Arthur fidgeted anxiously in his seat at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, his eyes darting to the clock on the wall as each tick seemed to echo the pounding of his nerves. The urgency of his request to Kingsley weighed heavily on him, evident in the furrow of his brow and the restless movement that danced across his features as he scribbled notes and checked documents. Arthur eagerly awaited Kingsley's response, grappling with growing impatience as every minute felt like an eternity. The promised visit seemed perpetually delayed.
The minutes dragged on endlessly, and Arthur's restlessness multiplied into an unbearable, gnawing tension. Unable to sit idly for another moment, he abruptly rose from his desk and began pacing the small office, his fingers absently stroking his chin in deep contemplation. A torrent of anxious thoughts swirled relentlessly in his mind—who could Kingsley possibly be interrogating that was causing such a significant delay? And most importantly, what news could he bring regarding Harry's deteriorating health? Arthur's heart ached with worry at the very thought, fuelling an overwhelming need for immediate action.
Arthur strode purposefully out of the office, his steps a hurried mix of determination and haste as an urgent need drove him onwards. The bustling, chaotic energy of the ministry's corridors clashed with the singular focus in his mind. Though a crowd had gathered outside Kingsley's office, drawing his gaze, the commotion barely registered in Arthur's anxious state. Without pause, he redirected his course towards the courtrooms.
The underground passages were shrouded in an eerie, unsettling silence, a jarring contrast to the typical bustle and energy of ministry life. Arthur's steps quickened, his pace betraying a growing sense of unease as the distant, muffled sounds of voices and movement barely pierced the tense, heavy atmosphere. As he caught sight of the Auror guards stationed ahead, Arthur steeled himself, squaring his shoulders before confidently striding towards the door where he knew Kingsley was likely inside.
Raising a hand poised to knock, Arthur paused momentarily before the door swung open, revealing a fatigued and visibly irritated Kingsley. Through the open doorway, Arthur caught a brief but unsettling glimpse of Lucius Malfoy's distinctive silver hair standing alongside his family, eliciting an involuntary thrill of revulsion within him.
Arthur's tired yet resolute gaze met Kingsley's, their eyes conveying the heavy burden they both carried. "Kingsley," Arthur said, his voice tinged with weariness.
Kingsley inclined his head. "My apologies for the delay, Arthur. I was just concluding my discussion with Lucius Malfoy."
"Did you manage to gather any useful information from him?" Arthur asked, his voice dripping with scepticism. "He might just be playing games. Lucius has a history of deceit. We shouldn't trust him until he proves himself to be genuinely committed."
"I share your scepticism," Kingsley responded. "But there was a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes that gave me pause. Still, we will need to monitor him and his family closely to ensure he is not merely putting on an act."
"Even if he claims to genuinely wish to join our cause, we cannot trust that he will stay loyal. We must proceed with the utmost caution," Arthur cautioned.
Kingsley's brow furrowed with deep contemplation. "All he craves is to flee his current circumstances. Deception is the core of his strategy. Yet, having influential purebloods like Malfoy on our side could greatly bolster our cause."
"It seems highly unlikely that Malfoy would actually join us. Is he truly willing to switch allegiance, as he claimed?"
"The man has offered to reveal the identities of all Death Eaters and assist in their capture. In exchange, he seeks to have his name and his family's reputation cleared of any wrongdoing."
Arthur's face twisted in contempt as he let out a derisive snort. "That lame excuse has been trotted out far too often. Sure, a few have stepped up to help, but the vast majority have not. So why on earth would we think things will be any different now? Letting him off the hook would be a catastrophic blunder."
Kingsley appeared satisfied with his cunning approach. "I gave him a slight fright," he said, a smug grin spreading across his face. "I made it abundantly clear that if he dared to conceal the truth, I would ruthlessly tarnish his family's esteemed reputation in the Daily Prophet and seize every last Galleon of his wealth to hand over to the Ministry. The mere thought of losing his cherished fortune and facing his adoring fans with empty pockets visibly unnerved him. He could never bear such a humiliating prospect."
Arthur couldn't suppress a chuckle at the unexpected sight of the proud and arrogant Lucius Malfoy suddenly so preoccupied with his public image. It was a refreshing change to witness the once-haughty aristocrat brought low.
