Harry thought of going directly to Malfoy. He could've climbed the stairs to the room where the twins once stayed, and banged on the door until the idiot answered him. It wouldn't take too long, he realized, because Malfoy was likely waiting for this confrontation. They could yell, accuse, and hash this out immediately – then Harry would never have to interact with the ferret again.
He didn't go, though. At least not that night. He spent the afternoon in his room, trying his hardest to be practical. What did one need to live on their own, that one did not need in a tent? He had his broom, wand, Hedwig, and clothes; no matter how the racked his brain, he couldn't think of anything else too urgent. He'd bring it up when he next spoke to Hermione, she'd probably have a five-step purchasing plan that's been waiting for him since third year.
He forced himself to the hospital wing around seven. He spent a good five minutes helping Hermione and Ron, before he had to abruptly leave. There was a curtain separating Remus and Tonks, the only two still comatose, from the rest of the wing. Said curtain shifted, affording Harry a view of two very still torsos. With Remus's hand lay draped over his middle, the pose looked grave-ready. Harry rushed out, pressing his stack of paper's into Hermione's hands with a hasty apology.
It was straight to bed after that, followed by a languid lie in. Harry certainly amassed more sleep that night than he did over the course of a week last year, but he rationalized it as evening himself out. There had to be some theory to it, didn't there? He needed more rest now to right himself after a very restless year. It would be beneficial to his magical energy, or power core, or whatever that professional term that Hermione always tossed around was.
The grandfather clock downstairs chimed ten, so he pulled the quilt down and stretched out of bed. He took his time both in the shower and selecting his outfit. What else was there to do? It wouldn't be practical to help at Hogwarts until Skeeter was chased away. The hospital wing was secure, but after yesterday there was no way he'd be ready to test himself again. Maybe not too Gryffindor, he thought, but he just didn't have it in him to watch two of his favorite people waste away.
Of course! Why hadn't he thought of yet? There was someone very for Harry to visit: someone who wouldn't think to comment on war, Voldemort, or survivors. Truth be told, Teddy probably couldn't think of much but bright colors and funny noises, at this point. He hadn't even met his godson yet! This was going to be brilliant.
Quick out the door, down the stairs, and… prat.
The blonde looked up with sleepy eyes, seemingly unaware that they were a half second from colliding. Strange to see the boy transform into something so passive and fatigued.
"Potter." There wasn't much to the greeting. No hate, no prodding. It was as though Draco was reading the word off a piece of paper.
"Just on my way out, Malfoy." Harry explained, skirting around and finishing the staircase. He was truly prepared to go straight away (never mind he didn't know the floo password to Andromeda's house), but something stopped him. It was the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
Sure enough, Malfoy stood at the top of the stairs, patiently waiting for Harry to disappear from sight. The former startled when the latter made eye contact.
"What? You've stuck something embarrassing to the back of my shirt?"
Malfoy coughed, not amused. "Did you speak to Granger yet?"
Harry sighed. This was inevitable, and it wasn't as though he was working on a time schedule. "I have actually. You got a minute?"
Malfoy made his way down the stairs, stopping to lean on the railing near the bottom. "What did she tell you?"
Harry inclined his head, indicating that the Slytherin should follow. They made their way into the library, where Harry pulled an ancient Potions catalogue from an archive. "She speaks a mile a minute, so I only got the most basic gist. She also told me to dig though an article in here, but the only parts I could understand were things she'd already told me. Stop me if I've got anything wrong, all right?"
"It was invented alongside the Auror Corps, ages ago. Things were a bit more… barbaric, back then. The statue was still relatively new, and it was difficult reigning witches and wizards in without resorting to violence. Plus, you know, this was at the height of tensions between Middle Eastern and South Asian magical communities, thanks to interference by Benedict the Bold –"
No, Harry's face said, he had no idea what she was talking about.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right. Well, in summary, it was difficult. The new division was facing recruitment issues on top of everything else, so they couldn't be too picky with the applications. Elizabeth Rowle, a premier Potions Mistress, had the brilliant idea for Auror's Ale. It's sort of like – well, some call it "liquid imperius." It isn't nearly as strong as the curse; it would have have been legal, even then, if a wizard or witch of average ability couldn't break from its influence. It helped Aurors follow orders by greatly diluting their moral opposition and sense of self-preservation. For example, it would be mad to run straight into a forest on fire, wouldn't it? Perhaps there was a disarmed wizard stuck in the middle, who needed rescuing. These poorly trained Aurors wouldn't be up for such a task, without the aid of Auror's Ale. Unless the Auror in question had a specific phobia of fire, was disarmed himself, or something else of the sort which would make the task an actual suicide mission, he would comply with orders."
