Word Count: 1424

~ Chapter 19 ~

Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?

They took a few days off the questions, and honestly, it was great. Getting to know Draco a little more organically was much more fun; especially when he did it by chasing him around their little ward enclosure on their brooms.

Another nice day found them back outside, and Draco slipped the list of questions from his pocket. "Shall we?"

"Sure, sure." Harry waved his hand for Draco to read the question, and then frowned when he did.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "An odd question that, isn't it?"

"How so?"

"Well, I mean, surely anyone with like… a large family would struggle choosing just one? I mean, I don't have any blood family that I'm close to, but even then I can't choose between Teddy or Ron or Hermione."

Draco shifted on the blanket, reaching up to rearrange the umbrella so it covered him more completely. "I guess it could be hard for someone in a close family. For me, I'm sure you already know the answer."

"Your mother."

Draco nodded. "Of course. She's the person in the world I love the most. I'd be… I don't know if disturbing is the word. Devastated, certainly."

"It's an odd word choice," Harry agreed. "But—"

"You two look like you're having fun."

Harry sat up, his wand trained on their uninvited guest before Draco even had the time to look up and see who it was, and he was a little surprised by the fast reaction. He supposed that during his time in the safe house, Draco had relaxed a little.

He wasn't sure what it said that Potter was still so quick on the draw.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, lowering his wand as he eyed Kingsley.

"I came to liberate you," Kingsley said, conjuring a comfortable looking lawn chair beside Harry's blanket, sitting down in it and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "We caught the guy sending the threats; the boys we arrested for attacking you were his sons. His youngest son was killed by Death Eaters."

Harry nodded as though that explained everything but Draco frowned. "What does that have to do with Harry?"

If Kingsley thought the use of Harry's first name was weird, he didn't react to it. He glanced at Harry, who answered for both of them.

"Some people think that I should have ended the war sooner. They blame me for their losses as much as they do the people that actually committed the murders."

Draco's frown deepened. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Harry snorted. "It's… it is what it is. As sad as it is to say, I'm used to it. You're not the only one that's been spat on in the street, Draco. People want someone to blame and I'm an easy target, I suppose."

"Of course," Kingsley added, "anyone with a brain knows that none of it was Harry's fault, but grief can do strange things to people's thought processes, unfortunately. Anyway, he's been caught, and he's being given the help he so desperately needs, so… you can go home, Harry."

Harry nodded slowly, glancing at Draco. "That's good. What about Draco?"

Kingsley sighed. "I can't make you stay," he said to Draco. "But I don't think it's safe for you to leave yet. It's your choice, it's always been your choice, you know that."

Draco sighed, flopping back down on his blanket. "I'll stay for a while longer if you think it's best."

Kingsley nodded and looked at Harry expectantly.

"I'll have Kreacher take me home later today," Harry told him. "And I'll drop by your office tomorrow."

"Good. Have a good rest of your afternoon, gentlemen."

They exchanged goodbyes, and Kingsley left, leaving behind his lawn chair and an air of tension between Harry and Draco that hadn't really been there for weeks.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Draco interrupted him. "We've only got one more question left. Shall we do it before you pack up?"

Settling back on his blanket, Harry nodded. "Hit me."

Draco read the last question and groaned. Merlin. "Share a personal problem and ask your partner's advice on how he or she might handle it."

"Nothing like an easy question to finish, is there?" Harry said wryly, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell."

Draco chuckled quietly. "I can help you pack while you think about it, if you'd like?"

Harry shook his head. "I can have Kreacher do it, it's fine."

Draco nodded, then took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll go first then. How, uh…. How do I go about making up for the mistakes I've made? How do I move on from them?"

Harry sat up, brushing his hand through his hair again. "I think that you could, and probably should, apologise to the people you personally hurt. You could do that by letter or face to face, but you should at least try, you know? And… I think you should train to be a healer."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"What better way to make up for your mistakes than helping people? Healers help everyone, right? Or they try to, at least. And, well, it's what you want to do, and that'll make you even more effective at it."

He was quiet for a moment, and then a small smile tilted Draco's lips. "Thanks, Harry."

"Uh huh. Okay… my turn, I guess. How do I break the mold set out for me by the Wizarding World? I'm going to leave here, and the public are going to expect me to walk straight into the Auror Academy like they've been expecting since the Battle of Hogwarts. I don't want that."

"I think you need to decide to just say 'fuck 'em'," Draco replied, shrugging. "You've got to live your life for yourself, Harry, not for other people. If they don't like it, tell them to go and sign up for the Aurors and put their own lives at risk. I think they'll probably hush right up if you tell them that."

Harry snorted but nodded. "I think you're probably right. Thanks, Draco."

He stretched out on the blanket for a moment and then pushed himself up to his feet. Silently, they vanished their outdoor furniture and Draco followed him inside. Harry wandered around the house, picking up things that he'd left draped here or on a table there.

Despite Kreacher being able to do it in mere minutes, he was prolonging the moment. He tried to tell himself that he didn't know why he was procrastinating on leaving, but that would be a lie.

He knew exactly why.

He didn't want to leave Draco.

There was no attachment to the house; in fact, Harry was looking forward to his own flat, and his own bed, and seeing his friends, but….

Yeah, he really didn't want to leave Draco.

When he couldn't procrastinate anymore, Harry called Kreacher to transport his things back to his flat before he walked down to the kitchen, where Draco was sitting at the table, scribbling over a piece of parchment.

"What are you doing?" he asked, as he set the kettle to boil.

"Writing a letter to the editor of Witch Weekly," Draco said, looking up to meet Harry's eyes. "I told you I'd be writing to them when we finished the questions, didn't I?"

"Oh."

Harry glanced at the kettle and sighed, flicking it off. "Well, I'm heading out. I… I guess I'll see you around, Malfoy."

Harry didn't wait for an answer. He knew he shouldn't be hurt, but he was. Really hurt, because sure, maybe Draco hadn't fallen in love and maybe he thought it was stupid but…

They'd become friends over those questions, hadn't they? They'd shared things with each other that they'd never said to anyone else and now Draco was just… disregarding all of that so that he could send a damning letter that would probably get added to a pile of hate mail and set on fire.

Had Harry been so stupid as to think that Draco had taken the whole thing seriously?

"Potter?"

"If you need anything, call for Kreacher," Harry said, offering a tight smile. "I'll make sure he knows to come to your call."

"Oh. Uh. Thanks."

Harry nodded, shuffling his foot against the floor. "Right. Well, bye, Malfoy."

Draco seemed taken aback by the quick change, but he nodded anyway. "Bye, Potter."