Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and those to whom she has licensed her creations, including without limitation Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I make no money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes:Thank you to Sansa, the best beta ever. I couldn't do any of this without her.
Chapter 14:Return of the Gypsy Kings
Sheaves of paper lay in neat piles on the Dursleys' dining table. The Wolsford application was almost finished. Harry bit his lip and looked over the application again, checking to see if he'd missed anything. There was, of course, one glaring omission—there was no signature from Harry's "parent or guardian." Harry snorted at the thought of the Dursleys guarding anything, much less Harry. The Dursleys didn't know about Wolsford and Harry hoped to keep it that way. Though, he hadn't been sure how he'd get around the requirement that they sign it. Mr. Snape had sneered at him and told him that he would take care of that.
All that was left was Harry's signature. Harry picked up the pen. He hesitated. After a few moments, he laid the pen back on its side. "Not just yet," he said to himself as he stood and wandered over to the refrigerator, perusing his dinner options. "Leftover curry or wilted lettuce. Gee, Harry, what ever will you choose," he murmured to himself with an exasperated sigh.
Harry left the kitchen and threw himself on the couch. He spent an inordinate amount of time wiggling into a comfortable spot simply because he could. It wasn't often he got to sit on the good furniture and he was damn well going to enjoy it while he could. The Dursleys were off on holiday once again leaving him to fend for himself. Harry didn't mind in the least. Vernon had accrued too much leave time and it had been "suggested" that he take extensive summer holidays to get rid of the excess leave. Harry rather thought it had something to do with that secretary Vernon couldn't seem to keep his hands away from, if Aunt Petunia's shrill, shrieking monologues were anything to go by. Too occupied with other things, and outside of the occasional smack, hard jostle, or cuff, Vernon had left him alone.
Their absence was rather a blessing, Harry thought, as he twisted around and surveyed the stacked piles of application essay revisions, entrance exam scratch sheets, photocopied application pages, and his abortive attempts at explaining his stellar academic performance, complete lack of notable extra-curricular activities (he rather doubted bobbing and weaving was considered sport), and the ministerial stamp that branded him as a victim-cum-hooligan in that vague, politically correct way. He twisted back around. No, he was not going to think about Wolsford right now. He'd done nothing but think of Wolsford for days and days. He switched on the telly.
After an hour or so of pretending to watch a ridiculous variety programme, Harry realized he was chewing the inside of his cheek and he was thinking about Wolsford. "This is barmy," he said with a roll of his eyes. He twisted around again and looked at the stacks of paper, taunting him with their silence. "You can't make me," Harry spat before hunching over and running his hands through his hair. "Bloody hell, I'm talking to paper now," he said. He leapt to his feet and strode over to the table. He sat down and picked up the pen once more. With efficient, focused movements, he turned to the back page of the application, smoothed the paper and set the pen at the edge of signature line. He took a deep breath and . . . hesitated. Again. He tossed the pen on the table, watching it roll back and forth a bit before settling. "Damn it," he swore, the force of it making his fringe flutter. He rubbed the back of this neck. He stared at the pen lying innocently on its side, waiting for him to pick it up and sign the application. "Not yet! I still have time. I'm not ready," Harry growled. "Shite. I'm talking to the pen now," Harry muttered. He rubbed his hand across his face for a few seconds. He felt all twitchy. He couldn't stand to sit at that table one more second. He leapt to his feet, ready to make his circuit around the house once again.
He stared at the contents of the fridge, puttered to the living room, watched the telly listlessly, and told himself over and over that he was not thinking about Wolsford, or sentient papers and pens, or, or—Mr. Snape. This was his fault, Harry decided.
Mr. Snape continued to come by the nursery and harass him. As long as he was buying things, Mr. Wells let him do what ever the hell he wanted. Harry was sure he was going to go to work one day only to discover that Mr. Snape had rearranged the entire nursery by hardiness zone, cross-referenced by shade tolerance.
No. That wouldn't happen. He was too focused on other things—one thing, actually, Harry's Wolsford application. Mr. Snape had even gone so far as to warn Harry that if he didn't make a decision in the next few days, he would withdraw his recommendation and his support. His constant carping about it was giving Harry fits and, it seemed, making him have conversations with inanimate objects. Harry had tried to explain that he wasn't being insolent—he honestly didn't know what to do. He found that he couldn't explain why he might opt to stay where he was—where he knew how the world worked and knew his place in it—rather than fling himself into the unknown. He'd survived a long time by counting on the predictable. Wolsford was unpredictable.
Despite that reticence, though, Harry found himself drawn to the exotic appeal of upper crust boarding school life. It was a chance to be both himself and someone else while traversing and learning in elegantly appointed halls. There were other silly, trifling, reasons to go—daydreams of riding a horse for the first time, going on holidays to the seaside with his year mates, having proper meals made by someone else, participating in Wolsford traditions passed down from generation to generation—all of these small things stirred a longing in him that he'd not known was there. The idea of sharing that with people who seemed to genuinely care about him was even more alluring . . . and scary.
Harry thoughts took an abrupt turn from Mr. Snape to Draco. It had been several weeks since the planting project at the Malfoys. After their dramatic blow-up, Draco had worked with him, helping him where he could. Draco's moue of distaste at having to spread the fertilizer (after learning precisely what it was) was worth a few chuckles at his expense, but the fact that Draco had done it and had continued to do it, struck something within Harry. They'd spent quite a bit of time together since then. It was like it was when they were children, it seemed, Draco trailing after Harry and never giving quarter, dragging him along through life, forcing him to participate. He'd worn Harry down. They were renewing their friendship. Harry was glad of it, though he hated how wonderful it felt. He was terrified of getting used to it, of wanting it, of not being able to let it go should it leave him again.
