FIC: The Way Down - 6/9
Title: The Way Down
Rating: this chapter, pg
Length: this chapter, 9K, 70K overall
Warnings: later, there is sex, but not much violence.
Characters: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny
Epilogue: not epilogue compliant
Summary: Malfoy’s all, “Come out of there,” the way you say to a cat who is badly behaved. And Harry’s all like, “No, what, I’m a hermit! And I have a chest-monster! And I am crazy magically powerful!” and Malfoy’s all, “We all have problems, bub.” (thoughtfully) “You are crazy though. I’ll give you that.”
A/N: -Thanks to kjp_013 for the quick beta.
-This is now finished. The hope is to post once a week. Hopefully.
-Constructive criticism is more than welcome.
Go to: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9
Chapter 6
After that Harry went to Romania to tame dragons with Charlie. He stayed for four months. He thought it might be better this way, what with having kissed Malfoy, and what Malfoy had said about decency.
Overseas Apparition was considered an extraordinary power, so Harry didn’t use it. He used the international Floo to Belgium, and then travelled by a magic train. He sent letters by international Owl, too, even though he could easily sent them anywhere in the world with a word.
Harry had letters from Ron and Hermione, Molly and Arthur, Teddy with the help of Andromeda. He wrote them all back, and then got into the business of learning about dragons.
Ron would have loved it and Malfoy would have hated it, never mind how Ron would have been afraid at first, while Malfoy would have been full of himself and confident. Once Charlie had showed them the ropes, Ron would have been fine. Malfoy would have probably run away screaming like a girl.
Harry found himself thinking a lot about what Malfoy would have said about the dragons. Hermione’s interest was intellectual; Ron’s interest was more along the lines of, “Wicked, Harry.” Teddy was mostly interested in the possibility that Harry might die (“What happens when one breathes on you? Can they melt your skin off? Can you live without skin?”) Molly’s interest was mostly the opposite (“Be careful, Harry”).
Harry tended to think of dragons as terrifying and beautiful. Despite the time he spent with Charlie, he still thought of them that way-but Malfoy wouldn’t have. Malfoy would’ve pointed out that they were great big awkward lizards that belched and shit and licked their own eyes.
When Harry mentioned this, Charlie laughed and said, “You get too many trying to tame dragons that are dreamers, when what you need is pragmatism. They’re not fairy tales. They’re great hulking bird-crocodiles that’ll chew on any old things like a three year old, and then you have to know how to walk down its throat to activate its gag reflex if it eats something dangerous.”
“Yuck.”
“Yeah. They tend to be big and stupid, and need taking care of.” Charlie looked dreamy for a moment. “Aren’t they great?”
Malfoy would’ve had sharp and sarcastic things to say about Charlie, too, but somehow, he would have made it sound alright. Malfoy reluctantly admired Charlie, anyway. Harry wished he was articulate as Malfoy was so he could tell Charlie what a crazy lunatic freak he thought he was while still letting him know he thought he was completely cool.
Malfoy hadn’t sent any Owls. Eventually, it occurred to Harry that he hadn’t sent Malfoy Owls, either. It was just that all his other friends had written to him, and he had replied, because that was what you did. He remembered how he hadn’t needed to ever ask his other friends to hang out either, because it had just sort of happened.
Maybe Malfoy didn’t like to initiate. Maybe he was waiting to see what Harry would do. Or maybe he just liked to make people work for it. In some ways, that was better. It would have been so easy to take Ron and Hermione for granted. Harry couldn’t take Malfoy for granted; he couldn’t just assume everything was alright because they always had been. He had to put some thought into it.
Harry was proud of it, he realized, his friendship with Malfoy. He’d made friends with Malfoy all on his own, and it hadn’t had anything to do with whose side was on whose or Voldemort or the war. It had just been because he-well, he liked Malfoy. He had chosen Malfoy just because he liked him. That was the way things were supposed to be, in a normal world.
Malfoy had chosen him too.
Harry tried not to think about kissing him. He was getting better, and thinking about that wouldn’t help.
Instead he thought that when he got back maybe he could get Malfoy to talk about his parents, and that they could play Quidditch with Parkinson and Goyle, and Harry could invite Sinclair over for dinner with Libanos and the kids. They should spend more time with Teddy. They should go camping. They could go on a weekend trip. Malfoy could come to Romania. Harry should ask whether Malfoy was happy with his job, and his flat, and he should write more Owls.
Malfoy, Harry wrote,
The weather is very nice here in Romania.
I don’t think you would like dragons. You would say they are very uncouth. Charlie says you would be good for them because you aren’t starry-eyed. I don’t know where Charlie gets off saying people aren’t starry-eyed about dragons; he’s the worst. Charlie is also uncouth but I think secretly you like it.
How are you? How are Parkinson and Goyle? How is Sinclair? I hope you don’t come crying to me about Hermione again just because she’s gone and gotten preggers.
Well, it looks like I’m almost out of room, he wrote in two-inch scrawl to take up the rest of the parchment. He had never been good at writing letters, so I’ll say goodbye.
Goodbye! Signed,
Harry Potter
*
Harry,
I make no secret of liking Charles Weasley. Why should I? He’s the most badass person I know. And, for your information, I love dragons. Just, you know, not near me. What does dragon taming actually entail? Are there whips involved? Knowing Charles, there is no doubt toe-nail filing and scale clipping. I can’t imagine how bad a dragon’s breath smells.
Please tell me you are making nice with the local vampires, by which I mean tell me that you are not getting eaten, and also that you are learning the latest fashions. Vampires are always hip to the latest fashions. At least tell me that you get out sometimes, and that Charles is not making you revert to your hermiting ways. Charles rather has a problem himself, if you think about it; he talks better to dragons than to people. But that is just his taste and Harry, don’t go getting any ideas. I know you’re a deviant but dragon-hybrid children have trouble getting accepted into society and your kids are going to have a hard enough time as it is.
Go and see some castles. I enclosed pictures and maps. If it turns out you’ve only seen the inside of a dragon barn by the time you get through I will be most displeased.
I heard the strangest thing the other day. It was a Muggle talking about Merlin. I thought I was going to have to call the Aurors in to Obliviate her, but I was roundly informed that Muggles know all about Merlin. Can you imagine? They even have Malory. Malory! They think it is all fiction, though, or based on a true story. They’ve written all sorts of other stories about it, too, and they’ve even made films! One has a boy who rather favors me, even if his name is Wart in the beginning. He has a foster brother who favors Ron, rather. If I ever get another Owl after Kevin I shall name him Archimedes.
This is how one writes to the end of the parchment, Potter.
Thank you for writing to me.
Best,
Draco Malfoy
*
Malfoy,
You write to the end of the parchment by not answering any of my questions? Seriously, how are you?
I guess I’d heard of Merlin before Hogwarts. I’m not sure. I think I saw a movie, but no one favored you in it.
Dragon wrangling can involve whips, but Charlie doesn’t like to use them. He says that’s animal cruelty. He does cut toe-nails and file scales, though. A lot of times he’s trying to release hurt ones into the wild. He likes them to be free. But some types of dragons like making friends with humans, so then you sort of learn how to communicate and if a dragon wants to he’ll let you ride it. It’s sort of like a hippogriff actually and no they wouldn’t scratch your arm off if you’d actually been nice to it.
There aren’t many vampires. Or if there are they’re in hiding because they used to get hunted a lot around here. That’s what Charlie says.
I went to some of the castles you suggested. I’m doing a lot of traveling and sight-seeing. It turns out there are lots of goblins here and mermaids too so I’ve been visiting them as well. And humans too, of course. I’m not a deviant. I’ve learned a little Romanian. I even went to a nightclub, once. You’ll be happy to know I was the worst dressed one there and also I can’t dance. But I had a great giant waitress! She says there are some giant colonies in Scandinavia. This was confusing for a while because I never thought there were that many people living in Scandinavia, but she actually meant colonies of giants. She said they moved there when the other giants went to fight for Voldemort. I think it would be fun to go there. Maybe Hagrid and Maxine would like to visit.
Are you practising with Dean and the rest? I’m still waiting for you all to beat us at Quidditch. Plus you had better be practising with Goyle, because I have that Felix Felicis ready for Parkinson and I, not that we need it. How is Teddy doing? Tell me how you are.
Best,
Harry
*
Harry,
Dragon wrangling sounds a lot more like dragon minding. That is so typical of a Weasley. No doubt he spoils them rotten. Do you have to wash their backs with a scrub brush? Clean between their toes? Do you at least get to feed them coal, or whatever it is they eat? Have you ridden one yet? Details, Potter.
Well, what was the castle like? I’m sure it was more exciting than Hogwarts. British castles are second rate, anyway. I’ve enclosed more tourist information. There are casinos and an old village and river cruises and a famous wine.
Are the mermaids as fishy there as they were in Cumbria? Giant waitresses-what will you think of next? I’ll try to find out more about the colonies in Scandinavia for you. As a liaison to the international office, I can officially correspond with foreign ministries. Ours has been on bad terms with the Grug east of Belarus, but maybe the Scandinavian ones have chosen their own Grugs. Giants used to keep humans as slaves, you know. That’s why wizards hate them. But if these ones didn’t fight with Voldemort maybe they’re not so bad.
Let’s clear up something, though. Hagrid really shouldn’t have been showing us something that could maul us to death. Even if it was because I didn’t treat it right. I mean, in Muggle classes do they show you guns? No. Because some show-off is going to pick it up and want to shoot it, and maybe it’s my fault but I like to show off, Potter. And even if yes, I was being petty and vindictive about turning Hagrid in for having that dragon that one time, I was also terrified. What would happen when it grew up and killed us all? I’m sure we would have all been very sorry.
Oh my god. Do you have to shovel dragon droppings?
With disgust,
Draco
P.S. I’m fine. Pansy and Goyle are fine. Teddy is fine. Everything is fine.
*
Malfoy,
Maybe you’re right about Hagrid. You still could have been nicer to him. You really do like Care for Magical Creatures, don’t you? Have you ever thought about teaching? You make it really interesting, you know.
The mermaids here are more friendly, but maybe it’s because I already know a little Mermish. It’s a different dialect, but sort of similar. They have someone they call . . . well, it’s something like Sea Witch, and she is sort of like a priest. She knows more magic than the rest of them anyway, and is like a leader.
