Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money off of it. Quote taken from Microsoft Encarta World English Dictionary.
Reminder: This story has slash of the H/D variety. Homophobes may leave now.
Author's Note: I'd firstly like to thank those who pointed out to me that I'd called Ron a Malfoy in the previous chapter #blushes profusely#. It was a blunder on my part, and #eyes gleam with mischief # though it has oh-so-many possibilities, #sad look appears# that will have to wait for a later date and another story. Well, the mistake (geez, is it just me or am I rhyming an awful lot?) has been fixed, so let me get on with this author's note, shall I? All right. I'd like to thank Villain (I prefer to think of you as a devoted reader whose feedback is always delightful, rather than the "annoying prat" that you've dubbed yourself =o), n/a (I'm glad you think that this is interesting =o), ILLK (I'm sure glad that you did decide to read this, and I'm even happier that you enjoy it =o), Youko Gingitsune (glad you approve of Draco's sudden absurd wealth =o), xanpetuk (well, here's more =o), SilvaraMaxwell (Now that was what I call a spirited review! =o), Romilly McAran (I loved the Lucius's bastard son question, and seriously considered implementing that idea rather than fess up and admit to my error. =o) and Dragonlet (wow, you think it's very cool? Wonderful! I'm glad that you're enjoying it) for their spectacular input.
Another Author's Note: Because I, for one, am not adverse to putting in plugs to get you to read some of my other works, I'm inviting you to read another Harry/Draco fic by me, called But Deliver Us From Evil. It's actually complete (a first for me!), and, who knows, you might like it. Find it at: http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=642153
"Dying
is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well."
-- Sylvia Plath, Ariel "Lady Lazarus" (1965)
As it were, it took no great stretch of the imagination in the few moments after Harry's abrupt departure to call the infamous "Boy Who Lived" the "Boy Who Was Horribly Embarrassed At His Unthinking Actions."
He was immediately appalled at his ungracious exit from the Great Hall and wondered what had made him think that Malfoy wanted to be comforted by him, of all people. He was, after all, Malfoy's greatest enemy, and the most likely candidate for the title of "The person Draco Malfoy would most like to avoid right now." He didn't even know where the blonde had headed off to, for goodness sakes.
All in all, Harry was horribly mortified at his brash behavior, and found himself too ashamed to reenter the Hall and face his peers after rushing out only a scant few moments before.
Well, buck it up Harry thought to himself.
Just take a walk for a while until it's time for your first lesson. Tell Ron and Hermione that you suddenly felt claustrophobic and needed some fresh air. The impromptu excuse sounded feeble and untrue, even to Harry, and he knew that Ron and Hermione would see right through it.
Harry sighed.
Even if he didn't know what he'd say to his two best friends when he saw them next, he still felt that it would be good for him to take a short walk to clear his mind. Nothing strenuous, mind you, just a leisurely stroll within the castle to give him time to sort out his thoughts.
The raven-haired boy followed his own advice and hurried towards nothing in particular as he walked down the hall to the left.
After about ten minutes, Harry found himself in front of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, wondering if he should pay old Myrtle a visit.
Why not? thought Harry. It wasn't like he had anything else to attend to, and he felt a bit guilty for not coming to visit in two years. That could seem like ages to someone who spent most of her time hanging out in a dank, dreary bathroom.
Harry had his hand on the knob and was just about to enter when he heard a voice.
"Er, are you okay, boy?" said the voice on the other side of the door.
That was Moaning Myrtle Harry realized.
Harry quickly let go of the handle and pressed his ear to the door, curious to know what was going on.
"Shut up and leave me alone!" came the instant reply.
The second voice, though thick and hoarse with powerful emotions instead of smooth and chilling as ice as it usually was, was still unmistakably that of Draco Malfoy.
"How can I, when you've been huddled on my bathroom floor for a good while now, reading those letters and then staring off into space looking like you'd just had your heart broken?!" screeched Myrtle indignantly, sounding personally affronted (though, of course, she almost always sounded that way).
"Just--just leave me alone, would you?! Just go away and leave me alone!" said Malfoy, his voice oddly strained and tight, as if he were just barely keeping himself from bawling.
Which was probably the case, Harry realized with a start.
"Fine then, you wretched little creature! You probably deserve whatever it is you got!" she said, and then there was silence, save for Draco's rapid, unsteady breathing.
Harry hesitated where he stood.
Leave or stay?
The harsh-sounding whimpers coming from the room beyond gave Harry his answer.
"Malfoy?" he asked as he slowly pushed open the door.