"For now, we shall keep both Lucius and Narcissa under close guard as our investigation continues," Kingsley declared, a glimmer of hope kindling in his eyes. "And as for Draco, he will be closely monitored, with disciplinary measures taken as deemed necessary. It won't be long before all the Death Eaters find themselves rotting in the cells of Azkaban," he added, a note of grim satisfaction in his voice.
"Don't celebrate yet," Arthur cautioned, his voice tinged with concern. "Lucius will drag this out, but that hardly matters. We have more pressing issues that demand our immediate attention."
The courtroom door swung open, revealing the Malfoy family. Lucius, his expression icy, Narcissa urgently whispering to him, and Draco trailing behind, shrouded in uncertainty. Arthur's gaze lingered on their retreat, but Kingsley's grave demeanour pulled him back to the pressing matter at hand.
"Harry," Kingsley whispered urgently, his voice tinged with urgency. "How's he doing?"
Arthur let out a heavy sigh, the weight of his words evident in the slump of his shoulders. "He's putting up a brave front, but his condition is still very critical."
Kingsley's acknowledgement was a brief, almost imperceptible nod, but the weighted look in his eyes spoke volumes.
Just then, Draco's gaze swept over them, and a flicker of curiosity momentarily broke through his usually sullen, guarded demeanour. Kingsley noticed Draco's uncharacteristic expression, and it prompted him to initiate a conversation that shifted the tense mood ever so slightly.
"Your request for a fragment of the Veil stone seemed most unusual to me," Kingsley mused thoughtfully, his brows furrowing in contemplation.
"I'm hopeful we can get this substance without too much trouble," Arthur said, his voice carrying a tinge of cautious optimism. "We're desperate for anything that might help him." His earlier despair seemed to momentarily lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope.
"The Unspeakables will get the substance quickly, but I'm at a loss as to how this stone could actually help Harry. It's all quite puzzling to me."
"His friends plan to use the stone in a potion, but I'm doubtful about its effectiveness. The whole idea just doesn't sit right with me."
Kingsley's expression darkened, but he remained focused. "And you want Harry to drink that? I can't imagine how it could possibly help him," he said, his voice tinged with scepticism.
Arthur nodded solemnly, the weight of their shared concerns evident in his demeanour. "That's exactly my concern," he confirmed.
They watched intently as the Malfoys vanished from view, but Draco lingered a moment longer, stealing furtive glances back at them. Arthur's brow furrowed in curiosity, his mind racing to decipher the young man's thoughts.
Once the Malfoy family had fully disappeared from sight, Kingsley leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a hushed, conspiratorial tone. "I plan to personally deliver the stone to Harry to protect his privacy. Do you think he is well enough to receive it?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern.
"I certainly hope so," Arthur replied, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "He trusts you deeply, Kingsley. Harry admires you as a former auror—you're a beacon of hope for him, someone he looks up to."
Kingsley's smile broadened, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I eagerly await seeing him at Auror Headquarters soon. At a mere seventeen years old, Harry already exhibits remarkable potential to become the next head auror. Don't you agree?"
Arthur's chuckle cut through the excitement. "I'm sure he would be deeply honoured by your high praise. Like so many of us, I'm eager to witness the profound impact he will have on the wizarding world. I have no doubt he will make an indelible mark."
Kingsley's eyes shone with unbridled excitement as a tantalising thought struck him. "I have a strong feeling that Harry could excel as a minister in the future," he declared, conviction lacing each resonant word. "He possesses all the necessary traits and skills required for such a prestigious and influential position."
The idea hung in the air, a captivating possibility. Arthur considered it, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not so certain that Harry would aspire to that path. He has always shied away from the public eye and does not seek fame or recognition. But I suppose it's not entirely impossible, given his remarkable abilities."
"Let's not get carried away with our speculations," Kingsley replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "We still have a long journey ahead of us before we can even begin to entertain such thoughts."
Arthur nodded, a renewed sense of determination stirring within him. "Yes, you're absolutely right. We must focus on the present and tackle each challenge as it comes," he affirmed, his tone resolute.