The castle was really big. And made of stone. I’m sure Hermione could describe it for hours. The dungeons were kind of incredible, though. There were six rooms and they had a rack and a wheel and all kinds of things. One was this lady made out of metal and there were nooses all over the place! Filch would have loved it.
With Charlie’s help, Harry wrote an extensive page about taking care of dragons. He copied it for Hermione, because she would care. Personally, Harry thought it was kind of boring, partly because he was already doing it and partly because he’d never really liked writing. But Malfoy would be interested, and kept asking questions. Harry ended the letter with,
And yes, sometimes I do have to shovel dragon dung. It’s not so bad. Sweaty work, though. And smelly.
I keep asking how you are because I miss you.
Best,
Harry
*
Harry,
Thank you for the dragon details. I’m impressed you could write that much.
I have heard of Sea Witches! This is a legend. The ones in Cumbria didn’t have Sea Witches. You must find out all about it and report back. I know that research hurts your brain but Harry, it’s for science! Magic science. The only kind there is, really. Whatever you do don’t trade your voice away. It’s a secret trick Sea Witches have.
Of course you would see castles and only be able to describe in detail the instruments of torture, and not, you know, the flying buttresses or drawbridges or what have you. Honestly I worry for you sometimes. You’re so dark and brooding. If only you had a club foot. Then I would admire you so.
Sinclair and I have published our paper. He ended up putting my name as co-author. I went on a date last Saturday. His name was Alfonse. It was fine.
Tell Charles I said hello. I have enclosed further tourist materials. Make sure you try that wine I told you about; I can’t get my hands on it here, and though nightclubs are deplorable, I’m glad you went. I never told you, but no doubt it was good for you.
Yours sincerely,
Draco
*
Harry put down the letter and tried to see straight.
For the first time in a long time, Harry tried to think of the field. The moon hung low; the grass was high; the green swayed in the breeze, and Draco Malfoy came down . . .
Harry thought about Malfoy, his thin, shining hair, his gray eyes, his thin-lipped, haggard-looking mouth. The line at the side deepened, and he was smiling, and that was how Harry got past it-because Malfoy went on a date last Saturday. His name was Alfonse. It was fine.
Malfoy was making himself happy.
Harry had flat out told him they couldn’t be more than friends. It was Malfoy who had asked, who had been interested, but when Harry had told him he couldn’t give him any more than he was already, Malfoy had accepted it. He was moving on, and it was what Harry wanted.
Malfoy deserved someone splendid, someone who wouldn’t hurt him, someone who didn’t have a monster in his chest, someone who didn’t have to put up walls. Malfoy shouldn’t have to put up walls, Harry thought, because Malfoy was . . . well, so Malfoyish, with the line at the side of his mouth, and his bright eyes, and comical little impressions, and sarcastic comments, and enclosed packets of visitor info in all his Owls.
Most of all Malfoy deserved to be happy. Harry had told him to reach for what he wanted, because Malfoy had told him that. Harry wanted Malfoy to do it, and if Malfoy was going in this direction without him, Harry could-he could live with it. It hurt inside his chest, but the monster wasn’t coming out, and Harry could do this. He could be a friend. He could be the best friend ever; he could let Malfoy be happy.
Of course if this Alfonse character hurt Draco Harry might-well, then there might be problems. But it wouldn’t be as it had been with Dean Thomas, who was kind and had cared for Ginny, and Harry hadn’t even been able to let him get near her. Instead, Harry would stand politely by. He would stand by and because he was standing by, he would know he had succeeded.
He had finally kept the monster down, and replaced it with a field, and Draco Malfoy coming down.
*
Malfoy,
Charlie helped me write some of the dragon stuff. As you probably guessed.
The Sea Witch hasn’t tried to steal my voice. She’s terribly interested in submarines, though. I think she wants one, and doesn’t understand that you can’t just . . . you know, buy one. In particular she likes the idea of periscopes, I think. I’ve given her my Sneakoscope. I don’t need to carry one anymore; I thought you should know.
Congratulations on your paper. I’m glad you were co-author. Do you have plans on publishing anymore? Because remember it was you who made fun of me when you thought I wanted to be a writer. Have there been any comments or things? When Hermione published her first paper she was very concerned about critical acclaim, or whatever. She says academics are ruthless. But you’re pretty ruthless so I imagine you’ll be fine.
I’ve taken pictures of more castles for you since you were dissatisfied with my descriptions. I’ll have you know that I went to another castle recently and there was a large, spindle-like parapet, a defunct draw-bridge, a secret stone passageway and tapestries from the fourteenth century. Plus I found a room like the Room of Requirement and it also has knights’ armour that go around and keep the place clean in the spaces Muggle tourists can’t see. There’s a rectangular barbican and these balconies called pechnazes. I still don’t know what flying buttresses are, though.
I’m glad your date went fine. Maybe you can introduce me to him when I get back.
How are you?
Best,
Harry
*
Harry,
Don’t sound so proud of yourself. I know for a fact that many of those phrases were stolen right off the Bran architecture tour guide I sent you. Did you forget? I sent it to you. Plus the wizarding specs are also in the tour guide if you know where to look, but I’m guessing you didn’t bother to find that out, so kudos to finding it out on your own. Here’s a hint. Flying buttresses don’t fly.
I like the pictures. Pansy likes them too. Greg mostly just wonders what the food is like there, and whether dragons like macaroons. You just never know with Greg.
Enclosed is an Extendable Eye from Wizard’s Wheezes for Miss Sea Witch. Pass along my regards. Endear me to her-you can mention my assets, my manners, my-lie, okay? I’d like to be on good terms with a Sea Witch, even if she’s too far away for me to visit.
There has been high critical acclaim for our paper. Needless to say, Potter. Of course, Granger being worried about critical acclaim for her papers is just like Granger being worried about NEWTS. Oh, lord. Don’t tell me Granger was worried about her NEWTS? Typical. What a show off.
I’m still fine, Harry. When are you coming home?
Yours sincerely,
Draco
*
Malfoy,
How do you know if I sound proud of myself? It was an Owl.
I’m glad to hear the Goyles are well. Even if you didn’t say so.
Bettina (that’s the Sea Witch) appreciates your eye and wishes you to have this mollusk (enclosed). I don’t know what it’s for. I didn’t ask. It creeps me out, personally, but I think you have a new underwater penpal. They have messenger fish, you know. But they don’t have paper.
Congratulations on your critical acclaim. You’re right, I should have known.
I’m coming home soon. I’m looking forward to seeing your pointy face. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Almost too long.
Best,
Harry
*
When Harry got back from Romania, a large group of friends met him in his flat. Hermione had organized the welcome home.
Harry noticed Malfoy wasn’t there within the first few minutes. At first he thought it might be because of the crowd-mostly Weasleys and the old DA. But Malfoy had become better acquainted with most of these people. They didn’t mind him so much anymore, and Hermione said he had been invited. Harry wondered what it was, whether it was Alfonse, whether it was something else, and felt something curl inside his chest that he had thought he had left behind somewhere in Romania, among mountains and mermaids and letters written to friends.
Thirty minutes later Malfoy showed up. The collar of his old navy greatcoat was turned up, and there was snow caught in his hair. Two spots high on his cheeks were almost red from cold, and for a second Harry forgot that Malfoy wasn’t the only person in the room.
Then Malfoy looked up and grinned, and Harry could hear others still laughing, talking in the warm bright room. Harry went over to him as Malfoy gave Hermione a plastic grocery bag.
Giving the bag to Ron, Hermione put her hands on her swelling hips and said, “Well, where were you?”
“Sorry, Harry.” Malfoy’s grin had softened into a smile. “I was supposed to get the ice cream, but I got distracted.”
“Distracted.” Ron snorted. “That’s what you are.”
“Yes,” said Malfoy, that line deepening, so dear, on the side of his mouth. His eyes were still on Harry’s. “I thought it was sad how Muggles didn’t get ice cream, so I stopped at a Tesco to see what sweets they have instead.”
“You went to a Tesco?” said Ron.
“Yes, and I’ve found out something rather important,” said Malfoy, unbuttoning his coat. “It’s called Häagen-Dazs .”
“How come you thought Muggles didn’t have ice cream?” Harry watched stupidly as crystals of snow melted in Malfoy’s hair, which looked yellow in this light.
Malfoy was shrugging out of his coat. “Because ice cream is magical, Harry,” he said, quite innocently.
Harry laughed, and Malfoy beamed.
Hermione must have performed some most impressive spellwork on his flat to enable it to hold all the people. People were there with their whole families: George and Angelina and their youngest, Neville and Hannah, Luna with her newest boyfriend, Molly, Arthur.
Andromeda was there looking distinctly uncomfortable among all the people, but she must have wanted to bring Teddy, and Harry realized when he talked to her-she had wanted to see him too. Malfoy hovered on her perimeter almost all the night long, sort of like a news helicopter or a salesman, until Harry wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to work so hard to win Andromeda’s favor any more.
A little while later Harry realized Malfoy wasn’t trying to win anything; he was just sticking by her to introduce her to the people she didn’t know, and take up most the conversation. She had always been reserved.
Teddy, meanwhile, was making paper airplanes fly at Hugo, which Harry strongly suspected Malfoy had taught him how to do in his absence.
There was Firewhisky, mead, and daisy wine, and of course plenty of Häagen-Dazs, because when Malfoy lit upon new discoveries, he sort of went crazy. Then there was Firewhisky in the ice cream, and rather a lot of drunken singing-mostly George and Arthur.
Harry snagged Malfoy’s arm at one point and dragged him over to one of the trunks. A case rather bigger than a breadbox was on top of one. “Open it,” Harry said.
Malfoy looked at it rather doubtfully and opened it. They were Bludgers.
“Dragon Bludgers,” Harry said. “They shoot fire.”
Ron came up over Harry’s shoulder and whistled low. “Are those dragon Bludgers? Smith is going to kill someone.”
“I got them for Malfoy.”
Ron whistled again. “Malfoy’s going to kill someone.”
Harry was looking at Malfoy, who was just looking down at the Bludgers. “I actually thought Parkinson and Goyle could kill people.” Harry paused, frowning. “Except for the, you know, killing part.”
“Goyle?” said Ron. “He still plays Quidditch? Wait, Parkinson plays Quidditch? Where’s Hermione?” Peeling away, Ron went in search of her.
