Warnings!
We're gonna linger on past unwanted voyeurism/'what happened with Tristan'/ the topic of S.A.
There will be no new events, but known events will be considered in a new light and it may be rough to read if that's something on your radar.
I put (!) warnings for what I recognise as the worst sentences. All of this will be past the half way point of the chapter, after Harry broaches the 'second thing' he wants to mention. Let me emphasise that we are bound to Harry's limited POV.
That said, I'm incredibly proud of this chapter. It's one of my favourites so I hope you enjoy 3
Harry vaguely remembered being woken up by a hand on his shoulder, and there had been pasta with tomato sauce and it had been lovely.
When his sleep spat him out it left a dread that lingered until he realised that people were speaking. It took him a moment to recognise Draco's voice, and another to attach any meaning to his words.
"… compared to the late Middle Ages. Our culture anchors us in our ancestry, which is how we thrive. Muggles don't value tradition like we do."
Hermione scoffed from Harry's right.
"Yeah I don't know about that." Said Johnny dismissively from near the head of the table.
"Muggle society changes from generation to generation." Draco said tensely, across the table from Harry. "Muggles moved to cities because of factories, they tame electricity and build contraptions… which make their endeavours more efficient… easier… and further remove them from their ancestors." He paused to breathe.
Johnny chuckled softly. "Sounding kinda Amish there."
The weight of Harry's head numbed his forearm and one of his feet was starting the Insufferable Tingle of Waking. He was still tired but his temper woke him up.
What the fuck was Draco on about?
"My point is," The force in Draco's tone clearly cost him effort, "Their advancements made them powerful."
"Your claim is that Muggle technology is powerful compared to magic?" Hermione asked with bite.
"…have you ever wondered why the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was instituted in 1692?" Draco asked pointedly.
Harry hadn't, but he would bet his wand that Hermione had.
Her silence surprised him.
"Go on…" Johnny's tone was tense, as if he was about to hear something he knew he wouldn't like.
Draco sighed, resigned. "The size of Muggle armies had been growing for centuries… and their weapons changed over time."
Harry's glasses uncomfortably pressed into his face but he resisted the urge to move. Something in him wanted to know the full scope of this bullshit.
Draco audibly adjusted his posture.
"Guns had existed for some time but they were slow to load," He said matter of factly. "Pikes already existed for close range… But then they combined the two. An advancement." He paused, his breathing slightly heavier than before. "It allowed them to attack at both short and long range with the same weapon." And then, suddenly somehow: "The statute of secrecy was instated for our protection."
Johnny sniffed as if it was a statement. It had no trace of amusement.
The tension in the room descended upon Harry like a heavy blanket. He couldn't wait this out.
He sat up, struggling to suppress his yawn as the soreness from his earlier training settled in his muscles. "Why didn't we get that in History of Magic?"
It wasn't until he adjusted his glasses that he saw how uncomfortable Draco looked. The flutters in his abdomen flared up at the sight of him though, unbothered by context.
"Propaganda." Draco stated shortly.
Harry scoffed.
All Draco's tutelage had clearly gone to waste if he thought that was how the world worked.
Harry had learned more than that in his cupboard.
"I mean it." Draco added stiffly. "Can't say anything bad about Muggles."
Harry glared at him, sour disappointment settling in his gut. The flutter felt all the more bitter by contrast.
Why was it there at all?
Draco apparently thought he hadn't done enough damage: "History is written by the victors. Current Muggleborns are not to blame for how their ancestors behaved, but the complete picture is kept from sight. The history curriculum exists in its current state because once upon a time," he paused to breathe, "it was more convenient to teach students… — that a few hundred pureblood wizards were entitled war mongers, whereas the legions of Muggles with their endless invention are innocent victims." He panted at the end of a sentence that long.
Johnny gave him a disturbed look, but Draco continued despite having hardly caught his breath: "And then Binns died, making it 'disproportionally impractical' to change anything. Which is why many pureblood families teach … their children … outside of school. … We are tutored during the holidays for a reason." His gaze went unfocused as he gasped for air.
