Prolonged Encounter

IT haunted Harry longer than anything else. The death of Draco Malfoy.

Not only had he defied his parents to fight for the other side at the Battle of Hogwarts, he had, single-handed, fought Voldemort with the Elder Wand. Draco Malfoy had saved hundreds of lives in the split second he allowed Harry to shout the Killing Curse. The childhood nemesis working to defeat the Dark Lord enabled Harry to survive long enough to kill Voldemort, for good.

Voldemort had died just after he shouted his own Killing Curse, which hit Draco Malfoy directly in the chest. As the Dark Lord fell so did the unsung hero.

IT was always in Harry's mind as he turned to sleep, IT bothered him more than anything in the war. Draco Malfoy distracting Voldemort saved so many lives, Remus and Tonks Lupin, Fred and George Weasley, he had been the hero more than Harry. No one bothered to remember Draco Malfoy.

Lupin said that Draco Malfoy had come to him after Dumbledore's death and offered himself as a replacement spy, replacing Snape who had turned. Malfoy had risked everything he had known, his family's honor, his own life, to help a cause that did not recognize him.

And Harry couldn't fathom why.

Lucius Malfoy, imprisoned in the dungeons of Azkaban, refused to say a word even in his defense, and Narcissa Malfoy had died during the Battle of Hogwarts. Narcissa Malfoy had saved her own sister, Bellatrix, from the wrath of Molly Weasley and had lost focus of the fights around her, a hex from Mrs. Weasley sent her in the path of her own sister's Killing Curse. Perhaps the brave, self-sacrificing trait Draco had come from his mother. Perhaps not.

Harry had locked himself in Grimmauld Place for almost two months after the Battle of Hogwarts, only allowing Ron and Hermione inside. They accepted his self-imposed hermitdom on the promise that it would not continue forever and that Harry, like every other seventh year, would return to Hogwarts to complete his schooling.

Harry dreaded going back to Hogwarts but naturally that was the only way life would continue. He enjoyed the lack of attention, the lack of anything. He didn't send for the Daily Prophet because he didn't want to see his name smeared over the pages, he didn't ask for people because he didn't want to bother them. Harry spent his days doing his best to slowly prepare meals for himself, watched an old, American Muggle show that he slowly grew addicted to, and consistantly found himself drawn to the Black family tree where he would stare in disbelief at the relatives of Draco Malfoy. He studied it for a while, realizing that Malfoy had been born only a few weeks before himself and Harry would experience a profound sense of loss when his eyes settled on the date of death.

So many people had died that day, not enough that there should have been but an incredible number nonetheless. It seemed such a common date then, to be written on Draco Malfoy's tombstone and on the family tree, that it felt wrong to be associated with him. Things bothered Harry, countless things, the majority of them associated with Draco Malfoy.

He took the time to visit Draco Malfoy's grave. Narcissa Malfoy had been buried in the Niegona Catacombs, a giant labyrinth of family members of the Malfoy's dating back to before the common era, Lucius Malfoy had instructed it, being the last living relative. Draco Malfoy had been buried without a gravestone beside his mother. Lucius Malfoy had been ashamed of his son's traitorous act and even in Azkaban issued his harsh judgement, that no one in the family and no record in the family books would remember a Draco Abraxas Malfoy.

Harry slowly began to understand Draco Malfoy. He realized why he'd stressed family, why he'd hated muggles and muggle-borns even though he was repeatedly told and shown in Hogwarts that they were as good as any. It was funny, how he never was able to get to know his childhood rival until Malfoy had died.

That thought sparked a new one.

0

The nervous worker in the Department of Mysteries slipped out of the door, leaving Harry alone before the veil.

This had been enough to cause Harry to leave self imposed hermitdom for a time, although he had worn a wig and a shaggy hat to the Ministry to keep from being recognized. The first time he'd tried to enter, as himself, he'd almost been mobbed and had caused such a ruckus that thirteen people were sent to St. Mungos.

"It's the solstices," the worker at the Department of Mysteries had told him, "come back on the summer solstice and you may see something, I'll set it up for you."

It was the summer solstice.

A startling zentagon of suns, moons, stars, and planets had been drawn in chalk on the floor in front of the veil. Harry sat, cross-legged, in the center where he was supposed to sit. His fingers tapped rhythms on his thighs in nervousness and he could barely stop the jittery feeling he had.

"Just think about who you want to come from the beyond, you don't have to try calling their name or anything, if you do it is just jibberish on the other side."

