Chapter 10

Harry Potter was sitting at his desk, fingers steepled, and head bowed over them, in a caricature of deep thought. In reality, he was trying very hard not to fall asleep, and losing the battle second by second, as his head crept closer and closer to the support of his hands. He'd stopped taking doubles this month, at Ginny's behest, but it didn't matter much. At home or in the office, he didn't sleep much. The dreams.

Just as Harry's head bobbed against his outstretched fingers, a small blue bird alighted on his shoulder and sang sweetly in his ear, startling him awake. The bird finished its song on the twelfth held note, and flew off again, circling the small, dingy office once before returning to its nest inside the cuckoo clock, folding a delicate wing over its head and settling into another hour-long sleep. Harry half-smiled. Hermione's last Christmas gift – "to keep you company in that musty office all day," the unsaid meaning soft in her eyes. So you remember you aren't alone.

Harry rose slowly, working out the kinks in his back and cursing his poor posture. Thirty-nine this year, with the big forty looming over him from the other side of Christmas, darkening his prospective summer, which already seemed very far away from him. Could he believe that there really was a time in his life where he ticked off the days until his birthday? Yes, he could. Back when he was a complicated sixteen years old. Never again.

Harry was halfway across his office now, his mind wandering from birthdays to his lunch, the negative of it already a ghost in his stomach, his stomach growling around the empty space in anticipation. He'd skipped breakfast. He'd left half his dinner cold on the table last night, too.

A small sound broke his train of thought, midstride. The latch of his door clicked softly, as someone turned the knob with a slowness that was very nearly (but not quite) silent. Harry's wand found his hand, sliding out of the compartment in his sleeve. He tensed, as the door swung achingly slowly on its hinges, disturbing the dust motes that always clung to the air in here, no matter how often Harry owled Magical Maintenance.

Harry drew himself to his full height, wand at the ready, and watched as a thin figure, wearing pure black wizarding robes with the hood pulled low over his face eased himself through the half-opened door, shutting it quickly behind him, his head craned towards the rapidly diminishing view of the hallways, as if making absolute certain that he was not seen.

"Expelliarmus" Harry murmured at the exact instant the door clicked shut, and a wand flew out of the interior pocket of the stranger's robes. The stranger didn't jump in surprise, however, as if he had fully intended Harry to be in his office. The lower half of the stranger's face was now visible, as he turned to fully face Harry, and the thin, wan lips were curled into a familiar smirk.

"I'll give you one thing, Potter" the voice said, as pale, aristocratic fingers flipped back the hood and revealed salt-gray eyes that sparkled with amusement "you always did stick to your brand." Harry's brow creased in a reaction so ingrained it was almost automatic. The years had thinned what it could, both on their faces and between them, but old habits die hard, and so, for a moment, the two men stood, and remembered the hundreds of other times they had found themselves in a tête-a-tête just like this one. Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy.

Harry yielded first, gesturing to a chair and tossing Draco's wand back to him as he sat, in a gesture of diplomatic good will. Draco caught it easily and stared at the wand, smiling ruefully. "Do you think it's allegiance has changed?" He asked softly, twirling the thin wood between thin fingers.

Harry shuffled some parchment on his desk uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. The silence stretched on, marred only by the soft ticking of the cuckoo clock. "Why have you come here?" Harry asked finally, a touch more sharply than he had intended. Draco looked up from the contemplation of his wand. His mouth turned up halfway to his accustomed sneer, before you could see the man forcibly pull it down, his mouth carefully neutral. When he spoke, it was in slow and measured tones, the signature drawl noticeably absent.

"Care for a spot of tea?" he asked, pausing as he tapped two stray quills on Harry's haphazard desk, transfiguring them into cups with a feathery pattern of fine lines that Harry thought was more a stylistic choice than the indication of a poorly performed spell. When Harry did not reply, Draco arched one blonde brow higher on his forehead, "something stronger?" he prompted.

"Go on then" Harry answered, pinching his nose to try and stay the headache that was building behind his eyes. With another wave of Draco's wand, the cups filled with a murky brown liquid that steamed slightly. "The muggles" Draco explained, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he brought the cup to his mouth, "call this an Irish coffee."

Harry gulped a mouthful of the hot liquid, scalding his tongue and leaving a trail of fire from his throat to his stomach. "What do you know about muggles?"