The ring of the telephone startled Harry. A small smile flashed across his face. It had to be Draco. No one else called while the Dursleys were away.
"Hello," Harry answered. There was a hesitation at the other end of the line.
"Harry. Hi. It's Draco. Are you busy?"
"Incredibly."
"Somehow I doubt that. Listen, I was wondering if—well, if you'd like to come over for dinner. Afterward I thought we might go see that new film at the cinema in town, the one you said you thought looked good."
Harry hesitated. "Um. I don't know. The film sounds good. I just have, erm . . . I've got some things I'm working on here."
"You always say that."
"Well, it's true."
"Have the Dursleys come back yet? Is that why you can't come over?"
Harry sighed. "Draco, you know they haven't."
"All the more reason for you to come over, then. You shouldn't be by yourself. I can't believe they leave you there. Alone. That's . . . that's . . . well, you know what it is."
"We've been over this. I'm not talking about it again."
"Fine. Come to dinner, then. Uncle Severus or Mum can pick you up if that's the issue."
"No, it's not that."
"Well, what is it then? You keep turning down my dinner invitations, unless it's to grab something in town. That's awfully rude, you know," Draco said with a sniff.
Harry chuckled. Draco was still Draco. "I just have a lot going on here."
"Really? Like what? Watching plasterboard peel away from the walls while you pine away for your loving family to return?"
Harry scowled. "Look, you're not going to goad me into this."
"Sure I am. It's what I do. So, let's skip the dramatics, shall we? I'll have Uncle Severus come round about five-thirty, then."
"Draco--"
"—See you later, Harry."
"—Draco, I said . . . damn it," Harry swore under his breath when Draco hung up. "Damn it Draco, you have no idea what you're doing," he said to the plasterboard walls. He sighed. He could just call back and say that he wasn't coming. He could hide when Mr. Snape arrived and not go to the door. He shook his head. No, it was better to get this over with. It had been a long time in coming and Draco wasn't about to let it go. Besides, the left over curry looked a bit dodgy. He glanced at the Wolsford application and threw his hands up in plea or frustration, not sure which. His life had become far too complicated.
oOoOo
Draco hung up the telephone and smirked. He'd learned a long time ago that the easiest way to get Harry to do what he wanted was to give him little choice in the matter. Of course, that had backfired spectacularly on a few occasions, but this was too important not to take the risk. Draco was tired of everyone not doing anything about the "Harry situation," as he was calling it. Every time he tried to talk to his godfather about getting Harry away from the Dursleys, he told him to leave it alone. He hadn't spoken with his mother about it all—she'd been so jumpy and out of sorts lately—but he doubted she knew anything. Draco figured that would work to his advantage with what he had planned. He smiled and went in search of his mother.
"Mum," Draco said as he sauntered into the kitchen, "Harry's coming for dinner and then we're going to the cinema. Would it be all right if he stayed the night?"
Narcissa whirled around from where she was standing at the sink. "What?"
Draco blinked. He wasn't used to seeing his mother so unsettled. "I said--"
"—I heard you," Narcissa murmured. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Fine," she said with a pleasant smile, determined to keep up appearances. It was better that they got over this, any way. It had been a long time in coming. She was surprised it hadn't happened earlier, when Harry had been over to help Severus plant the garden. But every time Harry saw her, he would back away, the expression would fall from his face, and he would murmur, "Mrs. Malfoy," in polite tones before scurrying away. "What time? Shall I make a roast?" Narcissa asked.
Draco blinked again. "Um, six o'clock. I'm going to ask Uncle Severus to pick him up at five-thirty. Roast sounds fine."
"Wonderful," Narcissa said in a thin, reedy voice.
"Mum, is everything all right? Should I have asked you ahead of time? You weren't planning anything, were you?"
"No, it's fine, my dragon. You—you just caught me by surprise."
"Okay," Draco said, not reassured in the slightest. "Thanks."
Narcissa watched Draco leave the kitchen before swearing under her breath. This was going to be a difficult night. All of her guilt-induced nightmares and thoughts came rushing to the forefront of her mind. She imagined a sullen and moody Harry standing, knocking his chair over, pointing a shaky finger at her, and accusing her of complicit child abuse in response to whether he wanted more summer peas. No, perhaps he'd show up with a blackened eye, or visible bruises, and then sneer in her direction as he explained or lied about them. Images of confrontation, screaming, crying, tipped bowls of whipped potatoes and shattering plates filled her mind. "Draco, you have no idea what you have done," she muttered under her breath as she dutifully began preparing a roast, feeling a bit like it was her last meal.
oOoOo
Draco stood in the doorway listening to Severus bark instructions on his mobile to someone named Passuer. His French was flawless, as was his Latin, Italian, and Portuguese.
"Non," Severus snapped as he paced back and forth, sighing irritably.
Draco crossed his ankles and leaned into the doorframe, amusement playing at his lips. This was a familiar scene—Severus pacing back and forth, yelling at his lab assistant for his or her incompetence. The only thing that ever changed was the accent.
"Non, Passuer! Je ne pense pas!" Sevuers paused for a moment, before his back went rigid and he let loose a string of obscenities. "Oui, Oui, Passuer! Oui, the Bletilla striata," Severus barked. "For the love of . . . Oui, je suis sûr que—Passuer, Passuer! I'm sure . . . Yes . . . Bon . . . Salut," Severus said before snapping the little mobile closed and tossing it onto his chair.
