"Snapshots of Regret"
//Saturday Morning, Gringotts//
A peal of laughter echoed through the pristine Gringott's hall, drawing even more attention to the dark-haired source than he had already been receiving. Harry Potter leaned into the counter, apparently so deep into his conversation with the goblin receptionist that he was oblivious to all watchers. With a final smile and chuckle, he accepted a small bag from the crooked fingers and turned away. Most of the curious eyes darted sideways as he scanned the hall. He gave no sign that he noticed the staring, simply pocketing the sack and exiting the bank. The silver inner doors closed at his heels.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Malfoy?"
At the goblin's creaky words, Draco blinked back into his abandoned conversation. Not again. He forced his lips into a taut smile. "No, not at all."
The goblin nodded sharply, apparently willing to let the matter rest. "Well, we are done. Thank you for your business, Mr. Malfoy." He closed the dusty ledger and reached under the counter for another one.
"Thank you, Rashrek." Happy to be done, Draco turned so quickly his boot squeaked against the tile. He ignored the undignified sound and strode, cloak ruffling only slightly behind him, along the same path that Harry Potter had took out of the Gringotts lobby.
Potter. The thought was one part frustration, one part annoyance, and one part regret, the emotional concoction directed both to Potter and himself.
//Saturday Morning, Leaky Cauldron//
Draco hadn't taken two steps into the murky main room of the Leaky Cauldron when somebody called his name. Mentally grumbling and pointedly ignoring a few turned heads, he navigated the mess of patrons to the secluded corner where Ginny Weasley sat. The table hosted two chairs, and he gestured to the empty one. "Waiting for somebody?"
The redhead bent to rummage in the bag at her feet. "Yes, but you sit for now. He'll be a while yet."
With a smirk, he obeyed. "New boyfriend? I can threaten him into subservience if you want." He tilted his head to try to see what she was looking for.
Ginny choked and looked up. "No. No, no, no." Her surprise shifted into a smirk of her own. "You can still threaten him, though. Now, shut up, I'm looking for something." She pulled her enormous, blindingly purple purse into her lap to continue the search.
Draco stifled his curiosity and tilted back his chair. He still didn't know for certain why the female Weasley child had decided to befriend him, three years into the post-war euphoria. He had a feeling, however, that it had a great deal to do with her messy split with Potter, followed by the latter's heavily publicized departure from the proverbial closet. He himself had gone along more out of amusement than anything else – not that he would admit to anything as silly as loneliness. They were far from bosom buddies, of course, more like substitutes when nobody else could talk, but they got along without killing each other.
Ginny muttered delightedly to herself and flourished a dark-bound folder. "Dennis has been stalking you," she announced conversationally.
The blond raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Really."
"Oh." He paused for a moment, shuffling through his memory. "Who's Dennis?"
She rolled her eyes. "Dennis Creevey. Two years below me – three years under you at Hogwarts. He's been working as a photographer for Witch Weekly."
"Ah."
She ran her fingers through her bright hair. "I'm surprised you're not freaking out." The folder slid across the table. "Here are the photos."
"Malfoys don't freak out," Draco replied, his tone didactic. "Anyway, it's perfectly understandable. Everyone loves my body." Tugging it closer, he flipped the folder open. The first picture appeared innocent enough, just Draco standing somewhere in a crowd, looking bored. Perhaps following that by a minute or so, the next photo-Draco looked incredibly nervous, his eyes constantly straying to the right.
The remainder showed similar transformations in different times and places. By the end of the set of twelve, Draco caught the connection. Bloody hell. They're all me before and after Potter shows up somewhere! Sure enough, there was a glimpse of dark hair at the edge of the second picture. Bloody, bloody hell, am I that obvious? He closed the folder on his shifty expressions and looked up at Ginny. "May I keep these, or do you have a pressing urge to paste them on your wall?"
Appearing somewhat distracted, she shook her head. "No, it's already too awful looking at you in person without your ugly mug papering my room." Her full attention snapped back to Draco. "My dining buddy's here, by the way, so you can start getting ready for your threatening-into-subservience act."
