Author's Note: Trigger warning for mentions of alcohol and murder.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alignment
Margaret Aldeford sits opposite, listening to him speak with a quiet thoughtfulness. She sips her tea every now and then and only interrupts to clarify some detail, but otherwise, she lets the man talk and rant and purge his pain.
When he finally falls silent, Margaret sets down her cup and glances to Tom – no, Harry – with a gentle expression. Such a foreign countenance for the austere woman.
"Tell me your plan," she says, folding her hands into her lap and looking to the distraught man expectantly.
Harry raises his wet gaze and seems taken aback. He lets out a disbelieving puff. "You...believe me?"
Margaret raises a brow. Cool grey eyes peer at him from over her spectacles. Hawkish. Sharp. "I am not a woman to be trifled with, boy. I've lived far too long to question the oddities of this world. And you are a terrible liar."
The raven manages a shadow of a smile at that. "I don't know what my plan is. I was hoping to just...hide here until everyone forgot about me." His smile fades. Corners tug down into a self-loathing sneer. "Stupid. I only ended up getting Gideon-" A sharp intake. Or perhaps a dry sob.
"Yes, yes. The man is dead. But it is hardly your fault. You were not the one to wield the knife. Or...wand, is it? Whatever it is, you need to leave before anymore of your people show up. I should like to continue living for a while yet."
His face twists, contorts in a sudden fury, "They aren't my people!"
Margaret rolls her eyes. "Of course. My mistake. Well, my point is, you cannot stay here. Is there elsewhere you can go?"
Harry deflates, chin dropping to his chest. He leans his elbows on his knees, hunches over as he thinks. "...Maybe it's not a single place. But many a place."
An impatient click of the tongue. "Speak clear, boy. I loathe riddles."
"I'll move on. Staying in one spot for too long has proven to be dangerous. Their network is extensive. I'll just...keep moving on." Tired green eyes rise to lock onto those scrutinising greys.
"Yes, I should think so." Margaret nods her approval and pulls out her purse. Out of the purse, she reveals the thick envelope of money Harry had given her earlier. She tosses it to him with precise aim and it lands in his lap. "You will need funds on your travels. Consider this your severance package."
It seems as though he has sprung a leak, for tears continue to well and burst from his eyes. As if he is a child! Harry clutches the envelope in his hand and furiously wipes at his face. "Thank you, Mrs. Aldeford," he says, thickly.
"Oh, pish-posh, it's Margaret to you, boy. Now I expect you to visit on the regular. I didn't raise you for five years only to have you gallivanting about without visiting me at least once! And no more drinking!"
"I'll try my best," Harry smiles, rising to his feet. It's been much too long. The Order knows he's here – they must be plotting something. He has to make his escape while he still can.
The man moves to the old woman's side and gives her a peck on the cheek. Margaret gives his arm an affectionate pat before waving him off. "Get out of here, child! Leave me in peace!"
Without another word, Harry shuffles out of the drawing room and leaves his home, and his family, behind.
He walks down a back street, listening to an orchestra of sirens wail down the main road towards the warehouse. At least Gideon has been found. He hopes fervently that no other muggles have been hurt since his escape. Least of all Jobe...
Jobe.
Harry grits his teeth and continues on, one foot after the other. It feels as though he is walking through thick mud, weighed down by the boulder that sits within his chest.
To think that Luna would lead him into a trap like that. To think that he almost fell for her pretty words. To think that Ron...his best friend...no, his ex-best friend...to think that he would wish for his death so dearly.
Could he blame him? He expected as much, as soon as he heard about Fred's death. He knew he would never be family to the Weasleys ever again. The hurt was still there, but above all, it was the thought that the people who were his biggest supporters, his refuge and home, that they wanted him dead...it cast him afloat, untethered, loose in a space far too cold and far too vast for just one man.
Where is he going?
He's outside the town border now, heading along the country road. Cows watch him pass by silently with heavy eyes. You lucky bastards, he thinks, don't know how good you have it. A wry smile passes his face and he waves at the bovine stock. The nearest cow huffs and swings around, flicking its tail at the man. "Fuck you too," he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets with a shiver.
Draco falls into step beside him, appearing from the darkness like a ghost. "Talking to cows now, Potter?"
"Get bent, Malfoy," Harry mumbles, certain the blonde is an illusion. "Why do you keep showing up in front of me? I'm not gonna fuck you, if that's what you want."
"Oh, how crass," Draco drawls, tone as dry as a desert. He waves a gloved hand at Harry, dismissively. "Seems like you need my protection after all, given tonight's disastrous events."
The raven opens his mouth to retort, scathing words on the tip of his tongue – but he slumps and simply shrugs, too soul-sick to fight.
"That poor muggle. What was his name? Gerrod?"
"Gideon," Harry squeezes out through clenched teeth. "Gideon Hastings."
"Yes, quite. Well, it's a shame that the Order are so hell bent on killing you that they even disregard their own values. Muggle lovers, aren't they? Well, I saw very little of that tonight."
"It's my fault," Harry monotones. "What can you expect."
"I can expect a modicum of consideration. For the life of me, I cannot understand why you remain so loyal to those idiots. You do understand that Dumbledore raised you to be slaughtered like a cow, yes? That they continue to desire your death to this day?" Draco peers at the smaller man with true incredulity.
The raven grimaces and continues walking in silence, trying his best to ignore the Death Eater's presence.
"Accept my protection, Potter. It will only serve to benefit you."
"I'm not going to align with Voldemort, if that's what you're talking about," Harry shoots back, hackles raised.
"Then align with me!"
Harry blinks, taken aback. His steps falter and he comes to a stop.
There's a long silence.
Finally, narrowed green eyes flicker to Draco's face. They flit from side to side as they attempt to read the taller man's expression. "How is that different? You're a Death Eater now, aren't you?"
Draco sighs and rubs his forearm unconsciously. "My father is a Death Eater. And I am my father's son."
Lips twist to the side as Harry picks apart those careful words. "But this is to benefit your 'Lord'. I refuse to play into his hands."
"You did so already, when you chose to live."
Emeralds flash with a sudden heat. White hot fury. "Is it so fucking bad that I want to live? Everyone else has that right. Why not me?"
"Oh no, I completely agree," Draco says, holding out a hand to try quell the raven's rage. "That is why I offer my protection. I thought by now you would have realised, Potter, that there is no light or dark. Your precious Order killed an innocent muggle today. And the only person who can truly help you is me. If you want to continue living, you will need to learn the rules of the game. And quickly. Things are different now."
Harry glances back at Aldeford – just distant lights flickering in the night. He takes a long shuddering breath. Jobe, please be okay.
Draco eyes the shorter man with some impatience, arms folded across his chest. He doesn't expect to hear the next words coming from the Gryffindor's mouth, but when he does, he's pleased.
"Fine. I'll accept your offer, Malfoy. But I'll warn you – one wrong move and you'll never see me again. Am I clear?"
Draco smiles. "Crystal."
