Please note that this slash fiction can be graphic in places. Very R rated.
'The End' - Part 1
While this story had a beginning, it didn't quite have an end. So that's what this is.
Let's first step back to the worst night of Ronald Weasley's life, which for the record was on February 4th, 1997, the latter half of his sixth year at Hogwarts. Around four in the afternoon, with clouds filling the sky and blotting out the majority of the light above, with the air crisp and warm coats on, he had found his friend Harry on a mossy stone bridge about to jump off and die.
Woah, didn't catch that?
Harry was despairing about a lot of thing, the most sinister of all was the desire of Dumbledore's to rejoin the forces fighting against Voldemort. But also on his mind was his withdrawal from his friends. He couldn't cope with his loneliness and the rising list of things he's experienced versus what they can actually sympathize with. His friends hadn't had their parents murdered, nor been the direct reason their godfather was killed, nor had they been seduced by an unknown person using a Prefect's badge and wearing his best friend's skin...
Harry hung over the edge of the bridge thinking about the cold water below, when Ron had wrapped his warm arms around him.
This wasn't a summary of what Harry was thinking and feeling, it was a summary of what Ron knew Harry was going through.
Ron was happy he had made it in time to stop Harry before he did anything stupid. He vowed to get closer to his friend once again from that point on, and held him tighter in promise.
He was so close he could smell the soap Harry used. The evening was breezy. That chilly wind blew now against Ron's back and whipped both their hair about. Harry's back was warming.
Harry slowly looked behind him to see who had stopped him from swimming with the mermaids, and when their eyes lined up, Ron could see every speck of green in his eyes. The beauty of it all, really, was the worry-lines in the corners faded, and relief was present in Harry's features now. That was all Ron could ask for.
Embarrassment was blown away in the breeze and Ron found his voice. He could so easily say this, because it was so very, very true. "I love you, Harry. You know that, right?"
His friend nodded. Ron's heart fluttered. He could do this. He could have more of his friend now. He knew Harry's desires for the same gender and specifically for him...and he wasn't afraid as much anymore. Yes, there was still fear: Ron was the type to be hounded by worry of what other's thought of him. It was on him now to be brave and overcome these worries. It was what Ron had to be if he was going to have his friend by his side...and he wanted that. He wanted and needed to keep this friend in his arms and this close to him.
Ron leaned closer to Harry, so close his cold nose rubbed against Harry's warm and soft cheek.
"Remember that. I'd do anything for you."
"I'd do anything for you...too."
Ron knew Harry wasn't just saying that. Harry had proved time and again he really could do anything he put his mind to.
A weight off both of them fell and they sighed.
They spent a few moments more there on that bridge, and then a few hours and a few turns of events later and soon they were separated, with Harry left to die at Malfoy Manor and Ron staggered by a memory charm performed by Clouse Malfoy. That's where we'll really pick this up.
As a promise to Harry, Clouse Malfoy - along with his house elf - Apparated Ron to Hogsmeade. Clouse could have broken his promise and even just left Ron back there to die by the hand of Voldemort, but he was at least honorable to his word if nothing else. He arrived outside an old haunt of his: near the bins behind an ugly old inn where a horrible old wizard lived and worked. If this was still an inn or if the old wizard still worked here, he didn't know; hadn't been back since his schooldays.
Beside Clouse stood Ron on wavering legs. The long Apparation had weakened Clouse's Petrification spell on Ron, but Clouse had cast a memory charm just before they left. It was a practiced spell that he only sometimes didn't get right. The dark and cold night offered no light to see by, so Clouse illuminated the tip of his wand and held it up to Ron's face to get a look at him. The hazy eyes, the inability to focus, the weakening of his limbs - Clouse had got it mostly right.
But with the light illuminated a few other things. Sure enough, he recognized the bins - they were in the same places as when he was last here all those years ago. His years at Hogwarts weren't fond memories, but behind this ugly Hog's Head Inn, Clouse had a few close encounters that he remembered. Particularly the time he debauched this annoying Hufflepuff...the boy had asked for it, though, which was a far cry away from Clouse's more up to date encounters. The dirty stone wall and the little glass window with the emblem of the goat were just the same today as they were that evening he stared at it as he had his way with the Hufflepuff.
Clouse smiled at the memory, and at his handiwork on Harry Potter's friend.
"Find your own way back," Clouse said, pushing Ron over into a pile of broken twigs and ice where the wind had collected both. Ron fell like a stiff board, mind and body thwarted by the spell. He moaned, struggling to gather his wits. In a few hours he'd have a clear head with no memory of the last hour before...if all went to Clouse's plan.
"House elf!" Called Clouse, looking now on the little cold creature. "Take me home!"
"We not to take it to Hogwarts?" Whispered the meek house elf next to Clouse.
Clouse smirked down on the redhead, then laid a heavily scornful glare on his house elf. "No. Take me home. I'm done with this."
The house elf reached for his pant leg, but then all at once a bright curse erupted upon the chest of the creature and it was blown off to hit the bins with a squawk and a racket, only to lay still. Clouse jumped away with a shout. Not a moment later he was hit by a horribly painful spell to his stomach, forcing him to drop his wand as the muscles in his stomach clenched with such fury, like he'd been punched hard ten times over in the gut.
"Who are ye!?" Shouted an old wizard, coming upon Clouse from the shadows and grabbing him by the neck, the wand tilting downward to his heart.
"What ye doing behind my inn!?"
Clouse choked, but the moment to rush for something to say had him arriving at, "Got him - !" and he pointed at Ron's collapsed body. With his throat held tightly, he managed to say, " - saved him - - fucking - - old man!"
A light was suddenly glaring in his eyes. The old wizard recognized this young one. It was some years ago, but this particular Malfoy boy was wicked and cruel, and stirred up quite a bit of trouble for the inn keeper, Aberforth Dumbledore. He had some jaunts behind his inn that caused quite a stir and irked the old man.
Aberforth redirected his light to the other body on the ground that was weakly moving, wondering for a moment if this was a throw-back; a jaunt behind his inn once again, like Clouse use to do when he was a student. But Aberforth had gotten the message as well as the rest of Hogsmeade: Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were taken by Death Eaters. This was the red-haired Weasley, not some random person; Clouse was with one of the kidnapped boys.
"Saved him?" Aberforth suddenly raged, shaking Clouse. "Saved him from where!?"
The question was asked with such threat that Clouse would have thought all his crimes were there to be seen on his sleeve. He was scared, that was for sure. The old wizard may have been disgusting and wrinkly, but he always scared Clouse; his threats felt more real than any said to him by anyone, in truth. Surely, with the thoughts of what he'd just done to The Boy Who Lived, even a novice Occulmenist would garner some of the truth of Clouse's life as he bore his fear so openly.
Struggling to breathe, struggling to get the stone-like grip off his throat, Clouse couldn't get out a single curse or rude remark, only the words, " - Malfoy Manor -" could squeeze from his lips. Clouse's voice was no louder than a mouse, not even by a squeak.
Aberforth heard the answer.
With a dark glare, Aberforth cast "Innockubit!" and released Clouse. In his heart, Aberforth felt pure delight; he'd been wanting to get this Malfoy for years! The spell first caused Clouse's airway to reopen, a horrible hick-up jumping from him. Then, he fell to the snowy ground, having lost feeling in his body. But most importantly, the spell Albus Dumbledore's brother cast rendered the Slytherin graduate incontinent. Loud farting noises issued from his trousers, and Clouse gurgled; it was the only noise he could make.
Aberforth stood over the fallen body for a moment, but he couldn't celebrate as there was a pressing issue. Going now to Ron, the old inn keeper took the recognizable Gryffindor by his shoulder and pulled him off the snow and to his feet. Ron was dazed and instantly toppled again, but the old wizard pressed him against the wall before he fell. Ron's head still rolled, eyes trying to lock onto something, but whatever spell he was under was rendering him unable focus or balance at all. Feeling like this was indeed an emergency, Aberforth supported Ron into his inn.
With a solid look at a painting on his wall, he demanded, "Get Albus!"
The person in the painting left in a hurry, on his way to find Albus Dumbledore.
This story isn't about February 4th, though. It's about what goes on after. For this reason, only a little more needs to be said about what happened after Dumbledore got to Ron at his brother's inn. Notably, The Order of the Phoenix was informed to get to Malfoy Manor, and second most notably, Dumbledore countered the memory charm on Ron as he sat in a dirty chair at the bar of the inn. Dumbledore didn't have to Divine to find out what was wrong with Ron, as he went right away to the foul smelling former student laying in the snow and charmed his wand to see what spell had been cast last; it was easy enough to determine what a wand's last cast was for the Headmaster.
As Dumbledore cast charms about Ron's head, feeling the magic and undoing the memory charm, a small part of him wanted to leave - to go to Malfoy Manor and find Harry. But here before him was a student in need...Dumbledore would never feel regret for his choice of staying behind. Truthfully...by this time it was already too late to save Harry, although Dumbledore would only find that out later.
"Ron? Ronald?" Dumbledore said softly, coaxing the consciousness back to Ron's mind.
It was like he was under a frozen lake, but only now the ice on the surface had broken and he was conscious.
"Headmaster..." said Ron weakly, hearing Dumbledore's voice from the void he once was in as his senses returned. "...save him...save Harry...he's at Malfoy Manor...in the basement..."
"We've already got people going there. I assure you. Aurors and so many others are on their way."
Ron's eyes opened. He reached out and gripped Dumbledore's robe by his collar in such a strangling way. Ron's eyes grew fierce. "How long has it been? Are we too late?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "It hasn't been long since you disappeared. My lad, you were saved! Tell me everything! Tell me what happened!"
Ron focused around the room, discovering his new location and the people he was surrounded by. When his eyes alighted onto Clouse Malfoy slumped on the hard floor just inside the door within the inn, pants soiled, he raged. The person's eyes were opened, looking scared, looking unable to move.
Ron stood so fast his chair scraped and crashed over backward behind him, and he couldn't stop the furious bellow of anger, hurt and fear all rolled into one as it rose out of his guts. He was up to the blonde man, still unsteady and nearly falling over. His hands slammed onto the wall above Clouse as he caught his balance, but he had the coordination enough to land a kick - then a second and a third - onto the body of the man who had raped his friend. The man below him grunted with each hard thrust and Ron hoped his kicks were painful and deadly.
"You son of a bitch! You did that! You did that to him!" Ron barely heard what he was saying, barely registered anything but his anger as he screamed.
Hands grabbed him. Ron was too weak to stop them. Before he was once again condemned to a chair, he'd already begun to sob, hiding his face in his hands and screaming again.
"What?! What?!" Demanded the Headmaster, pulling his hands away from his face.
Runny snot fell from Ron's nose, his tears soaked down to his chin, and his lips were pulled back, baring his teeth. His agony was all encompassing. He hiccupped to catch his breath.
"Here!" Said the deep and gravelly voice of the old man behind Dumbledore.
Aberforth had poured a stout shot glass of whisky and had come to Ron's aid. He took the nearly-sixteen year old by the hair and pulled his neck back. Half the whisky overflowed and poured down his neck, some went into his nose and eyes, but a good hot swallow went down his throat.
"Aberforth!" Shouted Albus, pushing his brother off the Gryffindor.
Ron fell forward and spit the whisky back out, screaming in pain as he held his face.
"Scourgify!" Order Dumbledore of his wand, and suddenly Ron was completely clean of the whisky.
"Didn't mean to spill it!" Aberforth said. Perhaps he was unstable for his own reasons; he did own an inn with a full bar.
Ron stopped his shouting but still rubbed his now painless eyes. But the pain still deep within his memories burned as hot as the whisky in his mouth.
"He's just a student!" Albus said angrily.
"He's one of the older ones. He needed a drink! He was in a state!" Defended Aberforth.
"Give me another one!" Shouted Ron.
The two old wizards stopped their fight, Albus looking angry and Aberforth pleased. In one hand he held the bottle of whisky, in the other he held the shot glass he'd poured into every orifice on Ron's face. He poured a dollop into the glass and passed it over.
Ron took the shot glass under the glare of his Headmaster, then downed the drink without smelling it - he knew already it was foul. As it poured into him, it grew a fire within him. He stood again, eyes shut tightly, focusing for this moment only on the raw pain of it.
Ron smacked his tongue as he looked into the empty glass. The hot liquid swirled in his belly, swirled into his blood and rushed his brain. It rushed against the memory of his best friend gasping behind him, against the sounds of the blonde stranger raping him, against Ron's inner screaming to make it all stop. He was powerless to change the past, and that thought raged within him.
Ron set down the glass and looked over at the wincing blonde that lay on the ground. Ron was as tall as these old wizards in the room; the blonde was a small puddle on the ground.
Dumbledore was again in Ron's face, asking, "What happened?"
Ron's eyes were full of anguish as he confessed in a quiet, strained voice. "He raped Harry. Just now...to get me out of there...Harry traded for me...traded himself. And he left Harry behind after what he did! Left him for You Know Who so he'd die!"
Again, Ron's voice was taken from him by his grief. He felt sick to his stomach, but grabbed the empty whisky glass and pulled it back, flinging it at the blonde. He missed; it crashed next to his head and scattered glass.
He closed his eyes, fully faithful now in Headmaster Dumbledore, because he saw the look that crossed the Headmaster: it was murderous.
As a side note, Rita Skeeter wrote the front page article the next morning. She wrote about the kidnap, death of Harry, the lack of a body. She wrote the scapegoat story as it was told to her by Dumbledore: Harry and Ron were kept in different locations, and Ron was taken away by Clouse Malfoy. She was ordered not to say that Clouse was going into protective custody in an undisclosed location, but of course she did hint at it.
Before Dumbledore told her the story, he was consoling Ron.
"We could tell the truth, my lad," Dumbledore told Ron in the hospital ward at Hogwarts, where Ron lay still in a bed.
Ron shook his head. His whole body was numb. He had just found out that Harry didn't make it and had been issued a dose of Calming Drought. Dumbledore rubbed his shoulder as he shivered.
"I don't want him remembered like that," Ron told Dumbledore.
Dumbledore understood.
"Then tolerate this story with me for a little while," he told Ron.
Dumbledore would weave a tale. After a time, he promised that Clouse would be tried for his crimes after things settled down, so that no one would know what Harry really went through in his final moments alive. The Order would keep Clouse.
After Dumbledore came and went from the Ministry of Magic, Rita Skeeter went to her office to write up the article as it was told to her. She hurried through the corridors, past the other desks, not speaking to anyone. She arrived at her desk in anguish to get this article out and to print - but then she froze. For just a minute, Rita sat still, eyes locked on her cluttered desk and the wall she had decorated with fan letters. With the lot of it was a picture of a boy she wrote about from time to time over the years. A corner of another paper had fallen over his shoulder, so Rita moved it now. There was the photo of Harry when he was just fourteen.
Her heart broke and tears slid down her cheeks. It was the toughest article she ever wrote.
It is worth giving a mention to a few major facts from here. The first thing to mention is that Harry didn't really die on February 4th. He was found and saved by Narcissa Malfoy in a secret room between the walls within the house. Why she chose to foster the Boy Who Lived against all the Wizarding World's knowledge is simple: it was for her own personal gain.
Narcissa benefited from Harry's "death" because he was the final victor and victim of Lord Voldemort. Harry had killed Voldemort but also died, signaling the end of Second Wizarding War at her house on February 4, 1997. She needed that war to end to let her family go, and so she insured its ending by taking away the last part of it: Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.
Harry had been at Hogwarts and was walking near the Forbidden Forest with his best friend Ron. Death Eaters had been hiding in the forest, and they delivered the two teenage wizards to Malfoy Manor's basement during a family dinner party. There were parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and twenty other extended family members in attendance. Narcissa and Lucius hosted the delightful feast, but it was cut short when it was announced that Harry had been brought to them. Lucius had taken command, excused anyone who wanted to leave, and called upon Lord Voldemort to come to their home and have his prize.
It was with baited breath that they waited. Lucius stood by her, quivering in that subtle way he did, because they were in such a place in their lives that they were offering a human sacrifice to a morbid half-human demon, and once that sacrifice was made there was no turning back - they'd never be free.
Voldemort had burst back into their lives, took from them their freewill, and demanded more than they could morally give. On that night, Narcissa and her husband watched from their place by the balcony door as Voldemort circled around Harry, who was wilted on his knees, head down. He'd been crying. Voldemort stood above him with his snake Naginni around his shoulders. The great python hissed and he caressed it. It was all disturbing.
"Where's the other one?" Voldemort asked the people who brought Harry in.
"There was only him down there, My Lord. Apologies. He hasn't said where the other one went."
Voldemort turned his slit, snake-like eyes on Harry. "I wanted you to see your friend die, Harry. Where has he gone?"
Harry sniffed. "Back to Dumbledore where you'll never get him."
While Harry still wept a little, it was now clear it wasn't out of fear. Even Voldemort knew the worry in Harry's voice was because of a different matter. He halted his steps and stood before Harry, looking down on his head of messy black hair.
"Who took him?" There was menace in his voice, a demand for knowledge.
Harry looked up. He held his words for a time, lips pinched and in a bit of pain. Harry was very alone, very scared, but very sure of what he was doing. He didn't speak loudly. In fact, no one heard him except the two Death Eaters standing close by.
"A Malfoy. Draco Malfoy's cousin," he ground out. "Do you need to know more? Graduated six years ago. Had a house elf. And he took my deal to save my friend. That means he crossed you, doesn't it?" And if Harry wasn't baring his teeth in a snarl, then that was a pitiful excuse for a grin. "Then find him. Do something to him. I don't care at all. Find him."
Voldemort was neither pleased nor angered with the answer.
He asked, "What deal did you make, Harry?"
Harry had whispered to him. No one had heard, but when Voldemort stood once again his face was scrunched in anger, his red eyes blazing as he glared down upon the little boy at his feet. Voldemort started pacing about in silent thought for a time, he didn't look pleased. Not long after hearing what Harry whispered, Voldemort pledged both Draco's cousin and Ron Weasley be found and killed for undermining him, and it was at this time that the torture began. Everyone watched, some laughed, some held quiet, like Narcissa and Lucius.
Most of the closest circle of Death Eaters had seen Voldemort use these spells before, but only the closest ones. Because it was rare that Voldemort would do the dirty work himself. But for Harry...he dished out the worst.
Cruciatus, yes.
The dark hooks to hold him wide, yes.
But Harry lived through it because he was being worked upon by a skilled wizard. Voldemort was deeply disturbed and wholly evil, and he had his mortal enemy in his hands to hurt. He left his body, his clothes, and the floor a bleeding mess. The cursed hooks were as wide as the digit of a finger in some cases, and pierced him through to bone.
When the end had come, Voldemort took his time to say goodbye to Harry. He removed the hooks with a wave of his wand; they disappeared in place and Harry's blood flowed through these orifices like a dam breaking. He allowed Harry to roll over onto his side. He leaned in over him with that great snake around his shoulders and whispered to him...
And that's when Harry had grabbed the head of the massive snake and plunged its venomous fangs into the Dark Lord's neck.
It made history.
Harry had enough strength to get up and run from the chomping mouth of the snake that now turned on him, as well as from the flying curses of the Death Eaters who were too late to save their Dark Lord. He'd run for the fireplace - without reason - where he accidently pressed a magical hidden glyph that opened to the secret passages between the walls in Malfoy Manor. He saw the gap in the wall and he'd squeezed through. He ran down strange narrow passageways away from the bleeding half of the snake that had only gotten half its body through the magical opening before it'd closed and severed the snake in two. He'd lost consciousness surrounded by greenery and with a twisted dead snake around him, squeezing him just enough to keep his blood in his body.
The Ministry of Magic had sent their teams of witches and wizards into Narcissa's home to catalogue the evening, and they had taken every speck of soot from the fireplace to rifle through and look for what was left of their brave hero. Days later when she could return home, Narcissa found Harry in her magically hidden courtyard accessible through the hidden corridors as well as accessible from her bathroom. She'd saved his life and kept him secret.
On another note, while this was the first part of the major events to mention, the second part is also important.
To prognosticate from these events would be unwise, so let's give it some time. Let's say that two weeks passed after February 4th, which is plenty of time for the Ministry of Magic to conclude on some of their findings from that evening.
Those two weeks were wrought with snow storms and bleak cold, dispersed with celebration and pitiful sadness.
They conducted interviews with the people present at the gathering that night, gave sentences of prison to Death Eaters, broke wands for the lesser evils, even had a few kissed by Dementors for their cruel deeds - like Fenrir Greyback and Bellatrix Lestrange - Narcissa's sister. The time also gave the investigators from Magical Law Enforcement time to analyze the soot from the fireplace. It was a large brick fireplace, used often as a Flooplace to travel from and to the house. The magical residue was thick as it was used by all of the guests to come to the evening dinner at Malfoy Manor, and it was the catch-all for the dozens of curses - including Killing Curses - that were aimed at Harry as he ran there for safety from them and the snake, and this led to quite the array of tests that couldn't be categorized. In essence, there was nothing left of Harry Potter. Not even ashes.
But the witness reports from the dozens of guests and Death Eaters made it obvious there was no doubt: Harry had died that night. One way or another, it was inevitable. So, despite having no physical evidence of his death, after two weeks the death report was filed.
A faction of witches and wizards would never believe the findings. Similar to the believers in alien life, Elvis, and dust bunnies, they would believe he was out there. This has no founding to the story; it's just a remarkable note.
At this same time, appeals for the sentencing of the witches and wizards were beginning to flood the Ministry. Some people celebrated the sentences, while others appealed. The sentence of house arrest and forbiddance from using magic for Lucius Malfoy became a popular topic for some time after the initial announcement. They broke his wand and all. There were articles in the newspaper every other day about the reasoning for his sentence of house arrest. Lucius was back at home after a week of being held at Azkaban Prison. Their lawyer stated all the evidence of the Malfoy family being held in Voldemort's clutches, their son's life being the chip Voldemort held them by. It was clear Voldemort had wrangled it so that their money was no longer in their hands, their house was not their private property, and their lives were always at risk. In essence, the Malfoy's were victims forced to serve. There was such substantial evidence for all this that Lucius was given a light life sentence. Expanding on this event, the day Lucius came home, Draco Malfoy was given special privileges from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to visit home to be with his parents for a few days.
Their lawyer and two Aurors were present to deliver Lucius. Narcissa and Draco waited by the Flooplace for their arrival. She hugged her husband but kept matters polished so as to move the proceedings along quickly. He held strong, sturdy, hollow-faced from his time at Azkaban. It was two hours of formal paperwork and warnings of breach of house arrest or magic use before she was alone with her family. The three of them stood by the window and watched as everyone left via the public route. Moments after the wizards left the gates off the property, Narcissa turned towards her husband and son and looked at them with a subtle blend of ecstasy and dread.
"Come with me, both of you!"
Her command was followed by silence and intrigue by her two men. She had decided from the beginning that she wouldn't keep Harry a secret from the two of them. She led them through the large house into her and Lucius's bedroom and then further into the bathroom. It was awkward for Draco to be in here, as he hadn't been in here since he was a young kid. The past few years had changed him into a very private person, a bit away from the closeness he once had with his parents.
His mother took the shower door handle in her grip and turned back to the two of them. Lucius knew where this door led, but Draco didn't. They stood at similar heights and raised identical eyebrows.
"Do you trust me?" She asked.
"With anything, my darling," Lucius said urgently.
Draco agreed with a nod.
Her heart beating fast, she took a deep breath and then opened the door an inch and called in, "They're home!"
She had opened the access into the Second Courtyard, the secret room where Harry had been told was a safe place to hide, where no one would find him. And to the two Malfoy's surprise, there he stood for them to see: Harry Potter, alive.
This isn't the last bit of story to tell. Narcissa played such an important role in Harry's life after the night he was kidnapped that there is a little more worth telling. Here first is a bit about Narcissa, so as to clarify her behavior and reasoning.
In her youth, Narcissa Black was quite famous by means of being an actress. She gained popularity and quite a fortune doing so. She had two older sisters, but they were both out of reach now. Andromeda was disowned by her and her family for cutting ties with the blood purity she once held so dear, and Bellatrix was kissed by Dementors not more than a few days before Lucius came home from Aurora custody. It would have been poetic had her niece, Nymphadora Tonks, been the escorting Aurora, but it wasn't so. Narcissa had seen her during Lucius's trial, though.
She called it a family tradition of naming children after stars and constellations, but truthfully she was enthralled by the magic of the stars, and had named Draco thus. Lucius was a romantic and took to her for her beauty, charm, and fierce family loyalty. They danced together every week, dined, gave lavish gifts to each other, and were prominent members of society in that traditional, conservative pure-blood prestige only a few of the old pure-blood houses had. As a Malfoy, she lived a life of luxury at Malfoy Manor in the southern English county of Wiltshire.
But not all was a history she would talk willingly about. Narcissa came with a family burden of pure-blood superiority, taught to her by her elders, and Lucius brought with him the need for power and the constitution to do whatever it took to get that power. He chose Lord Voldemort as a means to rise within the ranks of the Ministry of Magic. Now, at this present junction of losing the moral high-ground and being cast into the group of lowlifes who helped the Second Rise of Lord Voldemort, both Narcissa and Lucius were retrenched. Malfoy Manor stopped being a badge of honor, and turned instead for the people living there a humbling abode for them to weigh and measure their lives within.
That first week before Lucius and Draco came home was a blur; Harry hardly remembered it because of the amount of potions he drank. Narcissa insisted. She insisted on Calming Droughts, on Oblivious Unction, on regular meals, on Dittany and other healing potions and salves that left him dizzy and numb. She insisted on rubbing the liquid pollen of the asphodel plant onto his hands, as it stained a disgusting taste but left no smell. It was a mundane plant with minor magical healing properties when in its raw state, but most importantly it dissuaded Harry from his post-traumatic habit of chewing on his wrist and the soft pad before his thumb. Narcissa listened to Harry's mumbled words, his cries, his strangled moans, and deciphered that he felt restrained by his hands and wanted to be free of those invisible binds. She had witnessed the hooks that dug into and under his skin by Voldemort, but Harry centered around the restraints of his hands instead of each and every place he was pierced. It was odd.
She cared for him every minute until his sanity slowly returned, about a week. She could lighten up just a little after that.
For instance, to prepare him for the introduction to Lucius and Draco, she had saturated him severely with Calming Drought.