Arthur wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose as he sank back into his creaking office chair. The dim light cast eerie shadows across the cluttered desk, which was strewn with Muggle artefacts. It had been an exhausting day at the Ministry, but just as Arthur was about to tidy up his paperwork, a familiar figure caught his eye, lingering outside.
Draco stood there, looking haggard and unkempt. His usually pristine blond hair was dishevelled, and his sickly pallor made him appear years younger than his age. A thick tension hung between them, the enmity of their past interactions evident. Yet something in Draco's stance suggested a different purpose this time, piquing Arthur's curiosity.
"Do you need help finding your way out of the ministry?" He asked.
Draco's gaze drifted across the odd Muggle trinkets cluttering the office, finally settling on a garish rubber duck. "No," he muttered, his sombre expression creating a stark contrast with the whimsical clutter around him. "I can find my own way out," he added firmly.
Arthur let out a deep, weary sigh. He had no patience for games or idle chatter today. "If you have something to say, then say it. My work here is finished, and I'm eager to get home." His tone was curt, betraying his impatience.
A sudden, urgent question cut through the air like a gust of wind. "Is Potter truly ill?" The words were laced with a sense of urgency and concern.
Arthur felt his heart skip a beat as he froze in place. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Were you eavesdropping outside the courtrooms earlier?" he asked, his voice tinged with accusation.
Draco crossed his arms. "I wouldn't have known if you hadn't shouted his name."
"Eavesdropping on conversations must be quite the amusement for you." Arthur's retort dripped with annoyance. "I can't say I'm surprised."
The boy standing before Arthur, consumed by unresolved conflict, murmured hesitantly, "I only wish to know if he's unwell. It seems improbable for Potter to fall ill when he's always stirring up trouble."
Arthur's protective instinct for Harry surged within him. "This doesn't concern you," he snapped. "Therefore, I suggest you depart."
Draco's cold, unwavering tone betrayed his insistence. "Don't you understand? It concerns me now. I insist on seeing him in person, whether you approve or not."
Arthur's irritation flared. "Did you not hear what I just said?" he retorted firmly.
Draco stood firm, his gaunt figure silhouetted in the doorway, blocking Arthur's exit. A flicker of genuine emotion crossed Draco's face, a rare sight that stirred echoes of the lost boy he once was, trapped in darker circumstances. "I owe him," Draco said flatly.
Doubt still gnawed at Arthur as he scrutinised Draco's expression for any hint of insincerity. "Why should I believe you?" he challenged.
Unfazed, Draco squared his shoulders, earnestness burning in his narrowed gaze. "He saved my life," he stated simply. "And I'm merely asking for that favour to be repaid—nothing more."
The room fell hushed, the clock's rhythmic ticking echoing loudly as Arthur carefully considered his choices. He knew that permitting Draco's proximity to Harry could unleash consequences far beyond their present predicament—his family had already endured so much. Yet in that weighted silence, the looming spectre of a life debt now eclipsed his lingering doubts.
Arthur's expression was stern as he fixed Draco with an unwavering gaze. "I will allow you to see Harry," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument, "but there is one condition." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You must not breathe a single word of what you see or hear to anyone. I'll know if you do—do you understand?"
Draco's reply came swiftly, his casual indifference barely masking the anxiety churning within. "And what consequences would I face if I were to reveal this information?"
Arthur's smirk was tinged with an underlying hardness, not quite reaching his guarded eyes. "Let's just say your family would find themselves under increased government oversight, potentially losing certain privileges as a result."
Draco shrugged dismissively, the motion conveying his nonchalance as he stepped aside, silently granting Arthur permission to go.
A sudden chill pierced through the thick, uneasy atmosphere the moment Arthur emerged from the Burrow's fireplace. The usually vibrant space now lay silent and heavy, as three young faces stared at the floor.
Sitting somberly around the wooden table, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione wore grave, solemn expressions—as if they had gathered for a funeral, rather than a family meal. Arthur's fatherly intuition stirred within him, and he quickly sensed that something deeply troubling, likely Harry, had disrupted the otherwise warm and comfortable atmosphere.