Harry concentrated hard on the person he wanted to come. There was only a few minutes until the direct center of the summer solstice, a few minutes until Draco Malfoy's soul would hear Harry Potter calling him and may or may not then come to the veil. Harry had wondered whether to call his parents, but he needed to speak to Draco Malfoy even more.

"They only come if they want to, the Beyond is such that more-times-than-not they refuse to go through the veil and become ghosts, even for the hour of the solstice. They don't want to risk it."

'Risk what?' Harry had asked the worker in the Department of Mysteries as they'd passed through one of the x-marked doors in the octagon room.

"If they stay to long they might become ghosts in the mortal world, their soul bound to the one who called them out, a half-life for years to come."

"Is the Beyond... like Heaven?"

"For some, this world is different than others."

Harry, even thinking of the answer now, wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

The knowing Unmentionable, Flick Marvins, had given him a knowing smile. "When you graduate Hogwarts you could always work for us, Harry Potter, we have many adventures here and we'd easily accept you. I checked your background in DADA, you would certainly be useful here."

"I'll think about it," Harry had said and he did mean it. Being an Unmentionable, dealing with strange mysteries others only dreamed of, that would certainly be a perfect job for him. Then again, so was being an Auror, or a professional Quidditch player, or a hermit. Harry did like the isolation of hermitdom.

Harry could feel the change in the room more than he saw it. The bridge seemed to go brighter, although in reality everything around it grew darker. The zentagon on the floor shifted slightly, rising up from the ground as if to show the veil its pattern.

Draco Malfoy, Harry thought, shutting his eyes to think better, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, Draco Abraxas Malfoy. Please come to the veil, I need to talk to you! Draco Malfoy!

Harry opened one eye, squinting at the veil. The wisps of silver were leaning forward, touching the edge of the zentagon. There was a crack in the veil, through which there was a darkness, but no specter was forthcoming. He had to try harder.

Harry forced his eyes shut, his mouth forming the words as he thought them. Come through the veil! Only for an hour! Draco Abraxas Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, I need to talk with you, I need to understand! Drace Malfoy! Please, come through the-

A chill came over the room, a soft cold that seeped through Harry's robes. Harry flung his eyes open, staring ahead.

His hair was long, reaching back into the veil as if to connect him there. He wore the robes, slightly bloodstained, he had worn during the Battle of Hogwarts. His eyes shone white, almost unbearable to look at, and they were fixated directly at Harry. Draco Malfoy was not transparent, he looked solid, but the curtains of the veil hung beside him as if to distort his figure. Exactly as Harry had remembered, not a thing out of place, not even the small cut on the neck, or the hand splintered in pieces, Malfoy was whole again. Harry stood up out of some misplaced gesture of respect or friendliness.

Malfoy held up a hand to stop him from going forward. "Don't leave the circle," he said. His voice held an echoing quality to it, barely present, the voice of a whisper all around him. Malfoy's mouth didn't move as he spoke, "You'll interrupt the gate and I'll be sent back."

Harry stared at his feet. He checked and rechecked five times to make sure that he was within the circle before he dared to look up again at the frightening specter that was his childhood nemesis. "I need to talk to you," Harry told him.

"Why else would you send for me?" The words of Draco Malfoy echoed as he tilted his head.

Harry accepted that. He closed his eyes to calm himself down and to remember the questions that had been plaguing him for days. "Why did you turn traitor?"

Draco Malfoy seemed to have expected the question. He replied immediately, "I had sympathy with the other side and I held none for the murders, rape, and torture I witnessed while a Death Eater. My parents speeches nor my Aunt Bella's insistence could change my mind once I made it up, I was not a killer and so I resented when I had been made one."

"You murdered?" Harry blinked in surprise.

"Eight people," Draco Malfoy told him, his mouth not moving. His powerful eyes locked onto Harry's. "Seven were Muggles, the last a Muggle-born witch, but I used the Imperius Curse countless times. I had to in order to keep from being suspected as I siphoned information to Remus Lupin."

"Why did you save my life? Voldemort would have killed me and I thought you hated me."

"I don't." Draco Malfoy's shining white eyes remained unblinking, causing Harry's heart to race. "I don't hate you, and I had already chosen my side. Everyone could feel that this was the final battle, the last moment where we would choose where we stood. I don't waver where I stand like my father does, I chose to be on your side and so I did what made sense. I died helping the cause I was a part of."

Those two simple questions, with simple answers, were all that Harry was certain he had wanted. However, he still didn't feel satisfied.

