DISCLAIMERS:
The Harry Potter series belongs to J. K. Rowling

The Great Gatsby belongs to F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsfoy belongs to F. K. Fitzling (wait, what?)

…

In my younger and more vulnerable years Albus Dumbledore gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since:

"Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open." His electric blue eyes had pierced mine with such intensity that I'd turned away.

That was back at Hogwarts. I mulled over those words ever since, striving to foster ability for trustful tolerance within myself. I think I did a pretty good job.

I wished for the rest of the Wizarding World to do the same. After the demise of Voldemort, everybody had much to be thankful for. I expected wizards to cooperate with each other once free from the constraints of the Dark Days. But I was disappointed, for the liberated magical folk allowed their iniquitous self-interests to drive them.

Only one man was exempt from my disgust: Malfoy. Yes, Malfoy, my childhood rival, the pureblood Slytherin graduate whom I once abhorred. Back at Hogwarts, if someone had asked me if I might ever respect Malfoy, I would have laughed with derision. However, when I reacquainted with him in our adult years, I was struck with a newfound admiration for him. It was not his high-ranking position in the Ministry of Magic that impressed me, but his possession of the quality that Dumbledore so values: love.

…

Seven years after my graduation from Hogwarts, I completed my Auror training. Though proud to be a certified Auror, I regretted the loss of my dormitory at Diagon School for Aurors. I bid farewell the magically enhanced softness of my four-poster bed, the cheerful chatter of my roommate Justin Finch-Fletchley.

That summer, I rented a seaside cottage on a small island. I had been inspired to do so by Bill and Fleur Weasley's Shell Cottage, where I had enjoyed a week-long sojourn.

But my cottage differed from Shell Cottage in that it was dwarfed by a neighboring mansion. To my annoyance, Malfoy Manor loomed over my dwelling. I had not spoken with Malfoy since the Last Battle against Voldemort, and I had rather hoped to never do so again.

An attraction my new location was its proximity to Ron and Hermione Weasley, my best friends. They lived right across the bay from me, their house visible on the opposite shore. Hermione's income as an Arithmancy researcher had increased the couple's income, so that Ron could afford a less dilapidated house than the Burrow.

One day, the Weasleys invited me for dinner. I Apparated to Ron and Hermione's front yard. Ron met me at the doorway. Since his Hogwarts years, his gangly figure had broadened out and his red hair had begun to bald.

"Hey, mate," he called. "Come on in."

I followed him into the dining room, where Hermione and Ginny were seated. I waved to Hermione, then nodded awkwardly at Ginny- we had barely interacted since we dated in sixth year. Ginny's cheeks went slightly pink, an echo of the scarlet blush she used to wear in my presence.

"You've you been, Harry?" Hermione inquired.

"Busy," I sighed. "It's hard making a living as an Auror."

"I imagine," Hermione mused. "Everyone would want a glamorous job like that. But you'll find a position- how could the Chosen One not?"

"Hope you're right," I said doubtfully.

"Harry, you must see our little Rosie," Hermione exclaimed.

I was about to reply when Ron said loudly, "I'm going out. Gotta pick up dinner."

Ginny and I nodded. "Don't dawdle," said Ginny. "I'm really hungry."

Hermione lapsed into silence, gaze far off. I doubted that anything I said would reach her.

So I turned to Ginny, unsure of what to say. To my relief, she initiated the conversation.

"I hear you moved," she murmured shyly. "Right next to Malfoy Manor, right? Have you two fought yet?"

Hermione jerked out of her trance. "Malfoy? What Malfoy?"

I opened my mouth to say "obviously Draco" when Ron sauntered in. He was carrying a box of takeout pizza from the local Muggle store.

"Dinner's ready," he announced. "Dig in."

We all complied, and discussion of Malfoy was suspended. As we ate, we talked about news from the Ministry of Magic (Ron worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports).

Tomato sauce dribbled from Ron's mouth, reminding me disturbingly of blood. "Harry, you've got no idea how hard the paperwork is," he grumbled. "Not my thing."

"That's because you're stupid," Hermione snapped. "I find that sort of work effortless."

"Shut up," Ron retorted, breathing heavily. "If you keep acting like such a Perfect Miss Goody Two-Shoes, no one will like y-"

Just then, an owl began arrived at the window. It began to tap the glass with its beak incessantly. A letter dangled from its talons. In the corner of the envelope, I read the words "From Lavender Brown."

"Pigwidgeon Jr.," Ron groaned. "What a troublemaker."
He ran through the door to meet his owl. Hermione chased him out.

"Is something wrong?" I asked Ginny.

She nodded. "Hermione thinks that Ron has a girlfriend in Diagon Alley," she told me in a confidential whisper. "I don't know whether it's true, but I hope it doesn't ruin their relationship."

"But they used to get along so well," I protested. "I mean, they fought at Hogwarts, too. But that was all pretense- they really loved each other."

Ginny shrugged. "People change," she murmured.

I glanced at her. Was Ginny hinting that she had changed, that she no longer loved me? There was no need, though; I already knew.

Ron and Hermione trudged back in.

"I think Pigwidgeon Jr. broke his beak against the window," Hermione remarked in a falsely cheerful voice.

Ron scowled. "Don't act happy about my owl's pain."
The four of us resumed dinner, as though nothing were amiss.

Later that evening, Hermione and I strolled through the Weasleys' gardens. Little lamps lit a winding path between overgrown flower bushes. A gnome darted away from my foot.

"Beautiful place," I commented.

Hermione laughed, though her brown eyes were hard. "Harry, we haven't talked much since you went to Auror School," she said.

"It's too bad," I agreed. "The three of us should hang out more, like we did in old times."

Hermione turned away from me, gazing at the distant seashore. "Ron's busy," she said shortly. "I'm sure he'd rather spend time with…others."

I laid a hand on her shoulder awkwardly, then cleared my throat. "Hermione, I've known you two for fifteen years. And from what I saw, Ron loves you. A ton."

Hermione shrugged my hand away. "I must go inside. I have new runes to research."

She stalked away, extinguishing the lamps with a flourish of her wand.

…

I Apparated back to my own yard. Darkness had fallen. As I crossed the sidewalk toward the house, I perceived Malfoy's silhouette in the distance. He was staring across the bay, silvery green robes billowing in the ocean breeze.

I should get over my childhood prejudice and talk to him, I decided.

His pale, thin hand reached toward the opposite shore. His icy eyes held such potent intensity that I felt it best not to intrude.

I followed the direction of his gaze, expecting to witness some work of Dark Magic. But all I saw was a tiny, blue flame on the opposite shore.

I turned back to Malfoy, but he had Apparated away.

…

AN: So that I'm not accused of plagiarism, the first two paragraphs are nearly direct quotes from The Great Gatsby and HP. Otherwise, the writing is my own.

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