"Trouble at the lab?"
Severus turned around. "Oh, it's you," he said, still agitated from his conversation with Passuer.
"Sounds like you're having trouble with that orchid project."
"You have no idea. Do you need something?" Severus asked, still annoyed, still distracted.
"Yes, actually. I was hoping you could drive over to Harry's and pick him up around five-thirty. He's coming for dinner and then we're going to the cinema."
"You've worn him down, then," Severus sneered.
Draco picked at his jumper. "It's not like that. I just didn't give him a chance to say no."
"Yes, well that does seem to work with him. Have you asked your mother?"
"Yes, of course. She's thrilled to see Harry again," Draco hedged.
Severus stared at Draco, not believing him. "Well that is certainly interesting," he said after a long while.
"Yes, well, can you or not?" Draco snapped, feeling uncomfortable. There was something odd going on and he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Mind your tone," Severus said. "Yes, all right. I'll do your bidding."
"Does that make you my minion?" Draco teased, scrambling away before Severus could reach out, grab him, and knock some sense in him that Severus insisted he didn't have.
oOoOo
Three short knocks sounded at precisely five-thirty. Harry fought the urge to sink lower into the couch. He didn't move. He just needed a few seconds more to settle himself.
At five-thirty-one, three more knocks sounded. This time, however, they were accompanied by Mr. Snape's irritated staccato. "I am not in the habit of waiting for petulant school boys," he barked through the door. Even muffled by wood and stone, his voice had Harry scurrying off the couch and to the door.
"Coming," Harry said as he trotted to the hall and opened the door. "Sorry. I was . . . erm . . . just finishing . . . er, something," Harry stammered.
"I see. It wouldn't be your Wolsford application, would it?" he asked with a quirk of a brow.
"Leave it," Harry growled.
"You have only a few more days—"
"—I know, all right? I know. You've made it perfectly clear. Just, just stop—you're making me crazy with this—you've got me talking to pens and paper and, and the walls!"
Severus hesitated. "You didn't put that in your application essay, did you?"
"Bloody hell," Harry spat. "Leave it!"
Severus glared at Harry, but Harry refused to back down. "Very well," he murmured after several long moments. "Shall we depart?"
Harry snorted. "Righto, Jeeves. Do I get to sit in the back and everything?" Mr. Snape growled. Harry paled. "Just having some fun, Mr. Snape," he said as he carefully stepped around the glowering man and walked to the car.
oOoOo
Narcissa heard the car pull into the drive. Her hands faltered, causing her to drop the flowers she'd been arranging for the table. "Stop this," she whispered to herself before picking up the chrysanths again. She pieced them together quickly, dropping them into the waiting vase. "There. Done," she said as she picked up the vase and stared moving towards the dining room. She tried to keep her breathing even as she heard Draco open the front door. No. This was nothing more than a simple dinner. There was no reason to be so nervous. Despite that, Narcissa almost dropped the vase when she heard Harry's soft tenor voice. She stopped and took a deep breath. "Get a hold of yourself," she said, remembering that she was a Malfoy and she had survived far worse than this.
"Mum, Harry's here," Draco called as he, Harry and Severus entered the dining room.
Narcissa stilled for a moment before turning around. She smiled. "Harry. Lovely to see you again." Out of habit, she moved forward to kiss him on the cheek. Out of habit, he started to move away. Both stopped when they realized what they were doing. Narcissa noticed that Severus was staring at them. Watching.
"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry finally said with a short nod of his head. He cleared his throat. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner," he murmured, his eyes taking notice of everything in the room except her.
"My pleasure," she said, meaning it despite the formality of her tone.
"Dinner, then," Draco said, as he ushered everyone to the table. "We have a film to make," he said in excuse when everyone stared at him strangely.
"Well, we mustn't make you late," Narcissa said as she sat.
The night started out well enough. Harry's only response to whether he wanted any more summer peas was a polite, "No thank you." Outside of a few odd glances between the boys and Severus's hawk-like expression as he took in everything that was happening, dinner was a normal affair.
And then it went straight to hell.
"I read the most interesting article yesterday," Draco began as he made two neat cuts and took a small bite of roast.
"Really? Tell us," Narcissa said, feeling relaxed. Dinner was nearly over.
"About that awful mess in Shopshire—you know, the family that was abusing their three children and their neighbors knew, but did nothing about it. Well, until the youngest died, of course."
Narcissa choked on her wine. Harry's knife and fork clattered to his plate. Severus pretended nothing of consequence had just been said as he took a generous swallow of the pinot noir.
Draco glanced at his mother. Her jaw was set in a firm, grim line. That was exactly what he wanted to see. She was outraged. Perfect. "Can you believe it, Mum? The neighbors knew and they did nothing. What do you think of that?"
Narcissa's eyes narrowed. Her gaze snapped back and forth between Harry and Draco. Harry was glaring and was obviously nudging Draco under the table, as if to say, "What are you doing? I told you never to tell!" Her gaze moved to Draco, who was staring at her intently, daring her to say anything. So this was how it was going to be, then. Her own son was against her. Drawing on years of avoiding such unseemly confrontation, Narcissa took another bite of roast. "Severus," she said as her knife and fork made little stabbing motions, "Did I understand that you've hired a young man from Provence? How is that working?" she asked, taking a delicate bite.
Before Severus could respond, Draco interrupted. "Mum, did you hear me? What do you think of what happened in Shopshire?"
