

Title: Surrender the Grey
Author: Emma Grant
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Draco Malfoy returns to London after five years of self-imposed exile to start a new life with Harry. But will the secrets of the past destroy everything they've worked for?
Sequel to: Left My Heart. This will make much more sense if you have read that first!
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no copyright violation intended.
Length: 150,000 words
Status: COMPLETED November 2, 2005 (Posted March 2 - November 2, 2005)
Notes:
1. Please don't archive this story yet! This is the first draft, and in the next few months, it will be revised and edited. I'll post the final version on my website and a few other select archives, but in the meantime, feel free to link to this post.
2. There aren't enough words to say THANK YOU to

jedirita,

hazelhawthorne, and

(25)

Sunday, 21 January, 2001

The sun was high in the sky when Draco woke up. He sat up very carefully, expecting to feel a rush of pain to his forehead, even a bit of nausea.

He felt nothing. In fact, he felt rather well. The hangover would hit him soon, he thought. Sometimes it took a while.

Half an hour later he stepped out of the shower, and he still felt fine, which was strange considering how very drunk he'd been the night before. He frowned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and decided he should go back to bed just in case. He turned the corner and nearly cried out in surprise -- a house-elf was standing next to his bed, beaming at him.

"Good morning, Master Draco," it said, unfazed by the fact that he was completely naked. "I is here to deliver a message from Master Malfoy."

"How did you find me?" Draco asked, shielding his groin with a hand. Not that he cared what the grubby little creature thought, but it was at crotch height.

"Ebby is good at finding things," the elf replied, nodding its head. "Ebby is finding Master Draco to deliver a message."

"Message, yes," Draco said, scanning for something to cover himself. He spotted a pair of boxers on the floor, accio'd them wandlessly, and pulled them on. "What's the message?"

The elf straightened up to its full height and produced a roll of parchment seemingly out of thin air. Draco took it and unrolled it to see his father's elegant handwriting.

Draco,

I trust you have found suitable accommodations. I have sent this house-elf to tend to you. If you wish to send me a message, she will deliver it.

Draco paused to glance at the elf. It was smiling stupidly at him. He had neither desire nor use for a house-elf in these circumstances -- and he was fairly certain its real task was to spy on him for Lucius.

I will be spending the next two weeks at the country estate in Scotland. I would appreciate your presence for dinner at 7:00 on Friday evening.

Regards,
Lucius

"We have a country estate in Scotland?" Draco murmured.

"Oh, yes," the elf squeaked. "It is a grand castle!"

Draco re-rolled the scroll and gave it a harsh look. "I've no use for a house-elf here. There are Muggle servants."

The elf's eyes bulged. "Master Draco does not wish Ebby to serve him? Filthy Muggles are better servants than a loyal house-elf?" Tears brimmed.

Draco rolled his eyes. They could be such melodramatic creatures. "Look around you. There's no space for you here. This is a hotel room."

"Ebby doesn't need space, sir," the elf sobbed. "Ebby can sleep behind the toilet, in a rubbish bin--"

"Shut up, will you?" Draco spat. Having a house-elf underfoot would certainly put a damper on his sex life. Perhaps that was just what Lucius had in mind. "I won't have…" he began, but paused as an idea struck him. "I have much more important things for you to do, Ebby. I want you to go to the country estate and wait for me. Do not let my father know you are there. When I need you, I will call for you."

The elf brightened at this. "Oh, yes, Master, yes! Ebby will go and will be very quiet. Ebby will wait for Master Draco to call."

"Very good," Draco said, turning away. "You may leave." He rolled up the scroll and heard the elf disapparate.

+++++

He spent much of the morning lazing about his room. He unpacked his bag and sorted through the clothes he'd brought, almost immediately deciding he'd have to go shopping as soon as possible. He opened the envelope that had come with the pigeon post the morning he'd left New York. It turned out to be a copy of an academic paper about a spell he'd never heard of, along with a handwritten note.

