Chapter Seven
Too Late
Harry sat at the kitchen table, casting agitated glances at the clock every few seconds, as he waited for Draco to come downstairs. The blonde had not gone back on his word from the emotional exchange a few nights before and, when Harry had approached the subject last night, had remained in agreement that he would attend the anniversary ceremony as Harry's 'guest'.
Harry had been unable to sleep that night as his head spun with what the implications of 'guest' meant. To most, of course, it would mean a romantically involved guest. Harry was sure, that after not inviting a guest for the previous two years (as Ron and Hermione, of course, always received their own invitations) that the Ministry and press alike were waiting for Harry to invite a partner to the event. As Harry had mulled the thought over in bed he had been unable to deny the shiver that claimed his spine, the tingles he felt right from the ends of his fingers to the tips of his toes, as he thought about Draco as a partner in the sense that the invitation assumed. He had been unable to hold back the giddy smile, the tell-tale flip of his stomach as if someone had cast a hex to turn his inner organs to mush. Then he had remembered the day of Andromeda's funeral, the looks and the sneers, the tuts and the muttered comments, that Draco had received. Then Harry decided that, more than likely, no one would think of Draco as Harry's partner in any sense of the word; they would probably be too busy sneering at his presence, asking what he did to deserve to be there. Those final thoughts had sent Harry into a restless, tormented sleep.
A small but undeniably sharp cough – rather obviously staged – startled Harry from his reflections of the previous night. Draco stood in the doorway to the kitchen dressed in a pair of deep green robes, the darkest, finest emerald velvet Harry had ever seen, trimmed with silver hems. As Harry looked up to meet Draco's eyes he saw that, although the blonde had made a careful attempt to guard his features, the emotion in his eyes cracked through. He looked… Unsure. Worried. Hopeful? Was he waiting for Harry's approval? A few more seconds of silence told Harry that he was.
"You look great." Harry told him without having to feign a single word. He fought, however, to keep a blush contained beneath the surface of his cheeks, unwilling to show Draco the reaction his body gave to giving him a compliment. Eagerly he searched for a way to lighten the conversation and, in delight, latched onto the colouring in his companions robes. "Very Slytherin."
Draco looked startled for a moment, looking down at the robes he wore as if considering them for the first time. "They reminded me of your eyes, actually." Draco murmured, so quietly Harry hardly heard him. He did, however, and the complement caught him off guard. So Draco thought about Harry's eyes, did he? "I better go and change them, then."
Harry snapped from his thoughts of what Draco thinking of his eyes may or may not mean when he spoke again. "What? Why?" Harry blurted, unwilling to let Draco change and the compliment given within his choice of attire be wiped away.
"It doesn't seem very proper, does it, wearing Slytherin colours on a day like today?" Draco asked, his tone carefully controlled. Too controlled. Harry had come to know that whilst Draco could control his voice and expression most of the time it was sometimes this control that gave him away. Often he looked too neutral, too devoid of emotion and all Harry had to do was piece together the feelings he was hiding.
"Not at all." Harry assured him, standing now to sweep the room and gently reaching a hand to rest on Draco's shoulder. His mind tried to ignore – although a flutter of butterflies in his stomach didn't – the way Draco's eyes instantly flickered down to the hand and then, in return, caused the faintest of pink tints to douse his pale cheeks. "Severus Snape was a Slytherin and he died a hero in the final battle." Draco's eyes had returned to him now, but he still looked unsure. Determined to comfort his unease, Harry pressed on. He chose to spill a secret, something he had told only to his closest friends, that if he had known he would be sharing with Draco Malfoy a mere six months ago, he would have thought himself certifiably crazy. "The Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin, actually. It said I'd do achieve great things."
Draco's eyes flickered with disbelief for a moment as if seeing Harry in a new light. Then, after a moment, he smirked softly and his usual self-assurance swept back across his features. "I can just imagine that. The Prophet would have had a field day."
With that Draco crossed the room to pour himself a mug of coffee, calling over his shoulder. "Has Teddy already gone?"
Harry smiled to himself, glad that the sharing of his secret had managed to calm Draco in the way that it had. "Yes, Molly came through the Floo for him not long ago. She's glad to have the excuse, I think." Harry's latter sentence was more of an open musing, a thought aloud to himself rather than directed to Draco. He knew, of course, that Molly Weasley had been affected more deeply than many by the war. One son lost forever, one without an ear and one scarred for life, who would always like his stakes just a little rarer. Harry knew that the past two ceremony's had been hard on her and she had been more than happy to take up Harry's request to care for Teddy today and asked no questions of Draco and his ability to care for Teddy.