Narcissa took a generous swallow of wine, her gaze drifting over to Harry for a brief moment. His face was flushed, his eyes too bright. "Yes, I heard you," she said with a sniff. "That is inappropriate dinner conversation Draco, I was trying to save you a bit of embarrassment," she murmured politely, her gaze continuing to drift over to Harry, waiting for his reaction.
"I disagree," Draco said.
"Draco, stop it," Harry whispered, though it sounded more like a hiss to Narcissa's ears.
"No. I won't," Draco said. "Are we not going to talk about this? Are we going to pretend that Harry isn't in danger, living with those awful people? We've got to help him. Don't you see?"
"Draco, please," Harry pleaded.
"Perhaps this is not the best time, Draco," Severus said, finally joining the conversation.
"I think it's the perfect time. We're all here. It's time we talk about that ghastly pink elephant. Besides, it's time Mum knew what was going on," Draco said.
Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "Draco, you don't know what you're—look, just let this go. Stop this."
"No. You won't look out for yourself, so I will. We will. We won't be those horrid, horrid people in Shopshire who turn their backs. All of those people should be hanged for what they've done."
"You think them horrid, do you?" Narcissa snapped before she could stop herself.
"Yes. Don't you?" Draco asked. When Narcissa looked away and said nothing, Draco continued. "You can't sympathize with those, those awful people," Draco said. "You can't."
The sound of Harry's chair clattering as he pushed it back caught everyone's attention. "Thank you for dinner. I think I'll head back. Draco, sorry, but I'm not up for the film. Mr. Snape. Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said before turning to leave.
"What is going on?" Draco demanded. "Harry, you can't leave. We won't let you. Will we, Mum? Mum?" Draco asked.
"Leave it," Harry barked. "You don't know . . . Draco, this is not . . . sod it all! Just leave it!"
"No!" Draco said as he grabbed Harry's arm and kept him from leaving. "You're not leaving. You're not alone. I won't let you go through this. I'm here, so is Uncle Severus and Mum. We aren't going to let this happen to you, Harry. We won't be those awful people in Shopshire."
"You already are!" Harry roared, shaking off Draco's hand.
"What? What are you talking about? We're trying to help you!"
Harry cursed under his breath. He'd not meant to say anything. "I don't need your help. I don't want your help. Get that through your thick head. The lot of you! I don't need you!"
"What's wrong with you?" Draco screamed back just as Severus rose from his seat.
"That is enough," Severus barked.
Neither Harry nor Draco paid him any mind. "Nothing's wrong with me, Draco, but there's something wrong with you. What would possess you to do this?" Harry tried to pull away once again, but Draco curled his fingers more tightly. "Let me go," Harry snarled as he tugged harder.
"No. I'm not letting you get away this time. It's time to sort this out. We want to help you, what's wrong with that? And as for why would bring this up, why wouldn't I? You're my friend. Stay still!"
Within seconds, the boys were locked in a bizarre tug-of-war, snapping at each other, pulling, snarling, all the while Severus barking at them about behaving like street hooligans and threatening to pull them apart.
"We're nothing like those people in Shopshire," Draco snarled as he made a grab for Harry's wrist.
"You are, you bloody are," Harry roared as he tried to kick Draco away.
"We didn't know, we didn't! How dare you say we did," Draco hissed as he darted away from a vicious kick aimed at his right shin.
"She knew! She did," Harry howled as Draco used his larger frame to pin him into a hug of sorts.
"You've lost your mind. She, who?" Draco snapped. "Stop kicking me!"
It became too much for Narcissa. Years of crushing guilt hit her as the melee wore on. She could stand it no more. "Stop this. Stop this instant!" Narcissa said as she stood. The boys paid no attention to her. "Stop! I knew! I knew, Draco. Please stop." The boys stopped and turned in astonishment. Harry couldn't believe she'd finally admitted it. Draco couldn't believe his mother was like, was like those people in Shopshire.
"Mum?" Draco asked in a whisper.
"I knew," Narcissa murmured as she fell back into her chair.
Silence fell, its effect stuporous. Harry and Draco stood in a parody of embrace, their hands still clutching at each other.
"What?" Draco asked after the initial shock passed. He let go of Harry and tottered forward a step. "That's . . . that's—no. It's not true. You're not—it's not true."
"It is," she said. She turned her gaze to Harry. "I am so sorry," she whispered, tears running down her face. "I am so very, very sorry."
Harry took a step back. He wrapped his arms around himself, hung his head, and nodded. He would have done anything—said anything—to get out of there. "Fine. Thanks. I'll—I'll just be leaving now."
Draco's hand reached backward and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from leaving.
"Let me go," Harry hissed.
"No," Draco said before turning back to his mother. "What do you mean you knew?"
"Perhaps it would be wise to have this conversation in the living room," Severus murmured.
Draco's gaze flitted to Severus. "Did you know as well, then?"
Harry looked up at that; his eyes were hooded and full of questioning.
"I suspected, but no, I did not know," Severus said.
"You're not much better, then," Draco said with a sneer.
The retort was on the tip of Severus' tongue, but he let it die at the look of distress on Harry's face. Severus was loath to see this play out this way. Draco, Severus suspected, was about to have his world turned upside down and Harry, his closely guarded secrets spilled. He watched Harry as Draco let go of his wrist and took another step forward. Severus could see Harry closing off, withdrawing. This would be painful, Severus knew, but it might just be what needed to happen.
Tell me," Draco snapped as he walked towards his mother. "Tell me how you could let that happen? Explain."
"You will not speak to me that way," Narcissa hissed, her tone cold and unflinching. "There were circumstances of which you are not aware. Either of you," she said, including Harry.
