Title: Somewhere Only We Know
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, HP/DM
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry discovers a secluded pavilion near the Forbidden Forest shortly after the conclusion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and uses it as his place to get away from life. What will happen when he finds someone else at his pavilion?
Disclaimer: As much as it pains me to admit it, I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, so anything you recognise is not mine. They were created by the fabulous J.K. Rowling.
Prologue
Harry stepped out of the fireplace and dusted the floo powder off of his robes. As he waited for Ron and Hermione to join him, he glanced around the Headmistress's office. It was one of the few rooms in Hogwarts that hadn't been damaged in some way during the war, but it still looked like it had been renovated all the same. All of Dumbledore's knick-knacks were gone, making the office look extremely simple and boring. Bookshelves and previous headmaster's photos lined the walls but aside from a tartan biscuit tin on the desk, the rest of the office was bare. His eyes moved along the wall and came to rest on the sleeping portrait of Dumbledore. He wasn't aware there were tears in his eyes until Hermione grasped his hand and spoke.
"We miss him, too," she said softly. He gave a small smile in response. Even though it had been two years since his death, the former Gryffindor was still finding it hard to get over.
"Mr Potter," came a voice from behind. "Mr and Mrs Weasley." All three turned and saw Professor McGonagall standing behind them, a large smile adorning her face. "It's been far too long."
It had only been six weeks since they had seen her at Ron and Hermione's wedding, but considering they spent the six months after the war meeting numerous times a month to help with the plans to re-build Hogwarts, it had been too long since they'd spent any significant amount of time together.
"Are you ready for this?" Harry asked, as he gave his old Professor a hug.
She laughed. "For everything to continue the way it's always been? Of course!" She went and sat behind her desk. "The only difference is now I can get to the staff lounge without having to travel up four flights of stairs and back down to bypass rubble."
Although the school had been badly damaged during the battle at Hogwarts, now two years ago, school had started back up the next September, as it always did. The Professors had worked hard over the summers making small repairs to classrooms and dorm rooms so lessons could resume. Harry imagined it helped take some of their minds off the deaths and despair that had happened on the grounds. Many of them had fought during the first war, but the battle at Hogwarts during the second war hit too close to home, literally.
Several months after the school-year began, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, along with many other former students, had been invited to assist with the planning and re-building of the school. Harry had been participating via owl and private meetings with Professor McGonagall, Ron, and Hermione. He desperately wanted to see his old schoolmates, but he wanted to sort through some things first. Today was the grand re-opening, but it was also the first anniversary of the end of the war which was the only reason Harry was here. Although there was a chance someone could have caught wind of the fact that he was assisting with the rebuilding of the school he had gone to extremes to stay out of the limelight since the end of the war.
A Patisserie in Diagon Alley was owned by a Mr Henry Porter, a man without a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, or any immediately recognisable features for that matter. Henry could work making pastries and sweets all day and have normal conversations with people that were not interested in his life what-so-ever beyond what happened at the shop. As soon as the day was finished, Mr Porter would go back to his flat above the patisserie, remove his glamour, and occasionally stare at the scar that marred his forehead.
"We got here a bit early so we could have a look around," Ron explained. "If that's alright," he added hastily.
"Of course, of course," McGonagall responded as she noisily rummaged through a desk drawer. "You lot are welcome here anytime." Straightening up, she looked at Harry and continued. "Don't forget my offer, Mr Potter."
Out of the corner of his eye his saw Hermione give him a questioning glance. "Thank you Professor, but I'm happy where I am." She nodded. Harry put his glamour into place and the trio left the office, intent on seeing all of the changes that had been made to their old school.
As they made their way down the spiralling staircase, Hermione asked what Professor McGonagall had offered. Harry hesitated, not sure he wanted to tell them. It wasn't that he didn't want them to know but he didn't want them to talk him into it. After a few moments he decided just to go ahead and tell them, figuring she would find a way to get it out of him at some point.
"She's offered me the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," he volunteers. "But as I'm sure you've already guessed, I didn't take it."
Hermione nodded in understanding, but Ron's mouth fell open, "Why not?", he all but yelled.
Harry shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I like being invisible; people not knowing or caring who I am. People can't see past my scar," he said angrily, pointing to his forehead. "I never wanted any of that to happen to me; I just want to be normal. Henry Porter is normal," he finished softly.
