Chapter 12 – The Aftermath

Harry's nostrils flared as he eyed the man he had once considered a brother. Ron looked nervous; he saw. His hand was holding a flute of champagne, which was shaking slightly. His face was slightly flushed and his hair windswept – Harry assumed he hadn't arrived at the party with his wife and family as he'd been working.

His wife. Ron had been Harry's best man when he married Ginny, but the favour hadn't been returned. Due to Ron's actions, Harry hadn't even been at the wedding of the two people he had been closest to for the longest, the two people he had died for back when he was seventeen. Ron's blame had cut him off from the Weasleys, left him grieving alone with nothing but memories and nightmares to remind him of what he once had. Harry hadn't thought he could lose any more after the war, and yet Ron and the Weasley's had continued to take, and take, and take.

As Harry stared at the man, he felt a bitterness verging on hatred. Here he stood, wearing Auror robes that Harry should have been wearing. He had a wife and a family to comfort him, to hold him when he needed it. Harry had lost that three times over – first with his own parents, then Sirius, then the Weasley's. His magic curled angrily around him as he glared fiercely at the Auror.

Ron swallowed, not quite meeting Harry's gaze. He stood awkwardly; his cup now held in a death grip. Harry heard him take a deep breath as though steadying himself.

"Doing alright, mate?"

The nonchalant words, so unassuming and informal, might have pleased Harry at some point during the past three years. They might have been a balm to that version of himself, with his ragged, lonely soul still grieving the loss of his wife and family. It might have been comforting then, for him to feel as though the man he had once thought a brother had forgiven him.

Unfortunately for Ron, all Harry could feel for him in that moment was white hot rage. Draco hadn't only provided Harry with company; he'd also helped him regain a sense of self-respect he had lost the day of Ginny's funeral. Harry was so damn furious with Ron, with Hermione and with the Weasley's in general that his own hands started to shake.

"I'm no mate of yours," he responded, piercing Ron with a frightening glare. His voice was low and dangerous, and as his furious green eyes finally met Ron's he watched the other man wince – whether from his tone or the scars that deformed his face, he couldn't be sure.

"Don't be like that, Harry," Ron whispered back, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean to hit you that day, I swear. I just couldn't handle everything."

Harry's grip tightened on his own glass, and he placed it on a nearby table to avoid breaking it and causing a scene. He could see Hermione watching with concern from where she chatted with Luna across the room, and Harry simply couldn't bring himself to care what she thought.

"And the last four years?" His voice was flat, dead. "Where were you then, mate?" The inflection on the word was so sarcastic and derisive that it could have come straight from Draco's mouth. "While I raised a child alone, where were you then? When I lost my wife and had no family to turn to, where was my best mate then? Did you think of me on your wedding day, when I wasn't there?" He turned away from Ron, his fingers itching towards his wand. "You don't ever get to call me your mate again."

Although he hadn't raised his voice, Harry was aware that in that moment his magic was uncontrolled and wild. Even in the back corner of the room, he was drawing attention to himself with his inability to control it. Ron shrank back from him, and Harry turned away in disgust. Coward.

Before he could move to leave, a cool hand wrapped around his wrist. Harry turned to look into the beautiful, grey eyes of Draco Malfoy before taking a deep, calming breath. A smile flickered on his face as Draco's cool fingers rubbed the back of his wrist, bringing him back to himself enough to stop gripping his wand.

"What's he doing here?" Ron, for all his momentary fear, was all bluster again as he stepped right up to Draco rudely. "Nobody in their right mind would invite a Slytherin."

"He's with me," Harry shot back angrily. "I invited him."

"A Slytherin, Harry?" Ron's face was red, his tone tinged with disgust. "Surely you can do better than that."

"A Slytherin is a sure sight better than a Gryffindor right now," Harry shot back, unwavering. "In fact, I'd say that the whole Gryffindor loyalty thing was a load of bullshit to you lot."

The people nearest to them turned as Harry's voice raised slightly.

"I already told you" –

"You told him nothing," Draco interjected smoothly, "except that you think he's an idiot who should forgive years of your abysmal treatment because you've deigned to speak to him again." Draco directed his most condescending sneer at the redhead, looking at him as though he was a vile creature. "Harry and Teddy deserve better than you both."

