Chapter 12: Closed Doors Opened

Draco strode through the woodlands about an hour's walk from Smittson's View. The spring air was not quite warm enough to be without a coat, but he'd shed himself of hat and scarf the moment he'd stepped from the front door. Buds of greenery sprouted from the leaf litter, a shade of yellows and greens filtering early morning light that strained for access to the shadows below.

It was a perfect day for a walk. One of many Draco had taken to of late.

He'd restarted back at work nearly three weeks ago. Lurring had settled on a suspension for disobedience and Krax, figuring that one week of Draco's absence was better than months of him being locked into menial jobs, had agreed. He'd pulled Draco aside directly afterwards, however, and assured him that he had limit the time to one week at the most. He actually seemed a little vexed at the idea of Draco taking leave, even as a punishment. Who knew Krax had such a soft spot for him?

Draco found that the man was growing on him too, and not only because he appeared to favour Draco over Lurring. There was something immensely satisfying about being recognised for his skills. Draco didn't think it was too much to suppose that a promotion may be on the horizon for him, even with his latest disciplinary action hanging over his head. Maybe not within the next few months, but perhaps within the year. Draco felt himself nothing if not excited for the fact.

The three weeks following that suspension had taken Draco longer to settle back into the paces of work than he'd anticipated, however. The reason for that could be attributed to one cause in particular.

Harry Potter.

If anything, the suspension had come at an opportune time. With the Dartmoor Coven Case largely coming to a close, the Field Aurors rather than the Elites routing out the few escapees, Harry was afforded his own downtime. It was fairly usual, apparently, according to Harry. Reportedly, it took quite a lot out of a witch or wizard to so actively undertake operations in their Animagus forms, if for no other reason than that it was often unhinging to go from spending so much time as an animal to assuming human form more consistently once more. They were usually given a few days to rest and recuperate before being considered for involvement in any subsequent operations.

For Draco, that was a marvellous happenstance. Closeted at home with nothing else to do, he subtly urged Harry to spend his 'R & R' time in his company. That company, as it happened, tended to consume many hours abed asleep. And many of its waking hours in bed too, for that matter.

It was a period of bliss for Draco. He had never considered a break from work to be a good thing before that. For the past five years, he'd aimed for nothing more than to push himself towards promotion after promotion, to filling his life with nothing but work. That drive had been interrupted by his friends, of course, and then increasingly by Jack, and while Draco had enjoyed both interruptions to the limits of he was capable of, they remained interruptions.

As Draco was forced back into work, it felt entirely the other way around. Work was itself an interruption. It consumed his time with Harry. His only mollification was that Harry was contracted back into work almost simultaneously and cordially appealed to Draco's discarded career motivation to urge him back onto his feet.

Harry was developing a remarkably good skillset in "How To Get Draco Malfoy To Do Something'. It was almost infuriating, except that, though Harry would always annoy him even as he amused him – for that was simply the nature of their relationship – nothing he could do would be truly objectionable.

There was that which enticed him into work. That, and knowing that, more often than not, Harry accompanied him home. That was simply accepted. More often than Draco visited Harry's home, anyway, which was fine by him. Draco had always been more comfortable in his own space, and Harry… well, Harry said he'd acquired something of a fondness for Draco's little house. Draco couldn't object to his reasoning. He had, technically, been sleeping in his bed for years now.

His relationship with Harry was one big, blossoming rose in the colourful rosebush of Draco's life. Or at least the increasingly colourful bush. Another was that with his friends. Contrary to his expectations, they had hardly even commented on his absence from their weekly drinking nights. It hadn't gone unnoticed, Draco knew, but not even Blaise or Pansy had said anything untoward, and Millicent had appeared positively nonchalant at the whole affair when it would have been incredibly easy for her to pick him to shreds.

