When the Unexpected Comes A-knockin: Part Five
Title: When the Unexpected Comes A-Knockin'
Author: Elle_S_Shadow
Rating: PG
Summary: Harry Potter doesn't like to have much to do with the wizarding world - not after he lost so much in the war. He takes comfort in hiding his life behind the excuse of his mysterious and secretive muggle roommate, Adam Coorfly. But when he starts to let himself live again, he uncovers secrets about his past and learns that sometimes fate can be right in front of you.
Beta: cynikal_lemon
Notes: I started writing this before Deathly Hallows came out. Then Deathly Hallows came out and I tried to throw in a few details from it here and there. So anything in my plot that you recognize from Deathly Hallows probably IS from Deathly Hallows. Lovely. Also, needless to say, but this goes AU after Half-Blood Prince.
All parts can be found here: http://elle-s-shadow.livejournal.com/tag/the+unexpected
Monday, May 22nd, 2000
Adam knew that Mr. Fields was due back from holiday that day. He had written it on his calendar. He had circled it twice in red. He had glanced at the calendar about five million times in the past week. And yet when the door opened and Mr. Field's voice broke through Adam's piano-playing stupor, Adam's heart stopped beating for a good five seconds. Or, that's what it felt like, anyway.
"Mr. Fields!" Adam said in a falsely bright voice and jumping off of the piano bench, "I was just testing this out to make sure it was working. Welcome back!"
Mr. Fields looked around the old shop, at the organized shelves, at the boxes and clothing racks and papers. His brows furrowed, and he finally looked back at Adam. "What have you done to my shop?" he asked.
"Um, well," Adam stammered, "I... I cleaned it. Sir."
"I can see that," the old man frowned. "Why?"
"Well, sir," Adam said uncertainly, "Because it was a mess. Now when customers come in looking for something, they can find it easily."
Mr. Fields was quiet for a moment, contemplating this. "Do you know what people see when they come into my shop?" He asked.
"A mess?"
"They see a potential treasure. A mystery. Just a little investigation, a little exploring, and perhaps they'll find something magical. When you take everything and give it a name and place, you leave no room for discovery, no room for mystery. You take the magic away."
Mr. Fields moved to sit at the desk.
"I'm sorry, sir," Adam said, feeling deflated. Weeks of labor, and he was being scolded.
"It's fine. More things will come in. No harm done, I suppose."
Adam moved towards the door, when he heard Mr. Fields say, as if to himself, "Often times people who don't have the power to clean up their own lives will try and take it out on their surroundings. You'd do well to remember what I said."
*****
Harry was in the middle of a particularly large pile of paperwork when a light tapping on his door startled him.
"Come in," he called, expecting Hermione.
When Kingsley Shaklebolt poked his large head in the door, Harry was surprised.
"What can I do for you?" Harry asked, beckoning him in.
"Your run-in the other day... who were they?"
Well. Harry was stunned. "Blaise Zabini. Theodore Nott. Daphne Greengrass. I'm not sure of the fourth."
"What order did they leave?"
"Zabini and Nott disapparated first. Greengrass followed. The last tried to attack me from behind, and my muggle roommate hit him in the head with a rock."
"This muggle... you do realize that he'll have to be questioned?"
"He didn't see any magic, I promise," Harry said, immediately worried for Adam's safety.
"We won't hurt him, Harry, but he might have seen the man's face. You see, Zabini, Nott, and Crabbe haven't been seen since the final battle. They're long overdue for trials - at least two are suspected Death Eaters. We need you to help us get them."
"Give me the forms and I'll do what I can," Harry said.
"No, Harry," Kingsley said, "We need you there."
Harry looked at Kingsley silently, afraid to let himself believe what he was hearing.
"You're letting me-?"
"The witch who put the tracking charms on them - what was her name?"
"Amelia Beauregard."
"Get her. Come back here immediately. You will spend the day in training while we get their location from her. Then a team of Aurors - including yourself - will go after them at dusk. Understood?"
"Yeah," Harry said breathlessly, unable to contain a grin, "But you should talk to Arthur Weasley too, he was the first one informed of the attack."
Kingsley looked at Harry in surprise, and then nodded.
*****
Training sent Harry right back to the first year of the war. They'd all been living in Grimmauld Place, and had been given training like this almost every day. They'd train with the older Order members one-on-one while the others researched Horcruxes, and sometimes they'd try with bigger groups. Now and then (usually when Remus was the adult) they would study new hexes and defensive spells for a few hours before dueling. Mad-Eye Moody was the most fun, in Harry's opinion - he set up obstacle courses and set off spells flying from every direction.
That was closest to the auror training. Real auror training, of course, lasted for a few years, but Harry had been through it. Kingsley had told him to think of this as a refresher course.
He found himself in a room simulated to look like an open field, with large boulders on the ground, and clumps of trees every so often. The "sky" was dark and cloudy, with rain coming down. Harry tried to remember back to his Hogwarts days - what was that spell Hermione used to keep rain off of my glasses?
Harry walked a few feet and a streak of blue flew at him. He dropped and rolled on instinct, firing back as he moved. This tactic was almost always a guaranteed hit - the opponent expected their foe to shoot after rolling away, not during the roll.
He sent a stupefy into the clump of trees that held one, maybe more, of his enemy. He remembered a main rule of war - don't AK anyone until you see their face. Even then it was possible that you had hurt an ally and not an enemy, with Polyjuice and spells that changed your appearance. You could be fighting next to a perfect stranger, then see their Glamour slip and realize that you were next to someone you knew all along.
Harry got up and made his way (looking over his shoulder the whole time) over to that particular clump of trees. He poked his head around a thick tree trunk, the bark scratchy under his hands.
On the ground next to another tree was a red fraction - 1/20. One down, nineteen to go.
*****
Harry exited the training room soaking wet from rain, sweaty, and bleeding from his left arm (he'd had a minor mishap due to issues with that whole not-falling-off-of-really-big-rocks concept) but red-cheeked and exhilarated.
"That was great," he said to the medi-witch, smiling, as she patched up his arm and shooed him off to meet with Kingsley.
As Harry made his way down the hallway he could hear raised voices - Kingley's deep boom and Amelia's angry voice.
"-stupid and foolish, he could have had valuable information-."
"He didn't know anything! He had no idea what was going on!"
"He could have seen the man's face!"
"We know it was Crabbe, and Harry and I saw the others, he wouldn't have been any help anyway!"
"Nevertheless, you had no right to Obliviate a muggle! We have professionals to that!"
"Oh, yeah, so sorry! I forgot that I only went to war when I was thirteen! Of course, I'm not qualified for everyday life!"
"You were not on the battlefields when you were thirteen."
"I was in training!"
"Until you were sixteen!"
"So fine! I was in training for war for six years and then fighting it for
another two-"
Harry cleared his throat and both Amelia and Kingsley froze and looked at him.
"Sorry to, er, interrupt...."
Kingsley shook his head. "It's fine. We leave in an hour, if you need to take care of anything first."
"I guess I'll accompany Amelia back to my flat, and apparate back here."
"That's fine," Kingsley nodded, and Harry headed into the hallway.
"Leave," Kingsley growled at Amelia, who huffed and followed Harry.