Yeah, they'd had to get the bigotry in in their spare time.
"I dunno 'bout this…" Johnny said with an edge to his tone. He charmed some more water into Draco's glass.
"You're from another continent…" Draco managed with a nod. "My Father was on the school board —"
"This is incredibly tone deaf." Hermione said with forced steadiness. "I've heard no mention of the 'history curriculum' when -" She faltered and her hand moved to her forearm, where Bellatrix had carved the word 'mudblood', "…during the war."
"You missed my point." Draco said flatly.
Hermione sat still, and her scream as it had rung through the manor felt awfully close.
Harry's wand hand itched.
Draco's eyes were fixed on Hermione's arm too. "The history curriculum is only a factor," He said softly. "It does not excuse anything."
"Didn't think so." Harry bit. Draco's eyes fixed into his, startled.
Hermione stood up and trembled as she took her bag. "I have to go." She was out the door before she had adjusted the strap on her shoulder.
Her book was still on the table.
Harry got up too, his eyes never leaving Draco's. The flutters in his abdomen spread bitter resignation through him and they disgusted him, but not nearly as much as Draco did.
The blonde hadn't looked away though he seemed to have braced himself.
Harry didn't know what to say so when he heard Hermione's steady pace up the stairs, he took her book and followed her, rushing despite the discomfort in his tingling leg.
"Hermione?"
She paused on the landing, wiping at her eyes and he caught up with her.
"I'm sorry," She choked up. "I'll help you, I just — "
"It's okay. Really." He reached out to her. "You don't have to — "
She burst into tears on his shoulder and he held her, her book still in his hand behind her back.
Second year felt awfully close all of a sudden, when Draco had called Hermione a mudblood on the Quidditch pitch. He hadn't even tried this time, he had cut her down without meaning to.
This was simply who he was.
The flutter in Harry's abdomen faded away.
They stood like this for a little while and when Hermione said she wanted fresh air, Harry accompanied her to the rooftop garden.
"I don't know how you do it." Her voice was still affected as she sat on the edge of a large pot. The olive tree in there was looking a little worse for wear.
He remained standing, near her, worried he would fall asleep again if his body found any rest. "What do you mean?"
"Having him stay here, when…" she hesitated and sought eye contact.
He nodded and she reluctantly continued "When — he's the reason Ginny left."
Harry stared at her.
Ginny had left because he had neglected her, plain and simple. She'd been hardly more than an afterthought for the past…
…weeks…?
Try 'months', Junior Auror Potter.
Draco staying here had been the final straw, but Harry had failed to give her the attention she deserved long before he'd made Draco his problem.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to get his brain to work.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said remorsefully, "You told me you didn't want to talk about it this morning, I didn't mean to push."
She'd been so upset a minute ago… And rightly so, after Draco's bullshit.
Did focusing on this help her? She definitely seemed more comfortable now.
"You didn't push," He hoped his face was reassuring because he felt rotten through and through. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."
She got up and hugged him again, quite suddenly. "Look at the state we're in," She said tearfully.
He didn't think he was in any state, really, but he didn't comment.
It wasn't long until she wanted a moment alone and asked him to look out for Crookshanks.
Harry told her he would and, after assuring her that she was under no obligation to help with either the residue or Draco, he went back inside.
As he descended the stairs, he wondered whether he was angry.
Everything Draco had said had been disgusting and Harry honestly didn't know what he could say to him at this point.
He resignedly continued downwards, bracing himself for hearing more incomprehensible Italian.
He could distantly hear speech and was pretty sure it was Draco's voice. It soon stopped though and as Harry continued to approach the kitchen he felt the tingle of a magic detection charm near his shin.
A surge of anger bloomed in his chest. Who had the fucking nerve to cast that in the house he had invited them to?!
As if on cue, the sound of Johnny's sniff was audible from the kitchen.
Harry was ready to march in and give him a piece of his mind when he heard Johnny ask: "So now you've had a minute… What was that about?"