"A few extra sips," she ordered, uncorking the bottle of Calming Drought and leading it up to Harry's mouth. He wrapped his hand around hers to slow it - to push it back, as he'd had enough - but she insisted. He set his lips against the thick glass rim and let the smooth potion slide into his mouth, fill it, slick down his throat in a clogging way and induce the state of normalcy back to his addled thoughts.
"Are they going to be okay with me?" Harry asked, worried about the introduction to the two whom he never had a good experience with.
"I'll forewarn them not to be too surprised. But they won't hurt you, or even try to hurt you."
It registered in Harry's mind that he was once again muddled by the potion, but he was warm and in the safety of the Second Courtyard that was filled with plant life - magical plants, some moving, some making sounds. The magical windows showed images of the ocean shore. They were silent images against his torrential memories from a few weeks prior. In his drugged state, even if Lucius and Draco tried something against him, he probably wouldn't care.
"You're good at helping me," Harry told her, as she corked the bottle and set it back on the shelf with all the others, as well as all the gardening tools.
"I've helped myself out of quite a few bad situations, so I've had practice."
Harry's bizarrely thick and slow mind barely found that statement curious, but he managed to ask, "Situations like what?"
Narcissa pushed her long blonde hair away from her face. Her beauty at age forty-six was still youthful in everything but her blue eyes, which were fierce. She spoke honestly to Harry.
"I've had fans over the years, sometimes they treated me nicely, sometimes not so nicely. Being recognized on the street is more trouble than it's worth, so I've often looked for means to hide myself. A few of the methods I've used had bad reactions I had to heal from. Lucius is so confident, so unaffected by the feelings of others, so he has been helpful in me coming to terms with my worry over how others see me. It's one thing to like someone, and it's another to like yourself."
Harry thought about her words, her openness and willingness to talk and help him, that once again he was struck by how much he needed her. Harry knew it was a good thing he was taking a Calming Drought, because he couldn't see himself getting through this without breaking down harder than even he broke last year when the figure of his best friend had entered the hospital ward in Hogwarts...he'd have been beyond help if he was being treated by anyone but her, as she used extreme potions to heal him mentally; at Hogwarts, they wouldn't have done that.
Maybe at St. Mungo's they would have, but he'd have been placed in the psyche ward for it.
He needed her so much right now, that he reached out and took hold of her shoulders.
"Will you keep helping me?" He asked, voice a whisper.
She nodded, wrapping her own arms around his waist and pulling him in for a hug. He was a little taller than she was, even at only sixteen. Against his shoulder, she said, "Yes. I'll let you out into the world on your own one day. When you're better. When you've started to take care of yourself again."
She knew that wouldn't be for a long time.
Draco Malfoy was sixteen years old and home for the long weekend that February, very unusual for a Hogwarts student but necessary for the Malfoy family. Narcissa made him stay away from Harry until the last day before he went back to Hogwarts. Even then, she was there with them to supervise. Draco had asked to see him, but she was afraid of what image Harry would leave in his mind. It was such a paradox to be housing Harry under her roof, knowing he meant something romantically to Draco.
The evening before, Lucius had asked, "Why won't you let Draco visit?"
"You remember what I said Draco told me last Christmas?"
Lucius thought. "That our son has a level of desire for him. That he was worried about Harry and why he was gone for so long from Hogwarts."
"Well, I don't want Harry to give the wrong impression and smolder our son's feelings."
"You're encouraging it, dear? You think that it's wise to keep those feelings going?"
Narcissa took Lucius's words with a raise of her eyebrow. "For better or worse, we don't have a choice with who Draco likes. And having him brood around the house and endlessly talk about him, I'd say there is some real truth to Draco's feelings. But I don't want Harry's current state to affect Draco. If he sees him like this...Draco won't think the same of him. He has had some really bad days, still. I want Harry to be more stable than he is now before Draco can see him."
Lucius understood where his wife was coming from, but still, he felt action should be taken and not just withheld.
"If Draco does like him, and if the gossip and flout from the newspapers have any truth and Harry does only fancy the same gender, it might help him heal to be around anyone who wants the best for him. You say Harry has not come to terms with being alive; he doesn't know where he fits in. Draco might help. You should let them visit each other."
Lucius's words are what led to the supervised visit.
Narcissa opened the door and called gently in, "Harry?"
"Hello," came the reply of the benevolent wizard within the room.
Narcissa opened the door to the plant-filled room and came in with Draco behind her. Harry was, like usual, watering the plants. He'd been shown the signs of a dry bed and took to the care of the plants as a means to get his mind off his issues. It all helped bring an inner peace back to him. He stopped watering when he saw Draco standing behind Narcissa.
The one thing that kept Draco nervous up to now was trying to remember if he really had seen as many scars on Harry as that first day they were introduced to him. Now, looking at him, Draco confirmed that yes, Harry was messed up. Across his nose and under his eyes was a long mark, and specifically along his left jaw line was a smear of a scar. His neck, too, must have been wrapped by some curse from the Dark Lord, because it was wrapped in a scar. He'd asked his parents what made those scars, but they were unwilling to describe any details of the spells. Clearly, though, they were curses unaffected by any of Narcissa's healing potions.
Harry was wearing clothes that covered him down to his hands, so only marks on the back of his hands could be seen, but nothing else; although Draco suspected there was much more harm being hidden.
Draco ran a hand through his hair, bit his lip, but didn't look away. Harry and the Calming Drought were a good mix right about now, too.
Draco was waiting, watching, openly nervous about being there.
"Draco's going back to Hogwarts in the early morning. I thought it'd be okay if you saw him before he left. Maybe there's something you want to say...or ask."
Harry did.
While Narcissa sat on the bench and observed them, Harry set the watering can down and came over. Draco didn't speak, but looked on silently. He was more handsome silent than he was while talking and being mean. He and Narcissa were both so pale, so blonde, such blue eyes, but there was that extra trait that drew Harry to Draco, that elegant way his eyes looked out through his long bangs and the way they shined even though Draco looked tired.
"I hope it's okay that I'm wearing these," Harry said shyly, indicating the clothes he wore - the long sleeves hiding the remains of scars of his encounter with Voldemort. The only thing that survived the ordeal was his glasses. Narcissa kept it to herself how little she thought of those lenses. Before not too long she'd find a reason to do away with them.
Draco looked up and down Harry's form, then said, "Yes, it's okay if you wear my clothes."
Harry took a breath, then asked what he really wanted to know. "Have you seen my friends at all? Did Ron really make it back okay?"
Ron had escaped by no free passage. It was a burden on Harry's mind to have given his best friend to that horrible Malfoy on the night of the 4th, but under the circumstances, Harry was glad he had something to bargain with to get his friend to safety; it had been so terrible a price to pay, but worth it for Ron's life. Harry never talked about it, and the papers had yet to mention it, so Harry believed Ron either kept it a secret or somehow it was concealed for the second time that Harry was shamed and despoiled.
"Yes...I saw Ron. He doesn't look that good, but then, his best friend just died by the hand of the Dark Lord."
"Draco," said Narcissa softly, "you can't let on that Harry is alive in anyway. Not to his friends or to anyone at Hogwarts."
"I know, Mother."
Narcissa stood up and went to him. She beseeched him, "I mean it. I'm telling you that we need to keep this a secret. Harry's friends will talk to you, Dumbledore will talk with you, Severus Snape will talk with you. If you don't feel capable of this, we can use magical means to hold the secret in."
Draco shook his head and pulled back from she who looked for the truth in his eyes.
"I won't need that," he swore.
She nodded, in full faith of her son, and then went over to the flitterbloom plant and let it coil around her fingers. Harry liked doing this as well.
Harry and Draco met eyes again. He was curious now about the lengths Narcissa would go for her son, but somehow knew it would be as far as Harry would go to save Ron. He asked Draco, "How far would you go...to save your best friend?"
Draco looked away and shrugged, thought for a moment, then said, "I don't know what I'd do to save my best friend; I don't have one."
Harry believed that. It'd been a long time since the first time they met while getting fitted for uniforms, but since then Harry had come to know Draco for making friends but not having them. Draco would sacrifice only for family. In many ways, that's no different than what Harry did for Ron to get him out of Malfoy Manor. Harry wouldn't take back what he did, but again, he wished he could have Ron back, or at the very least be dead and not missing him.
"Don't be mean anymore," Harry requested of Draco. Draco frowned in worry of the request. Harry felt the edges of the Calming Drought but mustered on in a strained tone. "I mean it, don't be mean to them. I can't be there, but don't be mean about it. In fact, please be nice. To Ron, to Hermione, to Neville, to all of them. Just...do you know how to be nice?"
Harry pulled away and felt an almighty shiver go through his body. It was then that his mind began to quake again. He'd lost everything, he'd never go back to his old life but Draco would, and Draco was a rotten thing to have around his mourning friends.
Narcissa was upon him instantly. With an arm around his shoulders she rushed him to the cabinet where Harry put the watering can down. With a grunt she reached high onto the shelf and brought down a shimmering potion she'd brewed using some of the plants in this room and a lot of other ingredients from storage. She uncorked the homebrewed Oblivious Unction, used to heal scarring left by thoughts. When she administered this by tipping it into Harry's mouth, his body went still and lax. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
"It's going to be okay," she said to him clearly, then continued to alter his susceptible mind with her words. Thus was the real danger of the Oblivious Unction. "Your friend's are okay without you. It's okay for Draco to be near them. They are not in danger. You don't need to be there for them..."
Specifically at times when he becomes devastated, this potion worked most effectively. His mind would be splitting and then he'd drink the potion, and she would speak to him...and he would be implanted with ideas that would become wholly truth to his mind.
Harry would progress exponentially after taking this potion, with little regression to the trigger that set him off. Narcissa found that if he was comforted for fifteen minutes after drinking it, without letting him go from the hug for that amount of time, that his mind would change for the better.
This was the first time Draco had seen Harry and it was the last for some months. Knowing this, Draco, despite being a bit frightened by him and not knowing if Harry could understand him, said honestly, "Yes, I promise. I'll be nice to your friends from now on."
Narcissa looked up at Draco and smiled. She was a competent witch, especially when it came to potions - Draco took after her in this skill - but as a mother she was matchless. And Draco kept his promise all through the rest of the school year and on into his last year there, as well. He certainly had no practice being nice, but he figured not laughing at mistakes, holding doors open, and saying hello in the hall was nice enough, even if he was constantly met with scowls. He was doing it for Harry, anyway, so he didn't falter. Because, unlike Harry's real friends, Draco was capable of visiting Harry during the summer between sixth and seventh year, and then being able to visit whenever he wanted thereafter.
To mention now, just briefly, to one particular such niceness, let's point out what Draco did on April 18th, 1997. It had been just over two months since Harry had been pronounced dead. For some, Sixth Year at Hogwarts seemed never-ending. It was a Saturday and Ron and Hermione, along with Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Ginny Weasley had taken a trip to a place called Godric's Hollow in West Country. They were attending Harry's funeral.
Draco was left at Hogwarts along with the rest of Hogwarts staff and students, with Professor Snape as acting Headmaster for the day. He walked the halls and doled out punishments to over-active students, acting more in a glower today than he had in quite some time.
Draco approached him.
"Professor Snape, could I ask you something?" Draco began to the Slytherin Head of House.
"Yes you may, Mister Malfoy," Snape said in that grimly way of his.
It was by now well known that Draco was behaving civilized towards his rival Hogwarts House, so Draco didn't feel awkward in asking, "I'd like to offer something to the Gryffindors when they come back from Potter's funeral."
Snape did raise an interested eyebrow. "You may offer them anything you'd like. Why are you asking me?"
Draco, now, felt that embarrassment. "I'd like to brew them a Calming Drought. I know that Madam Pomfrey has it in supply, but..." Draco hesitated. "I'd like to give it as a gift."
Snape looked critically at Draco. "She does have it in supply. The third years brewed her an adequate replenishment recently. Why do you want to do this?"
The blonde Slytherin held his head high as he said, "They're coming from a funeral and will probably not sleep well tonight. Besides, Madam Pomfrey would make them sleep in the hospital ward if they took a sip from her supply. And Weasley..." Draco looked away now, unable to hide his discomfort suddenly. "...doesn't like going to the hospital ward anymore I hear...for some reason."
Draco knew the reason. Snape also knew the reason. They pretended they didn't know the other knew the reason, but it was because Ron's friend had been raped in the hospital ward that he didn't like going there.
Draco also knew he had to divert his eyes as he talked about this, because Snape was a powerful Occulmenist who could sense more than Draco wanted him to know if he had eye contact.
Snape looked down upon his Head Boy with suspicion, but didn't question him anymore. He gave Draco access to his classroom and the storeroom with the ingredients for the brew. He sat at his desk grading papers as Draco milled about his cauldron, and then Snape inspected the perfectly brewed Calming Drought when it was done.
"I'll separate it into thirds," Draco said when it was finish. "Give it to the Weasley girl, too."
"You're too considerate," Snape accused tenderheartedly.
Professor Snape did have a favorite student, even if he wasn't supposed to. He reached out and rested his hand on Draco's shoulder, squeezed for brief moment, then left him to sort out the potion. Draco smiled, believing for sure now that he was doing the right thing.
Later that night but before supper was set, the party of teachers and students returned via the route to Hogsmeade, and Draco was by the front door waiting with Professor Snape. He held three boxes with jars of Calming Drought in them and two bouquets of flowers he'd conjured up. The flowers were beautiful - two whole bouquets of white lilies. Even Professor Snape was moved by the sight of them. When they all approached with their red eyes and somber faces, Draco stepped forward towards the leading students, his offerings filling his arms.
"This is from..." Draco hesitated, then finished, "Slytherin House."
He held out one of the bouquet to the girls. At first, none of the three moved. Finally, though, Ginny took the first bouquet. She met his eyes and nodded in thanks. Draco nodded back, then caught Hermione's eyes and held them. To the smart Gryffindor, he held out the other bouquet. She was very unsure, but at last she lifted her chin and took it, burying her face into the fragrant petals and squeezing her eyes closed. She gasped for just a moment, unable to stop her sorrow from escaping. She looked exhausted, because she had cried the whole funereal.
"And this," Draco finished, pressing the first of the boxes into Hermione's hand.
He held the last two out to the Weasleys. Like a sport, Ginny took the box, but still Ron didn't move. Draco faced Ron now. The Gryffindor was tall, thin and exhausted looking. Draco knew he didn't have long until Ron's sadness turned to anger. He was always angry lately.
"What is it?" Hermione asked.
"Not to be used unethically," Professor Snape said from behind Draco.
Hermione opened the box and looked in curiously.
At that moment, Ron had had enough of being in the presence of someone he hated. He could always manage it for a few seconds, but after that his temper would rise.
"I don't want anything from you Slytherins!" Ron said in a raised voice, stepping up and towering over Draco as he was a full head taller. "Especially not you, Malfoy! No one's forgotten what happened to Harry in the hospital ward! We all know it was probably you who -!"
Suddenly Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall had one of Ron's arms, pulling him away from Draco and pressuring him aside from the others. Professor Dumbledore swooped in on the children of Hogwarts with his arms wide.
"Let's go in, shall we? Draco, would you be so kind as to tell me what's in those boxes?"
Draco looked over his shoulder as now it was Ron's turn to be crowded by the two Heads of House. They were giving him a stern one-on-one to which he couldn't hear a word of. But Ron looked put in his place...although nowhere near calmed down.
"It's a Calming Drought. Professor Snape oversaw me making it. It's so you don't have to visit Madam Pomfrey," he clarified to the girls.
"Ah!" Dumbledore uneasily held a smile through his sorrow. "What a gift at a time like this! I'm sure we should keep this from the table of Madam Pomfrey. She rather prefers potions to be regulated."
Draco nodded. "That's what Professor Snape said, too."
The two girls stopped once they were well within the Entry Hall of Hogwarts. Hermione stared down at the flowers, the box, and looked forlorn. At last, she looked up at Draco. He held her gaze without any airs; truly, he was compassionate at this moment. Once again, a silent Draco Malfoy was more handsome than a speaking one.
Hermione said, "I don't think it was all of Slytherin that gave us these, was it?"
Draco shrugged and confessed, "Professor Snape said to give flowers."
Hermione nodded in understanding. "So, I won't ask you to thank everyone. But thank you. I'll take Ron's box. I'll make sure he doesn't chuck it."
Dumbledore put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I'm happy to see you taking this step for these students, Draco. The funeral had quite a lot of lilies like these. Harry's parent's gravestones had yellow ones. He was put to rest next to them, and I must say...I'm quite at a loss for words for just how sorry I am we lost him."
Draco was left lost for words as well. He didn't look the Headmaster in his eyes, either.
And now, there is only a little left to mention of this early phase of Harry's new life.
Not long after the funeral, Lucius - being stripped of his ranks and his wand and thrown into a life of house arrest - took to his study and business adventures not related to the Ministry of Magic. But as always, Lucius found comfort in his wife's support and charm, and Narcissa handled business with aplomb. Their routines had changed dramatically, but it gave them the chance for some extra time together.
It was as they ate breakfast one morning that she was surprised by an article in the morning paper. Since spreading the secret of Harry's life to the two house elves, the Malfoy's felt more free to discuss matters anywhere in the house. They had forbade the house elves from mentioning that Harry was alive to anyone, because they needed the help in taking care of him. The magical servants made sure to stay out of sight, simply deliver food and clean up around him.
"He gave his fortune to the Weasley's," Lucius stated, impressed actually that Harry had arranged for his death at all.
Narcissa couldn't help but speculate. "They've inherited his vault, but there's something they're not mentioning that they've also inherited..."
"What would that be?" Lucius wondered.
Narcissa pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "My nephew was the inheritor of Black vault and Black Manor. Uncle Orion and aunt Walburga's Unplotable house - wherever it is. For everything that cousin Sirius didn't do for the Black family name, he was still the successor of Black Manor. We know he used the Black fortune to buy Harry his Firebolt, it goes to maybe say that he left everything to his godson as well. I think the Weasleys have inherited that as well."
Lucius pondered the photo in the paper. It was a shot of the Weasley's who had left Hogwarts, and they were standing outside Gringotts Wizarding Bank. They were accompanied by one of the ancient and small goblins running the place, and all were posing with stern faces for the camera. Arthur from the Ministry of Control of Muggle Artifacts, his wife Molly, and the older children, Bill, Charley, Percy, George and Fred.
Narcissa set down her tea and lifted her wand from her side. Using the same teacup, she conjured a picture frame of white marble. With another flourish of her wand, she clipped the picture from the paper and put it within the new frame.
Lucius smiled, but only a little. Narcissa saw his sadness.
"We'll get through this," she said, knowing Lucius's sadness at having his wand broken and the alert put on him should he ever do magic again.
She'd give the picture to Harry today. It was perfect timing, as he was packing to leave to his own little Unplottable house owned by the Malfoys. This little cottage by the sea on the coast of Lithuania was a long-ago purchase of theirs. But now it was for Harry's use as a way of getting him out of the country and in a safe place to live and grow. He had made so much progress these past two months, it was time he move on.
Narcissa and Harry would travel publically together, so this was the first time Harry was introduced to Narcissa's full range of travel precautions. They would be Flooing to Lithuania, but it would be through a Floo Station, so they'd be driving to a close station here and moving on from there.
Sometime after breakfast, as they were planning on leaving the house soon, she had taken him through the door out of the Second Courtyard and into her bathroom and sat him down at her makeup table. The lights and the powders both lit and scented the area, making Harry curious as to what it all was. She would eventually teach him all of her magical concealment methods, but for now she prepared him with the basics.
"We'll be using the classic Beautification potion first, and go from there."
Harry scrunched up his face. "Beautification potion?"
"It's to hide your scars, and for the bags under your eyes and that frown around your lips. We're traveling publicly, Harry, and a charming face is more forgettable than a sorrowful one."
Harry sipped from the already half-empty potion bottle, and felt the warmth tingling upon his face. In the mirror, most of the gaunt look went away as well as the scars, even the one on his forehead given to him as a baby. He pushed his hair aside and felt there, unable to even feel the cursed bolt that adorned his face all his life. It was a key feature of his, often his defining feature. Gone now.
Harry also looked at the back of his right hand, where the little scar I must not tell lies was dug into his skin through the early detentions with Dolores Umbridge in his fifth year. He then pulled up the right sleeve and could no longer see the long scar left from his fourth year at Hogwarts when Peter Pettigrew drew blood for the ceremony that returned Voldemort to life, nor could he see the puncture wounds from the hooks that held him to the floor as he was tortured last February.
Narcissa spread her hand over Harry's forearm, rubbing him soothingly. She brought him away from his memories when he saw the glossy and beautiful blue of her eyes. He licked his lips, tasting his breakfast of eggs and toast with a cup of coffee he'd been served by the house elves.
"How long will this last?"
"A few hours. There are stronger potions that can last for days, though. Now, this is very good. I was hoping this would hide that scar on your forehead. Next, I bought this from The Eight Companies of Essential Enchanting. It's a powder to dab around your eyes to change their color."
"What color will they become?"
"Everyone is different and every use might be a little different, also. This is from their neutral line, so don't expect anything out of the ordinary, and it shouldn't change drastically between uses. I think I'll send you off with this, as I haven't used it in quite some time."
Harry tilted his face up and watched her unscrew the top, pulling the cap off which had a soft bristle brush connected to the underside of the lid. It was already coated in powder and he closed his eyes as it came nearer. She dabbed it on his eyelids and instantly - but only briefly - a cold went over his eyes. He opened them and was surprised to see how blue they'd become.
Narcissa smiled again, once again pleased by the change.
"Now your hair. It is a specialized magic to change it permanently, but I know the spell and have not had any misfortunes."
"You want to change my hair permanently?" Harry asked.
"I've done it myself, as well as on both Lucius and Draco."
Harry smiled to himself. With the Beautifying Potion, his smile looked better than ever. He looked away from the mirror, uncomfortable with how different - a deep navy blue - his eyes were. Narcissa tightened the lid back onto the magic powder and he took it from her as it was on offer, and just held it in his hand which rested on his lap.
"What did you do to Draco? Is his natural hair curly?"
Narcissa saw his joke and let it be, but she was proud for a moment there. She reached forward and pinched his cheek both as a warning and as friendly play on the new pretty boy. "No, his hair wasn't curly. It was so thick that it wanted to stand straight up. He likes it rather long so it looked better to be less voluminous. What would you like your hair to be? Long, wavy? Blonde, red...?"
She let him think.
Harry never cared much about his hair, but the idea of having it long didn't appeal to him. He'd often had it get in his eyes on a windy day, so that was no good. It was a little too long as it was, really.
"Short, I guess..." He thought about the color. Brown? That was fine. Blonde? No, that would be too much. Red like Ron's? No...not that... "Just lighter, I think. Whatever."
Narcissa grimaced at his indecision. "I can always change it again later. For now, let's make it unrecognizable from this. Hold still..."
Harry put himself in her hands, but what was new? She waved her wand and said a spell, "Monen-lockum-eunam!"
A moment later, with another look in the mirror, Harry could still recognize himself behind his round glasses, but he wasn't like before. Shoulder-length wavy brown hair adorned his head. It was in his eyes instantly and he didn't really like that.
"Well this is...thanks."
She reached across him for a lotion dispenser. "I picked this up last I was out. It's a tanning lotion. There are a few other things I'll send with you, but remember, sometimes less is more. This might be the last affect we need to do."
Harry read the label, The Eight Companies of Essential Enchanting, Luminous Glow Dressing. Apply a thin layer to the skin you wish tanned and rub in until desired tint achieved. Will not affect hair. Avoid direct eye contact. Useless as food and foul tasting, but not harmful. Wash off with ECEE All-Purpose Disenchanting Dressing. Simple soap won't do!
"Tanning lotion?" Harry wondered.
"Try it," Narcissa urged.
Harry squeezed a dollop on his hands and rubbed it in. Immediately his hands became a rich tanned color, as if he got leathered by too much sun.
"Try rubbing it in more to thin it out. And here, let me take off your glasses so you can do your face."
Harry held still a moment as her warm hands glided up to his face and gently removed his wire-rimmed glasses. He pushed his sleeves up and spread the lotion further. Where it was once pale it was now overly rich in color, but it subsided into a bit more of a normal layering the more he rubbed at it. He didn't need to squeeze any more into his hand, but began on his face, neck, and all over the intricacies of his ears. The non-oily lotion spread nicely. Narcissa pointed out a few missing spots, but by the end he was warmly tanned, light chestnut haired, and blue eyed.
"All done?" he asked her.
"Yes, all done. Here are your glasses back," she handed them over, but now they were no longer the pair he remembered. Harry looked closely at his new, white framed and rectangular glasses.
He put them on and looked in the mirror at the difference. Night and day.
"One day we can get your eyes corrected, if you want. And very good, I think we've done it, Harry. Now, just one last touch and you'll be ready," she slid over another bottle, but this one was homebrewed. "This is Abjuration of Bane. This, Harry, will alter your magical signature, and I must warn you, it's highly illegal and regulated by the Ministry of Magic, so you cannot ever travel with it and you must never over-dose. It's two sips only, or it'll start to have wild effects."
"Why should I want to change my magical signature? I'm not going to use magic."
Narcissa uncorked the potion and handed it over. Harry smelled it and scented the typical foul odor of potions.
"It is essential that you drink this when using the Floo Station. They do random inspections, just a few standard spells for identifying the items you're carrying and matching your magical signature to your wand."
"I don't have a wand."
"But you're under seventeen, so your magical signature is of public record. If they were to test you, they would come across your magical signature and it would flag in their system as being that of the officially deceased. When you get older, you'll still want to do this. They'll have a harder time processing it, but if the test ever passes the Ministry of Magic, it'll come back as you. Whenever you leave the house and if there is the slightest chance of becoming inspected, you must take two sips of this potion."
Harry took two sips now and experienced a numbness where it directly washed down his stomach.
"The effects you're feeling now will fade in a few minutes. We have to leave this behind, and soon I'll send over the plants you'll need to brew this potion indefinitely. But you'll need to wait on this, as the sargasso grain plant is grown by regulation only so it'll be difficult to transport."
It was going to be an educating time at the Unplottable house in Lithuania, Harry assumed.
"Here is one more thing to pack," Narcissa said, coming over to where Harry was folding a few of Draco's hand-me-downs that Narcissa deemed now Harry's. Draco had so many clothes that he'd not miss them. He had also packed some of her mundane sapling plants needed to brew a few simple potions, like Calming Drought and sleeping brews. But now, she handed to Harry the picture she'd had framed that morning. Along with it, she had the page the article came on also folded up so that Harry could read it himself.
