Notes:

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Chapter Text

The place Harry had been just a second before was now empty. Draco stared at it, as if staring could conjure him back. The sudden departure brought back memories of the disastrous first night Harry had spent in his little studio in Stratton. He couldn't explain why; the circumstances had changed considerably since then. Something in the way he avoided his eyes as he turned on the spot.

It's the stress, he thought to himself as he put his bare feet tentatively on the ground. He's just stressed because everybody expects him to snap his fingers and solve this case. He felt around until his foot found the slipper that had snuck under the bed.

He's not hiding anything from you. Not anymore.

The water glistened in the dark kitchen as he poured himself a glass from the tap. It was strange to think he'd been so envious of the way people always expected great things from Harry. How delusional of him to think Harry had actively searched for that. How immature to wish for it instead, daydreaming about a world in which he'd be the one everybody rooted for. Now that it had finally happened - on a much smaller scale - he thought he finally understood the futility of craving for it. He laughed at himself alone in his dark kitchen. It felt appropriate. He had been a fool. Harry as well, in other ways.

How much time they had wasted because of their failure to understand one another. There was nothing to do about it, except maybe laugh.

He wandered to the bedroom, his body and his mind too alert to sleep. Instead of lying down in the empty bed - how cruel, to expect to fall asleep in Harry's arms just to have it taken away so brutally! - he went towards the wardrobe. He wondered at the mess inside; Harry's side, not his. He put on the thickest sweater he could find, overwhelmed by a feeling of love so intense he couldn't quite admit to himself it was a bunch of shirts thrown carelessly that had provoked it.

It was a cold, windless night. Perfect for a midnight walk. The city was quieter; bustling day crowds had dispersed back into tall buildings that lined the boulevards and boroughs away from the heart of the city.

He was only half surprised when he realized he'd taken the road that led to St Pancras. It happened often to him when he walked alone. It was muscle memory. He had walked Camille to take his train back to Paris from there countless times. If that's where his body had taken him, then so be it, he thought, continuing on the familiar route. Only once he arrived in front of the train station it dawned on him that it wasn't his time with Camille that had caused him to travel this way.

How many times had he walked past King's Cross in his round trips to St Pancras? How many times had he crossed the street at the intersection so that he wouldn't be too close to it, wouldn't have to look at it.

He faced it at last, heart thumping in his chest. It looked very different than it did in his memories. As he stepped through the front entrance he barely recognized, he was hit by a wave of memories strong enough to knock him off his feet. Even though almost nothing was recognizable, there was something about that place that felt like home. He was surrounded by the vestiges of the London of his youth. The London of his parents. Before him was the entryway to magical London, the London he avoided as much as he could outside work hours.

He carried on, passing by stores. In the windows he saw brands he had never bothered to notice growing up and displays full of items he had secretly longed for as a child, wondering what sort of dangerous muggle artifacts could be hidden between the aisles of colorful candy. He passed by the wall where he had noticed that muggle boy leaning on a long time ago. It had been easier then, at age fourteen, to loathe him for the spark it had ignited in him than to admit his desire to himself.

Strangely, he didn't feel ashamed thinking about it. Instead he felt sorry for himself, for the boy that he'd been. How hard it must have been to navigate this world he was trying so hard to be on top of. How false the sense of security his parents had instilled in him.

He was now staring at the wall in between platforms 9 and 10, overcome not with regret, but with a sense of time stretching infinitely in both directions. The past felt like a bottomless well; each moment in time held endless interpretations so that a lifetime wouldn't be enough to remember it all. His future, too, suddenly presented itself as a curious thing. For the longest time, Draco had felt so very strongly that his future was locked into place. At first, he had been the prisoner of his childhood, mindlessly moving forward towards a predetermined fate. Then, once he'd been freed from that by machinations out of his control, the memories of war and the guilt had shaped a different, duller future for him. Yet here he was, and neither of those paths seemed inevitable anymore.

He passed through the wall and was relieved to find himself on the other side. Maybe the wall recognised the magic locked deep within. Maybe it didn't care. Maybe it let through anybody who had the confidence to run into a solid brick wall. Unlike King's Cross, platform 9⅓ hadn't changed all that much in the last fourteen years.

There it still was, the bench on which he sat, sandwiched between his parents, before the first journey to Hogwarts. He remembered how the tears burned at the edges of his eyes as he tried to look away from his mother, ashamed to have proven himself no better than his five year old cousin.

There was the lamppost where he usually met Crabbe and Goyle. And a little bit further down, the newspaper stand from which his parents always bought him a treat for the way.