"I don't need to get ready," he scoffed, lifting his chin. "I can handle—"
A familiar voice interrupted from behind. "Hello, Ginny, Malfoy."
Draco stiffened as Potter shifted into his range of vision. What is he doing here? He's the one Ginny's meeting? He remembered how his eyes had wandered in the photographs and tried his best to avoid looking at the brunet altogether.
It didn't work.
Ginny smiled, her post-breakup anger evidently evaporated. "Hey, Harry. How are you?"
"Fine. I just stopped by Gringotts. Griphook sends love. Well, not really." His lips twitched into a small grin. "I saw you there, Malfoy – how are you doing?" He turned slightly so he was facing the blond.
"Fantastic," Draco deadpanned. Standing, he tucked the folder under one arm and added to Ginny, "I'll be going now, I'll see you around." Merlin's pants, I sound like an idiot! He did his best to ignore his panicked internal voice.
Just as he was stepping away, Potter moved towards the table and their arms collided painfully. Draco's cheeks heated and he severed contact immediately, retreating toward the front door without a backward glance. Once outside, he headed to an empty alley and disapparated away.
//Harrys' POV//
Harry slid into Draco's still-warm chair with a sigh. "What's Malfoy's problem?"
His former girlfriend shrugged. "Perhaps it's the whole war thing. Remember Voldemort, Death Eaters, etcetera?" She heaved her gaudy bag back into her lap.
"That's what I thought at first too, but he's the only one who's gotten more hostile over time. I know I'm missing something, but what?"
"Well, I don't know," Ginny replied, smirking. She slid a black folder from her purse. "But take a look at these pictures and see if you can tell me."
//Saturday Morning, Malfoy Manor//
Draco appeared beside the tall hedge that enclosed the manor. Releasing his pent-up tension, he let his shoulders slump and his head droop. What was I thinking? Freezing up and running away… Malfoys don't run away. He pondered that for a second before laughing softly. I did, though. Bloody coward. He had stopped regretting his wartime choices – there hadn't been many – a few years ago. After all, why dwell on the past when there was so much wrong with the present?
Beginning the walk down the graveled driveway, he continued the train of thought. He could have stayed in the Leaky Cauldron, though, let Potter pull up another chair, talked to him. Let him see that, no, Draco Malfoy was not the bitter, antagonistic idiot that he acted like. Maybe they could have buried the rusted hatchet, agree to meet up again, and again, and again, and then maybe…
But I blew it, just like I always do. I blew it, and Harry Potter still hates me.
//Saturday Afternoon, Malfoy Manor//
A soft knock sounded at his bedroom door. "Draco dear, it's your mother." Narcissa pushed the door ajar. She was dressed casually in a splendid set of emerald robes.
To Draco, they looked enough like Potter's eyes to distract him from the annoyance of her entering without asking. He schooled his face into an expression of benign interest, to replace the downcast eyes and furrowed brow. "Yes?" He tucked the ribbon between the pages of his book and rose from his gray armchair.
"Your father would like you to stop by the Ministry tomorrow and drop off these papers," a small roll of parchment appeared in front of her, "at Carlsyn's office." She flicked her hand and the paper floated nearer to Draco.
He caught and opened it, skimming through the first paragraphs of the elegant script. "Donation to the Auror's department?" He didn't need an answer, and Narcissa didn't give one as he rolled the parchment back up. "Alright, I will," he assured her, unnecessarily, as he walked to his desk and set the scroll down. "Is that all?" Please yes, let me get back to being tragic.
"Yes, except—" she paused, pale eyes softening. "You haven't been acting yourself, recently. Is something wrong?"
Forcing a chuckle, he shook his head. "No, Mother, I'm fine. You always worry too much."
She narrowed her lips but apparently decided to let the subject be. "Perhaps so. Just remember, you can always talk to me if you need to. I love you."
"I love you too," he replied as she closed the door behind her. The words were reflex, but no less heartfelt.