For Harry, receiving these two items was a broken-hearted but anticipated event. He looked at the family and missed his friend with muted longing, wishing he was in the picture, too.
"You don't look surprised," Narcissa observed.
"Oh, no, no. Thank you," he clarified, storing the picture in his luggage while quickly glancing over the article. Words like fortune, benefactors, life changing, and bitter-sweet popped. "I knew this was coming, I guess. I just never thought I'd get to know their reactions. I...always thought I'd die from Voldemort. I never expected..."
He set the paper down. He'd left his parent's fortune to Arthur and Molly Weasley, with special instruction to give Hermione a small portion as well. But he also owned what was left by his godfather. That fortune...he left to Remus Lupin, who Harry believed deserved something for having been the only survivor out of the four Marauders. Except the house. The Black family house was given to Ron. Harry wanted to be sure Ron got a lion's portion of things, but not feel uncomfortable with the amount. Funny that. There was very little involved with his Last Will. It was nice knowing it went to such deserving people. Harry did so little with his wizarding money. Knuts, silver Sickles, and Galleons were just a means for school supplies and candy. He was so young back then...he felt so old now.
In his pack was a small bag of wealth given to him by Narcissa. The silver and gold coins were tucked near the bottom under his folded underwear.
"Would you suppose they inherited the Black family home?" Narcissa asked, curious but trying to be casual about it.
"Well, one of them did," Harry said softly, not really wanting to talk about it. He latched the bag closed now. Packing complete. He faced her, wiped his moist hands on his shirt, and with candor he explained. "You're picture is on the family tree inside Black Manor. It's an Unplottable house, but do you know where it is?"
Narcissa shook her head. "They kept that home a very tight secret."
Harry continued, "I kept up to date on my Last Will every year. Ron gets the house, my Firebolt and a few other of my things. Ginny gets my owl. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will get my vault. My dad's friend...he'll get my godfather's vault. I didn't really have anything other than that. It's all...I had."
"You ended things well. But now you are off to a good new start."
Lucius met them at the top of the stairs holding an envelope. Harry realized then how awkward it was going to be to say a polite goodbye to the ex-Death Eater, but he'd come to lose his hatred for Draco's dad, as well as for the Slytherin himself. Either that hatred had dissipated under the Oblivious Unction or he had just grown warm and fond towards them for housing him and keeping him alive. Harry didn't know. His thoughts were different now, though.
Lucius wore a simple jacket without a tie, rather dressed up for someone who wasn't going to leave the house. Harry wore a similar style, as it seemed to be the going trend the Malfoy attire ran by. Narcissa had her hair in a scarf and held a large pair of sunglasses, her own personal style of concealment while going out.
Lucius took this time to examine Harry closely. He gripped Harry's chin and turned his face to the left and right. Harry held his breath under the scrutiny and the warmth coming off Lucius's grip. It was awkward.
"Hmm...better glasses. Very good job, Narcissa. I wouldn't have known he was the same boy except for his height."
"Bet I still sound the same," Harry offered, and sure enough he did.
Lucius nodded and gave Harry a stern look. "Which is why you'll take extra consideration to your words and the speed in which you say them. Learn the local language and adopt their accent. If you can't change your voice, at least change your manners. I'd recommend you speak less, offer your opinion rarely, hold your emotions in, and above all else...don't forget your new name."
It was now that Lucius handed over the envelope to Harry, who looked at the papers within.
"You'll need a new name, after all," he supplied as reason for the documents, and then added with a bit of pride, "The Ministry didn't find everything I had while they were searching the house. These are official Ministry records on Duplicate Paper. Years ago I had a few blank copies hidden discretely in the Ministry's records room, so there's nothing unofficial about these."
Harry looked at the documents. He recognized a birth certificate for what it was and read the name: Aldebaron Gravewatcher. There was also an education certificate from a Tritonscale School for Wizardry in Canada. Harry had decent marks, including N.E.W.T. scores, for which only final seventh years ever got. Alderbaron, it seemed, was already seventeen. His new birthday was July 20th, 1979.
"Gravewatcher?" He asked, looking up with concern.
Lucius smirked and tilted his head, eyes sharp on Harry. "You have a future, Harry. A real long life ahead of you. I thought Gravewatcher was - cool. Something you could enjoy. You're welcome."
Harry couldn't help the smile he gave, even though his face was resistant to it after not having smiled very much lately.
"It is cool," he said bashfully.
The last thing in the envelope was oddly big for such a small package. It was a whole book on the very same Tritonscale School for Wizardry. It fit snugly in the magically spaced envelope.
"And read that book, too. You're future identity depends on knowing that school. Think about how unique your experience has been at Hogwarts, and understand that you must make that school as important to you. The cottage is full of reading materials also. Our house elves will keep it stocked with food. You could spend the rest of your life there without ever leaving, but I don't recommend it. Lithuania is beautiful and full of things both magical and Muggle, but it's not a prison."
Narcissa interjected, "You'll hide better among the Muggles using just the first three alterations we went through. Wait before you visit Lithuania's magical market, though. Their security is a lot tighter than Diagon Alley. You'll need the Abjuration of Bane."
The cobblestoned wizarding alley and shopping area located behind the Leaky Cauldron pub, Diagon Alley, was where Harry filled out his Last Will and then later ordered a chocolate ice cream in a cone and ate it in the sunlight. Hot sun and an icy tongue were a delightful combination. The assortment of restaurants, shops, and other businesses was so thoroughly impressive in Diagon Alley, but the idea of visiting a different one was alluring. As the final farewell was said to Lucius and Harry watched the countryside fly by in Narcissa's magic automobile as they made their way to the Floo Station, Harry pondered the thrilling memory of first arriving at Diagon Alley and getting his wand with Hagrid.
Harry could see Hagrid so clearly, in all his large form and kindness. As the years went on and Harry no longer needed parent figures to make him feel secure, Hagrid remained a source of friendship and help. Harry supposed if the secret of being alive after that night encounter with Voldemort at Malfoy Manor, Hagrid would be one of the few he'd run to.
But such thoughts had by now been lessened in intensity...Narcissa's magical medication and psychological suppressants had really all but by-passed his fear and pain of being alone and hurt. He drank Calming Drought when his nerves quaked, he drank Oblivious Unction to dampen strong memories, and the creams and salves that numbed his cuts and bruises were available for constant use. He was sure there was more magic she had performed on him, but he had only recently come to his senses so barely knew.
The Malfoy garage was remarkably Muggle-like, but Harry decided not to tell her that. There were four slick automobiles, all vintage and shinny and legal, as the Ministry hadn't confiscated them. Harry got into the passenger seat of a black coup and Narcissa ignited the engine, sending a low rumble through the room. The people of the Muggle world they drove past seemed so similarly giant. They drove the car to a quiet part of northern London and parked in a lot surrounded by trees. It was warm, spring had come and leaves were blooming green on the trees.
So much time had passed since last Harry registered the weather. He felt a bit lost.
"Is this a magically concealed area?" Harry asked Narcissa as they got out of the vehicle.
"Yes, and guarded," she said, indicating a solitary man in Muggle clothes sitting on a bench next to a small stone structure with archways. He was watching them closely. While a moment ago Harry would have said it was a gazebo without a soul within, suddenly two people came out from around one of the archways and turned off toward the Muggle streets. Clearly, this was an entry to a magical place. "So just stay close and relax."
Harry walked by her side, feeling his new long hair heavy on his head and liking the hat-like feel for comfort. The forty-something year old wizard nodded to them as they passed into the archway. The world took on a glimmering effect for just a moment as clarity of the magical building they were entering came into focus. Harry was suddenly in a place with many of the features of the façade of the small gazebo, but it was resplendent with a dozen more archways, pillars, and lanterns to light it all. There were twenty Floo places and a kiosk where Narcissa led him.
"For two?" Inquired the witch behind the counter of the small circular kiosk made of shiny wood and glass.
"Yes, please," Narcissa said, passing over four Sickles.
Harry took one of the two offering black paper cups and looked into it, recognizing the Floo Powder used to activate the Floo Network.
"We don't have to tell her where we're going?" He asked quietly as they walked away.
"That's invasion of privacy," she informed him, walking over to a Flooplace that was least busy. "There have been many laws put in place to hinder the tracking of the Floo Network. It would be the end of liberty if they started doing that. So they hire inspectors and security to guard it instead."
"Who's they?"
"Magical Law Enforcement," she said without much kindness.
Harry went up to the Flooplace and looked into its stone interior. It wasn't like he had hoped to find some Floo Powder by the fireplace and escape with his life that night he had killed Voldemort, but he remembered clearly feeling trapped for that brief moment he curled around the edge of the fireplace at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had later showed him the sigil he'd accidently pressed to open the entry into the hidden halls. It was so small, so hidden, and he was so very lucky to have come across it.
"Say 'Blūesoul Alley,' okay?" She said.
"Blue soul alley," but he could pronounce it better than that. He said again, "Blūesoul Alley."
"That will do. I'll go first. Don't make me catch you when you fall out the other side. Please, land on your feet."
She tossed her powder into the fire, said clearly, "Blūesoul Alley!" And disappeared into the green flames. Harry took a breath and did the same.
Honestly, he had no problem with the swirling green vortex he'd stepped into. He'd by now had some of the worse experiences possible with the Floo Network, and with the Calming Drought addling his mind, he was patient until the archway with Narcissa waiting on the other side showed up, and he stepped out. He stumbled and went down onto one knee, but he dusted his pants off and stood up straight. She was smiling at him, wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and led him onward.
From this point on, it can officially be said that the next part of the story has begun. Without an end in sight, the major retelling is over, with respect to one important thing: Harry's seventeenth birthday, which would clarify a few things if it was expanded upon.
A wizard comes of age at seventeen. This has to do with simple Wizarding Law. The magic used to enact the laws of Coming of Age were ancient and powerful. Not even Harry's death record would halt the binding regulation of the Ministry of Magic.
He was just letting the time pass without much to hinder his thoughts or feelings. Harry was comfortable with his new lease on life. He owned very little, wanted very little, and had nothing to bother him. Should even his own memories bother him all he'd have to do was drink a bit of potion. Narcissa was adamant that he over-do it on the mental health medication and talk to her about his troubles. In her he simply found a foster guardian. She was neither mother nor friend, but she was a great source of strength.
Harry got comfortable at the cottage by the sea, every few days visited by Narcissa. He was accustomed to taking a sip of Calming Drought at every meal - a potion he had now familiarity with brewing. Narcissa spent time going over books with him, not to teach him anything, just to let him know that they were on the shelves to be looked at and were quite rare and interesting. While she wasn't there, Harry leafed through them, but he mostly looked at the view.
The view from his cottage was impeccable. To either side of his cottage stood a short hedge, the boundary where the magic for the Unplottable house was contained. No one walked between these two hedges except for those who knew the address of the cottage, Jūtėars 4a, Palanga 00136, Lithuania to be exact. To the front of the house was the sea some ten feet away that was magically kept from flooding his home, and to the back was the edge of a Muggle park where - first past a cluster of trees - dozens of people walked with dogs, strollers, lovers and kids. The grasses were lush greens, the trees were mighty in the summer, and the sky was a wealthy blue. Birds were everywhere, the beaches were crowded, at high-tide the water would hit his porch, and soon it was Harry's seventeenth birthday.
The city with Muggle shops and food was a five minute stroll away beyond the park, and the entrance to a quaint magical niche was fifteen minutes by foot. Narcissa and Draco were coming to visit. Harry was expecting them because Narcissa had told him her plans to visit on this day, so he had cleaned the house and set out some drinks. He didn't bother sweeping the sand off his back porch - ten feet from the seashore meant it would never be without sea debris. Harry waited on the porch with the breeze blowing his still annoyingly longer hair into his eyes. He let it stay the way Narcissa had put it, but not willing to tie it back as was popular in this area. He'd come to find that his looks blended in with the Muggles and he didn't feel so afraid to venture out. He kept his visits to the town brief and didn't socialize at all; to him, his privacy was as much necessary as it was desirable.
Then suddenly he saw from the direction of town two blond people walking towards him with the gait of the Malfoys he'd come to recognize. That second person was Draco, Harry realized this instantly. He was carrying a long rectangular box and walking close to his mother. Harry stood up straighter, surprised to see him after all these months. He raised his hand into the air and opened his fingers wide, and they did the same a moment later. They must have been avidly thinking about the Unplottable house to see him from such a distance, as he is quite invisible to everyone else. He put his arm down and smiled.
Narcissa and Draco strolled along like all the other patrons in the park today. They gave a brief look around before subtly turning into the cluster of trees and over the sandy leaf-strewn ground, then between the hedges. At this point, they would have disappeared to all else in view, but no one was paying attention anyway. Narcissa walked up the steps and gave Harry a brief hug. She smelled rich and beautiful, as was rightly the way she was.
Seeing her made him smile.
"How are you?" she asked, looking deep into his eyes.
He hadn't used any potions to alter his appearance today, so the only thing different from The Boy Who Lived now was instead of messy black hair he had quite wavy light brown hair. He still wore glasses, but they were still white and angular as the day Narcissa had transfigured them. He looked very much like himself, with green eyes and pale skin, scars all over his face and body now; his sleeves were pulled up and his arms were lightly blotted with those now old scars from his last night knowing Voldemort. She had spent so much time with him both in disguise and out of it that she was use to the person within and not just his looks.
"Fine," and he was. She could tell. "Come on in."
He held the door open for her and Draco who lagged behind. Draco nodded once to him as he entered. Harry examined him with the short time his guest took to look around the place. While he looked upon the breeze-filled room, pages fluttering and cabinets creaking until Harry closed the door, Harry looked at him: pale as ever, light blue eyes, his shirt open a few buttons down his front, and carrying a large and long package that was most surely a present for him.
Narcissa was watching them both silently, pondering the idea of her son having a relationship with Harry, and this possibly being the start of it. She was sure that it was okay to allow Draco to relate to Harry now, as Harry was mentally stable enough to handle the world again. She knew of the girls that Draco had dated - Pansy Parkinson for a time, and then as a sudden surprise a budding relationship with a Ravenclaw girl in the last three weeks before coming home for the summer. But, even while Draco did like these girls, he used them to cover his secret: he also fancied boys. It was okay that he was more attracted to men, but he was young and image meant a lot to him, and even though it was 1997, the world wasn't yet completely comfortable with being any different than having a man-and-woman relationship. He and the girl exchanged a few letters already. It might last, but before it became serious Narcissa thought it best that Draco explore his persistent gleanings for Harry Potter. She did all this because she would rather Draco be himself than anything else.
"Happy birthday...Harry," Draco said at last, holding out the package.
Narcissa was gladsome to see that Harry never took his eyes off Draco yet, and never once gave him a sour look.
"Open it," Narcissa said, eager to deliver the gift.
Harry took the package and set it on the dining table that still had books and unlit candles, along with two common magical houseplants that he used as ingredients in the Calming Drought. She had already noted that his houseplants were thriving.
Harry was hesitant to open it, stalling by taking things slow. She'd bought the Firebolt for him after Draco spoke about Ronald Weasley playing the final game of Quidditch at Hogwarts upon Harry's old Firebolt, and how the announcer continued to praise the broom until reprimanded for demoralizing the audience with mention of Harry's passing away.
Harry ran his fingers down the stem of the new broom, a patient look for someone with such an exquisite gift. It was because Harry was remembering a few quick memories of his old life that he had such hesitation. Just the very sight of the broom made him smell freshly cut grass and miss the warmth of a hot sun as he flew in a Quidditch Pitch.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"Don't get overjoyed or anything," Draco said, noticing Harry's mood and responding sarcastically.
Narcissa stepped forward and lifted the box, pressing the whole thing against Harry's chest and forcing him to hold it near. The feel of the wood struck Harry deep in his heart, and when he looked up at her, for a moment he saw not her but his old friend Ron. In that glancing moment of confusion and memory, Ron's face mingled with Narcissa and then faded. He felt alone.
He met her eyes and she said her peace over the whole ordeal. Perhaps she was more forceful than she should have been on his birthday, but she didn't want this seventeen year old to go to waste. He was free. Not trapped by his circumstances, but free to live as he wanted now. This broom might not help in that endeavor, but the symbolism of it hopefully would.
She finished, "You're seventeen today. You can get a new wand and it won't be tracked by any Ministry. You can do magic, and it won't be monitored. You can fly, and so long as you're careful about staying hidden, you won't be stopped by any regulators."
She let him go, pleased that now Harry gave the broom a new sort of look that meant he was taking her advice. Here now was the real gift, though: Narcissa looked at Draco, at his budding fear and dithering. He looked like a boy about to face up to the facts, and oh how true that was.
"Draco wants to talk to you alone," she said, and that was her time to leave. She felt she was doing the right thing. She believed she was leaving Draco alone to confess his attraction to Harry. She had no idea the real reason...
She gave Harry a brief touch before making her way from the cottage.
"Wait -!" Harry said, suddenly realizing this was as long a visit as he was going to get from her. He rushed over and hugged her tightly. "Thank you!"
She kissed the side of his head, petting down his hair. She pulled back and her fondness was clear. Still to plan, though, she starting her journey back to Malfoy Manor. Harry closed the door after she had left the boundary, then turned back to his other guest.
Harry was happy to see Draco, really, but there was still a frown upon his lips and a hold around his eyes. For six years he was bullied by this Slytherin, but he'd survived it all because there were things like his friends to hold on to.
Harry couldn't help the familiarity of Draco's face bringing up old memories, both good and bad. He was left alone with Draco, who was slow to start talking. Harry's mind wondered briefly, with Neville Longbottom's voice coming to the forefront first.
"It was for a final project for Professor Sprout! She gave me the seeds for Lovewart Splenda, Villa Hoska, and Evening Dew...I'm studying the potency of desiderium!"
The plant toxins sent him into a frenzy of desire for Ron, potentially ruining their friendship. One thing led to another, though, and when Ron came to him in Hogwart's hospital ward, Harry was all too willing to accept Ron into his bed.
The figure of an older boy held him safely in his arms and they fell back onto a bed together.
"I haven't done this before…"
"I really need to say this," Draco's voice overlapped with Harry's remembered love making, a memory that haunted him for almost a year now. It was a mystery yet to be solved that wouldn't stop bothering him at any and every moment it snuck into his thoughts.
Draco had another brief hesitation, hands wiped subtly against his hips. The movement lowered Harry's eyes and he lost focus, barely comprehending what Draco said next.
"I told Mother this first, because I knew she would understand…I didn't tell her all of it, just this part: it was the way you kept looking at me…at Hogwarts…after you came back from St. Mungo's - or wherever - and suspected me of being the one who - in the hospital ward - had..." Draco trailed off, but then added quietly, "I suspected then that I had a chance. I suspected then that the way you looked at me...was the same way I would look at you...for all those years."
"Hey," a voice whispered back, "it's okay…" and a hand wrapped around him and the pleasure began to build.
A few minutes after losing his virginity to Ron, and that's when Harry realized he'd been fooled by someone using Polyjuice potion.
Months later, Harry had accosted Draco.
"Why would you think it was me?" Draco's voice echoed with anger.
"Because he had your clothes on," Harry pled, wanting this to be the version of the truth, looking at Draco's shoes and remembering pseudo-Ron's being just as shiny and black. "And he showed me your badge."
The Slytherin Prefect badge was all Harry really knew about who his attacker was. As Draco - in the present time - confessed to Harry, Harry had no way of reacting right away. It was as if he was locked in his memories. He had to finish his thought before he could catch up with the present.
In the timeline Harry's mind was flowing through, he fell off the rails a little. A lot. He'd moved back in with his aunt and uncle. And then his heart healed a little at the Muggle school with all of cousin Dudley's Muggle classmates. But that wasn't to last, as Harry's heart was suddenly broken again by his return to Hogwarts and all it had to hold for him: Dumbledore's faith in his ability to fight in the war, McGonagall's faith in his magical powers, Snape's faith that he'd continue to be a burden. Also, that ever-present question: which one of these Hogwarts students used the Polyjuice potion and fooled him into having sex with them? Or worse: who had come to Hogwarts - what complete stranger had come - and debauched him?
"What have you heard?" Harry asked, wishing Draco would tell him the truth.
"Why are you still on this, Potter?" But Draco did tell Harry some of what he knew, "You were attacked in the hospital ward, raped, had a nervous breakdown and went to St. Mungo's."
"I want to know if you know who took the Polyjuice! You have to tell me if you know!"
"You want revenge, don't you?"
"I don't know."
For goodness sake, then Death Eaters kidnapped him and his best friend. It was all history.
Harry heard the sound of the waves of the sea, the smell of the cottage, it all came back into view. The dark wood, the leather seats, the walls of books left here in this hidden place were now all in focus. And Draco was seen clearly standing before Harry again.
His heart was pounding. He was alive and present.
"You said you could forgive me - if it was really me. Do you really forgive me?"
He didn't think after living through it all that he'd see such a light at the end of the tunnel, but it was there. It was there enough that he grew warm at the sight of the bright shimmer against Draco's hair. The pale depths of his once-thought cold blue eyes now pools of familiarity. There were honest feelings as Draco confessed to being the one who drank the Polyjuice potion and slept with him in the hospital ward. Draco caused so much of this with that careless action.
"Why'd you do it?" Harry asked at long last, now that the moments had caught up with him.
Draco's eyes were filling with tears.
"I watched you watching Weasley for years. I knew what it meant. The person watching never gets what he wants, and the person being watched doesn't even know. Weasley, just so you know, never even knew. And when I heard you kissed him and about the magical plants messing with you...I saw my chance. I thought I wouldn't be found out - you'd blame it on the plants giving you a dream - but I didn't know I would hurt you so bad…or that it would lead to this. I didn't stand a chance with you. I should have forgotten you. I shouldn't have…tried so hard."
Harry was compassionate. All he had in this world was built on Narcissa's compassion; he'd not hurt the things she loved.
"You could have just run off, you know. Not given me any clue," his voice was a lot stronger now. Of all the birthday presents in all the ages, being told this most freeing piece of information was either the best or worst of them. "But you're letting me know it was you...this is helping. Draco, you know I forgave you a long time ago."
Draco nodded, trying still to accept the forgiveness.
Harry urged him on. He took a step forward and looked intensely at the averted gaze of the Slytherin. "You could have done something a lot worse."
"What could have been worse than what I did to you?"
Would it shock Draco to know that Harry had let himself get into a position where his abstinence was compromised again? Harry confessed, "What your cousin did to me so Ron could be free…that was worse."
Harry knew Ron had told someone - Dumbledore, maybe. But Dumbledore had kept the first assault a secret; there was no reason for him to disclose the second one. Harry, too, had been hesitant to speak of what Clouse Malfoy had done as trade for Ron's life. Narcissa had soothed many tears over it, not knowing herself why or for whom Harry wept. It was on offer. 'It' being Harry's body. Harry had offered to trade sex for Ron's freedom to the one person who would take that offer without moral objection. With the help of the Oblivious Unction used to heal his scarred thoughts, Harry had come to level terms with his decision. It was in the oblivious past.
Stopping his own turmoil for a moment, Draco pondered deeper into what Harry said.
Draco was smart, cunning, and quite capable of imagining what secrets people kept by reading between the lines. Clouse Malfoy was not a favorite cousin by any means - or a valued member of the Malfoy bloodline - but he was the one Draco had enough in common with that they would talk privately at family functions through the years. Their liking for other men was their folly, only Clouse wasn't secret about it, so Draco used him as an example for how not to act or appear to others.
The sad truth: Draco found Clouse embarrassing, and wasn't that galling? They had so much in common...but having others criticize you behind your back...Draco hated that the most.
Clouse was the only person Draco had told that he had slept with Harry. In all the world, Clouse was the only one who he trusted with this information, because Clouse trusted Draco with the information that he charmed Muggles to not remember that he slept with them. Clouse was not a good example of a Malfoy, but family was family. You told them the worst about you because they knew how to handle it: wisely silent!
Being involved with Malfoy Manor on the night of February 4th meant everyone needed a trial to determine their innocence. The public record stated that Clouse saved Ron but was unable to find Harry to save him as well. It was unlike Clouse to save anyone, let alone Ron Weasley, let alone from Lord Voldemort. Clouse was impartial to it all, too selfish and too much of a partier to dabble in politics. But he wasn't there during Harry's murder and he didn't have a Dark Mark, so Clouse had been let free. Let free, but he hadn't been in contact with any of the other Malfoys at all.
It was all such a little thing to Draco until now. What did he care beyond his embarrassment about his family's total failure for all to see? Clouse was the hero and antihero among the Malfoys...Draco hadn't spared a thought beyond a tad bit of jealousy at that.
And now Harry says he had dealings with Clouse. In fact, he said Clouse did something to him.
Never had Draco heard something like this before, and he was afraid of what secret Harry was keeping now.
The young man who walked to the window where the Firebolt had been left was the same boy he'd longed to touch all through school. His hair was different, but that didn't alter anything else. Harry was still strong, noble, and as he stood there holding his new Firebolt, Draco saw a spark reignite in that Gryffindor.
"Harry?" Draco asked, standing stock still.
"Yeah?"
"What do you mean? What did my cousin do to you?"
Harry licked his lips and took a deep breath. He looked upon Draco with eyes sad and green.
"We traded."
Harry felt fear, pain, and sorrow as he knelt before Lord Voldemort. His wand had been stripped of him and broken, as had so much else. Voldemort lowered himself to Harry, came in very close. The snake slithered about, wiped its body along Harry's in such a threatening way. Harry's lips moved, but this time not even the two Death Eaters standing behind him had heard.
Harry whispered, "I let him have me...have what he wanted. So he'd save my friend from you."
Voldemort was not at all unsure of what Harry meant by that, and he very slightly gave to Harry the opinion that he was displeased. Perhaps that was why he enacted some cruel and painful curses upon Harry after that - piercing his flesh as punishment for having had his body penetrated by the Malfoy to save Ron.
Draco couldn't help but be delicate about his next words. He could see how resolved Harry was. Draco himself had that same look when he thought about his past feelings of being told what to do from Voldemort. It was a horrible feeling to believe Harry had a darker secret than perhaps Draco could have ever guessed.
"Tell me more...please? I don't want...you to feel hurt, and if you can't talk about it...well, I'll listen. Okay?"
Harry did seem like he was okay. Despite the definitions of the words he said next, he strung them together like they were less meaningful than they should have been; Narcissa's potions had halted all intense feelings about these events.
