CHAPTER TEN
The grumble of his raging stomach woke Harry up, and he was surprised to see daylight coming brightly through the chinks of the dusty curtains. He never realized he'd fallen asleep, let alone that he was out for half a day.
And without dinner, his stomach reminded him.
He rolled out of bed and, after his usual morning ablutions, headed down to the kitchen. The only things he found in the cabinets were dust, cobwebs and a little black thing that ran into the shadow and which he was pretty certain was a spider. Sighing, he stood in the middle of the kitchen, pondering his options.
After a few minutes, he remembered a small dinner not too many blocks away which served a pretty decent breakfast. So maybe it had been ten years before, but surely it was still worth the shot, right?
He grabbed the heavy coat he'd left on the handrail and stepped outside. It was still very early, and everything was quiet. A bird chirped in the park across the street; the wind whispered softly in his ear, making the hairs on his nape stand on end. Other than that, he didn't see any movement, not a stray cat, not a drunk person cuddling the curb, not a taxi cab taking some clubber home after a night of partying.
The bell over the door rang as he entered the establishment, and he was grateful for the heated air in the room as he took a seat in the corner. You've got to be able to see who's coming in, he thought to himself, and smiled. Old war habits that never died; most everyone he knew still lived by them, and probably would until the end of their lives.
The place was deserted as had been the street, and a young lady yawned before coming over to offer him a menu. He quickly ran his eyes up and down the page, and his stomach roared once again as he considered something light to eat. Defeated, he ordered a full breakfast, which didn't take long to arrive. And it was only after he'd gone through half of his plate that his brain allowed his thoughts to drift away from biological needs.
Now he was out of the house, his mind seemed clearer, and he was able to focus on the practical side of moving back. He could probably finish cleaning during the week, but then he'd have to keep the house clean. He needed to go shopping for groceries, because the thought of eating out every day wasn't appealing at all. Maybe neither was cooking twice a day, but it seemed more acceptable for him at the moment than socializing all the time. He could get a house-elf like Draco suggested, but he knew there was so much for him to deal with, and he'd want to be alone.
Maybe when he found a way to occupy his days.
And then there was that.
He didn't need the money, he was well-aware of that, but if he didn't have a reason to get out of the house every day, he knew he'd drown in memories and it would kill him. So he decided there and then, he would find something to do, something that gave him some sort of purpose. But what, was beyond him.
Taking advantage of the fact he was out of the house already, he walked another few blocks to a nearby supermarket, and got home almost with more bags than he could carry. Once it was all put away, he started the long process of cleaning the house.
Harry decided to start with the rooms he'd use the most, the kitchen and the study, which were also some of the least emotionally charged in the house. He didn't know many household spells, and though there was bound to be at least one book on the matter in the extensive Black library, the perspective of a little - or a lot - of physical work was appealing, and he chose to go about the matter the muggle way.
It took a lot of persistence and time to go through the kids' rooms, putting away old childish toys, baring the room so it could hopefully be decorated by his children if they ever chose to come home. It was a long and exhausting week, but by the end of it, the ghosts of the past were less haunting and more companionable.
He chose to skip lunch with the Malfoys on Saturday, because now he was in the house, he didn't want to leave unless strictly necessary. A quick note in reply to Draco's was all the excuse he made, and it vaguely occurred to him he needed to buy himself a new owl. Which meant going to Diagon Alley, where he hadn't been in a decade, and where he'd be undoubtedly singled out as the boy who lived three times. He didn't need to communicate that much, did he?
For the following few days, he dedicated himself to tackling the books in the library which were on his to-read list and had been pushed back with the birth of his children, and only made contact with the Wizarding world again when Hermione Floo-called one afternoon before coming over.
"I heard you'd moved back." She commented as he served her tea and biscuits. They were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, trying to get over the discomfort which had established itself ever since he'd woken up from the coma.
"Yeah, it's been a couple of weeks. How d'you find out? Only Draco and Astoria knew." Hermione narrowed her eyes marginally at the last bit of information, but he chose to ignore it.
