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WIP: The Way Down (Harry/Draco) - 2/9
Title: The Way Down
Rating: this chapter, pg
Length: this chapter, 8K, see below for WIP info
Warnings: later, there may be sex.
Characters: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny
Epilogue: not epilogue compliant
Summary: Malfoy’s all, “Come out of there,” the way you say to a cat who is badly behaved. And Harry’s all like, “No, what, I’m a hermit! And I have a chest-monster! And I am crazy magically powerful!” and Malfoy’s all, “We all have problems, bub.” (thoughtfully) “You are crazy though. I’ll give you that.”
A/N:
-This is a work in progress. I have this grand plan I’ll finish it if I start posting. Right now it’s 56,000 words. The plan makes it look like it will be 66,000 words. Plans are very deceiving. The plan is a chapter every week. My guess is 8-9 chapters. Did I mention plans are deceiving? Especially when they are mine.
-Constructive criticism is more than welcome.
-edited on 1/14/11 with help from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
scabbyfish. Thank you, R!
Go to: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9
Chapter 2
A couple of nights a week, Malfoy came to Chimera Downs.
He came around the same time, never on a Thursday. The light at first was always gold, and then it changed to pink. Color began to turn at last in the single sycamore on the rise, and Draco Malfoy kept on coming down.
When he came the grass and weeds swayed around his legs and moved like waves in a good breeze: Malfoy in the midst of sea. Malfoy came in the way of ships to a deserted island. They came rich; they came easy. They never came to save anyone; they just appeared there, as if in passing, passing by. A castaway had always just learned to survive at terrible cost by the time he first saw a sail.
Several days after the first time Malfoy came inside the cottage for drinks, it showered lightly in the mid-afternoon. That night, Malfoy came again; the grass was wet as though with dew, and the stalks brushed and broke by Malfoy as he strode. When he got to the gate, the knees of his trousers were marked with grass and water, and he smelled like rain. Crickets sang in the coming night.
At the fence, he put a hand on the gate, not as though to open it, but as though he’d walked the whole way because this was the most comfortable place in the world to lean. He looked up at the cottage thoughtfully, until Harry opened the door and stepped outside.
“Want to come in?” he asked Malfoy. The light in the cottage was yellow, and spilled in a square out into twilight.
“I was thinking about it,” said Malfoy, and didn’t move. His hand still was languid over the gate.
“What were you thinking?” Harry asked.
“Why I should bother, really.” Malfoy’s voice was lazy, light.
“You’re already here,” Harry pointed out.
“No. I’ve only just come to the gate.”
“Why stop there?” Harry asked.
Malfoy lifted the latch and pushed open the gate in a fluid movement, then came up the path to the cottage.
Everything was easier, because it was Malfoy, but it was still difficult enough. Harry tried to rack his brain for the things that normal people did. Once Malfoy was in the living room again, he asked, “How are you?”
Malfoy gave him the strangest look, as though the question were in a foreign language, or else too strange to contemplate. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Then, in a stilted voice, “Never better. And yourself?”
“Fine,” said Harry. Because it was too quiet, he added, “I’ve seen Ron and Hermione again.”
Malfoy only nodded.
Harry tried to think of something else to say but Malfoy saved him. “I knew you had,” he said suddenly, “Granger being a book, you know. Sinclair owes you his life, I think.”
Harry almost winced, because people were always owing him their lives, except when he took them away, like Dolores Umbridge. But Malfoy winced instead, as if realizing what he'd said, and it made Harry feel better that Malfoy thought Harry’s head was already too big. “Er,” Harry said instead. “Who’s Sinclair?”
“Granger’s secretary. He’s not cut out for the job, I’m afraid. A very sensitive bloke. But he’ll never relinquish the position—he thinks it give him an edge on establishing the rights of Pygmy Puffs.”
Harry frowned. “Pygmy Puffs?”
“Oh yes,” Malfoy said, nodding. “He wants Puffs to be considered in the category of Being—as opposed to Beast, naturally. He thinks he’s got Granger’s ear.”
“Why would anyone want to think Pygmy Puffs are—”
“‘They’re an honest and noble race!’” exclaimed Malfoy, in a sing-song, passionate voice, and then switched to his impression of Hermione. “‘Honestly, they’ve the brains of peas. Now, house-elves on the other hand. Oppression! Slavery! Rights! Liberty! Wooly hats! Hop to it!’ And then Sinclair launches into the oppression of Pygmy Puffs, which is really very elegant and passionate, only it aggravates Granger no end.”
Harry found himself smiling. “The oppression of Pygmy Puffs, really?”
“As you know, Puffs were rather fierce in the wild.” Malfoy’s eyes widened as he saw that in fact, Harry had not known, and then he rolled his eyes. “Well they were,” he told him, and launched into a story about the marauding gangs of Puffs that lived in meadows in the eighteenth century, until someone had the bright idea of breeding them. “They started quite a racket.”
“Are you talking about black market Pygmy Puffs?” A new world was opening up to Harry.
Malfoy frowned. “Sort of. I meant they were their own racket, rather. Puffs are a tough bunch, very tooth and nail. Families stay quite closely knit together. Like gangs. Or . . . oh—” he waved a hand, “the mafia. So there was selling and trading among themselves, and certain forms of slavery.”
“Puff slavery.”
“Oh yes,” Malfoy said, still frowning. “Really, you would know all of this had our Care of Magical Creatures professor been in any way half decent.”
There was a silence. Harry waited to be angry; he waited to feel the clawing rise up in his chest. But there was nothing, waiting there, and Harry realized this—this petty schoolboy feud over Care of Magical Creatures and defending Hagrid and Hippogriffs against Malfoy—this was over. Harry didn’t have to worry about it any more, and there was nothing Malfoy could do. It didn’t matter any more.
So all that Harry said was, “Hagrid is my friend,” and he said it looking right at Malfoy, to see what Malfoy would say.
Malfoy looked away. “Yes,” he said finally. “I liked the subject.”
“What?”
“I liked the subject: care for magical creatures.”
“But you didn’t like Hagrid.”
Malfoy fidgeted. “I wanted more out of it. I’m not picking a fight. But you’re not going to tell me you liked the Flobberworms portion of the class.”
Harry’s mouth curled. “No. I’m not.”
There was a pause. “Puffs were as violent as unicorns, really, until it was all bred out of them,” Malfoy eventually said.
“You’re going to try to tell me unicorns are violent?”
“Seriously, Potter, do you know anything about magical creatures?” Malfoy said, sounding somewhat delighted, and proceeded to explain in detail the bloodlust of the unicorn.
In this way, Malfoy spoke of magical creatures, his coworkers, current events in the wizarding world, impressions of everyone around him, and Harry spoke carefully of slowly getting about in the world. It was as though they had never been anything other than acquaintances. They spoke of amusing things, topical things, stories that didn’t have to do with anything. They spoke of the past, but never of disputes then, never their hatred of each other. They never spoke of the war.
Malfoy wasn’t seeking to heal Harry, and that’s what made Harry so comfortable those nights, when the wards opened at Chimera Downs, and Draco Malfoy strolled down the rise.
Perhaps that was why Harry asked him what he did, one night several weeks later. Leaves were bleeding off the sycamore, Gryffindor red and gold, and the stars had started to come out by the time Malfoy was making his way down the slope. For a while, Saturn hovered low, a notch of bright orange light carved out of the western sky. Time seemed to stretch out forever, with Draco Malfoy coming down.
They were in the cottage, and Malfoy had had rather too much daisy wine, which he professed not to like. There were spots of pink on his cheekbones. It was because Malfoy was talking about werewolf negotiations that Harry thought of it, even though the werewolf of which Malfoy was speaking was a fetching witch who wore a collar all the time.
“It makes you wonder whether she has a lead,” Malfoy was saying. He seemed very interested in the prospect of her having a lead, the witch with the long black nails who wore black lipstick and a fork wrapped around her wrist for a bracelet, and sharp spikes on the black leather collar. Malfoy talked about those spikes, about the way she growled, about her wild hair—upon which he waxed most eloquent, more damning evidence than ever that he carried a bit of a torch for Hermione.
“And there’s a commune,” Malfoy was saying, “where they all live together. Werewolves are very tightly bonded, you know. A pack sticks together like a family. Or an orgy. You can only imagine what the nights are like. They’re always wearing mesh shirts.” Malfoy sounded wistful, as though he wanted to go to orgy bonding rituals wearing a mesh shirt.
That was what did it somehow, most inappropriately and oddly: Malfoy being wistful about mesh. “Would you come with me to visit Teddy?” Harry said abruptly, without knowing it was going to come out of his mouth.
“I—what?”
“Teddy,” Harry said again. “He’s Remus Lupin’s son.”
“I . . . know that.”
“And Nymphadora Tonks.” Harry still wasn’t sure why he was saying it, except that Malfoy made things easier, and he wanted things to be easier. “She was your cousin.”
“I know,” said Malfoy again, his voice blank.
“I need to visit him,” Harry explained. “What you said about godfathers—well, I need to visit him. But I can’t,” he added.
Malfoy looked frozen. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Andromeda’s your aunt,” Harry said.
Malfoy seemed to take a moment finding his voice. “We haven’t—my family hasn’t spoken to her since . . . I don’t know her.”
“I don’t know him,” said Harry.
“Potter.” Malfoy frowned in distaste, as though the name tasted bad. “Why are you—why are you asking me?”
“Because you—” Harry stopped because he couldn’t think of anything to say, and Malfoy was staring at him like he was off his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. It was a stupid—”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I’ll go with you,” Malfoy said very quickly, all in a rush.
Harry stopped. “Really?”
“Yes,” Malfoy repeated irritably. “I said I would, didn’t I? Well?” he demanded, after a moment. “Are you really going to?”
“Yes,” Harry said slowly. “Are you really coming with me?”
“Yes,” Malfoy said, and looked away.
Harry looked at the curve of his neck, and realized it really would be easier. Hermione or Ron might have gone with him, but they would be there as Harry’s support. They would be encouraging him the whole time, trying to get him to make conversation with Andromeda, or with Teddy. Malfoy would have a more difficult time of it than Harry, probably, and that made it so much easier.
“Thank you,” said Harry.
“Don’t mention it, Potter.” Malfoy looked back and his voice was suddenly very crisp. “If the . . . child has lycanthropy, I am in an expert position to deal with it. I will teach the child to have black nails, and wear forks about his wrist.”
“Er,” said Harry. “Are you sure Andromeda will approve?”
