Astoria Malfoy was irritated.
It wasn't anyone's fault, she knew. It was her own exhaustion from a sleepless night that had led her normally sunny personality into the irritable state that she found herself in today - of course, it didn't help that her latest assistant had managed to spill tea on no less than six new clients and mix up the paperwork for Andy Smith and Andrea Smith. All within the space of three hours. She was now two hours behind schedule, and if things didn't start moving smoothly again soon she'd have to owl her husband to pick their son up from her sister's flat. Daphne had agreed to watch Scorpius while their usual nanny dealt with a family emergency, but only after being promised that she would loan Daphne the pearl necklace that their Mother had bestowed upon Astoria when she turned of age. (Daphne had been given one as well, but she claimed she'd lost it long ago. Astoria knew for a fact, however, that Daphne's husband had sold it to settle gambling debts.)
"Mrs. Malfoy?" A timid knock sounded on her open office door, and she looked up to see one of her assistants standing somewhat fearfully in the doorway.
Astoria took a breath and let it out slowly. Her assistant was not the reason for her exhaustion; it would do no good to give into the impulse to snap at him. "Yes, Kenny?"
"A young lady is requesting our services," Kenny said, his posture relaxing at her calm tone. "She's not our typical client, but I didn't think you'd want me to turn her down. I got the feeling that she's in some trouble."
"Did she fill out our intake form?"
"Yes ma'am. Here." Kenny handed her a sheet of parchment.
Astoria glanced it over: Everything seemed to be in order. "Send her in," she said as she handed the parchment back.
Kenny nodded and disappeared, reappearing a moment later with a pale woman with dark hair. Astoria gently smiled at her as she dismissed Kenny with a wave of her hand, indicating that he should close the door on his way out. He nodded in understanding and she turned her attention to the nervous woman standing awkwardly before her. "Please, sit," she said, hoping her voice sounded reassuring.
The woman followed the instruction without a word, her hands twisting in her lap. Astoria was used to the fear that she saw in her clients eyes by now, but it still broke her heart to see that same lost expression on each new witch or wizard's face.
"What's your name?" she asked gently.
At this, the woman stiffened, and Astoria knew that was a no-go. She decided to switch tactics. "How did you learn about us?"
"My best friend," the woman said quietly. "She needed your help a few years ago. She told me how to find your organization. She's watched me go through a series of rough relationships, although none that have reached the level of - of needing the kind of help that Katie did."
"Then I take it you aren't here because of the usual reasons?"
"No," the woman responded. "I know I'm not your typical client. My boyfriend" - her voice caught - "treated me well."
"Can you tell me why you came to us?" Astoria asked. She watched as another wave of fear rolled across the woman's face, and hurried to reassure her. "We will accept you as a client regardless, but we can better place you in a new life - if that's what you're looking for - if we know the places or people that you need to avoid."
"I can't - I don't know who -"
Astoria watched her struggle with her thoughts for a moment. Her heart went out to this woman. She looked to be barely above her own age, and frightened to death. She didn't have the signs of abuse, thank goodness, but something or someone had obviously scared her.
"If it is a question of trust, I am happy to discuss what security measures we have in place," Astoria said. "Our Confidentiality Vows were invented by Hermione Granger, and are cast by people who have been directly trained by her in the subtle nuances of such spell work."
The woman gave a small nod, and some of the tension left her face. "It's not that I question your security measures or your spell work," she said hesitantly. "It's just that for everyone's safety it'd be best if I kept things to myself. I would never forgive myself if someone got hurt because of what I know."
Astoria decided to allow it for the moment. The woman didn't know her and didn't have any reason to trust her, but perhaps in time she'd learn to do so. The clients that went through her organization often spent a month or more here before being placed; perhaps time would allow trust to take hold.
Draco Malfoy walked around to the back of Gringotts Wizarding Bank and pressed the tip of his wand to a stone just above chest height. To the casual observer, it looked the same as any other stone that made up the massive building towering above him. Upon closer inspection, however, there was a very small round patch of stone that was a different texture than the rest.
Scarcely a second passed before the patch of stone lit up underneath the wand tip. Draco shivered at the colour: It was the exact shade of the Killing Curse. Several times he had petitioned the Goblins to change the shade that admitted him into the employee entrance, but each time they had merely told him that they would "pass it up". In other words, they weren't going to do a damned thing.
"Did you bring me back something for lunch?"