"Are you okay?"
As he entered, he saw Draco huddled outside the nearest stall, his back against a piece of flimsy wood paneling and his arms wrapped tightly over his bent legs as he miserably rested his face against his knees.
He looked so very childlike and vulnerable; Harry felt himself remembering many unpleasant times he'd spent locked up in the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys, where he'd resorted more often than not to curling up into some variation or another of the fetal position as the hours dragged by in the darkness, waiting for a miracle to happen to make the world right again.
Draco's head snapped up, fair hair flying and gray eyes flashing as he glared at the person who'd dared to intrude upon his mourning.
"Potter," he said frostily, scowling darkly as if the name had left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Come to rub my nose in my loss already, have you? I always knew you'd be a grand Syltherin," he said.
"No, Malfoy. I'm not like you," said Harry automatically, forgetting, as he often did, to think before he spoke.
Draco simply stared for a few moments in mute understanding before tiredly dropping his forehead to his knees once more.
"I--I'm sorry. I meant that I wasn't like that, Malfoy, not that I wasn't like…well… never mind. I didn't mean to insult you," he said.
"Whatever," murmured Malfoy.
"Go away," he continued, still not looking back up.
Harry stayed where he was.
"Didn't you hear me?! I said leave me alone!" Malfoy shouted, getting hysterical as he once again glared at Harry, peering up behind his fringe of pale eyelashes from his place on the floor.
"No. I know how you must be feeling, and now that I know you're here, it just wouldn't be right to leave you to suffer by yourself," said Harry, gracefully tucking his feet beneath him as he settled on the floor next to his suffering classmate.
Draco was now fixedly staring at the cracked, filthy tiles on the bathroom floor.
Harry saw a single tear escape from one stormy eye to roll down its ivory path and hang, momentarily suspended, on the flawless jaw. It proceeded to plummet downward and sink into Draco's thick black robes.
Harry didn't think about what to do next. He just did what came naturally.
Draco Malfoy was very surprised to find himself enveloped in the comfort of Harry Potter's warm arms, caught up a soothing, reassuring hug from the other boy.
Normally, Draco would have flung himself out of his current position and used a particularly nasty curse on the impertinent Potter, but these were not normal times.
Instead, Draco merely accepted the kind gesture. He wasn't sure how, but he found his arms desperately clutching Harry closer to him, and his head resting brokenly against one welcoming shoulder as he finally stopped trying to fight the tears.
*************************************
Dumbledore was sure that he must have misheard his granddaughter's words.
"Pardon me?" he asked blankly, disbelieving his ears.
"I believe I just said 'Draco Malfoy has just become the richest Wizard in the world'" was the amused reply.
"That's impossible!" exclaimed Dumbledore.
"I'd certainly hope not, considering the fact that it's true," said Doncenella condescendingly.
Dumbledore, his self-control once again slipping, glared vehemently at the girl, and just barely bit back an angry retort.
"I've had just about enough of that behavior, young lady," he said instead.
"I'm sure you have--but you're disregarding the fact that I don't really give a flying fuck," she responded loftily.
The already-considerable tension in the room mounted, and a charged silence took hold.
"Is young Mr. Malfoy at least aware of this fact?" inquired Dumbledore after about a minute.
"What--that I don't give a flying fuck?" asked the girl slyly, unable, or perhaps just unwilling, to resist slipping in one more annoyance into Dumbledore's life.
The old man sighed.
"No. You know what I was asking," he said.
"Well, next time say what you mean and mean what you say, old man, since your next audience probably won't be as smart as I am," she declared.
Dumbledore stifled the urge to roll his eyes.
"If you'd just use your common sense I think you'd find the answer by yourself," she continued.
"I very much doubt that the fact that Draconius would remain ignorant about his newfound overabundance of wealth for very long, as he'd find it out on his next visit to his Gringotts vault, so it seems only logical to assume that he's already been informed, wouldn't you say?" she said.
"I suppose you're right," said Dumbledore grudgingly.
"Of course I'm right," said the girl.
"Now let's move on to other matters: where will in the castle will I be staying?" she continued.
Dumbledore looked at his granddaughter and then rested his chin on his hand, leaning his elbows on his desktop. He seemed to be in great contemplation.
"It's only a room, old man. No need to think so hard about it," she said after almost a minute of this.
"Wha--? Oh, yes," said Dumbledore, clearing his throat and averting his eyes as he continued.
"I've got an idea as to how you can publicly, instead of secretly, reside in the castle, but not invoke very much suspicion," he said.
"But you're not going to like it."