"Shall we go?" Harry asked as he looked up, already back to his agitated glances at the large kitchen clock. As Harry offered his arm to Draco for the side along apparition, he allowed himself to believe, just for the moment, that his arm really belonged there.
Harry's feet landed with a firm thud on the solid ground beneath. Just as solid, and a thousand times more reassuring, was the presence of Draco's body against his. He allowed himself to revel in the closeness for a moment before reminding himself of reality – of both their location and of Harry's so far unconfessed feelings – and taking a step back. As he did so he offered Draco a flash of smile which, to his delight, the blonde returned.
"Ready?" He asked, nodding toward the sounds of gathering crowds in the distance.
"Of course." Draco replied, meeting Harry's gaze with a look as firm as the tone he adopted for his voice. It was, however, clear to Harry now – although, he knew, it wouldn't be to any others – that beneath the well sculpted confidence was a tremor of nerves.
"Don't worry, Draco, I'm not going anywhere." He said softly, reaching out and placing a reassuring hand on the other man's shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze and drawing away before he gave into the impulse to draw his hand lower, caress the lines of Draco's arms and take his hand in his. The smile that Draco gave for the gesture was, whilst clearly surprised, warmer and more honest than Harry had seen. He found himself unable to hold back a smile in response before leading the way forward, unwilling to stand any longer and allow his emotions, brought to a height by his late night musings of the implications of having Draco as his guest, get the better of his control.
They walked together in a companionable silence and Harry pushed thoughts of any potential romance away, instead focusing his attention on the upcoming everts. Of course, he had been expected to speak and – of course – he had, as he had every year since the first anniversary, politely declined. He would stay, as he had promised, by Draco's side, solidly reassuring the wizarding world that yes, Harry Potter had extended the hand of friendship to Draco Malfoy.
He may well want to extend a metaphorical hand into other types of relationship, Harry admitted to himself, but this was neither the time nor the place.
Soon enough they had reached the edge of the gathering. As had now become tradition the memorials were held on the grounds of Hogwarts. As the site of the final battle and the place responsible for educating so many young magical minds of the horrors of the war and how to avoid the mistakes rising again, the choice of it for a location was fitting. Hundreds of white chairs lined the green grass by the edge of the great lake, facing toward the distance silhouette of the castle, once again restored to its full glory. Harry had, on the first anniversary, been taken aback by the striking similarities between the layout for this event and the one for Dumbledore's funeral – the only changes here were that, instead of facing a marble tomb, the chairs were facing a moderately sized, yet still overly grand stage. The stage stood, a proud focal point of the ceremony, every inch of its white marble and shining gold gleaming in the early May sun. It was not the extravagance of the stage that attracted Harry but the crowd of red headed robed figures stood together to its side. As he began to lead Draco toward them he caught a glance of darker, curly hair amongst the group and smiled determinedly. He would get the Weasley's, Hermione included, to accept Draco.
Hermione, as observant as ever, was of course the first to notice their approaching presence. She turned to Harry with a bright smile which, although it wavered slightly with surprise, to her credit failed to fade as her gaze travelled over to Draco. She had clearly remembered Harry's warnings at Andromeda's funeral and valued his friendship enough to follow them.
"Harry," she smiled, stepping from the group of Weasley's to offer him another smile and a warm hug, back to the genuine sincerity of before. As she stepped back her gaze then moved to Draco, the smile diminishing, yet her expression still courteous and accepting. "Malfoy," she added, giving him a welcoming nod.
"Granger." Malfoy replied, his voice carefully controlled with a cautious courtesy, a solid politeness that Harry was certain he had been trained in by his parents from a young age.
By this point, the rest of the assembled Weasley's had turned to face them, each with a similar expression to the ones they had worn at Andromeda's funeral.