Draco threw an annoyed glance at the guard stationed just inside the entrance. "Not this time, Hank," he said politely, his outward tone much different than his inward one. Hank was a forgetful man in his late seventies. The only reason he still held his job was because of some relative of his higher up on the food chain, a fact that irritated Draco nearly as much as the knowledge that the man was also a half-blood squib. Management was thick to think that a squib should guard anything, much less the entrance to a bank, but he knew enough to keep his opinions to himself.
He made the trip back to his office quickly, in a hurry to finish up a patron's transfer paperwork. Why Dedalus Diggle wanted to move to China, of all places, was beyond him. It wasn't his place to judge such things, merely to complete the paperwork that allowed for funds to be moved from one bank to another, but he couldn't quite comprehend why someone would ever want to move from Britain to China.
The paperwork took the rest of the afternoon (he had once petitioned the Goblins to condense the official documents - he'd even figured out how to bring it down to ten pages without losing anything important - but they'd reacted so strongly that he'd dropped it quickly, fearing for his job). By the time the clock chimed five, he managed to have everything completed and ready to owl off to Mr. Diggle for his signature in the morning.
Draco left the building quickly, eager to shake off the boredom that came from hours spent locked in his office. He preferred the days when he was able to stretch his legs a bit: Giving tours to prospective new patrons was a welcome change from filling out paperwork.
Once outside, he slowed his pace down to enjoy the short walk to the apparition point. The warm sun was a welcome feel after the cool air that permeated his office. Sometimes he wondered why Gringotts was so chilly; he assumed it had something to do with the vast underground caverns.
The brief stroll lifted his spirits, and by the time he appeared in front of his home he was feeling cheerful once more. Even the sight of his lawn, which had grown two inches since this morning, wasn't enough to dampen his mood.
"Daddy!" A blonde blur slammed into Draco's legs, throwing him off balance. He grabbed the sturdy wood coat rack by the door for support, a smile playing on his lips as he looked down at his six year old son.
"Draco! I didn't expect you home for another hour."
Draco looked up at his wife, standing on the stairs just beyond the entryway. "I managed to finish earlier than I thought." He allowed his smile to show fully, a twinkling look in his eyes. "I see Scorpius managed to keep the secret."
Astoria gave a tinkling laugh, her green eyes sparkling. "Now I understand why he's been so quiet today. Even Daphne commented on it. You kept the secret very well," she said, directing the last statement toward Scorpius. "And just what is this secret that you're keeping?"
"Daddy said we're gonna to celebrate you," Scorpius blurted out.
"My boys want to celebrate me! Oh now this is a surprise." Astoria looked at Draco. "What have I done that is cause for celebration?"
Draco hoisted Scorpius up into his arms and walked toward his wife; she in turn moved down the stairs until she was right in front of him. He bent slightly to kiss her, despite Scorpius' childish squeal of "Daddy how gross!"
"We're celebrating the fact that you were granted the extra funding for the Underground yesterday," Draco explained.
Astoria let out a shriek of delight and hugged him and Scorpius, a wide smile on her face. "I got the funding? Why haven't they sent the owl yet? How did you find out?"
Draco couldn't help but smile wider at the expression of glee on Astoria's face. "I overheard a couple of goblins discussing the logistics of the transfer. Apparently they'll have to move the gold several levels up to where your organization's vault is located. I don't know why the Ministry hasn't owled you yet, but since they've already told the bank I'd call it official."
"Mommy got da fun - got da fun -" Scorpius frowned, stumped on how to pronounce the word funding, and Astoria gave a breathless laugh. "Yes dear, mommy got the funding."
She looked at Draco, still grinning. "Do I get to know where we're going?"
"Daddy wouldn't tell me." Scorpius pouted, his lower lip jutting out in an adorable way.
"And rightly so," Draco teased. "Two secrets are harder to keep than one, you know."
"I coulda done it," Scorpius protested.
"Of course son," Draco said fondly. "Because proper gentleman don't kiss and tell."
"Pro-pro- propa gentmen don' kiss at all!" Scorpius declared firmly.
Both Draco and Astoria burst out laughing. "Never change my darling," Astoria said.
Scorpius frowned and crossed his arms. "Won't!" he said forcefully.
Draco looked at the two of them, his beautiful wife and stubborn son, and felt a burst of some emotion he couldn't place. Somehow, despite all that life had thrown at him, all was well.
The restaurant Draco had made a reservation at for this occasion was new; he'd heard great reviews from his colleagues. He'd thought they had been pulling his leg when they'd described the place to him, but as he walked in with his family in tow he discovered that none of the accounts of the fancy themed decor had been an exaggeration.
