Author's Note: Merry Crisis, you filthy animals! I had a lot of fun writing this one. As always, be gayer today than you were yesterday, and just continue like that forever.
Chapter 9: The Draco Malfoy Apology Tour
As it turned out, Draco Malfoy had never as a student, infiltrator, or professor gone inside of Hagrid's hut. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. Be nice, Harry had told him. Draco tried to imagine the interior and how he might compliment Hagrid's fine use of… stonework on the fireplace? Merlin help him, this was going to be a ride.
Harry, having released Draco's hand with some reluctancy, was now raising the same hand to knock on Hagrid's door.
"Harry!" could be heard from within, along with some booming footsteps to the door. When it swung open, Hagrid had a big smile on his face. When Harry stepped a little to the right and revealed Draco, that smile disappeared. "Malfoy."
"Hey, Hagrid! Thought I'd bring a fellow Professor along!" Harry said with as much enthusiasm as he could.
Hagrid looked between the two men and sighed. "I'll get another teacup." He turned around and disappeared back towards the stove and the kettle to pour out a third cup. "Come on in," he called over his shoulder.
Harry kept the door open for Draco and nodded inwards. Gryffindors.
When Draco stepped inside the hut he was first greeted with the smell of tea—good, he could compliment that. But there was an underlying smell, too… Wet dog?
Fang lumbered over to sniff Draco as a new person in his home. The slobber was, as always, copious. Draco, instinctively fearful of animals, backed away. That meant backing into Harry. "Oh!"
"Sorry!" Harry laughed instinctively. "Oh, come on, say hi to Fang!"
"Hello, Fang…" Draco looked leery as ever and did the most minor extension of his delicate hand. The dog sniffed it and seemed satisfied.
"How do you take your tea, Malfoy?" Hagrid asked, with a little sugar spoon in-hand and everything.
"Milk and three sugars," Harry answered. In a way, every day at the Professor's table for all three meals? Like little dates between the two of them. It became obvious how Draco took his tea, and answering was natural to Harry.
Draco blinked. Oh. He knew his tea order.
"Well, pull up a chair, Professor Malfoy," Hagrid waved after preparing the cup.
Harry and Hagrid's cups were piping hot still, charmed to retain heat on the table with its four chairs. Harry had fond memories of sitting in these chairs with Ron and Hermione. It occurred to him that they were owed a letter about the events of the day. Would Draco want that? He tried to read his face as they sat but Draco's eyes were firmly on the teacup.
He took a sip and it wasn't awful, so he could at least be honest. "Thank you for the tea. It's nice," Draco attempted.
"You're welcome," Hagrid grumbled, fumbling with some parchment in his hands.
"Oh, is that Madam Maxine's letter?" Harry asked.
Hagrid held the letter close to his chest, away from prying eyes. "D'you think it's safe?" Hagrid asked conspiratorially to Harry. "To share this with him?"
Harry looked to Draco. "I think it's safe with him. Right, Draco?"
"Right," Draco responded with a nod. "I will keep everything said here between the three of us." He circled his teacup with his index finger and leaned closer. "Professors must stick together in these trying times."
Being the man who had had to carry a limp Harry to the battlefield, Hagrid wanted to angrily counter that these were easy times, now that the Death Eaters were dissolved. It seemed Draco Malfoy could say nothing right to him, so how could he help with Olympe? "You ever even been with a woman?" Hagrid snuffed.
"I mean, no, but that's because I've been with men," Draco answered, mildly amused. "I'm here to Queer Eye you."
Harry snorted a laugh and then realized the full impact of what Draco was saying. "You know the show 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?' Wasn't that airing when we were just kids? And more importantly, on muggle TV? Also, did you just use it as a verb?"
"Yes, Professor Potter, I am a creative linguist and, at the flat I was staying in before the school year, possessed a VCR." It had taken way too long to figure out how to use it, but still. Draco had succeeded in feeding the large rectangle to the hungry beast and it displayed some vibrant colors on the screen after that. Sort of like magic.