"Side-Along?" he asked her, and she nodded, gingerly taking his arm. Harry concentrated, and they appeared outside of his door.
"I suppose while you're chasing Death Eaters, I'll keep Adam entertained so he doesn't think too much about where you are," Amelia said.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Stay out of my bedroom, Amelia."
She narrowed her eyes right back, placing her hands on her hips. "Why? Afraid I'll find something magic? That fear only works with Adam - your magic isn't a secret from me. There's nothing that I wouldn't automatically understand. In fact, I think that's your problem with me - I understand everything. I went through that war too. I know what you've been through, I know what you've seen, I know what you've done. I did it all too, saw it all. But now you're struggling to push it away, and I'm living my life and having a blast. You're hiding - and I'm not. That scares you, right, Potter?"
"Don't call me that," Harry growled, doing his best to ignore her obnoxious 'revelation'.
"I'll stay out of your room," Amelia promised, "if you promise me something."
"What, Amelia?" Harry asked tiredly.
"Ask Adam out -."
"No."
"Ask Adam out," she continued, "and make sure he knows damn well that it's a real date."
Harry looked at her. "I can't."
"He wants it," Amelia said quietly, looking up at him, and for a moment Harry recognized the Amelia he had once adored. She was fun, spunky, but understanding and sympathetic. She didn't take anyone's shit, including his own. But then, just like always, her shape shifted in the back of his mind to a red-head of the same height, with the same mischievous smile, with the same 'devil-may-care' attitude, one who had died next to Harry seven months ago.
"I-I have to go," he said quickly, and apparated away.
******
Teams had already been sent after Greengrass, Zabini,and Nott, since Amelia's tracking charms had stuck. They only had guesses as to where Crabbe was hiding, so they were split up with a team at each location.
Harry, personally, had no idea where they were. It was outdoors, and the moon was full and bright, making it light enough that they could see without magical aid. They were in a large field of tall grass. Nothing was moving except for the grass, which swayed in the wind, dancing under silver moonlight. Harry was entranced and started when one of the aurors, a young woman named Kimberly, tapped him on the shoulder signaling that they were moving in on something Harry hadn't noticed - a worn-down shack near the road alongside the field.
They crept up to it, quickly moving to surround the house. The message slowly made its way around the circle from the leader that he couldn't detect any movement from inside, and they needed a way to get him to respond.
Harry stood. The young auror to his left nearly had an attack. "Get down, Potter!" she hissed.
"Crabbe," Harry bellowed, and he heard the muted whisperings of his colleagues. He could hear in his mind Kinglsey asking himself why he had let himself think Harry Potter wasn't insane enough to keep away from this mission.
"Who's there?" a voice answered, and suddenly everything was still and quiet around Harry once again.
"Harry Potter," he answered.
The door opened, and Harry could make out the large bulk of Crabbe in the doorway. "What th' fuck d'you want, Potter?"
"To finish what you started, Crabbe."
"Blaise started it," Crabbe said petulantly and took a step forward, his wand drawn. There was a flash, and five Aurors sprang up from their hiding spots, wands trained on Crabbe, who was now laying motionless on the sagging porch.
"Well done, Potter," the leader said, clapping his shoulder.
“Too fuckin’ easy,” one of the other Aurors muttered.
*****
Harry returned late, and the flat was silent. He opened the door, figuring Amelia had left and Adam would be asleep. But to his surprise, Adam greeted him as he entered.
"I'm sorry," Harry apologized, "I got called in to work. It seems like I'm going to be putting in a lot more hours."
"It's fine," Adam assured him, "Though I must admit I'll miss our lunch dates."
"Well," Harry said, feeling suddenly emboldened after his recent capture, "if you want, I'll make it up to you with a dinner date. A real one."
"A real dinner, or a real date?" Adam asked, and Harry laughed.
"Both. Tomorrow night," he said, and disappeared into his room, unable to see Adam's grin.
*****
Harry woke up panicking - heart beating fast, cold-sweating, his wand already in his hand, trembling.
Taking a deep breath, he threw off his blankets and padded across the room. The cool wood floor felt nice and solid beneath his bare feet. His striped pajama bottoms barely went past his ankle bones.
He made his way into the hallway and down the stairs, skipping the loudest ones.
A dim light was coming from the kitchen, as was customary - the kitchen was the heart and soul of the house, where people congregated, entered, exited, found refuge. Harry entered silently. He could see someone sitting at the table, head bowed.
It was Malfoy, he knew that immediately. The boy's blond hair caught the candle light in a very striking manner. His shoulders were hunched, his hair spilling over his face, keeping it hidden. His hands clasped an open white envelope, so tightly that Harry could see his knuckles had turned white. He showed no signs of hearing Harry enter the room.
Harry slid a chair out and sat down gingerly. Draco slowly lifted his head and looked at Harry, who was taken aback by the intensity of Draco's stare. He looked positively raw.
"I got an owl from my father," Draco said, his voice uncharacteristically rough.
"Don't answer it," Harry replied automatically.
"Too late," Draco said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. He closed his eyes wearily and shook his head slowly, sadly. "It's just too late."
"What did he... what did you say?"
"He... wanted to know where I was. What I was doing."
Harry felt the world shift - everything morphing and fleeing miles and miles. He could barely hear his own voice over the terrified beating of his heart and the roaring in his ears. "Please, Malfoy, tell me you didn't give us away."
The panic was so blinding that when Draco stared at him evenly for a moment, Harry thought Draco had given an answer and was waiting for a response. "What did you tell him?" He demanded again, struggling to get a hold of himself.
"I told him I'm in hiding. That I cannot disclose my location but that I am safe and do not plan to make my presence known to anyone. But that I pledge my allegiance to the Dark Lord, and I request that he send me owls giving information as to where and when they will have attacks and battles so that I might show up when I decide the time is right and fight besides him in the name of all that we believe in."
Harry found himself on his feet, wand at Malfoy's throat. "I should kill you," Harry hissed, feeling tears prickling his eyes - and wasn't that just the stupidest thing ever? Of all the times in this war that he'd wanted to cry, why now? Why over Malfoy?
"That'd be a stupid move, Potter," Malfoy said, "Because then who the fuck would tell the Order that there's going to be an attack next Tuesday at midnight, and that they're bringing werewolf reinforcements?"
Wednesday, May 24th, 2000
Harry returned from the office at his usual time, having finished writing up the report on Crabbe's capture. He entered the apartment. He heard a door slam from the hallway and Adam hurried into the living room, guilt written all over his face.
Harry felt his temper flare. "What were you just doing?"
"N-nothing!" Adam stammered defensively, "I was, um, just walking down the hallway."
"I can't believe you," Harry said, his voice dangerously low.
"Please, Harry, I can explain!" Adam cried, looking frightened.
"I made the rules perfectly clear when you moved in."
"I don't recall this particular rule being stated, actually-."
"What, so you think that me taking you out on a date means you can just ignore the one thing I asked?"
"Look," Adam said, "if it's that important to you, I'll take her to a shelter."
Harry, ignoring Adam, continued his tirade, "I can't believe you went in my room!"
At the same time, both men looked at each other in confusion. "What?"
"I wasn't in your room... I was in mine," Adam said slowly.
"Do you... do you have an animal in my flat?" Harry demanded.