Malfoy quietly shut the lid of the box. “Thank you,” he said. He still wasn’t looking up. “That’s very-considerate of you. Pansy and Greg will be touched. What am I talking about? They’ll be bloodthirsty. Bludgers that shoot fire. Who would have thought of-”
“Hey, Malfoy.” Harry touched his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“What?” Malfoy said, distracted. He finally looked at Harry. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re babbling.”
“I’m grateful. Can’t a guy be grateful? I mean, if he hasn’t seen someone in four months, it’s okay to have a little gratitude, and-” Malfoy abruptly shut his mouth. His eyes slid away as though they could not hold Harry’s, his lashes drifting down so that all Harry could see was the silver of them. Malfoy was looking at the box.
“Look here, Hermione,” said Ron. “Goyle.”
“Don’t see him.” Hermione was wiping her hands on a towel.
“No, I mean-Harry says he still plays Quidditch.”
Hermione was looking at Ron as though he was a crazy person. Which maybe he was. Or maybe he’d just had a lot of Firewhisky. He might have taken part in some of the singing. “That’s very nice, Ron.”
“What I mean is, they’re going to play with us!” announced Ron. “Malfoy, what position does Parkinson play?”
Malfoy seemed shocked. “I-what?”
“Sure,” said Ron, and swayed a little. He was drunk, but not really that drunk, Harry decided. He’d missed Ron a whole lot. “You know how we’re always short a Left Beater. Well, we’ve got Goyle!”
Hermione was looking at Ron doubtfully. “Yes,” she said very slowly, because Ron still might be a crazy person, even if he wasn’t all that drunk, “but those are dragon Bludgers.”
“Goyle is really friendly,” said Harry. “And he likes Disneyland.”
“Goyle went to Disneyland?”
Harry nodded. “On his honeymoon with Parkinson.”
Ron turned to Hermione. “How come we’ve never been to Disneyland?”
“What position does Pansy play?” Hermione asked politely.
Malfoy looked at Harry, as if for help. “Well she-that is-she can Chase. Not that well, really.”
“Brilliant!” said Ron. “That’s what we need.”
“You think the other players will approve?” Malfoy asked. He seemed badly startled.
Ron shrugged. “You know what?” He appeared about to say something very wise. “Snape was in Slytherin.”
This seemed more along the lines of what Malfoy was expecting, and he squared his shoulders, as if to prepare for an assault. “He was.”
Ron was nodding. “Yeah. And Snape put the Sword of Gryffindor in the bottom of a freezing lake, and Harry had to go down and get it, and I had to save him. So you see,” he said, and put his arm around Harry. “It all works out.”
“Come along dearest,” said Hermione.
“Do you know what he’s talking about?” said Malfoy.
Harry smiled. “Yeah. I really do.”
“Hermione, I’m not actually drunk,” Ron told Hermione seriously.
“I know,” said Hermione.
“House Unity,” Ron announced. “That’s what the Sorting Hat said. And you know what? Life’s too short, and we were kids. The future is going to be brightest, that’s if I have anything to say about it. Which I do. So get Parkinson and Goyle to come play Quidditch with us. It will be awesome.”
“So this is why she likes you,” said Malfoy.
“I’m really not that drunk,” Ron told him.
“No,” Malfoy said quietly. “I really meant it.”
“Malfoy’s right, you know,” said Hermione. She was looking fondly up at Ron. “This is why I like you.”
“Oh,” said Ron. He thought about it, looking down at Hermione. Then he looked at Harry and Malfoy and appeared perturbed. He drew himself up and informed them, “Well, also I’m a sexy beast.”
They stared at him.
Ron deflated. “Okay. Maybe I’m a little drunk.”
“It’s okay.” Hermione was still glowing from that stuff Ron had said about House Unity and making futures. “I still like you anyway.”
Then Malfoy leaned in to talk in Harry’s ear, and his breath was quick and light, and it was a trick of whatever scent Malfoy used, but he just smelled like snow. “This would be a very bad time to tell him about the monkey thing,” Malfoy whispered, and then as soon as Harry had time to breathe him in, Malfoy wasn’t in his space any more.
In his absence, Harry felt that dark foreboding in his chest again, and wished he could be in Romania.
Ron was looking at them. “And then there’s you two.”
“Ron,” Hermione warned.
“What?”
“We are definitely leaving.”
Hermione swept Ron away, and Andromeda and Teddy came up to say goodbye. Then Harry started talking to Neville, and he lost sight of where Malfoy went for a while, though tracking Malfoy’s every movement hadn’t exactly been part of his plan. It should not have been part of his plan.
When Harry found him again, Malfoy and Luna were talking in a corner. Malfoy liked Luna, Harry remembered. Malfoy had said as much, once, but Luna was often out of the country, so he didn’t have time to see her much. Harry wouldn’t have thought Malfoy would see her at all, since the basis of Malfoy’s affection for her mostly seemed to be the fact that she’d been locked up in the Malfoy Manor cellar. Malfoy had been tasked with bringing them food and things, when Dobby was otherwise occupied. Malfoy had told Harry once that Luna had been kind.
It had seemed a strange thing for Malfoy to have said, that a prisoner had been kind. Harry hadn’t been able to ask about it, because Malfoy wouldn’t talk about it. He’d looked like he’d never even meant to say that much.
Seeing Malfoy now, with his head leaning in toward Luna’s, Harry thought that yes, Luna must have been kind, because Malfoy always looked like that with people who were kind. He looked thoughtful and attentive, as though he were seriously regarding every word. He looked that way with Teddy too, though. Maybe Malfoy just looked that way with crazy people, as well as kind people.
Their blond heads were bent close together, and Malfoy must be close enough to her that Harry could guess exactly what the air Luna was breathing smelled like, tasted like-and for the first time in forever, the dark twist in his chest began to feel like clawing.
Harry didn’t know why it was happening. It had been building all evening, the moment Malfoy had shown up in that old battered coat with a plastic bag full of cartons of ice cream, snow caught in his hair.
Maybe it had to do with the crowd, Harry thought. He hadn’t been hermiting away in Romania. He’d done what Malfoy said; he’d seen the sights; he’d even been to that night club, but it was true that he’d spent a lot of time with just Charlie and the dragons, and sometimes not even with Charlie, just dragons.
There were a lot of people here tonight, and Harry had never been good with people. And so many of these people were the ones he loved, even if Ginny was conspicuously absent. She might even have come, had she not had to travel for a game the next night. These people were the reason Harry had gotten so afraid he might hurt someone; these were the people he had removed himself from in order not to hurt them.
Not Malfoy. Never Malfoy.
Malfoy, as though sensing Harry’s eyes on him, caught sight of him and smiled, then turned back to Luna and kept on talking. Someone moved and obscured Harry’s view.
Harry had to close his eyes and think of the field. The hills rolled green, and Malfoy was tall and slender, his chest narrow, his waist narrow, his hips narrow and long. His cheekbones were high and his eyes were gray, and on his arm there was a scar.
Harry remembered how after he had kissed Malfoy, he’d gone to apologize, and Malfoy had held out his hand for him to shake. Harry had decided he could do it, then. He could control all these feelings; he could keep the monster down; he could be what Malfoy needed.
They were friends.
Harry tried to think of the field again. This time he succeeded, and the monster stayed at bay.
Eventually Luna and her boyfriend went home; Neville went home; the Weasleys went home. They all went home, except for Malfoy, who was lingering, watching as Harry cleaned up the bottles and other rubbish.
“I told you that you shouldn’t have gone to Romania,” he said.
“Why shouldn’t I have?” Harry closed a suitcase and spelling it into a corner. He was tired, and he almost wished Malfoy hadn’t stayed.
“If all those ruddy rumors about you were true, you wouldn’t’ve had to. You’d’ve just been able to Apparate back every night. So.” Malfoy was looking at him blurrily. “You shouldn’t go away.” He stood up as Harry tried to tug out the cushion that’d been thrown behind him, and ended up standing very close. “You shouldn’t go that long.”
“You should have some water.”
Malfoy scowled. “I’m serious.”
“Okay.”
Malfoy swayed toward him. “Welcome back, Potter,” he breathed, hot on Harry’s cheek. He no longer smelled like snow; he’d had too much daisy wine.
He must have felt Harry go still, because he pulled back abruptly. “That’s an American Muggle television show, you know. Welcome back, Potter. Or something.”
“Okay. Are you alright to Apparate?”
Malfoy bristled. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Okay,” Harry said, one last time, and took Malfoy’s arm. He led him over to the door. He opened it, and then looked at Malfoy.
Malfoy’s eyes were bright, his cheeks quite pink. His lips were wet and shiny.
Harry let him go.
Draco sighed noisily. “I wish vampires had gotten you after all. Then you wouldn’t be so afraid of the dark.” Then he stepped over the threshold and Apparated away.
Harry thought of the field. The grass was green. The breeze was gentle. There was no road. And Draco Malfoy came down . . . .
*
A couple weeks after Harry came back from Romania, Harry and Malfoy chased the Snitch against each other for practice, and afterwards lay in a field. They were somewhere in Shropshire, on a pitch hidden from Muggles. Harry and his friends often used for games and practice.
The sun was out, though the air was crisp. They both had on warming charms, but the nip that snuck its way in felt good after flying, and the grass, though cold, was soft.
Beside Harry, Malfoy’s breath was lengthening.
Malfoy had been all bright eyes and crowing triumph, chasing Harry. His hair was windswept and there had been red in his cheeks in the cold air. He laughed, carefree and happy, which was when Harry begun to realize Draco Malfoy was becoming a problem.
Harry wondered if that really was why he had gone to Romania in the first place. He wouldn’t have to see Malfoy, and Malfoy wouldn’t have to see him. Maybe Harry had been thinking, after the kiss, that he would give Malfoy a chance to move on. Malfoy had; after all there was Alfonse, and Harry had been glad, hadn’t he?
Malfoy didn’t need anything else from him; Malfoy needed him to be his friend. He had believed Harry could do it. Harry wanted to do it.
Closing his eyes, Harry thought of the field. The grass was green, and Malfoy was in it, Malfoy with the scar on his arm, Malfoy walking down where there was no road.
Harry opened his eyes. “How are your parents?”
“My parents?” Malfoy asked, surprised. His voice came quickly after that. “They’re fine. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“What for?”
“I dunno,” said Harry.
“Well.” Malfoy huffed. “They’re fine.”