It was clearly directed at the person in the kitchen with him, Draco, who didn't immediately respond.
Harry was reminded of his first monitoring shift, when Johnny had asked him to give them a moment and then hadn't made Harry leave properly. He'd spoken to Draco without letting him know that Harry was still in hearing range.
Was this similar?
Was he setting Draco up to be overheard?
Then again, Draco had gone out of his way to dream up signs with him… He was likely in on it.
Harry frustratedly decided to give this a few seconds. It was a great reason not to have to see Draco's face.
He'd feel sick if those flutters would return.
"My family's all No-Maj." Johnny said almost casually.
Silence.
Harry wondered how much they were signing at each other meanwhile.
"You got nothing to say?" There was resignation in Johnny's tone now.
"The topic occurred naturally." Draco said stiffly. "I thought she would appreciate the complete context — "
"Of a conspiracy theory." Johnny cut in pointedly.
Harry hadn't heard this conspiracy theory before but Hermione likely had, judging from how she'd gone silent earlier.
He leaned his back against the wall just outside the kitchen door and stared ahead as the silence inside drew on.
Draco was unlikely to want to make himself look this stupid… and this history bullshit sounded like it fit in with his 'timeless lasagne of the world'.
He probably genuinely believed it.
Harry sighed as his gaze wandered to the panelling near the front door, hoping Draco would pass out so Kreacher could tuck him in and that would be that for today.
"I didn't give any judgement." Draco said after a long time. He sounded flat.
"Maybe you should've, instead of repeating it." Johnny said with the patience of a teacher. "With stories like that you gotta ask yourself who told you that and why. 'Cause the — "
"Stop it." Draco demanded.
"Why?" There was a hint of challenge in Johnny's tone. "Don't like where I'm going?"
"It's too late for fatherly advice." Draco bit.
The stunned silence that followed made Harry wince in empathy.
Didn't Draco respect Johnny?
"We both know you wouldn't look at me twice if you could see me clearly." Draco added darkly.
"Ti guardo in questo momento." Johnny's tone had a pointed edge.
"No." Draco said sharply. "And I'm not doing it, this 'special little thing' you had."
Why was he pushing Johnny away? Was his bigotry so important to him that it came before everything and everyone?
A chair scraped on the floor.
"I'll go see where Potter's at." Johnny sounded strained as his footsteps approached.
The man walked a bit past Harry before stopping and hanging his head.
Harry felt he ought to say something but nothing came to him.
Johnny raised his head, now looking at the ceiling. "They want him at HQ first thing, take his statement. I haven't told him yet."
"I can take his statement," Harry said, taken aback.
"Tell Robards." Johnny sighed shakily. "Look - can I use your Floo? Don't think I should apparate."
"Yeah, course."
Harry had questions, mostly about what else Robards might have relayed, but Johnny sounded like he was barely hanging on. It wouldn't be right to keep him. "You know where it is?"
"Drawin' room." Johnny's voice wavered and he gestured at the stairs as he raised his other hand to his face. "Sorry, gotta — " He sounded pinched and cut himself off.
"Yeah, no worries." Harry felt a little lost when he saw him take the stairs two steps at a time. The man visibly hesitated when he crossed his own magic detection charm but continued and disappeared from sight.
Leaving Harry alone with Draco Malfoy.
Harry hadn't known he could be so disappointed in someone he hadn't had any expectations for.
Carefully he took a step towards the door, hoping that any butterflies lurking in his abdomen would take the opportunity to fuck off and die.
Draco was still in the same chair as before, which was to be expected. He had that look on his face though, the one he'd had that evening with Ginny and George. The look Harry had recognised.
He could almost feel it again, the monstrous, weighty guilt writhing in his chest after Sirius died and he'd wrecked Dumbledore's office.
Overcome with the memory Harry took a step forwards, into the kitchen. He could feel the tingle of a shielding charm as he moved through it.