Scorpius squealed with delight at the sight of the waiter wearing a Phoenix costume, but his little head kept swerving back and forth and up and down, as if unable to decide where to keep his attention focused. Astoria seemed to be following her son's example, albeit more discreetly.
They were seated in a room just off to the side, through an archway that flashed letters at them as they passed by: PHOENIX FAMILIES, it spelled swiftly, and Draco had to give the restaurant credit for its foresight: Romantic couples would frequent this place more often if families with children that might make too much noise were seated in separate rooms. Other places got around this by putting up 'bubbles of silence' or some other similar spell work, but the problem with those was that they tended to silence everyone not inside the bubble, including the people who were supposed to be taking your order.
"I had seven walk-in clients today," Astoria said to Draco as they settled in their booth.
"That's a rather large number in one day, isn't it?"
"Yes," Astoria confirmed, "but word of mouth has finally started to bring in extra clients."
"It's both encouraging and sad at the same time," Draco commented.
"Why sad?" Scorpius piped up.
"Because it means that there are lots of sad people in bad situations out there," Draco explained.
"But Mummy makes them happy again, right?"
"I do my best, honey," Astoria said.
"Did you have a good time at your Aunt Daphne's today?" Draco asked his son, deciding now was not the time for Scorpius to play Twenty Questions about Astoria's work at the Underground. There would be time enough in the future for him to learn that the world in which he lived could be a scary place. Luckily, Scorpius took the bait, and he and Astoria were treated to a long ramble about a picture book Daphne had let him read.
Their meal was delicious, and after dessert ('Creamy Ashes', which was really just black licorice ice cream) Draco patted his stomach in content. "It seems the reviews I've received have been correct," he commented.
"They'll do well," Astoria agreed.
"Yummy," Scorpius said sleepily. His head listed toward his Mother and rested against her arm.
"I think it's about time to head home," Draco remarked with a nod at Scorpius, who had closed his eyes as he leaned more heavily against Astoria.
Astoria gave him a look in agreement and then directed her gaze back to their son, a fond expression softly showing in her eyes.
"I'm going to nip into the loo for a moment and then we can leave," Draco said.
Astoria bobbed her head as he stood up, and he directed his footsteps to take him to a door he'd seen on their way into the family room.
Of course, Draco would reflect later, it probably would have been a better idea to simply wait until he'd gotten home. Perhaps if he'd taken Divination in school he might have foreseen it.
As he opened the door to the bathroom he heard a voice, muttering in a soft sing song chant that repeated over and over: "Mustn't, can't, won't..."
He frowned and opened the door just a crack wider to see who was inside and nearly had a heart attack as he recognized none other than Harry Potter. He stared at the man. He hadn't seen Potter in person in years. Of course he'd seen him splashed across The Daily Prophet and Wizarding World Weekly, but the two men ran in different circles with (thank Salazar) little overlap, so he hadn't seen him since that gala opening of Homes for Hope (he'd spent the whole night making sure that certain people in attendance hadn't seen him, including Potter). That had been eight years ago, he realized. Time had done little to Potter: same messy hair, same glasses, same bespeckled look. What was different though, Draco noticed, was Potter's odd chant: He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, holding the sides of the sink, and sung the phrase over and over while staring unblinking into the mirror. Draco's mind raced as he wondered if he should let him be or go in, but his decision was made for him when Potter turned quite suddenly and noticed him standing there.
"Malfoy," he said, his voice radiating cold fury.
Draco knew he should walk away. No good would come of this, especially since Harry Potter still held a large amount influence in the Wizarding World. He was on the verge of turning around when Potter spoke again.
"I guess this makes us even, then," Potter's tone was condescending, almost taunting, and Draco felt a surge of anger. How dare Potter bring that up? He had worked hard to put the past behind him and make a life for himself that held no reminders of the War, and Potter thought he had the right to drag it all up and throw it in his face simply because they happened to run into each other?
Draco entered the room fully, and Potter's hand twitched as though itching to draw his wand.
"If my memory serves me right," Draco said coldly, "you almost killed me the last time we met in a bathroom. So no, Potter, this does not make us even."
Potter didn't move or speak for a moment. Draco noticed that the man still wasn't blinking. Anger was radiating off of him in waves.
"What are you going to do then, kill me?" Potter mocked. "If my memory serves me right, you couldn't kill even when you tried."
Draco took a sharp breath. He felt dizzy all of a sudden, as though all of the air in the room had been sucked out. How did Potter know? The only person he'd ever told was -
Potter seemed to read the question in his eyes. "I was on the Astronomy Tower that night," he said with relish, as though he was taking pleasure in seeing Draco's confusion and pain. "I was hidden, but I saw you Malfoy. I saw what a coward you were, allowing Snape to take over what was supposed to be your duty."