Adam began looking nervous again. "No, it's just... I.... but... she was going to die!"
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What, exactly, is she?"
Right on cue Adam's door opened, and a white streak barreled past them and into the kitchen. Harry stared after it and Adam hurried in to capture it. He returned to the living room holding a squirming mass of white fuzz.
"I'm not exactly a cat person," Harry said uneasily. The kitten blinked up at him from Adam's arms.
"She'll behave, I promise. She's already potty-trained and everything!" Adam said, holding the cat protectively.
Harry sighed. "I have a bad feeling about this."
Adam put the kitten down and she raced off back towards his bedroom. "She'll be no trouble, no trouble at all."
It was exactly an hour later that Harry walked into the kitchen to find the cat sitting on
the windowsill, happily chewing on his geraniums.
Make that ex-geraniums.
*****
Harry sat at the kitchen table - it seemed to be the general meeting place - trying to figure out the final horcrux.
"This is driving me crazy," Harry muttered, "What the bloody hell could it be? We've got something of Ravenclaw's, we've got something of Slytherin's, we've got something of Hufflepuff's... what of Godric Gryffindor's can't we find?"
"I don't know," Hermione said with exasperation. "We really need to research him!"
"Not more reading," Ginny groaned, and Harry seconded her opinion.
It was the summer after Ginny graduated - nearly Harry's eighteenth birthday. She was spending all of her time with the trio, doing everything she could do to help bring about the end of the war, and possibly Harry's return to her. Harry had noticed, though, that when Draco was around she did a lot less talking and a lot more watching.
"We have to," Hermione said sternly, "We've got to figure out what Gryffindor had, and where it would be hidden."
"It had to be something like the sword..." Harry mused.
"Harry!" Ron called, bursting into the kitchen, "You won't believe what's happened! The Order'll be here any second, we're having an emergency meeting!"
"What happened?" Ginny asked, as Hermione hurried to put the books away.
"Snape was found out," Ron said hurriedly, "They killed him. He's dead."
"Oh, god," Hermione let out. "How awful!"
"Truly tragic," Ginny agreed.
Harry tried to find pity, but his only concern was for himself. "He was the only one who could help us with this. We're done without him."
"He left this." Ron put a book onto the table. "A journal, I think. It won't open."
The book was old, the ages yellowed. On the front, carved into the leather, were the words, "I will only speak to Royalty."
Hermione looked at it for a moment. She leaned forward. "I am the Half-Blood Prince," she said clearly, and the front cover flipped open, revealing pages filled with the scrawl that Harry knew well as Snape's.
They read it, the whole entire thing, that afternoon. They learned every secret Snape had ever known.
"He knew," Hermione said sadly, "He knew that there were horcruxes. V-Voldemort could have been gone so long ago."
"I hate him," Ron said savagely.
Harry didn't say a thing. He was a Horcrux. Part of the Dark Lord's soul was in him.
His thoughts whirl-winded. Parts of him were the Dark Lord's. Parts bigger than just parseltongue, probably. He was part evil. He was unworthy of living. And furthermore, he would have to die for Voldemort to be vanquished.
"Harry," Hermione said softly, practically reading his mind, "It'll be okay. We'll find a way around this."
Harry smiled, forcing himself to believe her.
"Pretty tragic how he loved your Mum 'til the end, like that," Ron muttered.
*****
Harry was sitting on his bed - not moping, dammit - staring at the wall blankly when there was a knock on the door.
"What?" he called, and the door opened, revealing Ron and Hermione.
"I've thought of something," Hermione said, sitting down next to Harry on the bed,
"What if you made your own Horcrux?"
"You mean kill someone?" Harry looked at her sharply.
"Well, yes, that'd be part of it. But, see, say you did. So you have part of your soul gone, part of your soul there, and part of his soul."
"Okay..."
"Now we'd have to kill you, in order to kill his piece of soul."
Harry didn't answer.
"But because there was still a piece of your soul somewhere, you wouldn't really die."
"I can't kill someone."
"You wanted to kill Snape."
"Snape's already dead," Ron pointed out.
"What about Pettigrew?" Hermione asked, and Harry went silent.
"I can't just
kill someone, Hermione."
"It's kill or be killed, Harry. This is war," Hermione answered him seriously.
*****
It had been harder, in the end, to find out how exactly to make a horcrux, and then to trick Pettigrew into meeting them in a deserted alley than it was to actually kill him. That was the most disturbing part. But within two weeks of their initial conversation, Harry had turned Gryffindor's sword (taken from the castle with absolutely no conflict) into his own horcrux.
And he didn't feel a thing. Not a thing - only remorse. Regret that this had been the only way.
Saturday, May 27th, 2000
"I finally went on a date with Adam. A real one."
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, grinning. "That's fantastic!"
"How was it?" Ron asked.
Harry shrugged. "Not any different than going out to lunch. It wasn't awkward or anything."
They were sitting in the living room of Hermione and Ron's house. They'd opted to invite Adam a different time, since they had much to talk about after Crabbe's capture.
"It seemed a bit too easy," Harry admitted. "I don't feel like I actually did much."
"Well this is Crabbe. Once they found his whereabouts, the rest is simple," Ron pointed out.
"But Harry, this is a huge step for you and the Ministry," Hermione said. "They'll probably start letting you into missions now that you've proven you don't fall to pieces."
Harry frowned indignantly, and glanced around the room.
"So," Ron prompted, smirking slightly. "You and Adam."
"What about us?" Harry asked warily.
"Well all we know is that he lives with you, and you've gone on one date."
"We go out for lunch every other da-"
"Not the same thing."
Harry gave a pained sigh. "I'm not sure how it happened. There's just something about him that draws me to him. It's a natural force."
"That's how it always should be" Hermione said gently.
"It's the strangest feeling sometimes," Harry admitted. "Our relationship is very simple, so far, very light and just falling into place. But there's this underlying current just out of my reach and it's so intense sometimes, I can sense it... it reminds me of..." he glanced at his hands. "It reminds me of old times."
Everyone went silent for a moment.
"Harry," Hermione said with a frown, "You're covered in white cat fur."
Harry rolled his eyes, unable to contain a scowl. "Yes. That would be Chaos."
"What, the chaos theory? A mountain lion in East Asia is shedding, so you're covered in cat hair?"
"They don't have mountain lions in East Asia, Ronald," Hermione scolded.
"No," Harry corrected, "Chaos. Adam's little ball of pure evil."
Hermione grinned. "Oh no. Harry, with a cat? They aren't exactly good for the whole 'spot-less house' thing."
Harry sighed. "She's already eaten my flowers, shredded three pillows, peed on the couch, climbed the drapes, and escaped from the apartment seventeen times."
"How long have you had her?"
"Three days," Harry sighed.
"Almost eight escapes a day," Hermione said, "That's pretty impressive."
"Should have named her Houdini," Ron added.
"Should have named her Pain In My Arse," Harry muttered.