Harry's stomach was turning something awful. It was just… cowardly couldn't begin to cover it, if Malfoy was implying what Harry thought he was implying.
"Today it's highly restricted, of course." Hermione interrupted his train of thought by continuing. The Corps has their pick now, so the need for such a potion is all but gone. Further, its been contested as unethical by some group or another every decade for the past hundred years. Not that I don't agree. It's highly unethical, considering the point of crisis one must reach before breaking its influence. Not as bad as an unforgivable, but close. The Ministry authorizes its use on a case-by-case basis. Since its repeal from the Corps, the Ministry has sanctioned no appeal for its use. Auror's Ale is reportedly complicated to brew, the instructions are unpublished, and the effects are evident on users – its highly addictive – so there isn't a huge concern that its being sold on the black market."
He had to let out a small laugh. "You keep these things on file in your head, just in case one of us happens to ask about a certain potion or charm one of these days?"
She laughed, as well. "That's barely an introduction! In fact, if we could just pop into the library, I think I remember it has a fantastic article on original usage –"
There was a long, long moment. Malfoy shook his head. "As per usual, Granger hasn't gotten anything wrong."
"That was never a question." Harry answered, equally careful. "I just might've mixed it up in retelling."
Another pause. The elephant was crashing and crushing his way around the room. Finally, Harry saw fit to name him.
"I'll take it the instructions weren't as difficult to come by as she thought?"
Malfoy shrugged. "My father has always had his ways. I asked, he delivered."
Harry wanted to turn away, leave the boy in the library or perhaps chuck him out of the house. This was ridiculous. He didn't, though. He was compelled to get answers, take advantage of Malfoy's apparent openness before making his opinion known. "So it was your decision, then?"
Malfoy nodded. "My decision, but Severus suggested it. I'm sure he would've tried to help me out, but I was already marked. I was a Death Eater, Potter, but a rather half arsed one. I still believe that there's value in blood purity, but –" He stopped to make eye contact, for the first time. "But I never wanted to kill anyone. I couldn't kill."
"What about your parents?"
Malfoy looked away, again. "My father's dead, and I'm not sure when I'm even able to speak to my mum again."
Harry had no idea what to say to that. How did one apologize for something they didn't feel all too sorry about?
Turned out he didn't need to say anything, as Malfoy continued. "What do you think, then? True?"
He bit his lower lip to try and keep from scoffing. "Truce? Seriously, Malfoy? I think you're a bloody coward who wanted an easy way out, no matter who won the war."
"Excuse me then," Malfoy began sarcastically, his patience thoroughly tried, "for not being the savior of our people who can literally do no wrong."
"I'm not asking you to be perfect, of even okay. If you had any sort of redeeming factor, I'd be happy to extend the same offer as I did to Professor Snape." Harry cut.
"I didn't kill, and didn't want to kill – how's that for redeeming?"
"You chickened out."
"You're a piece of shit, Potter."
"Go sleep off your addiction, Malfoy."
The blonde didn't have to be told twice. He swept out of the room, pushing two or three books off of tables on his way out, just for effect. Harry didn't let himself be bothered by it. This was Malfoy, after all: the git who hated him and his best friends, bowed before the man who wanted Harry dead for seventeen years, and made a valiant effort at wrecking the only home Harry ever had. Some things were beyond forgiveness.
"I've got to talk to you about something." Ron was pacing his room, the annoying habit apparently sticking. Harry was sitting on his bed, worried for what his friend would say. The boy seemed anxious, and more than a little angry.
"Is it really… Why did you… No, why didn't you…" Ron pulled at the hair near the back of his head, a fistful of confused red. "I know I don't have anything to be worried about, I'm not an idiot, but why are you and Hermione spending so much time together?"
Harry realized he should have known this would be the problem. His best friend had gotten much better with the jealousy since his return to the camp, but the green-eyed monster still managed to creep his way in, every so often. At least they could be honest and up front about it, now. "We aren't, not really. She only stayed for a little while after you left, yesterday."
"No!" Ron yelled, but then managed to regain control. "No, it was over an hour."
"She was helping me with Malfoy. What else is new?" He tried to play it off lightly.
Ron wasn't biting. "You're still hung up on him, then? Well you invited the prat to stay in your house. You don't need Hermione holding your hand and helping you through your own boneheaded move."
