XVI.
It had all been a mistake was the conclusion he finally reached. A big, fat, glaring mistake. He wrote back to everybody but Draco and the Prophet but did not go to work.
When he finally decided it was time to stop wallowing in shock, Hermione was the one he needed to see first. She'd been right, after all.
Her wards let him into her office without a key.
She looked at him in surprise, hands freezing in place over her paperwork. Her hair was collected rather loosely, piled on top of her head. They both stood, staring at each other, and Harry saw something collapse.
"Harry, what's happened?" Her voice was tinged with panic and he saw her worry in the careful way she dropped her quill to the table. "The letters—?"
Harry shook his head, finding it suddenly hard to swallow. He felt as though the letter in his pocket, Draco's, was burning red-hot and awaiting final judgement against his thigh. He took the seat across from Hermione, feeling rather small.
"It's Malfoy."
Annoyance flickered over her face, and even as she opened her mouth to say something, words spilled from Harry's mouth, more powerful than he'd expected.
"You were right." Harry leaned forward. "I'm obsessed. I'm sorry. I feel like I should always be with him—not because he's doing anything suspicious, but because I worry that… I'll fail him if I don't. I don't know, Hermione. We don't have many more sessions together, but I lose my train of thought with him. What if something goes wrong? I'll never know but it will have been my fault."
"Hm…" she said noncommittally. Harry could have sworn that her fingers twitched towards her quill, as though to write.
Harry shook his head. "I can't stop thinking about him. He had a rough life. Did you know we went for drinks? Merlin, my heart rate picks up around him and it's as though my brain stops existing—I'm left with… anger, I think? Something, anyways. I tried to help him, but what if it's impossible to put our pasts behind us? Maybe it's just me."
She shook her head, hair flying through the air. Her brow creased slightly and he had the distinct impression that she was staring right through him. He felt embarrassed, for some reason.
"Did you mean what you wrote me about being gay?" she asked.
He nodded, feeling his cheeks heat. The pause before her next words seemed to last an eternity, stretching out the air between them as though it were physically thick. The balloon that was the world seemed to compress to a pinpoint.
"You don't need to be ashamed, Harry."
Her matter-of-fact tone, at least in relation to the very public way he'd been outed, was comforting in a way that relaxed him, thankfully. His stomach unclenched.
"Right." He let out a breath of air. "It wasn't Draco, though."
"That's where you lose me. How do you know it wasn't him? Who else knew you're gay?"
Harry shrugged, refusing to seem startled that she'd said it like that twice. Merlin, it was strange to hear it from someone else.
"He wrote me an apology. He said it wasn't him."
"You believe him?"
"I—" Harry tilted his head back slightly, considering her question. "Well… yes, I do."
She sighed.
"What?" Harry asked.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, Harry, but it looks to me as though you've… fallen for him." She cracked a small smile at his bewilderment. "Or however you'd like to put it, of course, Harry. If I'm very honest, this isn't much a surprise, though I do wish you had done it without involving your job…"
"Excuse me?" He couldn't speak, in shock. "You're wrong! Hermione!"
Anger filling him because he'd trusted her to provide him with some insight, Harry stood.
"This isn't a joke," he said stiffly. She looked mildly concerned, though the amusement on her face made the overall effect one that did not convince him.
"I didn't mean it to be." She leaned away from him, chair tipping with her weight. "Before you go, Harry, I needed to tell you something." she said. Her serious tone took him back out of his anger for a moment.
"Yes?"
She grinned at him, breaking the sombre atmosphere, and rested her hands on her stomach. "I'm pregnant."
He ended up going to find Draco.
It took him three days to convince himself to go, convince himself not to go, and then finally convince himself that if he didn't go, he wouldn't survive another hour.
After some digging about Draco's file, a dubious action that seemed meaningless beside Hermione's outlandish claim, Harry apparated to Draco Malfoy's house. His desire—no, his need—to prove her wrong was stronger than the knowledge that he didn't have a plan of action. He knew he wanted answers.
It was a small one, though it stood tall on the corner of the street. It was a wizarding neighbourhood, as far as Harry knew, but he couldn't connect it to Draco until the scene shifted before him.
He focused as the material of reality to warped around him.
The house that suddenly appeared before him was darker than the previous, somehow quaint in its size and the opposite in atmosphere. The air itself seemed to be sprinkled with something royal, something extraordinary. Generations of distinction, though the location seemed not to fit. Harry thought it oddly right for Draco — he was not quite the snob of the past, but he hadn't exactly rejected his affluent background.