He told him the story.
"At the time, we were in your basement and your cousin had come in. He Apparated with his house elf. He had his wand on - mostly Ron, actually. He talked about wanting to see me before I died and risked coming down for that..." Harry swallowed and rubbed upon his own throat just then. "He put his hand around my neck...feeling me about and stuff. We listened to him talk about himself. I didn't learn his name until I read it in the papers. I have the article here...somewhere..."
And Harry looked towards the desk that was littered with newspapers. The wind coming through the open door had rustled them around but now they lay still. Draco had looked at all of those dozens of newspapers yet to be thrown out, wondering what sorts of things Harry felt while he was reading them.
Harry felt moderate amounts of anger, of sadness, and made a lot of deductions about how others were now living their lives without him. But he was resolved to let it all be and not interfere. He was a ghost, after all. Narcissa had trained him to not despair.
Harry kept speaking, because Draco was still listening.
"He said he liked me...he said he liked how I looked, anyway. He didn't want to be friends or anything, now did he? But he wasn't a Death Eater and he wasn't going to stay around, so I asked that he take Ron with him. And if he did, he could have anything he wanted. And you know what?" Harry asked as he squinted his eyes, a touch of anger finally passing through him. "I wasn't stupid. I knew what I was offering and I knew what he'd take. He did it right there. Right there against the wall after he Petrified Ron. It happened four months ago, but I can still -"
It was at this time that the cold electric bolt started running through Draco's body, because he could only imagine what rape was...could only rely on Harry's proclaimed forgiveness to authenticate what he did to Harry wasn't really rape...
Draco started shaking, losing his self-control.
Harry wouldn't say he could still feel it, or still taste the froth around Clouse's mouth or smell his breath. He wouldn't say that because really, he actually couldn't. The memory was there but locked in a tight box thanks to the Oblivious Unction.
What Harry could say was, "...but I can still remember all the things Ron heard. That's the part that I don't like. Ron could hear it all. He was facing away and couldn't see anything, but I was against the wall right behind him. Your cousin had ripped my clothes and was saying...perverted things. I was embarrassed and ashamed that I was doing this to Ron...but it was the only chance he had to get out of there alive. I wanted him to live. I promised I'd do anything to let him live. I traded myself for my best friend, and now I'm dead to him. What sort of soulless person am I?"
Draco nervously walked forward to stand near Harry by the window. He wasn't going to reach out, but the teenager he stood next to looked infinitely older suddenly. Draco was embarrassed by his desire to be close. Harry met his eyes steadily.
Draco had done things he wasn't proud of. Said things and done things. But neither of them was soulless. He wanted to let Harry know that somehow.
Harry continued, "Your mom is right; I'm seventeen now. I need to get a wand and do something with myself. I can't let any sacrifice go to waste." He became serous now, "I'd do anything for my friends. No regrets. No matter what it does to me. And now…I guess…since you're my friend...since you and your mom and dad are, too...I'd do anything for you."
That embarrassment turned into a blush. And it wasn't hindered at all by Harry's overwhelming bravery.
Harry leaned forward and took up the room before Draco's eyes.
Draco gasped.
What was this? What was this heat and this new overwhelming feeling?
He was so close that Draco could see the softness of Harry's skin, the individual strands of his eyelashes, and see the shimmer of salvia that moistened his lips...see also the large scar that adorned his face across his nose and cheeks. That scar didn't do anything to hinder Draco's thoughts; it was now just a part of Harry and didn't frighten him. Draco's heart sped up as he felt Harry's breath. His hand twitched to reach forward and touch this tantalizing Gryffindor.
This wasn't what he was expecting from today, and he wasn't at all sure if it was something he thought was good for him, but it was arousing. There was no question that Harry knew what he was doing. He didn't touch him either, but there was a look in his eyes that told Draco he enjoyed what he was close to.
"I won't ask you to do anything that would hurt you," Draco said honestly.
Harry's lips were so close. He had devoured Harry the night in the hospital ward. It was awkward being in the flesh of someone else, but it didn't change the sensation of touching Harry. Harry was so innocent, so like a kitten, when he'd first kissed all those months ago. It still irked Draco, though, because Harry was soft and pliable for the Polyjuice version of him. What would he be like for Draco?
No, no that was too much a thought. Harry was hurt too drastically and so recently; it wasn't for Draco to push him into anything. And here Harry had just confessed that his cousin had seize him even more barbarically. Was it anything less than what Draco had done, truly?
Draco pulled away a step and cleared his throat.
"Harry -" Draco was pulled short of his thought by Harry's warm hand coming up and sliding through his hair. His green eyes were soft as they lowered closed, and Harry came fully towards him and lain his head upon Draco's shoulder, body coming closer still. He hugged so carefully, so delicately, softer than the way he hugged the night in the hospital. It was precious.
Draco brought his arms up and around Harry's shoulders. They were wider than he remembered, and he was surely taller than before. His hair was soft and aromatic from this close, so much lighter than before. Draco touched it, smoothing a hand over Harry's head and down around his neck. He held on until his body ceased to be vibrating and cooled down from heat. This wasn't the time for his desire, this was a time to help a friend.
While still holding the lenient body before him, Draco offered a suggestion. "It's your birthday. We should go try out your new broom?"
Instead of kiss, that's what we could do, thought Draco.
Harry pulled away just enough to look at him, but didn't go far.
"There are too many Muggles around. I don't know where we could go."
Draco was mildly surprised to have to say, "Into Blūesoul Alley. Haven't you looked around there yet?"
It was through the Mad Flagon Alehouse. Blūesoul Alley was the wizarding street the Floo Station was located in. It could be compared in size to Diagon Alley, but really wasn't as big or busy. By now, Narcissa would probably have walked back there.
Draco pulled away with a smile, then took a hold of Harry's hand.
"Let's go. They have a flying court there. It's just a few Sickles."
"Wait, wait. Draco, I have to get ready. I can't go out looking like this. Sure, yes. Let's go. Give me just a minute," Harry's voice was excited. A smile was forming.
Draco smiled back and let Harry's hand go to grasp the Firebolt, taking it from Harry. Harry went through a door into his bedroom and Draco followed, looking into the audacious bedroom. It looked even more like his father's idea of style and decor in here than it did in the living room. In here, there were tapestries of magical beasts right next to famous paintings depicting political corruption. The bedding was black and what little mementoes there were had this expensive note of pragmatic angles.
Harry left the room and went into a bathroom off the other side. Draco went over then to that doorway and looked in. The decor of the bedroom bled into this area, but accommodations were made for his mother's tastes now. The walls were white and there was a large soaking tub freestanding in the middle of the bathroom. I was more lavish than any bathroom at Malfoy Manor, because there was a large, uncurtained window that showed out onto the trees of the park, and showed the tops of the buildings from the city.
"This window takes some getting used to," Harry said as he settled into the seat. "Muggles sometimes run right past the window while I'm peeing. I keep thinking one day they'll look in."
"When you get your wand, you can charm the window to be opaque," Draco supplied.
"Maybe. By now I'm used to it, though."
The makeup table with the large mirror around it had orbs with glowing light. Harry was now opening a little bottle that he then dabbed the contents of onto his closed eyelids. He spread cream over all of his exposed skin, really taking his time to spread it up his arms and down his neck, tanning his skin as if he'd been out in the sun.
Draco came over and took the bottle, reading the label. He read aloud, "'Simple soap won't do.'"
"I've tested it. Muggle bar soap won't wash it off, but it fades after three days." He stood up, but then hesitated, "One more thing..."
And he took a potion at the back of the group - the Beautifying potion - and gave it a sip.
To say the changes were minimal would be a lie. Harry was transformed. Draco was impressed.
"Would you recognize me?" Harry asked.
Draco took another moment to take in the changes to his features. Blue eyes, tan skin, his scars hidden behind some potion. He was handsome still, but with differences. "Your voice is the same, but otherwise no."
Harry smiled.
"I've been nervous about going into places wizards are. Your mom told me my magical signature was public record, but once I turn seventeen it becomes harder to trace. Do you think we'll come across anyone who would test our magic while we're out?" A bit of worry crept into Harry's voice.
Draco shook his head. "We're just going to the shops, not any official businesses. They check you at the Floo Station and the government sites, but we're not going there."
"Good. Because I don't have the potion I need to hide my magical signature yet. Your mom will bring the ingredients soon, though."
Harry was happy to be going out.
"You look like you're ready for this," Draco observed as they walked finally through the doors of the Mad Flagon Alehouse. The oddities of the Wizarding World came into view. Harry spotted the differences immediately.
"I am," Harry answered, although he stood nervously close to Draco as they walked deeper.
Soon enough, they had made it. Jimualt's Flying Arena, the indoor wizards sports stadium, had its first visit of Draco Malfoy with his new friend, Aldebaron Gravewatcher, graduate of Tritonscale School for Wizardry in Canada.
The arena was huge on the inside, going nearly ten stories into the air even though it showed to be a quarter of that height from the outside.
The real treat was in the air above them. It was a maze of flags, lights, and enchanted accessories like hoops that when flown through caused sparks. Some flyers were up there maneuvering it, flying on Firebolts or Cleansweeps, trying for speed or just for fun.
"Wow," said Harry, eyes glued to the display.
"See that over there?" asked Draco, pointing to a scoreboard. "We can compete to see who's fastest. Want to?"
"Yeah!" Harry was more than willing. "Have you flown here before?"
Draco nodded. "We use to spend summers at the cottage, and I would fly here. We haven't done that in years, though."
There was a single row of seating around the whole place, interspersed with lockers and walls with photos of locals as well as professional flyers, some who had signed their photos. Near the entrance was a stand where you could rent brooms and order drinks.
Draco rented another Firebolt - a bit pricy to do so - to challenge Harry against the obstacle course so they could deduce which of them was a better flyer. Harry took to his Firebolt like he was some Quidditch Seeker or something. Alderbaron never joined the school Quidditch team, Harry told Draco; he was too focused on his coursework. Alderbaron never did any sports, clubs, or won any award to be anything special at Tritonscale School. He was just an average wizard growing up.
Draco was too focused on flying than to be pondering his thoughts on Harry. But still, he was amazed at how Harry was becoming comfortable with his new lease on life. His mother spent a lot of time and effort on Harry to give the Malfoy's their lives back. Draco was going into his seventh year at Hogwarts, free of the burdens of the wizarding war and the expectations of becoming a Death Eater. He wasn't as prideful as he once was at the school. It helped to have Harry alive in his life, but at the same time he recognized how thoroughly everyone missed him.
Ron was a great Keeper, it had to be said, and he made a decent competitor when it came to team captain of the Gryffindor's Quidditch team. When he flew on the Firebolt left to him from the late Harry Potter, he wasn't using it for its speed or agility as Harry had used it to find the Golden Snitches. Even now, Ron could never match what Harry was doing as he went through the obstacle course of loops and rods, hitting every magical key point with accuracy. In the section that had Golden Snitches, he out-did Draco by three even though he hadn't been on a broom in half a year.
The score post that had their names on it, D.M. and A. Gravewatcher, started at the bottom but was slowly moving up animatedly through hundreds of other names. Draco had decided not to put his last name on the scoreboard, worried it might be recognized. This place seemed to be a popular one among the locals.
Ron, Draco knew, wouldn't have done nearly as well as the two of them.
For whatever reason, thinking this didn't bother Harry. He simply had Ron in his thoughts.
When all was said and done, both Harry and Draco were flushed and sweaty, breathing hard and coming down in adrenaline from the danger they had put themselves through: the danger of being willingly so high in the air and pulling so many maneuvers, with only their grip to keep them mounted.
"We did alright!" Harry said, grinning when he saw the final score. It wasn't an easy thing to judge himself by, but he was in the higher bracket for sure and he had beat Draco, so that was worth it.
Draco had always been a sore loser. He said, "I beat someone named U. Suck. Do you think that's his real name?"
"As real as A. Gravewatcher," he said, but kept his voice low.
The two of them decided to fly another round, enjoying their time together. Harry improved his score because he noticed that if you touched a rod in the very center it was worth more points than just touching the ends, but Draco hadn't noticed this and fell farther behind. He chocked it off to being worn out from all the studying he did for finals, even though that was weeks ago, and Harry only told him about his observation as they were leaving, after Draco returned the Firebolt.
"That's cheating. You should have told me!" Draco announced.
Harry smiled. "No it's not. It's tactics!"
Draco's summer still had a few weeks left in it, so there would be more time to really test their skills against each other. Draco was suddenly sorry that he hadn't come by sooner; Harry was actually a lot of fun to be around.
Also...clearing the air with Harry was more refreshing than even his racing heart by the time they finished.
Draco would stay behind at Blūesoul Alley to take the Floo Network, but they got dinner together first. As they stood in a line to get foot from a small street vender, Harry stood rather close, smiling at Draco. Draco watched him, feeling his heart flutter for other reasons as Harry moved in even closer, pressing against his side. When Draco felt Harry's hand wrap into his, he'd reached his limit, though.
"Not here," Draco whispered, pressing Harry's hand back at him.
Harry blushed, looking down and stepping back a bit. Harry looked back up, eyes doe-like.
"Sorry."
Draco shook his head. "Just...never mind."
The embarrassment for Draco was clear. Harry gave him space despite feeling like he'd rather talk about it - in length - instead.
Harry ate a hamburger with fries and Draco had a chicken sandwich. Draco took this time to watch him from across the table, and he couldn't say whether he liked Harry's natural colored skin or the golden glow of his charmed tanning lotion, but both highlighted Harry's goosebumps where his salty skin touched the breeze, so both did just fine to fantasize about. Fantasize, but not touch. Draco felt uncomfortable to think that others would think they were more than just mates.
Other people moved about, going to and from jobs, running errands, or just hanging out like the two of them were. Sometimes someone looked at them, but both boys were glad that they got no recognition to speak of.
"I haven't ever seen your face in the paper," Harry said to him.
Draco nodded. "Mother and father made sure no one would. Your disguise is working, too."
Harry nodded, pleased but still keeping his head rather lower than what was probably comfortable.
Later, Harry stood by the entrance to the Floo Station, still holding his Firebolt.
"Will you be coming back?" Harry asked.
"Yes. I have some work to do for father tomorrow, but the day after I'm free."
"Will you ask your mom how best I should go about getting a new wand? What I should say is the reason why I lost my old one? I'm nervous about buying it if it'll get attention."
"I'll find out. In the meantime, I had a good time today. Thanks, Aldebaron, for the good day. And happy birthday."
Draco held Harry's gaze, loving the look in Harry's eyes that expressed desire, happiness, and strength. For now, they parted ways, but for later, Draco was starting to expect there would be more expressive ways of saying goodbye. Private ways...but expressive ways.
Draco left Harry there and went into the Floo Station. He walked through the line and paid his fair without much fuss, then walked over the glossy wooden floor of the lobby up to the archway that led into the Floo spaces. It was guarded by two wizards in long maroon and black uniforms. It wasn't the traditional wizard garb they wore in London, but had more of a Baltic flare to it, with leather straps and buckles. The wizard's wands were fully exposed. One looked at Draco and nodded his greeting, then went back to observing the crowd. Draco walked past him without inspection.
When Draco re-arrived at home - before even announcing his return - he went to his bedroom and closed the door. He was a teenager, and he'd just spent hours with the focus of his attraction. Was he planning on releasing some sexual tension since leaving Harry's side five minutes before? Yes. He'd been doing this sort of thing for months since nestling with Harry when he'd been addled by the plant toxins back at Hogwarts. It was carnal, delightful, and by god Draco had done it a hundred times already. But - but not this time.
Draco - this time - simply sat on the edge of his bed and thought about things.
He'd long felt ashamed of the route he'd taken back at school. He'd half-denied he had been the one to trick Harry into sleeping with him; half-denied it even to himself. There was no trace of evidence to prove it was him and now that Harry had forgiven him, there was no reprimand to be had. So yes, confessing he'd been the one to sleep with Harry that night put him in such a liable position...but he wanted to confess and end his distraught suffering for causing Harry such trouble. It was such a freeing relief to have done so.
He also thought about Clouse.
The son of his father's brother, uncle Tolerous, who died years ago, leaving behind an awkward situation for his young wife. Joleena had re-married and became Joleena Ausbry awhile back. The nature of her extended relationship meant she was rarely part of family functions, and indeed last winter she hadn't been one of the guests at the dinner party, but a direct blood connection such as that of Clouse had garnered him an invitation.
Draco had been at Hogwarts at the time, but he'd heard the story as well as anyone: Voldemort was using Malfoy Manor as he wanted, threatening the family if they didn't comply with his desires for it. This was why Death Eaters brought Harry there.
The part of the story left widely out of circulation was how Harry was treated while waiting for Voldemort's arrival. The recounting - recounted by Lucius, who both knew of them as soon as they happened as well had overheard these things while in Azkaban Prison for the week after Voldemort's death - was disturbing and full of holes when compared to the story in the papers. Fenrer Greyback was a werewolf kissed by a Dementor when he was caught after the fight between Aurors and the people left at Malfoy Manor, and he told of how he swore that he'd eat Harry's heart when his body fell dead. But fortunately that never happened. But he and the other werewolves all said that Harry and Ron were in the same room, but Clouse recounted in the article in the newspaper that he never saw Harry. Lucius had mentioned that he was curious about this, but per Narcissa's insistence, they not ask Harry.
Draco hadn't known - the whole wizarding world hadn't known - that the story about Clouse finding Ron separated from Harry was a lie. A lie to protect Harry - even in death - from the exposure of his second debauchery.
No wonder there were so many holes in the story: it was invented!
Draco now knew the truth - well, part of it. Clouse knew the rest, but where was he?
While now Draco knew as much as Harry did, Clouse and Ron would know the rest. And Dumbledore, probably. Maybe even Hermione Granger if Ron told her. And Dumbledore could pull whatever string he wanted to get the public story out. But at what cost? Was Clouse free and just roaming around the world after raping Harry?
No way.
Clouse was still a hero for saving Ron; he was probably being kept off the books.
Draco sat there until his mind was made up and clear.
He was going to tell his parents.
He'd tell them because they told him so much: his father recounted his horrible experience in Azkaban, and his mother told them about Harry. The fewer secrets in this family the stronger it was, Draco understood.
He went downstairs to visit with his parents, who he knew were in the dining room having dinner. He walked slowly.
The whole time Draco was away from home, Narcissa and Lucius wondered what they might be doing. Narcissa had told Lucius Draco's confession to fancying The Boy Who Lived, and all this time Lucius was a bit on edge. His son being gay was almost tragic, but nothing he would scorn. If children weren't in Draco's future, then Lucius found that a loss. He and Narcissa had trepidation about having more than one child, for fear of sibling rivalry. They'd gone through some of that and felt it was a burden off Draco's back to have nothing challenging except the world at large. Lucius was now coming to terms with the flaw in their single-son household plan.
And then there was Draco, standing in the doorway. Draco was looking upon his very capable parents, a feeling of righteousness flowing over him. Lucius and Narcissa sensed that something was pending being said from Draco.
"Hello, Draco," said Lucius.
Lucius thought this was the moment. His heart pinched as his son approached.
They set their forks down and waited for him to hear what he had to say.
"Father. Mother." Draco first greeted. He gripped the back of the chair he usually sat upon, standing there looking anxious.
"How was your time with Harry?" Narcissa asked, trying not to add expectation to her voice.
Narcissa was certain Draco's confession had gone in his favor. Harry was lonely in the cabin, and a good-looking boy coming over and confessing to liking him - well...it probably was easy for Harry to latch onto that.
"There's something I want to say," Draco informed.
He'd hesitated though. His mother smiled at him. She knew enough from his body language.
"Draco...it's okay."
Draco hesitated some more, furrowing his brow.
Narcissa went on, "You can tell us anything. We'll accept you and your choices, no matter what."
"Huh?"
"It's fine, Draco," Lucius chimed in.
Draco looked between them, wondering what he had walked in on. Maybe there was other news, something that they had to tell him first.
"What's fine?"
Lucius looked at Narcissa and reached over, laying his hand atop hers.
Lucius continued his thought with infernal cadence, "We know, Draco. We hope you'll perhaps find a legitimate way to make the relationship work, while still improving the Malfoy name. Many spouses never attend public functions and it's accepted out of decorum in relationships like this. We understand the intrinsic nature of your feelings for Harry. We accept you for who you are."
"I'm not -" Draco broke off almost instantly, voice caught.
Embarrassment flooded him. Telling his mom was one thing, but telling his father...
"You told him!?" Draco blared.
Narcissa stood from her seat. "Secrets aren't good for this family right now, Draco."
"Yes, I know that! But this isn't -"
"So long as you are not seen publically," Lucius went on. "It's not for my sake, it's for decorum's sake. Draco, we support you -"
"I'm not - not -" Draco was lost for words.
"Not what?" His mother asked, offering him a little break and a chance at gathering his voice.
"I'm not - with Harry!" Draco blared.
Lucius and Narcissa both smiled, and it was infuriating.
"I have to tell you something, it's about Harry but it's not that!"
Their smiles didn't fade. Lucius asked, "What is it, son?"
Draco shook his head, shook his whole body trying to force the words out. "Okay...okay...at the cottage, Harry told me - I mean, after you left, mom, he told me - " he took a breath, looked at them, and...his voice was stuck.
"What is it?" Narcissa encouraged.
The silence lingered. Draco closed his mouth and swallowed. Then, in the smallest voice he didn't even know he had, his stomach twisting, he whispered, "Harry was raped by Clouse."
His parents may not have heard him. They just stared.
Draco thought they didn't hear him. He cleared his voice and repeated himself, "I said, Harry was raped by Clouse."
"We heard you," Lucius stated with a steely tone.
Draco hadn't noticed the change until now, but his father was now angry in that deep, menacing way of his.
Narcissa was goggling him - her own way of coming to terms with a surprise.
Draco shut up and was at least happy they had stopped their secure assurances of supporting him. He was still embarrassed and not happy that his mother ousted him to his father.
Draco nodded, exacerbating his statement and flustered. He saw their questions and let them know more.
"You thought I was going to tell you that we got together or something, didn't you? He's gone through so much recently, no way would he want to start a relationship now. No way I would! And you think I'd start a relationship with someone who drinks Calming Drought just to make it through a day? Psh! That sort of person isn't the kind I'd settle for!"
"Draco!" Shouted Narcissa. "Stop babbling! What do you mean that Harry was raped?!"
Draco flinched. He maybe was babbling, not to mention was saying mean things.
He took a deep breath and relaxed his hands, which were like a vice on the back of the chair he was still holding. He tried to appear calm, but he couldn't quite meet their eyes.
"What I wanted to tell you was that he told me how his friend got away from the Dark Lord that night. He let Clouse - you know - have him - to trade for Ronald Weasley's freedom. You said he looked hurt when he was brought to the Dark Lord, that he whispered something that made You Know Who swear to get Clouse. Well, this was it. I think Dumbledore covered it up."
This new piece of information couldn't be forgiven. His cousin Clouse had slept with Harry, too. He'd taken what wasn't his. He'd taken advantage of the person Draco had come to preoccupy himself with. And Draco knew that Clouse hurt the people he slept with - that he didn't use comforting salves and often used memory spells on their minds afterword so he could do it again if he liked how the person sounded...Draco shivered. He never thought Clouse's actions would come back and haunt him, but they had upon the knowledge of what Harry had gone through.
Draco's parents were firm with their questioning of what Draco knew and what he only assumed. They agreed with all of his thoughts.
"I'm not willing to let this go," Narcissa stated.
"We have no reason to have this knowledge," Lucius said tactfully.
"Then we don't rectify the situation directly!" Narcissa was furious for the moment, but took a breath. "We handle it without anyone knowing we had anything to do with it."
"Clouse isn't out there," Draco reminded her. "He's probably being held by Dumbledore. He's maybe already in Azkaban."
Lucius shook his head.
"Dumbledore doesn't break rules like that. He'd let Clouse go if it meant sentencing him with his own hand. Dumbledore's weak like that."
"But they have him, I'm sure of it," Draco said.
Lucius worked on that thought, thinking aloud just a bit, "I'll send a letter to Joleena."
"Will that help?" Narcissa whispered.
Draco didn't voice his own concern, knowing it was fruitless: there was no saying what it would do.
Some time passed as Draco sat with his mother discussing tentative plans. Lucius had gone to his office to pen the letter. The world was night outside, the fireplace was empty as it had been a hot day.
Draco was feeling the need to bring up the past. He was finely drawn up as he sat in his chair, holding in his thoughts until now. He sighed deeply as the weight of his behavior and thoughts over the past few years was finally no longer a secret.
"So," Draco said, "dad was telling me that you're both okay with me - you know - liking guys?"
"So long as you remain smart about your choices, you'll have a long and happy life," Narcissa said.
Cultured as they were, his parents were infinitely more progressive than Draco often gave them credit for.
"But I still...am okay with girls," Draco also confessed.
His mother smiled. "You're young. You don't need to make decisions about your whole life now. Keeping your options open is a good thing. Live to the fullest, Draco."
Draco couldn't help but feel that was slightly futile, knowing now how fickle it could really be.
Ron. A glimpse.
Another day alone in his room passed.
Was he expected to come down for meals? At first, yes. Now they came up to him.
Merlin, but the tears were awful. They scraped together in his eyes and ran down his cheeks like razor blades. His freckles were sliding off. He was becoming chafed by their consistency. He'd not changed clothes all week and hadn't showered since he drug himself downstairs in the middle of the night Sunday. It was now Thursday.
A soft knock on the door.
Bill was visiting home this week.
"Are you awake?"
Ron was sitting in bed with his head leaning against the backboard, a damp tissue crumpled in his hand and eyes glazed over.
Bill's head had just peeked in to see if he was awake, and he would have left him alone if he was sleeping. But Bill sighed upon sight of the pitiful state Ron was in and he leaned his broad form against the door jam.
"Forgive me for interrupting?" Bill said solemnly and without enmity. "I put a sandwich in the bathroom for you...I filled the tub with hot water, too..."
Bill stared at Ron's still form for another moment, and then sighed again and entered the room.
"I don't want to rush you," Bill said honestly. "I put a stasis charm on both of them...the sandwich will stay fresh and the water will stay hot. I told everyone to leave it that way...okay?"
Still, Ron sat aloof from him.
Bill walked up to his youngest brother and sat nearly upon his lap, so close that he could feel his heat even in this hot upper room in the house; it really was a blistering day. His weight sank Ron down and forced his gaze upon Bill's, who hadn't looked away yet. He was staring at a brother he loved, who was in such despair that it caused an ache of his own.