Harry's patience for this was falling apart fast. What was with Ron's temper, anyway? It had always been bad – last year was certainly worse than ever – but this was nearly nonstop and awful. "She was just being a friend."
Naturally, the redhead took offense. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean nothing by it, except that she was explaining a stupid potion, same as she did for the both of us five days a week, for six years. And you could've stayed, you know. You were the one who chose to go home."
"Are you talking-" Ron began to yell.
"I'm talking about yesterday, and nothing else. Merlin, what has gotten into you?" Harry stood, collecting his things.
"You're leaving already?" The boy sounded legitimately hurt, instantly making Harry regret his move. He sat back down.
"No of course not. Can we just calm down?" Harry offered the olive branch.
"Right." Ron took a breath and sat, exhausted, on his floor. "Right."
"You don't need to get so worked up over everything."
"I know." The redhead took a much bigger breath, then two more. "I just go off the wall, a couple times a day. Mum says it's how I'm handling my 'grief', but I don't know. It seems pretty weird. It isn't happening for any of my brothers, or Gin."
Harry shrugged. "People deal with stuff different ways, I guess? You're not dealing with the King of Control over here. I smashed Dumbledore's office around after Sirius."
"But you went back to normal!" Ron exclaimed. "You had a shit day or two, then a lousy few months, but the worst of it was over. It isn't like things are normal around here, but everyone else is… you know? Mum isn't crying all the time, just most of it. George is still shut up in his room, but he'll talk if someone tries to get in. I'm exactly the same as I was in the hours right after the battle."
"They didn't spend the year running around like a fugitive." Harry pointed out.
Ron shrugged it off. "There's this thing in my head. It feels like a- like a lever that just gets pulled and all hell breaks loose."
"It'll get better mate."
"It has to, right?" Ron sounded slightly scared.
Harry promised, "It'll get better."
They left it at that, the conversation turning to a much easier route as Harry got to complain about living with Snape and Malfoy. This was well tread territory, and before long the story of Auror's Ale spilled out.
"What a little shite!" Ron laughed out. "He's too pansy to do anything on his own, so that means you should just hug and kiss, make up for all the times he tried to kill you?"
"That's what I said!" Harry agreed. "He hasn't changed, not at all."
"Well it's got to be even worse with the dungeon bat there, too." Ron moaned in sympathy.
"It isn't as bad as you'd think. He's mellowed out almost, its weird." Harry shivered.
Ron rolled his eyes. "One a slimy Slytherin, always a slimy, smelling, stinking Slytherin in my book. He maybe helped Dumbledore, but he's still a total arse, through and through."
"Did Ginny mention how he freaked out on us? He let a potion go, and I've never seen him drop – or even fumble – anything, before!" Harry lowered his voice, as though the Potions Master might be making rounds of the halls of the Burrow.
"Nah, she's not talking to me." Ron pursed his lips. "Its my temper. I was kind of harsh on her the other day, and she said there's a difference between mourning and being a total prat. I tried to explain the lever thing, but she really doesn't want to hear it." He looked up, an idea taking shape. "Would you maybe talk to her about it? You get it, right?"
Harry bit at his lip. He wanted to help his friend, he really did, but things were just as shaky between him and Ginny. They hadn't been back together for three days yet, and hadn't even seen each other since their quick conversation in the kitchen. More so, intervening between Weasleys never proved to be anything but trouble.
"I'll try, but no promises. You know what you're sister can be like, when she's in a mood about something."
Wrong route, apparently. Harry thought he was making a harmless joke, but something in his friend's eyes darkened. Not again.
"And what does that mean?"
"It means nothing." Harry tried to diffuse. "It was a joke, Ron."
"Wouldn't hurt for you to show her a bit of respect by not joking behind her back." He spat.
"You've got to be kidding!" Harry insisted.
Ron's fingers drew into tight fists. "I think that shite you live with is rubbing off on you."
"This is getting ridiculous." Harry stood up, this time with real finality. "You're getting ridiculous. Feel better, mate."
Ron was apparently just as finished as he. "Shut the door on your way out."
When Harry let the door swing shut behind him, he felt as though he was cutting off much more than a bright orange room.
Thank you for reading! I'm awful, I'm the worst, there is literally no reason for this chapter to be so late out. I'm just transferring schools right now, so between work, applications, and auditions/interviews, things have been a little bit of a total mess. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, especially the long awaited explanation of Auror's Ale! Review, please, my beautiful readers!
