::28::

Harry had watched Malfoy leave, looking as tired and ragged as he felt. It was an odd sensation—he'd been sure that he'd get a smug enjoyment out of it, but instead he felt…surprised. Surprised that Malfoy had actually stuck through it all, something Harry was guessing wouldn't happen.

After the tutoring session ended, Harry packed up his things and began to head out when he realized—Draco had missed a room. His. The shift didn't match the end of his tutoring session that night, so it wasn't as if the blonde had skipped out on him.

He hesitated, looking at the mess Beatrice had left at her table. He wanted to ignore it, lock it, and have Malfoy be sent away for skimping off the job on his first day. Instead of pang of guilt hit him, and he sighed.

"No favors. Right."

He got out the cleansers from one of the cupboards and a rag, wiping down each desk and tidying up his own at the front.

It would do.

But it was only this once, he decided, as the lock clicked and he headed out to the lot where he kept his car. Technically, Harry didn't need one. But he loved driving, loved the feeling of the wind whipping through his hair. It was a bit like flying, something he rarely got to do now. So driving with the top down was the next best thing.

As he drove past, he realized Malfoy was at the bus stop. He frowned, staring at the road in front of him. That was odd, why didn't he just apparate?

Harry shrugged, deciding it was none of his concern and also did not care to spend the rest of his night thinking about Malfoy. It was bad enough that they had to see each other, thinking about him was simply overkill.

Albus barked joyfully when Harry arrived to let him in from the kennel he had outside his flat. He raced around the rooms, circling Harry haphazardly as the man made his way to his shower. As the hot water pattered upon him, soothing the tiredness he felt, his thoughts turned to Malfoy again.

Apparating inside the centre itself was not allowed, and whilst it initially caused some concern due to the odd occurrences of magic aversion, so far there hadn't been any effect on the residents by it.

Harry remembered that he still had Draco's wand, tucked away in a drawer. How he had come across it was a bit of a funny case—Ron technically had gotten ahold of it. Harry had partnered with him during the sweep of the Malfoy manor. The reason he even knew it was Draco's in the first place was because it had been tucked neatly into a case, with his initials on the cover—it was thin enough to fit in a robe pocket, and how it had gotten left behind was a mystery to Harry, but he ended up keeping it.

Why, he wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps initially it was a sort of pride thing—proof that his side truly had conquered Malfoy and his team of Deatheaters. Perhaps it was simply a memento. He'd never thought once about returning it; after all, he'd no clue where Draco was at all, and many figured he was in hiding.

But now, seeing Draco at that bus stop, looking worn and so very different from the malicious bully he once knew, Harry found himself thinking about it.

"This is silly, I shouldn't be wasting my time thinking about Malfoy," he murmured to himself, as he readied himself for a much needed sleep.

But his final thought before drifting off to sleep was, Perhaps I should return it…

::29::

Draco had managed to get through two weeks, however hellish and horrid he managed to find them. Additionally he had been so exhausted that the idea of delving into the mystery of the book he'd found had been forgotten—or rather, been avoiding.

The reason he remembered was because Sunday of that week, his day off, might he add, there was a fundraising event going on. There were also hopes of attracting some potential adopters as well.

Fundraising that was needed because of all the negative publicity affecting the centre recently. Draco was sure the books had something to do with it, but—and he admitted his selfishness—he simply wanted nothing to do with it nor the memories it would bring.

Pansy said that Draco had to attend. When he refused, Pansy simply said, "Would you rather be a janitor for the rest of your days?"

Draco scowled, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Good, then you'll come with me."

Draco had approximately three outfits. One was for sleeping, one was for work and all its lovely cleansing agents, and one suit he had managed to keep nearly pristine. It fit like a glove, accentuating the leanness of his frame, the sharp angles of his shoulders and jawline.

Even Pansy admitted that he looked good.

"Of course I do," Draco said smugly, "I'm a Malfoy,"

Pansy rolled her eyes and simply drank her potion. Nothing she could have worn would have helped distract from the mask of her face.