Just as Arthur opened his mouth to address his children, the fireplace suddenly roared to life. An ominous tension gripped the room as Draco emerged through the dancing flames, his arrogant smirk slicing through the despair. Draco's white-blonde hair gleamed with an almost ethereal glow, accentuating his haughty demeanour.
In a flash, Ron leapt to his feet, fists clenched and blue eyes ablaze with unbridled rage. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice quivering with barely contained fury.
Hermione and Ginny shared a loaded glance, each trying to discern the deeper implications of Draco's unexpected arrival. They knew this was no mere social call—the tension spoke of a far greater significance than simple rivalry.
A piercing scream suddenly shattered the eerie silence, sharp and chilling. The blood-curdling cry reverberated off the walls, momentarily eclipsing all thoughts of Ron's confrontation with Draco as a wave of panic gripped the onlookers. The scream intensified, a raw and anguished sound that seized everyone's hearts with dread.
Draco affected an air of innocent curiosity, raising an eyebrow. "What's with the hostility? Is someone being tortured up there?" His arrogant quip was met with a tense, foreboding silence.
Ron's face hardened, his features tightening with resolve. "What are you doing here, Malfoy? Harry doesn't want to talk to you," he spat, jabbing a finger towards Malfoy and erecting a barrier between them.
Arthur's hand landed gently on Ron's shoulder, a calming presence as he urged his son to sit. "Now, son, let's not escalate this. Draco's here for a reason," he said quietly, his tone soothing.
"But he's not welcome here, Dad!" Ron growled, his voice low and laced with venom. "And besides, Harry's in no condition to talk to anyone right now." His fists clenched, the tension coiling tightly within him.
"Is Harry in his room?" Arthur asked, his brow furrowing with concern. When Ginny nodded, her face etched with worry, he turned to Draco, his expression firm yet cautious. "You'll behave, won't you?"
"Of course," Draco replied, his tone dripping with mock sincerity, though his contempt was evident.
"Then let's all keep it civil," Arthur said, nodding once more. "I'll go check on Harry." Without waiting for a response, he swiftly exited the kitchen.
Waves of anguish crashed over Ron as he was engulfed by a tempest of emotions. Harry's tortured cries echoed mournfully through the walls, laced with unbearable pain and despair. A leaden weight pressed down on Ron's heart, and the furious glares he shared with Hermione and Ginny conveyed their unspoken distress. They had always stood united against danger; now they seethed with resentment towards Malfoy's callous indifference in that harrowing moment.
Draco lounged against the sink, arms crossed and expression dismissive as his pale eyes scanned the room. With a look of bemused curiosity, he caught Ron's glare and remarked in a callous tone, "They really should ease up on whoever they're torturing."
Ron's face darkened. "That's Harry, you ignorant fool!" He shot back, his eyes flashing with anger. "And he's not being tortured; he's—"
"Sick, I know," Draco interrupted, unfazed. His mocking tone aimed to dig the knife deeper. "So why aren't you by Potter's side if you claim to be such good friends?" He asked.
Ron bristled with indignation. "How dare you question the depth of our friendship!" he hissed, his fists clenching. "You know nothing about it!"
Draco's sneer widened, his condescension showing. "If I were ill and my friends deserted me, I would be seething with rage."
"Well, we're not you, Malfoy!" Hermione's voice rose above the simmering tension. "We actually care about Harry." Her eyes flashed with defiance. "You have no right to judge us—it's clear you don't grasp the gravity of his situation."
"You waltz in here without a care for those who live here." Ginny's voice rang out, sharp and unwavering."Just leave." Her eyes narrowed on Draco, brimming with disdain.
Draco feigned disbelief, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. "How can I be expected to show respect when I wasn't even offered a place to sit?" His arrogance hung thick in the air, heavy and acrid.
Ron's face flushed with irritation. "You're well aware that your presence is not wanted in our house," he declared, his voice firm and unyielding.
Draco sneered as he glanced around the room, his face twisted with arrogance. "This place hardly qualifies as a residence," he remarked, his tone dripping with contempt. "I've seen more elegant surroundings in a decrepit shack."
Ron glared at Draco, his eyes burning with anger and resentment. "You have no place here," he stated firmly, his voice laced with hostility. "If you want a seat, go find one elsewhere."