Ron's face turned a puce colour as he took in Draco's hand on Harry's wrist, and Harry's own glare aimed at him. "You're just desperate," he spat unthinkingly, aiming to wound with his words. "You have no one else left, so you've resorted to hanging out with a bloody Malfoy." Ron's words were vicious as his temper flared, his words daggers as they stabbed at Harry. Harry saw from the corner of his eye that Hermione was making her way hurriedly towards them and several other Slytherins had opened their mouths ready to respond, but Harry beat them to it.

Harry didn't know what made voice one of the suspicions that had plagued him for years. Perhaps the guilt he had felt over being a target for death eaters leading to Ginny's death had made him overlook the nagging suspicion he had, or perhaps he had been too upset at the time to examine it closely. However, the rage that he felt at Ron's words transcended his own self- control. "Oh yes, I'm as desperate as you were to outdo me that you told Dolohov the location of Grimmauld Place." Harry spat back, his voice dripping with pure venom.

A silence transcended the room, so complete that Harry could have heard a pin drop. Ron's face went from puce to white in the blink of an eye. Harry knew then he had been right, and it was only Draco's suddenly tight hand around his wrist that stopped him taking a swing at the redhead.

"I didn't mean, I was drunk"- he started to splutter, before Harry's enraged shout cut him off. "Admit it, Ronnykins," he sneered, "You were our secret keeper and I'd been offered the Head Auror role. You were so damn jealous that you sold us out for a pint of bloody butterbeer." Harry turned away in disgust as Hermione, who had finally reached them, turned to Ron with an ashen face. If he looked at the man now, he didn't know if he could control himself and he was at Neville's party. He took a slow, shaky breath to calm himself.

Hermione reached Ron in record time. "Is that true?" She asked him, her tone deceptively casual.

"I didn't know it was Dolohov," Ron responded through bloodless lips. "The bloke was using Polyjuice. I thought I was talking to Smith, letting off some steam and all. It was an accident."

"Accidentally revealing the location of Potter's home in the Leaky Cauldron?" It was Draco who to Harry's surprise spoke up, his tone completely incredulous. "How on Earth," he spat at Ron, "Could you be so completely selfish." It wasn't even a question, but a statement of sheer shock that a wizard would willingly break a charm so important, especially when he'd been entrusted by his best friend. The irony wasn't lost on Harry that his own secret keeper had betrayed him much as his parents had. "If it hadn't been Dolohov, everyone in that room would have known the address by the end of the night anyway."

"Oi," George spoke up from the doorway to the dining room, "Don't talk to him like that." He was glaring at Malfoy although his gaze lacked heat as his head swivelled awkwardly between Harry, Ron and Draco.

"I'll talk to him however I please," Malfoy snarled back, his grey eyes flashing with heat. "You lot ignored him for years as he mourned his wife and raised a child alone, because this absolute twat," he gestured rudely at Ron, "got his sister killed? And you blamed Potter for it?" His disgust was clear to anyone listening. What Ron had done was the greatest betrayal, and if Draco was anything it was loyal to family.

"We didn't know." Molly Weasley's tone was hushed and clogged with emotion. Harry chanced a glance at her – her eyes were filled with tears. "Harry never told us."

"No, Ron never told you." Harry shot his most hostile grimace at the matriarch. "And I didn't know. I only guessed." Harry deliberately avoided going into detail of his confrontation with Dolohov after he had found Ginny on the floor, which had been when his suspicion began to take root. If Ron could have turned whiter, he did in that moment. Harry ignored Hermione's small intake of breath.

The silence that followed was deafening. As Harry's shoulders shook with rage and something that felt horribly like hurt, Draco reached up to place a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave a small squeeze for comfort. Ron's eyes narrowed at the movement - exposed, ashamed and vulnerable, he behaved in the same way he always had when he was backed into a corner and lashed out at the easiest target available.

"So, what, you're fucking him then?" Ron burst out, his face once again red. The background music was the only sound as guests desperately tried to hear the conversation.

To Harry's surprise and also horror, it was Neville who responded first. This had been exactly what he'd tried to avoid – a scene at Neville's engagement party.

"And what if he is?" Nev asked Ron, his voice challenging from the doorway of the formal dining room. "Not like it's any of your business. You haven't been part of Harry's life for years now and have no say over who he sees or what he does."