"An intern at the Ministry saw you at a muggle supermarket a few blocks from here. Nobody would believe him, but they started speculating nonetheless. And you know how gossip flies there." He nodded quietly. "How are you holding up? It can't be easy being back here."
"I'm okay. It's not easy, but it gets better." It was Hermione's turn to nod in acknowledgement. "At least I don't cry every five minutes anymore." He joked and smiled, but she didn't share the expression, and he sighed. "They're still everywhere. I keep expecting to enter a room and see the boys playing or fighting, or Lily's cries to wake me up in the middle of the night, or Ginny to come through the fireplace complaining about whatever Molly said this time. And I have to keep reminding myself they're gone, and my heart breaks every time. But being here makes it real, and makes me accept the facts. This is it. This is my life now, and I can't keep avoiding it, hoping things will go back to what they used to be." He sustained the look they were sharing for another few moments before looking down to his cooling tea. He hadn't meant to come across quite so strongly, but if felt strangely good to have it all out there.
"You could get them back, you know." She said quietly after a while, still watching him closely. He looked up to her, but didn't say anything. "You just have to say the word and any judge will give custody back to you. That way they'd be forced to-"
"No." He interrupted her, not a hint of doubt in his voice. "I want them to want to come home. They're their own people now, and the choice has to be theirs."
"But you're their father, Harry, it's not right-"
"No. I refuse to do that to them." He could see in her expression she wanted to argue, but his tone didn't allow it. "Besides, they don't consider me their father anymore, and until they do, I can't allow myself that indulgence. It'll just make things more painful."
They sipped their cold beverages in silence for long minutes.
"What are you going to do now, then?" Hermione finally asked, forcing her lips into a friendly smile the best she could.
"I don't know." He admitted with a half-smile, feeling he was finally talking to the friend he grew up with again.
"I'm sure we could get you a job at the Ministry, if you want."
He shook his head. "I've dealt with the Ministry more than enough for a lifetime, thanks."
This time her smile was genuine. "Maybe at George's shop, then? He's always looking for someone competent to work with. It's a lot harder to find than you think."
"I'm sure it is. But I'd probably just become another product on display, and though I'm sure it'd increase his income, I'd really rather be left alone."
"You have to do something, Harry. You can't just stay here all day."
"I know that. But there isn't much that doesn't involve becoming a circus attraction or sitting in a cubicle all day."
"I know." She smiled again, and they stayed silent for a few minutes. "How about volunteer work? I haven't heard much about it in the wizarding world, but maybe in the muggle world? That way you wouldn't be recognized as much, if at all."
"Yeah, maybe. I don't need the money anyway, and it'd be nice to be anonymous."
They smiled at each other.
"Do you want me to look into it for you?"
Harry shook his head. "I have far more free time in my hands than you do. I'm sure I can find something."
She nodded, standing up. "Let me know when you find anything. And if you need anything, Harry, don't hesitate."
"I know." He smiled, walking her to the fireplace. "Thanks for everything, Hermione." He said honestly, hugging her.
"Don't be a stranger." She joked before disappearing in the green flames.
With a new goal in sight, he decided to allow himself the weekend to indulge in leisure time and go hunting for institutions taking in stray volunteers come Monday.
A week and serious considerations of purchasing a car later, Harry finally found a place that would take him in. He'd more or less accidentally ran into it during his wanderings around town, and it seemed quite a good fit, he thought. He didn't have anything specific in mind - he didn't have any specialized skills when it came to the muggle world -, but he figured there was bound to be something simple, perhaps physical, for which he was fit. And after talking to Mr. Goff from the Vic Allen Foundation, he felt he'd found his place.
The Vic Allen Foundation was a nursing home which offered free housing for war veterans, as well as aid with any health issues they might be dealing with. It was located in a very large property, especially for that part of the city, and currently had just over forty occupants, plus the staff. Its constant and successful fund raisers, as well as the nobility of the cause itself, helped maintain the foundation open comfortably, but the veterans living there didn't have many opportunities to socialize other than with each other, and they could hardly enjoy the facilities to the fullest, because the limited staff demanded they be handled in groups, rather than the individual care which would be ideal.