“Where do they live now?”
“Why are you asking about my parents?” Malfoy sat up, sounded truly irritated. “They haven’t done anything. They mind their own business. My mother has a job, for heaven’s sake. They-”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Harry said. “I’m just wondering.”
“Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s-it’s not your business.”
Harry didn’t say anything for a while. “I wish my mother was alive,” he said eventually.
Malfoy made a sound. “Yes, Potter, we all wish-”
“No.” Harry sat up too. “I mean . . . I wish you could meet her. I think . . . she would have liked you.”
Malfoy looked away. “How do you know?” He sounded defensive. “You didn’t even know her.”
“I know. But I imagine her sometimes. I think your mum loves you very much.”
“Of course she does. She’s my mother.”
“I know, but . . . ugh.” Harry searched around for his glasses, and put them on. “Look, Draco. I just wanted to say, you can talk about your parents.”
Malfoy hunched his shoulders. “Of course I can. They’re my parents.”
“I mean. You can talk about anything. We don’t have to . . . just because you and I . . . You can talk about anything you want. You don’t have to be careful.”
“Careful?” Malfoy snorted. “Of you?”
“You don’t have to be. Not with me. We’re friends.”
“That again.” Malfoy was bristling all over, like a cat that had been splashed with water.
“Yes.”
Malfoy tilted up his nose. “What’s this about?”
Harry looked down. “Nothing. I just . . . I’m not going to stop being friends with you.”
“Lord.” Malfoy made an insane frittering gesture with his hand. “Lord, Potter. Was there some question?”
“No!” Harry didn’t know what Malfoy’s problem was. “No. I just . . . wanted to say it.”
“Oh.” Malfoy looked at him a little while, then flopped back in the grass. “You’re very dramatic, you know that?”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Malfoy put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “I thought you were going to . . . well, never mind. You know,” he added, after several moments, “normal people don’t go around making declarations.”
“I don’t see why not.” Harry took off his glasses and lay back.
They lay there in silence a little while. “Potter,” Malfoy said eventually.
Harry didn’t answer him.
“Potter.” Malfoy rolled over and sat up, and Harry finally understood what Parkinson had meant about the looming. “Potter,” Malfoy said again. “Do you really think I’m afraid to say things to you in case you won’t be my friend?”
Harry groaned. “I don’t know, Malfoy.”
“What makes you think that?” Malfoy’s tone was insistent. He actually sounded a little like Teddy when Teddy really wanted ice cream.
“I don’t know. It just occurred to me. That’s all.”
“Why did it occur to you?”
“I don’t know.” Harry was still lying in the grass, his arm was over his eyes. “You’re always . . . you don’t ever talk about yourself.”
“I talk about myself.” His voice was odd. “I talk about myself all the time. Why wouldn’t I talk about myself? I’m splendid. A Malfoy never hesitates to talk about himself. How could I find a better subject?”
“Yeah, except you don’t.”
“Of course I do.”
“You don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
Harry moved his arm and reluctantly put his glasses on again. Malfoy’s face looked strangely strung out, as though waiting for Harry's answer. Harry sighed again. “I already said. Your parents. Your life. You wrote me one stupid line about going out on a date and then-nothing. I had to prod you to get you to talk about the Goyles. You just don’t . . . .”
“Share?”
“Well,” Harry said defensively, “yeah.”
“You wanted to know whether I was dating anyone.”
“Yes. But-Malfoy, it’s more than that. I’m interested in you.”
Malfoy suddenly looked delighted. “You want me to talk about my feelings?”
Harry frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. That’s brilliant.” Malfoy laughed, but he didn’t sound sarcastic at all. He did seem to find it very funny, however. His eyes were dancing; his throat tipped back; it was sunny outside; it was all very distracting. “Harry Potter wants me to talk about my feelings.”
“I don’t see how it’s funny,” Harry muttered.
“It’s not. It’s not; it’s very . . . sweet. Very . . . Hufflepuff. Trelawny, even. We should . . .” Malfoy brushed Harry’s shoulder in an absent sort of way. He was making fun of him, but it was not at all nasty, and Malfoy looked so happy-really happy, even laughing at him. He laughed again, and dropped his hand. “We should make daisy-chains, read tea leaves . . .”
“Whatever, Malfoy.”
“Hmm.” Malfoy’s smile resolving into a lazy smirk. His bright gray eyes met Harry’s, and then dropped down. They settled on Harry’s lips.
Malfoy licked his own lips. His tongue was pink, and Harry looked away.
“I was just trying to be nice,” Harry said.
Malfoy laughed again, very low and soft, then leaned in. “Harry Potter,” he whispered. “Nice.”
Malfoy’s breath landed on Harry’s ear, his neck, and then it felt like it kept going further down. Malfoy was close, and very bright, and he smelled like grass.
“Malfoy.”
“Hmm?” Malfoy was looking at him, seeming to be very distracted by the part where Harry’s ear met his head and neck.
Harry grabbed his glasses, put them on, and stood up.
Malfoy looked up at him in surprise.
“It’s getting late.”
“Oh,” said Malfoy, and stood as well. He looked for his broom, and Harry went and got his own. “Harry,” Malfoy said, as they put their gear together.
“Yeah?” Harry asked warily, not turning around.
Malfoy’s voice was meditative. “Do you also like rainbows?”
Harry frowned and turned around after all. “What?”
“What about lily-pads, and little candied hearts?”
“What are you-”
“I’ll be sure to serve you only daisywine, and I’ll make sure Greg goes easy on you. I wouldn’t want things to be too rough for you, now that you’re such a sensitive bloke.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Shut it.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“Whatever, Malfoy.”
Malfoy grinned. “Goodbye Potter,” he said, as Harry Apparated away.
*
Some time the next day, Malfoy knocked on the door of Harry’s flat, and Harry let him in. He felt ashamed, realizing he’d been avoiding Malfoy a bit since coming back from Romania. Yesterday had been one of the few times they had spent time together alone.
“Hullo, Harry,” Malfoy said, and strode in.
“Malfoy,” Harry said, and shut the door.
Malfoy looked about, smiling as though unaware he was doing it. On Malfoy that smile looked soft and strange. At last he looked at Harry again. “Were you doing something tonight?”
“No.” Harry shrugged. “Testing one of George’s potions.”
Malfoy’s nose wrinkled. “Are you sure you want to work there? You’re taking your life into your hands, you know.”
“I don’t know. My other thought was spending time with centaurs for a while.”
“Always said you had a thing for magical creatures.”
“There are some in the Middle East that are pretty interesting.”
Malfoy’s smile faded. “You said you weren’t going to go away again.”
“Yeah.” Harry turned from him. “I did say that.”
“So.” Malfoy’s tone was a little flatter. It had been so light before. “What’s the potion?”
“What?”
“You said you were testing a Wheezes potion.”
Harry turned back. “Right. Er. I think it’s one that makes you talk like a dragon. I thought it would be useful-you know. And George thought it would be funny, so . . .” Harry shrugged again.
Malfoy nodded. “I have been keeping something from you.”
“What?”
“You were right,” Malfoy said. “There’s something I . . . didn’t tell you, because I . . .” Malfoy drew himself up. “I didn’t tell you something, because I wanted to be your friend.”
“What do you mean?”
“At first I didn’t want to. Be your friend. I mean, I didn’t mean to-but now we are.”
“Well. Thanks.”
“It happened after you kissed me,” Malfoy said.
Harry felt claws squeeze in, wrapping around his heart, but Malfoy just went on.
“I pretended it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. It was a big deal to me. I thought you weren’t . . . I didn’t think you would welcome a big deal. You seemed to need . . . something else.”
The claws scraped upward, just like panic moves. “How big of a deal was it?” Harry croaked.
“A very large one.” It was taking quite a lot of courage, Harry realized with a weird sort of detachment. Malfoy had never been known for courage, and yet he seemed determined to plow on. He held his thin shoulders very square, and his head very high. “I quite like you. I’ve been trying not to like you nearly so much. I just wanted to be your friend. It doesn’t seem to be working.”
Harry was finding it hard to breath. His chest was tight, and his heart was being clawed to ribbons; the claws were crawling up his throat. “Why are you saying this?”
“I wanted to . . .” Malfoy gave a small shrug.
Harry would always remember that, the way that Malfoy moved his stiff, narrow shoulders. It looked so affected, Malfoy pretending he could weather rejection.
“I wanted to see if you felt ready for it.”
Harry felt like he was being emptied out; now that the clawing was done, it was scraping things away. His eyes felt very hot, his skin very pale. It was getting hard to hear. “What are you saying?”
Malfoy’s smile was rather sickly. “Well, Potter. I’m asking you out on a date.”
Date, Harry thought distantly. He’d had no idea. He’d been so wrapped up in himself, so sure that Malfoy was only curious, or mildly interested, and here was Malfoy-giving him permission. “What about Alfonse?”
“That’s over.” Malfoy tilted his head. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“No.”
“Well, it is.”
Harry still clung to Alfonse. “What happened?”
“Irreconcilable differences.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I was . . . trying something. It didn’t work out.” Malfoy’s mouth was thin and tight. “I’m glad I did it.”
Harry wanted Malfoy against the wall. He wanted to taste him again, to crawl inside his skin again. He wanted to mark Malfoy all over, and really, it should be alright, because Malfoy wanted him to. Malfoy liked it. Malfoy was asking for it, wasn’t he, and Harry could have him right there against the wall, and who was there to care about things like dating, or the fact that Malfoy was not giving permission for that, or always being so bloody careful? “I can’t.”
“Ah.” Malfoy looked away.
“Malfoy.”
“You’ll excuse me, I . . .” Malfoy’s tone was distant. He still wasn’t looking at him. “I think I’ll go . . . tear up tree stumps, or something. Seems a popular past time. So sorry to have wasted your time. I’ll just be-”
“Malfoy.”
Malfoy looked at him, and blanched rather pale. “Potter?” His voice went very harsh. “Are you really going to have a crackup now?”
“Malfoy,” Harry said again.
“Go ahead. Have one. I don’t care. Want to know why?” Malfoy’s face was twisted and ugly. “It isn’t always about you.”
Malfoy swept right by him.
“I can’t.”
“I can see that,” Malfoy said. “It’s pathetic.”
Then Malfoy went away, and the world seemed to go very, very dark.