"Draco is my guest here today." Harry announced, his gaze carefully passing over each of them. "He has as much right to attend today's events as he did Andromeda's funeral. I was certain, years ago, that supporting the pardoning of all his crimes was the right thing to do. Now I am just as certain that forgiveness should go alongside that. I hope my friends will find themselves in agreement." With his final words, Harry allowed his gaze to rest of Ron and Hermione. Hermione cast a glance between the pair, no doubt noting what Harry had felt – the small, yet notable, movement of Draco stepping closer to his side – before she nodded and either in support of Harry or his wife, Ron nodded in sync, swinging out his hand to clasp Harry's.
"Of course, mate." He said, his voice cracking somewhat gruffly at first as if the acceptance had taken some effort. Probably more support for his wife than Harry, then, he reasoned, but Harry smiled in response, glad of the support all the same.
"Brilliant. Shall we find our seats?" With that he turned back to Draco, offered him a smile which was at first meant to be reassuring yet turned to genuine amusement as he noticed the bewildered look on Draco's face that the blonde had failed to mask before leading the way to two chairs, placed of course, at the very front of the gathering, labelled "Harry Potter and guest".
The day, overall, had been a success. The Weasley's, mostly, had stayed by Harry and Draco's sides. Of course, in reality they had little choice as the seating of the event was pre determined. The hard lines of Bill's face made Harry wonder if he would have requested alternative seating if he had known exactly who Harry's guest would be. Hermione, quite oppositely, was open to engaging Draco in conversation - polite and stilted as it was, it was still conversation and for that Harry was greatful. Ron stayed by his wife's side as she spoke although his support was silent. The other gathered Weasley's were coolly indifferent, not as openly hostile as they had been at Andromeda's funeral, yet not yet as accepting as Hermione. It will come, in time Harry had told himself, or rather, he hoped. The rest of the attendee's had followed a similar suit of the majority of the Weasley's; of course most had kept their distance from Draco, yet there were no withering glares, no muttered insults, and no challenges to Draco's presence. When Minister Shaklebolt arrived - Kingsley, as Harry referred to him privately, he had approached the pair and struck up conversation of Teddy and the challenges of guardianship which had included Draco as much as Harry. For that, Harry had been extremely grateful. His speech had been one similar to each year before it; of commemorating the brave, celebrating the light, of forgiving and moving forward in a new, strong and proud society. Harry had been sure he hadn't imagined the way the minister's gaze settled over Harry and Draco as he spoke of forgiveness and, even more so, he was sure he didn't imagine the way that Ron - in his own, very Ron like way, of course - seemed more openly accepting of Draco afterwards. Draco had stayed firmly by Harry's side throughout the day and Harry had found himself all too comfortable with the constant company by his side. He did notice several furtive, questioning glances Hermione directed his way but chose to ignore them and, after a while, she decided to stop sending them.
After the crowds died and the ceremony ended Harry offered his arm to Draco once again. He knew, technically, that Draco could apparate himself. He knew Harry's house well and, of course, Harry had altered the wards to permit him. He was thankful when Draco didn't question his offer and took his arm without comment, allowing Harry to guide them away and once again bask in the warmth of Draco's body against his, however briefly.
As they arrived home he strode to the fireplace, relucatant to let go of Draco but eager to hold Teddy once again. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder for his journey to The Burrow and was about to head to the flames when a voice drew him back. "Do you want me to make some drinks for when you're back?" Draco asked and Harry turned to nod in reply.
"Something stronger than tea?" The blonde responded and Harry found himself smiling at their now somewhat familiar exchange. He nodded, allowing his smile to linger on Draco for a little longer than necessary, before casting his powder down and disappearing into the flames.
As he strode out of the Weasley's fireplace he found himself in an almost completely deserted kitchen. Deserted, that was, apart from Hermione, sitting at the large kitchen table with a large mug of tea which seemed to rest somewhat comically on her now enormous bump.
"Is Molly around?" He asked, casting his eye around the kitchen as if he could will her into existence.
"No, she's just gone upstairs with Teddy. He fell asleep by the fire a few minutes ago, I think she's putting him to bed." Hermione informed him after gently blowing the hot liquid against the rim of her mug. "I'm sure she'll firecall you when he wakes up."
"Thanks. Tell her I dropped by?" Harry asked, turning back to the fireplace once more.
"I will, if you tell me something." Hermione said and when Harry turned to her he saw the same questioning glance he'd seen cast toward him several times that day. It had now become the look Hermione got when reading a particularly difficult textbook or trying to find a loophole in a particularly old wizarding law which would help the house elves she still fought passionately for; a look that told anyone within a five mile radius that she had a question and she would, whatever it took, find the answer to it.