“She is a grandmother. Don’t you know grandmothers approve of everything?”
“They do?”
Malfoy waved a hand. “Of course. My grandmother Hazel allowed me to operate difficult Muggle machinery once. Completely to the dismay of my parents, I might add—it was very dangerous.”
*
The very dangerous Muggle machinery turned out to be a hand mixer. Malfoy told Harry this several days later as they met at the end of the lane to walk to Andromeda’s together.
“What did you make with the hand mixer?” Harry asked, puzzled.
Malfoy beamed with pride. “It’s for killing weeds,” he explained. “Didn’t you know?”
“No,” Harry told him.
“Just leave all the difficult Muggle gadgetry to me,” Malfoy informed him airily. “I’m going to impress Andromeda with my vast array of knowledge.”
“About hand mixers?” Harry wanted to know.
“Yes,” Malfoy said. “She will be charmed that I know about her husband’s culture. He was a Muggle, didn’t you know? ”
“I seem to remember hearing that,” Harry said, and rolled his eyes. Despite Malfoy's hesitation when Harry had first invited him, he now seemed eager for the meeting. He was all bright confidence, rather to the point of agitation. He kept speaking of how no doubt his wit would win over Andromeda, almost as though he were trying to convince himself. Harry found his incessant babble reaassuring.
“About you—er, wooing Andromeda,” Harry began, Malfoy’s words, not his.
Malfoy looked affronted. “I’m very charming.”
Harry looked at him doubtfully. “I’m sure you are. It’s just . . . I’ve never got on that well with her. Even before I . . .”
“Went crazy?”
Harry glared. “Yeah. I mean, we don’t argue. And she’s wonderful to Teddy. She’s just—you know, a little . . . cold.”
“She’s going to like me, Potter.” Malfoy drew himself up.
Harry was doubtful again. “Oh. Will she?”
“Yes. You see, I have a plan. A brilliant plan of masterful cunning.”
“Um,” said Harry. “Okay.”
Malfoy’s brilliant plan of masterful cunning turned out to be a plan to appear completely irresistible to anyone nearby him, except for Harry who knew it was just Malfoy and so was puzzled by its effectiveness.
Teddy was six now, and Harry had no idea what to do with a six-year-old, but Malfoy’s idea seemed to be that you talked to six-year-olds as though they were normal people, which they obviously weren’t. Malfoy was very serious with Teddy, nodding thoughtfully at what Teddy said. Harry found out later that most of what Teddy said was about spaceships. Malfoy made him all sorts of whimsical promises he could never keep, except that when Harry told Malfoy this Malfoy looked him and said, “I am perfectly fit for spaceflight, thank you.”
And then there was Andromeda, whom Malfoy complimented at every turn. He told her she had a lovely house, and a lovely grandson, and wasn’t it so unfortunate how Harry Potter was a crazy person, but you never knew with godfathers did you, and anyway Harry wasn’t being crazy now, wasn’t it nice.
“I wanted to bring him before,” Malfoy explained very earnestly, “but I had to make sure he wasn’t—you know—dangerous.” His voice lowered dramatically. “One has to think of the children, doesn’t one.”
“He didn’t bring me here,” Harry said, scowling.
“I don’t have him fully trained yet,” Malfoy told Andromeda apologetically.
“Teddy has been missing you,” Andromeda told Harry, her tone polite.
Harry was fairly certain Teddy didn’t remember who he was. “I had to go away,” Harry explained. “But I came back.”
“Short sentences help keep him in control,” Malfoy said helpfully.
Andromeda smiled faintly.
“But are you comfortable?” Malfoy said. “Perhaps you would like to take a turn about the room.”
“I’m fine,” said Andromeda, because this was the fifth time Malfoy had asked, but she was still smiling faintly.
“Have a chocolate,” said Malfoy, and that was the seventh time. He had brought the chocolates, no doubt as part of his cunning plan of masterfulness, or whatever. No doubt also part of the plan was to not tell Harry he was bringing Andromeda chocolates in order to make Harry look bad because he hadn’t brought anything.
“And I’m not dangerous,” Harry added, annoyed, because Andromeda actually was taking another chocolate, and the smile was growing deeper. Her smile was actually a little bit like Malfoy’s, with the line just on one side.
At Harry’s words, Andromeda raised her brows. “I’m glad to hear that, Harry,” she said in the calm, placid way she always addressed Harry.
Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, realizing what he had said. No doubt Malfoy had tricked him into saying it, but—he wasn’t dangerous.
Slowly, Harry looked at Teddy, who was playing with the chocolate frog Malfoy had also brought. Harry looked at him and thought of Remus, thought of Tonks. Harry looked and felt loss, and a fierce upswell of protectiveness and pain: Teddy’s parents killed in battle, this child left alone, the crying under the chair, the mist of King’s Cross.
The grass stood tall in the field, waved in a slight breeze. A sycamore stood on the rise, the sun swung low and full of gold like ripe and waiting fruit. Draco Malfoy walked down through the grass. There was no road.
Harry looked at Teddy and didn’t feel the claws.
“It’s true,” said Harry. “I won’t go away again.”
Andromeda tilted her head. “Teddy will be happy.”
Later, Harry tried to play with Teddy, who liked playing Space Aurors.
It was only later Harry found out Space Aurors was all Malfoy’s idea.
They’d been playing Space Aurors a while when Harry went into the kitchen to get tin foil, and Malfoy and Andromeda were there. Malfoy was in the midst of talking in a low, solemn little voice, and stopped when Harry walked in the swinging door.
Malfoy looked strained, his mouth looking haggard with its thin lips and lines at the sides. When he turned to Harry his expression went tight as though drawn closed, and he swallowed hard.
Andromeda very politely got Harry tin foil, and then just as politely appeared to think Harry should leave. Harry edged out, and waited for a moment just beyond the door.
“I wish I had known her,” Malfoy went on saying. “Mum never wanted it this way. If want you to know that I’m so s—”
Harry heard Teddy call out and hurriedly moved away.
Later, both Malfoy and Andromeda came out of the kitchen. Andromeda looked just as smooth and empty as ever. Malfoy’s face was shining as though he had just won the House Cup.
Harry had never seen that smile, not directed at him anyway. The line was deep at the side of Malfoy’s mouth, just like a dimple, and his whole face went with it easily, smiling too.
Harry had to catch his breath.
“I told you I had a brilliant plan,” Malfoy said later. They were back at Chimera Downs.
“A brilliant plan to suck up.” Harry frowned.
“You’re just jealous,” Malfoy said, smirking.
Harry frowned more deeply. “Of what?”
“Teddy likes me better,” Malfoy said, and beamed.
“I wasn’t aware you were even with him all that much.”
Malfoy preened. “I have a way with children. And werewolves. I’m practically an animal expert.”
“Children aren’t animals.” Harry glowered.
“How could you even think such a thing,” Malfoy said, and patted him like a pet.
Harry just looked at him. “I think you shouldn’t come here any more,” he said suddenly.
Something flashed across Malfoy’s face, and then his shoulders squared. He spoke with casual indifference. “I was just thinking the same thing. Well, Potter. Thank you for the visit to my aunt’s. Next time I’ll be sure to leave you behind.”
“Ron and I go out to a pub,” Harry went on, mostly ignoring Malfoy’s snide tone.
“How very fine for you.” His face was mostly white, and Harry regretted having said it in a backwards way. He hadn’t meant to, when Malfoy had been smiling like that just a moment before, and he had looked so happy in a way that Harry had never seen him. He’d never really thought about Malfoy being happy before, but Harry had enjoyed that look, and the way it made him feel happy, too. “Let me by,” said Malfoy coldly, because Harry was standing in front of the door.
“I mean, you and I should do it some time,” Harry said. “Go to a pub, I mean.”
Malfoy looked swiftly at him, and then his eyes slid away. “Let me by,” he said again.
“Don’t be a git, Malfoy,” Harry said.
“I just remembered something I have to do at home, that’s all,” Malfoy said, still standing there and looking strangely lost.
“I’m trying to—I’m trying to make it normal,” Harry explained. His chest was tightening.
Malfoy snorted.
“I mean,” Harry said, “go out more. Live a life. That’s what you said.” Seeing Teddy had been such a big step, and it had gone so well.
Harry tried to think of the field.
“Of course you are. I’m just trying to go home.” Malfoy’s shoulders finally relaxed. He lingered there, but no longer tried to get by, both of them standing in the hallway, encased in semi-darkness. When Malfoy spoke again his voice was careless. “Of course we’ll go to the pub. Just like you and Ronald Weasley. Just don’t choose a place that’s dirty,” he added.
“Good,” Harry said.
Malfoy shrugged. “Fine.”
Harry thought of something else. “When?”
Malfoy hitched a shoulder. “Whenever you like, Potter. I am at your disposal.” He paused. “Now will you let me go?”
“What?” Harry said. “Oh,” and moved away from the door.
Just when Malfoy was passing by, right at the door, he turned toward Harry. He was rather close, and the light still was dim. “I did mean it about the visit to my aunt’s,” he said suddenly. “Thank you.” His voice was soft. “It was great.”
Then he stepped out into the night, and Harry thought he just might make it.
*
In the next two months, Harry didn’t get a flat. He didn’t get a job either. He didn’t really have to worry about money at this point; his parents and Sirius had left him lots, and he hadn’t used much of his savings from his time with the Aurors.
Instead Harry took things slowly, but he began to do more and more, now without Ron and Hermione’s help. He did things like going to the shop, and meeting Neville for lunch, and seeing one of Luna’s naturalist art shows, and visiting Teddy. He did things like walking down Diagon Alley without the monster in his chest when people wanted to stop and snap pictures of him, things like meeting Ron and Hermione by the Ministry for lunch.
They went to a cafe in Muggle London, and Hermione talked about her job, and Ron groused about George’s latest experiments. Harry ate his sandwich and drank his juice and eventually asked Hermione, “Do you still work with Draco Malfoy?”
It had been a while since the last time Harry had seen him. After a week had gone by without Malfoy coming down, Harry had begun to wonder where he was. Then he had remembered that he had told Malfoy he shouldn’t come, and that they were going to meet instead, the way that friends sometimes went out together, except that he and Malfoy weren’t exactly friends.
Maybe Malfoy was expecting that Harry would owl, or at least be the one who planned it. The problem was, Harry felt like he didn’t know how to do it. When he went out with Ron they just did, and Ron was there, and asked him to hang out; that was all. It had been too long since Harry had been with people, and when Harry thought about it, even before then, Harry had just kept the friends he’d always had. He’d seen them by rote, and arranged the next meeting by rote, and didn’t owl people to meet him at pubs, because he hadn’t needed to.