Draco Malfoy asked the next question. "How long has it been, you look much older."

Harry touched his unshaven face with a slight chuckle. "That would be the beard, it's only been a few months, not even a year."

"It felt longer, but I suppose that's what being dead does to a person."

Harry couldn't tell if that was said in jest so he just let it hang.

Malfoy continued, saying, "I assume that now you are ever more the greatest hero who ever lived."

Harry grimaced.

Draco Malfoy smiled at his discomfort. "Thank the gods I'm dead, I don't have to hear everyone fawn over you." He stepped forward, the hairs connected to the veil straining, but he continued to walk until he was so close to Harry that the eighteen-year-old could have just reached out and touched the dead wizard. "You are tired," he realized.

"I don't like attention," Harry told him, although he couldn't fathom why he was telling him this.

"It must be hard for you," Draco Malfoy said with no hint of scorn or contempt, "It will be hard with you. Perhaps you should just learn how to handle it then."

"I've been thinking of hiring someone to do it for me," Harry joked, "are you up for the job?"

"I'm dead," Malfoy told him.

Harry nodded sadly, "I know. I'm so sorry." He swallowed hard, his nose burning as tears threatened to rise up in his eyes, "I don't want anyone to die. It seems like everyone around me always does."

"Perhaps you inherited it from your father, he was an orphan like you, his relatives all died during the war, almost all of his friends are dead, practically everyone he ever knew, I believe only you and Lupin survived his luck," Draco Malfoy said seriously.

"You talked to my father?" Harry said in surprise.

"He found me, he asked about you, your mother as well," Malfoy crossed his arms, "they asked about you, all of your relatives, your grandparents, your aunts, your cousins, your uncles, your great-grandparents, all of your ancestors, they asked about you. They're proud of you."

The tears now building in Harry's eyes caused his vision to blur and he wiped them on his sleeve. "I see," he mumbled although he didn't know what that meant.

Draco Malfoy placed a cold hand on Harry's shoulder as if to comfort him. "Your mother talked about you for weeks, she couldn't believe how tall you were, she said she remembered you from when you were fourteen."

Harry nodded, unable to speak because of a block in his throat.

"You're very lucky, Potter, to have a family that cares for you as much as they do."

Harry remembered with a sinking feeling that Draco Malfoy had been buried without a gravestone.

"Thank you, Draco Malfoy," Harry said quietly.

A curious expression came over Malfoy's face, as if he were of loath to ask, but he still said, "Is that all? Shall I go?"

"No!" Harry said immediately and far too loud than he meant. He reached forward, grabbing the wisps of Draco's robes, forcing him to stay.

Draco Malfoy tilted his head in confusion. "If I stay too long I'll stay much longer than you'll like."

"It's only been a few minutes, I don't want you to go," Harry told Malfoy sincerely, shocking even himself.

Malfoy touched Harry's face with a long finger, the nails sliding down on his cheek. "Are you asking my to stay indefinetly or only for the hour?"

"Just for a bit," Harry said.

"How long?"

Harry couldn't answer.

Draco Malfoy let his hand drop to his sides, his imposing white eyes staring at Harry unblinkingly. "Anything else you need to ask?" Malfoy offered.

"Er..." Harry thought for a moment. Nothing came to mind for a long moment until, "What was it like?"

Malfoy raised a condescending eyebrow. "What was what like?"

"Dying, the Avada Kedavra, what was it like?"

"Like sleeping," Malfoy told him slowly, "it was painless. Funny, isn't it? The Dark Lord chose such a pleasant was for all his victims to die." He gave Harry a small smile. "That's how almost everyone died for you, isn't it? Your parents, your godfather?"

Harry nodded briskly, turning his head to the side. He spent a long moment of not knowing anything to say coughing into his elbow.

"Is this it?" Malfoy asked, the strange emotion on his face again as he stared curiously at Harry.

"Do you have questions?" Harry asked him.

Malfoy seemed surprised. "Should I ask?" He wondered.

"Well, you're dead, how can it hurt?" Harry reasoned, awkwardly shrugging his shoulders.

Malfoy nodded. "Well then," he said, thinking, "what happened, after I died? I thought I saw Voldemort falling but..."

"He was, I killed him but he'd already shot the curse that killed you," Harry told him. His voice choked a bit, "It was over so quick, and the Death Eaters watching just gave up."

"Without him they don't have a cause, he's the leader," Malfoy nodded. "My mother, how is she?"

Harry blinked. "Haven't you seen her?"