Harry edged further back until he was in the corner of the room. He hugged the wall with his back, wishing he could disappear. He'd thought about leaving, figuring he could slip out unnoticed while Draco and his mother had it out. But Mr. Snape's unwavering stare had him pinned. Harry wasn't going anywhere—not for a long while.
Harry fought to get his emotions under control. Mr. Snape's stare was unnerving and he had no desire to get into the middle of Draco and his mum. Harry looked down, trying to focus on the carpet. He almost laughed. He'd know the pattern of that carpet anywhere. He thought back to the times when he was a child, wishing he was a part of the Malfoy family, wishing he'd been imbued with their golden charm. He smirked to himself at the thought that the gold had been brass all along. The thought didn't leave him as vindicated as he'd thought it might. It made him rather sad.
He looked up when he realized Mrs. Malfoy had included him in the hysterical shouting match Draco was intent on waging. He crept back further still, cursing the walls as they refused to swallow him whole. This was not a conversation he ever wanted to have. He'd put this away, buried it carefully, hoping never to have to find it again. Of course, it would be Draco who would dig and dig and dig and fling back the hasps of his boundaries without a second thought. That's what Draco did. Harry found he couldn't begrudge him that.
"What circumstances? What could possibly justify this?" Draco said.
"You don't understand, Draco. If you would just listen," Narcissa pleaded.
"No. There is nothing that you could say that would excuse this. Nothing! How could you do that to him?"
Harry returned to staring at the carpet, pretending not to notice Mr. Snape's stare, pretending not to hear the conversation that Narcissa and Draco were having about him. It was par for the course, really. People always talked about him as if he weren't in the room, even when he was standing right there.
"You are behaving like a spoiled child. This is neither the time nor the place for this," Narcissa said.
Draco snorted. "Yes, propriety is ever so more important than the life of an abused child, isn't it, Mother? You disgust me. If only Father were here. He never would have stood for this. If Father were here--"
Narcissa drew herself to her full height and closed the distance between her and Draco in the space of a few steps. "Your father, you say," she snarled, cutting Draco off. "You think your Father would have done differently?"
"Narcissa," Severus whispered, his gaze leaving Harry for a brief second.
"Yes. He was brave and honest. He wouldn't have been a coward like you," Draco spat.
Narcissa ignored Severus. "Let me tell you a few things about your dear, dead father."
"Narcissa, this is not the time," Severus hissed as he strode over to Narcissa's side.
"I think it's time we spilled all the dirty little secrets," Narcissa cried as she stepped away from Severus.
"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, his gaze wide.
"Let the dead lie, Draco," Severus warned. Draco didn't listen.
"No. Mum is trying to push me off course. Father wouldn't have let this happen. Tell her, Uncle Severus."
Severus's lips pursed and he stared hard at Draco, willing him to turn away from this. Harry could see that. He could see that Draco's world was about to be upended. His heart leapt to his throat. He couldn't stand this.
"Uncle Severus?" Draco questioned, his voice—along with his resolve—wavering. "Tell her. Tell her she's lying. Father was brave. He was a hero."
"He was a shameless, spineless crook who got himself killed over greed. He left us with little more than a legacy of deceit and shame," Narcissa bit out before she could stop herself.
Harry wondered how long she'd kept that bottled up. The words had flown from her mouth with such force, he was sure only years and years of anger and bitterness could have produced it.
Draco took a step backward. "You're lying," he cried, shaking his head.
Narcissa crept forward, meeting Draco step for step. "Oh, how I wish I were, my dragon. I spent years, YEARS, suffering the aftereffects of his mess while trying to keep you safe and happy. Do you know how he died, Draco? Do you really?"
"He was . . . he was saving someone. You told me . . ."
"I know what I told you, but it didn't happen quite that way. You see, your father double-crossed some very, very nasty men who didn't take kindly to his treachery. So, they killed him. And they destroyed us."
Harry felt bile rising in his throat as he watched what was happening. He wanted to do something, anything, but he didn't know what. He took a step forward, the movement unconscious.
"No, I don't believe you. It's not true."
"Ask your godfather then."
"Narcissa," Severus growled.
Draco swung around wildly. His face was pale, his chest was heaving. It broke something in Harry to see his friend so afraid, so unsure. Draco's world had just collapsed and Harry was standing to the side, not wanting to get involved, trying desperately to pretend that it wasn't happening. In that moment, he had a sense of what Narcissa must have felt all those years ago. He took another step forward, and then another.
"Uncle Severus?" Draco asked in a small voice. "It's not true, is it? She's lying. Tell me she's lying."
Severus hesitated for a moment. He swallowed hard. He drew in a deep breath. "You have to understand," Severus began in a soft murmur.
"NO!" Draco heaved, knowing that Severus meant to confirm what Narcissa had said, not refute it.
Harry could stand it no longer. "Stop it! You're hurting him! Just, stop it!" he screamed, as he charged further from his hidden corner. His hands were balled into tight fists. "I'm not worth—just stop it!"
Narcissa swung around, as did Draco. They both stared at Harry.
"Harry, let them sort this out," Severus murmured as he made his way over to Harry and tried to turn him away from the dining room.
"No," Harry snarled as he shook loose of Severus's light hold. "This is because of me. Stop hurting him. Stop lying to him!"
Narcissa sighed and smiled sadly. "I am sorry, but it's true," she murmured in a softer voice. She tried to gather Draco in her arms, but he backed away.
"Why? It's . . . why?" Draco asked, not sure of what he wanted to ask, or say, or do.
"There are too many reasons. It's . . . complicated," Narcissa said. She shot a glance over at Harry. "Do you remember the day before you left for Wolsford, Draco?"