Even in those dark days, after Harry had quit the Aurors and his friends, before he came to Chimera Downs, Harry hadn’t needed to ask for company.
Chimera Downs was the place Harry went to in his mind, when everything was too much and he felt that he would explode with all the force of it, the way he had felt just before Dolores Umbridge. Chimera Downs was safe, because it was secret; no one would ever find him there and Harry would never hurt them there. Chimera Downs was the place where he could be alone.
But Malfoy had found him there. He could have ruined everything, but instead, Malfoy became a part of it. When Harry thought of the field, there was green grass, and a hill rolled gently down. There was no road. Malfoy walked down the slope, his white shirt open at the throat. The light was always gold.
In the field, Malfoy wasn’t good and he wasn’t bad. He just was there, like the crickets, and the smell of woodsmoke.
When Harry asked Hermione whether she still worked with Malfoy, he was thinking this, about the field, and about being normal. Malfoy had helped him there. Harry could show him he was a human being, after all.
Hermione looked surprised. “Sure,” she said.
“He told me a little bit about it,” Harry said.
“You’ve seen him?” Ron wrinkled his nose.
“Yeah.” Harry didn’t like lying to his friends. After he quit the Aurors and all the other things, he had lied to them a lot. Still, he didn’t want to tell them about the field, so he didn’t say anything more.
“That’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said quickly.
“I was just . . . wondering what it was like, is all,” Harry said. “Working with Malfoy.”
Hermione seemed to like him, rather.
“Gag me,” said Ron.
“He’s interesting,” Hermione insisted.
“When was Malfoy ever interesting?” Ron demanded.
“There was sixth year,” Harry said blandly.
Ron and Hermione stared at him.
“Well,” said Harry, “he was.”
Ron grunted. “At least Lucius Malfoy is out of our hair.”
Harry realized that Malfoy had come to Chimera Downs over half a dozen times, and they had never once talked about his parents. “What’s Lucius doing, then?” he asked, surprised.
“Nothing, so far as anyone knows,” Ron said. “Supposedly the Aurors have a trace on him, but he never does anything. They live up north, somewhere in Yorkshire.”
“What about the Manor?” Harry asked, brow furrowing.
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione huffed. “Didn’t you know? That was auctioned off years ago.”
“Yeah,” Ron put in. “And Narcissa Malfoy has a job.”
Harry frowned. “What does Malfoy think of that?”
Hermione shrugged. “He doesn’t really talk about it.” Hermione frowned. “Come to think of it, he doesn’t talk about anything like that. Not his parents. Not the war.”
Better that way, Harry thought, and the conversation moved on to other things.
What Hermione said was true. Malfoy didn’t talk about himself—he talked about work, and Pygmy Puffs, and Sinclair and a million things, but he had never mentioned the trace on Lucius, the Manor, Narcissa’s job.
Harry wondered why Malfoy had even started coming to Chimera Downs in the first place. He had said he didn't want to be Harry Potter’s friend. Maybe he really had just wanted to prove that Harry wasn’t any better than anyone else. Maybe he had just wanted to put an old childhood rivalry to rest.
Malfoy always had liked projects, especially projects that involved making Harry’s life harder. Whatever his mission, Malfoy must have accomplished it. He could not doubt that he had got Harry to listen to him. Perhaps now he was done, he was no longer interested. Maybe if Harry had given Draco a gold star at Hogwarts, slapped him on the back and for no reason and without reference to anything said, “You were right,” they could’ve saved themselves years of animosity.
Ron had to get back to the shop, and Hermione had to get back to the Ministry. Harry went with her, and asked Hermione where Malfoy’s desk was.
She hesitated. “You should know that Malfoy’s grown up,” she warned. “He’s a highly functioning part of this office. He’s actually really important to what I do here.”
Scowling, Harry muttered, “I’m not the one who slapped him that time.”
“I just mean—” Hermione looked anxious—“you can ignore half of what he says, really.”
“What?” Harry asked, surprised.
“If he baits you,” she explained. “He’s so high-strung, and he can be quite . . . nervous around . . . well, people. But he’s so sweet once you get to know him,” she added quickly.
“Sweet,” Harry repeated, not comprehending.
“He’s so very thoughtful. And earnest. And Harry—he tries really really hard.”
Harry had never noticed Malfoy being very thoughtful, but told Hermione he would keep it in mind. Still looking anxious, she pointed him over to Malfoy’s desk. The cubicles were separated by partitions, and Malfoy’s had a desk piled high with all variety of papers and some strange objects, with a blond head bent close over something.
“It’s not very glamorous,” Harry said.
Malfoy stilled for a moment, but by the time he turned around, he did not look startled. He looked entirely blank. “Au contraire,” Malfoy said, sounding flippant. “Just now I am negotiating a contract with a society of werewolves, who wish to be recognized officially as werewolves rather than wizards.”
“Um,” Harry said. “Contract negotiations? Still don’t sound glamorous.”
“Oh.” Malfoy’s shoulders slumped. “That’s just because you’re a peon.”
Harry looked at him for a while. “Want some coffee?”
For some reason, this made Malfoy smirk. “No thank you, Potter. Hot chocolate. And whipped cream, with the nutmeg sprinkled on top, and one of those little straws.”
Harry blinked. “I meant, er. For you to go out for coffee. With me.”
“Huh.” Malfoy’s shoulders straightened back a little. He swiveled back around in his chair to face his desk. “I don’t know. I’m very busy, you see. Being glamorous. This is a very high profile professional career. No rest for the wicked and extraordinarily talented.”
“Oh.” Harry remembered what he had thought about being Malfoy’s project, and wondered again why Malfoy had come to Chimera Downs at all. “You said we could,” he pointed out.
“Mmm,” Malfoy said, very intent on his papers. “I suppose I did. That was then; this is now.”
“Right,” Harry said. He wondered if this was Malfoy’s way of saying he’d done at Chimera Downs what he’d come to do. Maybe it was Malfoy’s way of saying he should have come sooner. Maybe it was Malfoy’s way of being a prat. Harry turned around and walked away.
Harry was at the door to the office room when Malfoy jogged up behind him, grabbing his wrist to stop him.
“What?” said Harry.
Malfoy let him go, not quite meeting his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll go for coffee.”
Harry’s brow wrinkled. “Thought you were busy.”
“I am,” Malfoy said defensively.
“Look, we don’t have to.”
Malfoy rubbed his arm. “If you don’t want to,” he began, and stopped, as though it were a complete sentence.
Harry still frowned, puzzled. “I want to.”
The line showed at the side of Malfoy’s mouth. He still wasn’t quite meeting Harry’s eyes. “Well then,” he murmured, and didn’t finish again.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want to?”
“Hmm?” Malfoy pretended to be distracted, then looked up. “What? Oh. Yes, I suppose.”
“You suppose,” Harry repeated.
“Yes. Well, I know you want to so much.” The smile was quirking at the corner of Malfoy’s mouth now.
“I want to so much,” Harry repeated again, incredulously.
“Yes,” Malfoy said again. He smiled then, not the smile he’d worn after Andromeda’s; this one was closed-lipped and still absent, as though he was thinking of something else. “It’s going to be grand. When?”
Harry looked at Malfoy’s smile, and said, “How about right now?”
Malfoy looked scandalized. “I’m at work.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “Maybe afterwards, then.”
For a flash, Malfoy looked uncertain. “Well, I have . . . appointments. You know. So much to—” He looked at Harry, who was frowning at him. “Yes,” said Malfoy suddenly. “Alright. Tonight. This very evening. Unto the breach! As they say, and that rot.”
“Who says that?” Harry asked, nose wrinkling.
“Everyone,” Malfoy said airily. “It’s all the rage; you know how these things are.”
“No.”
“Oh.” Malfoy waved a hand hazily. He still wore a strange smile. “Well, things are that way. Trust me. I know things.”
“You do,” said Harry.
“Mm-hm.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Okay. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Harry,” Malfoy said.
Harry stopped. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.” Then Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away, walking back down the corridor filled with cubes.
*
They went to a pub instead of out for coffee. Malfoy chattered about the werewolf negotiations, fluently and agitatedly, just as though he had raw nerves and the endless noise was soothing to them, the way it was to Harry. “When you have the talk with Teddy, leave all the difficult werewolf bits to me,” he was saying. “I am a supreme negotiator, now.”
“What talk with Teddy?”
“Honestly, Potter.” The line appeared by Malfoy’s mouth, and his eyes danced. “I could deal with any werewolf now,” Malfoy went on in that heedless, cocky way of his he used when nothing at all mattered. “I would even win over Professor Lupin.”
“Er,” said Harry again. “Did you ever try to win over Lupin?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone tried to win over Lupin.”
Harry stared at him. “Really?”
Malfoy tinged pink, but lifted his chin. “He was everyone’s favorite. Didn’t you know that? Except for Snape.”
“Snape wasn’t anyone’s favorite.”
“Oh yes he was,” Malfoy said and beamed. “Snape was bloody brilliant.”
“He was that, I guess,” Harry agreed.
Malfoy’s positively dreamy look melted away into a half-hearted sneer. “Well, of course you never could see past your own nose, being in sodding Gryffindor.”
“Dumbledore said Snape should have been in Gryffindor.”
Shock momentarily passed over Malfoy’s face, and then he masked his expression. “Yes, he would say that,” Malfoy said, very low.
Harry thought of telling Malfoy what had happened with Snape, and didn’t. “I’m sure you’re the werewolf negotiations expert,” he reassured Malfoy instead.
Malfoy wore a little frown, looking down at the table. “What’re you going to do?” he asked abruptly, looking up.
“Do?” Harry repeated. “About the werewolves?” He did know that he didn’t want to talk about Snape or Dumbledore.
“I don’t know, maybe.” Malfoy put his elbows on the table. “I meant for your occupation. Don’t you remember how I told you to get a job?”
“Oh. That. Well, I hadn’t really . . .”
Malfoy dropped his head into his hands. “You’re hopeless. I think I feel a migraine coming on.”
“I’m just not sure I’m ready for—”
“No, really, I see little lights in front of my eyes. I think I need to go home.”
“Er.”
“Not because of the migraine, of course,” Malfoy explained, looking up and speaking conversationally. “No. Of course the reason I must go home immediately, right this second, is because you think the world is your oyster and you can just lie about and gaze at it.” He pursed his lips, tilting his head. “Or you think you can crawl into a crab shell and off yourself. I’m not sure which. I’m sure it has an ocean theme, though.”
