Chapter 51—Three Heartbeats
Draco glanced swiftly around the flat where Harry had lived before he took him to the Manor. It was a small place, and he knew every inch of it from long nights of spying on Harry as he ate and slept, or weekends when he spent his time writing reports and studying evidence. And he knew, now, that Harry was not here.
Damn it.
Draco could feel the anger and the panic rising up to lash at him like cold winds. He forced them back down, brutally. If he panicked, then he would deserve the scorn that Harry had heaped on him at the Muggles' house. He wouldn't get the chance to explain, or, if he found Harry while he was still in this state, his explanation would be a mess. He had to calm down, and think about where Harry would have gone.
The Ministry? Draco doubted it. Harry would have had to give too many explanations, and it wasn't as though he could bury himself in work again and return without a splash or commotion.
But if not his flat and not the Ministry—
For years, Harry had circled back and forth between those two places. If he hadn't gone there, Draco didn't know where he would have gone.
And then he wanted to smack himself in the forehead. The Manor, idiot. He might have gone there, if only to take his anger out on the walls or gather up some clothes before he leaves. He did say that he considers it home.
Draco took one more look around the small, bare flat—he still couldn't believe Harry had lived in this mess of grays and browns for so long, or walked over this scratchy carpet—and then Apparated.
Harry stood in silence on the small hill, staring at the mound in front of him. He was sure that dozens of people could have passed this spot every day and seen nothing worthy of their attention. The mound itself might look unnatural if it was cleared off, but grass had swarmed across and buried it. There were even a few scattered, hardy wildflowers growing on it, something Harry would have said was impossible the last time he'd seen it. No, this place was nothing special to anyone any more.
Except him.
Harry carefully navigated his way down the hill, though he thought he could have found his way in his sleep, and, anyway, it wasn't as if the ground were muddy or treacherous. There was no reason to be so careful.
He halted again in front of the grass and flower-covered mound, and stared down at it.
It was the remains of the Burrow.
If he concentrated, the sounds of Ottery St. Catchpole would drift to him—the voices of people going about their business, defiantly living, as though no one had ever died under the sunshine and the clouds. After what he'd learned at Hogwarts earlier that week, Harry couldn't even blame them.
He sat down in front of the mound. He had thought he would clear it off when he first came here, but there wasn't a need for that. He found he liked the way it looked, in fact. This was right. Covered-over death, healed wounds that scar tissue had made look almost like normal skin. Draco had inflicted new ones on him, rather than tearing open old ones, though he had done his very best with that.
"I wish you were still alive," he told Ron and Hermione, whose bodies were part of the dust and ash that formed the mound, pulverized by Voldemort's spell. They had headstones, but no one had been able to extricate those bodies from the pancake the Burrow had become. Harry could smell the burning still. "I'd have someone else to talk to about what Draco just did, and why it was so horrible. Theresa was right. Depending on Draco that much was—a mistake."
He closed his eyes, and listened in silence to the swarm of insects in the deep grass. He didn't know what kind they were. That was all right. He didn't want to know.
Once, he had stood next to Voldemort's remains and, for three heartbeats, longed to die. Now he went through three heartbeats when he allowed himself to feel self-pity and wrenching grief. He'd begun to rebuild his life, finally, in the wake of his family's loss, and now it was gone again.
Then he brought himself back to reality, down again. He should have expected this, shouldn't he? At least Draco had taught him to heal and shown him some important truths. But that he should show him love, happiness, peace that would last? Harry shook his head slightly. He couldn't depend on anyone else to secure that for him. He would have to take the lessons and move on, without Draco's company.
In some ways, of course, it was worse, because he was in love this time, and he'd lost the emotionless shell that had saved his sanity before when he surrendered to Draco. But he would get used to it. He had to. He would survive. It was what he did.
But, for another three heartbeats, and then another, and then another, he stayed by the silent mound of the Burrow and pretended that it didn't have to be that way, that he had a life where Ron and Hermione were alive, and Ginny, and the other Weasleys, and where he'd never heard of Draco Malfoy since Hogwarts.
"Trippy!"