*****
Much later that night, Harry rose to go home. He flooed to his bedroom after bidding Ron and Hermione goodnight. He landed on his carpet, and listened carefully. Adam was in the living room, watching the telly. If Harry entered the house from his bedroom, Adam would know something abnormal was going on. With an irritated sigh, Harry flooed back to Ron and Hermione's. He exited the fireplace with a bit more grace than he had exhibited in his past, and looked around. The living room was dark and empty, and Ron and Hermione were sitting at the kitchen table a little bit away. Harry started to make his presence known, but stopped to listen, slowing hiding himself along a wall where he could not be seen. The two were sitting down with a small box on the table between them.
"The dead have stayed dead, if that's what you're asking," Harry heard Hermione say. "They let Draco Malfoy out of St. Mungo's about four months ago. He hasn't been heard from. It just makes life easier for everyone - including him."
Ron makes noise that showed he'd rather Draco be suffering. "What do we do with the box of his stuff?"
"They gave it to me to give to Harry, but... I don't want to now. He's starting to live again, have you noticed? I don't want to drag up the war just as he's starting to get over it. When he goes on his 'Look at all the people who died' tirades, he always counts Malfoy. It makes me feel guilty... because Malfoy didn't die."
Ron made a noncommittal noise and the two made their way down the hallway towards their bedroom. The box remained on the table. After a few long minutes, Harry walked into the kitchen, picked up the box, and apparated to his front door.
He entered the apartment slowly, the box hidden under his jacket. Adam was sprawled on the couch watching an old black and white film.
"Hey," he greeted, not looking up.
"Hi," Harry said, hurrying past and down the hallway. He entered his bedroom and shut the door, casting a locking spell.
He sat down at his desk, placing the box gingerly in front of him and switched on the desk lamp. Harry poked his wand at the box and the lid opened. Harry began pulling things out and placing them on the desk, before moving the empty box to the floor, out of the way.
There were two leather-bound book, two keys, a Slytherin scarf, and a wand. Harry gently placed the wand and the scarf back in the box and turned his attention on to the keys. One was clearly and obviously a Gringott's key. The other held a crest of some sort. Harry picked it up and held it closer to the lamp. He could barely make out an M. He traced it with his finger. Malfoy.
He placed the keys in the box on top of the scarf and opened the book.
The first was a journal, but it would not unlock. Harry put it aside and picked up the second, unlocked book. It was a photo album, full of wizarding pictures. They started out as pictures of Draco as a baby - Harry assumed it was Draco after Ron and Hermione's conversations, and because the baby had perfect grey eyes and a shock of blonde hair. He watched as pictures of Draco sleeping in a bassinet grew into pictures of Draco sitting up with his thumb in his mouth. Those grew into pictures of his toddler days - in most of which Draco was screaming and crying for attention or another toy. As Harry flipped the pages, he watched Draco grow older: now he was six, missing a front tooth and grinning like a soldier; now he was eight and riding his first racing broom; now he was eleven, all packed for Hogwarts.
That was the last picture of Draco that Harry could find. It seemed the camera had been handed over to Draco, for the rest of the pictures were of school. Ones of the train, of the lake, of Hogwarts, of the Great Hall. Three pages of Pansy, one of Crabbe and Goyle, one of Blaise Zabini.
Harry flipped the page and nearly dropped the book. His own face was staring back at him from three different places. He blinked, took off his glasses, rubbed the lenses with his shirt, and put them back on. The pictures were still there.
In one, Harry was sitting at the Gryffindor table. Ron was on one side of him, Hermione on the other. They were all laughing, Harry had tears streaming from his eyes, and Ron was slumped over, shaking with hysteria.
The second was from a Quidditch game. It was against Ravenclaw, and Harry was chasing the snitch. He was flattened along his broom, hand reaching towards the fluttering sphere, eyes narrowed in concentration. Suddenly, the snitch dodged left, and Harry, in a moment of grace and control, turned perfectly with it in one fluid motion. Harry felt proud just watching it - it was a great moment.
The final one was very, very different. The other two had been taken presumably by Draco, and were scenes full of movement and activity. The third was so still that for a moment, Harry thought it was a muggle photograph. But when he looked close, he could see the lake rippling, and a breeze shaking the leaves on a tree near the shore. Draco was in the picture - Harry wondered who had taken it. Clearly, Draco had not known the camera was there.
He was sitting on the shore of the lake, staring blankly at the water. Whoever took the photograph knew Draco well - it was a good angle, a good shot, one of those rare catches that really show a person. Harry noticed, not for the first time, how good-looking Draco had been during the war. He was scared, and afraid to hope, and looked lost more often than he looked mean. The once-permanent sneer and scowl had no place here in a world of death and uncertainty. Without it, he seemed smaller, somehow - more human.
In the picture, Harry was several feet behind Draco, hiding next to a tree. He was staring at Draco's back with a fierce intensity, so fierce that now Harry blinked at it and brought it closer to his face, unable to remember ever feeling it. Harry remembered that day - he had seen Draco leave the castle and had followed him stealthily. He hadn't had time to go get his invisibility cloak. He had followed Draco down to the lake and hidden behind him, listening intently, hoping that Draco would say something - anything - that would help Harry figure out what he was up to.
Harry stared at the picture for a long time, taking in the intensity of his eyes on Draco's back, how lost Draco looked, how the air between them practically shimmered. He sighed, looking at it, feeling the old familiar feeling he'd get when he was around Draco during the war days - his heart would tug with the strangest feeling.
There was something about Draco Malfoy that just screamed 'Save Me', and Harry found that he, at least, had to try.
Harry began to flip to another page, when a piece of parchment, folded carefully, fluttered from the page down to the floor. Harry picked it up. It was a letter addressed to him, signed from Malfoy. Harry folded it back up without reading it. There would be plenty of time for that later - right now he needed to try and wrap his mind around what he had learned.
Harry shut the album and placed it down in the box. He sat back in his chair, pressing his palms to his eyes, taking deep breaths. Draco Malfoy was alive somewhere. He hadn't failed.
*****
The Final Battle had taken place at Hogwarts. Colin Creevey had died, Seamus and Dean, Remus and Tonks, Fred and Ginny. Draco Malfoy.
Harry had saved him three times - the first time was in the Room of Requirement. He had watched the flames lick closer and closer to Draco, and he knew - thinking back to all those nights at Grimmauld Place, all the times he'd watched Draco late at night - he couldn't leave him. He turned back, pulling Draco onto his broom. Draco was screaming and gripping him so hard it hurt. But it didn't hurt his body - his heart clenched with a sudden rush of "Please, please don't die".
Later, they caught Draco pleading for his life to one of the Death Eaters. "I'm on your side," Draco had said, and Harry had thought "No you're not. You never were. You were mine the whole time." They stunned the Death Eater, letting Draco get away.
The third time, they'd all been fighting in what had once been the Charms corridor. A Death Eater shot a jet of green light at Draco, and Harry instinctively threw a shield over him, his mindheartbodysoul screaming "Not him. Not now."
Draco crumpled to the ground anyway. Harry never saw him again.
At the end of the battle, Harry let Voldemort kill him. It killed Voldemort's soul. Harry wasn't sure what happened next, but when he woke up again, Voldemort was gone for good, he was back in his own body, and something told him that his soul was, once again, intact. Aside from grief, he felt well and whole in a way he hadn't in almost a year.
"Regret," Hermione had said, "The only way to put your soul back together is through regret."
Harry never told her - never told anyone - that he didn't regret having to kill Pettigrew; He regretted having caused a war, having lost so much through it.
