Written for the QLFC Procrastination Thread: Part of Another World

Prompt(s): Love Knows No Boundaries and Not That Again…(Forbidden Love Trope)

Harry Potter/Downton Abbey Crossover

WC: 2,232

Carry On(Just Not Here)

Downton Abbey; June 1939

Summer was always beautiful in Yorkshire; the last vestiges of cold weather tolerated by spring were banished, and the days were reigned by summer—crowned with a garland of primrose and honeysuckle. The annual Garden Party held at Downton Abbey had become her official herald and it was only a fool that missed the opportunity to see her wreathed in all her glory.

"The Malfoys are supposed to be here tomorrow for the garden party," Cora said, a look of exasperated consternation on her face. She was sitting in the library, hands folded primly in her lap.

"Why, for heaven's sake?" Robert replied, folding the edge of his newspaper down with a crinkle, looking up over the top of it. "Don't they have gardens of their own? Why trek all the way up here? And why am I just now hearing about it?" His brow became more furrowed with each question asked.

Cora cocked an eyebrow at her husband's numerous questions; not one of which he'd given her the chance to answer.

"I don't know," she sighed. "They called yesterday to ask if they could come up. Said something about our grounds being enchanting. I couldn't refuse."

"I jolly well could have," he said with a snap of the paper to straighten it back out. "What's the use of getting old if you don't take advantage of the perks that come along with it? Namely, refusing unwanted guests with no reasonable explanation for doing so."

Cora chuckled softly, shaking her head at her husband. An Englishmen he may be, but in the privacy of her company he was just as human as she was.

As he hid his face behind his paper once again, Cora took the opportunity to relax. She closed her eyes and allowed her shoulders to slump forward. A position that her mother would have reprimanded her for immediately. But just now, with Robert absorbed in his paper and no one else about, she felt as though she could relax. Just for once she wanted to be able to sink into the couch cushions. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even used the back portion of a sofa.

Her ears caught the sound of soft footfalls just outside the door and she straightened, returning to her previous state of refined elegance.

A moment later, George walked into the room, head bent over a handful of letters. Cora smiled at the sight of her oldest grandchild. Now 18 years of age, he looked so much like his father. Matthew would be so proud of him, she thought.

"Have you seen the latest news about Hitler? They sa-," he glanced up from the letters in his hand, catching Cora's eye and wistful look. "Are you alright, Granny?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Yes, of course," she said, waving him off, "Now, what were you going to say, dear?"

George pursed his lips, eyes narrowed in suspicion at the quick dismissal of his question, but carried on. "Well, I was just going to ask if you'd heard about Hitler's negotiations with the French and Soviets?"

Robert brandished his newspaper. "Yes, I've been reading about it right here."

"Do you think anything will come of it?" George asked as he took the armchair nestled between his grandparents.

Robert sighed, "Oh, I don't know. The French are a silly lot. I have a feeling we'll either be fighting against them or coming to their rescue."

"They're not silly, Grandpapa," George said, his voice taking on a defensive tone. He was stopped by the entrance of their butler, Barrow.

"They're just—passionate. That's all," he added, lowering his head back over his letters.

Robert eyed his grandson with confusion, unsure of what caused him to become riled. "Wh-"

"Speaking of the French," Cora cut in, giving him a subtle shake of her head, "the Malfoys will be here tomorrow for the garden party."

George's head whipped up, eyes wide, all traces of brooding gone. "Are they really?"

Robert and Cora's eyebrows both raised.

George cleared his throat, schooling his features. "All of them?"

"Well, their eldest daughter won't be with them because she's on her honeymoon, but Abraxas will be there." She scrunched her eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"

George shifted the envelopes in his hand, knocking them against the edge of his hand. "You know how it is. A young man in a house full of women. It'll be nice to have some male company."

"And what am I? Chopped liver?" Robert said with indignation, his paper completely forgotten, crumpled on his lap.

George laughed, flashing an apologetic smile. "No, of course not, Donk. I meant, male company my age."

"Oh, yes, so much better."

George stared at himself in the mirror, eyes roving every inch of his face. He had recently had his haircut, his honey blonde locks cut short on the sides, leaving a little length on the top.

Not like his hair, George thought. Abraxas Malfoy had hair that was so blonde it took on a silver sheen, and the young man wore it down to his shoulders, swept back with a little fringe falling to the side. George could almost feel it on his fingers.

The door to his room opened, causing George to jump as he was jerked from his reverie.

Barrow walked in holding an overcoat. "I finally found it, Master George. It had ended up in his Lordship's things."

George extended his arms backwards, allowing Barrow to slip the coat up onto his shoulders.

"Is everything alright, Master George?" Barrow asked, concern etched in his brow as he folded the collar of the coat down.

"Please, don't call me that, Thomas. Not here. We've known each other too long for all that nonsense," George said, unable to meet Barrow's gaze in the mirror, afraid that he'd see something there.

Barrow smiled, stepping to the side to grab the brush. "If I call you George up here then I'll call you George down there. And we can't have that," he said, stepping back behind George and brushing his coat off.

"But you didn't answer my question," Barrow continued.

George's eyes darted up, meeting Barrow's in the mirror for just a moment before he dropped his gaze again. "Everything's fine. I just hate this sort of affair, that's all."

Barrow nodded and continued his work in silence. George rolled his shoulders, relieved that he'd staved off any more questioning.

