I loved the @drarrymicrofic Getting Ready prompt so much I wrote a ficlet as well as the earlier microfic!
Prompt: Getting Ready. Song: Disaster Button by Snow Patrol.
It’s going to be fine.
It’s a little after twelve, and the DMLE at midnight is an even more depressing place than in the day.
You shift in the cold, uncomfortable seat. You pull at your wrists as surreptitiously as you can, but the Incarcerous holds strong.
It’s not as if you haven’t been interrogated by Aurors before, after all.
I’ll be fine.
As long as it’s…
Potter.
He whirls into the room, a threat in his walk, Auror robes flaring. His mouth is set in a firm line and his green eyes are hard and blazing.
‘Malfoy.’ He bites out your name like a curse, just like he used to at school. It makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. ‘You look a fucking mess.’
You open your mouth to snap back, a habit by now when it comes to Potter, but nothing comes out and you remember the Silencio they cast when you were first brought to the bullpen.
Harry raises a taunting eyebrow, and you feel the scowl settle on your face. He turns to the Auror assigned to watch over you, a short, squat man with a face like a bulldog.
‘I’ve got it from here, Parker, thank you.’ The Auror nods, once, and leaves the room. Potter follows him, calls out to the bullpen from the interrogation room. ‘Someone might as well get some coffee on the go! No-one’s getting out of here tonight.’
He slams the door again, and turns to you. You see the casual flick of his fingers and know he’s just cast a Colloportus. At the same moment, a low buzzing noise rises in the room and you feel your tongue loosen. A Muffliato and the lifting of your Silencio.
Wandless and wordless. Potter always was a show-off.
He holds out a tiny phial of clear liquid.
Veritaserum.
You feel yourself getting ready to talk, a Pavlovian response from the dozens of times you were dosed back when you were still on parole as a teenager. You feel the blood on your hands, the pain of your broken limbs, the phantom remnants of long-ago trials.
You open your mouth, more obediently than you like for Potter, and he kneels before you, grimacing. You know they’ll check for Veritaserum traces in your bloodstream.
‘Sorry,’ he murmurs, as he carefully shakes out the potion.
Three drops, as per protocol.
It puts a grin on your face.
‘It’s fine,’ you reply, your voice croaked and broken from the night you’ve had, and the Silencio cast on you for hours.
Potter’s fingers twitch, and you know he’s working so hard not to touch you. You must look a state, your face dirty and your eye bloodshot and bruised.
You are broken, and he is perfect.
He gets to his feet, his eyes cold again.
‘I have to look like I’m interrogating you,’ he snarls, and you bristle in response, even though you understand.
It’s always been like this with Potter, like Fiendfyre always below the surface, wild and unnamable and dangerous.
‘Just get on with it,’ you hiss, the Veritaserum stroking you like an unwanted touch, urging you to spill your secrets, your very soul.
‘How did it go?’ Potter asks, and you are replying before you’ve even finished hearing his question.
‘Really well. No-one suspects anything. They think I’m unrepentant, they trust me. I know the location for the next drop, and I think I’m going to get to meet the second.’
Potter’s face is triumphant and proud.
‘Fucking excellent, Draco,’ he whispers, never dropping his facade for anyone who might be watching from the bullpen. ‘I knew you could do it.’
You became his undercover partner before his lover, and the thrill of working together, under everyone’s noses, on one of the biggest Potions-ring takedowns of the century was as high as when he had you in bed, pinning you down and driving you to ecstasy time and time again.
You carry on your charade of an interrogation until the Veritaserum fades from your system. Potter releases your Incarcerous, and holds out a helping hand. You take it, and he leans down, his voice suddenly far too close.
‘I hate seeing you hurt,’ he murmurs, heartbroken. ‘I can’t wait for you to come home so I can take care of you.’
You can’t help the smile. You’d do anything for Potter’s love, in the end.
’Not long now, Harry,’ you reply quietly, your lips almost brushing his cheek as you speak.
Then Potter pulls you, and you are up and on your broken limbs once more.
Music Advent Day 4: Disaster button by Snow Patrol. D is apparently a low-interest letter -- not much was jumping out at me as I scrolled. This song is kinda emblematic of how I often listen to music -- I knew I liked this song! I have danced to it many times. Do I know what it’s about? Nope. Could I make out many of the lyrics? Only a few. Tbf, having now watched/listened to the lyrics for the first time, I’m still not super clear on what the song’s about, which feels like a vote in my favour. Point is, I rarely listen to most of the music I dance to, which is making this a useful exercise on multiple levels. Win?
Throw forward to later You look light on your feet When you whirled in the room I was nailed to my seat I'm like a prisoner gettin' ready to talk I feel the blood in my hands And the threat in your walk And suddenly it lifts the roof off the place It puts a vault in my step And a grin on my face It can't contain me But you need an army To get me back in my box Or snap the branches off me