The fundraising event was due to start at noon, but some of the staff arrived early to help with the set-up, and of course, to mind the children.

It was a cloudy day, with some darker clouds in the distance possibly suggesting rain or a storm later.

"You're going to help watch the kids," Pansy said, as they crossed the street. People were setting up tables and a welcome desk in front of the building.

"Why would I do that?" Draco asked, wrinkling his nose like she had suggested he swim in the sewer.

"Because, my dear Draco, there are many people here that would recognize you," Pansy explained patiently, tilting Phoebe's head at him. It was interesting, the mask didn't faze him anymore. Perhaps because he knew it was simply Pansy hiding under there—and hiding from everyone, mask or not, seemed to be how she dealt with things.

"So why invite me at all!" he muttered, readjusting his jacket and smoothing his hair.

"You need to improve your reputation, Draco—both with the centre and with the wizarding community here. Of course there is the small problem of them referring to you by your true name because somehow you thought it wise to provide a fraudulent one." Pansy shook her head, "No matter, I'll keep an eye on it. You keep an eye on the children."

The blonde looked the gate open in the back, where the sounds of children rang through the air. "What am I supposed to do? Make them march in line? Recite poetry?" he asked, ignoring Phoebe-Pansy's irritated look.

"I'm sure you'll either find something, or they'll drag you to do something, so go, now. Before Potter gets here and I have to listen to both of your poor attempts at thinly-veiled insults," She left him before he could make another comment and Draco scowled, wondering why he had bothered with his best suit if all he was going to be was a nanny for the day.

When he entered the field, a woman approached him, one he had yet to meet. She looked relieved and said, "Oh, good, we were really in need of another supervisor. You can watch the primary kids over there—oh, they're getting fidgety," she paused, "try to see if you can get them to do something active. Tire 'em out, you know?"

No, Draco did certainly not know. When he was that age, fidgeting was something to be disciplined. Nor his mother or father ever suggested, "Draco, go play in a field," it was, "Draco, your lessons are starting soon, calm down,"

He walked over to the group of kids—ten in all, six boys and four girls. He guessed most of them to be no more than 8, but he never was good at estimating such things. It seemed to be more of a maternal skill.

One boy, with blonde curls and hazel eyes, frowned. "Who are you?"

Draco held off his sneer. "You can call me Mr. Corvus." He paused awkwardly, as the children simply stared at him, in a mixture of curiosity and cautiousness.

"Shall we, er, go around in a circle and introduce ourselves?" Draco wouldn't have minded if all he did was refer to each child by a number, but for once he decided he would take Pansy's advice.

The blonde child stared at him, still holding the scowl on his face. "Well, I suppose we'll just let you go first, then," he said, pointing at the heavyset girl in pigtails next to the child Draco had nicknamed The Brat.

Instead of sharing her name, however the girl looked pensive for a moment, looked at one of her counterparts, and then said, after a deep breath, "Why do you look like that?"

The blonde was taken aback, and the children moved closer to him, even the bratty blonde, waiting for his answer. "Look like what?"

"Y'know," a girl to his left chimed in, green-eyed with long hair and two missing teeth, "old. Only old people have silver hair!"

Such insolence! Draco raged, crimson blooming across his cheeks before he could help it. "I will have you know, little girl, that I am not old. Us Mal—my family ages well."

One of the quietest children, a boy with woeful eyes and a bowlcut haircut, looked at him, "Was it a curse?" his eyes opened wide, "Did someone make you look old?"

"I just said—"

The bratty blonde cut him off by stamping his foot huffily. "We don't like being lied to! Tell us the story!" The other nine children quickly agreed in unison, excited chatter overlapping each other.

Clearly the blonde was the leader. Draco would need to be certain to dethrone the little brat. "It's simply a family trait—my father passed it on to me,"

The children frowned. "That's not a story!"