The house-elf appeared the moment Draco called for her, and squeaked at the look on his face. "Master Draco is wanting something?'
"Where's Harry?" Draco demanded.
Trippy's eyes grew impossibly wide. "He went to find Master Draco, sir!"
Draco cursed. It hadn't occurred to him that Harry might not have come back to the Manor, either—but now that appeared as foolish a notion as the one that he'd gone to his flat in the first place. What was in the Manor that Harry wanted? Draco had kidnapped him without whatever beloved possessions he might have, and he wouldn't think to take the robes or other presents that Draco had gifted him with. In his eyes, they weren't really his.
If only I could understand him well enough to know where he's gone, as well as what he won't do! Draco ran a hand through his hair in distraction.
Giving up on finding Harry was not an option. Draco had meant what he said. He wasn't going to let Harry go without a fight. Apologies were hard for him, and so was atonement, but he would do anything rather than step tamely aside and pretend that Harry could just walk away from him without a word.
"But Mistress Malfoy is here, sir," Trippy went on, censure in her every word. "Trippy told her that Master Draco and Master Harry were both gone, but she would not be dismissed."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "Let her in." It was just barely possible that Narcissa had seen Harry and would let some hint of where he'd gone slip in through her gloating.
He paced back and forth while Trippy went to obey him, cursing under his breath. What Gloriana Zabini had been trying to warn him about was perfectly clear now. Narcissa had either confessed or hinted about the plan to her, and Gloriana had tried to tell Draco what she could without betraying a friend's confidence. Calm Harry down, keep him from exploding, balancing between a beautiful woman and a brash young man—yes, Draco knew what it all meant.
But too late, of course, too late.
"He is gone, then?"
Draco snapped his head up. His mother stood in the entrance to the library, and the sweet, faint smile that had fooled Harry couldn't fool him. He clenched one hand and said, "As you knew he would go."
Narcissa had the gall to arch an eyebrow at him, even to cluck her tongue. "My son, you should have known he would go, as well. He too clearly didn't want anyone disturbing his past and taking revenge on his Muggle relatives. I could see that, when I studied his record as an Auror. Never an incident of becoming violent with a criminal, even several of protecting them from those who would have administered 'justice' without the Wizengamot. Is this the man you expected to stand tamely by while you tortured Muggles? The man you told me you knew so well?"
Draco snarled under his breath. "I want to know why you felt the need to interfere in my happiness, Mother. I'm in love with him, as I have no doubt that you know by now."
And Narcissa stiffened, and Draco realized she hadn't known that. An ashy gratitude flickered to life inside him. At least there were some levels on which she hadn't managed to outwit him.
She attempted to cover for it, of course. "You knew that I wanted you to marry a woman and give me grandchildren, Draco," she murmured. "You should have expected this move before any other."
"I'm in love with him," Draco repeated, taking a step forward. "And I won't sit in a corner and look at my hands because he's angry with me. I'll track him down and force him to confront me. I'm good at that. You've hurt us both, Mother. Rejoice. But you haven't killed us, and you never will. Feel glad of that, too, if you can find it in your cold heart to do so."
"You are the one who has made mistakes, and not me," Narcissa hissed at him, with that full viciousness she so rarely unveiled. "You should have known Potter better than this. You should never have started on this ill-advised vengeance, or this equally ill-advised affair, in the first place. His place was in the Ministry, Draco, and your place is standing as a pure-blood wizard."
"I don't believe that," Draco said calmly. "I haven't for a long time."
Her face went white as marble with the shock.
"It may take me some time," Draco said. "It will cost me some effort. But never doubt it, Mother. I will have Harry here and at my side in the end. It's where he belongs." He stepped around her, giving instructions to Trippy to escort her out, and strode down the hall with his head held high.
When he was sure his mother couldn't see him, his lips thinned into a line.
In one thing, she was right.
I did make a horrible mistake.
He decided that he might as well look at Harry's flat again. Wherever Harry might have gone to be alone with his anger, that was the only place of refuge open to him, if he didn't come to the Manor. And Draco was confident that Harry wouldn't impinge on the hospitality of the Longbottoms or Dean Thomas so soon after reestablishing contact with them.