Draco's face colored. "Why would you bring that up?" he hissed.
"There was a man, a very bad man, named Trotter Blackmun. He—he was an associate of your father's. Your father cheated him out of a lot of money and implicated him in a few of his dealings. Blackmun spent time in prison because of it."
"What's that got to do with anything? More tactics to make me find father's behavior more horrible than yours?"
Narcissa grabbed Draco by the upper arm and shook him lightly. She loosened her grip at Harry's sharp intake of breath. "You will listen to me," she growled as she sat Draco in a dining room chair. "You two," she said nodding at Severus and Harry. "Sit down. If we are going to do this, we are at the very least going to be civilized about it."
Harry shuffled towards the table, wary and suspicious. He started to take his place but, at the last moment, scurried around to the other side of the table and sat next to Draco. Severus's pace was far more sedate. He returned to his seat at the head of the table. He raised a brow when Harry moved closer to Draco.
Narcissa smoothed her hair and took another swallow of wine. She sat back and closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "A few months before that day, Trotter Blackmun was released from prison. He began coming to the house, threatening me, taunting me. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you."
Draco sagged, some of his righteous indignation bleeding away. "You should have said something," he growled.
"Perhaps, but what is done is done. The day of Harry's birthday party, I discovered a note from Mr. Blackmun. He'd threatened you and me this time and it was clear that he'd been in the house. He came to the house again the next day, he'd made it sound like he'd kidnapped you and Harry and was planning on doing terrible things. When you disappeared that day . . . Draco, I'd thought I lost you." Narcissa grabbed Draco's hands and held them tight. "I thought I'd lost you," she repeated, tears streaming down her face. "I couldn't bear to lose anyone else."
Harry noticed that Draco was crying too, though he was hiding it rather well.
"Mum," Draco said, remembering how he'd thought he'd lost his mother that night as well. "Mum," he repeated, unable to say much more. Mother and son huddled together over the corner of the dining room table, their heads buried together.
Harry looked down at the tablecloth, his face red from embarrassment. He didn't do well with these kinds of emotional scenes. He brushed his finger back and forth across a discarded dinner napkin, marveling at its softness and the precision of the hand-embroidered edges. He was so focused on the napkin, that he almost missed when Draco and his mum started talking again.
"I was so relieved when you came through that door, when both of you came home," Narcissa added as she reached out to comfort Harry as well.
Startled by the touch, Harry tried to skitter away. He wrapped his arms around himself again and returned to examining the dinner napkin, refusing to acknowledge the look of disappointment and regret on Narcissa's face.
"I was not in the best frame of mind that night. All I could concentrate on was getting you away, getting us away. When I helped Harry in the bath and saw--"
"Please don't," Harry interrupted with a whisper. "Please, it's not important."
"Yes. It is," Narcissa responded before Draco or Severus could. "When I saw all the bruises," she continued, ignoring Harry's gasp, "I knew then that they were hurting you. I finally had the proof I'd wanted for so long and I meant to do something, I did. I just . . . time got away from me," she finished in a soft whisper. "I failed you, Harry. You will never know how much I regret that. Please know I never meant to do that. I meant to—to, well, I meant to do lots of things and I never did. I am so very sorry."
Harry stood. He had to get out of there. He felt as though the walls were closing in. He couldn't breathe. They were all staring at him. Pitying him. He couldn't stand it. He hugged himself and nodded his head in jerky motions. "I understand. I understand," he said. On some level, he really did understand. He'd thought for so long that he'd done something wrong, that she hated him, that he was as dirty and useless as his aunt claimed him to be. Narcissa's admissions put an entirely different spin on things, but it didn't take away the hurt. "I have to go," he blurted as he backed out of the room. "I'm fine," he said, answering unasked questions.
Draco stood. "I'm coming with you."
"Draco, Harry—there is no reason to leave. There's so much more to discuss. There's so much more for me to say, so much more for you to hear," Narcissa pleaded as she stood and walked towards the boys.
Both Harry and Draco stepped backwards.
"I can't. Nothing needs to be said. I—I have to leave," Harry said, tearing out of the room. He heard Draco tear out of the room with him, but Harry didn't turn back.
The front door slammed open and closed. Two sets of feet pounded down the front steps and ran down the elegantly arched drive, down the perfectly straight street, and into the soft, hazy glow of night.
When he could run no further, Harry stopped. He dropped to a crouch and panted through the painful stitches in his side. He felt Draco come to a stop near him. He radiated heat and smelled of expensive cologne and sweat. Harry dropped to a sitting position.
"You okay?" Draco asked, sitting next to him.
Harry nodded. "You?"
Draco shrugged. "I will be, I guess. Whatever doesn't kill you, right?"
Harry snorted. "Something like that," he murmured. He ran his fingers through the soft grass, enjoying the feel of the evening dew and soft tickle of the uncut blades.
They sat there for a long while, each lost to their own thoughts.
"I'm not going home. At least not tonight," Draco said, staring off in the distance.
Harry nodded. "I understand."
"Can I stay with you, then?"
Harry hesitated as his fingers raked through the grass with more force than before. He'd lived through enough revelations for one night. The Dursley house—his joke of a bedroom, the way they locked their doors while away—wasn't something he could bear to share at the moment. But they needed to sleep somewhere. Harry's fingers stilled. There was one place—a place he'd spent many nights, actually. Was he willing to share it, though? He looked up at Draco and saw someone who was a bit older, a bit wearier than he had been before. There was a new sense of circumspection about him. Harry understood the slight crinkle around the eyes, the barest hint of a frown on the lips, and general sense of pensiveness that now surrounded Draco. Yes, he could share this with him. He would understand, Harry thought.