Draco leaned closer, a cattish grin spreading across his face. "Oh, aren't we feeling bold today?" he mocked. "But of course, that's to be expected from a Weasley."
Ginny's eyes narrowed in disgust as she spoke up, her tone sharp and cutting. "Malfoy, you're not wanted here. Leave now," she demanded.
Draco observed Ginny with a condescending smirk, his amusement evident in his cold, grey eyes. "Did your dear old dad not tell you, Weaselette? I'm more than welcome here," he stated nonchalantly.
"Didn't you hear Harry screaming?" Ron snapped, his words laced with defiance. "Harry's ill and wouldn't want to speak with you even if he could," he added, his tone unyielding.
"I'll decide that for myself," Draco retorted, utterly unfazed under their scrutiny.
Then came the sound—the undeniable shrieks of Harry echoing through the kitchen, more piercing now, imbued with desperation.
Arthur hurried down the stairs, his face etched with a complex mix of concern and relief. "Harry's condition has stabilised for now," he announced, his tone conveying a sense of cautious reassurance.
"Is he sleeping?" Ginny asked, her voice trembling with a glimmer of hope.
Arthur shook his head gently. "No, he's resting," he clarified. "And he's agreed to see Draco."
Ron's eyes widened in disbelief. "Is Harry really alright with this? He's just been through a traumatic ordeal! Couldn't Malfoy come back another time?" He whirled towards Draco. "Harry should be resting now, rebuilding his strength, but you had to come and disturb him."
"It seems he's fine with it," Arthur replied calmly. "He didn't voice any objections; just gave me a quick nod."
Hearing this, Ron prepared to head upstairs, but Arthur's firm voice stopped him. "There's no need, son. Only Draco should go to his room, and you should stay downstairs."
Ron's mouth fell open in disbelief, while Hermione and Ginny exchanged outraged looks. "But, Dad—" Ron tried to protest.
"It's not our place to speculate about Draco and Harry's private conversation," Arthur interjected firmly. "And it's definitely not our place to meddle."
Draco stood there, arrogance radiating off of him like some kind of toxic haze. Ron's stomach churned, a wave of anger washing over him as he caught Malfoy's taunting smirk.
"I warn you," Ron threatened, his voice low and measured, "if you make any move against Harry, you will face the consequences."
Malfoy chuckled, leaning in closer. "You must take me for a fool if you think I'd engage an unarmed opponent. He's far too weak to pose any real threat, even with a wand at his disposal."
The room fell silent as a grave. Ron, his face contorted with rage, lunged at Draco, intent on unleashing a well-deserved punch. But Arthur's firm grip on his son's arm halted him, anchoring him against the rising tempest of anger.
"Let it go, Ron," Arthur said quietly, his voice a soothing balm, but the words fell on deaf ears. The tension had forged an unbreakable bond of fury that would not be so easily broken.
Arthur fixed Draco with a stern, disapproving glare, his anger evident. "I've given you the chance to speak with Harry civilly and respectfully, especially given his current poor health. Fail to comply, and our agreement is over—you'll be escorted back to the ministry. Is that clear?" He stated.
Draco averted his gaze, unwilling to meet Arthur's eyes.
"Am I making myself absolutely clear?" Arthur pressed, his tone firm and unyielding.
"Yes," Draco replied flatly.
"Good. Now, proceed upstairs," Arthur instructed, gesturing towards the staircase and signalling the end of their exchange.
As Draco ascended the stairs, his gaze fell upon the four teenagers with a malevolent glare, his eyes narrowed and his expression laced with ill intent.
Ron noticed a distinct glint of enmity in Draco's eyes just before he vanished from sight.
Torn between a desire to eavesdrop on their conversation, perhaps using an Extendable Ear, and the certainty of being caught by his father, Ron muttered curses under his breath and let out a frustrated sigh.
Draco crept up the stairs, his steps guided by an unwelcome curiosity, sharp-edged like the burden of his family's legacy. The vibrant hues of the sunset streamed through the open windows, casting an ironic contrast to the oppressive atmosphere within as he moved silently toward what he assumed was Harry Potter's room.
