NOW
The day was cold and solemn. Rain beat against the windows of a small flat that overlooked the river. Draco sat by himself, looking around the bedroom he once shared with Harry. Five years they had lived together. Five years they laughed and wept, loved and feared, fought and dreamed, and now Harry was gone. He was gone like a flash of lightning, gone like the last rays of a summer sun, and the sudden finality of Harry's absence left Draco stunned.
Everything seemed so empty now. All of Harry's possessions were gone, giving the room an erey, half-finished quality. A strand of Harry's black hair still clung to what had been his pillow, and Draco plucked it carefully. Just as carefully, he placed it in a small leather pouch he wore about his neck beneath his robes. A thumbnail-sized portrait of Harry was kept there, along with half of a smooth shell Draco had found on one of their trips to the seaside. Harry kept the other half,Draco knew.
At last, he stood, walking to the livingroom. Too many memories haunted the bedroom, and Draco thought perhaps he could maintain some measure of sanity by remaining in the livingroom for a long while. He thought wrong. Harry's favorite sweater lay forgotten on one of the hard-backed chairs in the livingroom's adjoining kitchen. A cold cup of coffee and an open coppy of The Dailly Proffit also served as a testament to Harry's having been at the round kitchen table only hours ago.
Any moment now, some part of Draco's mind knew Harry would walk back through the front door. Harry would apologize and say he never should have left, that his place was here. Draco would apologize too, no matter how against his nature it was, and say that it was his own damn fault for driving Harry to leave their home in the first place. They would make love like it was the first time and never never fight again. But Harry did not come back. Moments turned into minutes and minutes to hours. On a wall across from the front door, a clock ticked on dismally, propelling its hands along in their slow and endless race.
The doorbell rang, and Draco slowly walked to answer it. Damn! If only the curtins were shut! Then, Draco could pretend he was not home and the visitor would go away. It wasn't Harry. Harry had a key, and anyone who would require the use of a doorbell was not worth Draco's time. He unlocked the bottom lock, slid back the deadbolt, inched the door open, and froze.
"Father?"
Lucius Malfoy stood just beyond the threashhold against the dark blue backdrop of the night sky. "Draco," he responded. "May I come in?"
Feelings rose and fought in him. Embarrassment. This little flat was far different from the magestic manor usually associated with a Malfoy. Anger. When Draco finally got up the nerve to come out with his and Harry's relationship, Father had disowned him. Now, when it was convenient, now, when Harry was gone, Father wanted something to do with his son again. Relief. Even Father's company was better than the empty loneliness Harry left behind. Now that Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaze were no longer speaking to him or he to them, he had nobody. Self hatred. Draco had promised! He had promised Harry he would have nothing more to do with his family, and now here he was seriously considering allowing Father entrance to what had been their home.
"Fine," Draco said at last, giving Father his best bored expression. "Make it quick." Maybe if he was mean to Father, Harry wouldn't mind? Maybe?
Lucius stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. "Draco," he said softly "I heard about you and Potter."
"I thought as much," Draco said dryly. "Now what do you want?"
"I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss, son."
"Oh," Draco said, shrugging "so now I'm your son again? Now that I'm not with Harry, is that it? I know you're not sorry for my loss, Father, and in any case, it doesn't matter. Harry will be back."
"I hope so," Lucius said "for your sake. No Draco, I don't like Potter. I've never liked him, and I never made that a secret. If he made you happy, then I hope his return is swift, but do you know what I think?"
"I don't," Draco said defiantly, unable to meet his father's frank gaze "but I'm sure you'll tell me."
"Do you not want me to tell you, Draco?" Lucius asked. "Because I won't. I know I've always pushed my opinions on you. I know that's what drove you away, so I'll not do it again. You have my word."
"What do you want?" Draco asked again. "You are wasting my time."
"Draco, I want you to come home. Wait. Before you protest as I know you want to, hear me out. Malfoy Manor is a big place. If you don't want to, you don't even have to see your mother or me, but come home. You're all alone here. I'm worried."