Everything evaporated from Harry's mind when the door opened. Wards had probably alerted Draco to some form of intrusion. It occurred to Harry that he didn't often make house calls. Then again, it wasn't every day that he was outed to the entirety of the wizarding world.
He was still an idiot, but maybe he was one that was not quite as unlikable as before.
It was a week for big news, apparently. A week for lives to change. A week for all the avoidance that Harry could muster, until he had to give it up.
At the very least, he wanted to get to the bottom of what had happened to him. Hermione had nine months, but it was only a matter of hours until the press occupied his life, firing questions at him.
Having been thrust once again into the spotlight for something he had repressed for so long was not fun.
To Draco's credit, the only indication that he cared about Harry's presence was a slight draining of blood from his cheeks, leaving behind smooth, pale skin. All of a sudden, though, colour burst forth and Draco was all but running—stumbling, maybe—down the short path.
"What are you doing here?" he shouted.
He slowed as he approached, wariness overtaking his features as he appraised the wand Harry was holding.
"Whatever you think I've done," he said haltingly, "I haven't."
Harry lowered his wand, tugging his sleeve down with his other arm, self-conscious. "I wanted to talk."
"Talk? How sweet."
Harry glared. At the ground. "Yes, you should be familiar with the concept. I do remember a distinct inability of yours to shut up, so you needn't worry."
Draco, absurdly, seemed to relax. He threw a glance over his shoulder before turning completely. He looked back to Harry.
"I wasn't expecting company," Draco said in warning. Harry was amused, though he kept it strictly internal.
"I'm sure it isn't worse than what I've been living in for the last few days."
And it wasn't. The small room—for receiving guests—was tidy. Draco offered tea, and they got through the pleasantries with relative ease.
"When I saw the Prophet this morning, picture, article, and everything, I couldn't believe it," Draco said, causing Harry to tighten his grip around his cup. Some trickled over the edge and dripped onto his lap. He composed himself, trying not to get angry all over again.
"Me neither. If I'm honest, hangovers, angry owls, and bombshells being dropped on the general public are not great morning alarms."
"Do you know who it was?" A pause and the quirk of an eyebrow. "I assume your call means I am not a suspect. Correct me if I'm mistaken."
Harry shrugged. "No one else knows, actually, but you're right." It was Draco's turn to choke. "It seems that I trust you. Also, if you were in the same shape this morning as I was, you'd never have had time to report anything."
"No one else knows?"
The surface of the tea in the little cup was suddenly very interesting. Harry nodded minutely in affirmation.
"Only I knew?"
"It was an accident."
Draco reacted to that as though burned, pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw.
"Luckily for you, I didn't make the mistake of telling you I share those proclivities while I thought you trusted me."
The silence that followed his comment was like gunfire. Harry squinted, unable to discern whether or not there was any truth to that. The snide tone was too sharp. But why would Draco say something like that?
Finally, he decided to react safely, backtracking. "A mistake in that I didn't plan on anyone knowing so soon."
"Potter, do you know what this means?" The dangerous glint in Malfoy's eye sparked something in Harry that he tried to firmly stifle with moderate success.
He didn't want to ask, but it was Malfoy. He could never resist.
"What?"
"We're equal now, after all those sessions. I know something personal about you."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "You told me your plot before getting anything more personal out of me. Have you forgotten where this discussion came from? If so, check the front page of the Prophet, above the fold!"
Malfoy's concentration was perfect for a moment, unbreakable. "Bollocks. Wait, there has to be a way to exploit this."
"Unless you want to probe me with secret questions over dinner or something, I think I'm safe."
Their eyes met. "Was that an offer, Healer, sir?"
Harry gulped, speaking before he could think. He cycled through anger, confusion, suspicion, and settled on madness. "I'm sure I could outsmart you. I'd like to see you try."
Malfoy smirked, leaning back in his seat, looking for all the world as though he were king.
Harry thought about Hermione for a fraction of a second, felt himself grow immediately restless, and stood.
"I have some more errands to run," Harry said. "Busy day, you know."
Draco nodded, looking as though he had something more to say. Harry didn't push it and the thoughtful look faded.
"You were simply brilliant company, Potter, we'll have to do this again."
"Piss off, Malfoy. When are we doing this?" Harry wondered if he'd misjudged, if Draco hadn't really meant it.
Grey eyes flashed and a slow smile stretched out on Draco's lips. "Tonight. I don't like to be kept waiting."
"A challenge, then," Harry said, tugging at his collar to allow himself to breathe once again. "I'll beat you, just wait."
"Ooh, Potter, on the first date?"
Harry groaned, closing his eyes.