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After the War
"Hey." His best friend murmured, her hand on his arm. He brought his attention back to the bushy-haired woman. "I know things seem rough, but they will get better."
The man scratched his unruly hair and fixed his face with a half-smile. "Thanks, 'Mione. I'm fine, really. I just need… some time…" He finished lamely, looking across his kitchen table over a stack of documents.
"You know I'm always here if you need me." She said, looking blindly into the dark stove behind Harry. In fact, she really wasn't always there if he needed her, but neither one mentioned it. Finally, it was Harry that had to bring his friend back to the conversation.
"Don't worry about me, okay? I know this hasn't been easy for you either. Take care of yourself. I promise I'll be fine." He squeezed her hand, attempting reassurance.
"Just fireplace me if you need to, yeah?" Hermione squeezed back, a grateful smile on her face as she packed away the documents into a beige-colored messenger bag. She had always been the most practical of the three – simplicity and organization were her strong points. Perhaps that's way it was she Ginny requested to deliver the papers. Or maybe it was that Hermione was the only one who would still see him. Harry nodded to his best friend and stood to escort her to the doorway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
"I would tell you to say 'hi' to Ron for me, but…" Harry tried a light laugh, which was only returned with a strained smile. It was still too soon.
"Bye, Harry." She pulled her messenger bag over her shoulder and apparated away, leaving Harry to his loneliness.
It had been three months since their separation, but today was the final day of their battle. The Potters had finally achieved their divorce. Harry slumped down in an old dusty armchair that had held many previous Blacks. In the solitude of the grungy, dark house, Harry was left to his own devices. He thought back to the time just after the war had ended.
It was a dark part of history for Harry, though to no one else. The wizarding world was in a constant state of celebration, which left Harry as a sort of celebrity. Unfortunately, that meant he never got a moment alone. Whenever he wasn't in the papers, he was busy signing autographs and taking pictures. He was immediately catapulted into Auror training, which was perfect for keeping his mind off the actions of the previous year except for the constant bereavement from his coworkers. It was all so tiring. He eventually learned to numb his mind and go through the motions of what the public and even those close to him expected of him – especially Ginny.
Harry believed he truly was in love with Ginny. After her seventh year, it seemed perfectly sensible to immediately move in together. The next step was the proposal, which was inevitable, and then their marriage half a year later.
The raven-haired man shook his head at the memories of their time together. He remembered Ginny on their wedding day as if it were yesterday. Ron was his best man and Hermione her maid of honor. He still couldn't tell if it was real or just the life he imagined he should have established after Voldemort's defeat. It felt like such a life time away, though it had only been a couple of years before.
Since they split, Harry felt a constant stream of guilt at the back of his mind. He had guilt for not realizing the emptiness until sooner. For breaking the heart of the woman he supposedly loved. For angering and estranging his best mate in the world. And he had guilt for tearing his own world apart.
Ever since he became an Auror it was just submersion in his work that kept him going. Most of his work was still consumed with chasing and imprisoning the last of Voldemort's followers, which seemed a good enough reason to go on at the time. As his marriage ended and time slowed, it seems the reasons were becoming less and less.
He went to work, came home, went to sleep, went to work, came home, went to sleep… Off days were torturous, sitting around Grimmauld Place like an old man and racking his brain for things to do.
Ron had all but forbidden Hermione from seeing Harry, so even his friendships couldn't save him. Naturally, every one had taken Ginny's side, leaving Harry with almost no one but himself. There were a few people here and there, but no one like a best friend.
He threw a pillow from the armchair against the wall in a sudden fit of rage, causing a cloud of dust to permeate the room. The lonely man then leapt from his chair and stomped up the stairs to his room, trailing dust after him.
Laying in bed he pulled out an old magazine from the bedside table, sliding his hands into his sweatpants as he peered at some of his nightly friends – a few witches wearing only their cheesy pointed hats while perching on brooms in compromising poses.
Work was slower than usual the next day, with Aurors mostly pitter-pattering around the office doing various reports and paperwork. Some of the Aurors had their own offices, but Harry spent his workdays sharing an office with an old school friend. He had spent the last hour staring at what seemed to be the same line over and over again.
"Harry, if you don't stop that, I'm going to have to petrify you." Dean Thomas glared, annoyed at Harry's tapping wand. His old peer had stayed the same between the years.
"Sorry, mate." Harry said quietly, setting his wand down and picking up a quill, forcing his mind to focus. The words seemed to blur the harder he tried to look at them.
His fellow Auror rolled his eyes and tossed a folder at him. "If you don't get out of here, you'll drive us all mad. Those are some errands I had to do today. Just some checkups on the Residents."
Harry breathed out gratefully. "Oh, Merlin. I was going to implode one more second sitting here." The antsy man hitched the folder under his arm, grabbed his wand and headed out eagerly. "I owe you one, Dean!" He yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway.