Draco's hand twitched this time. Potter saw the motion and laughed maliciously. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, his face lighting up with a nasty grin. "I'm still The Boy Who Lived, and you're an ex Death Eater. Who do you think they'll believe?"
"They're called memories, Potter." Draco found his voice at last, throwing out the comment in a tone as sarcastic as he could make it. "Perhaps growing up with muggles and mudbloods has stunted your magical education enough that you don't remember how we can use a Pensive to discover the truth from any lie."
Potter suddenly blinked, and Draco noticed that the man was no longer radiating intense fury; instead it was a subtle anger, somewhat less consuming than before. He didn't understand why, and for the first time wondered if something was wrong with Potter.
"Memories can be tampered with, Malfoy," Potter said. His tone was still angry, but quieter, filled with less blind rage.
"Is that a threat?" Draco asked.
Potter walked past him and opened the door. "It's a simple fact," he responded, his tone light, but Draco could hear the undercurrent of warning. He didn't move for a long moment after the door closed behind the man. Fear and anger and shame coursed through him, holding him in place, and memories started to flood into his brain, memories of a flash of green light from Professor Snape's wand and a body falling; of a bathroom and flashing spells and sudden blinding pain; of a boy with a camera -
The door opened and Draco was pulled out of his thoughts. Furious at himself for allowing such things to enter his brain again, he quickly moved to complete the whole reason why he'd come into the bathroom in the first place. He noticed the wizard who had entered was looking at him strangely, and as he caught a glance of himself in the mirror he realized why: His normally pale skin had gone even more pale, which only served to make him look ill.
He knew Astoria noticed that something was off as soon as he rejoined his family. She sent him a questioning look that he ignored. She looked vaguely hurt, but now wasn't the time for a conversation. He'd end up shouting at her for no reason, and they were in too public of a place for that.
So much for his feeling that all was well.
Colin idly stroked the colourful feathers of the booth he was sitting in as he watched the painting on the wall in front of him. It was, of course, a portrait of a phoenix, and at regular intervals it would burst into song, adding to the already pleasant melody drifting through the restaurant. It was soothing, and Colin knew that if Harry didn't come back from the bathroom soon he would fall asleep. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, leaning against the back cushion of his cozy chair.
Heavy breathing stirred him from his rest, and he opened his eyes to see Harry sliding back into his seat across from him. He looked unsettled, wild; his eyes darted back and forth and his hands were clenched in fists. "Harry?" he said cautiously. "What's wrong?"
There was a long pause, then - "Not here," Harry bit out.
"Okay," Colin said, now even more concerned. "Where should we go?"
"Follow me." Harry took off and Colin followed, now grateful that he'd settled the bill while Harry was in the bathroom. He'd fallen slightly behind, and he walked quicker to catch up. All traces of sleepiness had deserted him.
"Where are we going?"
Harry didn't answer. Colin frowned. Harry had his quirks, certainly; the years they'd spent together had shown enough of them. But Colin hadn't seen him like this before.
They walked until they found a small deserted alley. Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him into it, turning on the spot as he did so. They appeared behind a large tree. Colin looked at his surroundings: Harry had brought them to a park where they'd walked so many times before. It was in the muggle world, and Colin looked around to make sure no one had seen them. Thankfully the only people he could see were off in the distance.
"Walk with me." It was not a request.
Colin apprehensively complied. They walked in silence for a long while, and Colin figured that Harry was simply gathering his thoughts, but the longer the silence went on the more nervous he got; he took a deep breath to calm himself.
Harry stopped walking when they reached a miniature bridge under which a small stream flowed, the low melodic sound trickling its way through the grassy park and beyond the tree line. He leaned against the railing, his hands gripping it tightly, and Colin looked on feeling utterly helpless.
At long last Harry spoke, his voice shaking slightly. "Did I ever tell you about any of the requirements to remain on the force?"
Colin quirked an eyebrow, unsure of where this was headed. "No," he said warily.
Harry looked down at the water. "One of them is that every six months, no matter what, we all have to get a mind evaluation. No big deal, right? Spend an hour talking about how we feel about this or that, get a few tips for managing unhealthy emotions, and we're done."
There was silence for a few moments as Harry took a few deep breaths. Colin wanted so badly to give Harry some sort of comfort - a hand, hug, kiss, anything - but recognized that it wasn't the time.