"I know what day it is," Bill said softly.
Ron swallowed weakly and nodded.
Yeah.
Today was Harry's birthday.
"He usually would have...come over today, wouldn't he?"
Ron nodded again.
Bill sniffed and looked away at last, because he saw the rise of tears again into Ron's eyes. Ron had been anticipating this day with dread all week.
"I want to say..." he took a deep breath and sighed again, "I just want to say - that I know something...a secret..."
Ron sniffed loudly and gave some murmur of a reply.
Bill took that as a question.
"It's not a nice secret...do you still want to hear it?"
His warning wasn't severe enough it seemed, because Ron nodded.
Bill bowed his head and then looked at Ron just from the corner of his eyes.
"It's a secret about tomorrow...I know something that you don't know about it..."
Ron pursed his lips, finally biting.
"What is it?" Ron asked, voice hoarse.
Bill took a deep breath through his nose and let the suspense build. He looked up at the posters of the Chudley Cannons on the ceiling and finally let his secret out.
"That tomorrow - and I swear this to be true - you're going to feel a little better and come downstairs."
Ron scoffed at him.
Bill nodded, eyes piercing as he acted along with Ron like it was as absurd as Ron's scoff laid it out to be.
"I know! Right? It's surprising! I never would have imagined it, but I swear it!"
Bill clasped his hand onto Ron's arm. Ron shook him off, gnashing his teeth. Bill kept it up.
"Tomorrow - I promise - you're going to come downstairs...because you'll feel a little better after you eat that sandwich, take that bath, and have a good night's sleep. But - you can't tell anyone! And I won't tell anyone else this secret, okay? We'll keep it a secret together, okay?"
And here Bill leaned in and pressed a long kiss to the tears that again soaked Ron's cheek, glad at least that Ron wasn't pushing him away again.
"Promise you won't tell anyone else?" Bill pleaded in a whisper.
Ron sniffed wetly and nodded, eyes squeezed closed as sobs wracked his body again.
Bill wrapped his arms around his littlest brother and smothered his head against his chest, accepting the wetness that was smearing against his shirt.
August. 1997.
Yesterday, the newspaper had added a note on the front page to let every reader know that Harry would have turned seventeen on that day, and it was encouraging to Draco to actually be one of the three people on the planet to be able to wish him a happy birthday. Today's newspaper was overlooked by the Malfoy household, though, because they had other things on their minds.
Vindictive as ever, Lucius had decided to wait to send a letter to his deceased brother's widow. He decided that first they would curse her household with Truth. A Truth curse applied as an area effect around consumable growing plants would plague the eaters with a loose tongue for a short time. It was diabolical. The spell would be cast by either Narcissa or Draco, whichever mastered it first.
When Lucius told his plan to them over breakfast, Draco became hopeful. Not only did he have the plan, but Lucius had the page the spell was written on turned open in a book. Both Narcissa and Draco started practicing it that morning. The spell, "Lingrmarordu," would emit a red vapor, spread around and over the garden, and slowly sink into the earth to taint all vegetables with Truth. It would affect Joleena, her second husband Willart and their two girls. The spell would affect the family for a month and would have side effects related to stress, but nothing foreseeable as gruesome.
It is about this time that Lucius had to build up a little self-courage. It's not easy for a father to accept his son as growing up, and Lucius - wrought with his sentence of house arrest and having to avoid magic use - was having an even harder time of letting go of Draco. But he was a strong man, use to sacrifices.
Lucius took a courageous leap and reached out to Draco, landing a hand on his shoulder.
Draco jumped in surprise.
Seeing Lucius's compassionate expression, though, he knew he was in for A Talk.
"I don't believe you think I said anything wrong yesterday, son..."
Draco could only shake his head. He was quite taken off guard.
Narcissa - some space away from them and practicing the spell - put her wand down and let them have her attention.
"You know the world just as we taught you," Lucius went on to say to Draco. "Harry is quite secretly hidden. It's the perfect relationship for you to keep in the public eye without it being known about your preferences. I think it'd be okay if you were to date him."
Draco found himself shaking his head in nervousness and insecurity.
"It's hard right now to decide," Lucius continued, taking his hand back. "Harry relies on Calming Droughts now, but probably not always. And in a true and lasting relationship you would be supportive of anything that betters the other person."
Draco often use to roll his eyes at his parents when they expressed an interest in his love life. Matters were a little different now. He found himself still without a voice.
Lucius's voice softened still.
"I'm glad you're also keeping your options open with young women. That girl you've been mailing letters to...is she a decent choice for a public wife, if that is the way you would take this?"
"He's a little young to be deciding on who to marry," Narcissa chimed in at last. She came over and looked upon her ambitendent son. "One way or the other, the public eye is on you more than us now. I hope you will choose what remains a secret and who you marry with care, least you lose more opportunities for a career."
Embarrassment flowed through Draco as his parents talked about him. He didn't want to hear another word, but what was he going to do? Storm off? He was trying to grow up, so he couldn't take that route.
"I..." he hesitated, trying to think of what to say.
He never did think of anything. Standing there, all he could do was swirl around in a loop.
For it to be known that he liked Harry was one thing; it was actually a relief that he wouldn't have to keep it so wholly hidden from his parents. But he did know the world...that was why he'd kept his feelings up to now a complete secret. He was relieved that they didn't know he'd already had several sexual encounters with male classmates, but their discussing the necessity of him hiding still was irksome. Harry, after all, wasn't the first Draco had been with, but even Blaze Zabinni had it in his best interest to keep their 'relationship' a secret. The dark-skinned boy had said as much. He was quite Draco's type, not to say that Harry wasn't. Harry was exactly Draco's type: unattainable, good-looking, mostly pure-blood, male. But Harry was also a Gryffindor and perhaps the best worst enemy Draco had ever had.
As Harry Potter, he was unattainable. It was attractive.
As a secret detainee to the Malfoy family, he was attainable. It was...too easy, maybe.
Draco started to doubt himself.
Harry was now just an innocent and soft teenager. A boy alone in a house, unsupervised. A boy without any sensitivities to proximity. Harry wasn't bothered to lean in and blush with an alluring dilation in his eyes even in public. Draco had to keep their distance when they were out in public...Harry was alluring, but the public eye was frightening.
His parents were right about him keeping his desires a secret, but they had no idea that it was actually terror at being discovered as a queer that kept Draco's hand he was dealt a secret.
Draco didn't want to let anyone else know; it was far too frightening and yes - it would close more career doors for him. He studied too hard and he was too good a wizard to willingly have his career be picked just because that was where he fit in. His father's role in the Ministry of Magic was taken away, and though Draco could go the political route, he was really thinking more along the lines of a Potions route. It would probably be a bit embarrassing to work in an office where people would judge him for his father being an ex-Death Eater anyway; he'd rather not go through that.
Draco didn't have any answers yet.
The next day.
Narcissa and Draco visited together and briefly told him the plan to possibly force Joleena to confess that Clouse was missing. It was a startling fact but Harry felt the dawning of relief from it: Clouse might not get away with it if Aurors were given a reason to look for Clouse...perhaps expose his misdeeds. Harry kept it to himself, but he was intrigued by the level of tactics the Malfoy's were going through on his behalf. Lucius was cunning.
"They may make public what he's done to you..." Narcissa stated delicately.
Harry actually smiled at this. It wrinkled his scars some.
"I don't think I have any right to mind what happens to me in the real world. What do the dead care about what people say about them?"
Narcissa instinctively reached out and rubbed his shoulder, because yes, Harry had smiled, but it warped into something like a grimace.
It was in contrast to Draco's decision to remain secret about his life choices: Harry was okay if everyone found out he'd been raped. He was right: what did it really matter to a dead boy if his secrets were known?
Draco felt a bit envious of Harry just then, but he quickly squashed that feeling with internal criticism of his own choices and secrets.
"Narcissa?" Harry asked at last, wanting to change the topic. "Would you help me in getting a wand today? Do you think it's possible?"
With relief, she bit into this new subject matter.
"Yes, it's possible. It's just the right time. Draco told me yesterday that you asked to get one, that's the main reason I've come."
There wasn't any sport with Draco done today. In fact, the visit was mainly for Narcissa and Harry to interact. Draco took more of a backseat in the events of the day. He actually seemed standoffish. It worried Harry a bit, but there wasn't anything he could do. Narcissa had taken quite thoroughly to her role in protecting him.
After both Harry and Narcissa readied themselves for a public appearance, they walked to the Mad Flagon Alehouse to pass over into Blūesoul Alley, and he assured her on the way that she'd done an amazing job at healing him from his time with Clouse even though she didn't know about it.
It was only a month until Wizarding schools around the world opened their doors for the new year, and the people in this area must have gotten the memo to show up and start shopping. Blūesoul Alley was crowded with families. Harry looked around at the familiar sights of children recognizing each other, parents huddled in corners talking as they were left by children grabbing sweets without them. The flying arena Draco and Harry had gone to two days before was swarming with onlookers through the windows, with many jostling their parents to spare some time and go within.
"Busier than I remember," Draco commented.
"The wand shops are never as busy, though," Narcissa told them.
Quippith Wands was as she said, although they had to wait for one little girl to finish with the old man behind the counter. They spoke in Luthuanian, the little girl's mother smiling the whole time. Little did Harry know that getting a new wand was simple, but meant to be embarrassing. Narcissa assured him that they would act the part of being unhappy with being there, as to lose a wand was a faux pas in wizarding culture. They'd hang back and scorn him with their looks, as one did to punish a child when a big and horrible mess was made for no good reason.
Malfoys were quite good with a scornful glare, and though the witch and her little girl never said a word, the mother spotted Harry as the culprit for them being there and also gave him a doleful glance.
When they left, the quiet shop had a ticking clock in the corner that was suddenly loud. And with the shopkeeper now free, Harry walked up to him, leaving his two companions back by the door. He was old in a similar way as Olivander; perhaps that was necessary for being a wand maker.
At first he spoke in his native language, which Harry didn't understand.
"Do you speak English?" Harry asked quietly.
The old man smiled.
"Bit late fer getten a wand," said the man in heavily accented English. Harry found so many people knew English even though he was far from England.
"Had a little accident," Harry told him, as instructed. He bore the dour look with subtle embarrassment. Draco told him he often bit his lip when he was nervous, and to do so now.
"Give very little information, Harry. His shop will have many spells on it to reveal your magical signature to him. Don't worry, though. It will not be connected to the magical signature you had as a child; that record was kept by Age Magic, and is now over with."
At the counter, Harry read a placard: Quippith Wands, making legendary wands since 1665.
"Well, well. Getten now a new one. Hope yer be...more careful?"
Harry nodded.
The man kept his seat but reached under his counter, pulling forth a thin, long box, the packaging of a wand. He opened it. "Try dis one."
Harry hesitated upon reaching for the ten inch wand with a familiar type of wood: holly. Would the charms on this building have told the owner of Quippith's that he once had a holly wand? Harry reached forward, incalculability resistant to trying this one out because of how similar it was to his last. Before his fingers had touched the wood, though, the old man had snapped the box closed and put it away.
"Not dat one!" the owner said, reaching under his counter for a different box instead.
Harry met the old man's eyes once again, unable to help the relief of showing through at not trying out that wand. This new one was of a darker wood, some bit smaller than the last.
Harry picked it up and gave it a whirl, casting a minor spell to emit a colorful wisp. The wisp came out black, though, and not very opaque.
"No!" The owner said urgently. "We will find right one. Eventually..."
Harry tried seventeen wands total, which was a far cry less than he had the first time he was in Olivander's. At last, he satisfied the shop keeper and found a wand from somewhere along the fifth row of a shelf, nearer the ticking clock.
"Here it is. Persikas wood! Fine wood! Can you smell the fruit?"
Harry didn't know what the man was talking about, but having found a wand that fit him so comfortably was a relief. It was an odd type of wood, though. Harry didn't know what persikas was, but the smell...as he brought the wand close to his nose he could smell the fruit the limb of the tree once bore. Peaches. Uniquely, the wood was covered in a soft fuzz, just like a peach.
"With augurey feather, 12 inches. Persikas wood! Pah! Years ago I walk orchard looking fer a magical limb. I expect to find none! A fruit tree rarely suitable fer wand making."
Harry held his wand up to smell it again. "Thank you, sir."
Oleg smiled as he took Harry's new wand and laid it into the box it'd come from. Harry passed over the gold coins and received his new wand.
"It is wand fer one born with juicy heart."
Harry cracked a smile, unable to stop himself. "What?!"
The shop keeper laughed. "Finally, you smile! Not such bad thing to have new wand! No, no! Not juicy heart! Just joke!"
Harry kept his smile for a moment. The shop keeper went on, "But is good to find match with persikas wood. I know, put augurey feather in sweet wood, not usual. But old tree was dying, so augurey feather felt like fitting match."
Harry took a step away now that the transaction was done, but was halted by Oleg's hand being raised.
"Now, if I may write name into book before yer go -"
"Now that's ENOUGH!" Shouted suddenly from behind him.
Harry leapt out of his skin.
"Now, when it's all over, he'll try making a record of your wand. There is no law that says he has to do this. It's an invasion of privacy, if anything. Lucius knows the rules and made sure to keep Draco off the records, too. I'll stop him if he tries. It won't happen."
He expected her to interrupt, but not so loudly. Narcissa was fuming, stomping up to the counter, her shoes loud upon the wood floor as she grabbed Harry by his sleeve and pulled him back to the door.
"Yer name?!" Shouted Oleg.
Narcissa turned back to him and ranted, never once stopping her progress to the front door, where Draco stood ready to open it and escape. "We're done here! We've concluded our business! Have a good day!"
Harry was handled roughly, but once out the door and a few steps away he was let go. Narcissa took Harry's lapels and straightened them. She smiled as she wiped invisible dust off one shoulder. "Good job, Aldebaron. Now let's go have coffee."
She took the lead. Draco walked up to Harry and smiled, leading him with a hand on his back after her.
"What did you think?" Harry asked Draco. "Was that very polite?"
"Have we ever come across to you as being polite?"
Harry thought Draco had said that rather offhandedly, distractedly. There was finally a moment to ask him how he was doing.
"Fine," was Draco's quick response.
"You're not acting fine," Harry noted.
Draco didn't respond.
While sitting with a drink, Narcissa inspected Harry's wand and found it quite remarkable. "It's got a sweet smell to it, too," she mused, holding it under her nose. "And this peachy fur is very soft. I won't say this seems more like a girl's wand...nor will I say I think it doesn't really suit you."
"You just said all of those things," Draco said contemptuously to his heedless mother. He took the wand and caressed it as well. "It looks like an antler before the soft down falls off. Weird wand."
Harry took the wand back, agreeing with both of their statements. Although it couldn't be denied that he enjoyed the feeling he got when he handled this new wand; it was perfect for him.
"Lucius should have left a few wand holsters at the cottage, probably in the closet," Narcissa said. "Once again, feel free to use them. And... Aldebaron?"
Harry looked up from his new wand upon hearing his new name.
She reached across and lain her hand over his. "Use magic to your heart's content. There are enough spell books in that house, I'm sure you'll find some of them interesting. They won't be like anything taught at Hogwarts, though...Lucius wasn't the type to collect common books. Now, Draco, will you be staying behind or coming home with me?"
She stood up, gathering her purse and adjusting the wrap around her hair.
Draco shook his head, standing up to follow her. Harry smiled ruefully, knowing absolutely there was something wrong with Draco today.
But he wasn't to worry to sharply or openly...there was time to warm up to Draco's prickly exterior.
Harry said to Draco, "But would you come back tomorrow, if you can? We'll go back to Jimualt's and have another race."
That was diplomatic and tantalizing...just what he was aiming for to charm Draco. He really had to do something to get his failing attention.
Draco took a moment, but then he nodded with a small smirk. Harry's heart soared.
"That sound good. And...I'm glad we could do something for you. Alderbaron."
Harry smiled, liking how Draco's eyes lingered on him at last, and liking how he looked back over his shoulder once as he walked into the crowd.
Mid August.
Much to Draco's relief, Narcissa and Lucius didn't bring up the relationship between Harry and Draco again that summer. Clearly there were obstacles in the way of them forming a real relationship: Harry's mental state being one of them, as Draco had pointed out. Narcissa told Lucius that he held together very well - if not a little quiet and reserved - upon the news of their plan against Clouse Malfoy. It was an encouraging thought that he was coping with the outcome of all of this as it came.
Draco wouldn't call Harry quiet or reserved when they were together, but he would describe Harry as attentive. It was hard to get Harry to relax and just be himself - something Draco found impossible not to do no matter where he was.
As for the main reason their relationship was on hold: Draco personal feelings about public appearance.
But the side effect of not voicing this concern with Harry was that it caused Harry to believe he just...wasn't good enough.
Draco was especially good at managing his own behavior: he was Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, and a very good student. Draco knew how to please those who gave rewards because he liked getting rewards. Harry didn't have that trait. People often found him angry back at school. Harry knew everyone was a little angry, but most - like Draco - knew how to hide it. Why couldn't Harry?
Harry had "died," so therefore all the possible rewards "Harry" had in life were over with. Should "Alderbaron" start becoming more like the Malfoys and get ahead in life? Would it bring him closer to Draco? Harry pondered this question as he pondered his loneliness.
At home with his persikas wood wand at night, Harry would be within one of Lucius's spell books and was honestly set on getting better at magic to impress Draco. Harry cast some new spells he hadn't heard of before. "Aladresh alatetelg!" produced a swarm of bright red bats that flew around his house for an hour before disappearing. And "Rigentisc roldaar!" lifted three skeletons from his floorboards. He stood back as they rose up, only to watch them stand straight and then fall down, leaving piles of bones that Harry had to sweep away into his trash bin.
Another caused the objects in its wake to scatter, and another after that gave the objects he cast it on a metallic sheen. Harry was so set on casting these rather easy and mundane spells, hoping that they would bring to him some sort of solution for his frustration with Draco, that it completely backfired and he deemed the whole endeavor useless.
"Who do you think you have to impress?!" Draco bullied him when he was over visiting one day.
"Gha!" Harry shouted, tossing his head back both at that time and now again at this time; hours after Draco had gone for the day.
"Gha!"
Huffing still in frustration and confusion, Harry sat with his neck arched back, looking up at the rafters. The ceiling of the cottage was wood. It was late, so it was dark and shadowy. There were thirty red bats clinging to it, left over from his spell earlier that he'd re-cast. The sight of them hanging there watching him was calming. All eyes stared.
"What are you looking at?" Harry whispered, head still hanging back.
He held his wand out and pointed it at one.
"What?" Harry asked again.
Nothing.
The bats hung there until they disappeared, one by one.
Harry was sitting on the couch now, just thinking. Hogwarts taught only useful spells. This had been a relaxing change, but Draco didn't really care for relaxing, did he?
Harry's mind wandered. It went way back...way back to the hospital ward. His eyes squeezed shut and he could see Ron leaning over him, still could feel him inside him, still could feel that slick magic lubrication used, still could feel his lips as Ron consumed Harry's confused pleasure - "No!"
Harry was standing, hands fisted, huffing. He slapped his cheeks and stomped his feet.
"No, no, no! Stop! Stop thinking about this! Stop!"
It maybe wasn't his fault that he kept going back in thought and festering over Ron. It could just be the toxins from Neville's plants that messed with his mind.
There have been documented cases of the pollen from love plants causing permanent alterations to certain people with sensitivity to it.
Pomfrey's words echoed like a curse.
"Stop!" Harry yelled again, willing himself to take back control of his own focus.
He looked back at the ceiling but the bats were all gone.
"Aladresh alatetelg!"
The swarm of red bat flew once again from his wand, fluttering all around. One brushed his face with its wing. Harry watched their chaos as they ran into things and knocked things about. Their wings made such a racket and their squeaks were plentiful. It was nice not being alone.
Harry's body and mind shook. He went over to the medicine cabinet and swallowed a gulp of Calming Drought, finishing that bottle up entirely. He set it down and lay down on the couch, looking up into the spinning movement of the magical bats he'd conjured.
"Stop..." Harry whispered, pleading with his mind to leave its memories behind.
He felt there was another way to calm down. Harry closed his eyes and pictured the thing that would help, and then he flicked his wand and commanded, "Accio picture!"
He was good at that spell. The picture Narcissa had placed into a frame came suddenly to his hands. With the faces of all the older Weasley's staring out at him, Harry could not bring himself to remember sexier things. He only felt loss now. At the sight of the serious and professional pictures chosen for the article that discussed Harry's Last Will, he stared. He missed them all. Arthur and Molly were so kind, Bill and Charlie were so cool, Fred and George were so fun, Percy was so...different, but strong willed. Harry loved the time he had had with all of them. Especially Ron, who wasn't in the picture at all.
He missed him.
His first friend, Ron was everything. He was the one Harry shared everything with, the one he offered everything to. Ron taught Harry what it was like to have a brother, a friend, and a lover - well, Harry wished, anyway. It wasn't Ron that gave him everything back. Ron hadn't wanted Harry the way Harry had wanted him.
And now Draco didn't want Harry the way he use to, either.
"Stop..." Harry whispered, realizing again how futile it was to control his own mind.
Draco, while visiting on his birthday, had said, "The person watching never gets what he wants, and the person being watched doesn't even know. Weasley...never even knew."
Harry knew - if none of this had ever happened and if he was still alive and a student at Hogwarts - that he would have told Ron eventually. He would just have waited until the right time... Maybe he wouldn't have said anything at Hogwarts - there was a lot of homework and stuff going on else wise - so maybe he would have said something after finals. Harry had been looking at becoming an Auror. Maybe he would have said something before then. Maybe after Voldemort had died... Maybe after the war...Maybe after...
"Stop!" Harry demanded of his addled brain again. It settled.
Also, the bats had mostly found purchase atop his things and were settled. Some were hanging once again, others just laying around. One had even landed on the back of the couch and was looking at him. Harry let the picture fall to his chest and reached up to touch the bat. He'd felt them as they flew, but holding one was different. It didn't feel heavy at all, and really, it was rather oddly still when it wasn't flying. Harry looked closely and saw patches of fur and leather. It was a bat, but it didn't have much definition of one; just the barest hints at it. He touched the little square that was the bat's face; it was soft but cold.
Harry held the bat in his hand and looked around the dark and empty room.
"Sorry, Ron..." Harry whispered.
"Don't," Ron's voice cut in his mind, made up but still low and furious. "Don't you dare apologize to me! No little 'sorry' can make up for you pretending to be dead! No little sweet words will make me welcome you back with open arms!"
"Ron, I know you're upset, but just let me -"
"Upset?!" A vile bark of laughter, and perhaps some physical violence. "If you knew anything you'd know I am far beyond upset!"
"Look, just let me explain!" Harry tried in this mockup of a scenario, but Harry's words were always shut down by what Ron said next.
"You called yourself a friend, but you left, Harry. You left me with the weight of your death on my shoulders. You're a miserable, sorry coward!"
The framed photo felt heavy, so he set it onto the table as he sat up.
It was perhaps a final method to reach peace, but Harry - a few weeks ago with Narcissa - had come across a book that talked about memory spells. The topic of extracting memories had alluded to the benefit of examining one's own life experiences and learning from them. The idea of doing that now brought him a level of desire he hadn't known he was seeking...but now he wished to pursue it.
He was going to extract his memory from that night in the hospital ward, store it safely outside his head, and perhaps view it as a witness rather than as a victim.
He wondered if he could bring the memory together, as it was almost a year ago that it happened.
He sought that book now and returned to the couch, leafing through until he found the passage he sought along with the information he needed.
"The caster does not remove the memory, but rather creates a copy of it as a small wisp of ethereal smoke, drawn out of his temple with the tip of his wand. Extracted memories are fragile, and can easily be destroyed."
So he would need a safe vial to store it in. Luckily he had those in the kitchen.
Harry carried the book and the little soft bat to the kitchen, opening a drawer near his magical plants. He recognized something akin to these vials from his time in Snape's classroom, and used that similarity as the beginning of his memory collecting to bring his mind back to his days in Hogwarts.
He focused on the plants that were in the Sixth Year boy's dorm as he remembered watering them and becoming enchanted by their scent. He closed his eyes once the trouble began and sorted through the series of events that led to the night that changed everything.
He focused...
It wasn't until the bat he held in his hand faded and left him that he believed he had drawn out the correct memory. By now, there were thirteen vials filled with memories sitting on the counter, but he wouldn't view them for accuracy until the next day; and would destroy the false ones.
For now, a new level of peace had reached Harry's heart and he went off to bed, able to rest at last.
The last week before Draco's return to Hogwarts for his Seventh Year.
Not every night was a tumultuous as that, and even that night could be considered calm to a few yet to come, but Harry had a lot to deal with; he didn't let rough nights stop him. He also didn't come to any conclusions about Draco, so Harry took on more of a wait-and-see tactic where and when he could.
Once they were into their next flying experience, Draco calmed down again and became more comfortable. Harry appeared to not be directly after a romantic relationship with him, which he appreciated knowing. Harry liked flying, eating, walking around and talking. And when Harry did things he liked doing without regard for pleasing Draco, then Draco consented to spending a lot of time with him because they were really acting mostly as mates.
So, in conclusion, due a lot to Harry's patience, their relationship thrived.
Wait, slowdown!
It was as a signal Harry had never responded to before, but one that stretched his time with Draco and somehow made the days feel longer and more enjoyable. They didn't bounce around doing things, and they could spend the whole day just trying to get out of the house, having started discussing a book or something that took all their attention from their plans. Draco moved at such a slow pace compared to the duo of Ron and Hermione that Harry had grown accustomed to...no wonder Draco found him unbearable at school: he was so calm in comparison.
But some days they'd make it out of the house and down to Jimualt's Flying Arena, where speed and instant adjustment were necessary; things Harry was made for.
Draco started to bring his own Firebolt whether they went to compete at Jimualt's or not, otherwise they'd stay in while Draco did some summer homework, or go out to eat. With or without it being crowded as a popular summer activity, though, most of their time was spent at Jimualt's. Neither were bothered too much about waiting for their turn on the crowded days; it was thrilling to watch other competitors. The scoreboard shuffled quite a lot on some of these days. There were a few times where they were clearly outmatched by older flyers. In fact, three of the locals who used this arena were part of the Baltic League, one of thirteen teams of professional Quidditch players. These three were from Tallhorn United, Lithuania's coastal team, who already lost their chance at finals but gave it a fighting chance. The Norway Karasjok Kites had beaten them.