"I know, mate," the red-head responded. "It would be a great opportunity for you, though. You did a great job teaching us all defense during 5th year."
Harry didn't respond. He knew he'd be a good teacher; no, he would be a great teacher. But he just wasn't ready to come back into being the "famous Harry Potter". It wasn't that he was avoiding people, he loved conversing with everyone from day-to-day, but he didn't want any special favours or looks of awe or reporters spying on him trying to get a story. Several months after the war ended, a reporter had planted a device on him that reported back Harry's daily activities. It had not been a dull week, as he spent the majority of his time at the death eater trials, and the article had been rather boring and not telling but it had been the final push he needed to create Henry Porter.
They spent the next hour and a half in relative silence, only speaking when they wanted to make a comment on a new feature. The school looked great, and it was brilliant to see some of the suggestions Harry had contributed actually there. One of his suggestions was that there were signs directing to each of the houses. It had been a long night and it took a lot of convincing, but they'd finally agreed that hiding the houses from one another can't have been helping with house unity. Green eyes stared at the sign pointing towards Slytherin and hoped the students didn't prove him wrong.
Apparently Ron had noticed the sign, too. "Oh!" apparently remembering something. "Malfoy was released from Azkaban yesterday."
Harry's heart stopped. "What did you say?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice, turning to Ron as he spoke. He saw Hermione start at his tone.
"They've released Malfoy from Azkaban," he said woefully. "It's unbelievable, I know. They should've kept the slimy bastard in."
Harry's ears were pounding, and he'd hardly heard Ron repeat himself. The Wizengamot had sentenced Malfoy to six months in Azkaban after reviewing the facts and hearing Harry's testimony. Six months turned into seven, seven into eight, eight into eleven, and then twenty. When asked about it, the Ministry only responded that "sentences could be changed as the Ministry sees fit". But now they had released him. He should've known. But of course he didn't. Ron was an Auror-in-training, privileged to that type of information. It hadn't even been in the Daily Prophet this morning, and he'd spent every morning since the war reading it from cover to cover twice hoping to find out some kind of information. It was only after several moments that he realised Ron had been shaking his shoulder asking him if he was alright and Hermione had an extremely concerned look in his eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he stuttered unconvincingly. "Just…need to use the loo," he finished lamely, and ran off towards the Entrance Hall.
His legs were numb and his breathing was harsh but he had to keep moving. Finally reaching a side door down the first floor corridor, he pushed it open and shot out in a run, thankful he was still wearing his glamour even though he was sure no one would even notice him from so far away. Out of the corner of his eye he could see people walking up the pathway to the Entrance Hall doors, already arriving for the re-opening. It wasn't until he was well inside a covering of trees that he slowed his pace. It had been exactly a year since he'd been here, but he still knew the pathway like the back of his hands. Towards the end of fourth-year, the day after the last task to be exact, he found this place and then continued coming here several nights a week until, well, until he left Hogwarts at the end of sixth year.
His eyes came upon a fallen tree, its branches sticking out in an odd sort of way, almost as if they were looking at him. Climbing over it, making sure not to disturb the branches more than they already have been, he finally sees it – the small wooden pavilion where he spent so many of his final school days.
His heart almost shatters as he notices it's been halfway burnt down. Green eyes follow a path of singed trees which ends in a place further than he can see. He hadn't realised his spot had been damaged. It was surely unintentional but it came as a blow. Dreams about this place had kept Harry going during their search for Horcruxes, and then again after the war. He never imagined it had been impaired in any way. In that moment he felt almost guilty for not coming here sooner.
It's for the second time today that he notices he's crying, and he pulls his sleeve down over his hand and brings it up to wipe at his eyes. He inches towards the half-charred pavilion, and sits on the edge looking out over the lake. Memories come flooding back to him as tears roll down his face. Unsure of how long he'd been sitting there, the sound of twigs breaking alerted him to another presence. Jerking his head around and simultaneously wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, he paled and quickly stood when he saw who it was.
A voice that he wasn't sure he'd ever hear again spoke. "Hello, Harry."
It was several moments before he realised he'd never removed his glamour. Of course he know it's me, he thought, momentarily shocked. This was our place.