He walked on until the platform stopped abruptly. The tracks on the other hand went on and on, disappearing into the great night between the flickering lights of distant warehouses. At the end of those tracks stood Hogwarts. Had it changed too, or was it the same as ever? The same it had been when he'd walked its hallways? The same it had been when his parents had done so? And their parents before them, and so on, for generations? How come muggles were so obsessed with change yet wizards preferred to keep everything the same?

And what about himself? What did he prefer? Change or preservation?

He pondered these questions as he made his way back home. The wind was stronger now, pushing on him from all sides. He picked up the pace.

He went straight to his study, took a seat at his desk and opened the tiny drawer that contained Mother's letter. He knew it by heart, yet felt the urge to see the words written down in her elegant handwriting, to rejoice in its improbable existence.

His eyes lingered over the last paragraph.

I hope one day, when you have left all of this behind, you will forgive me. You will forgive us. Finally, I need to speak about your father. I know you will always blame him for everything and I know you have many reasons to do so. But if you must remember one thing about him, remember that he loved us. That he loved you. He did his best, as we all did. We may have made mistakes - horrible mistakes - but we can go in peace knowing that we did do one good thing: we made and we raised you.

The bottomless memory of his father raising him up on his shoulders on a sun-scorched field. The endless wonder of watching him read the newspaper at breakfast. The infinite love of holding his hand on the way to King's Cross.

He'd never forgive his father, he realized in that instant. He'd never leave everything behind, no matter how appealing it sounded. But that was fine, because he'd always love him anyway.

A familiar pop resonated throughout the quiet apartment followed by the sound of footsteps. Presumably drawn by the only source of light in the apartment, Harry pushed open the door.

"Hey, you. How did your hunch turn out?"

"Pretty well," Harry said, distracted. He was looking at the letter in Draco's hand. "You couldn't sleep?"

"No. I was hoping you'd come back."

Harry stepped into the room and circled Draco's desk to sit behind him on the window ledge. Draco turned around, watching Harry look up at the little bit of black sky visible between the roof of the buildings lining the small interior yard.

"Speaking of letters," Harry started, taking off his glasses to wipe one of the lenses with the sleeve of his shirt, "I've been thinking of replying to my cousin."

Draco followed Harry's movements but didn't say anything.

"What do you think?"

"I think that's a good idea," Draco answered cautiously, letting the letter fall on the desk and turning completely towards Harry.

"But I don't know what to say. I'm terrible at these sorts of letters."

"I'm sure you're better than you let on. But I can help you, if you want." As he said that Draco nudged his chair closer to Harry.

"I'd appreciate it," Harry smiled, accepting Draco's hand. His eyes moved over Draco's clothes, which were not the pajamas Harry had last seen him in.

"I went for a walk," Draco explained, pulling Harry into his arms. "I went to King's Cross."

"Really?" Harry's voice was muffled as he rested his mouth against Draco's neck. "Quite the walk for a Thursday night."

"Have you ever- since-"

"No."

"Me neither, until tonight."

"Was it good?"

"Yeah," Draco said, kissing Harry on the top of his head. "It was."

Unfortunately, they didn't have time to write a reply to Dudley's letter for another fortnight because the next morning Harry inadvertently exposed what would probably go down in history as the party's biggest scandal.

At first everything seemed normal. Harry and Draco walked together to the Ministry and parted ways in front of Draco's office. Then Draco spent the morning catching up on work he'd neglected while he worked on Cole's case. He was doing the mandatory monthly inventory he'd put off for way too long with Ana when the shouting started.

They both turned to the door, startled.

"What now?" Draco asked, lifting himself from the crouching position he'd taken while inspecting the bottom shelf.

He popped his head out but the hallway had become silent again.

"Never mind," he told Ana while he closed the door, just as the shouting started again. "Jesus!"

This time, he recognized Ulmer's voice drowning out Harry's shouts.

"Not again," he muttered to himself.

"What do you think is happening?"

Draco shrugged and crouched down to continue inventorying. If he hadn't the curse would have hit him right in the chest. Instead, it hit the shelf containing hundreds of vials of antidotes. Most of them exploded on impact, sending bits of glass everywhere. Draco just had the time to notice somebody's legs coming through the door before Ana's protective spell blocked it out of view.

It was Ana's spell that saved both of them from some serious burns and cuts from the exploding shrapnel. Some of the antidotes on that shelf were safe to drink but not at all safe to touch. There was a fight going on, he realized with a jolt.

"Come," Ana said, bringing him back to his senses. "We have to get out of here."

But before he could follow her, another hand pulled him from the ground.

"Are you alright?" asked Ron, looking at the door and not at Draco.

"What's happening?"

"I think we might have found the person that poisoned Cole."

"Who?" asked Draco and Ana in unison.

"Ulmer."