As Ron opened his mouth to respond, Harry felt a warm hand slide into his own. He glanced towards Draco, who to his surprise had a faint smile playing on his lips. He squeezed Harry's hand then, and Harry froze for a moment before deciding he quite liked the warmth of the other man's hand in his own. He decided to leave it, to hell with what anyone else thought.

"Maybe he is," Draco responded smoothly, "And I guarantee I'm a better fuck than you'll ever be Weasley. Maybe that's why Granger looks miserable all the time." To Ron's horror, several people including Harry tittered at the comment. Harry was surprised to see that Luna, Hannah, Neville and Dean were amongst those amused. Perhaps he had more allies than he realised.

Before Ron could reply, Hermione had his arm grasped in her own and began dragging him from the room towards the door, choosing to ignore Draco's comment. As Ron began to struggle, her face turned into something terrible and she silenced him with the most vicious 'silencio' Harry had ever seen – even Draco was impressed, he could tell by the raised eyebrows.

"I'm so sorry," she said to Neville as she reached the door with Ron. "I'm so sorry he started this tonight." Her eyes turned to Harry as she apologised, and Harry knew that she wasn't only apologising to Neville. He turned his head away – he wasn't ready to hear her. "I swear I didn't know he was going to do this. Nev, I'll talk to you later." With that she continued to drag a struggling Ron from the room and was soon joined by Arthur Weasley who looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. He grabbed his son by the upper arm and jerked him from the manor, leaving Ron stumbling in his wake.

Silence remained for several moments, until Neville turned to Harry with a forced smile. "Time for that fire whisky?" He asked, his tone deceptively calm. Harry barked out a laugh and the spell was broken, everyone turning to undoubtedly discuss what they had just overheard. As the roar of voices again picked up, Harry pulled his arm from Draco's hand and gestured for Neville to follow him outside.

"I'm so sorry," he finally gasped when he had Neville alone. His eyes were wild as he begged Nev to believe that he hadn't intended to ruin his night. "I didn't mean for that to happen, I swear."

"Bah." To Harry's immense surprise, Nev waved a hand in the air. He didn't smile though – his face was set in a flat line. "I fully realised inviting you both was asking for disaster. I was hoping you'd stand up to the arrogant prat." His face shifted, to watch Harry sadly. "Did Ron really tell Dolohov about Grimmauld Place?"

"Yeah." Harry's response was short as he stared into the grounds of the castle. The darkness of the night reflected back at him; the cool air fresh on his flushed face. "From what I could tell, he was drunk and jealous. Downing a few at the Leaky Cauldron, you know." Harry looked at Nev who had gone still – he knew Hannah worked at the pub. "Dolohov came up to him disguised as Zacharias Smith – you know that prat of a Hufflepuff he works with in the Ministry." Neville grunted in affirmation. "The whole thing was planned on Dolohov's end. Doesn't excuse what he let slip, but I really don't think he meant for anything bad to happen. Just a bit of jealousy on both their parts, a bit of a boast on his end about the amount of power he had over me and all."

"Hell of a thing to be jealous about," Nev finally said. "To break a Fidelius Charm."

"I'd only guessed," Harry replied softly, "Dolohov mentioned something about taking after my parents when he gave me this," he said, pointing at his face. "Killed the prick in the end, but there was only one way he could have known how to get into Grimmauld Place."

"Damn." Neville didn't say anything, just stared into the darkness next to Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry. But why did you still think it was your fault Ginny died?"

"Because even if Ron hadn't spilled the beans, Dolohov would have just found another way." Harry shrugged. "If I wasn't who I am, if she hadn't married me, he wouldn't have gone after her."

Neville had no response to that, only put a large hand on Harry's shoulder in comfort. He didn't shrug it off, and they stood there as the party raged behind them.

"Well, at least they'll be talking about this one for years," Neville joked, pointing behind him with his thumb towards the noise.

"Mmm," Harry agreed absently, still lost in his thoughts. "You'll be all over the Prophet tomorrow."

"Ugh." Neville pulled a face. "No, that'll be the picture of you and Draco holding hands." He waggled his eyebrows devilishly as Harry groaned. "He's good for you, Harry."