"Sure, what?" Harry replied with his best attempt at nonchalance, keeping his voice light and breezy as if he hadn't already work out what Hermione was going to ask.
"You and Malfoy looked pretty…. Close today." She ventured after a moment of consideration. Harry groaned inwardly although he trained his face to remain neutral and unaffected by Hermione's comment.
"Draco and I are friends now, yes." He replied simply; it wasn't a lie, in fact, it was the complete truth. They were friends now. It just didn't betray the potential… Added benefits of that friendship Harry had found himself wondering about recently.
Hermione's eyebrow raised almost coolly as Draco's first name slipped so easily from Harry's lips. "Draco, then." She amended with a slight nod, perhaps rather to draw attention to the fact that Harry had changed how he referred to the blonde rather than as a correction of her own words. Harry gave her nothing more than a nod in return, hoping the conversation would be left there.
Of course, that hope wouldn't come true with Hermione.
"It looked like a bit more than friends to me." She said; her voice was still low, her words still purposely chosen yet they were no longer timid or cautious. They were spoken with authority… almost accusation.
Harry found himself unable to shrink back from Hermione's words. He knew, especially now that his friends had begun to catch on (for now Hermione suspected, even if Ron had been oblivious it wouldn't be long until he was aware now), that he had no choice in holding back from how he had begun to feel. He did, however, have a choice in who knew about it. He did have a choice in who he told. It wasn't that he wouldn't tell Hermione, or Ron… Or, indeed, any of the Weasley's. They would have to accept his decisions. Of course he would tell them all; it was just, well, he rather felt someone else deserved to know first.
"Well if that's how it looks I'd better get back and sort that out, hadn't I?" Harry said as he moved toward the fireplace casting Hermione a simple smile. His heart beat out of sync, his palms already feeling a little sweaty. Of course his words hadn't told Hermione anything in the way of a conformation or a denial but he knew that his tone of voice, the smile on his face, the way he was in a hurry to return home to Draco… He knew that spoke for itself.
Harry couldn't hold back his relief when Hermione broke into a smile in return. "You better had." She agreed with an encouraging nod. "And Harry?"
"Yes?"
"You deserve to be happy." She said, eyeing him kindly as she smiled and, after a moment's thought, added "both of you."
Harry said nothing and allowed the bright, unstoppable smile from her simple sentiment give all the thanks he needed. He waved a brief goodbye before he gathered up a handful of Floo powder, threw into the hot, dancing flames and called "12 Grimmauld Place!"
As he arrived in the sitting room of number 12 he found that Draco was already awaiting his return, sitting in what Harry now referred to as the blondes favourite chair; a high backed, almost regal looking emerald, softly padded silk chair. He had poured to generous helpings of Firewhiskey and, if the difference between the glass beside his chair and the one beside Harry's was anything to go by, had already made a start on his own.
"No Teddy?" He asked, raising a questioning brow as Harry stepped back through the flames alone.
"Hermione said he'd just been put to bed. He must still be getting tired from all the raw magic he's showing." Harry sank down into his chair as he spoke, pulling the glass of amber liquid toward him. He'd long since stopped worrying about Teddy's fatigue after displaying raw magic as both Draco and Molly had assured him it was entirely normal and that, once his magic had settled, the frequent random burst of magic would die down. "Molly will firecall when he wakes."
"Good.. There was something I wanted to talk to you about." Draco murmured. His voice was quiet, almost apprehensive. He avoided Harry's gaze and darted a tongue out across his mouth, tracing the thin pink skin of the lines of his lips.
Was he nervous? Harry asked himself internally. Why? Could he possibly want to talk to Harry about the same thing as Harry himself needed to say?
"I do too." He replied, gazing over at Draco and willing him to make eye contact. To give him a sign, a clue, anything to let him know what he was thinking. Draco's gaze flickered up as Harry willed it to, but not with the expression he desired. Harry had longed to see a similar reflection of his own feelings, a wonder, a happiness, a hope that Draco was experiencing feelings Harry may reciprocate. Instead the blondes grey eyes bore nothing but confusion and a slight… was that fear? Or, worse, mistrust? That Harry had not seen in months. Confidence knocked, his own speech now beginning to fade away, Harry urged;
"You first, though."