Harry and Draco never got quite close to the three men, but they weren't great fans of Tallhorn United. Harry had started following their progress, but it was too new a team for him to have the feelings of a fan. They watched many others in Jimualt's become heated and angry at their failure to make the Cup finals, and it registered with Harry that Ron had the same level of devotion to the Chudley Cannons as they did to this team. This led to quite a long conversation about Quidditch, which then led to the topic of Ron.
Harry had been keeping his stronger feelings to himself for the most part. But the topic of Quidditch generally led to him pondering Ron Weasley quiet heavily.
"I wonder if he'd deck me if this ever got out?" Harry spoke quietly as they ate a plate of salty griffin fries one evening on a bench
"I hope you never consider letting him know; we Malfoy's would be crucified. Mother, particularly for having started it. But...I honestly don't know how Weasley would react if you did show up alive..."
Draco was smart - he could identify the motives behind people's actions and predict possible results of behavior. The results - and indeed the very act - of Narcissa hiding Harry from the wizarding world was horrendous; the consequences were unthinkable, really.
"I bet he'd deck me."
"I bet he'd ignore you for the rest of his life."
"You really think so?" Harry wasn't too bothered by what Draco had said; he'd long got use to Draco's moodiness. "You wouldn't think he'd be happy I was alive?"
Draco shook his head, his pale skin still a bit sweaty from the flight. He ate another fry.
Harry's feelings were hurt that he couldn't be with his best friend, and Draco wasn't entirely please with talking about it.
"I did a pretty decent job being nice to him," Draco said arrogantly. "It was hard, though, because he had it out for me. I think both him and Granger expected me to make fun of him for crying all the time that you were dead."
Harry signed deeply, once again allowing his emotions at staying dead to Ron to show. A guilty part of his mind would always admit that he was glad he never had to tell Ron why he was pretending to stay dead, since he had no idea what he would actually say should that day ever come.
"Well, I don't care if they treat you like shit, just keep being decent to them, would you?"
"I will," Draco said without hesitation - showing clearly a side of him that never existed before Harry came along into his life. Here, Draco took the last fry and chucked the container into the bin near his side of the bench. He nudged Harry to start walking towards the Floo Station. "Will you just keep my Firebolt here until the end of summer? I'm tired of them inspecting me every time they see it."
"They do that?" Harry wondered, taking the Firebolt.
"Yes. It being a transportation unit and all. They don't inspect you if you have a license with The Eight Companies of Essential Enchanting. I think I'll get a job there when this year is done."
"That'll make it easier to come and visit me," Harry said, smiling broadly, liking the plan of more visits.
Draco shrugged a shoulder, eyes locking onto a large family leaving a shop; the door had jangled a loud tune as it was opened.
"If I'm not accepted right after Seventh Year I'll be busy looking for something else to do. That company has a lot of open positions, but with a recommendation from Professor Snape, I'd surely get in to some potion brewing job."
Harry smiled still. "But you'd visit when you could?"
Draco pursed his lips, then looked at the cobbled stone path they were walking upon.
"Don't know. Maybe."
Harry reached out then and gripped the collar of Draco's shirt, letting his hand linger.
Draco looked up at him into his eyes. There was worry between the both of them, but there was also that ever-present alluring glimmer that Harry offered each day. Draco so far hadn't responded to the look as venerably as he'd done at first. Even this time, Harry's beseeching eyes hit the brick wall surrounding Draco's heart.
"Why are you making it sound like I wouldn't want you here?" Harry asked.
"Is that how I sound?"
Harry nodded.
Draco removed the hand that gripped his collar; it came away easily and was returned to its owner.
"Maybe I just don't know if I like where this is going...You're still healing, and I'm going back to Hogwarts next week. I don't want to...start things."
Harry licked his lips, a blush rising. "Start things...yet?"
It was an invitation.
Still, Draco was unsure of the end result of Harry's charming gaze.
He took a step back, leaving Harry standing there with both their brooms.
"I'll come back," Draco promised. "We've got that flying competition to win at Jumualt's. Focus on that, Alderbaron."
Draco left. Harry walked forlornly all the way home once again. He was getting a little nervous about how distant Draco was growing. But it was quite clear that Draco was focused on school - considering how much homework he'd been doing at Harry's place, anyway.
As Harry walked, he thought that perhaps Draco's excuses were a little weak. He was healing, yes, but he'd mostly healed. There was nothing like four months of illegal potion medicating to fix an addled brain. Harry surely had been - considering everything - the only person to have benefited from his phony death.
Harry nodded, agreeing in full with the voices in his head. He was reconciled that things had turned out this way. It had been really good for him and for the wizarding world, because the war was over and no one really believed Voldemort would be coming back again. Harry knew it was entirely selfish, but he couldn't imagine going back to Hogwarts after all of this happened. Narcissa was right: if Harry survived, then others would think that maybe so did the Dark Lord. It was better he was dead to waylay any false claims.
And his unresolved issues with Ron were no different than the years he'd spent with him at Hogwarts. Never had Harry the courage to confront his feelings then, because he knew Ron wouldn't accept them. And just look at the results of the toxins from the plants exposing him!
One, Ron punched him in the face.
Two, Hermione was disappointed in Harry's feelings for Ron - her boyfriend, as it turned out.
Three...yeah, there was that moment on the bridge. Ron had hugged him, saved Harry from a horrible decision, and told him he loved him. They'd gone for a walk a little too far from Hogwarts...
Oh, but the Oblivious Unction was a great thing, because it stopped Harry's concern right then and there to continue that train of thought.
Harry walked home in peace, enjoying the blue sky and his freedom, unable to seriously contemplate any return to the Wizarding World as Harry Potter thanks to Narcissa's great mental care.
August 31st, 1997.
At last, the final day of August arrived, and Draco would be returning to Hogwarts.
A little thing of note is that, yesterday during Draco visit, Narcissa had Apparated to Clouse Malfoy's residence and charmed the vegetable garden.
"She did it all in under a minute," Draco recalled to Harry on this day.
"And so," Harry clarified, "you think they'll eventually just...what? Say your cousin has gone missing?"
"If they do that, it might force Dumbledore to stop hiding him and get him prosecuted. They'll have no choice but to look into his memories or just give him Veritaserum. Either way, he'll be caught. I'm sure of it."
Harry went along with Draco's assurances, hoping that he was right.
"Jimualt's Flying Competition, open all of the last week of August! Show off your skills you've honed this summer, and add your best score to the board! Add an extra twenty points if you enter a score on August 31st, no retries!"
The sign along the side of the business was alluring. They'd both been flying quite well at the arena, but decided anyway to enter on the last day for the extra points. Harry and Draco went to the busy arena and enjoyed the excitement the tournament brought, as well as the discounts. They didn't just go and compete, but spent the majority of the day in the shops. But soon enough the draw of the flight took them, and they went to wait in line for their respective turns. The course was rearranged, as it was on many of the days they showed up. The two of them studied the layout, looking for places to let instinct take over. Harry was feeling especially lucky.
The adrenaline was thick in the room and the voices were loud. So many more people were present for the competition. Extra seating was set up, and people were making runs for food out into the wizarding street for all their friends and family as they waited for their group to finish scoring. It was just a shop event, though. No awards were being given for first place except bragging rights.
"Do you think anyone will beat them?" Harry asked, referring to the popular Quidditch players who had just scored first, second, and third place.
Draco rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't be surprised if they do this for the pleasure of showing off."
Harry grinned at Draco. "You'd never do anything like that, would you?"
It was Draco's turn. He was beckoned forward to get into position. "Never," he said with a sly smile as he left Harry's side.
Harry grinned for the full minute and a half that it took Draco to reach forty-sixth place. It was a well-earned forty-sixth place, and he got a few claps from the watching crowd. Draco looked displeased; it was a difficult course.
Next up was Harry.
"Name?" Asked the organizer of all of this, Jimualt himself. It was the first time Harry met him, but he saw his picture on the wall by the front door so knew it was him. He was a middle aged wizard with black hair, dark eyes, and a clean cut.
"A. Gravewatcher." Harry said.
Jimualt suddenly smiled at Harry, eyes alighting. "I've been waiting to see your results!"
Harry smiled at the compliment that was intended there, but he was nervous so didn't say more. He went up to the edge of the take-off stand.
Jimualt flicked his wand and Harry's name was added to the bottom of the scoreboard without a rating, hundreds of places below even Draco's. Harry looked away from the competition score board and back to the arena.
Harry was some fifty feet off the ground already. The line started way down on floor level, with stairs rising all the way up. It wasn't packed like it was when they first showed up. Probably only thirty people were left on the stairs behind him.
Harry took a deep breath and waited for the light marker to indicate his time began.
It felt like it lasted only as long as it took to let his breath out.
He flew the great heights above the arena. The noise from the crowds below were silent compared to the wind in his ears, but even that he hardly acknowledged. The lights didn't bother him, the shadows didn't bother him, the new formation of the hoops, poles, and flags didn't even register as being in a new pattern. He caught nine of the ten Golden Snitches for a massive amount of bonus points. He left sparks, sizzles, fire, and ice behind him as they exploded magically along his trail. On his broom on that day, he did nearly nothing wrong.
Harry pulled to a stop on the landing ramp and turned to the score board...and he was left with a light flutter in his belly: he'd made third place.
Draco was on that side of the arena as well, and swung an arm around him as soon as the good-sportsmanship applause started up, getting louder as people took note of Harry's position.
"Well, what do you know. Alderbaron Gravewatcher, you beat a professional Quidditch player!"
Sure enough, he had. Third place beat a professional Quidditch player.
Harry looked bashfully at Draco, blushing both from heat and from the win, as well as from the body pressed against his side. He turned to his once-enemy, just inches away, and that was when Draco leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. It was ever so calibrated. Draco smiled and stared into today's deep blue colored eyes. They stayed close all the way down the stairs to the main floor.
As it turned out, the oldest of the three professional Quidditch players - Nobel Magery - had some bad luck maneuvering the fourth set of hoops during his round, and that's what lead to a slightly poorer score than his average. He'd beat Harry by eight seconds, but those Golden Snitches Harry grabbed made up entirely for that.
Once on the ground, Harry felt this odd urge to get Draco back to his cottage as quickly as possible. Draco hadn't let his arm fall from Harry's shoulders yet, and Harry wrapped his around Draco's waste and started to lead him to the exit, a coy grin on his face to match Draco's prideful one.
With their Firebolts tucked into place under their arm in a very Quidditch-player fashion, they made to leave, but Harry was stopped by sudden firm grip to his shoulder. He hammered to a stop. Looking over at the man who halted his progress was none other than the broad, bearded, and weathered face of Nobel Magery, the Beater for Tallhorn United.
"Oh!" Harry gasped.
"I'm getting hell for having you beat my score," Nobel said with a heavy local accent and a grin. He had all the features of a brawny Baltic Quidditch player, as did Aykroyd Grith who was coming up from behind him. Nobel swamped Harry when he put his beefy arm around him, pulling him away from Draco.
Much to Draco's surprise as well, the other two famous and equally giant Quidditch players - Nobel's friends in the tournament - showed up. The tallest of the three, Doka Bandar, had lighter coloring and a short beard, along with some freckles; he didn't look like he came from these parts. All were well over six-and-a-half feet tall, with Draco and Harry barely coming up to their shoulders and looking punitive next to their built bodies; they really were scrawny teens in comparison.
Harry was lost for words.
Aykroyd Grith, the Chaser to score the most points for his Quidditch team last year, and the person who took number one in this competition, said, "So you're Gravewatcher? You're a little thing, aren't you?"
"He's got the skill of a Seeker!" Nobel declared, grinning still.
Nobel clutched Harry tighter to his side, making him gasp for a breath. Harry's white glasses were skewed, causing him to have to reach up and adjust them. Hair fell into his eyes.
"Oh, er, no. Just out for some fun with my friend -" Harry started to say.
Speaking of which, Harry craned his neck around. Draco stood there looking ill-mannered, a bit put off by the intrusion.
"You're friend isn't so bad, either," said Nobel, now loosening up and letting Harry go. Harry rushed back to Draco's side.
"Thank you. I'll be sure to put your review on my resume, right next to where my girlfriend told me I'd look good in shorts."
Harry's mind rushed with anger, both at Draco's rude comment and declaring he had a girlfriend. Harry definitely caught a glance of the Quidditch player's startled annoyance.
"We have to go," Harry stated, eyes narrowed at Draco.
Harry put his hand between Draco's shoulders and pushed him away just as a crowd of younger kids rushed over to talk to the famous Quidditch players. Draco smirked evilly at the professional Quidditch players until they were through the door, Harry not stopping until they were across the street.
"Stop already. Geez. I'm sorry, okay?" Draco said when they'd made it to the wizarding shop that was closed across from Jimualt's. "I found them to be bigheaded for coming over to mock us like that."
"That's not why we left," Harry stated. "You...don't have a girlfriend. Do you?"
Draco secured his lips into a tight line. "Yes, I do."
Harry was holding oddly still, nervous, as if something would break should he move too fast. Under the dim light, Draco's eyes held his.
"At Hogwarts?"
Draco's silence went on.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It's not that serious."
"Am I serious?" Harry wondered, stepping forward until their breath mingled.
Draco kept his silence again.
For one calibrated moment, Harry saw the indecision in Draco more apparent than ever before. Harry knew then that he had to sell the offer for what it really was that he wanted between them. They were off the main road, pulled into an alcove of a shop that had already locked its doors for the evening. They stood under an arch painted red and with overgrown plants holding onto the crannies, shadowed by the lack of street lights and dying sunlight. The secluded area didn't hinder the chatter they heard from the wizard street, but no one was bothering them.
Harry reached up and lightly laid his hands over Draco's shoulders. Harry moved his face in close, just a breath away from allowing their lips to touch - he even tilted his head just a bit to the side.
"Want to...come back with me?" Harry whispered.
Draco's eyes dilated and he started to breathe a bit differently. Harry only had tonight left to make a move. He acted now, leaning forward, eyes closing and pressing their lips together softly. Draco let him. He didn't pull away, that is, not until a throat cleared very loudly from someone who just plopped himself against one of the pillars. The newcomer was making himself known, interrupting in an obvious way.
Draco pulled away quickly, hitting the wall behind him. He looked spooked. Harry was alarmed, but more so for losing contact with Draco. He opened his eyes and was delayed reacting.
"Getting a free show?!" Draco said angrily, eyes locked behind Harry.
Harry didn't pull out or even lay a hand on his wand, but the mental image of a defensive spell readied itself in his mind unbidden. He looked behind him.
The Quidditch player from moments before, Doka Bandar, the yet unspoken Chaser who won second place in this competition, was leaning against the pillar. He was the tallest, leanest, and most agile of the three professional players. When he spoke, he also had a different accent than the other two. Whereas they sounded Slavic, Doka sounded Welsh. That went along with his lighter features and freckles.
"Woah, I was just passing by. Didn't mean to interrupt anything...lover boys!" His tone was ever so mocking. He was in great humor about what he'd discovered here in the shadows.
Harry didn't see a threat and released all imaginings of defensive spells.
"Then we were just leaving," Harry said to the interrupting giant of a Chaser, turning away. He grabbed Draco's arm and made his way out into the street.
"Sorry to interrupt the kiss!" Doka hollered, drawing a dozen gazes their way.
His statement didn't have much effect on Harry, but it stopped Draco in his tracks. Harry looked back at the now mortified look Draco had as he pulled violently from Harry's hold. Draco looked around at all the people watching them.
"Let's go," Harry encouraged, reaching out again to take Draco's hand.
Draco pulled back and shook his head. "Sorry, Pot -" he halted his words instantly, his jaw slamming shut.
Harry knew he almost said his real last name. The most frightening thing about the moment wasn't that, though; it was how tentative it was that he could win Draco back and get him alone again.
"Don't worry, let's just go," Harry said.
Draco shook his head.
"No, I'm going home."
"W- wait -" Harry was up to him, a second word away from pleading, but Draco spared him the embarrassment. He pushed him away again, his familial blue eyes still darting about at the milling people. Draco then gave one last glare to the Quidditch player, took tight hold of his Firebolt and made his escape. Harry was left standing there in the dying light as Draco rushed off towards the Floo Station without even saying goodbye.
His jaw was fallen open and his stomach was tied in knots. The rush of feelings he'd had for Draco were crashing like a wave against his Unplottable house; Draco was gone. For almost a whole year he wouldn't get the chance to see him. He almost got him home...maybe it would have been a bad idea - maybe Draco knew that - but it seemed like the right thing. He wanted to explore that kiss a little further. If it wasn't for the interruption!
Harry turned around, leveling an angry glare onto the professional Quidditch player. It was stupid to pick a fight with someone so much bigger than him, but Harry was upset.
Doka Bandar still stood there smiling, eyebrows raised at the display before him.
"Well, will you look at that! You got discarded like a Quaffle in the bin!"
His grin was infuriating. The man must have been over thirty years old, but was making fun of Harry like he was some bulky bully. The boys at Dudley's Muggle school, which Harry attended for that short period of time a few months ago, were much the same. At that time, Harry mostly ignored the comments about his sexuality, but this time he felt he had to fight for himself; it was the balance of power that irked him the most.
Harry let his anger at the situation out and hollered loudly, "You're thick, you know that!"
Doka's smile increased; of course it did, he was an asshole, and they liked this sort of thing.
"Well, you're a little faggot. I just happened by. It was your friend who ditched you, laddy. I had nothing to do with it."
Harry glared and said as a loud retort, "The best you've got to say? I'm a faggot? You're showering in a room full of naked men year round and you think I'm a faggot?"
A huge sneer spread across Doka's face, and he surged forward. Harry had so much time to get out of the way, but he stood his ground and let himself be taken. Hands took his lapels, raising him onto his toes. His clothes strained to hold the weight of his body, and Harry heard some ripping. Harry stared vindictively up into the manly face, now inches from him.
Harry had seen more dangerous men than this; he was in public - he didn't feel threatened. Doka held him there, glowering down at Harry like that in and of itself was a beating.
"Say something like that again and I'll take you a hundred feet into the air and -"
"Enough! Whatever you have started, stop it now!"
All at once Harry was torn from Doka's solid grasp, and Doka was pushed away by Nobel. The other two Quidditch players had shown up. Aykroyd Grith had Harry in his grasp, now looking him over in place of the other professional Chaser.
"Are you okay?" He demanded of Harry.
"Yeah, just fine." And Harry called rudely after Doka, "Voyeur!"
"Exhibitionist! Faggot!" Came the equally rude counter, a dramatic grin coming to Doka.
Was Doka really angry? No, he was playful; he was spirited by Harry's win to believe him a good enough flyer to mess with. Harry recognized this behavior in Ron's older brothers: play until there was a clear winner. Was that really it?
It lessened the fear and anger even more to believe he was just being toyed with like a little brother. Odd feeling...
It might not ever have ended, except Aykroyd hurried after Nobel to take care of their friend. Harry looked around again at the gathering crowd. A few had raised eyebrows, a few others had unsure smiles. No one looked too bothered so Harry was going to walk away without worry, but then a sudden jolt of fear crossed him, because he saw two wizard guards in their red and black uniforms coming around. They were looking about for the source of the commotion, and someone on the street pointed his way.
That's when Harry turned and rushed away in the direction he knew was the exit back to the Muggle street. That was the same way the three Quidditch players were going, as well.
Harry had ducked his head and quickly caught up with Doka, Aykroyd and Nobel as they were marching away.
Aykroyd was speaking in a foreign language, obviously scolding Doka. Harry interrupted, bursting through the narrow gap between the two of them and elbowing Doka sharply in his ribs - simply because there was an opening to do so. Doka shouted maybe more in surprise than pain. Harry looked back with a grin and spared enough time to get a last word in.
"Better a faggot than caught by the guards!" he told the surprised Chaser.
Yeah, better. Caught by guards without a means of hiding his magical signature and get caught? No way. Hurt this asshole while he was escaping? Yes.
And then he hopped on his Firebolt and blazed like a rocket over the cobblestone path just inches from scraping his knees along the stone. He didn't give a backward glance - not at the three Quidditch players watching him disappear into the crowd, not as they were stopped and questioned by the guards, nor at the pointing tattlers who told the part of the story they saw - because Harry was flying on a Firebolt upon the level of witches' and wizards' belts, making his escape to the entrance of the Mad Flagon Alehouse. He dismounted and bashed through the door. On the other side he only had a half-second to come to a complete stop before he might have crashed into a server witch.
"Sorry!" Harry gasped, grabbing her by her arms and stabilizing them both.
He was past her a moment later, though, too quick to even hear her reprimand. He walked in as quick a pace as he could to the exit through to the Muggle world. Once out there, he took to a run and didn't stop until he was home.
Harry slammed the door shut and stood there in the dark house, gasping for breath.
What an ending to the summer: he had no idea it was going to turn out like that! He went through the house, dropping his Firebolt onto the floor - it hovered an inch off the surface - and on his way to the kitchen where he poured himself a glass of water, downing it and refilling for a second time. He stood there shaking, quivering with such emotion that he actually looked to the cabinet that held his Calming Drought.
One sip and he'd calm right down, lose the adrenaline, lose the hypersensitiveness.
And then a huge grin spread across Harry's face, and he slowly left that idea behind.
He looked straight ahead, out the large window at the waves coming in from the sea, and he was suddenly so pleased with himself. Three months at this cottage, three months of this new life, and he had done so well today. He had handled each situation tonight despite them all being new. He'd perhaps had too much of a balanced diet of Oblivious Unction and all the other potions Narcissa had given him to help him deal with his thoughts. But today, he'd done at least a dozen stressful things and hadn't even questioned himself.
He even dealt with the looks from everyone around him without much thought. In the past, he'd been careful to keep his profile low, his hair in his face, and Draco between himself and others, because he was worried that his magically altered appearance wasn't good enough. But today, he hadn't really done those things.
Now Harry walked up to the window by the back porch. He was no longer looking at the sea, but instead he was looking at the clear reflection of himself in the glass with the black night silhouetting him. He looked like a wholly new person tonight, solid and comfortable.
He was a faggot, yes, you could call him that, but that was rude.
He was brave, yes, he could stare down a professional Quidditch asshole without flinching.
He was agile, responsive to stimulation, number three on the scoreboard!
Harry grinned again and threw himself back onto the sofa in the living room, bouncing on the fluffy cushions. He lay there with one leg hanging over the edge and his arms up above his head. He grinned up at the ceiling and spoke aloud into the room. He said, "Alderbaron Gravewatcher. Alderbaron Gravewatcher. Hello, my name is Harry Potter. Let's be friends."
And Harry laughed quietly into the dark and quiet house.
The first week back at Hogwarts.
Back when Ron's parents were delicately told by both Dumbledore and Minerva about the person using Polyjuice who - as the story went - raped Harry in the hospital ward, they took the news hard. They felt deep sorrow for the boys, unsure exactly what they could do to support them so that they wouldn't feel tormented. Molly and Arthur - and soon Bill and Charley, too - were part of the cover up that got Harry from Hogwarts and back to the Dursleys, then back again. Arthur and Bill even sat in the car with Harry on that day. It was why they were so patient with Ron: they had seen how thin Harry had been, how somber, how insubstantial his presence had become.
Maybe it was their duty as Weasleys to right this wrong. Maybe it was love for their son's friend and the Hero of the Wizarding World. But they helped all they could - before and after Harry was gone.
Others, of course, knew also about what really happened, but felt rather bound to the secret. The teachers of Hogwarts all knew, as they were part of the force involved in carefully screening students to find out if any confessed to the crime. None found any evidence, even the all-seeing Professor Trelawney. It was because Professor Snape continued to say that he could find no evidence among the Slytherins that Ron hated the most, though. He begged Dumbledore to interview them himself, to which Dumbledore replied it wasn't an interview they were conducting so much as a covert operation...they were just children, after all.
Yeah, a child who raped Harry was all Ron saw.
Neville never told anyone, either, as he was confided in by Hermione one evening she was looking for help in dealing with Ron after it first happened, and he took this bonding as testament of her faith in him and decided to never tell.
As for the Weasleys, though, somehow Ron's other siblings had found out, even the ones out of Hogwarts.
Perhaps it was because he hadn't spent enough time downstairs that summer and they were all worried about him so chatted freely...? But somehow, someone had told the whole story to Fred, George, Percy, and Ginny, and so Ron was headed back to school with that on his mind. It was a heavy burden, to which he made Ginny and Hermione - unbeknownst to him Neville should have been involved - swear they would not tell any more people. It was hard enough knowing Harry's body was destroyed, so Ron hated to believe his image could be, too. There were enough stories, anyway; no need for more.
"No one else needs to know the truth, anyway," Ginny said softly, trying not to infer anything in her voice for fear of that twitch at the corner of Ron's mouth that indicated his anger was on the rise.
"No one is looking for this information, either," Hermione added, also noting that Ron was still upset from finding out everyone knew.
"Yeah - yeah," he said with a huff. "They can all just believe You Know Who got into his head last year; that's what you thought, too, wasn't it, Ginny? Or they're gullible and really believed it was the plant toxins he was going to St. Mungo's for."
Ginny didn't deny that. She felt cheated not knowing the real truth at first.
"Wasn't what I thought happened worse?" She asked gloomily, slouching - not appearing to realize just what she was risking by letting her unfiltered thoughts out now. And she had been doing so well. "I thought that You Know Who showed him evil things in his head and he had to have professional help. When you think about it, anything You Know Who could do would be worse than what someone else could do to him. You made me think the worse."
Dead silence. Ron gave her a particularly ugly look, then was up on his feet, but he didn't crowd her like he might have done to a brother. This was his little sister. In his own way, Ron had been protecting her as well as Harry's image by not telling her; he thought she was too young to know things like this happened in the world. He thought that was the better option for this young girl. But here she was comparing what happened to Harry in the hospital ward with what Voldemort could do to him...
It was still the best option when concerning the ultimate secret: Clouse Malfoy.
Ron didn't strictly know what Lord Voldemort had done to Harry in the end...just that Harry had been tortured and died. And after what happened to him in the holding cell in the basement of Malfoy Manor, it was all why Ron found himself in a state of purgatory.
Ron hadn't realized he had stormed away until the picture of the Fat Lady swung closed behind him and he was already down a flight of stairs, but it was for the best; if he was going to lose his cool, better it not be directed at his little sister. Family bonds, and all that.