Go to: Chapter 7
This entry was originally posted to Dreamwidth. Read Comments | Reply
Rating: this chapter, pg
Length: this chapter, 9K, 70K overall
Warnings: later, there is sex, but not much violence.
Characters: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny
Epilogue: not epilogue compliant
Summary: Malfoy’s all, “Come out of there,” the way you say to a cat who is badly behaved. And Harry’s all like, “No, what, I’m a hermit! And I have a chest-monster! And I am crazy magically powerful!” and Malfoy’s all, “We all have problems, bub.” (thoughtfully) “You are crazy though. I’ll give you that.”
A/N: -Thanks to kjp_013 for the quick beta.
-This is now finished. The hope is to post once a week. Hopefully.
-Constructive criticism is more than welcome.
Go to: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9
Chapter 6
After that Harry went to Romania to tame dragons with Charlie. He stayed for four months. He thought it might be better this way, what with having kissed Malfoy, and what Malfoy had said about decency.
Overseas Apparition was considered an extraordinary power, so Harry didn’t use it. He used the international Floo to Belgium, and then travelled by a magic train. He sent letters by international Owl, too, even though he could easily sent them anywhere in the world with a word.
Harry had letters from Ron and Hermione, Molly and Arthur, Teddy with the help of Andromeda. He wrote them all back, and then got into the business of learning about dragons.
Ron would have loved it and Malfoy would have hated it, never mind how Ron would have been afraid at first, while Malfoy would have been full of himself and confident. Once Charlie had showed them the ropes, Ron would have been fine. Malfoy would have probably run away screaming like a girl.
Harry found himself thinking a lot about what Malfoy would have said about the dragons. Hermione’s interest was intellectual; Ron’s interest was more along the lines of, “Wicked, Harry.” Teddy was mostly interested in the possibility that Harry might die (“What happens when one breathes on you? Can they melt your skin off? Can you live without skin?”) Molly’s interest was mostly the opposite (“Be careful, Harry”).
Harry tended to think of dragons as terrifying and beautiful. Despite the time he spent with Charlie, he still thought of them that way-but Malfoy wouldn’t have. Malfoy would’ve pointed out that they were great big awkward lizards that belched and shit and licked their own eyes.
When Harry mentioned this, Charlie laughed and said, “You get too many trying to tame dragons that are dreamers, when what you need is pragmatism. They’re not fairy tales. They’re great hulking bird-crocodiles that’ll chew on any old things like a three year old, and then you have to know how to walk down its throat to activate its gag reflex if it eats something dangerous.”
“Yuck.”
“Yeah. They tend to be big and stupid, and need taking care of.” Charlie looked dreamy for a moment. “Aren’t they great?”
Malfoy would’ve had sharp and sarcastic things to say about Charlie, too, but somehow, he would have made it sound alright. Malfoy reluctantly admired Charlie, anyway. Harry wished he was articulate as Malfoy was so he could tell Charlie what a crazy lunatic freak he thought he was while still letting him know he thought he was completely cool.
Malfoy hadn’t sent any Owls. Eventually, it occurred to Harry that he hadn’t sent Malfoy Owls, either. It was just that all his other friends had written to him, and he had replied, because that was what you did. He remembered how he hadn’t needed to ever ask his other friends to hang out either, because it had just sort of happened.
Maybe Malfoy didn’t like to initiate. Maybe he was waiting to see what Harry would do. Or maybe he just liked to make people work for it. In some ways, that was better. It would have been so easy to take Ron and Hermione for granted. Harry couldn’t take Malfoy for granted; he couldn’t just assume everything was alright because they always had been. He had to put some thought into it.
Harry was proud of it, he realized, his friendship with Malfoy. He’d made friends with Malfoy all on his own, and it hadn’t had anything to do with whose side was on whose or Voldemort or the war. It had just been because he-well, he liked Malfoy. He had chosen Malfoy just because he liked him. That was the way things were supposed to be, in a normal world.
Malfoy had chosen him too.
Harry tried not to think about kissing him. He was getting better, and thinking about that wouldn’t help.
Instead he thought that when he got back maybe he could get Malfoy to talk about his parents, and that they could play Quidditch with Parkinson and Goyle, and Harry could invite Sinclair over for dinner with Libanos and the kids. They should spend more time with Teddy. They should go camping. They could go on a weekend trip. Malfoy could come to Romania. Harry should ask whether Malfoy was happy with his job, and his flat, and he should write more Owls.
Malfoy, Harry wrote,
The weather is very nice here in Romania.
I don’t think you would like dragons. You would say they are very uncouth. Charlie says you would be good for them because you aren’t starry-eyed. I don’t know where Charlie gets off saying people aren’t starry-eyed about dragons; he’s the worst. Charlie is also uncouth but I think secretly you like it.
How are you? How are Parkinson and Goyle? How is Sinclair? I hope you don’t come crying to me about Hermione again just because she’s gone and gotten preggers.
Well, it looks like I’m almost out of room, he wrote in two-inch scrawl to take up the rest of the parchment. He had never been good at writing letters, so I’ll say goodbye.
Goodbye! Signed,
Harry Potter
*
Harry,
I make no secret of liking Charles Weasley. Why should I? He’s the most badass person I know. And, for your information, I love dragons. Just, you know, not near me. What does dragon taming actually entail? Are there whips involved? Knowing Charles, there is no doubt toe-nail filing and scale clipping. I can’t imagine how bad a dragon’s breath smells.
Please tell me you are making nice with the local vampires, by which I mean tell me that you are not getting eaten, and also that you are learning the latest fashions. Vampires are always hip to the latest fashions. At least tell me that you get out sometimes, and that Charles is not making you revert to your hermiting ways. Charles rather has a problem himself, if you think about it; he talks better to dragons than to people. But that is just his taste and Harry, don’t go getting any ideas. I know you’re a deviant but dragon-hybrid children have trouble getting accepted into society and your kids are going to have a hard enough time as it is.
Go and see some castles. I enclosed pictures and maps. If it turns out you’ve only seen the inside of a dragon barn by the time you get through I will be most displeased.
I heard the strangest thing the other day. It was a Muggle talking about Merlin. I thought I was going to have to call the Aurors in to Obliviate her, but I was roundly informed that Muggles know all about Merlin. Can you imagine? They even have Malory. Malory! They think it is all fiction, though, or based on a true story. They’ve written all sorts of other stories about it, too, and they’ve even made films! One has a boy who rather favors me, even if his name is Wart in the beginning. He has a foster brother who favors Ron, rather. If I ever get another Owl after Kevin I shall name him Archimedes.
This is how one writes to the end of the parchment, Potter.
Thank you for writing to me.
Best,
Draco Malfoy
*
Malfoy,
You write to the end of the parchment by not answering any of my questions? Seriously, how are you?
I guess I’d heard of Merlin before Hogwarts. I’m not sure. I think I saw a movie, but no one favored you in it.
Dragon wrangling can involve whips, but Charlie doesn’t like to use them. He says that’s animal cruelty. He does cut toe-nails and file scales, though. A lot of times he’s trying to release hurt ones into the wild. He likes them to be free. But some types of dragons like making friends with humans, so then you sort of learn how to communicate and if a dragon wants to he’ll let you ride it. It’s sort of like a hippogriff actually and no they wouldn’t scratch your arm off if you’d actually been nice to it.
There aren’t many vampires. Or if there are they’re in hiding because they used to get hunted a lot around here. That’s what Charlie says.
I went to some of the castles you suggested. I’m doing a lot of traveling and sight-seeing. It turns out there are lots of goblins here and mermaids too so I’ve been visiting them as well. And humans too, of course. I’m not a deviant. I’ve learned a little Romanian. I even went to a nightclub, once. You’ll be happy to know I was the worst dressed one there and also I can’t dance. But I had a great giant waitress! She says there are some giant colonies in Scandinavia. This was confusing for a while because I never thought there were that many people living in Scandinavia, but she actually meant colonies of giants. She said they moved there when the other giants went to fight for Voldemort. I think it would be fun to go there. Maybe Hagrid and Maxine would like to visit.
Are you practising with Dean and the rest? I’m still waiting for you all to beat us at Quidditch. Plus you had better be practising with Goyle, because I have that Felix Felicis ready for Parkinson and I, not that we need it. How is Teddy doing? Tell me how you are.
Best,
Harry
*
Harry,
Dragon wrangling sounds a lot more like dragon minding. That is so typical of a Weasley. No doubt he spoils them rotten. Do you have to wash their backs with a scrub brush? Clean between their toes? Do you at least get to feed them coal, or whatever it is they eat? Have you ridden one yet? Details, Potter.
Well, what was the castle like? I’m sure it was more exciting than Hogwarts. British castles are second rate, anyway. I’ve enclosed more tourist information. There are casinos and an old village and river cruises and a famous wine.
Are the mermaids as fishy there as they were in Cumbria? Giant waitresses-what will you think of next? I’ll try to find out more about the colonies in Scandinavia for you. As a liaison to the international office, I can officially correspond with foreign ministries. Ours has been on bad terms with the Grug east of Belarus, but maybe the Scandinavian ones have chosen their own Grugs. Giants used to keep humans as slaves, you know. That’s why wizards hate them. But if these ones didn’t fight with Voldemort maybe they’re not so bad.
Let’s clear up something, though. Hagrid really shouldn’t have been showing us something that could maul us to death. Even if it was because I didn’t treat it right. I mean, in Muggle classes do they show you guns? No. Because some show-off is going to pick it up and want to shoot it, and maybe it’s my fault but I like to show off, Potter. And even if yes, I was being petty and vindictive about turning Hagrid in for having that dragon that one time, I was also terrified. What would happen when it grew up and killed us all? I’m sure we would have all been very sorry.
Oh my god. Do you have to shovel dragon droppings?
With disgust,
Draco
P.S. I’m fine. Pansy and Goyle are fine. Teddy is fine. Everything is fine.
*
Malfoy,
Maybe you’re right about Hagrid. You still could have been nicer to him. You really do like Care for Magical Creatures, don’t you? Have you ever thought about teaching? You make it really interesting, you know.
The mermaids here are more friendly, but maybe it’s because I already know a little Mermish. It’s a different dialect, but sort of similar. They have someone they call . . . well, it’s something like Sea Witch, and she is sort of like a priest. She knows more magic than the rest of them anyway, and is like a leader.