Mr. Malfoy,

I hope this letter finds you well. I was thinking yesterday of our conversation about the differences between European and American dark magic, which I enjoyed tremendously. I have enclosed a draft of a paper I'm submitting to the North American Journal of Historical Indigenous Magic. As I told you when we met last month, it's a politically charged topic, so I have my doubts as to whether it will be accepted. If you have any comments, I'd love to hear from you.

Best Regards,
Guadalupe Gomez-Padilla, PhD

Professor, Department of Meso-American Historical Magic
The University of Texas - San Antonio

Draco read the abstract, then flipped through the paper. He vaguely remembered meeting Dr. Padilla at a party at his new supervisor's apartment. He'd been quite drunk that night, and she'd done most of the talking. He'd always been good at charming important people, but he must have impressed her quite a lot for her to have sent him this.

The telephone rang. He stared at it before answering, wondering who could possibly be calling him.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Mister. Malfoy. This is Jeshira at the front desk. There's a gentleman in the lobby asking for you, sir -- a Mister Potter."

"Oh," Draco replied. "Yes."

There was a pause and a rustling sound, and then Draco heard Potter's voice. "Hi. Uh… We seem to have exchanged coats last night."

"Did we?" Draco asked. He glanced across the room -- sure enough, Potter's leather jacket was hung over the back of a chair. How had that happened? "I suppose you'll be wanting it back then?"

"Well, yes -- it's sentimental. I'm in the lobby at the moment. Obviously. Could you bring it down?"

"I'm not dressed yet. Could you give me a few minutes?"

"Well… I could come up. I'm in a bit of a rush."

"Sure," Draco replied. "Room 928."

He hung up the phone and crossed to pick up the jacket. It was distressed and old, with stains in odd places. Draco wondered how he hadn't noticed he'd picked it up instead of his own wool coat. "I must have been blotted," he mumbled. Yet more proof.

He put the jacket on and stared at his reflection in the mirror. It was a little big on him, but not unwearable. The lining felt good against his bare skin. He turned sideways, admiring his reflection. He looked good in this jacket. He ought to--

The knock on the door startled him, and he pulled the jacket off. He opened the door and held it out.

Potter was standing in the corridor, staring at him.

"What?" Draco asked.

Potter took his jacket and handed Draco his wool coat. He looked uncomfortable. "Sorry. I thought you'd be dressed before I came up."

"I am dressed," Draco grinned, glancing down at his boxers. "Everything is covered that's legally required to be." He winked.

Potter looked away, his cheeks turning pink. "I sent you a message this morning, but I never heard back from you, so I figured I'd just drop by. Sorry for the trouble."

"No trouble," Draco replied. He kept forgetting about the message box.

Potter looked a little pale. He folded his jacket over his arm and ran a hand through his hair.

Draco felt a little twinge in his stomach. Damn hangover. "Are you feeling it this morning too?" he asked.

Potter looked back up at him. "What?"

"I think I had a bit too much to drink last night," Draco said, leaning against the doorframe. "I hope I wasn't horribly obnoxious."

"Erm…" Potter began, and then shrugged. "You weren't. And I'm fine. It was only a few beers."

Draco frowned. Was he that much of a lightweight after all? He looked back at the leather jacket in Potter's arms. "Well, sorry about the jacket, anyway. Sentimental, is it? It looks old."

"It was my…" Potter began, and then hesitated. "It belonged to someone I knew."

"Ah," Draco replied, running through a list of possibilities in his head.

Potter stepped back from the door. "I should be going. See you tomorrow?"

"Sure," Draco said. "Are you going to swing by and pick me up again?"

"Oh, I forgot," Potter said, digging into a pocket and pulling out something that looked like a Muggle business card. Across the top were printed the words Find-it Quick! He handed it to Draco. "It's been charmed to give you directions. Just give it a tap and say 'help' and it will tell you which way to go."

Draco frowned. "I thought the office was unplottable."

Potter smiled. "It is. This will take you to the pub down the street. I trust you can find your way from there?" With that, he turned and walked down the hall, putting his leather jacket on as he did.