"You've never been one for such sentiments," Draco said coldly. "You want me home because it would look well on you in front of all your former DeathEater friends. Leave me!"
"If that's what you want, then I will go. Is it?"
"Of course it is!" Draco said, annoyed. "If it wasn't, I wouldn't have told you to, would I?"
"I want to hear you say it," Lucius told him. "I want you to look into my eyes and say 'I want you to leave' so I know it is the truth. Can you do that?"
"Fine!" Draco said heatedly, lifting his eyes from the carpeted floor. "I want -- I want you to -- You should leave now!"
"You can't," Lucius said softly "can you? Come home, Draco." Lucius closed the distance between them, took hold of his son by the shoulders, and disapperated.
"How dare you?" Draco said indignantly when they appeared in the entryway of Malfoy Manor.
"If you want to," Lucius said calmly "you can apperate back to your flat. I can't stop you, you know. You're a grown man now."
Draco was furious, but Merlin, how relieved he was! This wasn't his fault. Father had forced him, dragged him here against his will. Now, Harry wouldn't be mad at him for it. How tired he was of Harry always being mad at him for one thing or another. Oh why couldn't he ever be good enough! No matter what Draco did, Harry always found some source of displeasure. This was not Harry's fault, Draco knew. It was his own fault for being too needy, too distant, too lazy, too involved in work, not attentive enough, not social enough, too happy, too sad, too angry, too void of emotion, not involved enough with the baby, too pushy, and not assertive enough.
"I'm already here," Draco said, looking about him at all the polished surfaces, fountains and statuary he had missed. "But as soon as you do something to make me angry or say something spiteful about Harry, I'm gone. That won't take long., I'm sure."
"We'll see about that, won't we?" Lucius chuckled. "Draco, do you want me to give you your privacy, or will you come talk with me in my study?"
Privacy? That was the last thing Draco wanted right now! But how could he explain going willingly with his father to Harry if he ever returned? Maybe he could say that he talked with his father in an attempt to clear Harry's name. Harry would like that, wouldn't he? Of course he would!
"Draco?" Lucius asked, concerned. "What is it? You look troubled."
"Troubled?" Draco shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Wouldn't you be troubled if somebody took you somewhere against your will? Sure. I'll talk with you until you say something idiotic."
"Very well then," Lucius conceded, walking in the direction of his study. Draco followed in silence, ignoring the stares of the house elves, portraits, and servants as he passed.
Entering the familiar room, Draco sat in a chair across from his father. "Tea?" Lucius asked.
"Fine," Draco said, looking everywhere at once. How filled with memories this room was. When he was a boy, Draco would spend hours here, watching his father work. Sometimes, when Father was not feeling particularly cross, the two of them would paint and color together. As Draco grew older, Father's study became a place for serious talks. Father never hit him here, nor did he yell or hex him. Hitting, yelling, and hexing were reserved for the Red Parlor. Here, they talked about grades, dating, Quidditch, friends, and other things. Here was where Draco told Father he was gay with Harry. As usual, Lucius did not hurt him here. Instead, he took the discussion to the Red Parlor.
With a flick of his wand, Lucius set the tea things to prepare themselves. Two hot cups of tea floated to the desk, setting themselves in front of each man. "Now," Lucius said, stirring sugar into his tea. "Let's talk about Potter."
"Harry?" Draco asked, also stirring. "What about him?"
"Everything," Lucius replied. "I know how you met, but how in Merlin's name did you, -- that is, --" Lucius searched for a politically correct way to phrase the question.
"Do you mean how did we get together?" Draco asked.
"Right."
Draco looked reflectively into his tea. Should he tell Father everything? If he did, could Harry ever forgive him? Was he even worth forgiveness? Was he even worth anything?
Lucius wiped a tear from his son's cheek with a gentle hand, and Draco flinched instinctively. "Draco," Lucius said gently "tell me everything. Tell me about you and your -- Harry."
Harry? Did Father just call him Harry? Draco set his tea cup on the table, folded his hands and began the long tale that would eventually lead to the present, to the end of something.