//Flashback to Saturday Morning//
Harry stared at the first photograph in the folder. Draco Malfoy stood in front of the Quidditch shop, talking to a laughing Gregory Goyle. The blond man's hands moved as quickly as his mouth. Harry slid the picture aside to reveal the second, in which Malfoy still stood with Goyle. Now, however, Harry himself studied the window display behind him. Draco's mouth had tightened into a motionless line, reminiscent of Professor McGonagall in a rage, and he stared straight ahead, purposefully avoiding glancing over his shoulder.
He looked up. "Are they all pictures of Draco?" he asked Ginny.
The redhead nodded. "Yes. Since when have you called him Draco?"
"For a while now, so I don't confuse him with his father. Who took these photos? Does he know you have them?"
She rolled her eyes. "I took them. And, do you think he'd let me keep them if he knew?" She leaned closer. "Look through the rest, now."
Shaking his head, Harry closed the folder. "No. I don't want… I couldn't invade his privacy that way." He stood. "I'll give these back to him. I was planning on talking to him soon anyway."
"Why?" Ginny tilted her chin, eyes brightening.
"Oh, nothing," he replied, slipping the folder into a large robe pocket. "I just wanted to talk to him."
//Sunday Morning, Ministry of Magic//
Leave the paper in the file marked Malfoy in my left drawer. Thank you!
Pereus Carlsyn
Draco shifted in the middle of one of several office rooms in the Auror's department, after a good twenty minutes searching for Carlsyn's new desk. By a stroke of fortune, good or bad, the room was already occupied.
Potter glanced up from an expansive table, next to one of the picture windows. "Hey, Malfoy, what are you doing here?" A painted bird swooped past his head.
Bristling, Draco snapped back, "What are you doing here?"
The former Gryffindor had the temerity to smirk at him. "I work here, Malfoy." He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but closed it and returned to whatever he had been writing instead.
"Whatever," Draco muttered, yanking the desk drawer open and beginning to flip through the folders. He resolved to find the file, stick in the papers, and get out as quickly as possible. That way, he had a slim chance of avoiding further humiliation. Lestrange, Macnair, Goyle, Nott, Travers? What is with this bloke's filing system? He snarled silently at the passing seconds. Magic could find the document in an instant, but Malfoys and Aurors kept their paperwork spell-proof.
Something crashed loudly behind him. On reflex, he whirled, wand drawn and robes twisting around him.
Potter stared at him for three seconds before grinning. "Edgy much?" He flicked his own wand and a pile of fallen books drifted back to teeter over a messy desk.
Draco's lips tightened and he dropped from the duel-esque stance. "Shut up," he snapped. Mentally, he replied, Yes, of course I'm on edge when you're around. He wished that Potter would stop smiling at him like that; it was making the urge to pounce the other man much harder to resist.
As if using legilimency, he ceased grinning and moved over to join Draco at the desk. "What are you looking for?"
"Carlsyn's Malfoy file," Draco replied without thinking. He glanced down at the open drawer.
Potter rolled his eyes. "That man is absolutely terrible. Let me help, or it'll take forever." Without waiting for a response, he bent forward and reached for the first file.
The blond slapped his hand away and Harry drew back, blinking. "Is something wrong?" he asked, shaking his hand.
Mentally, Draco screamed, Yes, of course something's wrong! I'm not some helpless little baby for the Boy Who Lived to rescue from the Dark Filing System! Aloud, he hissed, "I don't need your help. Understood?" He tilted his head back to stare down his nose at Potter.
"Not really," Harry said slowly. "But if you don't want it, I won't give it." He backed away three steps, face tense but emotionless, before turning and stalking over to his desk when he received no answer. Somehow, he appeared a great deal smaller than when he had come over.
Close to tears without knowing quite why, Draco kicked the unorganized drawer shut. He plucked one of Carlsyn's quills from its stand and unstoppered an ink pot. Directly on the wood, he scribbled,
Carlsyn – Could not find file. Clean your bloody desk.