Draco watched him walk away. The man looked entirely too good in jeans. Too bad he was straight.

+++++

They settled into a pattern over the week that followed.

Draco showed up right at 10:00 every morning, as he'd been told that was the starting time -- but he usually found Potter and Weasley already there and working. The Find-it Quick card proved useful, if annoying, with its admonitions of Your OTHER left! and No, no, turn around!. He was looking forward to ripping it into tiny pieces once he'd learned the way.

On Monday, he'd come in with a plan. It was nothing terribly sophisticated, something he'd just thought of while shopping for new clothes on Sunday afternoon, but Potter and Weasley seemed more than happy to spend several hours talking it through. They ultimately decided it was unworkable, but Draco was pleased they'd taken his suggestion seriously. In fact, Draco had been made to feel welcome in nearly every way. He'd expected a certain level of tension to exist between them, but it simply wasn't there. Weasley and Potter had accepted his presence as if they were all old friends.

Which they weren't, of course -- but Draco didn't see any point in dwelling on that.

They kept short hours, working 10:00 - 12:00 in the mornings, taking a long lunch, and then finishing up around 5:00 in the afternoon. Mornings were spent brainstorming and talking through ideas, and afternoons were spent working on individual research.

Weasley and Potter usually went for a long run at lunchtime. They had invited Draco the first day, but he'd had the impression it was just out of courtesy. He wasn't much of an athlete these days anyway; he spent his lunch breaks shopping or sipping coffee in a café around the corner. They had agreed it was best if his presence was kept quiet, so he cast glamour charms on himself before venturing out -- something he found entertaining, to say the least.

By Wednesday, Draco began to wonder how seriously Potter and Weasley were taking this whole enterprise. They seemed to get very little done, despite the fact that they were always in the office and working before he arrived every morning. They were just reading up on something they'd thought of that morning, they'd say, but neither of them ever had any ideas that were better than Draco's own. It almost seemed like they weren't terribly worried about how all of this was going to work out.

Draco met Potter for dinner every night that week. Weasley had drinks with them on Wednesday before heading home, but otherwise it was just the two of them. Each night, Draco drank a little more than was wise, and each night he found himself staring into Potter's eyes like a lovesick schoolgirl.

Fortunately, Potter was too dim to notice. They talked about many things, though they both avoided anything related to their last few years at school. Neither of them talked about their personal lives either, which was fine with Draco.

He began to entertain himself by flirting with Potter in subtle ways. It happened mostly when they were alone -- mildly suggestive comments, a brush of arms, a touch that wasn't strictly necessary. By the end of the week, Draco grew bold enough to brush his thigh against Potter's under the table while they worked with Weasley.

He wasn't sure if Potter knew what was going on, but he seemed to enjoy the attention. In his own way, Potter even returned it, which gave Draco plenty of material for masturbation fantasies. Most surprising of all, Potter seemed to enjoy Draco's company. And on Thursday night, after four pints of Stella, Draco worked up the courage to ask him about it.

"Why have you been so nice to me this week? Not that I'm complaining, but--"

Potter shrugged. "Why shouldn't I be? I didn't ask you to come all the way here so I could abuse you."

"Maybe I like to be abused," Draco replied with a grin. Potter snorted and took a sip of beer. "Then why did you ask me to come?"

"You were the only one we thought we could trust," Potter said, staring into his glass. It was difficult to tell in the dim light of the pub, but he might have been blushing.

"Because I did year one of Auror training with you?"

Potter nodded. "Lucius wanted one of his own. With you, we knew what we were dealing with, at least."

Draco frowned, uncertain if he should find that remark offensive or not. "But that doesn't explain why you've been hanging out with me this week. Surely you have friends you're neglecting nightly to have dinner with me."

Potter's smile was wry. "Not really. Ever since school, I've really only had Ron and Hermione. And they've always had each other. And now they have the twins, so..."

"I suppose it's all they ever talk about," Draco mused.