There had been no anger, no fight in Draco's face, but the moment his eyes fixed upon Harry his expression hardened and he sat more upright, as if ready to argue.
"You okay?" Harry was sure he knew the answer and wondered whether Draco would say it.
He felt a fresh guilt though, about caring how the other felt after the harm he'd done.
"Never better." Draco said steadily through clenched teeth.
"Okay." Harry tried to breathe his way out of the weird limbo of conscience in which he found himself.
He felt like a traitor even talking to Draco but the guy was obviously not well.
Harry approached and took the chair across from him, summoning his training to the forefront of his mind. There were some things they had to discuss but he wouldn't allow a single word of hate.
He opened his mouth, —
"I'm tired." Draco said shortly. "I hope this is brief."
"Yeah, two things really." Harry aimed for a neutral calm demeanour.
A hint of reluctance was visible in Draco's nod.
"They're taking your statement at the department tomorrow morning." Said Harry. "I'll take you there between seven and eight."
There was a more reluctant nod in response and Harry wasn't sure whether he imagined the slightest sag in the other's posture.
"So that's one." Harry paused a beat so Draco had a window if he wanted it, but nothing came.
"The other thing is about Tristan."
Draco blinked twice rapidly, taken aback, then let out an incredulous scoff. His eyes were too wide though.
Harry waited a beat but nothing else came so he continued carefully. "He asked whether you would want to talk to him."
Draco blankly looked at him, giving no indication he was about to speak.
"He might be assigned to Residue, alongside Johnny," Harry added, frustration welling up inside of him.
No response.
"Is that a problem?" He asked, struggling to restrain his temper. Even asking Draco these questions felt treacherous with Hermione's tears still wet on his shoulder and he hated every part of this.
Nothing.
"Look — " Harry laid his hands out on the table, trying to dispel his anger by gesturing. "I don't want you to shut down whenever he approaches, okay, so talk to me."
Draco blinked a few times, looking more reluctant than before. He didn't speak.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to restrain himself. "Why did you — ?"
He abandoned the question before it fully formed, unsure whether he wanted to know why the two of them had done what they'd done.
Draco's resigned exhale made him look up from his hands.
"You asked so many questions…" Draco said with the air of someone who had lost everything. "If I wouldn't have answered, you would hear it all from him." His gaze was fixed in the general direction of Harry's armpit. "I had to make sure it wouldn't — …"
A few beats passed in silence.
"…it wouldn't what?" Harry asked softly, not willing to break whatever he'd managed to establish. He looked in Draco's eyes but his gaze went unacknowledged.
"I don't want to be looked down upon." Draco blinked as if processing his own words. "I hate it." His wryness had no bite.
Regardless, this remark didn't fit in the thread of conversation he had started.
Harry tried to keep his tone as gentle as he'd managed a moment ago, because it was clearly working. "I don't understand. It wouldn't what?"
(!) "I'll be monitored for the rest of my life." Draco said flatly. "I can't even bathe without someone staring — " He cut himself off to inhale with a tremble.
The monitoring would only be a few years but that was an insignificant detail compared to the other point.
Harry had participated in staring, hadn't he? He hadn't even questioned it.
(!) The memory he'd seen of the origins of the chair manifestation bubbled up and he could almost hear Greyback click his tongue as Draco sat in the bath, making himself as small as he could.
"I won't meet anyone not assigned to me." Draco said slightly faster than usual, his voice unsteady and his gaze fixed on the grain of the table close to Harry's arm. "Your colleague knew that and offered, so…" He swallowed and his cheeks coloured the slightest bit, making them look like the healthiest part of him. "Now or never."
Harry took a second to process that.
Part of him was relieved to hear it because within this context, it kind of made sense that …it… had happened at all.
But then his stomach twisted.
Tristan had offered, pity or not, which meant Draco'd had the opportunity to say no.
But Harry hadn't offered.
(!) Harry hadn't communicated at all but he had held him, in bed, whilst he was sleeping.
That he hadn't meant to didn't make it alright.
