The Ordeal Of Being Known

1

Draco groaned as the floo chime continued to clang incessantly from his sitting room. He groped for his wand beneath his nest of pillows, squeezing his eyes shut against the harsh light of dawn streaming in from the large windows next to his bed. Not for the first time, he sorely regretted his bedroom layout. However nice it was to be able to look out the window into the starry night when he couldn't sleep, it surely wasn't worth the direct sunlight on his face first thing in the bloody morning.

His fingers finally found his wand, and his lazily flicked tempus charm read half past five in the morning. Anyone important, like Pansy or his mother or the Minister for Magic, had direct access to his wards and would therefore be able to floo through to his house without the chime, so whoever was bothering him at this unthinkable hour could not be nearly important enough. He threw a pillow over his head, trying to drown out the unrelenting noise.

He sighed in satisfaction as the chime eventually ceased. Perhaps whoever thought they were worth his time had finally given up...

His hopes were dashed not two minutes later when he felt a wobble in the wards indicating an incoming unfamiliar apparition. Draco growled audibly, throwing the covers off himself and twisting to lay his bare feet on the hardwood floor. His white blond hair was sleep-mussed and tangled in the back, falling haphazardly around his chin-he probably looked insane, but he was too irritated to worry about a pristine appearance. His guest might not live long enough to appreciate it, anyway, he thought dramatically. It was Sunday, for Merlin's sake, his precious day off. It was probably another incompetent mediwix unable to decipher his (perfectly legible, thank you) notes on a patient's chart, again.

He grabbed his black silk dressing gown from the bedpost as he stomped out to the hall to make his way to his front door, forgoing his suede house slippers for the sake of efficiency, muttering obscenities the entire time. Timsy, his house elf, watched warily from behind the doorway to the kitchen, clutching nervously at the sleeves of his little green jumper. Timsy knew not to disturb Draco before nine in the morning on weekends, unless it was life or death.

He kept his wand in his hand and a hostile glare on his face as he swung the front door open to tear his uninvited guest a new one, but the words were quickly wiped from his mind upon their greeting:

"Malfoy."

To say having Ronald Weasley nearly banging down his front door at daybreak on a Sunday was unexpected would be the understatement of the year.

It had been almost eight years since the end of the war, eight years since Harry Potter had testified for him at his trial, effectively keeping him out of Azkaban. Draco had kept his nose clean the entire time, studying hard and taking Healer's apprenticeships on the Continent and around the world, making a name for himself as one of the leading experts in the field of Mind Curses and Afflictions. Even his probation Aurors, back when he was on probation, got bored with supervising "a bloody swot". There was no reason for Ronald sodding Weasley, as ginger as ever and in full Head Auror uniform, to be on his doorstep at this Merlin-forsaken hour on a weekend.

"Weasley," Draco replied, consciously making an effort to snap his jaw shut and school his features back into superiorly aloof.

"May I come in?"

This effectively snapped Draco back to the present, and he narrowed his eyes. "Not without a warrant, you may not."

"Oh. This isn't-you're not in trouble or anything. I didn't have time to change, it's not..." Weasley fumbled over his words, making vague motions at his uniform, and Draco took the opportunity to really look at his face for the first time in years, with his hand still curled around his wand by his side. He noticed Weasley had already returned his wand to the leather thigh holster most Aurors wore-apparently, Draco Malfoy in his pyjamas wasn't much of a threat. Draco scowled.