Written for QLFC Round 10/Semi-finals. Beater 2: The Outsiders - Write a rivals turned friends story

Opt prompts: (Word) unsettled, (time of day) 8:45 AM/PM (whichever one you prefer)

Tw: single mention of suicide and brief allusion to self-harm

Word count: 2171

of guilt and regret

Harry checked his watch. 8:45 PM on the dot. He glanced around the crowded intersection, trying to identify the anonymous informant he was meant to meet. Nobody met the description or wore the agreed upon colours. Harry's irritation spiked and his anxiety began to mount. Was this a set up? Had it all been an elaborate trap?

He checked his watch again. A few seconds to 8:46 PM. Harry tightened his grip on the bright blue umbrella he held in his other hand. Perhaps the person hadn't spotted it in the crowd? Should he hold it higher? Before he could make up his mind, someone came to stand beside Harry and spoke.

'Rather a large umbrella for a clear day. Is it meant to rain?'

Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he recognised the code phrase. In response, he said, 'You can never be too prepared.'

There was a pause, and Harry tensed. There was meant to be a follow up question to confirm their identities.

Finally, the man spoke again. 'Should I buy one?''

Shoulders sagging in relief, Harry answered, 'A green and white one would be good.'

From the corner of his eyes, Harry caught a nod. The phrases were arbitrary and didn't hold any significant meaning other than to identify them to one another. Still, he couldn't help but feel unsettled. The whole affair was unsettling, he reminded himself. He just had to get through it.

Shoulders tensing in resolution, Harry crossed the street to a nearby pub without looking at the other man. The place was crowded with Muggles enjoying a Friday evening, and Harry found them a corner table at the very back. The two settled down, hats and coats coming off, and it was only once Harry was seated and had exhaled a sigh of relief that he looked up to see who the informant was.

His heart thudded in his chest when familiar grey eyes looked back at him from a pointy-chinned face. Although Harry had anticipated that Malfoy could be the one he was meeting, it still took him by surprise. Not just to see the blond there, but also the way the man looked itself was quite shocking. Yes, it had been a decade since the war and Harry surely looked rather different himself, but the gaunt-faced, rail-thin man sitting before him only vaguely resembled Harry's childhood rival.

As though sharing Harry's surprise, Malfoy pushed away his longish blond hair that hung limply over his forehead and said, 'Fancy meeting you here.'

'Likewise,' Harry said, noting that his voice sounded strained. He cleared his throat and consciously unclenched his jaw and fists.

'I can't say I'm entirely surprised,' Malfoy said as he pulled out his wand. Harry stiffened instantly, but the blond held up his hands to show he meant no harm and cast a privacy charm to protect their conversation from prying ears.

I should've thought of that first, Harry thought before catching himself. He exhaled through clenched teeth, startled by how quickly he'd fallen back into the old habit of needing to one-up Malfoy. Clearing his throat, he opened his satchel and pulled out a stack of papers.

Before he could speak, however, Malfoy scoffed and said, 'At least buy me a drink first.'

Harry stared, unsure if the blond was joking or not, then waved down a waiter just in case. Perhaps Malfoy hadn't changed all that much. The unsettled feeling from earlier grew in the pit of Harry's stomach as a waiter arrived at their table.

He was about to order a beer then changed his mind and asked for a ginger beer instead. He was still on the job, after all. Malfoy didn't seem to have any such qualms, as he engaged in a lengthy conversation about whiskey and exactly how he would like it.

Once the waiter was gone, Harry pushed the papers towards Malfoy. 'A list of names.'

'I see that.'

Harry placed a pen down. 'Make a mark beside any names you recognise.'

Malfoy got started without argument, and Harry sat back, suddenly exhausted. He could feel the adrenaline rush wearing away, and now that he had nothing to do but watch Malfoy, his thoughts wandered.

He had been working alongside Robards for the past two years trying to pin down a notorious black-market ring selling Dark artefacts, some of which they claimed were cursed by Voldemort himself. Neither of these claims could be proven to be true, however; what few artefacts they'd managed to get their hands on turned out to be nothing more than harmless antiques.

Despite having a dedicated task force working on the case, Harry and Robards had found absolutely nothing. No single shred of evidence that could be confirmed as either being of Dark Magic, or tied to any single individual. That didn't mean they had no suspects, however; in fact, their problem was they had too many. After more than a few interviews went sideways, the Ministry higher-ups forbade them to call in anyone else without concrete proof.

Which was why, when an anonymous informant had contacted Robards, offering actual names and proof of crime, Robards hadn't hesitated in sending Harry to get the answers they were desperate for. Now, watching Malfoy scour through the long list of perpetrators, Harry was of two minds. It's not that he didn't trust the bond—he had no reason not to. But he had no reason to, either. Malfoy had stayed out of the spotlight for the better part of a decade, other than rumours of some shady activities or philanthropic endeavours. Harry knew as little of the man's allegiances as he did of anyone on the long list of suspects before him.

However, Malfoy's anonymous letter—that Robards had refused to let Harry read for reasons he still didn't understand—must've been convincing enough for the Head Auror himself to authorise this meeting. Biting down a sigh, Harry went back to watching Malfoy.

He noticed again how frail the blond looked. His hollow cheeks, sickly pallor, and generally resigned demeanour belied hardship despite the cocky front he'd put on earlier. Harry wouldn't be surprised if the blond confirmed his suspicions. After all, he was the son of one of the most prominent families of Death Eaters. Regardless of Malfoy's role in the war and the fact that Harry himself had testified in the blond's favour at his trial, the public continued to ostracise the Malfoys.