The castle was really big. And made of stone. I’m sure Hermione could describe it for hours. The dungeons were kind of incredible, though. There were six rooms and they had a rack and a wheel and all kinds of things. One was this lady made out of metal and there were nooses all over the place! Filch would have loved it.
With Charlie’s help, Harry wrote an extensive page about taking care of dragons. He copied it for Hermione, because she would care. Personally, Harry thought it was kind of boring, partly because he was already doing it and partly because he’d never really liked writing. But Malfoy would be interested, and kept asking questions. Harry ended the letter with,
And yes, sometimes I do have to shovel dragon dung. It’s not so bad. Sweaty work, though. And smelly.
I keep asking how you are because I miss you.
Best,
Harry
*
Harry,
Thank you for the dragon details. I’m impressed you could write that much.
I have heard of Sea Witches! This is a legend. The ones in Cumbria didn’t have Sea Witches. You must find out all about it and report back. I know that research hurts your brain but Harry, it’s for science! Magic science. The only kind there is, really. Whatever you do don’t trade your voice away. It’s a secret trick Sea Witches have.
Of course you would see castles and only be able to describe in detail the instruments of torture, and not, you know, the flying buttresses or drawbridges or what have you. Honestly I worry for you sometimes. You’re so dark and brooding. If only you had a club foot. Then I would admire you so.
Sinclair and I have published our paper. He ended up putting my name as co-author. I went on a date last Saturday. His name was Alfonse. It was fine.
Tell Charles I said hello. I have enclosed further tourist materials. Make sure you try that wine I told you about; I can’t get my hands on it here, and though nightclubs are deplorable, I’m glad you went. I never told you, but no doubt it was good for you.
Yours sincerely,
Draco
*
Harry put down the letter and tried to see straight.
For the first time in a long time, Harry tried to think of the field. The moon hung low; the grass was high; the green swayed in the breeze, and Draco Malfoy came down . . .
Harry thought about Malfoy, his thin, shining hair, his gray eyes, his thin-lipped, haggard-looking mouth. The line at the side deepened, and he was smiling, and that was how Harry got past it-because Malfoy went on a date last Saturday. His name was Alfonse. It was fine.
Malfoy was making himself happy.
Harry had flat out told him they couldn’t be more than friends. It was Malfoy who had asked, who had been interested, but when Harry had told him he couldn’t give him any more than he was already, Malfoy had accepted it. He was moving on, and it was what Harry wanted.
Malfoy deserved someone splendid, someone who wouldn’t hurt him, someone who didn’t have a monster in his chest, someone who didn’t have to put up walls. Malfoy shouldn’t have to put up walls, Harry thought, because Malfoy was . . . well, so Malfoyish, with the line at the side of his mouth, and his bright eyes, and comical little impressions, and sarcastic comments, and enclosed packets of visitor info in all his Owls.
Most of all Malfoy deserved to be happy. Harry had told him to reach for what he wanted, because Malfoy had told him that. Harry wanted Malfoy to do it, and if Malfoy was going in this direction without him, Harry could-he could live with it. It hurt inside his chest, but the monster wasn’t coming out, and Harry could do this. He could be a friend. He could be the best friend ever; he could let Malfoy be happy.
Of course if this Alfonse character hurt Draco Harry might-well, then there might be problems. But it wouldn’t be as it had been with Dean Thomas, who was kind and had cared for Ginny, and Harry hadn’t even been able to let him get near her. Instead, Harry would stand politely by. He would stand by and because he was standing by, he would know he had succeeded.
He had finally kept the monster down, and replaced it with a field, and Draco Malfoy coming down.
*
Malfoy,
Charlie helped me write some of the dragon stuff. As you probably guessed.
The Sea Witch hasn’t tried to steal my voice. She’s terribly interested in submarines, though. I think she wants one, and doesn’t understand that you can’t just . . . you know, buy one. In particular she likes the idea of periscopes, I think. I’ve given her my Sneakoscope. I don’t need to carry one anymore; I thought you should know.
Congratulations on your paper. I’m glad you were co-author. Do you have plans on publishing anymore? Because remember it was you who made fun of me when you thought I wanted to be a writer. Have there been any comments or things? When Hermione published her first paper she was very concerned about critical acclaim, or whatever. She says academics are ruthless. But you’re pretty ruthless so I imagine you’ll be fine.
I’ve taken pictures of more castles for you since you were dissatisfied with my descriptions. I’ll have you know that I went to another castle recently and there was a large, spindle-like parapet, a defunct draw-bridge, a secret stone passageway and tapestries from the fourteenth century. Plus I found a room like the Room of Requirement and it also has knights’ armour that go around and keep the place clean in the spaces Muggle tourists can’t see. There’s a rectangular barbican and these balconies called pechnazes. I still don’t know what flying buttresses are, though.
I’m glad your date went fine. Maybe you can introduce me to him when I get back.
How are you?
Best,
Harry
*
Harry,
Don’t sound so proud of yourself. I know for a fact that many of those phrases were stolen right off the Bran architecture tour guide I sent you. Did you forget? I sent it to you. Plus the wizarding specs are also in the tour guide if you know where to look, but I’m guessing you didn’t bother to find that out, so kudos to finding it out on your own. Here’s a hint. Flying buttresses don’t fly.
I like the pictures. Pansy likes them too. Greg mostly just wonders what the food is like there, and whether dragons like macaroons. You just never know with Greg.
Enclosed is an Extendable Eye from Wizard’s Wheezes for Miss Sea Witch. Pass along my regards. Endear me to her-you can mention my assets, my manners, my-lie, okay? I’d like to be on good terms with a Sea Witch, even if she’s too far away for me to visit.
There has been high critical acclaim for our paper. Needless to say, Potter. Of course, Granger being worried about critical acclaim for her papers is just like Granger being worried about NEWTS. Oh, lord. Don’t tell me Granger was worried about her NEWTS? Typical. What a show off.
I’m still fine, Harry. When are you coming home?
Yours sincerely,
Draco
*
Malfoy,
How do you know if I sound proud of myself? It was an Owl.
I’m glad to hear the Goyles are well. Even if you didn’t say so.
Bettina (that’s the Sea Witch) appreciates your eye and wishes you to have this mollusk (enclosed). I don’t know what it’s for. I didn’t ask. It creeps me out, personally, but I think you have a new underwater penpal. They have messenger fish, you know. But they don’t have paper.
Congratulations on your critical acclaim. You’re right, I should have known.
I’m coming home soon. I’m looking forward to seeing your pointy face. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Almost too long.
Best,
Harry
*
When Harry got back from Romania, a large group of friends met him in his flat. Hermione had organized the welcome home.
Harry noticed Malfoy wasn’t there within the first few minutes. At first he thought it might be because of the crowd-mostly Weasleys and the old DA. But Malfoy had become better acquainted with most of these people. They didn’t mind him so much anymore, and Hermione said he had been invited. Harry wondered what it was, whether it was Alfonse, whether it was something else, and felt something curl inside his chest that he had thought he had left behind somewhere in Romania, among mountains and mermaids and letters written to friends.
Thirty minutes later Malfoy showed up. The collar of his old navy greatcoat was turned up, and there was snow caught in his hair. Two spots high on his cheeks were almost red from cold, and for a second Harry forgot that Malfoy wasn’t the only person in the room.
Then Malfoy looked up and grinned, and Harry could hear others still laughing, talking in the warm bright room. Harry went over to him as Malfoy gave Hermione a plastic grocery bag.
Giving the bag to Ron, Hermione put her hands on her swelling hips and said, “Well, where were you?”
“Sorry, Harry.” Malfoy’s grin had softened into a smile. “I was supposed to get the ice cream, but I got distracted.”
“Distracted.” Ron snorted. “That’s what you are.”
“Yes,” said Malfoy, that line deepening, so dear, on the side of his mouth. His eyes were still on Harry’s. “I thought it was sad how Muggles didn’t get ice cream, so I stopped at a Tesco to see what sweets they have instead.”
“You went to a Tesco?” said Ron.
“Yes, and I’ve found out something rather important,” said Malfoy, unbuttoning his coat. “It’s called Häagen-Dazs .”
“How come you thought Muggles didn’t have ice cream?” Harry watched stupidly as crystals of snow melted in Malfoy’s hair, which looked yellow in this light.
Malfoy was shrugging out of his coat. “Because ice cream is magical, Harry,” he said, quite innocently.
Harry laughed, and Malfoy beamed.
Hermione must have performed some most impressive spellwork on his flat to enable it to hold all the people. People were there with their whole families: George and Angelina and their youngest, Neville and Hannah, Luna with her newest boyfriend, Molly, Arthur.
Andromeda was there looking distinctly uncomfortable among all the people, but she must have wanted to bring Teddy, and Harry realized when he talked to her-she had wanted to see him too. Malfoy hovered on her perimeter almost all the night long, sort of like a news helicopter or a salesman, until Harry wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to work so hard to win Andromeda’s favor any more.
A little while later Harry realized Malfoy wasn’t trying to win anything; he was just sticking by her to introduce her to the people she didn’t know, and take up most the conversation. She had always been reserved.
Teddy, meanwhile, was making paper airplanes fly at Hugo, which Harry strongly suspected Malfoy had taught him how to do in his absence.
There was Firewhisky, mead, and daisy wine, and of course plenty of Häagen-Dazs, because when Malfoy lit upon new discoveries, he sort of went crazy. Then there was Firewhisky in the ice cream, and rather a lot of drunken singing-mostly George and Arthur.
Harry snagged Malfoy’s arm at one point and dragged him over to one of the trunks. A case rather bigger than a breadbox was on top of one. “Open it,” Harry said.
Malfoy looked at it rather doubtfully and opened it. They were Bludgers.
“Dragon Bludgers,” Harry said. “They shoot fire.”
Ron came up over Harry’s shoulder and whistled low. “Are those dragon Bludgers? Smith is going to kill someone.”
“I got them for Malfoy.”
Ron whistled again. “Malfoy’s going to kill someone.”
Harry was looking at Malfoy, who was just looking down at the Bludgers. “I actually thought Parkinson and Goyle could kill people.” Harry paused, frowning. “Except for the, you know, killing part.”
“Goyle?” said Ron. “He still plays Quidditch? Wait, Parkinson plays Quidditch? Where’s Hermione?” Peeling away, Ron went in search of her.