"I know." The admission even shocked himself. "He's good for Teddy, too. Almost too good. The smug bastard." Harry must have sounded forlorn as Nev turned to look at him.

"You like him." It was a statement, not a question. Harry merely nodded. "Does he know?"

"No." Harry's voice was a whisper. "I doubt he'd want to hang around a fag."

"Jesus Harry." Neville scoffed him on the shoulder lightly. "Don't say that word. Besides, it's not really accurate is it."

"Do you think that'll matter to them?" Harry gestured broadly around him, referring to the wizarding world. "I can see it all over the Prophet now."

"Do you really care what they say about you?" Neville's eyes were boring into him, demanding the answer.

"No," Harry finally whispered. "But I don't want to ruin this. It's the first time I've felt something since, well, since Ginny died."

"Then don't."

Harry spun around, his hand flying to his wand. Malfoy stood leaning in the doorway to the manor, arms crossed over his chest. His signature eyebrow was quirked, but his lips were drawn tight, giving Harry no indication as to what he was thinking or how much he'd overheard. Harry felt his stomach plummet to his feet as Neville stepped around him.

"I think I'll get back to the party," Nev said lightly, giving Harry a brief one-armed hug. He appeared strangely smug, and Harry wondered if he hadn't engineered the whole thing to make Harry admit his feelings. "Are you coming?"

It was Malfoy who spoke. "I think it's getting a bit late for the children; don't you think so Potter?" His tone was coolly polite, and Harry flinched slightly. They were back to surnames – that didn't bode well for him. A feeling of dread settled over him – Malfoy was a pureblood, and most likely would want to cut ties with him after he had overheard Harry's confession. Why was he so damn stupid?

Heartsore, Harry only nodded his head and stared at the ground, following Draco morosely as the other wizard set off in search of Teddy and Scorpius. He ignored the whispers and stares that followed him, and even the sight of Teddy and Scorpius nodding off on each other's shoulders in a quiet sitting room wasn't enough to lift Harry's spirits. He moved forward to collect Teddy carefully in his arms, conscious of Draco's warm body next to him doing the same thing. As Harry lifted Teddy his arm touched Draco's unintentionally, and he felt him jump.

Fighting back the sudden pain he felt, Harry pressed his lips to Teddy's hair for comfort. The boy stirred sleepily and buried his head in Harry's neck, completely trusting. Despite his mood, a small smile graced Harry's lip. Teddy was his one constant, and he knew no matter what he would protect the small boy.

He felt Draco's eyes on him, and he glanced up. Draco was watching Teddy snuggle into him, his eyes unfathomable. Catching Harry's eye, he nodded at the door and Harry proceeded to follow him into the night, stopping only to farewell the few guests he knew as he moved into the darkness.

The apparition to Harry's flat was silent, neither man daring to speak. Malfoy followed Harry into Teddy's room as he lay the boy in his bed, covering him with his blanket. He didn't want to wake Teddy for the sake of brushing his teeth or getting changed – he figured one night wouldn't hurt.

As Draco stood behind him, Harry summoned a second mattress to sit on the floor next to Teddy's bed. "Let them sleep here," Harry said, completely exhausted. Expecting Draco to argue, he was surprised as he placed the boy gently onto it and covered him with the spare blanket from Teddy's bed that Harry passed him. "I can drop him off in the morning," Harry told him.

"Hmm." Draco didn't object but didn't assent either. Unwilling to look at him, Harry turned and closed the door gently, leaving the quiet breaths of the two sleeping children behind.

He was aware of Draco following close behind him as he moved into the living area, flicking the light switch as he went. As light flooded the space, the tension between the men increased thickly. What had been said under the cover of darkness could no longer remain hidden, and Harry braced himself against his kitchen island, elbows pressed into the benchtop. Draco stood behind him, not able to see his face.

"Was what you said true?" Draco's tone was quiet as he stared at the floor, one toe carelessly cuffing the carpet. It was a strangely nervous act; one he wouldn't have associated with Draco Malfoy. "About Weasley?" He obviously felt the need to clarify.

Harry sighed. He reached up to run a hand through his hair and tugged hard at a strand, a bad habit of his he fell into when he was stressed. "Yes," he responded softly. Draco muttered a curse under his breath.