"Come on," Harry said as he got to his feet and held out his hand.
Draco looked up, blinking in confusion. "Where are we going? Are we going to your house?"
"Sort of . . . it's . . . I have to show you, okay?"
Draco nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay."
Harry checked his watch and looked around to get his bearings. He could see the guard gate in the distance. "Come on, we have a bus to catch."
oOoOoOo
"So we are going to your house," Draco said as they traipsed down Magnolia Crescent. There were crickets and dogs barking in the distance. The night was alive with the goings-on of other people.
"And I said, not exactly," Harry said.
"Did you see that woman? The one who laid herself down on the bench? She wasn't wearing any shoes. Did you notice? I wonder why she wasn't wearing any shoes. Her socks had ghastly holes in them. Did you notice that her big toe was sticking out?"
Harry sighed. He figured Draco was in some sort of weird shock that made him blabber in a constant stream of consciousness. He'd been doing this since they'd caught the Number 4 Knightbus. First, he'd chattered on and on about the driver who looked near death and blind as a bat. Then, he'd started making comments about the bus patrons, guessing at what they did for a living and why they rode the bus based on their shopping bags and choices in attire. Harry had thought him overly focused on a youngish bloke who was attractive, but looked as though he'd been batted around by life a bit. Draco was quite taken with his scowl and ripped jeans, it seemed.
"Did you notice, Harry? The toe? The great big toe?" Draco asked again.
"No, Draco. I didn't. I didn't notice the toe," Harry said.
Draco didn't respond right away. Harry hoped that he'd hit an end to his talking jag. He was mistaken, of course. "How could you miss the toe?" Draco asked after they'd passed several houses in silence.
Harry rolled his eyes. "You haven't changed a bit," he said under his breath.
Draco stopped them. "What's that supposed to mean?" he said, sticking out his jaw in a way meant to be indignant.
"I mean you still have adventures, still make up stories, that sort of thing. It's nice. I've—I've missed it, I suppose."
Draco's face softened. "I suppose I can live with that," he said with an upper crust lilt to his voice. They walked past a few more houses before Draco stopped again. "I can't believe you missed the toe," he said with a soft laugh.
Harry shook his head. "Let's go. I don't fancy standing in the middle of the road all night."
Draco sobered a bit. "Yeah. It's not like I can go home or anything."
"Yes, you can actually. You're choosing not to. There's a difference."
Draco sniffed. "Semantics."
Harry rolled his eyes. "We're almost there," he said, the Dursleys' house coming into view.
"So we are going to your house," Draco said again.
"And I told you, not exactly," Harry snapped.
They trudged across the Dursleys' lawn and around the back of the house. Harry ducked into the small garage after fiddling with the locked door for a few minutes.
"What are you doing?" Draco whispered, feeling a bit like a burglar.
"Getting supplies," Harry said, his voice muffled. A few moments later he returned with soft, squashy sleepsacks, torches and an old oil lantern. The soft flames were already dancing, casting a golden glow across Harry. "Here," he said, handing Draco a sleepsack and a torch. "You'll want to turn that on—the ground can be a bit slippery."
"Where are we going?"
Harry turned and flashed a brilliant smile. Draco's breath caught in his throat at the sight. "Were going on an adventure."
A lazy smile curled across Draco's face. "An adventure, you say? Are we treasure seekers?" he teased.
"Nope. Gypsy kings traveling across the land," Harry said with a laugh. "Come on, it's not far," he said, slipping into the night.
Draco turned on his torch and followed.
It wasn't a far walk into the back garden, but each step left Harry feeling a bit more nervous. He'd never shared his special garden with anyone. He was afraid that Draco might laugh or sneer or, worse still, fail to see its beauty. It was very important to Harry that Draco understand why the little sliver of Eden was so important to him, though he didn't know why. He stopped a few steps ahead of the copse of trees hiding his shady enclave. The breeze picked up, carrying the pungent scent of night-blooming jasmine with it. Harry heard a loud sniff behind him. He held his breath.
"What smells so good?" Draco asked, sniffing the night air again.
Harry relaxed and started walking again. "Night blooming jasmine," he murmured.
"Does it only bloom at night?"
"Um, sort of," Harry answered. "It releases its scent at night."
"Strange."
"Not really. Lots of plants only bloom or scent at night."
Draco snorted. "I shouldn't have doubted you." He sniffed again. "It's getting stronger."
Harry nodded and ducked behind the trees hiding his garden. "This is what I wanted to show you," he said, stepping into the small space. He placed the lantern in the middle and stood off to the side.
Draco entered. He missed the anxious look on Harry's face, enticed by the intoxicating smells and the sight of voluptuous blossoms undulating in the night breeze. It was like he'd entered another world. He'd never seen anything like it. "Bloody hell," he swore under his breath as he dropped his sleepsack and torch. He walked around, stopping here and there to ghost his fingers across a fat, sprawling blossom or trace the line of a hand-made trellis fashioned of copper wire, bits of wood, and other odds and bobs. He looked up at the sound of gentle chimes tinkling in the trees. The fullness of the moon and the astonishing brightness of the stars were arresting. "What is this place?" he eventually asked.
Harry shrugged. "Just a little garden I made. The Dursleys never come out this far and I—I wanted something that was just mine," he whispered.
"It's like another world. It's amazing, Harry." Draco couldn't be sure, but he thought Harry had blushed at that.