Harry felt a pang of guilt. He had spent years speaking with Mind Healers in an attempt to get over the trauma of his childhood. A recurring theme was the guilt and regret he held for things he wished he'd done differently. One such instance was when he'd cast Sectumsempra on Malfoy and watched him bleed out. What if he'd offered a helping hand instead? What if he'd offered the blond a chance at redemption?

Harry's Mind Healer has asked him if this guilt was what had made him save Malfoy from the Fiendfyre and testify in the blond's favour, and Harry couldn't deny either with much conviction. Perhaps it has been guilt. Or regret. And that ironically only fuelled both further.

No matter what he did, Harry could never escape the 'what ifs', as his Mind Healer liked to call his ruminations. Even now, Harry wondered if he only trusted Malfoy because of his own guilt rather than anything the blond had or hadn't done.

Harry continued with his ruminations as the waiter brought over their drinks and as Malfoy made quick work of identifying names. A lot of them were familiar to Harry; some had even been questioned. To finally be making some headway when they'd been stuck for so long was a relief.

When Malfoy paused to take a drink, Harry took the opportunity to ask the question that had been at the forefront of his thoughts. 'Why are you doing this?'

The bond looked at Harry with raised eyebrows. 'Why am I betraying my fellow brethren, you mean?'

Malfoy hadn't said it with any malice, but Harry found himself cringing at the interpretation of his words. 'No, I just meant—you're putting yourself at risk by outing them. Why would you do that?'

Malfoy sat back and stared at Harry for a long moment, as though wondering whether to answer or not. Finally, he said, 'Honestly? I just want to finally forgive myself and let myself live my life instead of constantly punishing myself for what a scared, foolish seventeen-year-old me did.' He smiled wryly. 'You must think I'm incredibly shameless.'

Harry shook his head a little too quickly, then cleared his throat. 'I agree with you. We were so young. We knew nothing of the world, let alone fully understood the gravity of our actions and their consequences. Hell, the more I think about how I'd walked into the Forbidden Forest like a lamb for slaughter, the more I realise I was basically committing suicide.'

Malfoy flinched and gripped his left wrist, and Harry's heart fell. He knew what that meant. He berated himself for his careless choice of words.

'My point is,' Harry said quickly to make up for his faux pas, 'as long as you take accountability for your actions and actively strive to be better, there's no reason why you should continue punishing yourself.'

Malfoy scoffed so hard, spittle flew across the table. He flushed and wiped his lips, then stared down at the papers before him. The silence stretched, and Harry belatedly registered the raucous laughter around them. It felt as though the privacy charm blocked the world from them as much as it blocked them from the world.

With a frown, Malfoy said, 'Even if I forgive myself, the world will never forget.'

Harry sighed. 'No.'

Malfoy pushed the papers towards Harry, still not making eye contact. As Harry started packing up, Malfoy spoke so softly Harry nearly didn't hear.

'I'm sorry.'

A lump formed in Harry's throat. He'd never needed to hear those words from Malfoy, but hearing them made such a difference all the same. It validated all of Harry's hurt and upset and allowed him to feel he could finally start to move on. Nodding, Harry said, 'Me too.'

Malfoy still refused to look at Harry. 'I've consolidated all the proof as requested by your superior. How do I bring it to you?'

'We'll let you know.'

The blond nodded.

Harry inhaled deeply. 'Thank you for your help. It has been invaluable,'

Malfoy winced, as though he didn't deserve to hear words of gratitude. He mumbled, 'It's the least I can do.'

The blond's demeanour had changed so much and he looked so uncomfortable that Harry felt the familiar pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Could he do nothing right? As though echoing the sentiment, Malfoy rose and donned his hat.

'I shall wait to hear from you, then.'

Harry scrambled to his feet and got his things quickly. 'Let me walk you out,' he said but Malfoy was already walking away. Catching up to the other man just outside the pub, Harry grabbed Malfoy's elbow. 'Wait. Please.'

Finally, the blond met Harry's eyes. Harry could see the emotional turmoil roiling in those slate-grey eyes, and he swallowed thickly. Letting go of Malfoy, he held out his hand. The blond blinked, then looked down at Harry's outstretched arm.

The moment echoed one from a distant past; a memory so foggy yet whose emotions still remained crystal clear in Harry's mind. Standing there, heart in mouth, waiting for the rejection that would come, Harry was startled when he felt Malfoy's cool fingers close around his. They shook hands once, then again, then a final time. Letting their hands drop, both men looked up at each other awkwardly.

Then Malfoy's lips tugged upwards in a smile, and Harry heard himself laughing.

'What a sorry sight the pair of us must be,' Malfoy said, shaking his head.

'So nothing's changed, then,' Harry replied.

Seeming less uncomfortable, Malfoy smiled—a genuine, honest one that touched his eyes. 'Or perhaps everything has changed.'

'Indeed.'

Malfoy exhaled, his breath forming clouds in the cool November air. 'Thank you,' he said to the night sky.

Harry smiled. 'It's the least I can do.'

Malfoy snorted. He paused, as though wanting to say something else but not knowing how to, then began to walk away, waving over his shoulder. Harry watched him go, feeling a little bit of the guilt and regret melting away. There were many things Harry regretted in his life, but he could say with certainty that offering Malfoy a hand in friendship just then was not one of them. He inhaled deeply, and for the first time in a long time, Harry felt a lightness in his step as he walked home. He still felt a bit unsettled, but it was easy to chalk it down to the dodgy bowl of chips he'd eaten earlier than anything that had transpired.

For now, Harry was content.