*****
Author: Elle_S_Shadow
Rating: PG
Summary: Harry Potter doesn't like to have much to do with the wizarding world - not after he lost so much in the war. He takes comfort in hiding his life behind the excuse of his mysterious and secretive muggle roommate, Adam Coorfly. But when he starts to let himself live again, he uncovers secrets about his past and learns that sometimes fate can be right in front of you.
Beta: cynikal_lemon
Notes: I started writing this before Deathly Hallows came out. Then Deathly Hallows came out and I tried to throw in a few details from it here and there. So anything in my plot that you recognize from Deathly Hallows probably IS from Deathly Hallows. Lovely. Also, needless to say, but this goes AU after Half-Blood Prince.
All parts can be found here: http://elle-s-shadow.livejournal.com/tag/the+unexpected
Monday, May 22nd, 2000
Adam knew that Mr. Fields was due back from holiday that day. He had written it on his calendar. He had circled it twice in red. He had glanced at the calendar about five million times in the past week. And yet when the door opened and Mr. Field's voice broke through Adam's piano-playing stupor, Adam's heart stopped beating for a good five seconds. Or, that's what it felt like, anyway.
"Mr. Fields!" Adam said in a falsely bright voice and jumping off of the piano bench, "I was just testing this out to make sure it was working. Welcome back!"
Mr. Fields looked around the old shop, at the organized shelves, at the boxes and clothing racks and papers. His brows furrowed, and he finally looked back at Adam. "What have you done to my shop?" he asked.
"Um, well," Adam stammered, "I... I cleaned it. Sir."
"I can see that," the old man frowned. "Why?"
"Well, sir," Adam said uncertainly, "Because it was a mess. Now when customers come in looking for something, they can find it easily."
Mr. Fields was quiet for a moment, contemplating this. "Do you know what people see when they come into my shop?" He asked.
"A mess?"
"They see a potential treasure. A mystery. Just a little investigation, a little exploring, and perhaps they'll find something magical. When you take everything and give it a name and place, you leave no room for discovery, no room for mystery. You take the magic away."
Mr. Fields moved to sit at the desk.
"I'm sorry, sir," Adam said, feeling deflated. Weeks of labor, and he was being scolded.
"It's fine. More things will come in. No harm done, I suppose."
Adam moved towards the door, when he heard Mr. Fields say, as if to himself, "Often times people who don't have the power to clean up their own lives will try and take it out on their surroundings. You'd do well to remember what I said."
*****
Harry was in the middle of a particularly large pile of paperwork when a light tapping on his door startled him.
"Come in," he called, expecting Hermione.
When Kingsley Shaklebolt poked his large head in the door, Harry was surprised.
"What can I do for you?" Harry asked, beckoning him in.
"Your run-in the other day... who were they?"
Well. Harry was stunned. "Blaise Zabini. Theodore Nott. Daphne Greengrass. I'm not sure of the fourth."
"What order did they leave?"
"Zabini and Nott disapparated first. Greengrass followed. The last tried to attack me from behind, and my muggle roommate hit him in the head with a rock."
"This muggle... you do realize that he'll have to be questioned?"
"He didn't see any magic, I promise," Harry said, immediately worried for Adam's safety.
"We won't hurt him, Harry, but he might have seen the man's face. You see, Zabini, Nott, and Crabbe haven't been seen since the final battle. They're long overdue for trials - at least two are suspected Death Eaters. We need you to help us get them."
"Give me the forms and I'll do what I can," Harry said.
"No, Harry," Kingsley said, "We need you there."
Harry looked at Kingsley silently, afraid to let himself believe what he was hearing.
"You're letting me-?"
"The witch who put the tracking charms on them - what was her name?"
"Amelia Beauregard."
"Get her. Come back here immediately. You will spend the day in training while we get their location from her. Then a team of Aurors - including yourself - will go after them at dusk. Understood?"
"Yeah," Harry said breathlessly, unable to contain a grin, "But you should talk to Arthur Weasley too, he was the first one informed of the attack."
Kingsley looked at Harry in surprise, and then nodded.
*****
Training sent Harry right back to the first year of the war. They'd all been living in Grimmauld Place, and had been given training like this almost every day. They'd train with the older Order members one-on-one while the others researched Horcruxes, and sometimes they'd try with bigger groups. Now and then (usually when Remus was the adult) they would study new hexes and defensive spells for a few hours before dueling. Mad-Eye Moody was the most fun, in Harry's opinion - he set up obstacle courses and set off spells flying from every direction.
That was closest to the auror training. Real auror training, of course, lasted for a few years, but Harry had been through it. Kingsley had told him to think of this as a refresher course.
He found himself in a room simulated to look like an open field, with large boulders on the ground, and clumps of trees every so often. The "sky" was dark and cloudy, with rain coming down. Harry tried to remember back to his Hogwarts days - what was that spell Hermione used to keep rain off of my glasses?
Harry walked a few feet and a streak of blue flew at him. He dropped and rolled on instinct, firing back as he moved. This tactic was almost always a guaranteed hit - the opponent expected their foe to shoot after rolling away, not during the roll.
He sent a stupefy into the clump of trees that held one, maybe more, of his enemy. He remembered a main rule of war - don't AK anyone until you see their face. Even then it was possible that you had hurt an ally and not an enemy, with Polyjuice and spells that changed your appearance. You could be fighting next to a perfect stranger, then see their Glamour slip and realize that you were next to someone you knew all along.
Harry got up and made his way (looking over his shoulder the whole time) over to that particular clump of trees. He poked his head around a thick tree trunk, the bark scratchy under his hands.
On the ground next to another tree was a red fraction - 1/20. One down, nineteen to go.
*****
Harry exited the training room soaking wet from rain, sweaty, and bleeding from his left arm (he'd had a minor mishap due to issues with that whole not-falling-off-of-really-big-rocks concept) but red-cheeked and exhilarated.
"That was great," he said to the medi-witch, smiling, as she patched up his arm and shooed him off to meet with Kingsley.
As Harry made his way down the hallway he could hear raised voices - Kingley's deep boom and Amelia's angry voice.
"-stupid and foolish, he could have had valuable information-."
"He didn't know anything! He had no idea what was going on!"
"He could have seen the man's face!"
"We know it was Crabbe, and Harry and I saw the others, he wouldn't have been any help anyway!"
"Nevertheless, you had no right to Obliviate a muggle! We have professionals to that!"
"Oh, yeah, so sorry! I forgot that I only went to war when I was thirteen! Of course, I'm not qualified for everyday life!"
"You were not on the battlefields when you were thirteen."
"I was in training!"
"Until you were sixteen!"
"So fine! I was in training for war for six years and then fighting it for
another two-"
Harry cleared his throat and both Amelia and Kingsley froze and looked at him.
"Sorry to, er, interrupt...."
Kingsley shook his head. "It's fine. We leave in an hour, if you need to take care of anything first."
"I guess I'll accompany Amelia back to my flat, and apparate back here."
"That's fine," Kingsley nodded, and Harry headed into the hallway.
"Leave," Kingsley growled at Amelia, who huffed and followed Harry.
"Side-Along?" he asked her, and she nodded, gingerly taking his arm. Harry concentrated, and they appeared outside of his door.