As he entered the dimly lit space, the sight before him was unexpected. Molly sat by the bed, her maternal instincts radiating disapproval. Without a word, she stood and briskly left the room, leaving behind an emptiness that felt heavier than the stale air itself.
The fever had sapped Potter's vitality, leaving him pale and gaunt, eyes closed, his breaths laboured like someone struggling against a murky tide, fighting for air. Draco's presence seemed to cut through the haze, and he cleared his throat, the sound discordant in the stillness of the room. "Potter," he said, his voice betraying a rare note of concern.
Potter's eyes slowly blinked, the dawning recognition behind his glasses amplified by the soft, warm light flooding the room.
Draco's lips instinctively curled into a derisive sneer—some old habits simply refused to fade. "What happened to you?" he asked, his tone cold and detached, as if feigning disinterest in Potter's apparent decline was a means to shield himself from the harsh reality unfolding before him.
Potter's voice trembled as he spoke in a hushed tone. "I'm sorry I haven't lived up to your expectations. Frankly, you don't seem to be at your best either. Is it because you're missing Voldemort so much?"
Draco felt a surge of anger wash over him, his face flushing with heat. "Are you really going to spout such ridiculous nonsense in front of your superior?" He spat out each word with disdain, but even as the words left his mouth, Draco couldn't help but feel the absurdity of using such a formal title.
Potter echoed the word "superior?" with a derisive, mocking laugh, the effort costing him dearly as he struggled to contain his disdain. "All I see is a coward," he spat, his tone dripping with contempt.
Draco's fists clenched tightly, his eyes narrowed to slits. "I am not someone you know well, Potter," he retorted. "I've accomplished remarkable feats—feats that you could only dream of achieving." His voice carried a note of haughty pride.
"Remarkable feats, as defined by Crabbe and Goyle?" Potter let out a derisive snort. "I believe you've let all that empty praise go straight to your head."
Malfoy's expression hardened, a steely resolve etched across his features, but he took a determined step forward, unwavering in his intention to press on. "Even without them, I've managed on my own. I don't need them to prove—"
"Has the great Malfoy lost his way without his goons to guide him?" Potter interrupted, a tinge of mocking in his voice. "Is this why you've come here?"
Draco's laughter rang out, sharp and biting, cutting through the tension. Yet beneath the bravado, a flicker of doubt stirred, betraying his confidence. "Don't think too highly of yourself, Potter," he retorted, his words dripping with disdain.
Potter's annoyance boiled over, the frustration clear in his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. "Say what you will, Malfoy. In addition to your relentless ridiculing, can you at least explain why you're here? I'm tired of your disrespectful words, and I don't wish to hear any more. I've reached my limit."
"Let me make this abundantly clear. You saved my life, and I'm forever in your debt. I've come here with one purpose—to repay what I owe you."
A smirk slowly blossomed on Potter's lips. "So you have the audacity to show disrespect to the very person who saved your life, even though you're in their debt?" he asked, a hint of disdain in his voice.
Draco's expression darkened, a touch of bitterness creeping into his tone. "Shut up, Potter," he snapped. "Just tell me how I can repay you, and then I'll be on my way."
Potter eyed Draco warily. "It seems like repaying me feels more like a punishment to you. It's almost as if you'd prefer being indebted to someone else instead."
"Absolutely right," Draco replied, his gaze hardening. "I have a feeling you'll come up with an impossible task just to make my life difficult."
"Simply staying away from me is enough repayment," Potter insisted, his voice growing weaker. "It honestly is the easiest favour I can think of. Besides, I doubt you'd actually complete any task I assign you. Trust me, it's a relief to not have to deal with your arrogance and attitude. Consider our debt settled with this arrangement."
"No," Draco said, his voice firm and unyielding.
Potter's brow furrowed with confusion. "No, what exactly?" he asked.
"I refuse to leave simply because you find my presence displeasing," Draco stated, emphasising his stance. "You must learn to tolerate my existence. There's nothing you can do to change that."
Exasperation evident on his face, Potter let out a weary sigh. "I cannot endure your company any longer. As you can clearly see, I'm drained and sick," he said, closing his eyes briefly as if to signal Draco to leave.