“I’m supposed to decide right now?”
“You’re supposed to have been thinking about it. It’s your life. Your life. Two words I’m sure you don’t understand. I’m going now.”
“Don’t.” Harry pulled him back into the booth.
“Help,” Draco cried. “I’m being molested!”
“I’ve thought about it,” Harry said.
“About molesting me?” Malfoy perked up.
“Will you shut up? I’ve been thinking, kind of, of doing kind of like Lockhart.”
“Help!” Malfoy struggled again. “I’m being molested by someone whose life’s aspiration is to be a madman. He might be mad already. In fact,” Malfoy continued conversationally, “You already are. You have a kind of crazed look about the whites of your eyes.”
“I do?”
“So,” Malfoy continued blithely, at last extricating himself in order to sit across from Harry again. “Another fan fallen victim to the charms of Gorgeous Gilderoy. Just tell me one thing. Was it the golden mane?”
“What? No. Ew. Gorgeous Gilderoy?”
“We can forget I said that,” Malfoy said hastily.
Harry released a noisy breath, running a hand through his hair. “What I meant was, he . . . did a lot of stuff. Saw a lot of places, did a lot of things. I guess he might’ve had jobs, but he moved around a lot. It wasn’t like he was an Auror or anything.”
“No, only a world famous author. You’re not going to write, are you? Help,” Malfoy began, with more panic than before, “I’m being molested by a writer.”
“I’m not molesting you.”
“Any more. I still can’t believe you want to model your life on the puffed-up, self-important, long-haired incompetent.”
Harry thought about saying something about Lucius Malfoy. Then he looked again at Malfoy, whose face was a little pink from his daisy wine and interest and possibly getting molested. His lips were twitching. Harry decided to shut up about Lucius for good.
“It’s like this,” Harry said instead. “Lockhart claimed to do a million things. I know he didn’t do them actually, but what if someone could? Travel that much, I mean, and learn that much, and be involved in so many things? And there’s Dumbledore; he did a dozen times as much and he actually did the things he claimed to. He was a professor at Hogwarts, but he also worked on alchemy, and started the Order of the Phoenix, and he was the Supreme Mugwump, and—well, all sorts of things.” Harry traced lines in the condensation on the table. “You know, after he died, at his funeral . . .”
He saw Malfoy flinch, and that was when Harry realized that for the first time, he’d actually forgotten. He looked again at Malfoy, at the pink quickly fading from his cheeks. Harry knew that he would never shut up about Dumbledore for good; Dumbledore was too important and too much of a part of Harry’s life. But Harry also knew that somewhere he’d stopped blaming Malfoy, or forgiven him.
Harry repeated abruptly, “After he died. At his funeral. The merpeople, they mourned him too. And I started thinking about how he could talk to them, and knew their language. And I think that without . . . talking to mermaids, and researching dragons' blood, and defeating Grindelwald, and all those things, he couldn’t have been . . . the man he was.” Harry frowned. “I don’t want to be Dumbledore, but—”
“Good.”
Harry grimaced. “He meant well.”
Malfoy twirled his daisy wine in his glass. “So, you don’t want to be Dumbledore,” he led on.
“I want to . . . make a difference. I don’t think I’m cut out for the Aurors; it’s too . . . rigid.”
“I don’t understand.” Malfoy batted his lashes rapidly. “Harry Potter isn’t good at following the rules? Are we talking about the same Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived? The hero? The savior? The Golden Warrior Of—”
Harry kicked him under the table, and smiled. It was nice. It was really nice, actually, having someone make fun of him. It was nice and exactly what he wanted, because Harry could not have talked to Ron like this; he couldn’t talk to Hermione like this. Harry felt like he could say whatever he wanted, and Malfoy would still just say the same thing. He would insult him or laugh at him or make a joke of it, but his mouth would twitch in that way he had, and everything would be okay.
“You were saying?” Malfoy said politely, after kicking him back.
Harry thought about it. “When I really think about what I want to do . . . I think about hearing what the mermaids have to say.”
“Ah ha!” Malfoy’s mouth wasn’t just twitching. He was grinning, and there was a triumphant gleam in his eye.
“What?” Harry said suspiciously.
“I knew you had a sea theme.”
*
Harry went to the pub every once in a while with Malfoy—nearly once or twice a week, in fact, the way you sometimes did with friends.
Malfoy was interesting the way Hermione was interesting, but also he was more blunt, and did impressions, and was a lot less understanding of other people. His voice was nice the way Hermione’s was, but his hair was nothing like hers, and his eyes, and his smile. Harry found himself looking at the way that Malfoy looked, all the little details collected to put in that picture, the one with the rolling green, and soft breezes, the one where there was no road. He looked at Malfoy and it was almost like looking at something new; there were so many things he had never seen.
Harry also saw more of Hermione and Ron, not just on Thursdays. He saw more of Teddy too. Teddy called him Uncle Harry, and Harry taught him to ride a broom. They came in from out of doors red-faced and laughing, and drank super-food smoothies.
Andromeda was still stilted and yet very kind, and neither of those things were quite so difficult any more. Sometimes she came out riding too. She was a bit of a fitness junkie, and the smoothies were brewed with energy boosters, and she encouraged Harry to try a brand new diet composed exclusively of legumes. Apparently the chocolates had not really endeared Malfoy to her at all, but Andromeda forgave Malfoy for it anyway, and Harry took Teddy frequently out for ice cream without Andromeda finding out.
“You’ll spoil him,” Malfoy said.
“But he likes it,” said Harry.
“You’ll ruin his health.” Most likely Malfoy was worried Harry would get one over on him, in which case Teddy might start liking Harry better.
“Every once in a while can’t hurt,” said Harry.
“I’ll tell my aunt,” Malfoy said, as a last resort.
“I’ll tell her about the banana split,” Harry threatened.
Malfoy looked hunted. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he whispered, so they both took Teddy out for ice cream.
Teddy got the best end of the deal.
Meanwhile, Hermione approached her due date. Harry felt the baby kick, and he was not afraid any more. When Hugo was born, Harry was made his godfather, too.
“Marvelous Granger trusts you, really, when you consider,” Malfoy drawled.
“Consider what?” Harry asked, scowling.
“The hot fudge sundaes,” Malfoy said.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
“Of course I wouldn’t. My lips are sealed.” Malfoy paused. “Can we introduce Ted to pie?”
The first time Harry held Hugo, Harry thought of the green field.
There were rolling hills. There was no road. Malfoy walked down the slope. His cuffs were turned up to expose his wrists, and his wrists were bony.
Holding Hugo, Harry was trying not to think of Sirius, of babies, best friends, the betrayal of best friends, and the failure of best friends. Looking at the helpless lump of flesh, its flailing fists and bright eyes, made something large swell in Harry’s chest that could break its way out, burn its way down, destroy everyone and everything that could lay a hand on or harm this child.
“Harry just doesn’t like holding him,” Ron said. He was holding the baby proudly, among intermittent and skittish protests that he might drop him; his mum had done it with Percy and look at Percy now.
“Figures.” Hermione huffed so that her fringe fluffed up. “Men. You all hold him like he’s a Quaffle anyway.”
“Hey,” Ron said, protectively clutching the bundle. “I stopped George from using him for a Bludger!”
Harry felt like telling them their son was the Snitch because it was the most precious of all, and began to think that what Malfoy had been saying was right: Granger’s cooing was an infectious disease and you should only approach her in sterile, baby-free environments. The warm, content, over-sentimental glow should’ve been a comfort, but the way it twined in Harry’s heart with the monster in his chest made Harry wary whenever the baby was about.
Harry spent time with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, George, Charlie when he was in England. Harry even saw Percy, from time to time. He saw Ginny.
He just didn’t go to her wedding.
Instead, Harry owled Malfoy, and stayed at Chimera Downs.
Malfoy appeared on the rise after stars were stippling the sky. He came down in darkness just like he used to do. His shirt was white, and when he got to the gate, his smile was a sail.
“I’ve brought wine,” Malfoy said. His voice was smooth and low.
“Come in,” Harry croaked.
Malfoy didn’t seem to expect Harry to talk. Instead he told more stories of Sinclair, of unicorns, of how Hermione was at work, of magical creatures Harry had never heard of.
“I thought Snorkacks didn’t exist,” Harry asked at one point.
“More fool you,” Malfoy said gently, and there was something strange about his smile.
It looked soft, that was it.
“Anyway, didn’t Lovegood talk about them? She was the expert,” Malfoy said.
“I thought Luna was cracked, half the time.”
Malfoy paused, his hand poised mid-air. “Thought she was your friend.”
“Oh. She is,” Harry said, and thought of friends. People he loved and wasn’t with; instead here he was with Draco Malfoy, because Ginny Weasley was getting married.
Harry thought of the field. The green grass, the slight breeze: there was no road down. And—and . . .
“I want to go outside,” Harry said, because he needed to see the field.
Malfoy went with him. They stood by the gate which wasn’t white, and looked up at the stars. Their breath puffed out in the cold winter air.
“The Blacks are all up there,” Malfoy said, after a while. “We have legends in the stars.”
Harry couldn’t see the field. He closed his eyes. “Malfoy—”
“Harry,” Malfoy said, and pressed their shoulders together. “Hush. It’s about family. How they’ll always be with you, even when they’re gone.”
There was a monster in Harry’s chest.
But Malfoy began to tell the story of Cassiopea, Cepheus, Andromeda and Cetus, Perseus and Pegasus. He talked non-stop, but this time it wasn’t agitated talking, the excited babble he sometimes used when secretly Harry suspected he might be nervous. Instead Malfoy’s voice was smooth and low.
It seemed to fill the field, which in the winter night was dead and silent, full of broken, frosted grass.
Harry closed his eyes and listened to that voice. The monster paced, and curled, took three turns inside his chest, and settled down to sleep.
Harry hugged Ginny that Christmas, and wanted to tell her that he would always love her no matter what, that there would always be a place in his heart for her. Then Ginny smiled at Dean, just a glance over Harry’s shoulder, and that place in Harry’s heart for her began to howl and he had to leave. But he came back for Boxing Day; Ginny forgave him and Dean even gave him the time of day. George was there with Angelina, Bill with Fleur and all their children, Percy even and Charlie, and Harry didn’t even feel intimidated by all the people.
In fact, he went out in public. He walked the streets and was maybe almost normal. In his mind was a field of green, and he was a man.