She didn't. Draco didn't know why at first. It was only when, at a passing mention of Harry – or 'Potter' as his friends maintained – and he caught a glimpse of Daphne's famous death stare that he understood. Millicent had opened her mouth, most likely to shoot a loaded barb in Draco's direction, but a brief glance from Daphne had left her shrinking in her seat and muttering into her glass. Draco had afforded Daphne a curious glance of her own, which she replied to by glaring at him almost as fiercely as she had at Millicent. Almost, but not quite. Draco took that as a point in his favour; apparently, for whatever reason, Daphne had decided to take his side in whatever issue Draco's friends had surrounding Harry. And if Draco were to be truthful, he wouldn't have it any other way. Daphne had always been the first to be chosen for group work and the likes in schooling days, and she was chosen for a reason.

There was his mother, too, who seemed to understand his situation as intuitively as she had realised his heartbreak. She hadn't said anything this time, but Draco had seen it in each of the three visits he'd payed to her residence over the past weeks. The slight smile she didn't quite hide behind her teacup, the soft glances she cast his way before dropping her gaze the instant he turned towards her. She seemed… happy. For him and because of him. If nothing else – if, impossibly, nothing else – Draco was glad of his relationship with Harry for that. Detached as his mother was, he still cared for her dearly. He believed he always would. She was a presence in his life that even his father had never been, even at the best of times.

Striding through the woods to the sound of twigs cracking beneath his boots, Draco inhaled deeply. He'd never been one much for the outdoors, but he'd learned to appreciate them, especially in the past few weeks. Clean. Fresh. Liberating. That was how they felt.

That was how Harry described them, anyway.

A distant call from overhead drew his attention. Distinctive and familiar like the sound of his own voice in his head. Draco recognised it as he would no other bird's call. He turned his attention skyward and only just caught a fleeting glimpse of the passing merlin overhead. A brief shadow, flying close to the canopy and darting in that familiar, agile flight of swiftly flapping wings and arcing turns.

That was Draco's merlin.

Harry loved to fly. Draco had always known that. Anyone who saw him on a broomstick knew that. But to hear Harry describe assuming his Animagus form was to hear Freedom described. He spoke almost in poetry, the way he wove his words and described the sensation of air currents beneath his wings, rising and falling like waves in the ocean. How he could ride those waves, dipping and bending to climb to greater speeds. How the simple act of plummeting at a pace of kilometres an hour and catching oneself to redirect into horizontal flight once more was the most exhilarating feeling on earth.

But it was more than that. To Harry, flying was breathing. But being a merlin was truly living. He seemed so comfortable in his feathered form that, at times, Draco would wake halfway through the night to find Jack not Harry lying beside him in his bed. Some mornings he would awaken with the dawn, leave before breakfast to hunt instead for his own meal. He described the thrill of the chase, the triumph of latching talons into prey, in such a way that Draco rapidly lost his disgust for the act and almost looked forward to his regular descriptive prose.

It only hurt a little bit that it meant he was, in a way, abandoning Draco each time he went out. That hurt was patched marginally by the fact that, when he came back, it was to Draco. But it still hurt.

Which was why Draco had begun walking. It was why, when Harry felt the urge to partake not of toast but of something warmer and more enticing for breakfast, Draco came with him. Anything to bring him just that little bit closer to Harry he grasped with both hands.

Infatuated? Yes, Draco was infatuated. Surprisingly, however, the knowledge didn't bother him nearly as much as it once had.

Another distinctive "ki-ki-ki-ki-ki-kee" caused Draco to raise his head once more. This time, rather than arcing over the top of the canopy, the shadow of the merlin dropped beneath the towering branches of the surrounding oaks. He wove amongst tree trunks like a dancer amongst partners, swooped in a loop-the-loop and curved back down towards Draco.

And Draco raised his hand in greeting for his return.

The feel of talons squeezing his single dragon hide glove was familiar now, the weight of Jack resting upon his forearm comforting. The falcon wavered for a moment, regaining his balance with wings half-flared and plumage ruffled before settling himself.

He truly was a magnificent creature. Glorious, from the sleek, dark lines of his wings to the piercingly sharp, white-lined eyes. His grip held the same steadiness of Harry's, mirrored even in avian form. A merlin. The form fit Harry so perfectly. Draco only regretted that he hadn't known earlier, to gain that little bit more understanding of Harry himself. That, and that it had taken him so long to finally and uneasily allow Jack to perch upon his arm. There was something so reassuring about his solid weight, something so familiar despite the fact that Draco had never intentionally held, nor even touched, a bird in his entire life. Or any animal, in fact

Not that he particularly wanted to. Not unless it was Jack.

