darkravenwrote: (rose)
[personal profile] darkravenwrote
Author: [livejournal.com profile] darkravenwrote
Title: Mother Advises Caution
Pairings/Characters: Gen, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy.
Word Count: 605
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Prompt: For my ‘pessimistic’ tile on GYWO Bingo.
Author’s Notes: Okay, this turned out better than the last babble bingo thing. Yes, this one’s okay :)
Summary: Mother always said caution is what separates a Malfoy from a Parkinson.

"This is an absolutely idiotic idea, even by your standards," Draco says at Harry's back. Harry fights the impulse to shove his glasses up his nose again; it's his most recent nervous habit in a long string of them. If he does it any more often the frames are going to bend.

"It's just a raid, Malfoy. We've done hundreds of them." A slight exaggeration, but not by much. Since being partnered together, all they seem to do is go on raids. They've proven themselves a thousand times over, but still, whenever Harry asks Kingsley, he is told they aren't ready. 'Your partnership is still young, Harry' and 'I don't trust Malfoy like I trust you, Harry,' he says from safely behind his desk. Harry always thinks he wants to add something like 'And you don't whine overly about it.' And, true to form, instead of whining Harry finds himself outside Gaius Barbspender's house.

"Into a death eater sympathiser’s house, who's infamous for using the killing curse more often than blinking. Yes, absolutely like every other raid we've been assigned." Draco sidles up beside him, picking at the dirt under his nails with the end of his wand.

"He's not home. I've had surveillance on him for weeks. I'm not totally inept."

Draco inspects the tip of his wand, then flicks any debris on the end purposefully at Harry's robes. "The paranoid aren't known for keeping to routines."

"Well this one does."

"He could come back at any time."

"He won't."

"Now you're just being naive."

"Do shut up, Malfoy, or I might start hoping he'll come back just so I don't get arrested myself."

They're standing down the street from their target's home -- a small cottage on a private, treelined road. There are rosebushes in the front garden, vivid reds and a magical glowing blue, and the lanterns hanging underneath the window ledges hold flames burning a pale, ghostly flame. Harry wouldn't mind living in a place like that, with a wife and daughter maybe. There's room for a swingset on the patch of lawn running around the side of the yellowed brickwork.

"You always start threatening me when you know I'm right," Draco crows.

"Or maybe you're just annoying the shit out of me."

"Shouldn't we get moving; he really might come back if we wait all day."

"Be cautious and observe or barge in and get the mission over with, make up your bloody mind, Malfoy."

"My mother always told me caution is what separates a Malfoy from a Parkinson."

"Which means?" Harry asks, trying not to roll his eyes or snap his glasses in two.

"Pansy and her father are rotting away in Azkaban, while I'm free here to spend my days with you. Somehow. I'm not sure how that hasn't come back to bite me in the arse yet."

"Circe! The Minister granted your parden because I asked for it, he isn't going to suddenly take it back!"

"He might. I could be dodging Dementors this time next week."

"Or," growls a deep, crackling voice from behind them, "you could be brain dead in the cruciatus ward." Harry freezes and Draco jolts against his side. They spin around in unison. Harry's auror trainer must be cringing in her sparring arena -- they left their flank exposed to the enemy.

"Er, hello, Mr. Barbspender," Draco says, perfectly politely beside him as if his mother has come upon him drinking tea in one of the manor's dining rooms when he thought she was out.

Barbspender lifts his wand, and Harry and Draco spring into action in unison.


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