(!) Besides, with their history, Draco likely didn't think he'd have the right to object.
Not to mention that he had lived with Voldemort in his house, which had been swarmed with Death Eaters and Snatchers and Fenrir fucking Greyback.
(!) Was that why Draco said he wanted to be able to 'see him' next time?
(!) Or had that been his Slytherin way to ask for autonomy? Because he didn't feel safe enough to say no?
He never did communicate directly…
(!) … and had he assumed there was a 'next time' because he couldn't escape anyway?
Dread trickled down from the top of Harry's head and settled within him.
He had kissed Draco later that same morning, hadn't he?
All Draco had done was stand up and lean against him, which was easily explained by his wrong box moments and random fainting.
Disgusting abuse of power, Junior Auror Potter.
Had there been any sign that Draco had an interest in him?
At all?
Harry was nauseous with guilt.
And to think he'd kind of resented Draco for giving him those flutters… Merlin, Draco likely didn't want him to have them to begin with!
Was there any Auror who had treated Draco as a charge?
(!) Johnny had seen him as a replacement for his son, Quiesko was — well, he'd been horrid… as had Kerry… And Tristan had used him for sex.
Even Harry, despite all his thoughts about professionalism, hadn't looked beyond their history.
He had the biggest vendetta against him on paper and then he'd made him his charge, made him depend on him for safety.
What he'd done wasn't just unprofessional, it was gross misconduct at the very least.
As far as Harry could tell, Himmelman was the only one who had kept the appropriate distance.
And he literally told Draco that nothing personal about him concerned him, hadn't he?
So who could Draco turn to when anyone crossed the line?
Harry wanted to vomit.
How hadn't he recognised this clusterfuck before? He should never have worked on this case.
It took him a second to remember where exactly the conversation had stranded.
"So… if Tristan offered…," Harry swallowed, "…why did you get the chair involved?"
He doubted that whatever he heard next could be as disgusting as he felt.
Draco sighed and looked as if he was mildly intimidated by the view some distance over Harry's shoulder. "Greyback… never took pity." His face was set but his cheeks still had that hint of pink. "Your colleague's intentions wouldn't change. Only his demeanour."
"Right," Harry said, taking that in and trying not to fall back into his guilt. Draco would likely not discuss this topic with him again, it was best to get all the information now he could. "So you didn't want to make him do it, but you wanted to change his attitude?"
Draco nodded, his gaze still distant.
Harry's mind went to what he knew of Greyback and couldn't help his shudder. "Meaning… you wanted Tristan to be more like Greyback…?"
Draco looked appalled at the suggestion. "Of course not." His tone and disgust were reminiscent of how he'd been in school.
Harry couldn't help his relief at the familiarity. "Right, okay… So then what did the chair do exactly?"
Draco inhaled to speak but hesitated, then looked at a cupboard over Harry's shoulder again. "I… hoped…" His voice petered out.
Harry tried to read the answer from his face but it was entirely blank.
A few seconds passed and Draco briefly glanced at him pleadingly before returning his gaze to the distance. "I hoped it would change his pity into enthusiasm." He answered quickly, discomfort captured by the stutters between his words.
He was blushing so fiercely that his entire face looked healthy.
Harry wanted to say that that didn't make it right, but even the thought made him feel like a hypocrite.
"Oh." He said instead, feeling woefully inadequate.
Draco nodded. His attention was far away.
Harry felt rotten.
He wanted to apologise for what he'd done, to dispel the parasite of guilt and dread writhing within him and to assure the other that he would do whatever he could to make this better somehow — when Draco's attention shifted to the doorway.
Harry pushed his chair out to look, ready to take action.
Crookshanks entered the kitchen, followed by another cat. Its fur was a pale grey, as if an actually white cat needed a good dusting. Its yellow eyes aimed in nearly opposite directions.
Crookshanks hopped onto the table and traversed its length. His tail cut the air between Harry and Draco as if figuratively drawing a line in the sand.
Then he sat down at the head and started licking one of his feet.