Go to Chapter 3
Rating: this chapter, pg
Length: this chapter, 8K, see below for WIP info
Warnings: later, there may be sex.
Characters: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny
Epilogue: not epilogue compliant
Summary: Malfoy’s all, “Come out of there,” the way you say to a cat who is badly behaved. And Harry’s all like, “No, what, I’m a hermit! And I have a chest-monster! And I am crazy magically powerful!” and Malfoy’s all, “We all have problems, bub.” (thoughtfully) “You are crazy though. I’ll give you that.”
A/N:
-This is a work in progress. I have this grand plan I’ll finish it if I start posting. Right now it’s 56,000 words. The plan makes it look like it will be 66,000 words. Plans are very deceiving. The plan is a chapter every week. My guess is 8-9 chapters. Did I mention plans are deceiving? Especially when they are mine.
-Constructive criticism is more than welcome.
-edited on 1/14/11 with help from
scabbyfish. Thank you, R!Go to: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9
Chapter 2
A couple of nights a week, Malfoy came to Chimera Downs.
He came around the same time, never on a Thursday. The light at first was always gold, and then it changed to pink. Color began to turn at last in the single sycamore on the rise, and Draco Malfoy kept on coming down.
When he came the grass and weeds swayed around his legs and moved like waves in a good breeze: Malfoy in the midst of sea. Malfoy came in the way of ships to a deserted island. They came rich; they came easy. They never came to save anyone; they just appeared there, as if in passing, passing by. A castaway had always just learned to survive at terrible cost by the time he first saw a sail.
Several days after the first time Malfoy came inside the cottage for drinks, it showered lightly in the mid-afternoon. That night, Malfoy came again; the grass was wet as though with dew, and the stalks brushed and broke by Malfoy as he strode. When he got to the gate, the knees of his trousers were marked with grass and water, and he smelled like rain. Crickets sang in the coming night.
At the fence, he put a hand on the gate, not as though to open it, but as though he’d walked the whole way because this was the most comfortable place in the world to lean. He looked up at the cottage thoughtfully, until Harry opened the door and stepped outside.
“Want to come in?” he asked Malfoy. The light in the cottage was yellow, and spilled in a square out into twilight.
“I was thinking about it,” said Malfoy, and didn’t move. His hand still was languid over the gate.
“What were you thinking?” Harry asked.
“Why I should bother, really.” Malfoy’s voice was lazy, light.
“You’re already here,” Harry pointed out.
“No. I’ve only just come to the gate.”
“Why stop there?” Harry asked.
Malfoy lifted the latch and pushed open the gate in a fluid movement, then came up the path to the cottage.
Everything was easier, because it was Malfoy, but it was still difficult enough. Harry tried to rack his brain for the things that normal people did. Once Malfoy was in the living room again, he asked, “How are you?”
Malfoy gave him the strangest look, as though the question were in a foreign language, or else too strange to contemplate. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Then, in a stilted voice, “Never better. And yourself?”
“Fine,” said Harry. Because it was too quiet, he added, “I’ve seen Ron and Hermione again.”
Malfoy only nodded.
Harry tried to think of something else to say but Malfoy saved him. “I knew you had,” he said suddenly, “Granger being a book, you know. Sinclair owes you his life, I think.”
Harry almost winced, because people were always owing him their lives, except when he took them away, like Dolores Umbridge. But Malfoy winced instead, as if realizing what he'd said, and it made Harry feel better that Malfoy thought Harry’s head was already too big. “Er,” Harry said instead. “Who’s Sinclair?”
“Granger’s secretary. He’s not cut out for the job, I’m afraid. A very sensitive bloke. But he’ll never relinquish the position—he thinks it give him an edge on establishing the rights of Pygmy Puffs.”
Harry frowned. “Pygmy Puffs?”
“Oh yes,” Malfoy said, nodding. “He wants Puffs to be considered in the category of Being—as opposed to Beast, naturally. He thinks he’s got Granger’s ear.”
“Why would anyone want to think Pygmy Puffs are—”
“‘They’re an honest and noble race!’” exclaimed Malfoy, in a sing-song, passionate voice, and then switched to his impression of Hermione. “‘Honestly, they’ve the brains of peas. Now, house-elves on the other hand. Oppression! Slavery! Rights! Liberty! Wooly hats! Hop to it!’ And then Sinclair launches into the oppression of Pygmy Puffs, which is really very elegant and passionate, only it aggravates Granger no end.”
Harry found himself smiling. “The oppression of Pygmy Puffs, really?”
“As you know, Puffs were rather fierce in the wild.” Malfoy’s eyes widened as he saw that in fact, Harry had not known, and then he rolled his eyes. “Well they were,” he told him, and launched into a story about the marauding gangs of Puffs that lived in meadows in the eighteenth century, until someone had the bright idea of breeding them. “They started quite a racket.”
“Are you talking about black market Pygmy Puffs?” A new world was opening up to Harry.
Malfoy frowned. “Sort of. I meant they were their own racket, rather. Puffs are a tough bunch, very tooth and nail. Families stay quite closely knit together. Like gangs. Or . . . oh—” he waved a hand, “the mafia. So there was selling and trading among themselves, and certain forms of slavery.”
“Puff slavery.”
“Oh yes,” Malfoy said, still frowning. “Really, you would know all of this had our Care of Magical Creatures professor been in any way half decent.”
There was a silence. Harry waited to be angry; he waited to feel the clawing rise up in his chest. But there was nothing, waiting there, and Harry realized this—this petty schoolboy feud over Care of Magical Creatures and defending Hagrid and Hippogriffs against Malfoy—this was over. Harry didn’t have to worry about it any more, and there was nothing Malfoy could do. It didn’t matter any more.
So all that Harry said was, “Hagrid is my friend,” and he said it looking right at Malfoy, to see what Malfoy would say.
Malfoy looked away. “Yes,” he said finally. “I liked the subject.”
“What?”
“I liked the subject: care for magical creatures.”
“But you didn’t like Hagrid.”
Malfoy fidgeted. “I wanted more out of it. I’m not picking a fight. But you’re not going to tell me you liked the Flobberworms portion of the class.”
Harry’s mouth curled. “No. I’m not.”
There was a pause. “Puffs were as violent as unicorns, really, until it was all bred out of them,” Malfoy eventually said.
“You’re going to try to tell me unicorns are violent?”
“Seriously, Potter, do you know anything about magical creatures?” Malfoy said, sounding somewhat delighted, and proceeded to explain in detail the bloodlust of the unicorn.
In this way, Malfoy spoke of magical creatures, his coworkers, current events in the wizarding world, impressions of everyone around him, and Harry spoke carefully of slowly getting about in the world. It was as though they had never been anything other than acquaintances. They spoke of amusing things, topical things, stories that didn’t have to do with anything. They spoke of the past, but never of disputes then, never their hatred of each other. They never spoke of the war.
Malfoy wasn’t seeking to heal Harry, and that’s what made Harry so comfortable those nights, when the wards opened at Chimera Downs, and Draco Malfoy strolled down the rise.
Perhaps that was why Harry asked him what he did, one night several weeks later. Leaves were bleeding off the sycamore, Gryffindor red and gold, and the stars had started to come out by the time Malfoy was making his way down the slope. For a while, Saturn hovered low, a notch of bright orange light carved out of the western sky. Time seemed to stretch out forever, with Draco Malfoy coming down.
They were in the cottage, and Malfoy had had rather too much daisy wine, which he professed not to like. There were spots of pink on his cheekbones. It was because Malfoy was talking about werewolf negotiations that Harry thought of it, even though the werewolf of which Malfoy was speaking was a fetching witch who wore a collar all the time.
“It makes you wonder whether she has a lead,” Malfoy was saying. He seemed very interested in the prospect of her having a lead, the witch with the long black nails who wore black lipstick and a fork wrapped around her wrist for a bracelet, and sharp spikes on the black leather collar. Malfoy talked about those spikes, about the way she growled, about her wild hair—upon which he waxed most eloquent, more damning evidence than ever that he carried a bit of a torch for Hermione.
“And there’s a commune,” Malfoy was saying, “where they all live together. Werewolves are very tightly bonded, you know. A pack sticks together like a family. Or an orgy. You can only imagine what the nights are like. They’re always wearing mesh shirts.” Malfoy sounded wistful, as though he wanted to go to orgy bonding rituals wearing a mesh shirt.
That was what did it somehow, most inappropriately and oddly: Malfoy being wistful about mesh. “Would you come with me to visit Teddy?” Harry said abruptly, without knowing it was going to come out of his mouth.
“I—what?”
“Teddy,” Harry said again. “He’s Remus Lupin’s son.”
“I . . . know that.”
“And Nymphadora Tonks.” Harry still wasn’t sure why he was saying it, except that Malfoy made things easier, and he wanted things to be easier. “She was your cousin.”
“I know,” said Malfoy again, his voice blank.
“I need to visit him,” Harry explained. “What you said about godfathers—well, I need to visit him. But I can’t,” he added.
Malfoy looked frozen. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Andromeda’s your aunt,” Harry said.
Malfoy seemed to take a moment finding his voice. “We haven’t—my family hasn’t spoken to her since . . . I don’t know her.”
“I don’t know him,” said Harry.
“Potter.” Malfoy frowned in distaste, as though the name tasted bad. “Why are you—why are you asking me?”
“Because you—” Harry stopped because he couldn’t think of anything to say, and Malfoy was staring at him like he was off his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. It was a stupid—”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I’ll go with you,” Malfoy said very quickly, all in a rush.
Harry stopped. “Really?”
“Yes,” Malfoy repeated irritably. “I said I would, didn’t I? Well?” he demanded, after a moment. “Are you really going to?”
“Yes,” Harry said slowly. “Are you really coming with me?”
“Yes,” Malfoy said, and looked away.
Harry looked at the curve of his neck, and realized it really would be easier. Hermione or Ron might have gone with him, but they would be there as Harry’s support. They would be encouraging him the whole time, trying to get him to make conversation with Andromeda, or with Teddy. Malfoy would have a more difficult time of it than Harry, probably, and that made it so much easier.
“Thank you,” said Harry.
“Don’t mention it, Potter.” Malfoy looked back and his voice was suddenly very crisp. “If the . . . child has lycanthropy, I am in an expert position to deal with it. I will teach the child to have black nails, and wear forks about his wrist.”
“Er,” said Harry. “Are you sure Andromeda will approve?”
“She is a grandmother. Don’t you know grandmothers approve of everything?”
“They do?”