Draco nodded, taking a moment for yet another gulp of his Firewhiskey. Harry waited, his own glass still remained in his hand yet its contents were still untouched.
"It's… Well, it's…" Draco faltered awkwardly as he began, apparently taking a second to gather his courage. Harry allowed him the courtesy of silence as he gathered himself, waiting with what he hoped was a caring, patient expression on his face. "It's the anniversary of my mother's death this weekend. I was planning on heading back to France, to visit her shop and sell my place for good. If I'm going to be making my own life here, my own career, I'll need the money to get started."
The words rang in Harry's ears like alarm bells. He froze, almost forgetting to breathe for a moment. He knew there was so much in those few words; a wound Draco held with the first anniversary of his mother's death, a clear intention to remain in England for good. But the only thing Harry heard was the final sentence 'If I'm going to be making my own life here, my own career, I'll need the money to get started'. Had Harry been an idiot all along? Had he mistaken every casual touch that seemed to last just a little too long, ever gaze that seemed to linger just a little too extensively? Had he been alone in thinking that their new found friendship, however delicate, was slowly growing into something more? 'If I'm going to be making my own life here'. Those had been Draco's exact words; so he still felt he needed to make a life, did he? As if to say he hadn't already begun to make a life here already? He wanted to make a life of his own, a life that didn't include Harry?
Draco appeared unperturbed by Harry's silence and took it as an opportunity to continue talking. Harry was, however, so lost in his downward spiral of thoughts that he almost missed Draco's next words;
"I think it would be nice for teddy to come with me."
"No!" Harry growled out – truly growled – the ferocity of his answer took him by surprise, yet so did the ferocity of his feelings. He knew his reaction had been ignited by his emotions from Draco's previous words, but he couldn't help it. This was the way Harry was, the way he had always been and always would be. Hot headed, rushing into situations with his heart first, only allowing room for his head afterward. Right now his heart was screaming – screaming that Draco may well want to leave him, he may not want to stay with Harry, to share his feelings, to share his life. He might go, but he wouldn't take Teddy.
He would not take Teddy.
No one would take Teddy from Harry.
"What?" Draco asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, clearing his eyes from the sharpness of Harry's retort with a series of blinks. His expression was lost, bewildered. As if the situation was happening too fast for him to process, yet he already knew the outcome would be devastating. It was almost the look of a small muggle child dropping an ice cream cone on a hot summers day.
"You can't just take him because you have nothing else." Harry sneered. His heart was raging at full force now, his emotions taking control of his words. He couldn't find himself regretting anything he said, not now, not in this moment. As far as Harry's heart was concerned, Draco had hurt it. Rejected it and Harry's heart was ready to fight in return.
Malfoy's face instantly shut down. Gone was the confused, dazed look which previously washed his features. The lines were now sharp, cold and hard. His eyes glinted as solidly as steel, his jaw set as firm as rock. When he spoke his whispered was gone, the ice cold sneer Harry hadn't heard since their Hogwart's days had wound its way back to the surface. "Neither can you, Potter."
With that he stood, turning on his heel so sharply his robes billowed. Just that morning Harry had admired the fine material and even more dearly admired the way the hung, almost caressed Draco's frame.
Now, nothing.
He watched Draco's retreating back until the door of the sitting room slammed closed behind him. His last word rung in Harry's ear;
Potter…. Potter…. Potter….
It sounded almost alien to Harry. It was the first time Draco had called him Potter in so long. The name was so cold, so detached, so far away from the hopes and dreams Harry had entered their conversation with.
Before Harry had time to process any more of what had happened he heard a faint pop of apparition that told him Draco had gone.
Draco had gone.
Now Harry had nothing but silence as he sat and let the words sink over him. The feeling was one like being slowly submerged in an icy pool of water. He had known, of course, that his attraction to Draco had been growing. He had known well enough to want to act on it, to see what – if anything – it could become.
It wasn't until now, until Draco had gone and he was alone, that he had realised just how lonely he had been before Draco had entered his life. In that moment Harry suddenly realised how empty his days had been before Teddy and Draco had filled them, how long his nights had been without Draco to talk to and then to dream of, how quiet his mealtimes had been without their carefree chatter filling the kitchen.
He understood, all at once, how without even noticing he had felt them becoming a family.
He understood, all at once, that he was too late.
His chance, his family, his Draco, had gone.