Hermione hadn't followed him - good! He needed to be alone.
Ron slammed his hands against the stone wall of Hogwarts in that random hallway he found himself in now. He was in the hall with the Charms classroom, with paintings on the walls of previous teachers and skilled practitioners; it was common for the students to ignore the advice of these portraits, even if it was good advice.
A portrait from the eighteenth century spoke to Ron now.
"Did that sting your hands?" The man in the painting asked softly to Ron.
Ron cringed. Eyes squeezed shut and he pressed his forehead against the stone now, hands still splayed on the wall.
"Everyone sucks," Ron muttered to the painting.
He didn't see the portrait smile a little. "All young people think that."
"No - even me. I suck the worst..."
He really did.
He secretly adored that he had the heart of the Boy Who Lived. He always thought of Harry as just a bloke - just a pal - but when Harry said that he always had had a crush on him as they sat alone behind those curtains in the dorm room...well...it made Ron believe he had more power than he originally thought. And it made himself realize he had let it all slide out of his grasp like these tears that slid down his cheeks just now.
Towards the end, Ron was even starting to warm to the idea. He was becoming curious, pushing bounds, touching more. And thinking more...
Ron had acted for too long as if nothing between them had changed. He'd never indicated in any great fashion that he would have wanted a life with Harry; that his leaving would hurt him like nothing before ever had. Ever.
Harry had started to make his heart beat a little faster. His skin was looking soft. His moods were becoming Ron's responsibility to quell if they were upset or sad. If he hadn't died, who knew? He had started to think Harry might do him the favor of making the first move, too, because he melted when he was in Ron's arms - melted in a way that Hermione never melted. And the looks he feathered over to Ron...they started to build Ron's appetite.
So yeah, secretly Ron had searched for moments to reach out. And that last day - February fourth - when Harry showed that clear sign of wanting to die when he'd stood outside the railing of the bridge over the water, Ron had found him, had held him, had told him he loved him, coaxed him back, and Harry didn't spout any nonsense like he was over Ron or sure that they were just and only friends...in that moment Ron felt open to the opportunity to move them along...sure that Harry would be willing...
The cold, hard stone wall was the perfect gift for Ron now: it was the exact replica of what Harry had to offer him. There was a dead place in Ron's heart where he'd lost his best friend.
"I never..." Ron whispered to the audience of the portrait, "...got to say goodbye..."
The audience nodded in agreement.
"You've recently lost someone to death," remarked the intelligent portrait. "I confess, saying goodbye is a luxury when someone passes on."
"And he was hurt...and I couldn't help him..."
A new voice joined the fray.
From down the hall walked Dumbledore, coming right for Ron. It was the duty of the portraits at this point in time to keep their eye on Ron and the other Gryffindors close to Harry. It was their duty especially to inform Dumbledore if any student needed help in this trying time. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and had to send these students off into the world one day - hopefully whole and valuable members of society.
Ron watched Dumbledore approach, turning away from the wall and just leaning against it, wiping his tears away. The Headmaster stopped quite near to him, looking upon him with saddened eyes.
"When will this be over?" Ron bit out each word.
A sigh. Dumbledore stroked a hand over his beard.
"You're talking about Clouse?"
Ron nodded. "I want him to pay. And I want the person using the Polyjuice to pay, too. It's driving me insane knowing no one is being punished!"
"It will take time. And I won't say the second thing you ask is impossible, but..."
Ron tore his face away. His hands clenched in anger at it all.
"Why can't that person be discovered?! It was clearly a Slytherin!"
Dumbledore shook his head. Ron knew as well as Dumbledore there was not much to go off of in terms of confirming this. Harry had said so little in regards to what he knew: just that the clothing didn't quite fit Ron.
"We cannot substantiate much, Mr. Weasley. The suspect's age, gender, House, reasons behind it...nothing is available to us about that incident. And we know - we know - there might have been ways Voldemort could get an agent of his into Hogwarts...it might not have been a student at all. I'm sorry, but all we know is that they used your likeness, knowing that Harry was susceptible to it due to the toxins. Harry's statement from last year didn't imply anything to confirm a suspect."
Ron grew quiet and retreated physically, curling in upon his own body with a tight hold over his stomach. Behind his shut eyes is emotions raged, though. The injustice - the waiting - it was so much to handle.
"You could have looked at his memories...?" Ron mused as nearly a whisper.
"Could we really have done that? After such a trauma?"
"Well...you could look at other people's memories! Rule people out that way? The teachers at least!"
It was a dark thought.
Dumbledore gripped Ron's shoulder tightly.
"Now, I can confirm is was not a teacher. The teachers were thoroughly investigated! Each one of them agreeing to my tests as well as to help seek out clues to the suspect."
"And have you discovered anything yet?" Ron felt hope for a moment.
"We discovered a few people from the Slytherin House did suspect Harry had been assaulted, but even they didn't know it was sexual," and here Ron felt a bit woozy, because he wasn't quite use to Dumbledore - aged as he was - saying words like sexual. "Professor Snape talked to these students himself."
"Why didn't you just talk to them?!"
"You can be angry with me, Mr. Weasley, but it was a delicate matter...the war was still going on. If any of those students was found to have talked to me one-on-one or revealed any portions of the truth, their families may have suffered."
"You promised to find out who did it!" Ron spat now. "So what if those traitor's families were hurt! That person still has to be punished for what they did! You're not giving up, are you?!"
"I'm swear I am not!" Dumbledore assured this tumult student. "For my part, though, placing blame before the real culprit is found is not how I can run things here at Hogwarts. It also isn't right that these students reveal something to us that could harm their families - you know this, Mr. Weasley. There was a real danger to their lives at that time."
"But the war is over now, and adults can be investigated more thoroughly than students - "
"I know where you are going with this, Mr. Weasley, and I cannot stop you from wanting the truth at any cost...but think carefully about that cost."
"I don't care!"
Ron was surprised that Dumbledore smiled so forlornly just then. It silenced his outrage.
Dumbledore said, "I think I know how you feel...you may have noticed that I haven't disbanded the Order of the Phoenix yet, and it's because of the very fact that I, also, don't care about the cost..."
Ron narrowed his eyes in question. He knew Bill was especially active still in the Order of the Phoenix, and as Ron was the owner of the ancient House of Black - the headquarters of the Order - he also knew it still had witches and wizards coming and going from the property.
"You're following up on graduated students?" Ron inquired.
Dumbledore sighed. "It's true. For the sake of knowing who hurt Harry...I am allowing such things."
Finally Ron felt a little peace return to his heart.
"It's yet to be public knowledge, thanks to the staff here agreeing to let the matter rest so long as we are still trying behind the scenes to deduce the suspect. Harry's Muggle relatives have made it clear they also don't want his personal life told to the public. It's quite the misfortune how they view the Wizarding World, I may add...they have not been impressed by the level of security we have given to any of the Potters..."
A real thorn in Dumbledore's crown.
Ron waited for Dumbledore to find his train of thought again.
"But in keeping this secret, it may one day come out. It may lead to a direct inquiry from the Wizzingammot. I may one day have to make a statement about the events in the hospital ward last year, at which time I would also like to have this matter solved, so yes - for the sake of the other student body - I'm using the Order to investigate graduated students. We need answers."
Ron left Dumbledore soon after.
For feeling all this time like he was letting Harry's spirit down, Ron could finally feel a modicum of peace. A true friend doesn't leave the other behind...this whole time he felt like he was. He'd yet to forgive himself for kissing Hermione instead of going down to visit him that day; bailing on Harry then cost Harry his life in the end, and nothing anyone said could make Ron feel differently.
This resolve did affect his relationship with Hermione, though he wouldn't put into words that this was absolute fact. But Hermione could guess this was the reason. He and her had yet to promote their relationship back to intimate contact. They were dating, but not touching. If he could have had his hands on Harry longer then maybe he would have wholly been broken up with her, but for now, Ron kept the status quo and his nervous "what-ifs" to himself...as well as his hands off Hermione in the process, because he remembered still how warm Harry's skin use to be and didn't want to distort that memory.
After that, though, concerning how Ron decided to treat the Slytherins from then on, it was going to be all razor blades and fire. So what if he knew that Snape and most of the other Slytherins had wanted Harry to defeat Voldemort? They still openly opposed Harry while he lived. Well - they ignored and didn't help him, so that was just like opposition. Even now after Harry died they didn't talk about him. They considered him a memory that was bound to die in the end anyway, so for them, Harry being gone was like a fable coming to an end or a historical figure finally taking his rightful place far away and only in textbooks.
Especially Draco Malfoy, who kept out of all conversation on this topic.
That first week, Draco didn't stand out anymore among the other Seventh Year Slytherins. He was a bit ostracized even from his own House; even Ron caught on to that. Everything Draco did made Ron angry, actually. Whether he sat there silently or answered questions in Transfiguration or Potions, Draco just obviously made Ron struggle with his temper. One early afternoon at meal time, Ron's great voice bellowed and stalled the movement of students in and out of the Great Hall as he accosted him for another minor infraction.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Malfoy?!"
"Oh, come on, Weasley, I am not trying to start a fight..." Draco said calmly.
"Don't even!" Ron said coldly. "Don't play cute and innocent! I know you're nothing but a pest!"
It was Professor Snape who was closest to the commotion to be first on the scene. Snape witnessed Ron - Gryffindor's Prefect and Quidditch Captain - facing off against Draco Malfoy - with the same accolades for Slytherin House. Only, while Ron was red-faced, Draco was looking calm.
"Mr. Weasley, are you begging for what few House Points Gryffindor has to be lost already?"
To Snape's remark, Ron pointed a finger at Draco. "This nitwit is to blame! He came at me!"
Snape looked at Draco, then at the pages of parchment in his hand. His eyes glared at the familiar scrawl of potion's text.
"Explain yourself. What are those?" Snape asked.
At one point in time, Draco would have snobbishly remarked that he was innocent without the need to prove himself thus. But at this point in time, Draco did explain without hesitation. "Notes from your Advanced Potions class. They're for Weasley. I came at him to offer him these," Draco now looked back at Ron, "because you didn't take any notes yesterday, and you and I are both Prefects, so it's important that we not go letting our grades fail. It's a professional courtesy that I'm offering you these."
Ron couldn't fathom the offer.
"Don't! It's not a courtesy if it's from you, Slytherin! Leave me the hell out of your thoughts!"
This was all quite boorish to the Potion's professor.
"Certainly a modicum of your anger towards Mr. Malfoy can be accounted for, and even deserved," this was a surprise to Ron to hear, but still Draco stayed calm despite no longer being a hundred percent backed by his Head of House. "But you are an adult now, Mr. Weasley, and if you continue to prance about pestering armed wizards in the halls, you will one day find yourself on the receiving end of retribution! If I'm not making myself clear, you are driving many to the point of insanity!"
As an aside, Ron didn't even notice that Hermione had wrapped her hand around his upper arm, but the other's did. They clearly saw Snape's venom against Ron's unending foul temper.
Snape now took in the milling crowd around them and shot them all a harsh look.
"Clear out! Don't you have classes to get to?" he demanded of them. As the students started movement again, Snape stepped right up to Ron, who - at seventeen - had already grown taller than the Potions professor. "As a personal note to you, Mr. Weasley, it is my solemn vow to remove from Gryffindor House points equal to every point you fail to meet in my classroom. I recommend you take Mr. Malfoy's notes - or your girlfriend's notes - and study hard. Or Gryffindor will owe House points by the end of my next lesson!"
With that quite clear statement, Snape turned and marched away.
Ron noted then that he was also being watched by some teachers. McGonagall, as well.
"You can't let him!" Ron said to her.
McGonagall shook her head. "I can't stop him, Mr. Weasley!"
Ron looked back at Draco, who held out his notes again, but Ron was disgusted by the offer still. He slapped the notes and turned and marched away, Hermione following.
Ron was thought a survivor, of course. Everyone knew that Clouse Malfoy had taken him out of Malfoy Manor and brought him to Hogsmeade, saving him from the same fate as Harry Potter. They also knew that Draco was clearly trying to make amends to Ron for his personal connection to the house and what went on there. Everyone also knew how mad that made Ron; how thoroughly he detested Draco for having his friend killed at his house. They watched the Prefects closely, excited by the drama.
During the colder months, 1997-1998.
It was a major change emotionally that Harry was happy to go through, this acceptance of himself. It had a downside, of course. He'd made such a spectacle of himself in Blūesoul Alley that he felt he had to stay at home for awhile, until he was sure no one was looking for him. The Quidditch players had gotten swooped up not only in wizard security, but the newspapers had a field day with Doka's behavior towards a gay young wizard who flew so well at Jimualt's; they lit Doka afire with accusations.
In the end, Doka would have to sit out the first game of the new Quidditch season when it started in the spring - the season was already over this year - for unethical and unsportsmanlike behavior. The uproar from fans battled the uproar from the gay and lesbian wizard community, and even politicians got involved. It was a knock-down-and-drag-out at who was most to blame.
The articles didn't stop for a month, and even then they only started to slow down once winter was really upon them. The story had become a bit skewed in a few articles, with some who stretched the truth so it wasn't a kiss Doka witnessed between him and Draco, but was more along the lines of a nudist's rendering of a dragon eating a castle full of Greek David's: messy and erotic.
Needless to say, it spread across the waters to England, mostly by Quidditch information routes than anything. Back at Hogwarts, Draco pieced it together and told his mother.
Narcissa took to the shops and gathered evidence, then Flooed to Harry's place. She now sat on the leather couch with a pile of newspapers and magazines at her side. It was already weeks into the debates by the time it crossed her path. Harry had kept it to himself out of a bit of worry...he'd broken a rule: keep your head down. He didn't feel like he broke the rule too badly, as they didn't know his name other than by A. Gravewatcher. She was assessing the damage.
She couldn't really blame Harry for being caught in the middle of this, nor could Harry really be angry with her for storming in and demanding he speak up about his side of things. In the position Harry found himself, she couldn't help being more forgiving than she would be if it was Draco being recognized there that day...for which she was grateful he wasn't.
If nothing else the Wizarding world was eager for gossip, making it all the more difficult to sort through rumor to find the truth, which for them now was a good thing.
"Well," she intoned at last, "this isn't so bad. I know they're just after a story and will hurt people to get it. They're going after the Quidditch player more than you. They do know the last name Lucius gave you; he made sure to give it a paper trail to nowhere. We know if they really dig into it they won't find you really attended any Canadian school, though..."
Harry blushed and looked away.
"I know...and I have been thinking about that. But they haven't really cared so much about who I was, mostly they were focusing on the Quidditch player."
She nodded and spoke even as she finished reading an article, speaking in a distracted way.
"Yes. The writer, Danska Lee...is quite helpful towards you. She's tried to call you forward but has never demanded it. She's right: your identity shouldn't be necessary for Doka Bandar's behavior to still be debated. I'm happy she forced an apology out of him, still."
Danska Lee was the author of many of the articles. She was quite against Doka's behavior of grabbing Harry and calling him 'faggot' in the street. It was well and truly twisted from Harry's point of view of events. It made him feel sorry for Doka...he was only just messing around with a fellow flyer.
And then Narcissa set the paper down only to pick up a magazine written in Lithuanian. She waved her wand on the cover, translating the text - a spell that Harry wished he had the ability to cast, but it was reserved for someone who actually knew a fair amount of the language in the first place.
"I'm really sorry, Narcissa," Harry said.
She nodded calmly.
"You kept it from me for a long time...I hope you don't feel you have to worry about my reaction? I've seen worse than this and have imagined worse, too."
In his heart, Harry felt sure she had. Even he had, truth be told.
Harry figured Doka could use the beating. Such a pompous player as him probably didn't even feel like a loser even though his team hadn't gone to the World Cup in years. Without him as a leading Chaser for that first match, it wouldn't really slow their team down, anyway. They always had a strong starting chance for the Cup.
But the side effect of Narcissa knowing he might be caught one day aided in her search for better concealment magic. Harry (and Lucius) from that point forward had to contend with a few experiments of hers. It wasn't a big deal, she would just come over with a few home brews or expensive purchases, looking for a better match to keep him safe.
Harry found distraction from his troubles in the many books on the shelves, relaxing in the sounds of the ocean and crunching on snacks the house elves left him as he read. He started in on the reading as a means to pass the time, but had really found an interest in them. The charms were more fun than anything he'd learned in Flitwick's class, anyway. And who cared if they weren't exactly essential castings; Harry found it appealing.
Narcissa had taken to visiting him every week since he moved here, but it was in late fall as the leafs on the trees detached in a continuous freefall that Harry got the surprising news: she had finally found out how to travel with the regulated plant sargasso grain, a necessary ingredient in the Abjuration of Bane used to alter magical signatures for a day. Harry had fled so quickly from the guards in fear of having any one of a number of spells cast on him that might lead back to the Ministry of Magic, and the deceased record of Harry Potter. Harry had tended the plant in the Second Courtyard at Malfoy Manor, the hidden room that was so secret it went overlooked despite a thorough search to the best of the Ministry's capabilities. It was here that Narcissa had quite a number of regulated plants growing illegally, waiting to transport to his location.
"How did you get this through security?" Harry asked now as he took the plant from the bag she had transported it in.
"The bag is a prototype for a company Lucius sponsored," she said, holding up the simple black bag with a tie. "They sent him one, with a promise of a discount on the finished product. They still highly value Lucius's opinions: he's got exquisite taste."
Harry smiled as he looked at the young plant before him. It looked healthy, just a few months away from being ready.
"You haven't felt too trapped here, have you?" She wondered.
Harry set the plant on the table and settled in for a visit from her.
"No. I walk around the city if I feel cooped up. But..." and here Harry had to confess, "I'm starting to want something more to do."
Narcissa now reached into her purse and pulled out a very important letter from Lucius and handed it over.
"Yes, he's been talking about that. I think he's written about it in his letter. I also brought a potion book with only the significant potions that will help you conceal your identity, finally all in one place," she indicated one of the two books Harry had pulled out.
He looked at them both now. One was clearly from Lucius, bound in new leather and embellished with golden writing, but the other was older, thinner, simpler. It was in fact just a journal, handwritten by Narcissa.
"Does this have the potion Abjuration of Bane?"
"Page 14."
Harry turned to the page and read through the ingredient list, slightly shocked by the complicated nature of some of the parts.
"This isn't going to be easy," he complained.
"I agree. I'll be there as often as you need me to help make it. Two or three times and you'll get it right after that."
Harry bit his lip, looking for a way to ask this next question. Time ticked on, measured by the sound of the waves. Narcissa drank her tea that Harry had set out, and waited quietly for his question to come. She was quite used to his pondering mind.
"Narcissa?" Harry asked at last. "Before Draco left for Hogwarts, did he ever say anything about our last day together?"
Narcissa held out for time by taking another sip. But there was no use holding off.
"He only mentioned your kiss after the articles started. At the time he hadn't mentioned that; he was only bothered that he almost said your real name in public. Is that what you're talking about?"
Harry shook his head, but looked away, unwilling to speak.
He wanted to know if he had mentioned the kiss. He got his answer that no, Draco hadn't mentioned it.
He'd forgotten Draco had nearly said his real last name.
"Lucius and I decided to take some measures on Draco, to protect you while he is back at Hogwarts..."
Because he didn't know what that meant, Narcissa explained, "We Bound his speech. He'll be unable to say your name. For the sake of everyone, it would keep the secret from slipping out accidently. That recipe is on page 23."
"Binding speech is a potion?" Harry asked, turning to look at the potion. Hand written in Narcissa's font, it read, Some may never even notice they never say certain words again. It really was a book of forbidden potions.
Harry looked down at the book, amazed now that he had access to such potions. Curious, he opened the journal to the first page, and saw the Beautification potion. It wasn't illegal, but it was telling of Narcissa's priorities.
"They're cheap just to buy, so just do that for now. It will take more time to perfect a Beautification potion specific to your needs. I've started a few alteration to it. Lucius is helping. If you are to get a job and spend a lot of time in public, you'll probably want something stronger than simple store-bought potions to conceal yourself."
"You're personalizing a potion for me?"
She smiled. "Don't get too excited. It's complicated, and Lucius isn't willing to test them out every day."
Harry closed the journal again and let out a deep breath. On top of all this knowledge was Lucius's letter, which probably had even more to tell. Even still, Harry had his worries.
"I wasn't going to mention him using the wrong name...I was going to mention our kiss."
She leaned in with interest. "So, you really tried to start something with Draco?"
Harry blushed a bit. Even if his disappointment showed through, he was still flustered it had all fell apart.
"It was while we were at the stadium competing in the flying event. Maybe he just thought it was celebration, but he kissed me on the cheek. I guess I took it as something more, and I invited him back here."
"What happened next?" She was calm despite this being a conversation about her son and another bloke. Harry had long come to the conclusion that the wizarding world was about as accepting of gays as the Muggle one, but Narcissa took to the subject with a bit more composure.
"I kissed him and - well, you know the rest. It really upset Draco that a lot of other people were there to witness it. They were just strangers, though. Still, Draco freaked out and left."
It was a sore spot for Harry that Draco had gone so quickly, but how could he blame Draco for wanting to get out of the spotlight when Harry himself had spend so much time trying to stay out of the public eye, too? That was before, though - when he had just one scar.
Narcissa took a deep breath and let it go.
"I want to tell you something, Harry - and you can't be too surprised, because Draco has always been about image, and he's had girlfriends in the past - but...he's dating someone at Hogwarts at the moment."
It wasn't a cold rush of water to the face to learn this; Harry already knew.
"He mentioned that. Told me right before he left."
Narcissa was surprised Harry already knew. She recomposed herself.
"I'm rather disappointed; I was starting to warm up to the idea of Draco and you."
Harry found himself suddenly in a mood. He wasn't angry or sad, but he was green around the gills about this topic and stood up and went over to the window to lean against it, his arms crossed.
Narcissa felt obliged to go over and cheer him up. She stood before the young man, looking up into his scarred but soft features.
"Harry...maybe you are just Draco's childhood crush, and to you he may just be your first heartbreak. This doesn't have to be a terrible thing."
"Ron was my first heartbreak," Harry corrected her with a glower.
Narcissa landed both hands onto his shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. It reminded Harry of how sincerely she looked at him while she was calming him down when he was panicking after that first evening at Malfoy Manor. She was so perfectly supportive; he believed entirely in her.
"But you're strong in either case. You don't need a boyfriend to be happy. You don't need a boyfriend to win you third place at the flying competition, or brew illegal potions, or follow any of the career paths that Lucius will be suggesting. You just need yourself. I found out a long time ago that the world is full of oppressors, but - if you don't want them to - they can't get in the way of the life you want to live even if they try. You don't need to take everyone's feelings into consideration."
It took a moment, a really long moment, but after her words sank into his thoughts his arms began to loosen. Narcissa pulled him down into a hug and he held onto her. He closed his eyes and remembered the first day he woke up in her bed at Malfoy Manor, having just returned from the dead. It was always nice to listen to her encouraging words.
"Thank you, Narcissa."
"I have a young son," she confessed. "He should have given you a chance. But he's focused on school and has made his choice for the next few months. Forgive him, Harry. I'm sorry to say, but now is the time to make amends."
Harry pulled back, but still they remained close. "He was best when we were alone or just flying on brooms."
"Don't worry. There are others out there. One of them will fall for the handsome Alderbaron Gravewatcher."
She made Harry smile again.
On a colder day.
It was in early November that Lucius was satisfied at last to hear from his brother's widow. Joleena Patrice had been in correspondence with him, but then one day she showed up at the door.
"I'm just worried!" She cried, as Lucius held her in his arms, patting her back. "I haven't heard from him since the night of your dinner! Since the night the war ended! He is such a rotten boy for not even sending me a letter!"
Lucius smiled at Narcissa, but quickly returned to a pensive expression.
"Have you gone to the Aurors about this? Who have you asked?"
"No one! Could you imagine? The sort of things Clouse gets up to - he'd be arrested if they ever looked at him at all!"
"Arrested?" Asked Narcissa, worry clouded the actresses features.
"Yes! The kids have been talking about it constantly, how he tells them he alters people's memories. Illegal magic. My husband says not to get involved, but what if it was your son missing? What would you do?"
"Everything," Lucius said with confidence. "You should report him missing. Tell the Aurors everything they could use to track him. Where does Clouse usually hang out?"
Joleena laughed humorously. "He's difficult, don't you know? He hangs out with Muggles - " and here she whispered loudly, "- at bars! Gay bars! You know...picking up their kind and wasting his potential there. He's an inch away from being burned off our family tree!"
In their mind, both Lucius and Narcissa scoffed at the idea of the Patrice's having a family tree worth a gram of salt, but also...she wouldn't have this loose a tongue unless their Truth spell was working.
"Don't hold back!" Narcissa urged. "Head there right now! Tell them everything!"
"You really think that's wise?" She wondered, steadying herself on her two feet once again.
"All you need is a hearty breakfast!"
Lucius glared at her behind Joleena's back.
"Yes! Yes, that's exactly what I'll do then!" The woman said.
She was out of their door and hurrying down the steps. At the gate she snapped her fingers and her house elf appeared. They both Disapparated after that.
Lucius turned on his wife. "I can't believe you!"
"I couldn't resist!" She shouted with joy, flinging her arms around Lucius's neck.
Her joy never faded. Joleena had gone to the Ministry of Magic and talked with an Auror, filing a missing person's report. The report and case were immediately taken over by Alastar Moody, a top Auror. It took only two days for that report to reach it's end with the arrest of Clouse Malfoy being "found through professional means" and a life sentence for crimes against Muggle and Wizard kind, but oddly the whole case blew over. It garnered no newspaper space other than a few little inches on a mid page one Thursday thereafter. It was all so very quiet and embarrassing for the family of the arrestee that they were happy for the little coverage.
Lucius clipped the article and sent it to Draco at Hogwarts with a small note: Arrest of your cousin made for crimes against Muggles.
Draco received the letter over breakfast. After reading the letter and the article, Draco looked across the room at the Gryffindor table, where Ron Weasley ate breakfast. He thought he'd tell the Gryffindor...ease his conscience.
Draco found his opportunity halfway through his first lesson of Advanced Transfiguration. While Professor McGonagall was a fare teacher, she was strict, having no charity for Ron's sorrow that school year. She had threatened to dismiss him several times if he just continued to sit there without even trying to cast his spells. She refused leniency for him so far, stating that his emotional circumstances wouldn't stop the world from spinning.