"I suppose while you're chasing Death Eaters, I'll keep Adam entertained so he doesn't think too much about where you are," Amelia said.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Stay out of my bedroom, Amelia."
She narrowed her eyes right back, placing her hands on her hips. "Why? Afraid I'll find something magic? That fear only works with Adam - your magic isn't a secret from me. There's nothing that I wouldn't automatically understand. In fact, I think that's your problem with me - I understand everything. I went through that war too. I know what you've been through, I know what you've seen, I know what you've done. I did it all too, saw it all. But now you're struggling to push it away, and I'm living my life and having a blast. You're hiding - and I'm not. That scares you, right, Potter?"
"Don't call me that," Harry growled, doing his best to ignore her obnoxious 'revelation'.
"I'll stay out of your room," Amelia promised, "if you promise me something."
"What, Amelia?" Harry asked tiredly.
"Ask Adam out -."
"No."
"Ask Adam out," she continued, "and make sure he knows damn well that it's a real date."
Harry looked at her. "I can't."
"He wants it," Amelia said quietly, looking up at him, and for a moment Harry recognized the Amelia he had once adored. She was fun, spunky, but understanding and sympathetic. She didn't take anyone's shit, including his own. But then, just like always, her shape shifted in the back of his mind to a red-head of the same height, with the same mischievous smile, with the same 'devil-may-care' attitude, one who had died next to Harry seven months ago.
"I-I have to go," he said quickly, and apparated away.
******
Teams had already been sent after Greengrass, Zabini,and Nott, since Amelia's tracking charms had stuck. They only had guesses as to where Crabbe was hiding, so they were split up with a team at each location.
Harry, personally, had no idea where they were. It was outdoors, and the moon was full and bright, making it light enough that they could see without magical aid. They were in a large field of tall grass. Nothing was moving except for the grass, which swayed in the wind, dancing under silver moonlight. Harry was entranced and started when one of the aurors, a young woman named Kimberly, tapped him on the shoulder signaling that they were moving in on something Harry hadn't noticed - a worn-down shack near the road alongside the field.
They crept up to it, quickly moving to surround the house. The message slowly made its way around the circle from the leader that he couldn't detect any movement from inside, and they needed a way to get him to respond.
Harry stood. The young auror to his left nearly had an attack. "Get down, Potter!" she hissed.
"Crabbe," Harry bellowed, and he heard the muted whisperings of his colleagues. He could hear in his mind Kinglsey asking himself why he had let himself think Harry Potter wasn't insane enough to keep away from this mission.
"Who's there?" a voice answered, and suddenly everything was still and quiet around Harry once again.
"Harry Potter," he answered.
The door opened, and Harry could make out the large bulk of Crabbe in the doorway. "What th' fuck d'you want, Potter?"
"To finish what you started, Crabbe."
"Blaise started it," Crabbe said petulantly and took a step forward, his wand drawn. There was a flash, and five Aurors sprang up from their hiding spots, wands trained on Crabbe, who was now laying motionless on the sagging porch.
"Well done, Potter," the leader said, clapping his shoulder.
“Too fuckin’ easy,” one of the other Aurors muttered.
*****
Harry returned late, and the flat was silent. He opened the door, figuring Amelia had left and Adam would be asleep. But to his surprise, Adam greeted him as he entered.
"I'm sorry," Harry apologized, "I got called in to work. It seems like I'm going to be putting in a lot more hours."
"It's fine," Adam assured him, "Though I must admit I'll miss our lunch dates."
"Well," Harry said, feeling suddenly emboldened after his recent capture, "if you want, I'll make it up to you with a dinner date. A real one."
"A real dinner, or a real date?" Adam asked, and Harry laughed.
"Both. Tomorrow night," he said, and disappeared into his room, unable to see Adam's grin.
*****
Harry woke up panicking - heart beating fast, cold-sweating, his wand already in his hand, trembling.
Taking a deep breath, he threw off his blankets and padded across the room. The cool wood floor felt nice and solid beneath his bare feet. His striped pajama bottoms barely went past his ankle bones.
He made his way into the hallway and down the stairs, skipping the loudest ones.
A dim light was coming from the kitchen, as was customary - the kitchen was the heart and soul of the house, where people congregated, entered, exited, found refuge. Harry entered silently. He could see someone sitting at the table, head bowed.
It was Malfoy, he knew that immediately. The boy's blond hair caught the candle light in a very striking manner. His shoulders were hunched, his hair spilling over his face, keeping it hidden. His hands clasped an open white envelope, so tightly that Harry could see his knuckles had turned white. He showed no signs of hearing Harry enter the room.
Harry slid a chair out and sat down gingerly. Draco slowly lifted his head and looked at Harry, who was taken aback by the intensity of Draco's stare. He looked positively raw.
"I got an owl from my father," Draco said, his voice uncharacteristically rough.
"Don't answer it," Harry replied automatically.
"Too late," Draco said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. He closed his eyes wearily and shook his head slowly, sadly. "It's just too late."
"What did he... what did you say?"
"He... wanted to know where I was. What I was doing."
Harry felt the world shift - everything morphing and fleeing miles and miles. He could barely hear his own voice over the terrified beating of his heart and the roaring in his ears. "Please, Malfoy, tell me you didn't give us away."
The panic was so blinding that when Draco stared at him evenly for a moment, Harry thought Draco had given an answer and was waiting for a response. "What did you tell him?" He demanded again, struggling to get a hold of himself.
"I told him I'm in hiding. That I cannot disclose my location but that I am safe and do not plan to make my presence known to anyone. But that I pledge my allegiance to the Dark Lord, and I request that he send me owls giving information as to where and when they will have attacks and battles so that I might show up when I decide the time is right and fight besides him in the name of all that we believe in."
Harry found himself on his feet, wand at Malfoy's throat. "I should kill you," Harry hissed, feeling tears prickling his eyes - and wasn't that just the stupidest thing ever? Of all the times in this war that he'd wanted to cry, why now? Why over Malfoy?
"That'd be a stupid move, Potter," Malfoy said, "Because then who the fuck would tell the Order that there's going to be an attack next Tuesday at midnight, and that they're bringing werewolf reinforcements?"
Wednesday, May 24th, 2000
Harry returned from the office at his usual time, having finished writing up the report on Crabbe's capture. He entered the apartment. He heard a door slam from the hallway and Adam hurried into the living room, guilt written all over his face.
Harry felt his temper flare. "What were you just doing?"
"N-nothing!" Adam stammered defensively, "I was, um, just walking down the hallway."
"I can't believe you," Harry said, his voice dangerously low.
"Please, Harry, I can explain!" Adam cried, looking frightened.
"I made the rules perfectly clear when you moved in."
"I don't recall this particular rule being stated, actually-."
"What, so you think that me taking you out on a date means you can just ignore the one thing I asked?"
"Look," Adam said, "if it's that important to you, I'll take her to a shelter."
Harry, ignoring Adam, continued his tirade, "I can't believe you went in my room!"
At the same time, both men looked at each other in confusion. "What?"
"I wasn't in your room... I was in mine," Adam said slowly.
"Do you... do you have an animal in my flat?" Harry demanded.