This work wasn't exactly the most exciting, but it was work outside of the incredibly dull ministry and required a somewhat busy mind. He visited countless Death Eaters that were, for whatever reason, not in the newly built Wizard jail. Tabs were kept just to ensure safety of the Wizarding community, or in some cases, even the Muggle world. They were all put on house arrest until proven either innocent or guilty. In the beginning, Aurors were visiting these confined individuals daily, but as the years went on, they continued to check in monthly.
It was in the midst of his rounds that Harry Potter found himself at the gates of Malfoy Manor. Although many years had passed and Harry no longer had a reason to hate Draco Malfoy, he still found the hairs on the back of his neck prickle at the thought of the blonde.
Malfoy Manor certainly wasn't a place he'd ever cared to return to and he hadn't even seen Draco Malfoy since his trial just after the war had ended. Harry had spoken on behalf of his enemy to the Wizengamot, convincing him that Draco had actually helped in the fight against Voldemort. That he had in fact saved Harry's life.
The Boy Who Lived swallowed back a lump in his throat and rang the gate's bell. It took a few agonizing moments, but the gates finally opened, allowing Harry to enter the dark and looming estate.
As Harry was escorted into one of the assured many sitting rooms at the estate, he was greeted with the all too familiar sneer Malfoy used in their school years. His pale face shone out against the green-clad room. He wore a crisp suit and crossed his legs, always the image of propriety. "Potter." Malfoy's malicious voice called, beckoning him into the room.
Harry grimaced. "Nice to see you, too, Malfoy."
The platinum blonde's sneer increased as he gestured to the armchair opposite him. "How long has it been for us Potter?" He addressed his old classmate as if they were old friends, but Harry could still hear the underlying contempt.
"Oh, about four and a half years, I presume." The Auror sat uncomfortably on the green leather, the old furniture creaking as leather does.
"That's all? Feels like a lifetime..." Long pale fingers stroke his pointed chin as Draco Malfoy stared dazedly into the black marble floor.
"You know why I'm here." Harry stated, growing more uncomfortable as time passed. Just being in the house brought back unwanted memories. It was a lucky thing Malfoy had chosen a room that he had never been in before, but the house still projected the same feelings he had when he was seventeen.
"Well, as I can assume you're not here on a social call due to those ghastly red robes and ugly grimace, you are here to carry out my monthly check up." The boy Harry once knew had changed drastically since just after the war. His face had filled out and while still being the thin pale face he always had, he had grown a hard exoskeleton. He was no longer just a git and had transformed into just another bitter man beyond his years.
"Well, you're free to rape my house again, if you like. In fact, there are a few family heirlooms I believe you haven't plundered yet. There's one now." Draco stood suddenly, fire burning in his eyes as he crossed the room to a portrait behind Harry. On it was a man that looked very Malfoy with light blonde locks and the matching sneer. "This is my great-grandfather, Titus. I'm certain you'll take him next? Burn him for suspicion of being a conspirator against the Ministry?" The man in the frame looked horrified. "How about that chair you're sitting on? I'm almost certain I heard it plotting against Kingsley Shacklebolt." Malfoy was pointing at the chair, wild eyes flashing. "You had better take it away too, before it brings Voldemort back from the dead. You never know with armchairs… Nasty little buggers."
"Malfoy…" Harry tried to interrupt.
"Please, I know you've been through every room in the manor about a thousand times by now, but since the last time one of you were here, I might have gathered a legion of the undead to do my bidding. If you don't stop my pure evil will you may end up with a truly devastating outcome. The Ministry against me, well, we are all aware of how that will end up. You might as well cut your losses and just send me back to Zatvor now before I do something really terrible."
"Please sit, Mr. Malfoy and hold your tongue." Harry used his most commanding Auror tone to stop Draco's outbursts.
A muscle jumped in his jaw, but the maddened man sat anyways.
"I'm sure that you're aware that I have to report this to my department." Harry frowned as he watched Malfoy deflate back into the armchair, a once so poised man into a small sad one.
"Yes, of course." The deflated man nodded, slumping further into the chair. "Draco Malfoy, gone mad at the ripe old age of twenty-four. They public will eat it up." A piece of blonde fell into the other's face. His eyes were cast downward as the painful thought of staying for yet another month washed itself over him. The two sat in silence as Harry began to feel a surprising kinship for his enemy. They were both trapped. They could both see no way to be finished with the everlasting torment of dormancy.
Harry sighed. "Why did you lie?"
Draco glanced up, surprised. "Lie?"
Harry shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. They would have let you go. You didn't have to lie about joining Voldemort. You had no choice. Everyone would have understood… what with your father…"
"You don't know anything." Draco gritted his teeth, passion back in his eyes. His voice grew hard and gritty. "Don't presume you knew my father."
Harry clamped his jaw shut, bewilderment written all over his face.
Draco simply looked away as Harry matched his eyes. "Please leave."
"I haven't finished…" Harry argued petulantly.
"You have enough to write in your report. I'm certain I've deserved whatever is coming to me. You may leave, if you will." Draco said quietly, standing abruptly and leaving the room without another word.
And with a "pop" Harry Potter left.