"Why are you sick?" Draco suddenly asked, his tone shifting toward genuine curiosity. "Dark rumours have been circulating that you're on the brink of death."
Tension flared within Potter at the remark. "That's none of your business."
"Based on your screams, it must be extremely painful," Draco remarked, a smirk hinting at the corners of his lips.
"Seriously, Malfoy? I've got no idea what you're talking about," Potter replied sarcastically.
"So, what is it then?"
"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. Can't you just let it go and leave me be?" Potter pleaded, exhaustion weighing heavily on his voice. "I've had such a long, draining day—I don't need this right now."
But Draco remained unmoved, crossing his arms in a stubborn, defiant stance. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why you're sick. You know I won't rest until I get to the bottom of this," he insisted, his tone unyielding.
Potter's shoulders slumped as he exhaled a heavy, resigned sigh. "I have no obligation to account for myself to you," he muttered, his gaze darting away from Draco's intense scrutiny. A momentary flash of vulnerability flickered in his eyes—a glimpse of the self-doubt he worked so hard to conceal. "Besides, there's already a solution in place, so it's best we simply move forward from this."
Draco's brow furrowed as a faint glimmer of consideration flickered across his usual disdain. "Is it that stone from... the Veil?" he asked, his tone laced with a hint of uncertainty as he tried to recall the snippet of conversation he had overheard between Arthur and Kingsley.
Potter's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you find out about that?" he asked, disbelief evident in his voice.
Draco's nonchalant shrug barely concealed the unease that lurked beneath his outward composure. "I have my sources, Potter," he retorted, his voice carrying a tinge of boredom, as if he were trying to downplay the gravity of the situation.
"Are you going to enlighten me now?" Draco pressed.
"No," Potter stated firmly.
"Fine," Draco quipped, infuriating sarcasm creeping back into his voice. "I could always ask the Weasley's father for information. I'm sure he would spill everything if I mentioned the cure and the stone."
"Just drop it already, won't you?" Potter snapped impatiently, his composure rapidly fraying.
Draco scoffed, arms crossed stubbornly. "How can you still not understand the simple word 'no', Potter? You're clearly not well, but I swear it's like you've taken a blow to the head and lost all comprehension."
Potter's hands balled into tight, trembling fists, every muscle tense with fury. "Please..." he rasped, his voice barely audible now. "Stop this, Malfoy. I'm completely spent."
Draco's carefully crafted facade wavered, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability flickering across his features. "I'm exhausted too," he confessed, his typically sharp, guarded expression softening for the briefest of moments. "Do us both a kindness and tell me about this elusive cure. Have you obtained it yet?"
The frustration in Potter's voice cut through the tense silence between them. "No, we haven't secured it," he snapped. "We're still missing a crucial piece."
Draco's cold grey eyes glinted with curious intrigue. "What other piece are you referring to?" He pressed.
Potter hesitated, his voice tinged with reluctance. "We need more than just the stone," he admitted. "Do you happen to know where I can find a wild Thestral?"
Draco raised a single eyebrow. "Why are you looking for a wild Thestral?"
"Please answer the question," Potter insisted, desperation creeping into his tone. "Do you know where I can find one or not?"
"Curious that you would ask. The Dark Lord specifically desired a wild Thestral. He disclosed to me the exact location where they could be found."
"Why did he need it?"
Draco shrugged, his practiced indifference masking the complexities of his past. "The Dark Lord doesn't share his plans openly. That particular quest was classified as 'need to know' information, accessible only to a chosen few."
"Where can I find it, then?"
Draco's lips curled into a mischievous grin, his eyes gleaming with a hint of dark delight. "If I reveal its whereabouts, are we even?" he taunted, his words laced with a subtle challenge.
Potter let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping with resignation. "Fine," he conceded, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and reluctant acceptance.
"In Ireland, there exists a concealed cave inhabited by mystical creatures," Draco revealed grandly. "If I were in your position, I would exercise extreme caution or perhaps avoid it altogether."
Potter met Draco's sharp gaze. "Caution is not a luxury I can afford."
Draco's expression darkened with a hint of concern. "Be careful, Potter. The answers you seek might come with a price," he said, his voice almost a whisper as he held back parts of what he knew.