Chapter 12: Once more, with feeling.

Two weeks had passed, and nothing had changed. The bags under Mr Wesley's eyes, which had once surprised his concerned neighbours so, now seemed as permanent a fixture as his limp, which was growing more pronounced for all that the weather remained warm.. He was beginning to lose weight, too, and though he continued to politely interact with his customers and smile that little half-smile, the sadness never left his eyes.

His once-beautiful garden, the envy of several villagers, was beginning to fall into disrepair, as Mr Wesley seemed to abandon it to the weeds. And he had begun to systematically refuse all dinner invitations, or indeed any attempts to communicate at all, though he surely never had time to cook any food for himself. It was like when he had first arrived there, so insular and distrustful, like some sort of abused dog, wary of any kindness. And some of the villagers had begun to worry how long it would take to draw him out once more.

The only thing that stayed constant were his walks, which he seemed to take ever more frequently – long, rambling strolls with his big black dog which, almost seeming to feel his owner's sadness, gambolled and played like a young pup. But Mr Wesley took cares to avoid any chance of company, going far from his way at the very sight of a fellow human. And equally, he avoided the rock that had once brought him such peace, though he continued to walk along the shore – there were just too many bad memories. Too many thoughts to avoid.

But on July 31st, hid mind lost a decade earlier, he found his feet subconsciously wandering down that old familiar path. And as he looked over the sapphire sea, defiantly calm as if in mockery of his pain, he sighed quietly. "Happy Birthday, Harry," he whispered, as he idly traced the shape of a cake on the warm stone like he had done when he was very small, oblivious to his surroundings.

"Happy Birthday, Potter."

Shocked, Blake spun on his knees, almost losing his balance and tumbling when he saw those painfully familiar eyes. Subconsciously wrapping his arms around his chest, as if to protect himself from the other man, he defensively asked, "What do you want, Malfoy? Haven't you had enough? Just leave me alone…" he trailed off, sadly.

Sighing, with a strangely gentle look to his eyes, Draco sat down beside him, and Blake couldn't help but notice the dirt accumulating on his fancy clothes, while growing even more aware of how little the other man belonged here. Draco hesitantly shifted his hand, almost as if to reach towards Blake, but quickly withdrew it. Then, tentatively, uncomfortably, he said, "I think… I think I owe you an apology."

Blake blinked quietly, stunned. "An… apology?" he stuttered.

"Yes… well…" Draco began to fidget uncomfortably. "I shouldn't have said what I did to you before, it was cruel and thoughtless. You couldn't have known… I was just shocked, you know? And… Ireallymissedyousowillyoubemyfriendagain?" he added rapidly, as if it was the only way he could voice it.

Blake was silent for a moment, as he tried to decipher Draco's last statement. "I…" he hesitated, afraid of letting the other man in again. He had known Malfoy, knew that it would not be above the other man to do this just to break him… but he caught sight of the genuine sorrow in the other man's eyes, and remembered that people could change. He had. Smiling slightly, he offered, "I… I missed you too, Mallo- sorry, Malfoy."

Draco returned his smile, relieved. "You can still call me Mallory, if you like… I have to be called by it here, anyway… or… maybe Draco?"

"Draco," Blake voiced, feeling the strange sensation of the name on his tongue. "I think that'll take a bit of getting used to."

Draco snorted. "Just a bit, Harry. But maybe it'll be easier, too, you know? Not having all those old connotations, allowing us to focus on the future not that past…"

Blake laughed. "I never would have thought to see such a cliché out of your mouth, Draco."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Harry," Draco replied in a deep voice, an amused glint in his eyes."

Sobering slightly at the name, Blake tentatively said, "Only… can you not call me Harry? I'm Blake Wesley, Draco. Harry Potter died when his duty did, ten years ago. And I don't want to be him again."

Draco looked at him in disapproval. "You can't keep running from your past, Harry. If I could stumble on you and figure it out, anyone could. And, besides, how can you be truly happy without acknowledging who you are? Without your magic?"

"I'm happy," Blake denied. "I've been happier these past ten years than I ever had in my life."

"No, you're not. You may think you are, you may even be happy in comparison, but you're not. You're content, perhaps, but you're lonely, however much you deny it, and you're old before your time. You live like you're eighty, as if there's nothing left of interest in the world, when there's so much you have to do and see. You can't just let life pass you by, and you can't think that this boring life makes you happy. Because even your customers can see that."

Blake sighed. "I'm not like you, Draco. And I told you before, I don't want to go back to that world, to the idolisations and expectations and guilt. Harry Potter was a creation of the masses to 'save' them, and he serves no purpose anymore, but to bring me pain. And anyway, there's nothing left to see. Ron is dead, Hermione, Ginny, Seamus, Dean, the twins… so many lost… so many memories… I couldn't handle it, Draco."

Draco sighed. "Just… think about it, Harry. I know the Headmistress and the Longbottoms would love to see you again. You should have seen them after you vanished, they were frantic. It was really quite funny at the time."

"No, Draco," Blake said, firmly. "However, I must say that I'm curious… why didn't you tell them where I was?"

"I… I don't know," Draco replied, shrugging. "I suppose people change. But I'm glad I didn't tell them… I think you should."

"Maybe one day," Blake replied doubtfully, not wanting to continue the disagreement, though surely his misgivings were clear in his eyes. "But enough for now," he interjected, noticing the fading light. "It's getting late, we should get back. Are you still staying with your cousin?"

"Er…" Draco replied.

"I'll take it you haven't told her of your return, then," Blake replied, amused. He had always seen Malfoy as organised, even when he hated him. "Did you bring any of your gear with you at all?"

Draco looked bashful. "I actually just skipped out of a dinner… as you can see," he added, indicating his slightly dusty but incredibly upper class clothing. "It was spur of the moment, really, so I have absolutely nothing. I didn't even know if you'd see me… should I go?"

Smiling, Blake helped his friend to his feet. "No, no, don't even think about it. I've a spare bed in my quarters, though it's never been used, and we're about the same size. I'm sure I can find something for you… though it won't be of your usual quality. You'll probably have to visit the manor tomorrow, though… that is, if you're intending on staying?" he added, not wanting to overstep his bounds.

"Of course," Draco replied, smiling.

And, as the two men walked back across the fields, side by side in the growing darkness, one might hear a quiet voice saying, "I'm glad you're back."

"Me too, Harry. Me too."