He let out an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh, watching their expressions in the corner of his eye. "Well, I suppose, if you think you can stay still long enough for such a grand tale, I may be inclined to tell you one. But only if you behave," he baited.

"We can! We can!" The children scrambled to sit around him, fighting over who got to be closest. They eyed him with rapt attention.

"It all begins," he started, with a great flourish of his hands, "with a young boy, no older than you were! You see, this boy was an only child, and lived in a great manor with only his parents and the caretakers for company. There were family functions, where families of equal status came over to the manor for a grand party. Sometimes those families had other children, and the boy would spend time with them,"

Draco leaned in, with an obvious show that he was about to share a secret, "The other children were slow and spoilt, only caring to gorge on the sweets available to them. The boy didn't like them very much."

He paused to settle on the ground, cross-legged. They seemed less enthused than before, and Draco needed to think of a twist, fast. "So one day, he decided that he would need to go find another friend, a real friend. Even though his parents had told him to never, ever go off on his own through the forest around the manor, the boy decided that he was old enough to protect himself.

"So off he went, delving deeper and deeper into the dark, and soon he was tired and hungry, but the boy had yet to complete his mission, so he persevered. In the deepest part of the forest, there was a cave. And it was rumored that inside this cave, one could have their greatest wish fulfilled. However, there were dangerous things inside this cave, creatures that lived to protect its treasure."

"Like what?" One member of his audience asked, eyes wide.

"Well first," he said, straightening his back, "Erklings dwelled there. Erklings like to attract children, and the boy was lured closer to the caver, his curiosity growing. He followed the sounds of the creature, which silenced the moment the boy realized he was lost.

Knowing that going back could confuse him further, the boy decided to continue through the cave. It was eerily quiet, until he reached a small clearing. In the clearing was a beautiful pond, it looked welcoming and cool, especially to one who hadn't had anything to drink for a long while.

Excited, the boy scampered down to the pond for a drink, but as he came closer to the center of the clearing, his shoes wet from the water lapping at his feet, he realized the light had dimmed. There, in the center of the dark pond, small ripples emanated from the center, and the hungry eyes of a Kappa stared straight back at him."

Draco paused for dramatic effect. "Well, what happened next?" shouted the blonde boy, impatient.

"The boy had to think fast. Kappas like to feed on humans, you see, and since the creature had been living alone in a cave, it was probably very hungry. As the creature stirred closer, the boy saw that there was an exit in its hiding place. It was possibly the only exit, and the boy knew he needed to distract the creature long enough to get through the small opening."

The man paused his tale, prompting his audience, "Do any of you know how to deprive a Kappa of its energy? So it's too tired to go after its prey?"

Every child stayed silent, shaking their heads, with the exception of one—the quiet child, with the woeful eyes. He looked pensive and uncertain. Draco pointed at him. "You do, don't you?"

The boy looked hesitant. "Come on, Connor! Tell us! How do you do it?" the others said excitedly.

"Well," he said shyly, "the only way to do that is to trick it into bowing, I read it in—"

"The library, we know," the bratty blonde said, and then looked at Draco impatiently.

The man fought back a smirk. "Connor knew the answer. You should let him finish."

Connor shook his head. "No, please, continue," he murmured, blushing.

The Slytherin paused, and decided to push the issue further. The brat was looking especially sullen, and he supposed that was fair enough.

"Well, Connor was right. The boy remembered, and the creature bowed back, spilling the water at the top of its head. He ran as fast as he could, squirming through the crack where the moonlight danced through."

"Did the boy ever get his wish?" A girl asked, excitedly.

Draco paused. The story was embellished enough already. Why ruin it with the truth? "Yes. He—"

A familiar bark met his ears.

The children jumped up to their feet, having forgotten that the tale was not quite over, and clamored around the dog, who looked just as pleased to see him.

He stood up, slighted, brushing the grass off his trousers.