Or, well, he usually wanted to. He was usually more than happy, even eager, to offer his arm for the merlin to land upon. That morning was not one of those times.

"That is disgusting," he said, scrunching his nose in distaste at the sight of what Jack held in his mouth. It looked like… no, Draco didn't even want to think about it. Some sort of dead animal, entrails still slick and glistening as they hung from either side of Jack's beak. "Could you not perhaps finish that before you came back?"

In reply, Jack reached one sharp-clawed hand to the morsel and relieved his beak of its grizzly burden. In a gesture so human-like Draco marvelled how, in the face of such gestures, he had ever considered Jack anything but an Animagus, he held the dead animal out towards Draco. The meaning was very clear: here, your portion.

Fighting back the nausea that rose in his throat, Draco shook his head. "No, I insist, you finish it. Toast and tea sit far better in my stomach, I'm afraid." At the insistent shake of swinging entrails towards him once more he waved a hand in the merlin's direction. "No, Jack! It's disgusting! I don't want it. Take it away."

In a series of clucks that Draco had come to understand were Jack's equivalent of a chuckle, he bowed his head to his claw and obliged. Or at least he did in a fashion, gobbling it up with relish. The image reminded Draco horrifyingly of his approach to eating meatballs.

Jack was like that sometimes. And it was Jack, Harry had maintained. That had been a confusing conversation. According to Harry, when in Animagus form he felt so overwhelmed by avian urges that his human mind even deemed them acceptable. He said it didn't bother him, despite Draco's initial unease towards that revelation. He did, however, suggest that it might be easier if Draco thought of him still as 'Jack' despite knowing he was Harry.

"Besides," he'd said, an almost sheepish smile on his face. "I kind of like my nickname."

So the name had stuck. And it seemed even more relevant these days as Draco assumed an almost falconer-like role. He'd read into that, too; not so much on the taming process, but upon the correct method of launching them into the air, about the proper signals used and some of the stories of historical ladies and their merlins. Perhaps it was simply because it was so relevant to him, but he found them fascinating.

Jack gave a clucking chirrup, cocking his head to the side before spinning it almost one hundred and eighty degrees. There was his tell-tale shuffle, the shifting of his wings in a slight flutter that Draco had come to recognise from steady observation. Draco raised his own gaze in the direction that Jack was peering, even knowing he would see nothing. He never did. Jack could, would see and hear prey in the distance, but it often eluded Draco.

Hefting his arm slightly, Draco drew Jack's attention once more. "You ready?"

In answer, Jack spread his wings, flapping several times in preparation. His talons dug firmly into the glove, steadying himself to launch. Draco paused for just the right moment, the perfect timing of flap and tensing muscles. Then, as though flinging him from his wrist, he threw his arm and launched Jack into the air.

It was like clockwork. Perfectly timed, perfectly synchronised, Jack took to the sky in a sharp, rapid flapping of wings. His distinctive "ki-ki-kee" call echoed behind him as, with that sharp, dashing flight, he wove in sweeps and arcs between the trees. Within seconds he'd disappeared, leaving Draco with only the afterimage of his flight, marvelling at the wonder that was his merlin.

He quite fancied himself as falconer. Draco liked the thought of it, of the noble, regal sport of falconry. And that such 'sport' meant he could spend time with Jack – with Harry – even removed as he was from the Harry he knew and revelling in his strange freedom, filled him with satisfaction.

No, he might not be a typical falconer, but he knew one thing. He, Draco Malfoy had tamed Harry Potter.

Or perhaps Harry Potter had tamed him?

~fin~

A/N: Hi again! I hope you enjoyed the story :D If you did - or if you didn't and you have any suggestions of how I could improve the story/my writing style - or if you have just anything in general to say, please leave a comment. I really, really appreciate each and every one that's left. Thanks!