Being a war veteran himself, he thought it would be nice to be around people who knew what he went through without really knowing who he was; here he could just be another soldier instead of the great hero. They did seem to think he'd been to some war in Afghanistan, and he didn't bother correcting them, but he made a mental note to check up on muggle news and figure what it was all about.
After a tour of the place, Harry was directed to a week-long preparing course, which involved basic emergency procedures as well as strategies to deal with conflicts that might arise and the appropriate ways to deal with the different disabilities he might encounter. It was all rather simple, a matter of common sense, except perhaps the first-aid part (he was tempted to just withdraw his wand and perform a little spell if the need arose, but he knew better), and he was very excited to get started.
He committed both mornings and afternoons on weekdays to work with the veterans, mostly keeping them company, and in return he was offered lunch from the cafeteria and commute money, which he politely refused. The foundation was just under half an hour by foot from Grimmauld Place, and as he repeated the trajectory that first week, he found it a very pleasant time to be alone with himself and put his thoughts in order, with the distractions of daily life around him to keep him company.
Harry soon made friends with most of the occupants, providing them with challenging chess matches, long conversations about the past (to which, admittedly, he was more of a spectator than an interlocutor, but they all seemed more than thrilled to have someone new to tell the same old stories to, and he couldn't help feeling special to be allowed to share such personal memories), and, when the weather allowed it, short walks in the foundation's yard.
Before he realized, a routine had been established: he worked from nine to five during the week, had lunch at the Malfoy manor on Saturday, and occasionally visited his friends on Sunday. There wasn't a day he didn't think about his children, how they were doing at school and whether they'd forgiven him yet, but he was finally comfortable in his shoes again.
Spring came early that year, and if the temperature was any indication, they were in for one very hot summer. As the weather got better, the healthier veterans constantly wanted to spend the day outside, and a few times he took one or other select friend on longer walks on the property. Sean Moore was one of his favorite people in the Foundation, and they could spend hours talking about anything. As Harry discovered, with a little creativity, anything from the Wizarding world could be adapted and discussed with muggles without threatening to breech the Statue of Secrecy.
It was during one of those long walks, with Harry lazily pushing Mr. Moore's wheelchair on the grass, that his mind wandered to the first time he met Draco after the war was over. They were talking about old sweethearts anyway, and his brain thought it only appropriate.
Harry was walking across Battersea Park, enjoying being just another anonymous among the joggers and families enjoying the beautiful day out, when his eyes were drawn to a platinum-blond man sitting on a bench a few yards ahead. He'd recognize him anywhere: it was none other than Draco Malfoy.
He pondered for a minute whether or not to approach him; they hadn't spoken since the battle of Hogwarts, and even before that, they'd always been less than friendly. But he was in a good mood, the sun was shining and the breeze and soft and warm, and he saw no harm in saying hello. At least he could be polite, and the worst that would happen was to be ignored.
"I never in a million years thought I'd see you anywhere muggle, Malfoy." He said with a smile, stopping a few steps away from him.
Silver eyes looked up at him, the lack of their usual coldness giving them more depth. "But I'd assume you're right at home, aren't you, Potter?" Though his words weren't friendly, his tone wasn't disdainful or teasing as usual. He sounded merely tired, as if provoking the old school enemy was more of an obligation than a pleasure.
"It's good not the be the center of attention for once."
"I hear you."
"Do you mind if I sit?" He asked on a whim, indicating the vacant spot on the bench.
Draco shrugged minimally. "It's a public park, I can't stop you."
Taking the comment as consent, he took the seat and let his eyes wander forward, eventually focusing on a woman sitting with two children, having an improvised picnic. "How are you? I've heard the Ministry wasn't too kind to your family."
"It was to be expected, really."
"I suppose."