Malfoy waved a hand. “Of course. My grandmother Hazel allowed me to operate difficult Muggle machinery once. Completely to the dismay of my parents, I might add—it was very dangerous.”
*
The very dangerous Muggle machinery turned out to be a hand mixer. Malfoy told Harry this several days later as they met at the end of the lane to walk to Andromeda’s together.
“What did you make with the hand mixer?” Harry asked, puzzled.
Malfoy beamed with pride. “It’s for killing weeds,” he explained. “Didn’t you know?”
“No,” Harry told him.
“Just leave all the difficult Muggle gadgetry to me,” Malfoy informed him airily. “I’m going to impress Andromeda with my vast array of knowledge.”
“About hand mixers?” Harry wanted to know.
“Yes,” Malfoy said. “She will be charmed that I know about her husband’s culture. He was a Muggle, didn’t you know? ”
“I seem to remember hearing that,” Harry said, and rolled his eyes. Despite Malfoy's hesitation when Harry had first invited him, he now seemed eager for the meeting. He was all bright confidence, rather to the point of agitation. He kept speaking of how no doubt his wit would win over Andromeda, almost as though he were trying to convince himself. Harry found his incessant babble reaassuring.
“About you—er, wooing Andromeda,” Harry began, Malfoy’s words, not his.
Malfoy looked affronted. “I’m very charming.”
Harry looked at him doubtfully. “I’m sure you are. It’s just . . . I’ve never got on that well with her. Even before I . . .”
“Went crazy?”
Harry glared. “Yeah. I mean, we don’t argue. And she’s wonderful to Teddy. She’s just—you know, a little . . . cold.”
“She’s going to like me, Potter.” Malfoy drew himself up.
Harry was doubtful again. “Oh. Will she?”
“Yes. You see, I have a plan. A brilliant plan of masterful cunning.”
“Um,” said Harry. “Okay.”
Malfoy’s brilliant plan of masterful cunning turned out to be a plan to appear completely irresistible to anyone nearby him, except for Harry who knew it was just Malfoy and so was puzzled by its effectiveness.
Teddy was six now, and Harry had no idea what to do with a six-year-old, but Malfoy’s idea seemed to be that you talked to six-year-olds as though they were normal people, which they obviously weren’t. Malfoy was very serious with Teddy, nodding thoughtfully at what Teddy said. Harry found out later that most of what Teddy said was about spaceships. Malfoy made him all sorts of whimsical promises he could never keep, except that when Harry told Malfoy this Malfoy looked him and said, “I am perfectly fit for spaceflight, thank you.”
And then there was Andromeda, whom Malfoy complimented at every turn. He told her she had a lovely house, and a lovely grandson, and wasn’t it so unfortunate how Harry Potter was a crazy person, but you never knew with godfathers did you, and anyway Harry wasn’t being crazy now, wasn’t it nice.
“I wanted to bring him before,” Malfoy explained very earnestly, “but I had to make sure he wasn’t—you know—dangerous.” His voice lowered dramatically. “One has to think of the children, doesn’t one.”
“He didn’t bring me here,” Harry said, scowling.
“I don’t have him fully trained yet,” Malfoy told Andromeda apologetically.
“Teddy has been missing you,” Andromeda told Harry, her tone polite.
Harry was fairly certain Teddy didn’t remember who he was. “I had to go away,” Harry explained. “But I came back.”
“Short sentences help keep him in control,” Malfoy said helpfully.
Andromeda smiled faintly.
“But are you comfortable?” Malfoy said. “Perhaps you would like to take a turn about the room.”
“I’m fine,” said Andromeda, because this was the fifth time Malfoy had asked, but she was still smiling faintly.
“Have a chocolate,” said Malfoy, and that was the seventh time. He had brought the chocolates, no doubt as part of his cunning plan of masterfulness, or whatever. No doubt also part of the plan was to not tell Harry he was bringing Andromeda chocolates in order to make Harry look bad because he hadn’t brought anything.
“And I’m not dangerous,” Harry added, annoyed, because Andromeda actually was taking another chocolate, and the smile was growing deeper. Her smile was actually a little bit like Malfoy’s, with the line just on one side.
At Harry’s words, Andromeda raised her brows. “I’m glad to hear that, Harry,” she said in the calm, placid way she always addressed Harry.
Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, realizing what he had said. No doubt Malfoy had tricked him into saying it, but—he wasn’t dangerous.
Slowly, Harry looked at Teddy, who was playing with the chocolate frog Malfoy had also brought. Harry looked at him and thought of Remus, thought of Tonks. Harry looked and felt loss, and a fierce upswell of protectiveness and pain: Teddy’s parents killed in battle, this child left alone, the crying under the chair, the mist of King’s Cross.
The grass stood tall in the field, waved in a slight breeze. A sycamore stood on the rise, the sun swung low and full of gold like ripe and waiting fruit. Draco Malfoy walked down through the grass. There was no road.
Harry looked at Teddy and didn’t feel the claws.
“It’s true,” said Harry. “I won’t go away again.”
Andromeda tilted her head. “Teddy will be happy.”
Later, Harry tried to play with Teddy, who liked playing Space Aurors.
It was only later Harry found out Space Aurors was all Malfoy’s idea.
They’d been playing Space Aurors a while when Harry went into the kitchen to get tin foil, and Malfoy and Andromeda were there. Malfoy was in the midst of talking in a low, solemn little voice, and stopped when Harry walked in the swinging door.
Malfoy looked strained, his mouth looking haggard with its thin lips and lines at the sides. When he turned to Harry his expression went tight as though drawn closed, and he swallowed hard.
Andromeda very politely got Harry tin foil, and then just as politely appeared to think Harry should leave. Harry edged out, and waited for a moment just beyond the door.
“I wish I had known her,” Malfoy went on saying. “Mum never wanted it this way. If want you to know that I’m so s—”
Harry heard Teddy call out and hurriedly moved away.
Later, both Malfoy and Andromeda came out of the kitchen. Andromeda looked just as smooth and empty as ever. Malfoy’s face was shining as though he had just won the House Cup.
Harry had never seen that smile, not directed at him anyway. The line was deep at the side of Malfoy’s mouth, just like a dimple, and his whole face went with it easily, smiling too.
Harry had to catch his breath.
“I told you I had a brilliant plan,” Malfoy said later. They were back at Chimera Downs.
“A brilliant plan to suck up.” Harry frowned.
“You’re just jealous,” Malfoy said, smirking.
Harry frowned more deeply. “Of what?”
“Teddy likes me better,” Malfoy said, and beamed.
“I wasn’t aware you were even with him all that much.”
Malfoy preened. “I have a way with children. And werewolves. I’m practically an animal expert.”
“Children aren’t animals.” Harry glowered.
“How could you even think such a thing,” Malfoy said, and patted him like a pet.
Harry just looked at him. “I think you shouldn’t come here any more,” he said suddenly.
Something flashed across Malfoy’s face, and then his shoulders squared. He spoke with casual indifference. “I was just thinking the same thing. Well, Potter. Thank you for the visit to my aunt’s. Next time I’ll be sure to leave you behind.”
“Ron and I go out to a pub,” Harry went on, mostly ignoring Malfoy’s snide tone.
“How very fine for you.” His face was mostly white, and Harry regretted having said it in a backwards way. He hadn’t meant to, when Malfoy had been smiling like that just a moment before, and he had looked so happy in a way that Harry had never seen him. He’d never really thought about Malfoy being happy before, but Harry had enjoyed that look, and the way it made him feel happy, too. “Let me by,” said Malfoy coldly, because Harry was standing in front of the door.
“I mean, you and I should do it some time,” Harry said. “Go to a pub, I mean.”
Malfoy looked swiftly at him, and then his eyes slid away. “Let me by,” he said again.
“Don’t be a git, Malfoy,” Harry said.
“I just remembered something I have to do at home, that’s all,” Malfoy said, still standing there and looking strangely lost.
“I’m trying to—I’m trying to make it normal,” Harry explained. His chest was tightening.
Malfoy snorted.
“I mean,” Harry said, “go out more. Live a life. That’s what you said.” Seeing Teddy had been such a big step, and it had gone so well.
Harry tried to think of the field.
“Of course you are. I’m just trying to go home.” Malfoy’s shoulders finally relaxed. He lingered there, but no longer tried to get by, both of them standing in the hallway, encased in semi-darkness. When Malfoy spoke again his voice was careless. “Of course we’ll go to the pub. Just like you and Ronald Weasley. Just don’t choose a place that’s dirty,” he added.
“Good,” Harry said.
Malfoy shrugged. “Fine.”
Harry thought of something else. “When?”
Malfoy hitched a shoulder. “Whenever you like, Potter. I am at your disposal.” He paused. “Now will you let me go?”
“What?” Harry said. “Oh,” and moved away from the door.
Just when Malfoy was passing by, right at the door, he turned toward Harry. He was rather close, and the light still was dim. “I did mean it about the visit to my aunt’s,” he said suddenly. “Thank you.” His voice was soft. “It was great.”
Then he stepped out into the night, and Harry thought he just might make it.
*
In the next two months, Harry didn’t get a flat. He didn’t get a job either. He didn’t really have to worry about money at this point; his parents and Sirius had left him lots, and he hadn’t used much of his savings from his time with the Aurors.
Instead Harry took things slowly, but he began to do more and more, now without Ron and Hermione’s help. He did things like going to the shop, and meeting Neville for lunch, and seeing one of Luna’s naturalist art shows, and visiting Teddy. He did things like walking down Diagon Alley without the monster in his chest when people wanted to stop and snap pictures of him, things like meeting Ron and Hermione by the Ministry for lunch.
They went to a cafe in Muggle London, and Hermione talked about her job, and Ron groused about George’s latest experiments. Harry ate his sandwich and drank his juice and eventually asked Hermione, “Do you still work with Draco Malfoy?”
It had been a while since the last time Harry had seen him. After a week had gone by without Malfoy coming down, Harry had begun to wonder where he was. Then he had remembered that he had told Malfoy he shouldn’t come, and that they were going to meet instead, the way that friends sometimes went out together, except that he and Malfoy weren’t exactly friends.
Maybe Malfoy was expecting that Harry would owl, or at least be the one who planned it. The problem was, Harry felt like he didn’t know how to do it. When he went out with Ron they just did, and Ron was there, and asked him to hang out; that was all. It had been too long since Harry had been with people, and when Harry thought about it, even before then, Harry had just kept the friends he’d always had. He’d seen them by rote, and arranged the next meeting by rote, and didn’t owl people to meet him at pubs, because he hadn’t needed to.