"The first few years that was exactly what happened. The people who gave me the evaluations changed frequently, and either they didn't share notes or didn't take them, because they'd all ask the same routine questions and give the same advice."
Harry paused again. Colin leaned his hip against the railing and kept his eyes on his boyfriend.
"The last few years - it's been the same person. And she keeps notes, Colin. She keeps detailed notes. And every evaluation instead of the same routine shite she picks up where we left off, and she keeps digging, she wants to drag out all of the things that I thought I'd left behind, like the war, and all of the people that died because of me, and all the shite the Dursley's put me through..." Harry broke off and for the first time since he started talking he looked over at Colin. "I thought I put all that behind me but she keeps wanting me to talk it out...it's making me hurt again, Colin. It's making me hurt again."
Harry crumpled onto the railing, his knees giving out, and Colin moved to catch him, pulling him close and cradling him as they slid together to rest on the ground. Harry held tightly to him, his breathing shallow and uneven as though repressing tears. Colin simply held him and waited, and a feeling of déjà vu overtook him: Had it really been over a decade since he'd held his first love like this?
But this was Harry, and not the other boy, and he pushed those thoughts away quickly as Harry started to speak again.
"I was okay, I've been dealing with it on my own, but then I ran into Draco Malfoy of all people when I was in the bathroom, and it just - I felt something snap and - it brought me right back to the war again and I couldn't - I couldn't handle it..."
Colin felt grateful that Harry's face was buried in his chest, because he knew his emotions were written all over his face in that moment. Hearing that name after all these years - it still hurt like a punch to the gut. He'd never told Harry about his relationship with Draco, or even that he'd once been on friendly terms with him. Harry had made no secret of the fact that while he felt sorry for Malfoy, he still hated him, and Colin had preferred to avoid an unnecessary fight about the man.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Colin softly asked.
Harry pulled away from Colin just enough to be able to meet his gaze, and Colin met his eyes evenly. He tried to communicate without words that he loved Harry unconditionally, and perhaps Harry understood the message, because he gave a slight nod and spoke without hesitation. "For the same reason I was afraid to ask you to move in."
"I'm here," Colin said.
Harry looked away from him. "You say that now, but..."
Colin moved his hands to rest on Harry's cheeks, forcing him to look back. "I won't promise forever," he said, using Harry's own words from earlier that evening. "The future is unpredictable. But I can promise you that I'll be by your side until life decides that I shouldn't be."
Harry stared at him, his breathing still uneven and a lost look in his eyes, and Colin reacted partly on instinct and partly on memory: He leaned forward and kissed Harry. Softly, carefully, afraid to push too far while Harry was vulnerable. When he pulled away, a bit of life had returned to Harry's eyes.
"You don't have to go this alone, Harry. I'm here."
Harry continued to look at him, and for the first time, Colin could see a spark of hope written there.
It wasn't until late that night, however, that Colin allowed himself to wonder how they were going to get through this.
So much for all was well.
The light of a half-moon gleamed brightly in the darkness, illuminating the balcony in a soft glow. Draco stood by the railing, his hands resting lightly against the rough wood. The shadow of the night painted a picture of calm, but calm was the furthest thing from Draco's mind as he watched the stars twinkle and listened to the rustle of a light breeze sweep through the trees.
How could it be, even after all this time - how did the war always seem to emerge once more to prey upon his thoughts? Potter had been the trigger this time, yes, but as much as he tried to deny it, the reminders of things he'd rather forget were everywhere. He did his best to push aside the memories by engaging in his present - he excelled at his work at Gringotts (no matter how many obstacles the obnoxious goblins threw in his way), and he did his best to be an attentive husband and a devoted parent - yet still, the memories he'd long ago locked in a box in his mind refused to remain where he wanted.
"Draco?"
He turned his head slightly in response to his name, the only inclination that he made to show he'd heard his wife speak. He felt her hesitation permeate the air behind him. He sighed internally. He wasn't in the mood to explain his thoughts. He hoped she wouldn't press for answers.
He felt rather than saw her join him by the railing, her barely audible warming spell hitting him first before she cast another one for herself. He signaled his thanks with a curt nod. He knew she'd understand it. She seemed to understand his need to brood without speaking too: She held her tongue, her face upturned to look at the sky spread above like a vast blanket, and Draco's heavy mind relaxed with her steady presence. He felt himself grow tired, his eyes seeking the darkness in a different way, and she sensed this too: She took his hand and led him back to their bed, curling up against him in silk sheets.
As he drifted off, Astoria's hand softly running through his hair, one thought coasted gently through his brain.
The tragedy of war lies in the aftermath.