Adam began looking nervous again. "No, it's just... I.... but... she was going to die!"
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What, exactly, is she?"
Right on cue Adam's door opened, and a white streak barreled past them and into the kitchen. Harry stared after it and Adam hurried in to capture it. He returned to the living room holding a squirming mass of white fuzz.
"I'm not exactly a cat person," Harry said uneasily. The kitten blinked up at him from Adam's arms.
"She'll behave, I promise. She's already potty-trained and everything!" Adam said, holding the cat protectively.
Harry sighed. "I have a bad feeling about this."
Adam put the kitten down and she raced off back towards his bedroom. "She'll be no trouble, no trouble at all."
It was exactly an hour later that Harry walked into the kitchen to find the cat sitting on
the windowsill, happily chewing on his geraniums.
Make that ex-geraniums.
*****
Harry sat at the kitchen table - it seemed to be the general meeting place - trying to figure out the final horcrux.
"This is driving me crazy," Harry muttered, "What the bloody hell could it be? We've got something of Ravenclaw's, we've got something of Slytherin's, we've got something of Hufflepuff's... what of Godric Gryffindor's can't we find?"
"I don't know," Hermione said with exasperation. "We really need to research him!"
"Not more reading," Ginny groaned, and Harry seconded her opinion.
It was the summer after Ginny graduated - nearly Harry's eighteenth birthday. She was spending all of her time with the trio, doing everything she could do to help bring about the end of the war, and possibly Harry's return to her. Harry had noticed, though, that when Draco was around she did a lot less talking and a lot more watching.
"We have to," Hermione said sternly, "We've got to figure out what Gryffindor had, and where it would be hidden."
"It had to be something like the sword..." Harry mused.
"Harry!" Ron called, bursting into the kitchen, "You won't believe what's happened! The Order'll be here any second, we're having an emergency meeting!"
"What happened?" Ginny asked, as Hermione hurried to put the books away.
"Snape was found out," Ron said hurriedly, "They killed him. He's dead."
"Oh, god," Hermione let out. "How awful!"
"Truly tragic," Ginny agreed.
Harry tried to find pity, but his only concern was for himself. "He was the only one who could help us with this. We're done without him."
"He left this." Ron put a book onto the table. "A journal, I think. It won't open."
The book was old, the ages yellowed. On the front, carved into the leather, were the words, "I will only speak to Royalty."
Hermione looked at it for a moment. She leaned forward. "I am the Half-Blood Prince," she said clearly, and the front cover flipped open, revealing pages filled with the scrawl that Harry knew well as Snape's.
They read it, the whole entire thing, that afternoon. They learned every secret Snape had ever known.
"He knew," Hermione said sadly, "He knew that there were horcruxes. V-Voldemort could have been gone so long ago."
"I hate him," Ron said savagely.
Harry didn't say a thing. He was a Horcrux. Part of the Dark Lord's soul was in him.
His thoughts whirl-winded. Parts of him were the Dark Lord's. Parts bigger than just parseltongue, probably. He was part evil. He was unworthy of living. And furthermore, he would have to die for Voldemort to be vanquished.
"Harry," Hermione said softly, practically reading his mind, "It'll be okay. We'll find a way around this."
Harry smiled, forcing himself to believe her.
"Pretty tragic how he loved your Mum 'til the end, like that," Ron muttered.
*****
Harry was sitting on his bed - not moping, dammit - staring at the wall blankly when there was a knock on the door.
"What?" he called, and the door opened, revealing Ron and Hermione.
"I've thought of something," Hermione said, sitting down next to Harry on the bed,
"What if you made your own Horcrux?"
"You mean kill someone?" Harry looked at her sharply.
"Well, yes, that'd be part of it. But, see, say you did. So you have part of your soul gone, part of your soul there, and part of his soul."
"Okay..."
"Now we'd have to kill you, in order to kill his piece of soul."
Harry didn't answer.
"But because there was still a piece of your soul somewhere, you wouldn't really die."
"I can't kill someone."
"You wanted to kill Snape."
"Snape's already dead," Ron pointed out.
"What about Pettigrew?" Hermione asked, and Harry went silent.
"I can't just
kill someone, Hermione."
"It's kill or be killed, Harry. This is war," Hermione answered him seriously.
*****
It had been harder, in the end, to find out how exactly to make a horcrux, and then to trick Pettigrew into meeting them in a deserted alley than it was to actually kill him. That was the most disturbing part. But within two weeks of their initial conversation, Harry had turned Gryffindor's sword (taken from the castle with absolutely no conflict) into his own horcrux.
And he didn't feel a thing. Not a thing - only remorse. Regret that this had been the only way.
Saturday, May 27th, 2000
"I finally went on a date with Adam. A real one."
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, grinning. "That's fantastic!"
"How was it?" Ron asked.
Harry shrugged. "Not any different than going out to lunch. It wasn't awkward or anything."
They were sitting in the living room of Hermione and Ron's house. They'd opted to invite Adam a different time, since they had much to talk about after Crabbe's capture.
"It seemed a bit too easy," Harry admitted. "I don't feel like I actually did much."
"Well this is Crabbe. Once they found his whereabouts, the rest is simple," Ron pointed out.
"But Harry, this is a huge step for you and the Ministry," Hermione said. "They'll probably start letting you into missions now that you've proven you don't fall to pieces."
Harry frowned indignantly, and glanced around the room.
"So," Ron prompted, smirking slightly. "You and Adam."
"What about us?" Harry asked warily.
"Well all we know is that he lives with you, and you've gone on one date."
"We go out for lunch every other da-"
"Not the same thing."
Harry gave a pained sigh. "I'm not sure how it happened. There's just something about him that draws me to him. It's a natural force."
"That's how it always should be" Hermione said gently.
"It's the strangest feeling sometimes," Harry admitted. "Our relationship is very simple, so far, very light and just falling into place. But there's this underlying current just out of my reach and it's so intense sometimes, I can sense it... it reminds me of..." he glanced at his hands. "It reminds me of old times."
Everyone went silent for a moment.
"Harry," Hermione said with a frown, "You're covered in white cat fur."
Harry rolled his eyes, unable to contain a scowl. "Yes. That would be Chaos."
"What, the chaos theory? A mountain lion in East Asia is shedding, so you're covered in cat hair?"
"They don't have mountain lions in East Asia, Ronald," Hermione scolded.
"No," Harry corrected, "Chaos. Adam's little ball of pure evil."
Hermione grinned. "Oh no. Harry, with a cat? They aren't exactly good for the whole 'spot-less house' thing."
Harry sighed. "She's already eaten my flowers, shredded three pillows, peed on the couch, climbed the drapes, and escaped from the apartment seventeen times."
"How long have you had her?"
"Three days," Harry sighed.
"Almost eight escapes a day," Hermione said, "That's pretty impressive."
"Should have named her Houdini," Ron added.
"Should have named her Pain In My Arse," Harry muttered.
*****
Much later that night, Harry rose to go home. He flooed to his bedroom after bidding Ron and Hermione goodnight. He landed on his carpet, and listened carefully. Adam was in the living room, watching the telly. If Harry entered the house from his bedroom, Adam would know something abnormal was going on. With an irritated sigh, Harry flooed back to Ron and Hermione's. He exited the fireplace with a bit more grace than he had exhibited in his past, and looked around. The living room was dark and empty, and Ron and Hermione were sitting at the kitchen table a little bit away. Harry started to make his presence known, but stopped to listen, slowing hiding himself along a wall where he could not be seen. The two were sitting down with a small box on the table between them.