Malfoy quietly shut the lid of the box. “Thank you,” he said. He still wasn’t looking up. “That’s very-considerate of you. Pansy and Greg will be touched. What am I talking about? They’ll be bloodthirsty. Bludgers that shoot fire. Who would have thought of-”
“Hey, Malfoy.” Harry touched his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“What?” Malfoy said, distracted. He finally looked at Harry. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re babbling.”
“I’m grateful. Can’t a guy be grateful? I mean, if he hasn’t seen someone in four months, it’s okay to have a little gratitude, and-” Malfoy abruptly shut his mouth. His eyes slid away as though they could not hold Harry’s, his lashes drifting down so that all Harry could see was the silver of them. Malfoy was looking at the box.
“Look here, Hermione,” said Ron. “Goyle.”
“Don’t see him.” Hermione was wiping her hands on a towel.
“No, I mean-Harry says he still plays Quidditch.”
Hermione was looking at Ron as though he was a crazy person. Which maybe he was. Or maybe he’d just had a lot of Firewhisky. He might have taken part in some of the singing. “That’s very nice, Ron.”
“What I mean is, they’re going to play with us!” announced Ron. “Malfoy, what position does Parkinson play?”
Malfoy seemed shocked. “I-what?”
“Sure,” said Ron, and swayed a little. He was drunk, but not really that drunk, Harry decided. He’d missed Ron a whole lot. “You know how we’re always short a Left Beater. Well, we’ve got Goyle!”
Hermione was looking at Ron doubtfully. “Yes,” she said very slowly, because Ron still might be a crazy person, even if he wasn’t all that drunk, “but those are dragon Bludgers.”
“Goyle is really friendly,” said Harry. “And he likes Disneyland.”
“Goyle went to Disneyland?”
Harry nodded. “On his honeymoon with Parkinson.”
Ron turned to Hermione. “How come we’ve never been to Disneyland?”
“What position does Pansy play?” Hermione asked politely.
Malfoy looked at Harry, as if for help. “Well she-that is-she can Chase. Not that well, really.”
“Brilliant!” said Ron. “That’s what we need.”
“You think the other players will approve?” Malfoy asked. He seemed badly startled.
Ron shrugged. “You know what?” He appeared about to say something very wise. “Snape was in Slytherin.”
This seemed more along the lines of what Malfoy was expecting, and he squared his shoulders, as if to prepare for an assault. “He was.”
Ron was nodding. “Yeah. And Snape put the Sword of Gryffindor in the bottom of a freezing lake, and Harry had to go down and get it, and I had to save him. So you see,” he said, and put his arm around Harry. “It all works out.”
“Come along dearest,” said Hermione.
“Do you know what he’s talking about?” said Malfoy.
Harry smiled. “Yeah. I really do.”
“Hermione, I’m not actually drunk,” Ron told Hermione seriously.
“I know,” said Hermione.
“House Unity,” Ron announced. “That’s what the Sorting Hat said. And you know what? Life’s too short, and we were kids. The future is going to be brightest, that’s if I have anything to say about it. Which I do. So get Parkinson and Goyle to come play Quidditch with us. It will be awesome.”
“So this is why she likes you,” said Malfoy.
“I’m really not that drunk,” Ron told him.
“No,” Malfoy said quietly. “I really meant it.”
“Malfoy’s right, you know,” said Hermione. She was looking fondly up at Ron. “This is why I like you.”
“Oh,” said Ron. He thought about it, looking down at Hermione. Then he looked at Harry and Malfoy and appeared perturbed. He drew himself up and informed them, “Well, also I’m a sexy beast.”
They stared at him.
Ron deflated. “Okay. Maybe I’m a little drunk.”
“It’s okay.” Hermione was still glowing from that stuff Ron had said about House Unity and making futures. “I still like you anyway.”
Then Malfoy leaned in to talk in Harry’s ear, and his breath was quick and light, and it was a trick of whatever scent Malfoy used, but he just smelled like snow. “This would be a very bad time to tell him about the monkey thing,” Malfoy whispered, and then as soon as Harry had time to breathe him in, Malfoy wasn’t in his space any more.
In his absence, Harry felt that dark foreboding in his chest again, and wished he could be in Romania.
Ron was looking at them. “And then there’s you two.”
“Ron,” Hermione warned.
“What?”
“We are definitely leaving.”
Hermione swept Ron away, and Andromeda and Teddy came up to say goodbye. Then Harry started talking to Neville, and he lost sight of where Malfoy went for a while, though tracking Malfoy’s every movement hadn’t exactly been part of his plan. It should not have been part of his plan.
When Harry found him again, Malfoy and Luna were talking in a corner. Malfoy liked Luna, Harry remembered. Malfoy had said as much, once, but Luna was often out of the country, so he didn’t have time to see her much. Harry wouldn’t have thought Malfoy would see her at all, since the basis of Malfoy’s affection for her mostly seemed to be the fact that she’d been locked up in the Malfoy Manor cellar. Malfoy had been tasked with bringing them food and things, when Dobby was otherwise occupied. Malfoy had told Harry once that Luna had been kind.
It had seemed a strange thing for Malfoy to have said, that a prisoner had been kind. Harry hadn’t been able to ask about it, because Malfoy wouldn’t talk about it. He’d looked like he’d never even meant to say that much.
Seeing Malfoy now, with his head leaning in toward Luna’s, Harry thought that yes, Luna must have been kind, because Malfoy always looked like that with people who were kind. He looked thoughtful and attentive, as though he were seriously regarding every word. He looked that way with Teddy too, though. Maybe Malfoy just looked that way with crazy people, as well as kind people.
Their blond heads were bent close together, and Malfoy must be close enough to her that Harry could guess exactly what the air Luna was breathing smelled like, tasted like-and for the first time in forever, the dark twist in his chest began to feel like clawing.
Harry didn’t know why it was happening. It had been building all evening, the moment Malfoy had shown up in that old battered coat with a plastic bag full of cartons of ice cream, snow caught in his hair.
Maybe it had to do with the crowd, Harry thought. He hadn’t been hermiting away in Romania. He’d done what Malfoy said; he’d seen the sights; he’d even been to that night club, but it was true that he’d spent a lot of time with just Charlie and the dragons, and sometimes not even with Charlie, just dragons.
There were a lot of people here tonight, and Harry had never been good with people. And so many of these people were the ones he loved, even if Ginny was conspicuously absent. She might even have come, had she not had to travel for a game the next night. These people were the reason Harry had gotten so afraid he might hurt someone; these were the people he had removed himself from in order not to hurt them.
Not Malfoy. Never Malfoy.
Malfoy, as though sensing Harry’s eyes on him, caught sight of him and smiled, then turned back to Luna and kept on talking. Someone moved and obscured Harry’s view.
Harry had to close his eyes and think of the field. The hills rolled green, and Malfoy was tall and slender, his chest narrow, his waist narrow, his hips narrow and long. His cheekbones were high and his eyes were gray, and on his arm there was a scar.
Harry remembered how after he had kissed Malfoy, he’d gone to apologize, and Malfoy had held out his hand for him to shake. Harry had decided he could do it, then. He could control all these feelings; he could keep the monster down; he could be what Malfoy needed.
They were friends.
Harry tried to think of the field again. This time he succeeded, and the monster stayed at bay.
Eventually Luna and her boyfriend went home; Neville went home; the Weasleys went home. They all went home, except for Malfoy, who was lingering, watching as Harry cleaned up the bottles and other rubbish.
“I told you that you shouldn’t have gone to Romania,” he said.
“Why shouldn’t I have?” Harry closed a suitcase and spelling it into a corner. He was tired, and he almost wished Malfoy hadn’t stayed.
“If all those ruddy rumors about you were true, you wouldn’t’ve had to. You’d’ve just been able to Apparate back every night. So.” Malfoy was looking at him blurrily. “You shouldn’t go away.” He stood up as Harry tried to tug out the cushion that’d been thrown behind him, and ended up standing very close. “You shouldn’t go that long.”
“You should have some water.”
Malfoy scowled. “I’m serious.”
“Okay.”
Malfoy swayed toward him. “Welcome back, Potter,” he breathed, hot on Harry’s cheek. He no longer smelled like snow; he’d had too much daisy wine.
He must have felt Harry go still, because he pulled back abruptly. “That’s an American Muggle television show, you know. Welcome back, Potter. Or something.”
“Okay. Are you alright to Apparate?”
Malfoy bristled. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Okay,” Harry said, one last time, and took Malfoy’s arm. He led him over to the door. He opened it, and then looked at Malfoy.
Malfoy’s eyes were bright, his cheeks quite pink. His lips were wet and shiny.
Harry let him go.
Draco sighed noisily. “I wish vampires had gotten you after all. Then you wouldn’t be so afraid of the dark.” Then he stepped over the threshold and Apparated away.
Harry thought of the field. The grass was green. The breeze was gentle. There was no road. And Draco Malfoy came down . . . .
*
A couple weeks after Harry came back from Romania, Harry and Malfoy chased the Snitch against each other for practice, and afterwards lay in a field. They were somewhere in Shropshire, on a pitch hidden from Muggles. Harry and his friends often used for games and practice.
The sun was out, though the air was crisp. They both had on warming charms, but the nip that snuck its way in felt good after flying, and the grass, though cold, was soft.
Beside Harry, Malfoy’s breath was lengthening.
Malfoy had been all bright eyes and crowing triumph, chasing Harry. His hair was windswept and there had been red in his cheeks in the cold air. He laughed, carefree and happy, which was when Harry begun to realize Draco Malfoy was becoming a problem.
Harry wondered if that really was why he had gone to Romania in the first place. He wouldn’t have to see Malfoy, and Malfoy wouldn’t have to see him. Maybe Harry had been thinking, after the kiss, that he would give Malfoy a chance to move on. Malfoy had; after all there was Alfonse, and Harry had been glad, hadn’t he?
Malfoy didn’t need anything else from him; Malfoy needed him to be his friend. He had believed Harry could do it. Harry wanted to do it.
Closing his eyes, Harry thought of the field. The grass was green, and Malfoy was in it, Malfoy with the scar on his arm, Malfoy walking down where there was no road.
Harry opened his eyes. “How are your parents?”
“My parents?” Malfoy asked, surprised. His voice came quickly after that. “They’re fine. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“What for?”
“I dunno,” said Harry.
“Well.” Malfoy huffed. “They’re fine.”