"I… don't know why an eye would be…" Hagrid swallowed instead of saying the word. His hut most certainly had never contained a VCR. "But you, Malfoy. You like a muggle thing? I'd think you from your student years would have a hissy fit to hear that."
"He very well might have," Draco shrugged. "But I don't like to mess with time magic, unlike some people in our current company." He threw a look at Harry but also couldn't hold back a smile when he did. "So, we'll never know."
There was a silence at the table, a contemplative one that wasn't entirely uncomfortable.
"When did you meet Madam Maxine?" Draco asked. "Our fourth year, correct?"
Hagrid took a deep breath. "I had seen of her before, I had," Hagrid started. "But we never really talked. Fourth Year I was a Professor, though, not just the Groundskeeper, and I got to shake her hand when she arrived. I'll never forget that handshake."
"Handshakes can be pivotal," Draco nodded. Harry's rejection of his in first year and then accepting of it as Professors came to mind. Harry was thinking of it, too, and felt his fingers twitch with the urge to hold Draco's hand again. "So, there was an instant attraction for you. What about for her?"
"She said at the Yule Ball that year that I 'clean up nice'," Hagrid admitted with a blush on his ruddy cheeks overcoming most of his face by the end of it. "I know most of the time at school I'm covered in dirt and the like, but I must've washed my beard a hundred times before that Ball. She's a real classy woman, Olympe. She knows things like dancing and, and fork arrangements, and flowers an' such."
Harry wondered… did Draco know things like that? He probably did. McGonagall's one lesson on ballroom had spelled the beginning and end of Harry's dance career.
"Ah, flower language. I can help there," said Draco. "With your reply you should send a bouquet. What do you want the bouquet to say? I will translate."
Hagrid bit his lower lip in thought. "Maybe… That I miss her, and that I think of her all the time, and that I want to see her this holiday break…" Hagrid searched for more words. "She's always on my mind and I want her to know that she will always be until I see her again."
Draco's expression softened. He was an angular, pointy man but now he felt a little fuzzier around the edges. Hagrid was clearly in love, and that kind of thing always struck Draco deeper than he'd care to admit. "Well," Draco began. "White Zinnias are always perfect for missing a lover. If we're working with white, then red-and-white Dianthus should look fetching next to some Carnations. Dianthus for thought, red Carnations for Christmas. Fill with roses and there, you have something quite workable. Orchidious," Draco said and stuck out his wand, a bouquet exactly as he described coming out of the tip. "Does this look acceptable?"
Hagrid took the little bouquet in his hands and turned it over a few times. "This is nice. Real nice. Thank you, then, Professor," Hagrid said.
"Where will you two go on holiday? Has she mentioned somewhere she wants to go?" Harry asked. Orchidious—he remembered Tom Riddle doing that spell to charm Slughorn. He didn't have to wonder what those flowers had meant, that Tom was a conniving bastard and Slughorn was a fool to trust him with the information he had. But Harry released his anger towards Slughorn a long time ago—they had even worked together last year before his retirement. If there was one thing he could compliment the man on was that he knew when it was time to bow out and let someone else take up the torch. Someone like Draco.
When he saw how pleased Hagrid was with the flowers, Harry wanted to kiss Draco all over again. It warmed his heart to see his old friends getting along with his old rival and current… boyfriend? Partner? They'd have to have that talk some other time.
"That's the problem, she picked the last one. We went to the wizarding section of Munich and had the best bratwurst I ever had. Stayed in a nice inn, in a big suite. Well, it had to be big for the two of us," Hagrid chuckled.
Ew. Ew. Hagrid. Inn room. Straight sex. Ew. Draco did his best to maintain his composure. "Right, so, she lives in France," Draco tried to refocus. "Europe is probably overdone for her. Ever try somewhere in America? You wouldn't have to learn a new language, and they do their Christmases rather grand."