"Oh," Malfoy realized, sadness crossing his features, "she died?"

"She was... fighting Mrs. Weasley but... Bellatrix Lestrange's spell hit her in the back." Harry stared at his shoes on the floor. He suddenly realized he was wearing very ratty clothes, from his uncut hair and messy beard down to his torn shoes, he could see his sock poking through the side. Harry felt the sliver of shame, he should have taken the time to look presentable, he had called Malfoy back from the dead after all.

"Father?" Malfoy asked hopefully.

"Alive, he's in Azkaban, but the Dementors are gone, so I don't think it will be long before he finds a way to escape, he did last time," Harry told him.

Malfoy smiled slightly. "That's Father," he said, "how was I... how was... do you know..." Malfoy swallowed although he didn't need to. "How was I... buried?"

Harry flushed with guilt. "Beside your mother," he said as his memory called up the unmarked grave, "in your family's catacombs."

Malfoy smiled. "Good," he nodded, "How have you been, you look terrible."

Harry concented to that, knowing it was true. "I've been avoiding people for awhile, but I'm going back to school with the lot of seventh years who missed, finishing my education."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "If you want privacy you're going to have to make some sort of interview before you go back to school, you have to show the people what they want to satisfy them for a time," he advised, "do the interview with that Quibbler magazine again, they like you."

"Really?" Harry asked in surprise, "But I thought-"

"That if you ignored them they'd go away?" Malfoy finished. He rolled his eyes, "No, sedate them with little pieces of personal information, even if it's made up, and they'll chew on that for awhile until they try for more."

"How do you know that?"

"My parents were ex-Death Eaters, don't you think reporters were after me?" He frowned. "They kept asking me if I was being abused," Malfoy shrugged.

"You weren't, right?" Harry wondered suddenly.

Malfoy suddenly appeared crestfallen. "What? By my parents? NEVER." And then he grinned, "See? Lots of practice."

"You're disturbingly good at that."

"Well, I died young, I have to be remembered for something," he joked.

Harry frowned at him sadly. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's alright." Malfoy stared at a point in the distance, thinking.

"I know a beautiful flower garden, I stumbled across it last year," Harry told him quietly, "there are these waterfalls in America I heard were lovely, tons of televisions shows I've wanted to catch up on, there's this one great show I've been watching recently, its American and rather old, about this family and the mother is an old fashioned witch..." He trailed off.

Malfoy scruitinized Harry curiously. "You're asking me to stay." His eyes widened.

"If you want to," Harry flushed red. "Er... you see, you wouldn't be a ghost forever, just as long as I live, and because my three ideal jobs are all hazardous that may not be long..."

"Bind my soul to you?" Malfoy realized, "To be with you, for as long as you live?" The specter in front of Harry seemed to shake in shock.

"You don't have to," Harry told him.

"Don't have to," Malfoy repeated.

"I just think it's unfair, you saved so many people but hardly anyone remembers you." Harry said that and immediately regretted it, biting his tongue in his mouth. Malfoy didn't react to that at all, however, so Harry continued, "We never got to know each other as anything more than rivals, maybe we could be friends?"

"You and I?" Malfoy seemed almost eager, "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded confidently, "I am." He couldn't feel the slightest hinderance of a doubt. All he'd wanted for a long time was to be alone, but for some reason, at this moment, this felt like the right thing to do.

"I'd be a ghost, for all but an hour I wouldn't be able to touch or feel," Malfoy told him.

"An hour?" That was better than Harry'd thought.

"Witching Hour, midnight to one," Malfoy informed him.

"Of course," Harry grinned. His grin was lopsided, and he had always felt it made him took even more ragged and off balance. That, coupled with the way he looked at the moment, like a bum, must have made him as much of a spectacle as the specter.

"Only if you shave, you look terrible with a beard, Potter," Malfoy told him.

Harry blinked. "That's your condition?"

"I suppose, I'll think of other things later, guilt you into doing what I want," Malfoy said frankly.

Harry's jaw dropped in astonishment. "You accept?"

"Unless I'm not supposed to," Malfoy frowned.

"No!" Harry said quickly, "You definetly are, it's great, perfect..." he flushed again, "I mean, good."

"Good."

"Good," Harry repeated. He swallowed. "So... er... how do we do it?"

"Simple." Malfoy sat down, crosslegged, on the zentagon. "We wait until the hour's over."

Harry sat down as well. "I've never been good at waiting," he confessed.

"Give it time," Malfoy advised.