All characters, places, and things from the Harry Potter series are the property of J.K. Rowling. No infringement is implied.

Five years after the end of the war with Voldemort, Harry Potter moves in one story above an embittered and spurned old schoolmate. Through their interactions, they learn that forgiveness comes in more forms than one.

Edited Version Posted: 8/03/07

Eyes of a Child
Chapter One: Win Some, Loose Some

There is a small, unobtrusive shop in downtown Diagon Alley called Markeley's Magical Maintenance. This shop has seen a large surge in business in the last few years following the climactic end of the terrible war. All manner of wizards were calling on the expertise of the man who was named in the shop's over-the-door sign, needing their magical objects fixed. Much had been during the terrible hostilities preceding You-Know-Who's death, and now, while scars were forming and memories becoming nothing more than dark dreams, everyone wanted their possessions repaired.

Dominic Markeley was a man blessed by copious amounts of common sense, and had been expecting such a result once the war had ended. He was good with his hands, unlike many wizards who relied too heavily on their wands. Dominic found that fixing things came easily to him, if he put his mind to it, and the profit he turned was enough to rent a satisfactory Muggle-owned flat twelve blocks down from the Leaky Cauldron.

He worked enough to tire himself out each night, and his exhaustion drove away the nightmares that had come to haunt him during You-Know-Who's reign. He was short-tempered with his assistant and anyone else who dared utter more than four sentences to him; he preferred the quiet. He was slender, shorter than the average wizard, and despite the occasion or place, he always dressed with good taste. Dominic had no friends of which to speak, nor did he make any effort to make any. He declined every offer from would-be admirers who had appreciated his fair hair, fit physique, and his slate-colored eyes. He kept to himself; he was happier that way.

So, when a knock came on his door one Tuesday night, Dominic didn't immediately jump up and rush to the door. If only the Cruciatus Curse was legal, he thought sourly. With a long-suffering sigh, he set his coffee mug down on a coaster, and placed his bookmark where he had been reading before the interruption. He moved to the door and looked out the spy hole for his visitor.

No one was there.

Dominic grumbled a little to himself, cursing the Muggle children down the hall for playing Ding-Dong-Ditch so late in the evening. However, he had only gotten as far as his arm chair when the muffled knock came again. Swearing, Dominic sprinted to the door and yanked it open, intent on catching the brats in their little game and giving them the scare of their lives.

"Hi."

Dominic stared down in surprise at the little strawberry-blonde boy standing at his door. He couldn't be older than two, and was shifting shyly from one foot to the other. The picture of innocence, the boy wore an oversized blue jumper and scuffed-up sneakers. There was a smattering of freckles that dotted the bridge of his nose, but the most distinctive feature about the boy was his wide green eyes, which were currently studying Dominic curiously.

"You don't live here."

"Pardon me?" Dominic knelt to be level with the boy, who was still watching him intently. Dominic lifted one eyebrow and the toddler ducked his chin, not seeming to want to meet Dominic's eyes.

"My daddy lives here." The kid popped his thumb into his mouth after this declaration, and continued to speak around the digit. "Daddy said t'remember fwird fwoor, second door t'the wight."

Dominic took a moment to translate. "You said third floor, second door to the right? This is the second floor."

It took the boy a moment of two to process the information, but when he had, his eyes widened in horror and began to fill with tears. Dominic bit back another swearword at the sight, and hastily tried to placate him. "Shh, it's okay, I'll take you up there. It's fine." When the sniffles didn't stop, Dominic sighed. So much for finishing my book tonight. "What's your name?"

The toddler seemed too distressed to answer, hiccoughing a little as his tears continued to pour down his plump little cheeks. Dominic rubbed at his face with the palm of one hand. Fan-fucking-tastic. When will Muggles learn to tether their children…? Put on a collar on the brats, at the very least... He ran his fingers through his hair, surveying the child in front of him with thinly-veiled distaste. Snotty little beast, liquid pouring from every nasty little orifice… He looked vainly up and down the hallway, as if by willpower alone he could summon the boy's parents to come and rid him of the responsibility of taking care of the weeping toddler. When no one came, Dominic reluctantly addressed the boy again. "Okay, I'll take you up.

He stood up and pulled his apartment door shut behind him. Dominic hadn't taken two steps toward the lift when the toddler hastily grabbed his hand. Dominic groaned inwardly after realizing that he held the hand whose thumb had recently been inside the boy's mouth.

The little boy remained mute the entire elevator ride, and once the doors slid open he dropped Dominic's hand and ran to the second door on the right-hand side of the dimly lit hallway. No sooner had the boy rapped his tiny knuckles against the wood did the door snap open, to Dominic's abject horror and shock, to reveal none other than Harry Potter.

A very frantic-looking Harry Potter, Dominic noted. His hair, though usually untamable-looking in all of the Prophet pictures, stood on end as if he had run his fingers through it in agitation. Upon seeing the boy standing at the door, Harry dropped to his knees and pulled him into a bear hug.