Even in those dark days, after Harry had quit the Aurors and his friends, before he came to Chimera Downs, Harry hadn’t needed to ask for company.
Chimera Downs was the place Harry went to in his mind, when everything was too much and he felt that he would explode with all the force of it, the way he had felt just before Dolores Umbridge. Chimera Downs was safe, because it was secret; no one would ever find him there and Harry would never hurt them there. Chimera Downs was the place where he could be alone.
But Malfoy had found him there. He could have ruined everything, but instead, Malfoy became a part of it. When Harry thought of the field, there was green grass, and a hill rolled gently down. There was no road. Malfoy walked down the slope, his white shirt open at the throat. The light was always gold.
In the field, Malfoy wasn’t good and he wasn’t bad. He just was there, like the crickets, and the smell of woodsmoke.
When Harry asked Hermione whether she still worked with Malfoy, he was thinking this, about the field, and about being normal. Malfoy had helped him there. Harry could show him he was a human being, after all.
Hermione looked surprised. “Sure,” she said.
“He told me a little bit about it,” Harry said.
“You’ve seen him?” Ron wrinkled his nose.
“Yeah.” Harry didn’t like lying to his friends. After he quit the Aurors and all the other things, he had lied to them a lot. Still, he didn’t want to tell them about the field, so he didn’t say anything more.
“That’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said quickly.
“I was just . . . wondering what it was like, is all,” Harry said. “Working with Malfoy.”
Hermione seemed to like him, rather.
“Gag me,” said Ron.
“He’s interesting,” Hermione insisted.
“When was Malfoy ever interesting?” Ron demanded.
“There was sixth year,” Harry said blandly.
Ron and Hermione stared at him.
“Well,” said Harry, “he was.”
Ron grunted. “At least Lucius Malfoy is out of our hair.”
Harry realized that Malfoy had come to Chimera Downs over half a dozen times, and they had never once talked about his parents. “What’s Lucius doing, then?” he asked, surprised.
“Nothing, so far as anyone knows,” Ron said. “Supposedly the Aurors have a trace on him, but he never does anything. They live up north, somewhere in Yorkshire.”
“What about the Manor?” Harry asked, brow furrowing.
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione huffed. “Didn’t you know? That was auctioned off years ago.”
“Yeah,” Ron put in. “And Narcissa Malfoy has a job.”
Harry frowned. “What does Malfoy think of that?”
Hermione shrugged. “He doesn’t really talk about it.” Hermione frowned. “Come to think of it, he doesn’t talk about anything like that. Not his parents. Not the war.”
Better that way, Harry thought, and the conversation moved on to other things.
What Hermione said was true. Malfoy didn’t talk about himself—he talked about work, and Pygmy Puffs, and Sinclair and a million things, but he had never mentioned the trace on Lucius, the Manor, Narcissa’s job.
Harry wondered why Malfoy had even started coming to Chimera Downs in the first place. He had said he didn't want to be Harry Potter’s friend. Maybe he really had just wanted to prove that Harry wasn’t any better than anyone else. Maybe he had just wanted to put an old childhood rivalry to rest.
Malfoy always had liked projects, especially projects that involved making Harry’s life harder. Whatever his mission, Malfoy must have accomplished it. He could not doubt that he had got Harry to listen to him. Perhaps now he was done, he was no longer interested. Maybe if Harry had given Draco a gold star at Hogwarts, slapped him on the back and for no reason and without reference to anything said, “You were right,” they could’ve saved themselves years of animosity.
Ron had to get back to the shop, and Hermione had to get back to the Ministry. Harry went with her, and asked Hermione where Malfoy’s desk was.
She hesitated. “You should know that Malfoy’s grown up,” she warned. “He’s a highly functioning part of this office. He’s actually really important to what I do here.”
Scowling, Harry muttered, “I’m not the one who slapped him that time.”
“I just mean—” Hermione looked anxious—“you can ignore half of what he says, really.”
“What?” Harry asked, surprised.
“If he baits you,” she explained. “He’s so high-strung, and he can be quite . . . nervous around . . . well, people. But he’s so sweet once you get to know him,” she added quickly.
“Sweet,” Harry repeated, not comprehending.
“He’s so very thoughtful. And earnest. And Harry—he tries really really hard.”
Harry had never noticed Malfoy being very thoughtful, but told Hermione he would keep it in mind. Still looking anxious, she pointed him over to Malfoy’s desk. The cubicles were separated by partitions, and Malfoy’s had a desk piled high with all variety of papers and some strange objects, with a blond head bent close over something.
“It’s not very glamorous,” Harry said.
Malfoy stilled for a moment, but by the time he turned around, he did not look startled. He looked entirely blank. “Au contraire,” Malfoy said, sounding flippant. “Just now I am negotiating a contract with a society of werewolves, who wish to be recognized officially as werewolves rather than wizards.”
“Um,” Harry said. “Contract negotiations? Still don’t sound glamorous.”
“Oh.” Malfoy’s shoulders slumped. “That’s just because you’re a peon.”
Harry looked at him for a while. “Want some coffee?”
For some reason, this made Malfoy smirk. “No thank you, Potter. Hot chocolate. And whipped cream, with the nutmeg sprinkled on top, and one of those little straws.”
Harry blinked. “I meant, er. For you to go out for coffee. With me.”
“Huh.” Malfoy’s shoulders straightened back a little. He swiveled back around in his chair to face his desk. “I don’t know. I’m very busy, you see. Being glamorous. This is a very high profile professional career. No rest for the wicked and extraordinarily talented.”
“Oh.” Harry remembered what he had thought about being Malfoy’s project, and wondered again why Malfoy had come to Chimera Downs at all. “You said we could,” he pointed out.
“Mmm,” Malfoy said, very intent on his papers. “I suppose I did. That was then; this is now.”
“Right,” Harry said. He wondered if this was Malfoy’s way of saying he’d done at Chimera Downs what he’d come to do. Maybe it was Malfoy’s way of saying he should have come sooner. Maybe it was Malfoy’s way of being a prat. Harry turned around and walked away.
Harry was at the door to the office room when Malfoy jogged up behind him, grabbing his wrist to stop him.
“What?” said Harry.
Malfoy let him go, not quite meeting his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll go for coffee.”
Harry’s brow wrinkled. “Thought you were busy.”
“I am,” Malfoy said defensively.
“Look, we don’t have to.”
Malfoy rubbed his arm. “If you don’t want to,” he began, and stopped, as though it were a complete sentence.
Harry still frowned, puzzled. “I want to.”
The line showed at the side of Malfoy’s mouth. He still wasn’t quite meeting Harry’s eyes. “Well then,” he murmured, and didn’t finish again.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want to?”
“Hmm?” Malfoy pretended to be distracted, then looked up. “What? Oh. Yes, I suppose.”
“You suppose,” Harry repeated.
“Yes. Well, I know you want to so much.” The smile was quirking at the corner of Malfoy’s mouth now.
“I want to so much,” Harry repeated again, incredulously.
“Yes,” Malfoy said again. He smiled then, not the smile he’d worn after Andromeda’s; this one was closed-lipped and still absent, as though he was thinking of something else. “It’s going to be grand. When?”
Harry looked at Malfoy’s smile, and said, “How about right now?”
Malfoy looked scandalized. “I’m at work.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “Maybe afterwards, then.”
For a flash, Malfoy looked uncertain. “Well, I have . . . appointments. You know. So much to—” He looked at Harry, who was frowning at him. “Yes,” said Malfoy suddenly. “Alright. Tonight. This very evening. Unto the breach! As they say, and that rot.”
“Who says that?” Harry asked, nose wrinkling.
“Everyone,” Malfoy said airily. “It’s all the rage; you know how these things are.”
“No.”
“Oh.” Malfoy waved a hand hazily. He still wore a strange smile. “Well, things are that way. Trust me. I know things.”
“You do,” said Harry.
“Mm-hm.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Okay. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Harry,” Malfoy said.
Harry stopped. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.” Then Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away, walking back down the corridor filled with cubes.
*
They went to a pub instead of out for coffee. Malfoy chattered about the werewolf negotiations, fluently and agitatedly, just as though he had raw nerves and the endless noise was soothing to them, the way it was to Harry. “When you have the talk with Teddy, leave all the difficult werewolf bits to me,” he was saying. “I am a supreme negotiator, now.”
“What talk with Teddy?”
“Honestly, Potter.” The line appeared by Malfoy’s mouth, and his eyes danced. “I could deal with any werewolf now,” Malfoy went on in that heedless, cocky way of his he used when nothing at all mattered. “I would even win over Professor Lupin.”
“Er,” said Harry again. “Did you ever try to win over Lupin?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone tried to win over Lupin.”
Harry stared at him. “Really?”
Malfoy tinged pink, but lifted his chin. “He was everyone’s favorite. Didn’t you know that? Except for Snape.”
“Snape wasn’t anyone’s favorite.”
“Oh yes he was,” Malfoy said and beamed. “Snape was bloody brilliant.”
“He was that, I guess,” Harry agreed.
Malfoy’s positively dreamy look melted away into a half-hearted sneer. “Well, of course you never could see past your own nose, being in sodding Gryffindor.”
“Dumbledore said Snape should have been in Gryffindor.”
Shock momentarily passed over Malfoy’s face, and then he masked his expression. “Yes, he would say that,” Malfoy said, very low.
Harry thought of telling Malfoy what had happened with Snape, and didn’t. “I’m sure you’re the werewolf negotiations expert,” he reassured Malfoy instead.
Malfoy wore a little frown, looking down at the table. “What’re you going to do?” he asked abruptly, looking up.
“Do?” Harry repeated. “About the werewolves?” He did know that he didn’t want to talk about Snape or Dumbledore.
“I don’t know, maybe.” Malfoy put his elbows on the table. “I meant for your occupation. Don’t you remember how I told you to get a job?”
“Oh. That. Well, I hadn’t really . . .”
Malfoy dropped his head into his hands. “You’re hopeless. I think I feel a migraine coming on.”
“I’m just not sure I’m ready for—”
“No, really, I see little lights in front of my eyes. I think I need to go home.”
“Er.”
“Not because of the migraine, of course,” Malfoy explained, looking up and speaking conversationally. “No. Of course the reason I must go home immediately, right this second, is because you think the world is your oyster and you can just lie about and gaze at it.” He pursed his lips, tilting his head. “Or you think you can crawl into a crab shell and off yourself. I’m not sure which. I’m sure it has an ocean theme, though.”