Potter nodded, then laughed. "I sound rather pathetic, don't I? It's not as bad as that."

It was about then that Draco finally admitted to himself that he had a crush on Potter.

+++++

Friday, 26 January, 2001

"Bowtruckle," Draco said to the door of the abandoned green grocer's, and then stepped through. The shop was empty -- Potter and Weasley must not have come back from their daily run yet.

Draco settled behind his desk and pulled a book from his shoulder bag. He'd headed to the London Library of Magic after a quick lunch, having learned that morning that Weasley had a membership, courtesy of his wife. The card even looked well-used, to Draco's surprise.

He had just started taking notes from a chapter about ancient entrapment spells when Potter and Weasley walked through the boarded-up door, panting. Draco frowned at their appearance -- they usually were back and changed before he returned from lunch, so he hadn't seen them looking so thoroughly sweaty before.

"I'm starving," Weasley said, crossing to his desk. "What did you bring us to eat, Malfoy?"

"You could eat me," Draco quipped, and grinned when Weasley flipped him off.

"No respect at all," Weasley said, his voice tinged with mock exasperation. He laughed and pulled his shirt over his head -- and Draco couldn't help but stare in surprise. Weasley was built very well, broad through the shoulders with a sprinkling of red hair on his muscled chest.

And then Weasley stripped out of the rest of his running gear, right there in the middle of the office. Draco felt the smirk fade from his face. He tried not to look, but he couldn't help it, especially when Weasley turned to face him. The man was hung.

Draco heard a snapping sound beneath his fingers, and realized he'd pressed his quill against the parchment so hard that he'd crushed the tip. He found his wand and cast a non-verbal reparo, feeling himself blush. He glanced at Potter, hoping he hadn't been caught.

Potter had taken his shirt off as well, but he'd paused in mid-dress to look at Weasley. Draco blinked -- was he seeing things, or was Potter staring at Weasley's arse? Potter caught Draco's eye and turned away, cheeks a bit pinker than they'd been a moment before.

Well, Draco thought. How interesting. He let his eyes wander over Potter's form. He was smaller than Weasley, but still more muscular than Draco would have guessed. Potter shed his trackie bottoms, and Draco couldn't help a snort at the sight of his bare arse.

Weasley and Potter turned to look at him.

"Does this look like a changing room?" Draco asked, smirking. "I hope you boys know some showering spells." He turned back to his book, and was hit in the back of the head a moment later by a balled-up pair of sweaty underwear.

He made a rude gesture over his shoulder without turning around and heard Weasley and Potter laugh. Draco grinned.

+++++

Lucius had sent the address of the 'country estate' along with Ebby in response to Draco's query. Draco had to ask the hotel concierge for a map of the UK to find where in Scotland the village of Maybole was located.

At 6:45, he apparated to the location the concierge had pulled up on an internet map and found himself standing at the end of a long drive that curled up a hill to a castle. The air was damp and chilly and the sky was dark, so he apparated closer, as close as he could get before the wards bounced him back. He walked up the stone steps and hesitated before a large ornate door, uncertain if he should knock.

He opened the door and stepped into a large foyer. It was so different from his childhood home that he spent a moment staring about in shock. There were tapestries and paintings on the walls, but they were clearly of the Muggle variety. The furniture seemed to be of four different styles -- clearly a decorator had not been consulted. It was remarkably gauche.

"Good evening," he heard, and turned to see his father standing in a doorway. Lucius was dressed in elegant robes, his long hair tied back at the nape of his neck.

Draco straightened his posture without thinking about it. "Father," he said, nodding his head.

"We're waiting for you in the parlor," Lucius said. He turned and walked through another door.

Draco followed, already wondering who the 'we' might include.

Seated on mismatched ornate chairs around the fireplace were two faces he recognized instantly -- Snape and Avery. They nodded at him as he entered, but didn't stand.

"Gentlemen," Draco said, stopping before them and giving a slight bow.