"Have you ever been?" Harry asked Draco, now feeling frightfully undertraveled.
"New Orleans, once," Draco nodded. "Pansy insisted on seeing their 'Mardi Gras'." And then all of Mardi Gras had seen her bead-bedecked tits. And her legendary hangover. "We stayed in a wizarding building's penthouse." Wizarding lodging was probably safer than making Giants check in at a Hilton Hotel.
"I have some saved up for the trip, of course, but maybe not penthouse levels…" Hagrid muttered bashfully.
"Oh, don't worry, Pansy and the owner get along well. I can pull some strings." Meaning she had slept with him and entranced him forever, while she mostly just saw him as a bore. He would happily jump through hoops for an owl post from her. "If this is what you want, that is. I don't mean to push it on you. This trip is all yours."
"Look," Hagrid said slowly. "I know Professors have to stick together and all that because of what's going on with the students, poor Ms. Byers in particular, but… Why? Why are you here? Why would you pull strings for the likes of me, hm? Wouldn't yer Father be mad?" he challenged.
Draco took it in stride but couldn't hide his first reaction, to grimace and get defensive. Something about Harry noticing that and clearly looking alarmed brought a weird calm to Draco. Did Harry think he was going to blow up? Draco took a breath. "I… probably deserve that," he admitted, and laughed. Harry laughed once out of nerves, too. Hagrid looked at them both like they were mad.
"I am sorry, Professor." Draco forced himself to stop laughing. "I don't think I ever got to say it to you properly, but… I am sorry for the way I acted. I was cruel to you. Treated you as though you were less than. You're not, but you don't need me or anyone else to tell you that. Even this wonderful Olympe. Just go with what feels right to you. You don't really need my advice, or Harry's, because you don't need to know the language of flowers to know when you see a lovely bouquet."
Harry's green eyes shined. Hagrid's expression was shocked.
"Well. That's big of ya to say," Hagrid replied after a moment. "And I'd be a real arse to turn down an apology that comes with a free penthouse in New Orleans…" Hagrid said, leaning to the side and then laughing himself. "Ah! Just kidding, Malfoy!" He slapped Draco's back in a friendly but possibly spine-shattering gesture. "I forgive ya. Seems like Harry has, too."
"You could say that," Draco nodded serenely. Harry had to fight back another inappropriate laugh.
This man was something else, really coming through for one of his friends like that. It was getting harder and harder not to scoot his chair nearer to Draco's.
"So that's why you brought him, huh?" Hagrid asked Harry. "That's real nice, Harry. Real nice."
"Hey, he surprised me with that, too," Harry said with his face feeling extra warm. He sipped his tea and shot Draco an affectionate look over the rim. "Now, let's plan how you're going to tell her about the trip, hm?"
Hagrid put the parchment on the table and grabbed his quill. The three crafted a letter in Hagrid's slow, sure handwriting that felt like mostly his with some grammar fixes. When it came time to sign his name, Hagrid wrote 'Love, Hagrid', and both Harry and Draco found themselves smiling.
When it came time to say goodbyes a crushing hug was issued to Draco, who did not see it coming and didn't have anywhere near enough breath in his lungs for it. Hagrid and Harry laughed, and Draco rolled his eyes. Harry of course got the last hug and was prepared for it.
"Goodnight, Hagrid! See you at breakfast," Harry wished him well amidst the embrace. Hagrid always hugged him goodbye, and Harry remembered those being some of his first hugs as a kid from an adult who felt safe.
"You stay well, Harry," Hagrid said and patted his back once more before releasing him.
The two men stepped out into the night, cloaks drawn and altogether a bit giddy. Harry's itch to touch Draco had turned into an inferno in his palms. They were no more than a few meters out with the door closed behind them when they both seemed to crash into each other.