"Is it yours?" Draco's eyes were on the whitish cat which had hopped onto the chair beside him.
"No, never seen it before." said Harry, eager for the respite from their previous topic.
Draco had been almost casual but when he realised he'd extended his stump to the cat, his face lost all expression and he looked ahead once more, at the air above Harry's left ear.
His small sigh was nowhere near dramatic enough to suit him.
The cat hopped onto the table with an abrupt 'brr!' and sat beside Crookshanks, near Draco.
"I think he likes you." Harry ventured, painfully aware he was being nice to pacify his guilt.
No response.
The cat also started to wash itself and Harry decided to get back to the real topic, hoping to never have to broach it again after today.
None of it sat right with him but there was one aspect of this he couldn't make sense of, not after Draco's apology to Hermione.
"So… One more thing…" He started carefully. He received no acknowledgement except from the cats, which both briefly stopped moving to look at him.
Draco's attention drifted back to Harry's face.
"When I first asked you about what happened with Tristan…" He licked his lips to try to figure out how to say this, as he saw the blankness on Draco's face become more intentional. "You — called him slurs."
Draco's considering gaze drifted in the direction of the animals. His hand, which had been on the table, moved towards the dusty coloured one.
"I'm not afforded the privacy needed for secrets…"
His tone didn't fit that of an answer.
Then again, it wasn't.
It made no sense for him to talk about secrets, but Harry hadn't actually asked him a question so he didn't know who to blame this time.
Draco moved his hand closer to the cat, which stopped moving with its hind leg still up in the air.
"If I told you nothing, you would learn what happened from him."
"Right…," Harry said in a tone he hoped would make the other continue.
It did not work.
"You did mention that." When that prompt wasn't successful either he sighed, frustrated. "Why did you call him what you called him? You apologised to Hermione." He added, both pointed and pleading.
Draco sighed and his eyes fixed into Harry's. "I said it — " He visibly lost his resolve and fixed his gaze on the dusty looking cat, which sniffed the ring he wore, "— …so you wouldn't think of me differently." There was nervous resignation in his tone.
Harry scoffed incredulously. "Are you saying it's my fault?"
"No…," Draco said, his patience strained. "I didn't want you to think of me as — " He frustratedly exhaled and looked at his hand, which was still being inspected by the animal. "I — What I said… It fit in — The image you already had of me." He looked decidedly unsure of himself and it was clear he wanted to look anywhere except at Harry. "I didn't want you to see me in a new light."
"I thought it was a new low," Harry said shortly.
"On a familiar trajectory." Draco supplied. "I want less eyes on me, not new ones."
Harry took a second to take that in.
His mind presented him with snippets of the conversations they'd had over the past week or so, the chat about early modern gossip they'd had right here, that one time when Harry had called him a vanity unit, and the moment they'd shared on the rooftop garden, when he'd told him how to make the moon disappear.
He couldn't deny these new eyes.
"You didn't mean it then?" Harry asked hopefully as something stirred in the pit of his abdomen. "What you called him?"
Draco looked tired to the bone when their eyes met again. "I would say that, wouldn't I. In my position." There was no hint of rhetoric in his tone, no suggestion of persuasion.
Harry sighed and stroked his hands over his eyes, then adjusted his glasses. He wasn't well rested and Draco's demeanour did not help. "Yes or no: Did you mean what you called him?"
"No." Draco said, without any doubt.
Harry nodded, relieved, as the flutter stirred back up in his abdomen.
Fuck.
Big shout-out to LimeofMagicLimo on AO3, who on 03 March 2022 drew my attention to the Joy of Kneazels 3 It took a while but here we are!
Massive massive thank you to TheBoxInWhichHeCats, not only for helping me workshop this chapter intensively over the span of a few days. Most of Harry's guilt spiral is shaped by them, as are the gems 'Harry learned more in his cupboard' and 'they had to get all the bigotry in in their spare time'.
They are an absolute genius and this whole damn story wouldn't be half as good without their help 3