Blackbird

4 | Take These Broken Wings

Harry's health improved significantly in the days that followed Draco's first couple of visits. He'd been eating and sleeping more normally, and his mood had improved markedly.

They fell into an easy routine. Draco slept at his own flat, but he spent his days with Harry at Grimmauld place. He'd arrive after breakfast and usually stay well until after dinner.

They would eat meals together, play chess or exploding snap, read, nap when Harry got tired, and, most of all, talk. More than they ever had before, and about things they'd never been bold enough to bring up in the past. Now, they talked about anything and everything: Voldemort and the war, Hogwarts and how they'd perceived each other as young teenagers, their vastly different childhoods (a subject that filled Draco with outrage and fury every single time), and, while they scoured for more information each day, about Harry's discovery about Greyback's former wolf pack.

The only things they didn't discuss were their undeniable feelings for each other, and Harry's reluctance to touch his beloved guitar. The instrument had been moved from its place of honor on a stand beside the fireplace to being locked in a case and tossed unceremoniously under the bed. Draco didn't dare ask about it, and Harry didn't bring it up.

Draco and Harry had been poring over the books that they had collected regarding his new species, but the information regarding werewolf packs was frustratingly limited.

"I imagine werewolves haven't been lining up to be interviewed by wizards about the intimacies of their culture and magic," Draco commented, "especially with bastards like Emerett Picardy spewing lies and hate every chance they get. The distrust of wizards is perfectly understandable, even though most of them were wizards or witches before they were turned."

When they had read everything they could, Draco finally convinced Harry it was time to loop in Hermione, which, much to Draco's dismay, also meant looping in her husband.

Three days after Harry learned about his werewolf pack, Ron and Hermione sat in Harry's bedroom with them, discussing the situation.

"So, what exactly does it all mean? What do they want from you?" Hermione's expression was thoughtful. Draco could practically see the wheels turning behind her bright brown eyes as she considered what Harry had told them.

"I—"

"Are you sure it wasn't just a dream, mate?" Ron asked.

Draco felt a surge of irritation. He knew Harry was sure. He was sitting beside Harry on the bed, their backs leaning comfortably against the headboard.

"I don't know," Harry responded, his voice tinged with self-doubt. He leaned over to rest his head against Draco's shoulder in a silent plea for support. Draco curled an arm around his waist and lightly squeezed.

Ron's expression flitted between annoyance and disgust at the blatant show of familiarity. Draco glared at him until he looked away. If the improvement in Harry's mood and general health were any indication, he belonged exactly where he was, and he really didn't care if Weasley approved or not.

It wasn't that he hated Ron, at least, not anymore. They had been in an uneasy truce since he became friends with Hermione while she and Ron were dating. Draco just didn't think they would ever be friends. They were too different, and there was just too much history and mutual dislike there.

He could be civil, however, for Harry and Hermione's sake, and so he drew from his patrician upbringing and spoke in a deceptively pleasant voice. "You said it didn't feel like a normal dream, Harry. You were sure."

Harry nodded and Draco felt him relax slightly against him. "Yeah. You're right, I'm sure. But I still don't know what it all means. I was hoping you'd read something we haven't." He glanced hopefully at Hermione.