"There were mostly accusations, and some of the stuff was proved. I mean, we all had the Dark Mark and everything. But we came around in the end, so they couldn't punish us as much as they wanted to. They confiscated some of our property, and forbade my father to have access to any of the family money as a condition for his freedom, but other than that, we got away pretty much intact."
"I guess things turned out as well as they could have, then."
"Yeah." They stayed in silence for long minutes. Harry had to force himself not to stare at the blond, consumed with curiosity about this man who was physically the spoiled brat he'd grown up with, but acted and talked so differently.
"Are you okay? You seem... tired."
"I've been skipping my beauty sleep, if that's what you're asking."
Harry smiled, but Draco remained impassive. "If your dad isn't running things anymore, does that mean you had to take over?"
"Someone had to. He didn't do much anyway, and now I have to. He left the business a mess, and things were controlled mostly by his advisers. I've been raised for this, but I'd been told I'd get a business in much better shape."
"Sounds like a lot of hard work."
"It is. So I came here to have a few minutes alone with my thoughts."
"And I interrupted."
"Don't you always?" They looked at each other, and this time Draco was smiling.
"... for long, don't you think?"
"I'm sorry, what?" Harry asked with a frown, looking down at the man looking up at him.
"You haven't listened to a word I said, have you?" The words were reproachful, but the tone was light and Mr. Moore was smiling.
"I'm really sorry. What were you saying?" He asked as he locked the wheelchair in place and sat beside the old man on one of the many wooden benches spread around.
"Just old stories, boy, nothing to worry about." He patted Harry's knee weakly, and the brunet smiled embarrassedly. "Thinking about your girl?"
"Er, something like that."
Mr. Moore looked intensely at him for a few moments, and Harry shifted his position uncomfortably. "Your boy, maybe?" The elder man couldn't help laughing at the blush that took over Harry's face. He'd never talked about Draco with anyone, and he remembered that even as kids, being gay was considered one of the worst insults you could give someone. "It's alright, you know. I went to war, spent months on end with a bunch of men and not a woman in sight. We had needs, and found ways to meet them. Some of the guys never looked back."
"Oh, I... I didn't know."
"Desperate times, my boy, desperate times... Some of my best friends were... what is the right word nowadays? You know, like you. We didn't discuss what each of us did in our bedrooms, and things were just fine between us." Harry smiled, letting his eyes wander away. "So, this guy of yours. How long have you been together?"
"We're... We're not exactly together. He, er, he's married and has a family and all."
"Oh, well, what fun would it be if it weren't complicated?" He laughed to himself. "It sure wasn't easy with my Cora, I'll tell you."
"What happened?" He asked, glad not to be on the spotlight anymore.
"Well, I was a private just back from war, barely out of my teens and without a penny or a prospect job. It took a lot of hard work and convincing to have her parents let me marry her."
"But you did, in the end?"
"It took me a couple of years to build up my small business, and get established, but yes, eventually, we did get married."
"That's great." He smiled.
"How about you? Is your guy leaving his wife anytime soon or is he just playing with you? Because let me tell you, men like that are all the same. They keep promising they'll leave their wives and start afresh with you, and you keep putting your life on hold for them, but the truth is, they'd never have the balls to leave. Take my word for it, boy, I've seen it happen many a time in my day."
Harry laughed softly. "I don't know if that's him. Either way, there are no plans as far as him leaving his wife go. I never asked him to, and neither did he."
"You were married too, were you?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact. For, er, a while anyway."
"So you did leave her for him, but he's not willing to do the same for you? Something smells bad there boy, I'm telling you." He said, pointing a shaking finger at Harry.
"Actually, my wife died, so..." He let his voice trail off.
"The war?"
"You could say so."
Mr. Moore nodded understandingly. Nothing more needed to be said; they both understood how people simply died during wars in a way no civilian ever could.
They remained in silence for a long time after that, each lost in his own thoughts and, in the case of the elderly man, in a very welcome nap. It was only when he started snoring that Harry laughed, his mind returning to his body, and he got up, unlocking the wheelchair.
"Time to go back inside, Mr. Moore."
The man just grumbled something unintelligible before going back to sleep.