In fact, Harry hadn't considered Ulmer at first. More out of desperation than anything, he'd thought about investigating Fudge. He'd been at the Minister's house and the timing of his comeback was a bit too on the nose. He'd also apparently spoken about poisoning people to Harry just before the Prime Minister fell into a coma. It wasn't enough for an official search, but Ron agreed with Harry that it was suspicious enough to warrant an investigation. So, naturally, they went to ask Ulmer for permission. He refused, citing insufficient proof. They were expecting that much. They only asked him because of due process; their intention was to go directly to Cole afterwards and get permission from him to use Veritaserum on Fudge. What they didn't expect was for Ulmer to try to stop them from seeing Cole. At first, Ulmer tried arguing with them. But when Harry ignored him and turned around to leave the office, he used his wand. Ron had been so shocked he'd barely managed to get his own wand out in time to cast Protego.

Once Harry and Ron managed to disarm him they didn't know quite what to do. He was, after all, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and there was no proof of any wrongdoing. Ulmer kept talking, and the more he explained away his actions the more suspicious he appeared. Following his instincts, Harry suggested Veritaserum. Ron nodded and made for Draco's office.

In those few moments of distraction, Ulmer summoned a confiscated wand from the drawer and cast the desperate spell that had almost hit Draco - he had been aiming to hit Ron.

And that had been sufficient proof to warrant an official interrogation under Veritaserum.

It turned out Ulmer had used the Imperius Curse on Fudge. It was under his influence that he sneaked the poison into Ulmer's wine cellar. It was Ulmer's idea to try to influence Harry to become suspicious of Draco. And if that failed, well then Fudge could take the blame instead. Which is what would have happened, if only Ulmer had mastered the memory charms necessary to make Fudge believe he was guilty.

The problem was that Fudge was actively fighting the Imperius curse. Ulmer needed more time to work on a stronger memory charm. If he had had it, he would have probably gotten away with it.

Draco learnt all of the details only much later that day. Ron evacuated the whole office to the Atrium, including Draco and Ana. Cole and other high profile officials were coming in as they were leaving. Nobody understood what was happening until half an hour later when they saw Ulmer coming out of the lifts, handcuffed and flanked by Conrad and Ron.

Harry found Draco in the crowd, staring at the spectacle alongside Ana and Felix.

"Is it true? Was it really him?"

"He confessed to it. In record time," he smiled. "I didn't measure how long it took for the serum to work, though."

Too stunned to speak, Draco watched as the door of the dungeons closed behind Ulmer. When he turned towards Harry, he wasn't smiling anymore. He was also watching the closed door.

Ulmer was moved to the dungeons that day and his trial was set for the next month. The papers didn't speak of anything else for weeks. Neither did anybody in the Bureau. The same went for Draco and everyone in their social group. After another night spent in the pub around the corner from the Ministry going over the details of Ulmer's betrayal of his own party for the hundredth time, Draco had had enough.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, ever," he told Harry grumpily as they stepped out of the crowded bar into the cold winter night.

"I agree. What should we talk about instead?"

Draco was about to make a joke, but stopped himself. "Your cousin, maybe?"

If Harry was shocked by this answer, he didn't show it.

"OK."

Harry wanted to hear it one more time before going to bed so Draco complied.

"Dudley," he read, putting one leg under him as he switched positions so he could face Harry, "Thank you for your letter."

"Very strong start," Harry mocked, lifting his head so he could smile at Draco from the other end of the sofa. That sentence had been Draco's main input.

"Don't interrupt," he scolded. "Thank you for your letter. I'm glad to hear you and your family are well. I'm sorry I've taken so long to reply but you can imagine how surprised I was to read your letter. I've gone to great lengths to forget some of the things that you mentioned in it and it was not easy for me to see them all laid before me like that. I'm not sure how I feel about it, still. But I appreciate your apology and your effort to reach out to me. Yours, Harry."

"What do you think?" Harry asked as soon as Draco finished reading.

"What do you think?" Draco retorted.

"I think it's fine."

"I think so too." And later, while they were brushing their teeth. "I'm proud of you."

They sent it by muggle post the next morning. They walked together to the mailbox on the corner and Harry dropped it in. They stared at the mailbox for a beat before continuing their way to the Ministry.

Dudley's response came in a week. In the meantime, things had settled back into a familiar routine even though everybody was still obsessed with the Ulmer affair.

The response contained an invitation to dinner. Harry read it out loud while they were going up the stairs to Draco's apartment. Once they were inside, he sat down on the chair by the door and kept looking at the piece of paper.

"Are you going?" Draco asked after a while, unable to contain the question anymore.

"Are you coming with me?" Harry looked up.

"Of course I'll come with you if you want me to."

"Then I'm going."