Snape nodded his head in response, but Avery just stared at Draco, his dark eyes narrowed.

"Brandy?" Lucius asked, waving his wand at a decanter by the fireplace. Draco found a glass in his hand before he had a chance to respond. Lucius waved his wand again and the parlor door closed. He gestured to a chair that had just appeared next to Snape. "Make yourself comfortable," he said. "We have much to discuss."

+++++

It was nearly 11:00 when Draco apparated directly into his hotel room. He shed his robes and changed into more casual attire, then dashed out the door. After days of prodding, Potter had finally agreed to go out to a club with him, and they'd planned on meeting around 11:00 that night. Draco hadn't expected the dinner with his father to go so late.

He hadn't expected there to be other guests, either. Snape and Avery were just two of a group of Death Eaters who were conspiring with Lucius to bring the Dark Lord down -- a concept that made Draco's head hurt just to think about. He had listened carefully as they explained how they had come to this point, how the Dark Lord's behavior had grown increasingly erratic over the last two years. Voldemort had always led by intimidation and fear, but his wrath was unpredictable and irrational now. Draco gathered from the conversation that his father had been the victim of one of these incidents.

He rushed down to the lobby, his coat in hand. He cast a spell on his hair in the lift after a frightening glance in the mirror, and stepped out, expecting to see Potter there waiting for him.

The lobby was full of people sitting around the piano bar, sipping drinks and talking -- but Potter was nowhere to be seen. Draco felt a bit relieved; he preferred it when others were later than him, of course. He settled into an empty chair to wait.

Ten minutes later, he ordered a drink from a server who'd come by. Twenty minutes later, his glass was empty -- and he'd apparently been stood up. He waited a few more minutes, until his watch read 11:30, and then he walked out the back door and down to the Tube Station.

Screw Potter, he thought as he stood by the platform waiting for the Bakerloo train. He probably hadn't wanted to go in the first place and had only agreed to get Draco to stop talking about it. He stewed all the way to Picadilly Circus Station, then scowled at the swarms of drunken Muggles who jostled him in the corridor as he headed for the Picadilly line. He had no idea why he'd expected Potter to show up anyway. Draco had promised to take him to one of the dance clubs in Leicester Square, expecting that Potter would pull some Muggle girl and drag her off to a toilet for a quick shag. It wasn't as if he was going to take him to a gay club.

He finally emerged onto Charing Cross Road and headed up towards Soho. The club scene there had changed surprisingly little from his teen years, and he soon found a spot that looked promising. He got past the doorman with a charming smile and worked his way towards the bar.

Within fifteen minutes, he found what he'd been looking for: a young man with pale skin and dark hair, dancing with a group of friends. Draco slung back his drink and headed towards him.

It was ridiculously easy to pick up men, he'd always thought. He didn't consider himself particularly good-looking, but he'd learned confidence was often more important than appearance.

Half an hour and several drinks later, they were in a cab, heading back to the Hilton.

+++++

Saturday, 27 January, 2001

Draco was having an oddly erotic dream about owls when he awoke. He blinked up at the ceiling for a moment before he realized someone was knocking on the door. He groaned -- he must have forgotten to put up the 'Do Not Disturb' sign. He sat up and squinted at the clock beside the bed. He frowned. It was a bit early for housekeeping to be coming around.

The knocking sounded again. Draco pushed the duvet off himself and stood, surveying the room. The boy he'd brought back was still sound asleep; only his hair was visible at the moment. He'd been exactly what Draco needed, it turned out -- young, hot, horny, and practically insatiable. Draco had come three times before he'd convinced the boy to let him go to sleep.

The knocking turned into pounding, and Draco crossed to the door. "What?" he shouted at it. "It's fucking early."

"Malfoy?" he heard. It was Potter.

Draco was surprised to feel his anger from the night before returning full force. He unlatched and opened the door to see Potter was standing there, looking a bit disheveled.

"What the fuck do you want?" Draco spat.

A couple walked by the open door and gave Draco an odd look.