"Dhugal Albus Potter, if you ever wander off again I swear I'll…!" He didn't finish, opting instead to squeeze the boy tighter still. Finally he looked up at Dominic, who had been edging away toward the lift. The words of gratitude died on Harry's lips, his eyes going wide in recognition, and Dominic's heart sank in his chest.

"Malfoy…?"

Fuck me, what luck. He managed a wan, tight smile. "Hello, Potter."

Potter was looking at Draco with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, his arms still wrapped around his son. "Well, er, thanks for bringing Dhugal back."

Draco nodded shortly, and made as if to turn back toward the lift. Harry's voice stopped him. "D'you want to step inside for tea?"

Do you want to stick your hand inside a dragon's arse? Draco forced his face into a semblance of a smile. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

The child had finally stopped blubbering and was staring at Draco in a reproachful manner, pushing himself free of his father's protective arms. Dhugal, was it? Draco's lip twitched in amusement at the thought of the odd name. Ten Galleons says Potter was drunk when he agreed to that name. Either that or his taste in baby names is as repulsive as his taste in clothing. The toddler waddled toward Draco and seized his hand again, now less shy in the presence of his father.

"I wanna show you my broomsticks." His voice was still soft, almost timid.

Draco stared down at Dhugal, who was tugging resolutely at his fingers, and suppressed another sigh. Oh, fuck. There was no non-violent escape from the situation that Draco could see, and he allowed himself to be tugged inside.

Never in his wildest dreams (or in his darkest nightmares) had Draco Malfoy imagined that he would end up sitting in complete unease in Harry Potter's living room, with Harry Potter's son sitting on the floor in front of him, showing Draco every single piece in his toy race car and miniature Quidditch broom collection. Potter himself had gone to put a kettle on, temporarily leaving Draco to the mercy of his son.

He let his eyes wander around the small room. It was the same layout as his apartment one floor below, but Potter's belongings were strewn around the apartment in a manner completely foreign to Draco's neat, tidy space. There was little artwork hanging on the walls, aside from a moving photograph of what Draco assumed to be Potter's parents and a messy crayon drawing undoubtedly done by Dhugal. By the radiator in the corner, Draco noticed, was a map of Ireland. One small, glowing red pin had been pushed through the paper on the western shore of the island, and below the map there was a Muggle photograph that Draco couldn't quite make out; he was certain it was a red-headed woman standing by an immense stretch of ocean.

A clattering noise issued from the kitchen, bringing Draco back to the problem at hand. He had no idea what he would say to the famous Boy-Who-Lived; he had spent the last few years avoiding all thoughts about all of his old classmates. Yes, I've been running a repair shop under an alias, and no, I don't know who's ahead in the Quidditch World League. Draco thought sourly. And hadn't he read, before he had stopped getting the Daily Prophet, that Potter had been accepted as an Auror? Maybe the Ministry had decided to reopen his case, thinking that his proclaimed neutrality had just been a cover for his real allegiance to the Dark Lord. Perhaps Potter was going to tie him to a chair and cut off his fingertips for information. As Dhugal held up a toy-sized Momentum 4500 broomstick for his inspection, Draco dismissed the thought of coercion and torture immediately. Potter was a Gryffindor; causing another man immense pain in front of a child was certainly not routine behavior for the honorable kiss-ups.

Not to mention the testimony Potter had given at Draco's trial. Draco's insides churned a little in shame; he tried not to think about what had happened on that particular day. It had only been Potter's word of his innocence in Albus Dumbledore's actual murder that had kept him out of Azkaban. He supposed he ought to feel grateful, but hearing his biggest rival's rendition of the events that had transpired on the top of the Astronomy Tower that night (with extra emphasis on Draco's terrified confession about the Dark Lord's coercion) wasn't something Draco was likely to ever forget, no matter how hard he tried.

"Berry & Rudd's or peppermint?"

Draco looked up, startled out of his preoccupied silence. "Er… peppermint, please."

Potter nodded and retreated into the kitchen. Draco sat back, watching Dhugal as the boy made a hot rod and a Firebolt race around a wooden coffee table. What surprised Draco the most about seeing Potter out of the blue was that he had chosen to live here, in a Muggle apartment. Indeed, the savior of the known world had never had exquisite taste (Draco couldn't help but smirk a little at the memories of Potter dressed in clothes sized for an elephant) but this certainly wasn't a choice destination for people with money. Draco himself only lived here because his father's assets had been seized by the Ministry the moment his parents had been convicted. Even the trust fund his father had prepared for him hadn't survived the Ministry's purge; even though the Ministry had excused their actions under the label of 'tax reasons,' Draco knew he was just being punished for the deeds associated with the Malfoy name.