The ink would come off easily with magic, Draco reflected, but the effort might motivate the man to prevent a repeat. He removed the parchment from his robe and pinned it with the ink pot and quill.
Glancing shiftily at the apparently oblivious Potter, he carefully navigated the maze of desks. I won't say anything, I won't say anything. Oh, Merlin's pants, I'm going to explode if I don't—
"Draco, wait!"
He froze, fingers tightening on the door handle. "Yes?" Since when has he called me Draco?
Harry navigated the maze of desks and offered a familiar dark folder. "Ginny gave this to me. I promise, I only saw the first two, before I realized what they were."
Draco snatched the folder from him. If these are more of the same, what did he see? What did he guess? In lieu of asking questions that he might not want the answers to, he stared into the bright eyes. Perhaps it was the glasses, perhaps Draco's own inadequacies, but he couldn't see Harry's soul through them. All he saw was that those eyes were just as pretty as he remembered. "Thank you," he told Harry's eyes, before swinging the door open and running.
Coward, coward, coward, sang his footsteps on the marble floor. Draco agreed wholeheartedly, and after three turns, he skidded to a stop.
"What the bloody hell am I doing?"
An abnormally tall witch passing by chuckled. "Looks to me like you're running, boy. Dangerous to do in little corridors like these." She nodded sagely to the expansive hallway.
"Shut up," Draco snapped, and pivoted. Striding back in the direction of the office, he scrambled for a plan of action, some strategy to salvage the Potter-situation. He gave up on that, but knew one thing deep in his pretty pure blood. Draco Malfoy was sick and tired of retreats and regrets, and Draco Malfoy was finally going to stand his ground and speak his mind.
He nearly toppled when he collided with an equally hurried Harry, dropping the folder and scattering photographs all over the floor.
The brunet placed steadying hands on his shoulders. "Draco, I have something to tell you."
Draco grabbed Harry's wrists so he couldn't let go. "Shut up," he said, for the second time in two minutes. "I have something to say too, and you are not allowed to talk until I'm done."
Harry raised his eyebrows, but nodded.
"Alright." The blond drew a deep breath. "Potter – Harry, this is probably going to sound very strange and very stupid, and you probably still hate me, but I don't care. Well, I do, but…" he realized he was rambling, and decided to finish his plunge. "But I love you," he whispered, and he tilted forward to kiss him.
Their noses bumped painfully, Harry's eyebrows rose even further with shock, and Draco pulled away immediately. "Now talk," he ordered, surprising himself with his vocal control.
Harry blinked and adjusted his glasses, lips spreading into another blinding smile. "Funny, I was going to say the same thing."
Draco considered that he probably did not look very attractive at that moment, with his mouth hanging open like Longbottom's toad. As the meaning registered, his grin grew to match Harry's in brightness. Potter loves me, Potter loves me, Potter loves me! I have to make him say it! "You mean you love yourself?"
"No, silly," he murmured, leaning forward to press his forehead against Draco's. "I love you."
Simultaneously, they crossed the small distance between them and kissed again. Draco parted his lips hopefully, but Harry separated them before he could implement any tongue-slipping ideas. Instead, he settled for nibbling on Harry's earlobe.
Harry inhaled sharply. "I think we should talk, before we go any further. Establish what exactly we're looking for."
Draco muttered wetly into Harry's collarbone.
"Beg pardon?"
Draco looked up from a half-born hickey. "You. I want you."
"Oh, that works," he replied distractedly. He seemed very surprised at how the whole incident was going, leaving Draco to assume that he hadn't known about his four-year crush after all.
Draco had other things to worry about, though. "Your place or mine?"
"I'd say mine. I mean, you still live with your mother."
"There is nothing wrong with that!" Draco protested, but he slid his hands into Harry's.
With a pop, they disappeared, leaving the photographs strewn across the marble floor.
//END//
AN
Written for a contest on Gaia, the prompt-word being "regret."
10/29/07 -- made some grammar/spelling corrections.