Laughing still their lips found each other's, enjoying the stillness before the walk back.
"Draco, when I said 'be nice'…" Harry chuckled, shaking his head.
"I am capable of such levels of graceful charity, you know!" Draco defended and gave Harry's shoulder a little shove before reaching for his hand and pulling him closer. They would walk their fingers interlaced back to the castle just as promised. "And Hagrid is fine. I shouldn't have been such a prick to him as a kid. I won't exactly be cuddling that dog monstrosity of his, but he was fine."
Harry squeezed his hand and felt his heart do a flip. "Such a glowing review," Harry joked. "But really, that was very nice."
"Just don't tell Granger, she'll ask for a villa in the Maldives with Weasley," Draco joked right back, never one to back down from a banter-off. "But yeah, I figured he deserved a nice holiday. Apparently, he's in love."
"Yeah," Harry recalled, the two of them leaving Hagrid's hut in the backdrop of the Forbidden Forest. "I've never heard him say that before, even about her. I think a nice getaway will mean a lot to them."
"I'll owl Pansy in the morning about it," Draco shrugged it off. "She may gloss over it if I don't put it at the top of the letter, though. I have other things to report that may distract her," he said with a teasing airiness to his voice.
"Oh?" Harry asked, catching on. "And what exactly is worthy of a report lately?"
"Oh, the usual here at Hogwarts. Lesson plans, student shenanigans… There was this one thing that was kind of out of the ordinary, though."
"And what might that be?"
Draco's eyes shone in the dark. "Harry bleeding Potter kissed me right on the lips."
"James," Harry corrected, beyond amused. "My middle name is James. But I did, I did very much kiss you right on the lips. And I quite enjoyed it."
"As did I," Draco nodded. "We were interrupted earlier, but maybe we could pick back up on that… another time?"
"I'd like that."
"Good, good."
"I'd really like that, Draco. I meant what I said," Harry put himself out there. "That I know what it might mean—that people won't get it. But that's fine. I don't need anyone's approval, or permission. Well, except yours."
Draco tittered a little laugh. "And you have both in spades, Harry James Potter. Now, are you going to be telling Granger and Weasley?" It was a strange thought, how their faces would likely turn in horror when reading what their good pal had been getting up to with Draco Lucius Malfoy.
"Yeah, I am," said Harry. "And you might want to start calling them Hermione and Ron."
Draco's face paled. "What is this, the Draco Malfoy apology tour? I'm exhausted from the hut and you want to throw me to the rest of the lions."
Harry barked a laugh. "They won't exactly be here immediately. No apparating onto Hogwarts grounds, remember? We've signed ourselves up for isolation until the holidays," he reminded him. "With the hundreds of young minds and all the other professors."
"Ah, so I have until Christmas to live? How poetic," Draco mused jokingly. "Mother and Father will at least get to see me for tea first, right?"
Shaking his head, Harry was fighting hard to repress his smile. "Hermione and Ron won't hurt you. Not physically, anyway." Harry held back another laugh at the look Draco shot him, who had definitely had his lights punched out by Hermione Granger as a kid. Right in the pretty face. Harry had enjoyed the display at the time, but things had gotten so dark so fast in their Hogwarts years.
"So, you'll go to your parents' for Christmas and I'll be at the Burrow, but maybe we could meet up on New Years, before we have to take the train back in?" Harry went on to suggest.
Draco felt a strange fluttering in his chest. "I have a flat in London where we could spend some time."
"Is that where you keep the Queer Eye video tapes? I'd be happy to see it," Harry replied as quickly as his shortened breath would allow him. Draco and him were making plans for a future that at one point seemed impossible. The only unfortunate part of all of this was that the path to the entrance hall was quickly running out of road. They couldn't be seen holding hands in the castle—they knew that much internally about the lines they'd have to draw between public and private.
Kids could be ruthless, yes, but worse yet would be the parents and the 'concerned bystanders' of the wizarding world.