Another puzzling thing about Potter's choice of living conditions was the lack of other wizards. Draco knew that the rest of the building was inhabited by Muggles, which had been a deciding factor in his choice to make it his home. He couldn't imagine why Potter of all people would want to live isolated from the Wizarding World. Last week, when Draco had heard that a new tenant was moving in, he hadn't even bothered to check if the person was magical or not; he had assumed that it was another Muggle.

Potter came back into the living room directing the three cups and saucers he was levitating with his wand. He sent two floating to the coffee table with a casual flick of his hand, (Draco winced a little for the wood; not a coaster in sight) and Dhugal plucked the third cup, full of plain chocolate milk, from the air.

"Cheers," Potter raised the cup in Draco's direction before taking a sip. "Thank you again for returning my son."

Dhugal giggled a little into his chocolate milk, and Potter sent him a warning glance that immediately silenced the boy. Instead, he started to gulp his milk until the final drops were gone. Picking up his toys, Dhugal waddled from the room unceremoniously.

"He's… cute." Draco offered, unnerved a little by the silence that fell into the pre-made gap between the two of them. Potter, though he usually had nothing interesting to say, was quite verbose in Draco's memory.

"Yes. Don't think he doesn't know it," Potter sighed. He took another sip. "He's not three years old and he's already a magnet for women. I shudder to think how I'll handle him as a teen."

Another awkward silence followed, broken only by the gentle ceramic chinks of cups hitting saucers. Then, with the same blunt manner that Draco remembered, Potter spoke. "Everyone thinks you're dead."

Ah. They had arrived to that conversation.

"You must have known that."

Potter was bright as ever, too. Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course."

"How have you been able to stay under the Ministry's radar?" The inflection in Potter's voice seemed to imply How have you been able to stay under my radar?

"Why, have you been looking for me?" Draco knew that Potter had understood that his pronoun use had been directed solely at him and not as a blanket term for the entire Ministry.

"Actually, I have," Potter took another sip of tea. "I was assigned to your case."

Surprise, surprise. Boy Who Lived looking for Boy Who Betrayed. How very poetic.

Draco took a dainty sip from his cup, wishing that his host would have remembered to ask if he wanted sugar or not. "You do fantastic work." Draco smirked again; at this comment Potter had frowned, visibly biting his lip to keep from retorting. Draco had almost forgotten how much fun it was to bait the Gryffindor. Potter spoke once he had regained composure. "We looked for you for months before I was reassigned. You just vanished off the face of the earth, and Greg thought that meant-"

"Greg? As in Gregory Goyle?"

Potter nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Hm." Draco set his cup back on the saucer, sitting back a little. He had always known that Goyle wasn't as slow as he pretended to be; that had become blatantly apparent when he had been honored as a successful spy for the Order of the Phoenix after the war. Draco knew, along with every Slytherin, the importance of self-preservation; Goyle had perfected the act of stupid side-kick to protect himself, and Draco had never questioned that act. However, it was still strange to hear that his old friend was working with Harry Potter and the Ministry to find him. Draco wasn't a fool; he knew that by declaring himself neutral he had made himself an enemy to both sides, but he still was disheartened to think that Goyle was trying to keep tabs on him. "Go on."

"Well, there's not much to it after that. We were looking for you more for your own protection… Greg said that you usually confided even your most secret plans to someone, but since no one knew where you were we assumed you were…" Potter broke off again, looking even more uncomfortable.

"Systematically murdered by the families of my father's victims?" Draco said conversationally. He took another sip of tea, more for an excuse not to look at the man sitting across from him than an actual thirst for the stuff.

"Basically." Potter's voice took on a professional edge. "But here you are." Potter's eyes were on him, burning with curiosity. Ah, another trait Draco remembered. Meddlesome to a fault.

"Here I am," Draco repeated slowly. Another sip, another pause. "I looked through the names of the other tenants when I was considering moving here," Potter said. "You weren't listed, obviously…"

"I'm Dominic Markeley, now, to most. I used to have an uncle named Dominic," Draco said lightly. "He taught me how to fence when I was younger. And there's no reason for Markeley other than it was the first name in the list of 'M' surnames at the library." He stood up, setting his tea on the coffee table. "Thank you for the tea. Give my regards to your wife when she returns."

Draco had assumed that the presence of a child meant the presence of a mother. What he hadn't been expecting was Potter to set down his tea cup, face expressionless, and say "No need… it's just me and Dhugal."

Draco had thought that there would be little to 'catch up' about when Potter had invited him in, but as he left, he found that he was actually burning with questions. He retreated to his own apartment and went straight to bed, but couldn't sleep. Instead, he found himself lying awake staring at the ceiling, wondering if Potter was laying just one floor above him, thinking about Draco.

End Chapter

Hi all. Hope you enjoyed the first installment of my fic! Let me know how you felt about it, via the little blue button at the bottom of the page.

Many thanks, and cheers,
Pen