The blonde boy, apparently over the comment Draco had made earlier, tugged on his sleeve. In his outstretched hand was a ball. "You're the biggest of all of us, can you throw it?"

His hand took the item, staring at it. "But what will the rest of you do?"

The girl with the two missing teeth rolled her eyes, as if the answer were obvious, "Try to catch it first, duh!"

"That's…the game?" Draco asked, uncertainly.

"Yes, we all link around in a circle," the boy tugged him closer, and a circle began to form, "and we throw the ball to each other."

"What if someone drops it?"

"Then whoever did has to catch Albus," and the boy looked at him seriously, "and Albus is really, really fast."

The game lasted approximately six minutes before one of the children had given him a weak throw. He was damn sure it was on purpose too, because the giggling that erupted as soon as Draco watched the dog bolt past was immediate.

::30::

"Hermione couldn't make it?" Harry asked, as he was setting the tables for the luncheon. Inside there were House Elves making food for the guests, who were due to arrive at any moment. Everything seemed behind schedule.

Ron shook his head. "Said she was going to an appointment today. She's been seeing someone…it's helping, I think. She wants me to go but I'm not fond of telling all my secrets to some stranger,"

Harry looked at him and shrugged. "It would probably make her feel like you're supporting her if you give it a try."

"Why are you so much better at dating Hermione than I am?" Ron grumbled, placing the napkins beside each plate, "You've been single for years and yet you're giving me the advice,"

The darker-haired man winked at him, "Nah, she just likes to tell me things. I'm telling you what she won't tell you because women think their husbands should automatically just know,"

Ron paused, "Husband? Don't remind me, it still freaks me out sometimes."

"You've been dating each other for years, Ron. Don't tell me you haven't been thinking about this for about, oh, six years now? Speaking of which, have you gotten the tuxes sorted out yet? I still need to get mine." Harry saw some of the guests arriving and nodded cordially at them, pointing them to the welcome booth. Hopefully Madame Hirsch would buy them some time.

"Oh, Hermione sent off for that a while ago. Just arrived last week, actually."

"I hadn't gotten fitted!"

"Yeah, Hermione sorted it out. Don't ask, it's a woman thing." Ron made a face, and then leaned in closer, "What in Merlin's name is Malfoy doing here? And around the kids no less! He'll corrupt them in seconds if he had a chance with them alone,"

Harry shrugged. He hadn't sorted out his opinions about his Slytherin counterpart at all, and at the moment was simply attempting to ignore him as much as possible. He had to admit, though, as he turned around again, looking at the lean man darting around the field, the children seemed to adore him. Harry was usually under the impression that children were the best judges of character, but he decided that Malfoy was simply very good at charming the socks off of everyone and their dog. Except him, of course—there was no way Malfoy would ever be able to charm him.

The House Elves began carrying out the trays of appetizers, which gave Harry much relief. Good, he thought, now they'll be entertained before the festivities start.

After the luncheon was over, there was usually a tour of the centre. The guests would see the children in their usual attire and made sure to have the visit be as least disruptive as possible.

Some of the children were sensitive to strangers—one that stood out in his mind was Connor Reed, a small, quiet boy, who reminded him much of Hermione in that his nose was always in a book, and Neville, in that his demeanor was usually shy and quiet—leading him to be easily pushed around by the others.

Harry took one last look at the man loping around the yard, haphazardly herding his group toward the dining section set up for the kids. Somehow Harry felt he had been the only one to notice Malfoy's presence at all. The sweets were usually special on these days, something like ice cream and various fixings of choice followed. The kids adored it, and it always, always made a mess.

Malfoy had to know he'd be stuck with the clean-up.

And yet—Harry couldn't tell if the smile on his face was genuine or not, it was Malfoy, after all—but the one on Connor's face seemed the brightest of all.

The emerald-eyed man frowned, shaking his head. Why was it so hard to believe he'd changed?

Because it was Malfoy.

"Harry, it's time for tour," Madame called, and he followed her cue, pasting on a smile.