They were learning the transfiguration spell known as Defection. It would allow them to transform small mineral rocks into great sculptures and would be on the final exams that year. Ron sat along the edge of the room, alone for the moment, as Hermione had gone over to a larger space in the room to practice.
Draco watched person after person go to Ron and offer to help him try to put a little more effort into his casting. He had to hand it to the Gryffindors; they never stopped helping Ron. Truth be told, neither did Draco. He had orders, after all, to support Ron Weasley and all Harry's old friends.
Suddenly, the chair next to Ron was filled. And why shouldn't it have been filled by Draco Malfoy? He was such a bother lately.
"Fuck off," Ron said.
"If you'd just flick your wrist a bit harder, your statue wouldn't have so many holes in it."
Ron sighed in exasperation, glaring daggers at the Slytherin. Draco shrugged his shoulders.
"Just trying to help."
"Fucking hell. Help by taking yourself back to your side of the room," Ron demanded.
Draco flicked his wrist and said the incantation, "Defatora!" to one of Ron's rocks, and it turned into a fine stone statue of a serpent. Ron pushed the statue off the table with a mighty thunk!
"Did you see the paper this morning?" Draco asked nonchalantly.
Ron scoffed.
"I skipped it," he confessed. "Why? Here to jibe about some anecdote you read about the glory of Slytherin? Fucking -"
"Hell. Yes, I know, Weasley. Do you have to say that all the time?"
"What? Fucking?"
"Hell, you idiot. It's such a Muggle concept. And you call yourself a pure-blood wizard!"
Draco rolled his eyes. Ron - only then - realized it was a term he'd picked up from Harry. He'd been saying it for so many years but - yeah - it was a Muggle term.
"Anyway," Draco said, and reached into his pocket and slid over a small clipping from the paper. It was only two inches by three inches, folded once, hardly more than a dozen lines of text. Ron took the paper and read:
After a surfeit of scandals relating to the name, yet another Malfoy is in the limelight. Clouse Malfoy, 28, is being charged with crimes against Muggles and sexual transgressions. According to Aurors, he was registered as missing by family members who disclosed his crimes. Clouse will be charged without bail. Further investigations are being conducted on this matter, but the case "is basically open and shut," according to the lead arresting Auror, Alastair Moody.
Ron looked up. In his blue eyes was entangled excitement and a deep disturbance for what he read. He was breathless.
Draco stared back, solemn and silent. Ron noticed the sullenness most.
"Do you know?" Ron asked at last, feeling cryptic; unable to say fully what he meant.
Draco was arching an eyebrow.
"Do I know...why he was arrested? It says right there, 'crimes against Muggles and sexual transgressions.'"
He said this noticeably coy.
"No - " Ron leaned forward, disregarding his dislike of the Slytherin to keep his voice from being heard. "Do you know who he - do you know who -"
Ron's voice was caught.
He couldn't finish his sentence, and therefore, Draco couldn't infer anything. He was a careful Slytherin.
Draco said, "They found out he was sleeping with Muggles and altering their memory, if that's what you meant by who he slept with. Really, Weasley? Was that what you wanted to know?"
Ron looked down and away.
Draco was a hell of an actor, taught by a very good actress. He went on, seeking to wiggle his way into Ron's thoughts. "He's a scorch mark on the family tree now. I know how much you hate us Malfoys, so I'm actually trying to cheer you up by telling you this. Is it working?"
Ron blanched. "Fuck. You are endless."
Draco smiled at the compliment, and the lack of the word hell.
"He saved you, though. It was probably the best, most noble thing he ever did. I figured it always sounded odd how Clouse found you alone and saved you without saving the Hero of the -" Draco cut himself off. He cleared his throat. "...but then, we Malfoys are capable of change, I guess."
He was hindered by the Binding potion that didn't allow him to get close to saying Harry's name - or in this case referring too closely to him - but he had ways of working around it.
"Fuck if you are," Ron intoned. His nostrils flared, eyebrows drawn together. He was angry.
"His worse crime is illegally performing memory charms. Mother and father have written him off, but I was wondering..."
Ron looked up. He was silent.
Draco knew he had raped Harry; knew that information was wanted to be kept a secret, but Draco didn't like that Clouse had been free for so long and wanted to hurt Ron for it.
Draco pushed.
"...I was wondering if you'd put in a good word to your Auror friends. Try to get Clouse off the hook. I mean, really? Sexual transgressions aren't something he should be sent to Azkaban for, right? They're just Muggles at pubs that he picked up, it's not like he took some innocent's virtue, right?"
That's when Ron shoved Draco away.
"Get away from me, you fucking prick!" Ron raged, drawing the attention of everyone in class.
Professor McGonagall was over to them in an instant.
"Mr. Weasley! Mr. Malfoy! What is going on over here?!"
Draco stood up and left the table. "Just spending some quality time together, Professor."
"With that language yelling about?! Five points lost to each of you! Mr. Malfoy, back to your seat!"
Ron's next "Defatora!" had so much flare to the flick of the wrist that it burst the statue into dust.
After that, though, Ron felt a level of relief, even though his hatred for Draco increased. Clouse Malfoy was in Azkaban. Justice had prevailed. And though he continued to despise Malfoy, he had to give him credit for coming over and talking. That little article might never had crossed his path, and it wouldn't have been until he went home for the winter break that he would have heard that Clouse was arrested.
He wondered why Dumbledore hadn't come to tell him when it had all first began.
Little did many know that Clouse, kept safely under charm and key by the Order of the Phoenix, was just waiting such an opportunity to be arrested. Dumbledore organized the hiding of Clouse by a select few Order members. Moody and Tonks were a given, as they were chosen to be the arresting Aurors. But the two fulltime Aurors couldn't be there to watch Clouse all the time, and neither could Dumbledore, for that matter. So the three of them chose one other - one other who could spare a portion of his life to dedicate to the watching of Clouse.
Bill Weasley was chosen for three reasons: he was competent, he earned his living on commission and therefore had some free time, and he was a Weasley; they thought it wise to let at least one other member of Ron's family know what he'd been through at Malfoy Manor the night he was kidnapped by Death Eaters. It was so he would have someone to talk to and help him heal.
Bill chose to keep the information that he was watching Clouse away from the rest of the family, having them instead believe he was still working exclusively for Gringotts Bank. But he told Ron that he was Clouse's security guard. It was for the best: Ron's tentative trust in people needed to be returned - and telling the honest truth would help that.
Besides one occasion, Ron avidly denied any offer to talk about the night of February 4th from Bill. But on that one occasion he did accept the offer, there was a pressing question Ron wanted to ask.
"While we were in the basement, he had said something...something like he had known a little about what happened to Harry in the hospital ward when someone used Polyjuice potion on him. Has he talked about that?"
Bill took a deep breath, steadying himself; he knew Ron was going to make this a serious matter instead of a brotherly chat.
"He did talk about it, Ron."
"He did?!"
"We used Veritaserum on him. He told us Draco Malfoy heard it as a second-hand rumor."
"And you believed him?"
Not for the first time, Bill wished he could simply tell Ron to let this go, that he was only hurting himself for a truth that may never come to light. "He said he didn't really know what happened that night. He was just being mean...embellishing what he heard from his cousin to upset the two of you. He just wanted to hurt you..."
While Bill's heart was breaking seeing the flat dead-ends Ron was running into, Ron's brain went into overdrive.
"No one has checked with Draco Malfoy, yet? The Order hasn't interrogated him?"
Bill shook his head. "They're carefully checking up on graduated students. Trust me, Ron, Draco Malfoy is first on the list when he's out of Hogwarts!"
Ron stared Bill down. "And you're going to be there? You're going to flat-out ask him if it was him who raped Harry?"
Bill visibly quaked, but nodded. "You have my word, Ron: if I can be there, I will be. And if I can't be, I'll get the word to you immediately. I want you to find your answers."
Ron believed him.
It was stressful mostly for Bill, the main keeper of Clouse. He hadn't blindly been following Dumbledore's request; he knew the full story and had even seen the memory taken from Clouse's head of the night of February 4th. The little memory in the vial was deceptively delicate for the harshness it contained. Clearly, Tonks and Moody were ready to bring Clouse in, but they needed to be ticked off to the case by an outside source. They were planning that source be a case filed by a family member for him being gone missing.
Clouse Malfoy's family waited quite awhile to make that report, though. It was looking bleak that they ever would.
"Scum like him..." Bill came to the conclusion, "...you would think the family would feel better off without him."
He was speaking to Tonks, who nodded with agreement.
But that was a few weeks ago. Finally, Joleena Patrice, Clouse's mother, had reported him missing. She was a bigger help than they would have expected. She blabbed on and on about the potential danger Clouse was probably in, because of his nefarious activities with Muggles and memory charms he was known by the family to use.
They had all the evidence already collected. It was a speedy booking and everyone involved was glad it was over with.
Bill especially, because he got his life back.
Christmas, 1997.
Nymphadora Tonks didn't take her husband's name when they were married in August, but she and her husband Remus Lupin had come over for Christmas dinner at the Weasley's house in the country. The Ministry of Magic still was not favorable to werewolves, but they were working on it. She had an ulterior motive for coming to this dinner, though, and fulfilled this motive when she cornered Ron after the meal.
Ron had been mostly somber during the whole meal, despite being surrounded by his family, including his two oldest brothers who were quite busy with their own lives and sometimes missed big holidays like this. He was sitting next to Bill, even, and got quite a bit of attention from him.
"More potatoes?" Bill offered, reaching out for the spoon to refill Ron's plate.
Ron was stuffed. "No, thanks. The second helping of turkey did me in."
Bill smiled. He ruffled Ron's hair and settled his hand around Ron's shoulders again. Ron leaned into the touch, using it as a distraction from his loneliness. Little did Ron know that Bill also needed the comfort; he had spent so long with Clouse that his soul still felt sick. He needed the cuddling as much as Ron did.
Around the table people chatted and celebrated and kept their eye on Ron. They registered the quirk of his lips as that old smile they missed, and the relaxed nature of his presence as something mature to bloom out of trauma. It was nothing like the sad boy from the summer before; they were happy to see this change. Ron's Seventh year at Hogwarts had started off rough - with a few owls being sent home about his poor behavior and grades - but slowly things had turned around.
Overall, Ron was changing into something harder. They all saw it.
But after dinner, Tonks got Ron alone by the fireplace and really tested his resolve. They were sitting in the two chairs closest to the dying fire, away from everyone and in the dark a bit.
Tonks was glad that Ron didn't blame her for her own connection to the Malfoy family. Her mother was after all Draco Malfoy's aunt. Her parent's and her own life choices had redeemed her, it seemed.
"I'm sorry that the whole thing took so long," Tonks said with feeling, still personally upset. "Dumbledore was preserving Harry's image, I know, and I requested he let us arrest the bastard sooner and not just store him in a safe house. He should have been tried months ago."
"It was my fault, too," Ron confessed. "I didn't want anyone to know. I knew it let him stay free, that was the worst part. But I couldn't have it both ways, could I? I wanted to help Harry; it was the only thing I thought I could do."
"As soon as we had the excuse, Moody and I brought him in."
Ron nodded. "It was such a weight off. I didn't realize how much I wanted this over with." Ron took a breath, then asked a very secret question. "Do you...do you think he...hated me? For thinking he had to do that? Or for not getting that man arrested?"
Tonks shook her head. "No, Ron. I saw the whole memory: Harry was trying to protect you. He looked...willing to do anything to save you. He clearly was very loyal."
"It was on me to turn him in," Ron said dejectedly.
"You can think of it that way, yes. But it's over now; let it go. I wish we hadn't needed to wait so long for his family to come forward, but that's just the sort of people they are. They knew he was trouble; they knew one day it would come back to bite him. He was sick; people like that need to be turned in right away. But I get why we waited: Harry's last act was purely selfless...it was a big decision to decide to share that act or not."
Tears welled in Ron's eyes and he slumped over, forearms resting near his knees. Let it not be said that a hard man doesn't cry...Ron let these tears fall, knowing there was no shame in them.
Tonks rubbed his shoulder.
"You saw his memory? Bill did, too. How sick is that? You saw something that not even I saw -"
"Thank Merlin for that," Tonks interrupted.
"Maybe...but I was stuck there listening to it, anyway. Every time I think about it...I just wish I could have done something to stop it."
"It wasn't something you should have seen, so I'm glad you didn't. He was brave."
"Brave? Or use to it?" Ron shook his head. "And what about the first person who raped him? When will that person come to a trial?"
"Maybe they already did. It was Polyjuice potion. Maybe it was one of the Death Eaters and now they're locked up; processed before they told the truth."
Ron scoffed, rubbing the tears out of his eyes and shaking. "That reminds me...I meant to ask: have you found fucking Pettigrew yet?"
Tonks took a deep breath. What a heartbreak that they hadn't.
"We're trying. He's a rat Animagus, Ron...it's hard."
"What if it was that that fucking man?"
Tonks learned forward and rubbed his shoulder. "It wasn't! Don't believe that!"
"It could be anyone! It could just have been a Slytherin, sure, but it could have been him!" And now Ron got to the heart of it, for which she was grateful he was opening up, but pained as well. "I can't stand it. I can't stand being near anyone, because who knows who put Harry through all that the first time around?! You were there, at the Muggle school Harry had hidden away at. You know he had counseling and was just trying to hide from it all, because he was just scared! I know how he feels now...I didn't before, but I get it now. How much that all hurt him...and he offered it to happen again! For me! He went through all that pain again to save me -"
Ron was bursting with anger. His hands were in fists and he stared in rage at Tonks.
She calmed him with logic and a compassionate tone. "A lot of people have injustices done upon them. That's why I'm an Auror. This is what I do to help them. It sounds a lot like you have a place with us."
Ron looked at the popping fire, willing to let his great well of anger and pain subside.
"I was thinking about that," he confessed to her.
Becoming an Auror had been on his mind lately.
She stood up and readied her parting words.
"I'll miss him, Ron. I got to spend a bit of time with him while I watched over him at Smelting's, and I found him to be kind and gentle. He was sweet on me, you know? Did he tell you he gave me a little kiss?"
Ron knew, actually, but not from Harry. His brother Bill told him, having heard it from her review to the Order of the Phoenix. He got a lot of letters from Bill lately, and really found his older brother a strong source of support.
"So that was true?" Ron asked.
Tonks smiled, she tipped her head back and gave her whole body a bit of a shake. Suddenly she metamorphed into a teenage boy. Tonks had quite a few piercings in her ears, which didn't morph away. The teen boy was about seventeen, bleached blond hair, her pierced ears, and was remarkably more handsome than Ron was. Tonks' leather jacket was now tight on her body, too small for the new body she gave herself. A thrill passed through him to see the boy Harry had a thing for, and then a twinge of jealousy went through him to think that Harry would fancy this bloke.
He had a loopy smile, same as Tonks, and said in a deep voice, "I called myself Peter Cosset."
"He told us about that Muggle school. There was a doctor there, and his roommate...he said he would miss them."
"She was a good councilor. And Kenny Johansen. He was particularly watchful over Harry. We were all glad of that; we had charmed a few of the staff, but Kenny was just naturally good for him."
More jealousy.
Tonks took that time to turn back into herself.
"Harry rather liked how I looked, I suppose I did look good for a boy. I thought of the kiss as a little thing. Remus even got a little jealous I got a kiss by someone famous."
Ron cringed a bit. He looked away in shame for how little he was there for Harry at that time.
"Hey!" She said now, coyly, "You got a mouthful of him, too, didn't you? At the beginning with those love potion plants."
Ron blushed and stood up, ready now to ditch her. "While he was high on a toxin. It doesn't count."
"I think it does," she smiled, trying to make him feel better but failing to do so.
Ron left in a hurry without a reply. She had been trying to be supportive, but she was so naive when it came to these things. But Ron wasn't wholly upset. He just knew he didn't want to cry in front of her, so he left quickly.
It was at this junction that Ron became absolutely solidified in his desire to become an Auror. For Ron, the memory of that night was a jumble of rapid breathing, pain-filled whimpers, ripping clothing, negative dialogue, and sadist laughter. He wanted to hurt people like that. He wanted to do something to stop people from being free to do that.
He stomped up the stairs of the old house to his bedroom at the top. In Ron's head, he was thinking rather dark and secret thoughts. He was thinking rather jealously of Tonks because she described Harry as being kind and gentle, sweet, giving her a "little kiss." A little kiss.
He'd given Ron a big kiss, without any kindness or gentleness. He'd thrown himself across the room - twice! - pouncing upon Ron and laying into his mouth with greed.
Ron, in his room now, closed his eyes at the memory. Harry...his friend dead now almost a year...kind, gentle, sweet...
He didn't use to think of Harry as that. He was just a mate. Not anymore. But too late to verify his new point of view.
Ron took a deep breath and opened his damp eyes. The little space at the top of the stairs, painted orange and covered in pictures of his favorite Quidditch team, looked so small suddenly. His school trunk filled up the space at the foot of his bed, but there was also another school trunk that was taking up room. Under a Chuddly Cannon blanket was Harry's trunk. It was now Ron's, given in Harry's Final Will. He had gone through it only once so far. It contained all his clothes, books, a wad of gold, silver, and copper coins scattered at the bottom, and of course the silky Invisibility Cloak and his father's magical map of the school.
Ron considered cleaning it out, but he could never bring himself to do more than open it and look in. It was still just the way Harry had left it. He daren't remove a thing.
But Ron had no qualms going over to his own school trunk and rummaging around. He went to the bottom of the trunk, seeking a small wooden box given to him by a school mate. He found it and opened it.
In the box was a collection of pictures he'd been given free of charge from Colin Creevey, a little fellow obsessed with photography and Harry. There were over a hundred pictures of Harry in the box and Ron had looked at them all, and even organized them into piles. There was a pile of ones where Harry stared angrily at the camera, trying to grab and cover the lens to stop Colin taking the photo. There were ones of him from far away. There were a few bad pictures of just his back or ones out of focus. They were all magical photos, where Harry was moving. Only in a few of them did he look happy, but only in one of them was he looking at Ron. That one was on the bottom of the pile, put there purposefully to find again easily.
If Ron had seen this photo from Colin while Harry was still alive, it might have actually changed things. Because in this photo, featuring both Harry and Ron in the library, Harry was looking at Ron in that way he did while addled by Neville's plant pollens. But this was months before that.
Ron took out his wand and tapped the photo, whispering a spell and enlarging the image. He held the spell, watching the photo grow to be the size of his hand, then the size of his head, then bigger...Ron let it grow...he didn't stop it. It was as big as the Chuddly Cannon posters he hung on his wall, and he stopped the spell. Ron settled the enlarged photo against the wall opposite him, leaning it there. He sat down on the bed and stared.
Harry's green eyes behind the black round glasses were lidded, soft. His quill didn't move but it was poised over his paper. Harry was gentle at this moment, he supposed. Ron was scribbling away in the picture, completely unaware he was sitting next to someone with a crush on him. Colin had snapped a photo at a moment that very clearly featured expressions Harry kept to himself.
"Stupid," Ron muttered out loud, speaking to himself in the photo. "You're so stupid."
There was a knock on the door. Ron sat there and didn't reply to the knock, although he heard it clearly.
"Coming in," said the voice of his brothers, Fred and George.
The door opened and they looked in.
"You're not come down for awhile." Fred observed.
"We came to check on you." George said.
The two twins came into the room, but it didn't take them long to see the photo leaning against the wall that had their brother's attention. Ron hadn't moved to hide it. It was very unlike him to let his secrets out to his brothers...but really, they all knew Harry had kissed him and had a crush on him. They had all asked what he'd thought of it but none got an answer. At those times Ron had grown angry, defensive, denying so much and not letting anyone into his thoughts and feelings.
But not this time.
Ron held out his hand, palm open and up, displaying the photograph and seeking his two brother's opinions of it.
"What do you think?" Ron demanded of them, bulking up his courage and very blatantly asking the question. "Remember Colin Creevey and all those photos he'd take? He took this last year...October I think, because we were studying that subject," Ron pointed to a book on the table about temperature spells.
"Um...been awhile since I've seen a photo of him," Fred said, standing by Ron's side, examining the photo, getting a clear view of Harry's face and his longing expression.
George came up on the bed behind Ron, looking over his shoulder at it. "I think I'll state the obvious," and he settled a hand on Ron's shoulder. "He's looking at you like he really fancied you."
Fred sat down, sitting exactly next to Ron so their legs matched up. He leaned all his weight onto Ron's side but was held off tipping him over because George, behind Ron, was pressing in from the other side. The huddle was close, warm, and full of familiarity. Ron loved his brothers, he loved especially this one that died last year.
All at once, Ron burst into tears.
"Hey! Hey, don't do that!" Fred uttered with a level of grief of his own.
George wrapped his arms around Ron from behind and squeezed him tightly, laying his head over Ron's back. "It's okay, Ron! It's okay, okay?"
Through his messy, wet, and gasping grief, Ron managed to speak.
"Just look at this, would you? He did like me, and I didn't know! I could have been there that night that fucking Slytherin crawled into his bed at Hogwarts! And I could have looked up right then and seen him looking at me like that! He could have told me! I could have known that he liked me! I could have chosen him instead of Hermione!"
Over his bowed and shaking body, Fred and George shared a heavy look. Ron had so much going on; so much heartache.
"I miss him," Ron whispered at last, quivering.
George asked softly, "We joke with you a lot, but would you have liked him back?"
Ron sniffed and nodded.
Fred and George's looks mingled with complex thoughts again.
"I told him, that last day, just before the Death Eaters got us..." Ron took a breath and looked back up, back at Harry's photo and all the others that had somehow scattered around his trunk. "I told him - Merlin, I've been thinking about this a lot - I said that I lo-..." Ron took a breath, then plowed through his fears. "...loved him. I was going to kiss him, you know? I decided to. I told him I would do anything for him...and then I followed him close to the Forbidden Forest. I was going to kiss him behind a tree, where no one could see us. I was so nervous. Really nervous. But I had been thinking...he was...gentle. Sweet and...good. He was moving on after someone really hurt him...and I wanted to protect him. I wouldn't let anyone hurt him again. I would do anything for him to keep him safe...I really loved him."
Ron closed his eyes and was grateful his brothers were there for him. Even though they were silent, they were there to listen.
"I didn't do anything for him, though, did I? I couldn't save him. I was useless. I was scared. He did everything. He suffered everything, and I got away."
Ron took one last, weak breath, and then gently pushed his brothers aside. He rose and went over to the photo, quietly casting the spell that shrank it back to normal size. Ron looked for a last time at the photo, then set it down on the dresser beside him.
Ron looked up at Fred and George, accepting their pity and their compassion.
Ron straightened his back. His voice was stronger now even though his face was red and his eyes were puffy.
"I'm pathetic. Not what I wanted to be...but I would have kissed him. I would have dated him. I wouldn't have been any good, though, would I? I would have let him down, isn't that obvious? Look at me, I'm just not good for anything. I'm...not going to stay with Hermione anymore. I can't. I don't want to. I just don't want to live like this."
"Don't let one bad thing lead to another," George warned.
"You can be with whoever you want to. We'll support you," Fred said.
Ron shook his head. "I can't be with the dead, though. So what use is it? I think I'm going to focus on my magic, so I can become an Auror. I know I had a really lousy first half of the year, but I can still make the grades. I know Harry wanted to become an Auror, too. I'll do what he couldn't."
Fred and George stood up and stood before him, offering him one more brotherly hug.
February 4, 1998. The first anniversary.
Time certainly had a way of changing things.
The student body of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry found itself awaking on a frosty Wednesday morning, greeted in the Great Hall with a rather more lavish breakfast than usual. Today was a celebration day: the first anniversary since the day that the Second Wizarding War ended. It was a great surprise to find sweet popping peppers in the omelets, Butterbeer on the breakfast table, and festoons of glittery celebration confetti shimmering in the air in a nonstop downpour, emitting from several enchanted sources that were - to the delight of many - transportable.
At the Head Table, all the teachers sat and looked out upon everyone eating and enjoying themselves, but they were all quite aware of a few at the Gryffindor table who were not part of the jokes. Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall in particular were watchful of the most complicated boy at the Gryffindor table.
"We might have another outburst on our hands," McGonagall warned Dumbledore of Ronald Weasley's temperament, which was so contained in a ball of silence it might just burst any second now. He was often convinced that his late friend's sacrifice was being taken for granted. He'd been especially volatile in the first half of the year, and was only now settling, but today was a throw-back. He'd at one point this morning already yelled at some disrespectful Third Years. As a Prefect he could punish them for bad behavior, but just standing there yelling at them was a bit far out of order.
Dumbledore agreed with his Deputy Headmistress.
"I have prepared a speech just in the case this was his response to the breakfast. Don't worry, Minerva. I'll settle this."
And with those words, Dumbledore rose from his seat and held his hands into the air. The confetti slowed down at this time, seemingly also pausing for him to make a speech. Some had seen him rise and were already quieting down, others only silenced after he began to speak to the room. Ron looked up at the aged old Headmaster in his long flowing robes of blue and gold. He was the centerpiece of attention.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and started.
"Good morning, students. Here today I've requested a special breakfast for you all. I want you to remember this in the years to come. Remember the omelets, the confetti, and the Butterbeer. Remember your friends, your happiness, and the reason you are celebrating today. Remember it, as I have remembered that omelets with pepper poppers was an especially favorite breakfast of a student who is no longer with us."
And suddenly here the students of Hogwarts looked around at each other, realizing that the rumor of the celebration being here to distract them of Harry Potter's death was not the case.
"Also, the confetti that fell on the day he competed in the Tri Wizard Tournament's First Task was this same golden color. I remember how proud I was of Harry Potter's success in that Tournament. And Butterbeer was especially his favorite. It'll be served at every meal today, as I believe Harry would have wanted it that way, and I hope for you to look out for more of his favorite things during lunch and dinner. I'm doing this...to remember him. I hope you all will find yourselves remembering him - as a person who grew up alongside most of you - on this day in the years to come."
Looking out on the crowd now, at the sorrowful faces of those who actually knew Harry, Dumbledore saw that Ron's face was buried in his hands, his friend Hermione was wrapped around him and was trying to comfort him. Dumbledore felt a stab of pain of a similar nature.
"Let us raise a glass, in celebration for the sacrifices it took...to end a war," and here at last Dumbledore's voice teetered, and he raised his glass and took a deep drink.
Everyone followed suit, except Ron, who couldn't do any more than to wrap his hand around his mug of Butterbeer, too deep was his sorrow.