They approached the doors slowly, and let go of each other just as slow. They would need to split up to go to their separate sleeping quarters, but they would both be doubtlessly thinking of the other all night long.
"Professor," Draco said as the doors closed behind them, the magical warmth of the castle taking some of the nip out of the air. "I believe this is where we part."
"For now," Harry replied with a nod. He wished it could be another kiss. "I'll… see you at breakfast?"
"I will see you at breakfast. And then lunch, and then dinner. Aerin never disappoints," Draco nodded of the head chef earning a head chef salary. "And who knows where we'll go from there."
"I have a few ideas," Harry grinned. "But for now, goodnight, Professor Malfoy."
"Goodnight, Professor Potter."
Harry could not move any faster on his was to breakfast without stirring suspicion. To every breakfast, truly. And lunch, and dinner, and whenever his enchanted parchment lit up with Draco's name.
There was a certain thrill to even just walking by him in the hallway. A private nod, a secret smile exchanged… Even just hearing the students say his name in passing made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up.
"Professor Malfoy was pretty funny today," one of his fourth year Gryffindors said to a classmate. "I'm pretty sure that joke was from a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes book, though…"
Days and nights passed in this sort of flowery haze that only dissipated when Harry thought of Emily Byers. He met with her every week as promised, and after three meetings in October he still hadn't gotten the father's name out of her.
What he did learn, though, might have been even more important. Emily had always excelled in her classes, in Quidditch, in the Hogwarts social ecosystem like she really was meant to be there. Watching certain students turn on her in the coming months would not be easy on Harry's bleeding heart. What he learned more about was her childhood, and her time at Hogwarts before he had become a professor.
Emily Byers was born an orphan. Her mother had died in childbirth and a father had never stepped forward to claim her. This, Harry thought, must have bearing on the current situation. Now not only was the thought of a difficult birth haunting Harry's thoughts, but how the father of this baby might reenact Emily's early childhood trauma by never stepping forward himself. Emily was so bright, and she had been so close to finishing school without incident… Harry wondered idly which was worse, war or the birthing bed.
At least it was still October, and she wouldn't be showing until next year.
"P-Professor Potter!" stuttered a voice across the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Harry had issued an exam, multiple choice, and the students had been silently working away at it before second year Ravenclaw Ashlyn Williams sprung from her seat to point at the window.
Harry followed the line of sight from her finger and paled.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom's windows overlooked the courtyard. They had the option to be shuttered, but Harry liked to let the light in, so they were only closed for projector showings. This offered all the students and Harry a clear view of the splashes of light emanating from the courtyard center.
Harry knew the sight, two wizards locked in a duel. Two students, yes, but his instincts kicked in before he could stop himself. "Heads down!" Harry ordered the class. "Ashlyn, go and get the Headmistress from her office." He shuttered the windows with a wordless wave of his wand and, robes flowing behind him, made a run for the stairs. He had to get down there, had to prevent these two idiots from doing anything dangerous.
A stray spell hit the shutters, shaking the room. The children screamed, now seeing the importance of getting their heads down.
Harry was out in the courtyard in record time, wand drawn. "Drop them!" He snapped at the dueling pair. One had just tried to paralyze the other, and the spell had narrowly missed. "Drop your wands right now!"
Harry checked the colors of their ties—two Slytherins. The flashes of green were illuminated by lightning-fast spells. The boy on Harry's left raised his wand again, aiming another spell—
"I SAID DROP IT!" Harry boomed, moving his own wand, casting Expelliarmus in an arc. Both the wands of the Slytherins flew from their hands and with another wave of Harry's wand, all three were in his hands.
"You know dueling is strictly against Hogwarts rules!" Harry continued, a bit ragged from how loudly he'd just yelled. "You put everyone around you in danger when you wield magic like this. What are you even fighting over?"