“Where do they live now?”
“Why are you asking about my parents?” Malfoy sat up, sounded truly irritated. “They haven’t done anything. They mind their own business. My mother has a job, for heaven’s sake. They-”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Harry said. “I’m just wondering.”
“Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s-it’s not your business.”
Harry didn’t say anything for a while. “I wish my mother was alive,” he said eventually.
Malfoy made a sound. “Yes, Potter, we all wish-”
“No.” Harry sat up too. “I mean . . . I wish you could meet her. I think . . . she would have liked you.”
Malfoy looked away. “How do you know?” He sounded defensive. “You didn’t even know her.”
“I know. But I imagine her sometimes. I think your mum loves you very much.”
“Of course she does. She’s my mother.”
“I know, but . . . ugh.” Harry searched around for his glasses, and put them on. “Look, Draco. I just wanted to say, you can talk about your parents.”
Malfoy hunched his shoulders. “Of course I can. They’re my parents.”
“I mean. You can talk about anything. We don’t have to . . . just because you and I . . . You can talk about anything you want. You don’t have to be careful.”
“Careful?” Malfoy snorted. “Of you?”
“You don’t have to be. Not with me. We’re friends.”
“That again.” Malfoy was bristling all over, like a cat that had been splashed with water.
“Yes.”
Malfoy tilted up his nose. “What’s this about?”
Harry looked down. “Nothing. I just . . . I’m not going to stop being friends with you.”
“Lord.” Malfoy made an insane frittering gesture with his hand. “Lord, Potter. Was there some question?”
“No!” Harry didn’t know what Malfoy’s problem was. “No. I just . . . wanted to say it.”
“Oh.” Malfoy looked at him a little while, then flopped back in the grass. “You’re very dramatic, you know that?”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Malfoy put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “I thought you were going to . . . well, never mind. You know,” he added, after several moments, “normal people don’t go around making declarations.”
“I don’t see why not.” Harry took off his glasses and lay back.
They lay there in silence a little while. “Potter,” Malfoy said eventually.
Harry didn’t answer him.
“Potter.” Malfoy rolled over and sat up, and Harry finally understood what Parkinson had meant about the looming. “Potter,” Malfoy said again. “Do you really think I’m afraid to say things to you in case you won’t be my friend?”
Harry groaned. “I don’t know, Malfoy.”
“What makes you think that?” Malfoy’s tone was insistent. He actually sounded a little like Teddy when Teddy really wanted ice cream.
“I don’t know. It just occurred to me. That’s all.”
“Why did it occur to you?”
“I don’t know.” Harry was still lying in the grass, his arm was over his eyes. “You’re always . . . you don’t ever talk about yourself.”
“I talk about myself.” His voice was odd. “I talk about myself all the time. Why wouldn’t I talk about myself? I’m splendid. A Malfoy never hesitates to talk about himself. How could I find a better subject?”
“Yeah, except you don’t.”
“Of course I do.”
“You don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
Harry moved his arm and reluctantly put his glasses on again. Malfoy’s face looked strangely strung out, as though waiting for Harry's answer. Harry sighed again. “I already said. Your parents. Your life. You wrote me one stupid line about going out on a date and then-nothing. I had to prod you to get you to talk about the Goyles. You just don’t . . . .”
“Share?”
“Well,” Harry said defensively, “yeah.”
“You wanted to know whether I was dating anyone.”
“Yes. But-Malfoy, it’s more than that. I’m interested in you.”
Malfoy suddenly looked delighted. “You want me to talk about my feelings?”
Harry frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. That’s brilliant.” Malfoy laughed, but he didn’t sound sarcastic at all. He did seem to find it very funny, however. His eyes were dancing; his throat tipped back; it was sunny outside; it was all very distracting. “Harry Potter wants me to talk about my feelings.”
“I don’t see how it’s funny,” Harry muttered.
“It’s not. It’s not; it’s very . . . sweet. Very . . . Hufflepuff. Trelawny, even. We should . . .” Malfoy brushed Harry’s shoulder in an absent sort of way. He was making fun of him, but it was not at all nasty, and Malfoy looked so happy-really happy, even laughing at him. He laughed again, and dropped his hand. “We should make daisy-chains, read tea leaves . . .”
“Whatever, Malfoy.”
“Hmm.” Malfoy’s smile resolving into a lazy smirk. His bright gray eyes met Harry’s, and then dropped down. They settled on Harry’s lips.
Malfoy licked his own lips. His tongue was pink, and Harry looked away.
“I was just trying to be nice,” Harry said.
Malfoy laughed again, very low and soft, then leaned in. “Harry Potter,” he whispered. “Nice.”
Malfoy’s breath landed on Harry’s ear, his neck, and then it felt like it kept going further down. Malfoy was close, and very bright, and he smelled like grass.
“Malfoy.”
“Hmm?” Malfoy was looking at him, seeming to be very distracted by the part where Harry’s ear met his head and neck.
Harry grabbed his glasses, put them on, and stood up.
Malfoy looked up at him in surprise.
“It’s getting late.”
“Oh,” said Malfoy, and stood as well. He looked for his broom, and Harry went and got his own. “Harry,” Malfoy said, as they put their gear together.
“Yeah?” Harry asked warily, not turning around.
Malfoy’s voice was meditative. “Do you also like rainbows?”
Harry frowned and turned around after all. “What?”
“What about lily-pads, and little candied hearts?”
“What are you-”
“I’ll be sure to serve you only daisywine, and I’ll make sure Greg goes easy on you. I wouldn’t want things to be too rough for you, now that you’re such a sensitive bloke.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Shut it.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“Whatever, Malfoy.”
Malfoy grinned. “Goodbye Potter,” he said, as Harry Apparated away.
*
Some time the next day, Malfoy knocked on the door of Harry’s flat, and Harry let him in. He felt ashamed, realizing he’d been avoiding Malfoy a bit since coming back from Romania. Yesterday had been one of the few times they had spent time together alone.
“Hullo, Harry,” Malfoy said, and strode in.
“Malfoy,” Harry said, and shut the door.
Malfoy looked about, smiling as though unaware he was doing it. On Malfoy that smile looked soft and strange. At last he looked at Harry again. “Were you doing something tonight?”
“No.” Harry shrugged. “Testing one of George’s potions.”
Malfoy’s nose wrinkled. “Are you sure you want to work there? You’re taking your life into your hands, you know.”
“I don’t know. My other thought was spending time with centaurs for a while.”
“Always said you had a thing for magical creatures.”
“There are some in the Middle East that are pretty interesting.”
Malfoy’s smile faded. “You said you weren’t going to go away again.”
“Yeah.” Harry turned from him. “I did say that.”
“So.” Malfoy’s tone was a little flatter. It had been so light before. “What’s the potion?”
“What?”
“You said you were testing a Wheezes potion.”
Harry turned back. “Right. Er. I think it’s one that makes you talk like a dragon. I thought it would be useful-you know. And George thought it would be funny, so . . .” Harry shrugged again.
Malfoy nodded. “I have been keeping something from you.”
“What?”
“You were right,” Malfoy said. “There’s something I . . . didn’t tell you, because I . . .” Malfoy drew himself up. “I didn’t tell you something, because I wanted to be your friend.”
“What do you mean?”
“At first I didn’t want to. Be your friend. I mean, I didn’t mean to-but now we are.”
“Well. Thanks.”
“It happened after you kissed me,” Malfoy said.
Harry felt claws squeeze in, wrapping around his heart, but Malfoy just went on.
“I pretended it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. It was a big deal to me. I thought you weren’t . . . I didn’t think you would welcome a big deal. You seemed to need . . . something else.”
The claws scraped upward, just like panic moves. “How big of a deal was it?” Harry croaked.
“A very large one.” It was taking quite a lot of courage, Harry realized with a weird sort of detachment. Malfoy had never been known for courage, and yet he seemed determined to plow on. He held his thin shoulders very square, and his head very high. “I quite like you. I’ve been trying not to like you nearly so much. I just wanted to be your friend. It doesn’t seem to be working.”
Harry was finding it hard to breath. His chest was tight, and his heart was being clawed to ribbons; the claws were crawling up his throat. “Why are you saying this?”
“I wanted to . . .” Malfoy gave a small shrug.
Harry would always remember that, the way that Malfoy moved his stiff, narrow shoulders. It looked so affected, Malfoy pretending he could weather rejection.
“I wanted to see if you felt ready for it.”
Harry felt like he was being emptied out; now that the clawing was done, it was scraping things away. His eyes felt very hot, his skin very pale. It was getting hard to hear. “What are you saying?”
Malfoy’s smile was rather sickly. “Well, Potter. I’m asking you out on a date.”
Date, Harry thought distantly. He’d had no idea. He’d been so wrapped up in himself, so sure that Malfoy was only curious, or mildly interested, and here was Malfoy-giving him permission. “What about Alfonse?”
“That’s over.” Malfoy tilted his head. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“No.”
“Well, it is.”
Harry still clung to Alfonse. “What happened?”
“Irreconcilable differences.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I was . . . trying something. It didn’t work out.” Malfoy’s mouth was thin and tight. “I’m glad I did it.”
Harry wanted Malfoy against the wall. He wanted to taste him again, to crawl inside his skin again. He wanted to mark Malfoy all over, and really, it should be alright, because Malfoy wanted him to. Malfoy liked it. Malfoy was asking for it, wasn’t he, and Harry could have him right there against the wall, and who was there to care about things like dating, or the fact that Malfoy was not giving permission for that, or always being so bloody careful? “I can’t.”
“Ah.” Malfoy looked away.
“Malfoy.”
“You’ll excuse me, I . . .” Malfoy’s tone was distant. He still wasn’t looking at him. “I think I’ll go . . . tear up tree stumps, or something. Seems a popular past time. So sorry to have wasted your time. I’ll just be-”
“Malfoy.”
Malfoy looked at him, and blanched rather pale. “Potter?” His voice went very harsh. “Are you really going to have a crackup now?”
“Malfoy,” Harry said again.
“Go ahead. Have one. I don’t care. Want to know why?” Malfoy’s face was twisted and ugly. “It isn’t always about you.”
Malfoy swept right by him.
“I can’t.”
“I can see that,” Malfoy said. “It’s pathetic.”
Then Malfoy went away, and the world seemed to go very, very dark.
Go to: Chapter 7
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