Draco snorted. "Very little" he conceded, "but there was a time in my life where I was very fond of their… shall we say, antifogmatics." Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. The pretentiousness was ingrained in Malfoy, inherited alongside the corn-silk hair and steely eyes, and of course, the piles and piles of galleons.

Before Harry could ask again why he was here, Draco, in one swan-like movement of his neck, downed the entire cup of spiked coffee. Harry, needing little encouragement at this time, followed suit.

"Why did you come to my hearing?" Draco asked. Harry frowned, biting back the cough kicked up in him by the firewhiskey. "Why now?" he countered. "Why ask now, after all this time?" Draco, after a questioning hover over Harry's cup that was answered by a quick nod, refilled both cups with a quick tap of his wand. He sat back in his chair, sipping his second cup much more leisurely.

"The answer is the same to both of your questions" he replied. Harry downed half of his cup in one draught. He didn't have time for Malfoy's theatrics, and it must have been showing on his face, because Draco added to his answer without verbal prompting. "My son" he spoke softly.

Harry groaned internally. He had known where this was going from the start. "I spoke at your hearing because I had, and have" Harry corrected, pausing to finish his coffee, "a belief in truth. And a belief that those who know the truth should speak it." Harry winced as he spoke the last part, painfully reminded of the consequences of the exceptions he had made for this belief in the last two years. "and" Harry added, almost as an afterthought, as he swirled the dregs of his coffee around his cup, "we were… you were a child. I didn't really understand back then, and every year I turn older I think that I didn't fully grasp it until now but- but even then, I understood enough to know that a boy still in his school robes should not be tried the same way a man who'd worn the mark for twenty years should."

Draco nodded tersely, purposely looking away, an unconscious hand tugging at his shirt sleeve, making sure it was still in place. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice still modulated, but betraying the fight happening to contain it, just below the surface. Harry sighed. "I really don't know." Draco nodded. "Good. That was honest, at least."

Draco sipped his cup of coffee slowly, gathering his thoughts and deciding where best to begin. "I have recently come across some information that I think you should know."

Harry looked longingly at his empty cup but did not ask for a refill. He needed to keep a clear head for the next conversation, and by the slight thrum in his veins, he was already teetering on the edge of that control. Did he trust Malfoy? Did he forgive him? Were those two different questions? Could he have one without the other? And where did it leave him on one question if he was only halfway there on the other?

Harry shook his head, he hoped imperceptibly, and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. He could decide what to trust later. Harry fished through the pile of scattered office detritus on this desk and produced a some-what clear parchment. He looked around for a few seconds before letting out a frustrated "ah" and impatiently tapping his coffee cup, returning it to its original quill form.

He paused, quill hovering over parchment, and raised his gaze to meet Malfoy's. "I'm listening."

Draco took in a deep breath. His mouth was already open, half-curled around the first syllable of his first word, when he was interrupted by a sharp, insistent tapping on the window-pane behind Harry's head. Harry cursed, rising to crank open the seldom-used mail hatch. Most of his correspondence came through flying ministry memos (which irked him so much he had actually set defensive charms on his door specifically designed to keep the mail out, and now re-routed all his letters to Teddy's desk). There were only two places that would send him an owl directly to his office – home, and Hogwarts.

Harry didn't recognize the owl, so it was with a soured gut that he picked up the parchment dropped on his windowsill. He received the confirmation he required in an instant, as soon as his thumb slid over the familiar wax seal. Harry opened the letter and read through the hurriedly scrawled lines, filtering through Hagrid's spelling mistakes with practised ease. He cursed even more colourfully.

Draco stood, spilling the last of his own coffee onto the floor in his hurry. "My son?" he asked anxiously. Harry shook his head, already reaching for his cloak by the door. Draco made an impulsive move towards him, as if he meant to follow him. "No" Harry said hoarsely, holding up a warning hand.

"If my son is in any danger-" Draco started, but Harry cut him off. "It's not about your son!" Draco's shoulders slumped down in relief, which did him no favours in Harry's regard. Not his child, maybe. But a child, nonetheless.

"Should I come back tomo-" Draco called out, the slam of Harry's door swallowing the end of his question. Harry didn't care that it was incredibly rude of him. He had no mind right now for the terrible risk Malfoy may have taken, coming to him. He may have lost the lead Malfoy had for good.

Harry didn't care. There was only one thought, hammering in his head, a scream and an echo, mirrored to the frantic beating of his heart.

ELLE.

elle.