Potter glanced at them and back at Draco. "Can I come in?"

"No," Draco told him. He hesitated a moment before adding, "I'm not alone."

"Which would explain why you have no clothes on," Potter retorted, looking away again.

Draco felt a flush creep over his skin. He was completely naked -- in his anger, he hadn't even noticed. He stepped back through the door and reached into the bathroom to grab a towel. By the time he had it wrapped around his waist, Potter had come into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Look," he began, "About last night--"

"I don't really give a fuck about last night," Draco replied, folding his arms over his chest. "It was no big deal. I went out on my own."

"Right," Harry said, grimacing. "I'm sorry, okay? I got tied up with… with something else and--"

"Excuse me." Draco turned to see the dark-haired boy from the club standing behind him. "Can I get to the toilet please?"

Draco stepped back and the boy passed between them. He was naked as well -- and quite fit, Draco couldn't help but notice as he passed. It had been dark during most of their activity the night before. The door closed and Draco looked back at Potter.

He was staring at the closed door, an expression of shock on his face. Draco watched him for a moment, then sighed and scratched the back of his head. So Potter really hadn't known before. This was a hell of a way for him to find out.

"Like I said, not alone." Draco made a vague gesture at the bathroom door.

Potter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He stared at the door for several more seconds and then turned back to Draco. He looked completely flustered. "Erm," he said.

They heard the sound of a toilet flushing, and the bathroom door opened again. The boy looked back and forth between them, eyes lingering on Potter's face. "I'll just be going then," he said and ducked back between them, disappearing around the corner.

Potter shook his head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry -- I have fucking horrible timing. I'll… I'll come back later."

"Sure, whatever," Draco replied. He tried to sound casual, but he doubted Potter missed the stiffness in his tone.

Potter made no move to leave, however. He seemed rooted to the spot. "I just wanted to tell you I was sorry. I didn't think… I mean…"

Draco groaned. "Let's just get it out on the table, shall we?" He turned to gesture toward the boy from the club, who was stepping into his shoes. "I picked him up last night, brought him here, and fucked him until the wee hours of the morning. That's what I do, okay? I'm sorry you're finding this so shocking."

The boy tried to sneak past Draco toward the door, but Draco pulled him back and kissed him. "Thanks," he said.

"Anytime," the boy replied with a smug grin. It faded when he saw the expression on Potter's face. "It was just a fuck, all right?" he said, shrinking away. "He's all yours now." Potter gaped at him in response. The boy stepped around him and opened the door.

They both jumped when it slammed shut.

"I just… I didn't know you were gay," Potter said. He looked confused.

"You always were slow," Draco snorted. "This doesn't bode well for the task we're trying to accomplish."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

Draco snorted. "Why didn't you ask, if it was so important? Am I supposed to wear a name tag, or something? Hello, I'm a queer!" Potter looked extremely disturbed, and Draco felt his heart sink a bit. He sighed. "Look, if it bothers you that much, I won't mention it. And if you don't barge into my hotel room at odd hours, you won't see anything distasteful."

"It's not like that," Potter said, pressing a hand against his forehead. "I just… I thought… Oh hell, it doesn't matter."

"No, I think it does," Draco replied. "If you have a problem with me being gay, then say so."

"I don't have a problem with it," Potter said. "That's not it at all. Never mind." He made a helpless gesture and turned towards the door. "Sorry to have disturbed you. And I'm sorry about last night." He opened the door and stepped through it, then turned back. He seemed to steel himself. "I don't suppose you'll let me make it up to you?"

Draco blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Dinner?" Potter asked. "And if you still want to drag me out dancing… well, I owe you one."

Draco wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just nodded in response.

"Send me a note to let me know what time." Potter disappeared down the corridor.

Go to part 26

Note: I just want to say THANK YOU to everyone who's still reading. I swear I'm not stringing this out intentionally -- it's just taking this long to get the story written! I really appreciate the fact that people have stuck with me and seem to have faith that all of this is going somewhere. :-)