"And was the other part true as well?" Harry didn't need to ask what Draco meant – he knew exactly what he had overheard.

"Yeah," Harry replied, turning away from the kitchen and sinking heavily into his couch. He placed his head in his hands and groaned – he was deathly tired, and he had enough drama in this one night to last a year.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Draco's voice was calm, controlled.

"I don't know, Draco," Harry groaned. "Does it really matter that much to you that I like both men and women? Jesus Christ." He rubbed his eyes in frustration. He hadn't taken Draco for a homophobe, but the other man's silence was making him nervous.

"It's important to me," Draco responded delicately, remaining in his place next to the kitchen. Harry heard his weight shift slightly and knew he would be leaning his lanky frame against the countertop. "Why do you think it would matter to me?"

"You heard me," Harry muttered. "Earlier. You know why."

"I want to hear it from you." Draco's tone was conversational but by no means friendly – he was demanding an answer from Harry.

"Damnit Draco, because I thought you might hate me," he finally muttered. "You're a pureblood and all that. You have a son." Harry scoffed. "I'm not good for your image."

A brief silence followed, where Draco said nothing. When he eventually spoke, his voice was icy cold. "Do you think I give a shit about my image?" His words were scornful. "Do you think I care what those idiots at the Prophet write about me?"

Harry dared a glance at Draco and immediately wished he hadn't – the wizard's brow was furrowed angrily and his lip curled as he glared at Harry. He was furious. "You're a complete moron, Potter."

Harry's own ire sparked to life, and he stood to glare defiantly back at Malfoy. "You said Astoria Greengrass couldn't meet your needs," he responded, his voice an aggressive whisper. "If your pureblood wife couldn't give you what you needed, how the hell could I?"

"Because I'm gay, you utter halfwit!"

Harry froze mid-sentence, his mouth gaping however Draco failed to notice. "I'm utterly appalled you would think so little of me."

"What was I meant to think!" Harry snapped back. "Eight years of hatred between us and that's all in the past?"

"I would have thought you of all people would understand that people can change," Draco hurled back. "Haven't I shown you that over the past month?"

"My own best mate turned on me," Harry responded viciously. "How can I trust anyone after that?"

"Oh, that's right, treat me like Weasley." Draco's voice dripped with venom. "I admit I can be an asshole, but I have some morals you know." Draco's grey eyes were icy fire with his anger, and Harry's mind flashed back to Malfoy manor when he had been seventeen, and Draco could have turned him over to Bellatrix but didn't. It dawned on him that despite Draco's many flaws he was being truthful – he really was a shit at times, but he didn't turn on people he cared about.

"You're right," Harry responded heavily, all fight draining from him. "I made an assumption about you and it was wrong. I shouldn't have." He dropped to the sofa once more, staring at the ground. At seventeen, he would have continued to argue with Draco as a matter of pride if nothing else – but he had grown up since then.

Malfoy was quiet, only his heavy breathing giving away his upset. After a period, he proclaimed in his haughtiest tone that "you have a problem, Potter."

"Do tell." Harry's own toned was tired.

"You treat everyone like they want to kill you."

"Most of them do. You did, once."

"Fuck you Potter." Draco's tone was soft and much of the anger had drained, belying his words. "I think we need to continue this conversation tomorrow. After I get very, very drunk without you." Ignoring Harry's sound of protest, Draco pushed off the kitchen counter and strode towards the door.

"You may drop Scorpius off in the morning," he threw over his shoulder as he left the room. "But not until at least midday."

He might have heard Harry utter a very nasty word in his wake but didn't stop to clarify. As the door closed behind him, Harry groaned into his hands. He was tired, angry, shocked and hurt by the evening, and he may have ruined any chance at a friendship with one of the only people he cared about.

And he did care about Draco, he realised. It wasn't even that the man was likeable, but there was something steady in his friendship. He didn't hide that he was an ass and didn't make apologies for it but was rather so assured in who he was as a person that Harry admired him. He also had a deep devotion to his family that resonated with Harry, which he didn't show through words but actions.

It was much later that Harry eventually dragged himself to bed, pausing only to throw his glasses on his bedside table. With the two children in the other room he couldn't even take a dreamless sleep potion and knew he wouldn't be getting any rest that evening.