Harry looked around his flat with a critical eye. It was an ugly, barren little place, confined and making him itch to be flying, and he suspected he'd put up with it so long only because he never really noticed it in the world of his casework. But it was his, and he owed it to no one else.
The thick wards he'd established around the place the moment he returned twanged. Harry snapped his head around to face the door, and he could feel his eyes narrowing.
The wards said it was Draco.
Harry's first impulse was simply not to answer the door. I have nothing to say to him.
But then he shook his head. He was a fool for doing it, but he'd fallen in love with the git. The thought of him being there made some of the ice in Harry's chest thaw, even though that was ridiculous. Harry owed him at least the dignity of an interview.
And may the bastard's jaw hang open when he hears that I have no intention of crawling back to him.
He opened the door, and didn't mistake the look of relief in Draco's eyes in the moment before he tried to step forward. What did he think I was going to do? Apparate to the top of a building and throw myself off?
"I need to talk to you, Harry," Draco said quietly.
"There's nothing to talk about." Harry cocked his head, and the anger rose again. "After all, I saw what you did."
"I want to explain." Draco reached out towards him, and looked quite unnerved when a ward stretched across the doorway repelled his hand. Harry had to stifle laughter at the way he shook his wrist. "And apologize. It was wrong of me, I know that now. But I wanted you to understand why I did it in the first place." His voice was low and intent, and his eyes searched Harry's face.
Harry took a deep breath, more shaken than he'd expected to be. Of course, he had thought Draco would show up shouting and storming and denying that he'd done anything wrong and demanding that Harry return to the Manor immediately. This was—unexpected.
He's in love with me too, he said.
But what kind of person would Harry be if he gave up his principles for a low voice and sweet words? His resolve firmed again. He'd kept his principles intact for eleven years, the things he believed in as right and wrong, and the only reason he'd changed anything was that he'd come to agree with Draco about the negative consequences of some of his behavior. That didn't mean he was wrong to believe in justice, instead of revenge, or that Muggles had a right to be left alone and not tortured by wizards. And he wouldn't throw those values over just to embrace Draco the moment he tried to walk back into his life.
"Nothing you can say will be enough," he told Draco.
Draco looked as if he'd slapped him. "But I remember what you said," he argued, as if that should mean something.
Harry shrugged and leaned against the doorway. "And what I said was true. What you said, too, I suppose." He bit his lip to keep the bitter laughter away. That they should find out right now, of all times, and what should have been a joyous moment turned into this, instead!
But that was his life, and he'd been an idiot to think he could have anything different. His time with Draco was a dream from which he'd awakened at last.
"People who love each other don't just give up on each other," Draco said.
"You tortured people, Draco!" The words ripped themselves out of Harry's throat. God, why doesn't he understand? "I feel the way I would have if I found out that you'd just tried to kill someone who'd never done you any harm. Apologies can't make up for that. What you did was wrong."
Draco lifted his chin. "But you still love me."
"Goddamn you, yes." Harry narrowed his eyes again, and felt the walls around them began to vibrate with the pressure of his magic. Draco didn't seem to notice. "And you can laugh at me all you like. Go away."
He started to shut the door, but Draco lifted his hand. Wary that he might be about to break through the wards, Harry stiffened, but Draco just held the hand in the air outside the ward, a few inches from Harry's cheek. Harry stared at him, and met pure determination in his eyes.
"If this is as close as I can come to touching you for the next little while," Draco said quietly, "then that's all right. I'll make it up, Harry. I'll do what I can to apologize. We're both in love with each other. There's no way under the sun I'll let you go. I don't care how long it takes or how hard my penance is. This is what I've been wanting, for years." He leaned forward until his face was at the same distance his hand was, clear, bright eyes searching Harry's. "This is what I'm willing to fight for."
He turned and walked down the hall, each step laden with dignity.
Harry shut the door. His hand was shaking. He turned and leaned against the door, closing his eyes.
He was afraid not that Draco would give up, but that Draco would convince him, and succeed.