“I’m supposed to decide right now?”
“You’re supposed to have been thinking about it. It’s your life. Your life. Two words I’m sure you don’t understand. I’m going now.”
“Don’t.” Harry pulled him back into the booth.
“Help,” Draco cried. “I’m being molested!”
“I’ve thought about it,” Harry said.
“About molesting me?” Malfoy perked up.
“Will you shut up? I’ve been thinking, kind of, of doing kind of like Lockhart.”
“Help!” Malfoy struggled again. “I’m being molested by someone whose life’s aspiration is to be a madman. He might be mad already. In fact,” Malfoy continued conversationally, “You already are. You have a kind of crazed look about the whites of your eyes.”
“I do?”
“So,” Malfoy continued blithely, at last extricating himself in order to sit across from Harry again. “Another fan fallen victim to the charms of Gorgeous Gilderoy. Just tell me one thing. Was it the golden mane?”
“What? No. Ew. Gorgeous Gilderoy?”
“We can forget I said that,” Malfoy said hastily.
Harry released a noisy breath, running a hand through his hair. “What I meant was, he . . . did a lot of stuff. Saw a lot of places, did a lot of things. I guess he might’ve had jobs, but he moved around a lot. It wasn’t like he was an Auror or anything.”
“No, only a world famous author. You’re not going to write, are you? Help,” Malfoy began, with more panic than before, “I’m being molested by a writer.”
“I’m not molesting you.”
“Any more. I still can’t believe you want to model your life on the puffed-up, self-important, long-haired incompetent.”
Harry thought about saying something about Lucius Malfoy. Then he looked again at Malfoy, whose face was a little pink from his daisy wine and interest and possibly getting molested. His lips were twitching. Harry decided to shut up about Lucius for good.
“It’s like this,” Harry said instead. “Lockhart claimed to do a million things. I know he didn’t do them actually, but what if someone could? Travel that much, I mean, and learn that much, and be involved in so many things? And there’s Dumbledore; he did a dozen times as much and he actually did the things he claimed to. He was a professor at Hogwarts, but he also worked on alchemy, and started the Order of the Phoenix, and he was the Supreme Mugwump, and—well, all sorts of things.” Harry traced lines in the condensation on the table. “You know, after he died, at his funeral . . .”
He saw Malfoy flinch, and that was when Harry realized that for the first time, he’d actually forgotten. He looked again at Malfoy, at the pink quickly fading from his cheeks. Harry knew that he would never shut up about Dumbledore for good; Dumbledore was too important and too much of a part of Harry’s life. But Harry also knew that somewhere he’d stopped blaming Malfoy, or forgiven him.
Harry repeated abruptly, “After he died. At his funeral. The merpeople, they mourned him too. And I started thinking about how he could talk to them, and knew their language. And I think that without . . . talking to mermaids, and researching dragons' blood, and defeating Grindelwald, and all those things, he couldn’t have been . . . the man he was.” Harry frowned. “I don’t want to be Dumbledore, but—”
“Good.”
Harry grimaced. “He meant well.”
Malfoy twirled his daisy wine in his glass. “So, you don’t want to be Dumbledore,” he led on.
“I want to . . . make a difference. I don’t think I’m cut out for the Aurors; it’s too . . . rigid.”
“I don’t understand.” Malfoy batted his lashes rapidly. “Harry Potter isn’t good at following the rules? Are we talking about the same Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived? The hero? The savior? The Golden Warrior Of—”
Harry kicked him under the table, and smiled. It was nice. It was really nice, actually, having someone make fun of him. It was nice and exactly what he wanted, because Harry could not have talked to Ron like this; he couldn’t talk to Hermione like this. Harry felt like he could say whatever he wanted, and Malfoy would still just say the same thing. He would insult him or laugh at him or make a joke of it, but his mouth would twitch in that way he had, and everything would be okay.
“You were saying?” Malfoy said politely, after kicking him back.
Harry thought about it. “When I really think about what I want to do . . . I think about hearing what the mermaids have to say.”
“Ah ha!” Malfoy’s mouth wasn’t just twitching. He was grinning, and there was a triumphant gleam in his eye.
“What?” Harry said suspiciously.
“I knew you had a sea theme.”
*
Harry went to the pub every once in a while with Malfoy—nearly once or twice a week, in fact, the way you sometimes did with friends.
Malfoy was interesting the way Hermione was interesting, but also he was more blunt, and did impressions, and was a lot less understanding of other people. His voice was nice the way Hermione’s was, but his hair was nothing like hers, and his eyes, and his smile. Harry found himself looking at the way that Malfoy looked, all the little details collected to put in that picture, the one with the rolling green, and soft breezes, the one where there was no road. He looked at Malfoy and it was almost like looking at something new; there were so many things he had never seen.
Harry also saw more of Hermione and Ron, not just on Thursdays. He saw more of Teddy too. Teddy called him Uncle Harry, and Harry taught him to ride a broom. They came in from out of doors red-faced and laughing, and drank super-food smoothies.
Andromeda was still stilted and yet very kind, and neither of those things were quite so difficult any more. Sometimes she came out riding too. She was a bit of a fitness junkie, and the smoothies were brewed with energy boosters, and she encouraged Harry to try a brand new diet composed exclusively of legumes. Apparently the chocolates had not really endeared Malfoy to her at all, but Andromeda forgave Malfoy for it anyway, and Harry took Teddy frequently out for ice cream without Andromeda finding out.
“You’ll spoil him,” Malfoy said.
“But he likes it,” said Harry.
“You’ll ruin his health.” Most likely Malfoy was worried Harry would get one over on him, in which case Teddy might start liking Harry better.
“Every once in a while can’t hurt,” said Harry.
“I’ll tell my aunt,” Malfoy said, as a last resort.
“I’ll tell her about the banana split,” Harry threatened.
Malfoy looked hunted. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he whispered, so they both took Teddy out for ice cream.
Teddy got the best end of the deal.
Meanwhile, Hermione approached her due date. Harry felt the baby kick, and he was not afraid any more. When Hugo was born, Harry was made his godfather, too.
“Marvelous Granger trusts you, really, when you consider,” Malfoy drawled.
“Consider what?” Harry asked, scowling.
“The hot fudge sundaes,” Malfoy said.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
“Of course I wouldn’t. My lips are sealed.” Malfoy paused. “Can we introduce Ted to pie?”
The first time Harry held Hugo, Harry thought of the green field.
There were rolling hills. There was no road. Malfoy walked down the slope. His cuffs were turned up to expose his wrists, and his wrists were bony.
Holding Hugo, Harry was trying not to think of Sirius, of babies, best friends, the betrayal of best friends, and the failure of best friends. Looking at the helpless lump of flesh, its flailing fists and bright eyes, made something large swell in Harry’s chest that could break its way out, burn its way down, destroy everyone and everything that could lay a hand on or harm this child.
“Harry just doesn’t like holding him,” Ron said. He was holding the baby proudly, among intermittent and skittish protests that he might drop him; his mum had done it with Percy and look at Percy now.
“Figures.” Hermione huffed so that her fringe fluffed up. “Men. You all hold him like he’s a Quaffle anyway.”
“Hey,” Ron said, protectively clutching the bundle. “I stopped George from using him for a Bludger!”
Harry felt like telling them their son was the Snitch because it was the most precious of all, and began to think that what Malfoy had been saying was right: Granger’s cooing was an infectious disease and you should only approach her in sterile, baby-free environments. The warm, content, over-sentimental glow should’ve been a comfort, but the way it twined in Harry’s heart with the monster in his chest made Harry wary whenever the baby was about.
Harry spent time with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, George, Charlie when he was in England. Harry even saw Percy, from time to time. He saw Ginny.
He just didn’t go to her wedding.
Instead, Harry owled Malfoy, and stayed at Chimera Downs.
Malfoy appeared on the rise after stars were stippling the sky. He came down in darkness just like he used to do. His shirt was white, and when he got to the gate, his smile was a sail.
“I’ve brought wine,” Malfoy said. His voice was smooth and low.
“Come in,” Harry croaked.
Malfoy didn’t seem to expect Harry to talk. Instead he told more stories of Sinclair, of unicorns, of how Hermione was at work, of magical creatures Harry had never heard of.
“I thought Snorkacks didn’t exist,” Harry asked at one point.
“More fool you,” Malfoy said gently, and there was something strange about his smile.
It looked soft, that was it.
“Anyway, didn’t Lovegood talk about them? She was the expert,” Malfoy said.
“I thought Luna was cracked, half the time.”
Malfoy paused, his hand poised mid-air. “Thought she was your friend.”
“Oh. She is,” Harry said, and thought of friends. People he loved and wasn’t with; instead here he was with Draco Malfoy, because Ginny Weasley was getting married.
Harry thought of the field. The green grass, the slight breeze: there was no road down. And—and . . .
“I want to go outside,” Harry said, because he needed to see the field.
Malfoy went with him. They stood by the gate which wasn’t white, and looked up at the stars. Their breath puffed out in the cold winter air.
“The Blacks are all up there,” Malfoy said, after a while. “We have legends in the stars.”
Harry couldn’t see the field. He closed his eyes. “Malfoy—”
“Harry,” Malfoy said, and pressed their shoulders together. “Hush. It’s about family. How they’ll always be with you, even when they’re gone.”
There was a monster in Harry’s chest.
But Malfoy began to tell the story of Cassiopea, Cepheus, Andromeda and Cetus, Perseus and Pegasus. He talked non-stop, but this time it wasn’t agitated talking, the excited babble he sometimes used when secretly Harry suspected he might be nervous. Instead Malfoy’s voice was smooth and low.
It seemed to fill the field, which in the winter night was dead and silent, full of broken, frosted grass.
Harry closed his eyes and listened to that voice. The monster paced, and curled, took three turns inside his chest, and settled down to sleep.
Harry hugged Ginny that Christmas, and wanted to tell her that he would always love her no matter what, that there would always be a place in his heart for her. Then Ginny smiled at Dean, just a glance over Harry’s shoulder, and that place in Harry’s heart for her began to howl and he had to leave. But he came back for Boxing Day; Ginny forgave him and Dean even gave him the time of day. George was there with Angelina, Bill with Fleur and all their children, Percy even and Charlie, and Harry didn’t even feel intimidated by all the people.
In fact, he went out in public. He walked the streets and was maybe almost normal. In his mind was a field of green, and he was a man.
Go to Chapter 3
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One day some intrepid soul will teach Teddy that Space Aurors are called Jedi.