"The dead have stayed dead, if that's what you're asking," Harry heard Hermione say. "They let Draco Malfoy out of St. Mungo's about four months ago. He hasn't been heard from. It just makes life easier for everyone - including him."
Ron makes noise that showed he'd rather Draco be suffering. "What do we do with the box of his stuff?"
"They gave it to me to give to Harry, but... I don't want to now. He's starting to live again, have you noticed? I don't want to drag up the war just as he's starting to get over it. When he goes on his 'Look at all the people who died' tirades, he always counts Malfoy. It makes me feel guilty... because Malfoy didn't die."
Ron made a noncommittal noise and the two made their way down the hallway towards their bedroom. The box remained on the table. After a few long minutes, Harry walked into the kitchen, picked up the box, and apparated to his front door.
He entered the apartment slowly, the box hidden under his jacket. Adam was sprawled on the couch watching an old black and white film.
"Hey," he greeted, not looking up.
"Hi," Harry said, hurrying past and down the hallway. He entered his bedroom and shut the door, casting a locking spell.
He sat down at his desk, placing the box gingerly in front of him and switched on the desk lamp. Harry poked his wand at the box and the lid opened. Harry began pulling things out and placing them on the desk, before moving the empty box to the floor, out of the way.
There were two leather-bound book, two keys, a Slytherin scarf, and a wand. Harry gently placed the wand and the scarf back in the box and turned his attention on to the keys. One was clearly and obviously a Gringott's key. The other held a crest of some sort. Harry picked it up and held it closer to the lamp. He could barely make out an M. He traced it with his finger. Malfoy.
He placed the keys in the box on top of the scarf and opened the book.
The first was a journal, but it would not unlock. Harry put it aside and picked up the second, unlocked book. It was a photo album, full of wizarding pictures. They started out as pictures of Draco as a baby - Harry assumed it was Draco after Ron and Hermione's conversations, and because the baby had perfect grey eyes and a shock of blonde hair. He watched as pictures of Draco sleeping in a bassinet grew into pictures of Draco sitting up with his thumb in his mouth. Those grew into pictures of his toddler days - in most of which Draco was screaming and crying for attention or another toy. As Harry flipped the pages, he watched Draco grow older: now he was six, missing a front tooth and grinning like a soldier; now he was eight and riding his first racing broom; now he was eleven, all packed for Hogwarts.
That was the last picture of Draco that Harry could find. It seemed the camera had been handed over to Draco, for the rest of the pictures were of school. Ones of the train, of the lake, of Hogwarts, of the Great Hall. Three pages of Pansy, one of Crabbe and Goyle, one of Blaise Zabini.
Harry flipped the page and nearly dropped the book. His own face was staring back at him from three different places. He blinked, took off his glasses, rubbed the lenses with his shirt, and put them back on. The pictures were still there.
In one, Harry was sitting at the Gryffindor table. Ron was on one side of him, Hermione on the other. They were all laughing, Harry had tears streaming from his eyes, and Ron was slumped over, shaking with hysteria.
The second was from a Quidditch game. It was against Ravenclaw, and Harry was chasing the snitch. He was flattened along his broom, hand reaching towards the fluttering sphere, eyes narrowed in concentration. Suddenly, the snitch dodged left, and Harry, in a moment of grace and control, turned perfectly with it in one fluid motion. Harry felt proud just watching it - it was a great moment.
The final one was very, very different. The other two had been taken presumably by Draco, and were scenes full of movement and activity. The third was so still that for a moment, Harry thought it was a muggle photograph. But when he looked close, he could see the lake rippling, and a breeze shaking the leaves on a tree near the shore. Draco was in the picture - Harry wondered who had taken it. Clearly, Draco had not known the camera was there.
He was sitting on the shore of the lake, staring blankly at the water. Whoever took the photograph knew Draco well - it was a good angle, a good shot, one of those rare catches that really show a person. Harry noticed, not for the first time, how good-looking Draco had been during the war. He was scared, and afraid to hope, and looked lost more often than he looked mean. The once-permanent sneer and scowl had no place here in a world of death and uncertainty. Without it, he seemed smaller, somehow - more human.
In the picture, Harry was several feet behind Draco, hiding next to a tree. He was staring at Draco's back with a fierce intensity, so fierce that now Harry blinked at it and brought it closer to his face, unable to remember ever feeling it. Harry remembered that day - he had seen Draco leave the castle and had followed him stealthily. He hadn't had time to go get his invisibility cloak. He had followed Draco down to the lake and hidden behind him, listening intently, hoping that Draco would say something - anything - that would help Harry figure out what he was up to.
Harry stared at the picture for a long time, taking in the intensity of his eyes on Draco's back, how lost Draco looked, how the air between them practically shimmered. He sighed, looking at it, feeling the old familiar feeling he'd get when he was around Draco during the war days - his heart would tug with the strangest feeling.
There was something about Draco Malfoy that just screamed 'Save Me', and Harry found that he, at least, had to try.
Harry began to flip to another page, when a piece of parchment, folded carefully, fluttered from the page down to the floor. Harry picked it up. It was a letter addressed to him, signed from Malfoy. Harry folded it back up without reading it. There would be plenty of time for that later - right now he needed to try and wrap his mind around what he had learned.
Harry shut the album and placed it down in the box. He sat back in his chair, pressing his palms to his eyes, taking deep breaths. Draco Malfoy was alive somewhere. He hadn't failed.
*****
The Final Battle had taken place at Hogwarts. Colin Creevey had died, Seamus and Dean, Remus and Tonks, Fred and Ginny. Draco Malfoy.
Harry had saved him three times - the first time was in the Room of Requirement. He had watched the flames lick closer and closer to Draco, and he knew - thinking back to all those nights at Grimmauld Place, all the times he'd watched Draco late at night - he couldn't leave him. He turned back, pulling Draco onto his broom. Draco was screaming and gripping him so hard it hurt. But it didn't hurt his body - his heart clenched with a sudden rush of "Please, please don't die".
Later, they caught Draco pleading for his life to one of the Death Eaters. "I'm on your side," Draco had said, and Harry had thought "No you're not. You never were. You were mine the whole time." They stunned the Death Eater, letting Draco get away.
The third time, they'd all been fighting in what had once been the Charms corridor. A Death Eater shot a jet of green light at Draco, and Harry instinctively threw a shield over him, his mindheartbodysoul screaming "Not him. Not now."
Draco crumpled to the ground anyway. Harry never saw him again.
At the end of the battle, Harry let Voldemort kill him. It killed Voldemort's soul. Harry wasn't sure what happened next, but when he woke up again, Voldemort was gone for good, he was back in his own body, and something told him that his soul was, once again, intact. Aside from grief, he felt well and whole in a way he hadn't in almost a year.
"Regret," Hermione had said, "The only way to put your soul back together is through regret."
Harry never told her - never told anyone - that he didn't regret having to kill Pettigrew; He regretted having caused a war, having lost so much through it.
*****