"It's just a little garden. It's a bit shabby, I know, just a lot of odds and ends and things. It's not like a real garden or anything," Harry said, turning and unrolling his sleepsack. He sat down and stared at his hands while Draco continued to examine the small space.
"It's perfect. It's like we really are gypsy kings," Draco whispered.
Harry nodded, never happier to indulge a bit of playacting. Anything to help them forget their awful day would be welcome.
Draco whirled around and stared at Harry, an odd intensity lighting his eyes. "We've just come from rescuing a beautiful princess from blood-thirsty savages. Upon arriving home, we discover that our families have been torn apart by an evil dark lord. We vow vengeance on him and we rode out at dawn, determined to find him." Draco looked at Harry expectantly, willing him to play along.
"Er, yes," Harry started, struggling with what to say as Draco unrolled his sleepsack and sat down. "We . . . we rode out at dawn, as you said, and, erm, we—we encountered a massive talking snake that tried to trick us into giving her our, our . . . um, our cloaks," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders in feeble apology.
Draco didn't seem to mind. He hunched closer. "We fought her bravely. 'No!' you screamed, refusing to give her quarter. 'I'll slay you, you evil beast,' you told her as you lunged forward, sinking your sword into her."
"She writhed in pain, screaming—no hissing—for her beloved master, er . . . Volde—Voldemort," Harry said, struggling to remember his French etymological roots.
"Flight from death," Draco murmured. "I like it. Go on, then," he said, prodding Harry in the side.
"She writhed and flipped and managed to land on top of me."
"And I jumped on top of her, prising her jaws away from your throat, her fangs ready to deliver death."
"And I pushed the sword in deeper, twisting it. She cried and jerked and fell dead."
"Yes, but not before we discovered she was a magical snake, that her master had left a part of his soul inside of her."
Harry made a face. "Left a part of his soul inside of her? Isn't that a bit far-fetched?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't you think we passed far-fetched with the talking snake bit?" he asked, arching one of his brows.
Harry laughed. "Yeah I suppose. Go on, then. Tell us about the bit of the soul of her master."
Draco bit his lip, "Yeah, okay. Um, first we need a spell or something, something that would destroy the soul bit. A killing curse of some sort."
"Hmm . . . Abracadabra?" Harry asked with a laugh.
"Prat," Draco said. "That gives me an idea though. Something that sounds like it, maybe. Abra . . abra . . . abra," Draco repeated over and over, willing another word to come to him.
Harry joined in. "Abra . . . abra . . . avabra . . . avadra . . . avada . . . avada cadabra?"
Draco perked at that. "Avada cadabra. No, that doesn't . . . hey, what about avada kedavra?"
Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. Brilliant! Go on, then."
"Where was I? Oh yes, the magical snake had her fangs centimeters from your throat, ready to petrify you with her venom. So, I prised her jaws open and wrestled her away why you twisted the sword deeper. She let's out an unearthly screech and this oozing green mist escapes from her throat in the shape of a—a—"
"Skull with a snake coming out of its mouth!" Harry blurted.
"Yes! Exactly! A green mist escapes in the shape of a skull with a snake coming out of her mouth. It's Voldemort!"
"We jump to our feet," Harry said, his eyes shining with mirth and excitement. "We prepare to incant the killing curse."
"We grasp hands, palm to palm," Draco said, grasping Harry's hands and staring into his eyes. "Together, we stand as gypsy kings; together, we stand as kin; together, we protect the world and we slay the demons."
Harry found himself saying the words with Draco, their gazes locked. They grasped their hands tighter and shot them up to the night sky, shouting together, "Avada Kedavra!" before collapsing on their backs and dissolving into howls of laughter and chants of, "Long live the kings of the gypsies, the boys who lived!"
The fell into a comfortable silence punctuated by short bursts of laughter. Draco rolled to his side and faced Harry. Harry looked up at him. "Thank you," Draco murmured. "I needed that, I think."
Harry smiled. "Me too. Sometimes it's nice to pretend."
"You don't have to pretend with me, you know. You don't have to pretend that it doesn't hurt, or that you're okay."
Harry nodded and looked down at the soft grass. "You too. You don't have to pretend, either."
Draco rolled onto his back. He lifted his hands and framed a small constellation. "I can't believe I have to go back to school in five weeks. We'll have to write and visit. I really want us to stay friends, you know?"
Harry's fingers ran through the grass. He wanted that too. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, knowing that the next time he picked up the pen laying on the Dursleys' dining table, there would be no hesitation. He drew in a deep breath. "Your godfather is helping me apply to Wolsford."
Draco gasped and sat up. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. He thinks I'd like it there," Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant, though his hands were shaking and his heart was thumping. "There are scholarships and things. There's no guarantee, of course." Harry looked up and was startled to see Draco's expression. He looked as though he wanted to leap across the small space separating them and smother Harry with a hug or something.
"So, you're applying?"
Harry hesitated. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."
Draco smiled, the strength of it brighter than the moon. "Brilliant," he said in a rush of breath. He lay back down. "Bloody brilliant."
Harry lay down as well, forgetting to keep the smile from his face.
They lay there, long into the night, hypnotized by the softly swaying vines, the fragrance of fat, sprawling blossoms, and the sound of delicate chimes. The grass was soft beneath them and the night sky cast her net of stars like strings of fairy lights. The trees surrounding them made the posts for their Bedouin tent, and the sky their gauzy ceiling. For a little while, they could revel in the excitement and promise of opportunity, of chance; they could forget the hurt and the pain and sorrow; and they could be gypsy kings—comrades, brothers, kin—roaming the lands together once more.