"That's you, sir-"

"George," George interrupted.

"Not the last time I checked, sir. You have to be knighted for that," Barrow came back, with a deadpan face.

George chuckled, "Right you are."

Barrow turned to leave, hand on the doorknob when he stopped and turned back. "You have to be careful about not being so obvious."

George blinked in confusion. "What?"

"You can't afford to be so obvious about the Malfoy boy."

George flushed and then immediately felt all the color drain from his face. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," George stuttered, occupying himself with the cuffs of his jacket.

"George."

The use of his first name with no monniker combined with the tone in which it was said, caused George to lift his eyes to Barrow once more. He was met with a look of concern bordering on pity. A look that he felt a father would give.

"If you don't know what I'm on about, then please excuse me. But if you do, then listen to me. You cannot afford for anyone else to know. Times are changing," he shook his head, "but not that much."

George's eyes shifted back and forth between Barrows.

"I'll take my leave, sir." Barrow gave a curt nod and ducked out of the room.

It took a good solid minute for George to find his breath again. He hadn't even realized that his breathing had become so shallow as he stood on the cusp of being outed.

But Barrow was right, he couldn't afford to be found out by anyone else. He was the heir to the Earl of Grantham and an estate that his father had saved from ruin. If anyone knew…if they found out…it would all have been for nothing; he would have lost the only thing his father had left him.

He turned back to look at himself in the mirror. He had never met his father, but he'd stared at pictures growing up—for hours sometimes. He saw his father now, in his own reflection; blue eyes meeting blue.

A knock at the door.

George cleared his throat, dropping his eyes from his father's gaze in shame as he cleared his throat from the grief that had settled there. "Come in."

Robert entered the room, a playful smile on his face. He froze when he saw George, the smile falling away.

"What's wrong, Donk?" George could feel his breathing quicken. Did he know?

"Nothing, my dear boy," Robert said, striding forward and resting a hand on George's shoulder. "You just look so much like your father, and sometimes it hits me when I'm not expecting it."

George looked at their reflections wistfully. "Do you think he'd be proud of me, Donk?" he asked, his voice coming out in a choked whisper.

Robert blinked back tears. "Yes, m'boy. I know he would be just as proud of you as I am."

George felt his eyes misting. Not if you knew.

Robert clapped him on the shoulder. "We better get downstairs. Your Granny would not be happy if we were late."

"Well, maybe not if you were," George said, a smile creeping over his face, "but she loves me. I could never make her unhappy."

Robert snorted, "You're probably right there."

Robert turned and strode out of the room. George turned to follow suit, but stopped and looked at himself once more, the smile fading. She wouldn't be happy if she knew, he thought, before slowly following his grandfather from the room.

George hadn't been lying when he said he hated these types of affairs.

He usually spent the entire time punted from one young woman to the next, their parents hoping that one of them would catch his eye.

He knew he'd have to marry one of them someday, and sire children. He just knew he'd have to imagine silvery blonde hair in order to accomplish it.

"I guess they don't throw them all at you at once for fear of making it appear as though you have a harem," said a voice quietly behind him.

George whipped around. And there it was—the silver-blonde hair.

Abraxas Malfoy smirked at the millions of emotions that George took a second too long to hide behind a composed English face.

"Did you not know I'd be here?" he asked.

"No, I knew," George said, schooling his features, putting on an air of indifference and trying not to get caught falling into grey eyes. "Granny told me yesterday."

"You're not glad to see me, then?"

The mask threatened to slip. "Don't do that, Brax. Not here. Not in front of all these people."

"Then somewhere else."

George stepped to the brink as blue eyes met grey ones. He swallowed as he felt his center of gravity betray him, pulling him toward his desires while he desperately fought to step back.

The noise of the party disappeared into the background, time enclosing them in their own personal bubble.

"Master George."

The voice pierced his consciousness, the sights and sounds flooding his senses once more.

Barrow stood at his side. "Master George," he repeated. "There's a letter for you, sir."

George took the chance to look away from Abraxas. "Where is it then?"

Barrow looked between the two young men. "Just inside, sir. I thought you might like to read it in private."

"Right. Of course. Thank you, Barrow."

To Abraxas now, "We'll have to finish this conversation later, I'm afraid." He said it all without once looking into his eyes. It was too dangerous.

"Come on, Barrow, so you can show me where it is."

"Very good, sir."

The two men walked side by side into the house.

"You saved me, Thomas," George said once they were alone.

Barrow grabbed an envelope and a letter opener from the entryway table and held them out.

"There really was a letter?" George asked, taking the proffered envelope and knife. He made quick work of opening it, his lips moving as he read the contents. His face fell, his breathing stealing the moisture from his lips.

"Is everything alright, Master George?"

George finished the letter and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "I've been conscripted into service." He raised his eyes. "I'm a soldier in His Majesty's Army."

Barrow's face turned white as he held out a shaking hand. "Give it here."

George relinquished the paper and Barrow quickly read it. He curled his hand around the old wound that had suddenly begun to throb. He set his jaw and handed the letter back.

Barrow took a deep breath. "They have added a brave man to their ranks, sir."

George smiled in appreciation of their steadfast butler; the one that had stood in the gap after his father had died. He set his shoulders and squared his jaw, taking his cue from his oldest friend. Whatever the future may hold, he was an Englishman, and he would alway carry on.