The Slytherin boy on the right went bright red. "I—we—we didn't mean to—"
"I heard several hexes and curses, don't you try and fool me. You don't just 'accidentally' say those words," Harry said, stern as he tried to recompose himself. The danger had passed, but his heart was still pumping in his ears. "Explain yourselves, now!"
The boy on the left crossed his arms, putting up a tough upper lip. "None of your business."
"Oh, you better make it my business," Harry walked right up to the boy, the crackles of his magic still charging the air. Harry's magic had only grown more powerful with time, even after defeating the 'dark lord' there would always be new challenges. New things to learn, to do wordlessly and wandlessly. It came easy in a learning environment like Hogwarts. "Because when the Headmistress and other Professors arrive, I need to tell them why you interrupted my class with this nonsense."
"I just—I couldn't let him get away with what he said!" the Slytherin on the right confessed. When Harry wasn't in battle mode he could take a better look at him and recognize him as Ryan Walsh.
"You keep that to yourself," snarled the other Slytherin, the one Harry was still bearing down on… but not quite literally. They were seventh years, nearly grown men, and Harry was shorter than the both of them.
"Mr. Tate! Mr. Walsh!"
Harry turned to see the Headmistress holding her skirts up so she could move more quickly towards the courtyard center. "Professor Potter, thank you for breaking up the chaos of two young men who should know better. A young Ravenclaw came to tell me there was dueling so sloppy it shook Professor Potter's classroom! Explain yourselves, and quickly."
The snarling Slytherin, he must have been Tate, stared down Walsh like he might just start swinging, wand be damned. Fortunately, it seemed McGonagall and himself were comfortable putting themselves in between students to defuse situations like these. It was rare to see Slytherins fighting other Slytherins, though.
"Well," Walsh tried. "He was spewing something awful! I had to stand up for the house!"
"You dishonor the house!" snapped Tate. "I had to challenge you for your position. You're not fit to be Head Boy. I would have won!"
"That is not how we handle things here at Hogwarts!" McGonagall snapped right back. "Or in any civilized wizarding society! Just you wait until your Head of House hearts about this."
While Walsh looked dismayed at that, Tate kept his gaze icy. Harry was gripping their wands tight, as if either boy was any match for him even if they got them back.
As if summoned by the words came a familiar gait of footsteps. Professor Draco Malfoy entered the courtyard looking like a man on a mission. "Professor, Headmistress," Draco nodded to his colleagues. "I received your message, Headmistress. These two will face detention with me personally. And twenty points from Slytherin."
"But—" Walsh tried.
"Have some decorum!" Draco demanded. "Do you think I enjoy taking points from my own house? What on earth was so important to fight about that you embarrass yourselves in front of everyone?"
"Professor," Ryan Walsh tried once more. "He was spreading a—a vile rumor!"
"And what was this rumor, Mr. Walsh? Mr. Tate?" Draco prompted, arms crossed and brow furrowed.
Since Tate was still saying nothing, it fell to the Head Boy to tell the teacher he admired the most something most unsavory. Walsh took a deep breath. "Tate said something about Emily Byers that I know is not true. Emily would never."
The three educators guarding a student's secret began to sweat.
"Emily would never be into Death Eater stuff."
That curveball had Harry's head spinning. "But… Emily Byers is a Gryffindor," Harry protested.
"And so was Peter Pettigrew," McGonagall had to remind the proud Harry. "But I concur with your confusion. Ms. Byers has never presented any purist notions to us in her near seven years here."
"Where did you hear this rumor, Mr. Tate?" Draco said, turning his scorching grey gaze on the other student.
Finally cornered into the truth, Benedict Tate had nowhere left to run. Wandless and arguably witless, he had to come up with something convincing, fast. "I just made it up because he's in looooove with her," Tate recovered into teasing.
Something told McGonagall that wasn't the whole story, but she had heard enough out in the open. "Enough!" she ended the inquisition. "Everyone, to my office, now."